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Wow, I don't know where to even start with this thread.

Friday night coming in to the keep to find my long-dead wife in my throne (oops, I mean chair) along with one of my most loyal allies and most hated enemies started things off fast and hard. Killing Drake was satisfying for Corbyn as his double-agent action over the years had caused me a lot of grief. Later that evening the scene where Kahl demanded that I kill Robin was wickedly intense. I thought for sure Kevin was going to try and kill her or challenge me to an honor duel, but he let it go. Then, it was off to the Inn to plan how to repel the Elven invasion with Donovan and Atrum.

Saturday morning/afternoon was a hodgepodge of blocking Haven from gaining too many allies or items of power, and trying to stop the anti-Corbyn plots. I didn't pull the trigger in the cave as I had the box in my back pocket and thought timeline-wise if everything went well I would be able send hundreds of Elves crashing down on them with a little time to spare. Or, I would die trying to destroy Haven and it wouldn't matter.

The final battle was truly epic. My goal was to set it up so that the devastation to the Haven forces would be unquestionably overwhelming and very fast, which was accomplished. It was amazing how Reid sold our ideal plan for making this happen by arranging the castle defenses a certain way. I thought I would have to do a lot more work with that but he completely handled it and got serious buy-in from several other characters.
The scene where Corbyn beat the powerful and noble Donovan to death will be one that I will never forget.

After the battle, killing my team was intense but definitely gave me a sense of closure. I could see Reid was thinking he was going to die, and that DonMayo knew the truth, but still the two of them fell to their knees in front of the Elven Regent to be rewarded. The scene that Julie described in her post was absolutely like something from a movie-flawless. I had laid plans for the Elves giving Corbyn a position in their empire, or sort of turning on him as they ended up doing. Either way, my original goals, that I established te second event and that Mike will remember, had been realized. Joining with the elves or leaving made no real difference.

I have two different characters to go on here, so I'll start with Drake and post Gabs later.

Coming back IG with him is something that I never thought would happen. Yet it did. I prepaired myself for his death, as I knew it would happen. The best part was the stare down that Corbyn and I had, the anger in his eyes and the hatred I gave back. I knew it was over when they all started to surround me. He spoke "General, Sethreal, DonMayo...Kill Drake". As the attacks rained down upon him he just sat there, didn't lift his weapons in diffence, didn't strike back, just sat there and died his death. Robin jumped upon Drake trying to save his life, but it was all for a loss. Sethreal and Maximus then dragged Drakes body outside where Seth took off the head and Maximus burned the body. But thats not where his tale ends. Seth takes the head to Donovan full of rage because the betrayal that Drake had done. Seth enters the room and places Drakes head on the chair. Donovan asks Seth to leave the room. Knowing what Drake had done Donovan wanted to give him a true Phoenix death, sending him to the halls of our fallen heros. Yes..I did say heros. Dovovan summons forth his energies and places them in his sword that he pierces through Drakes head, all the lighting in the room goes dark except for Donovans eyes, his glowing sword, and the now glowing head of Drake. This is where Seth is summond back into the room. Drake gets one last chance to let Seth know that his actions where true and just. That he wasn't corrupt like so many had thought him to be. He had a way to not let Torture affect him, he could resist it. He didn't go to Pentag because he wanted to, he needed to. It was his duty, his oath. He kept Robin and her child alive and helped bring her back. With that Donovan sends energy through the sword and Drakes head bursts into tiny light particles. The light then reenters the room.

One of the best RPing moments I've had. JJ and Taki made me cry. And I haven't even played the character in almost 2 years.

that is the biggest load of BS i've ever heard.

drake was a two-faced little liar. i know first hand.

(<3 danny)

Says the mad scientist about her creation....

i did not create drake.

i just gave him a new body to carry out evil plans with.

oh..sorry Dr Frankenstien..ette!

Much of the event is a blur at this point, but I remember most of Friday night was meeting with people about the upcoming battle. Representatives from the Beastmen, Lizardmen, and the like came by and deals were struck. Dewberry brought news of the Dwarves and Caledonians, and we arranged to meet up with them the next day.

The highlight of Friday night was when Sethreal appeared at my door. Word had reached Donovan that Robin, Drake, and Don-mayo had returned to the Haven, though he had not yet seen any of them personally. Sethreal presented Drake’s severed head, and Donovan immediately asked him to leave. Alone with the head of his friend, Donovan spoke a goodbye to the fallen Phoenix. Knowing full well that Drake had possessed a ring that allowed him to resist corruption, he suspected that Drake had died untainted by Pentag.

Donovan then called Sethreal back into the room. When he arrived, Donovan drew Lightstorm and drove the blade through Drake’s head and into the floor of the inn. The room grew dark except for the energy arcing off of Lightstorm and the blue-white light pouring from Donovan’s eyes. Drawing the last bit of Light from Drake’s body, the spirit of the fallen Phoenix could be heard for a moment.

“Sethreal, I need you to know this,” Drake said. “I never fell to Pentag’s corruption. I never gave in. I fought to do my duty, to protect Robin and Baby Gravesbane. I want you to know I don’t blame you, you shouldn’t feel bad about killing me. I never gave in…”

Drake’s remains, now devoid of essence, faded away. The rising motes of Light formed a Phoenix in the darkness before they too vanished. Sethreal fell to his knees in grief, and Donovan spoke slowly.

“We will remember Drakenlas Elderitch as a hero of the Guard,” the Preceptor proclaimed softly. “He shall forever be known as Sir Drakenlas Elderitch, Knight of the Phoenix and defender of Haven. He will be honored, he will be missed.”

Near weeping, Sethreal muttered “What have I done?”

“Your duty,” Donovan responded. “Your brother told you he didn’t blame you. You both did what you thought was right.”

“I’ll see you soon, Brother,” Sethreal murmured, tears streaming from his eyes.

“We may all see him soon, Brother,” Donovan responded. “For when strength is gone, when hope is gone, we stand till the last shadow falls.”

“Till the last shadow falls.” Sethreal answered, completing the oath.

-During all of this, Danny was sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. At some point he too broke down and wept, cementing the moment as one of the most moving in my roleplaying experience. We broke scene and embraced each other at that point, having shared something precious. Even now I am hesitant to share it, but I want others to know the depth and power of the brotherhood those characters had.-

The battles on Saturday afternoon are also a blur. I remember squaring off against the Red Tear and realizing that their Empath brigade and shield wall would make short work of us unless we could penetrate their line. Donovan assessed the situation and pressed into their left flank. After a few seconds an opening appeared and Donovan fell in on the Empaths. Damage started coming in from all sides, and in a few seconds he was on the ground. Although he was out of the fight, the damage had been done. The Red Tear’s lines broke and the Havenites made short work of them.

When the group finally returned to the Haven, Donovan and Connor had gotten separated from the rest of the expedition. Donovan and Connor waited by the Inn for a while and then went on to the Keep. Only a short distance down the trail they encountered a sizable detachment of elves on patrol. After they were unable to hide, Donovan turned to speak to the detachment and give Connor time to get away. A few blows were exchanged, but as soon as Connor had fled Donovan turned and ran as well.

Reaching the Keep, Donovan sat down near the gate and waited for the others to arrive. He noticed some people he did not recognize wandering around the Keep, but thought that they were some of the many allies he and Atrum had worked so hard to acquire. The others arrived and soon they were in battle formations. As the Elven Army arrived Donovan decided to check on the healers and walked away from the gate, a random event that saved him from the trap sprung on the rest of the town.

Standing near the healers, Donovan watched with horror as the arcane magics tore apart his friends. Fire and stone cascaded through his brothers, stripping the flesh from their bones and wiping away all hope of victory. Then, almost too stunned to raise his sword, Donovan watched as the people of the Order turned on the Havenites and cut the remaining few to ribbons. Suspecting some foul magic, Donovan ran to the front of the Keep and opened the door. Hoping to rally the forces within, he came face to face with Corbyn. His spirits soared for a moment, thinking that Corbyn, one of his oldest friends, might not have been affected by whatever had turned the Order against the town.

Donovan opened his mouth to ask who was inside, but the words never left his lips. Corbyn’s sword, raging with its dark energies, struck at the Preceptor’s shield. In that moment, seeing the hate and betrayal in Corbyn’s eyes, Donovan Thynedar died. His great hope, that the Haven could stand together in righteousness and defeat any Darkness, was extinguished as time and again a man he held dear drove a sword into his flesh.

Stumbling backwards, Donovan reflexively activated his ring of protection. His stone eyes watched the last of the Havenites fall. He watched the feral efficiency with which his former allies dismembered his friends, but was too numb to react. Corbyn’s sword had crushed most of his upper body, and only the ring’s magic kept him aware of what was going on.

Finally Ka appeared near him and he felt the ring’s magic dissipate. Blood gushed from his wounds, but Donovan summoned the will to stay on his feet. More tremendous blows from Corbyn’s sword came raining down on his back, but the Preceptor stayed standing. Turning even as the sword-strikes destroyed his body, Donovan faced Corbyn and looked his murderer in the eye. With his last breath Donovan asked a single question.

“Why?”

Corbyn’s sword, called “Fellowship”, pierced Donovan’s heart and the Lord of the Phoenix fell to the earth. As his life’s blood flowed onto the ground he felt the power of Corbyn’s sword ignite a fire in his flesh. No mere burning, this was a primal fire that arced pain through his form. Finally the last tendrils of his essence were severed from the world and his body turned to ash.

Slain by Fellowship, betrayed by a hope he dared not surrender, Donovan’s essence joined that of his wife Illyenne. The amulet he wore, a symbol of their love, began to glow as their spirits become one.

So ends the tale.

Now that rocked!

It's strange how much four words can determine your character's life or death. In this case it was Ingram saying four words that saved Ren's life. I asked, "Should I go defend the keep or stay here and defend Corbyn's weekness? To which Ingram said "I need you here."
Four words to save Ren's life.

No matter whether I would have lived or died if things were different, I just wish I could have helped more, both as Durgan and as 'Chris the player'.

-----------------
Durgan felt pretty lonely during his last day of life, like somehow he just wasn't enough of a warrior for anyone to want to include him. He couldn't even get anyone to look at his new lucky Drake scale other than Donovan and Voralen.

In fact, it was this lack of attention that drove him to go find Corbyn and Gen. Maximus and help them set up the castle's defences, even though it turned out he was unwittingly helping his friends' killers. It was the simple fact that even if he was faking it, Corbyn listened intently to Durgan's ideas and even implemented some of them. Even if his friends would never see or acknowledge it, he never had any other intent than to help them. He was just too full of energy to stand by and do nothing if there was any chance he could stop them from dying.

Initially, he thought he would either go hide somewhere, or run away to be with his newfound friends in Winter Haven if something went wrong, but it wasn't meant to be. When the killing started, regardless of his horrible burns from Corbyn's first blast of magic, the only thing he could think of was getting to the keep to make sure the healers were safe, as he vaguely remembered it was part of the plan to have them stationed there, and hopefully they stayed put.

At the door, he saw Donovan struck down by Corbyn only feet away, but it didn't even register, only the completion of his personal mission.

And he succeded.

He arrived at the inn, just in the nick of time to be attacked by a group of elves led by Kidwynn, someone he had been glad to call a friend from his first night in Haven. She attacked him mercilessly, but it didn't matter anymore. They would all have to go through him to get to Shae, Laura and Hannah. Even if others thought he was too small to be of use, he would die with the battlecry of a Fellhammer on his bloody lips, no longer an energetic Guthrie, but as a true Dwarven warrior.

Quen was a nobody. Born of a farmer in a land far away, he had given up his rights to his father’s farmland when he left to become a Ranger for the king. Upon his utter failure in the attempt at becoming a heroic warrior, he had taken up several jobs and succeeded at none of them and one of which had left him permanently injured and left him with a physical sign of his failures for all to witness.

He had become the caretaker of a building that housed nobles, heroes and the powerful elite, often at the same time. He was just the nobody in the background who made sure the building kept standing, made sure that the rains stayed out, and the heat stayed in when it was so cold outside. He was a cripple, a failure at everything but this most low-brow task. After wandering the towns trying to find some means of living, it had been the sadistic Lord Malcom of all people who had given him his livelihood. He’d spent ten years, that he could remember, taking care of the building, occupying it in the months when nobody was there and making sure to be both available and out of sight when Malcom had brought his guests there for their hunting trips. He wasn’t given much, but it was enough to live by and that was all that mattered to the simple craftsman.

When the strangers of Haven had shown up the first time, they came unannounced, uninvited and had brought a plague of misery and complications to his life. The building was constantly attacked, monsters that had never shown themselves before were all around and Quen blamed the refugees who now somehow claimed this land to be theirs for all that had happened. That changed the night that he died and returned to life with no memory of the last year’s events. This time the Havenites had actually been invited to the Wedding they had “interrupted” the previous year. Quen welcomed them as Malcom’s guests and when Malcom had died with no heir claiming the immediate lands, Quen served the Lodge and provided what he could for those who were now protecting both he and that which he took so much pride in. Though he never saw himself as much, he had made friends of those in Haven. A servant to the building, and to those who controlled it, he had begun branching into other areas of interest. Where he once was happy just to craft his own tools, Quen began learning and excelling at the creation of weapons and armor. From his interest in the craft, he learned Alchemy and had even learned to craft new metals with amazing properties. But still, he kept to himself, helping where he could, but never leaving the building. Not only did his permenant injury make walking any distance painful and slow, but he didn’t want to take any chance that he may return to find something had happened to the building without him being there. His heart was in that building and he had placed all of his hope for its survival in those people of Haven that they would protect him by protecting it. But over the last year, those hopes had begun to vanish and on this night, dusk had settled too soon for the simple caretaker.

It had only been dark for an hour when the sounds of drums began to pulsate through the air. Quen had been trying to keep his mind off of the situation, knowing that there was nothing he could do to change the course of events that would transpire this night. He just hoped for the best. An army of Elves, ready for war, were nearby and he was left alone in the inn. Getting up from his work bench he looked at his bed where he had prepared his things in case the night went terribly wrong.

For months this night had been coming. Nothing that Haven had done seemed to stop the Elves, or keep their ranks from growling just outside of its borders. Quen had tried testing the waters of Haven, joking about “Elf Haven” or asking why we didn’t just give ourselves to the Elves. “How do they treat our subjects? How is living under their rules any different than us subjugating our rules on others?” But Haven seemed to believe, as most do, that their ways were best and right. So Quen had begun preparing for this night.

As Donovan had left that night, Quen had a sick sinking in his heart, but he knew his place. For thirteen years the Lodge of Malcom had been his home. No, not just his home. This building represented the only thing he had ever accomplished, had ever been able to take pride in. With all of the failures in his life, the Lodge was the one thing he could point to and take pride in. Even after Rodrick had mutilated his one love and taken away his fires, Now his hopes rested on the thought that the Elves would find some use of the building and its caretaker so that he could live.

But now those drums weren’t passing by along the road. They kept growing in intensity as the glow of torches and the glint of steel brightened the woods under a full canopy and moonless sky. Earlier, Quen had thought to bring out all of the torches, light the inn and welcome the Elves with hopes of mercy. But an ominous feeling had fallen on him like lead in his belly and instead had darkened the place, locking the doors and sitting in the dark, brewing what healing potions he could. Light from outside grew as the Elven troops surrounded the building and then.. silence. There was a knocking at the door. Quen took a precious bottle he had prepared months before and pocketed it. Taking the lone candle that lit his work area, he grabbed his walking stick, pressed smooth his work apron and made his way slowly towards the door. The knocking grew in intensity as his hand reached out for the door’s handle, but in a moment of doubt, Quen stopped and took the bottle from his pocket and downed its contents. A potion he knew little about, but had heard of its effects, he’d managed to sneak the recipe from someone months ago who had left their book laying around. If he was too scared to let his body burn within his building, this would save him, leaving a mark of once was here, even if the forest grew around him. “Flesh to Stone” it had been labeled and with reluctance and cowardice, he had consumed it. Part of him hoped that if any survivors were left and found him, he could be returned to life, but the coldness of reality sank deep in him and he knew it was far more likely that this was the end for him and all that would remain would be his statue to mark his presence in this world. He cringed at the taste and as the strange concoction began doing strange and unsettling things to his body on contact. He dropped the bottle, but by now the sounds outside had become thundering. The smell of burning wood began to permeate the air and the sounds of axes and other brutal instruments destroying his building were as if they were tearing his own flesh. He pounded on the door as his insides began to ache and stiffen. “STOP! JUST STOP! I’LL LET YOU IN!” he yelled through the door, but to no reply other than the chipping of wood and the breaking of glass. The end was coming and Quen realized it was all over. His building… his body was being destroyed, and his flesh was being consumed itself. With a fading breath, he blew out his candle and achingly made his way to his bed. Every step was forced and painful. He fell onto his mattress as the first licks of flame started to appear from the eves. The glow intensified and the thundering rhythm of drums were now being played upon his tomb by the Elves destroying the building. With his body slowly turning into stone, he clutched up his possessions, holding in one hand a small plaque he had carved with the words “Quen of Thornburough” and in the other hand a small vial--an antidote for the potion that was turning his body into a dead statue. His sight began to wane as each breath grew more difficult. His insides had become rock.. his legs and arms were too.. and soon he found he could not pull breath again. The blackness came for him from both the smoke, falling debris and as his eyes and head seared with the pain of being changed from living to stone. In the last moments of life, he heard nothing but the creaking and crackling of wood as his precious building was destroyed. Then there was nothing.

It was not like sleep. It was not like any other experience that he could recall. In fact it was the lack of anything and then to the existence of Something that had startled him. His body ached terribly and he wanted to cry out, but his flesh was still stiff and in pain. He had begun to slump down and tumbled a bit, falling onto a bag of something in the dark. Death. Was this death? No… THAT was death. That thing he had been a part of before. It was nothing. This was life and in the next aching heartbeat he wished he could return. As his senses began to return, Quen noticed a small glow from beside him. Within his cup was an ember, barely breathing with its own fading life. Grabbing around him he came upon something that felt like hay, or grass. He set the cup down and began to gingerly coax the coal with his own breath and added dust from the wheat he had found. By his will, luck and knowledge of the fire, the flame jumped from the warm red ember into a living fire. It burned, it lived, and so did he. With his focus on saving the flame he found a candle within the dark earthen cave and found a note. “Corbyn betrayed everyone. Stay here for your own safety. Olan” it read in hastily scratched words on what looked like the leaf of a torn book. He growled at that. He was alone in a hole. The lodge was gone. He knew that because he’d seen it, heard it, even felt it. All that was left was this ember… even after Rodrick had destroyed his fires, it amused him with a feral delight, that all that remained was fire. He grabbed at some bark from one of the support columns, tightly wrapped hay within it and made a nest for the ember. He would keep it. His Love would live in her new home, in a new way. He would tend to her.

Things moved quickly around him after that. His mind didn’t even try to keep up. People entered… friends it seemed, though they appeared as Elves, disguised and explained to him very hastily what had happened, and that they must leave. Others came in, this time strangers, with encouragement to leave these lands. Quen knew that meant leaving the Inn, and resisted in his mind at first, but he looked into the cup where he held the new home of his Ember and knew there was nothing there to return to. He had spent so many years putting up defenses in his mind and emotions and had let very few into his thoughts. All of those that he had allowed himself to care for now were gone. There was no hope, no life left there. All that mattered was with him now and so he followed. He walked with pain and with speed as the group moved swiftly through the forests and away to Caldonia. The smell of fire moved along the breeze as the moved away from that cursed land. Quen stopped for a moment and looked back. It was not the fire of buildings and he didn’t wish to know the source, even though his heart already knew the truth. Fire was a master and a servant, a destroyer, cleanser, and a bringer of new life. Quen followed the grieving survivors with the hopes that there would be somewhere for him before fire consumed him as well.
(what?... too much?)

I revive you poor thread! *does sparkley magic stuff*

Sheogorath wrote:I revive you poor thread! *does sparkley magic stuff*

You need to sacrifice a forum of at least 27 posts to revive this thread... 28 now.

It's a bit over-kill, but let's sacrifice the one on whether or not you can flee during fear.

*nods in agreement with self*