Reputation changes
Posted by Apostate on 03/25/17
Tales of Valor V
Those men of Grimhall. Reavers all. If those mindless shav and abyssal Bringers knew any concept of Fear, they might have been wise to break and flee. Harald Grimhall and Valdemar Grimhall made sure to make them pay for their ignorance, working a lesson that would reach past the Reflection and the remind the Archfiends what the fighting men of the isles are capable of. Onto the shores of the Gray Rivers those reavers stepped, and they did not step off until they painted Giant's Fall with blood. As he called out in a roar, the Grim answered Harald eagerly, following and trying to match each fall of his axe. And son followed father, Valdemar's eagerness for glory finding him and his reavers carving through the endless masses of shavs and their Bringer masters until a small lake of blood filled a depression at the bottom of one of the hills.
Will you believe me if I told you the Inquisition was there? Swear it to the Gods. Maybe the shavs owe the Crown some money? But those scarlet and black hoods were unmistakable and that steady thump of crossbows and those dark blades of theirs had only one foe in their sights. Perhaps these dark times can right even the worst of us?
It is on Inigo's blade, Recompense, the Sword of Unity, where hope first sprang upon the grounds of Giant's Fall. The first clash of lines. The first clash of death. For many the first time they saw a Bringer of Silence, an abyssal fiend of unimaginable terrors and strength. A massive hammer the size of a dozen Thraxian reavers sweeping through the ranks of the Compact as if they were children's toys. Unstoppable. I admit I thought that. How could we best such a foe? Inigo Malvici showed us fiends could bleed and die.
Captain Caelis Malvici and her marines showed that it was not just Thrax who can step off the waves onto solid ground with not a single loss in their step or a dip in their swords. Stoic and determined, there was no cries of war or yelling for resolve. Resolved in her mission. Intent on her purpose. Striding forward with her marines as a practiced team, a call of thunder to reap the whirlwind of shavs. I likened them to a crew of a ship, changing and adjusting the mast, practiced and perfected against the storm of the abyss that now faces us. I fear for the reflection of Mangata, for if the fiend ever has to face these sailors, he shall break his own mirror.
The first to see the truth. To give form to our nightmares. To ready and steel us against the fiends we face. A Bringer is a hulking creature of the abyss, tainted by dark magics with the strength to rip a man in half. How could we ever imagine it could get worse? That creatures of raw myth and legends, Giants, could exist and be tainted. But we know these legends and are ready to meet them as reality, Karadoc Saik showed that.The Lion reaches far. Kima with her claws. Karadoc with his mind. Estaban shows the Saik name is not bound by the solid ground of Avrum. Arrow after arrow was let free. Did he ever stop? I do not believe he needed a single breath as he kept firing again and again into the approaching horde. I counted each and everyone of the arrows he let loose. 134. And all found their mark. I swear this on my cut throat.
At least one Knight told me it was the vile medicine of Harmon Malvici that saw him grow the third arm he had. I did not have the heart to tell him he was false, for he had only one arm, and it was only through the genius of the Malvici Lord that he was alive to rave with the madness that the noble's medicine provided. I watched as the madman fashioned dozen concoctions, each specific and directed for a single purpose. Saving life.
The Fury of the Malvici. The Bringers and their Abyssal lords seemed to be anathema to him. The very sight of of the Giant sent his blood boiling. His love for the Compact, he could not let such desecrations stand. His frenzy an inspiration in their ferocity drove our soldiers and knights forward. A whirlwind of death, nothing could stand against the fury that was Artorius Malvici. And when the battle was ended and that Giant melted to nothingness, it was his cry of rage that let everyone know they had won, they had lived.
The architect of Giant's Fall. There shall be a new Concept to the Pantheon. Strategy? No! Perfection. What looked like nothing more than a roll of hills and a muddied path used to much by those fleeing the approaching Horde, Count Frederik Steelhart saw victory. Though veteran and experience, even Frederik Steelhart cannot claim to know the entirety of the foe we faced. Though perhaps I am wrong, perhaps he is an incarnation of some great general from the Reckoning; not content with a victory a thousand years ago. Reborn to claim more victories for the Compact. We could do with such miracles.
No fancy blades for the Sword of Highhill. No rousing speeches. No declarations of eternal resistance. None are needed for Lord Gregor Steelhart. He shows us what we can do with what every man and woman is born with, the blood within their veins and the resolve in their heart. Arms and armor of steel. Some proclaim we need Alaricite or Diamondplate. That only the Heirlooms of history can save us. I will take a single Gregor Steelhart over a dozen blades with a forgotten past. Men like him will forge new Heirlooms out of raw grit.
But that is all the tales I have for now. Less you have more coin. And if you say I exaggerated even one story, well... I know an Inquisitor or two.
Those men of Grimhall. Reavers all. If those mindless shav and abyssal Bringers knew any concept of Fear, they might have been wise to break and flee. Harald Grimhall and Valdemar Grimhall made sure to make them pay for their ignorance, working a lesson that would reach past the Reflection and the remind the Archfiends what the fighting men of the isles are capable of. Onto the shores of the Gray Rivers those reavers stepped, and they did not step off until they painted Giant's Fall with blood. As he called out in a roar, the Grim answered Harald eagerly, following and trying to match each fall of his axe. And son followed father, Valdemar's eagerness for glory finding him and his reavers carving through the endless masses of shavs and their Bringer masters until a small lake of blood filled a depression at the bottom of one of the hills.
Will you believe me if I told you the Inquisition was there? Swear it to the Gods. Maybe the shavs owe the Crown some money? But those scarlet and black hoods were unmistakable and that steady thump of crossbows and those dark blades of theirs had only one foe in their sights. Perhaps these dark times can right even the worst of us?
It is on Inigo's blade, Recompense, the Sword of Unity, where hope first sprang upon the grounds of Giant's Fall. The first clash of lines. The first clash of death. For many the first time they saw a Bringer of Silence, an abyssal fiend of unimaginable terrors and strength. A massive hammer the size of a dozen Thraxian reavers sweeping through the ranks of the Compact as if they were children's toys. Unstoppable. I admit I thought that. How could we best such a foe? Inigo Malvici showed us fiends could bleed and die.
Captain Caelis Malvici and her marines showed that it was not just Thrax who can step off the waves onto solid ground with not a single loss in their step or a dip in their swords. Stoic and determined, there was no cries of war or yelling for resolve. Resolved in her mission. Intent on her purpose. Striding forward with her marines as a practiced team, a call of thunder to reap the whirlwind of shavs. I likened them to a crew of a ship, changing and adjusting the mast, practiced and perfected against the storm of the abyss that now faces us. I fear for the reflection of Mangata, for if the fiend ever has to face these sailors, he shall break his own mirror.
The first to see the truth. To give form to our nightmares. To ready and steel us against the fiends we face. A Bringer is a hulking creature of the abyss, tainted by dark magics with the strength to rip a man in half. How could we ever imagine it could get worse? That creatures of raw myth and legends, Giants, could exist and be tainted. But we know these legends and are ready to meet them as reality, Karadoc Saik showed that.The Lion reaches far. Kima with her claws. Karadoc with his mind. Estaban shows the Saik name is not bound by the solid ground of Avrum. Arrow after arrow was let free. Did he ever stop? I do not believe he needed a single breath as he kept firing again and again into the approaching horde. I counted each and everyone of the arrows he let loose. 134. And all found their mark. I swear this on my cut throat.
At least one Knight told me it was the vile medicine of Harmon Malvici that saw him grow the third arm he had. I did not have the heart to tell him he was false, for he had only one arm, and it was only through the genius of the Malvici Lord that he was alive to rave with the madness that the noble's medicine provided. I watched as the madman fashioned dozen concoctions, each specific and directed for a single purpose. Saving life.
The Fury of the Malvici. The Bringers and their Abyssal lords seemed to be anathema to him. The very sight of of the Giant sent his blood boiling. His love for the Compact, he could not let such desecrations stand. His frenzy an inspiration in their ferocity drove our soldiers and knights forward. A whirlwind of death, nothing could stand against the fury that was Artorius Malvici. And when the battle was ended and that Giant melted to nothingness, it was his cry of rage that let everyone know they had won, they had lived.
The architect of Giant's Fall. There shall be a new Concept to the Pantheon. Strategy? No! Perfection. What looked like nothing more than a roll of hills and a muddied path used to much by those fleeing the approaching Horde, Count Frederik Steelhart saw victory. Though veteran and experience, even Frederik Steelhart cannot claim to know the entirety of the foe we faced. Though perhaps I am wrong, perhaps he is an incarnation of some great general from the Reckoning; not content with a victory a thousand years ago. Reborn to claim more victories for the Compact. We could do with such miracles.
No fancy blades for the Sword of Highhill. No rousing speeches. No declarations of eternal resistance. None are needed for Lord Gregor Steelhart. He shows us what we can do with what every man and woman is born with, the blood within their veins and the resolve in their heart. Arms and armor of steel. Some proclaim we need Alaricite or Diamondplate. That only the Heirlooms of history can save us. I will take a single Gregor Steelhart over a dozen blades with a forgotten past. Men like him will forge new Heirlooms out of raw grit.
But that is all the tales I have for now. Less you have more coin. And if you say I exaggerated even one story, well... I know an Inquisitor or two.