Hail the Victorious Dead...

[lockeofblades]

For they no longer care for the troubles of the living.

The tall Crusader elf walked slowly down the ruined temple within the heart of the city, his armour-clad feet clicking softly on the stone as he strode forward. His black clothing and armour stood out amongst the greying stone of the walls and dusty sarcofagii that strewn the sides of the corridor. He had come here to think, to ponder what to do with his life he had remaining, something his soul could accomplish before his body failed or the world finally succumbed to itself and was destroyed, allowing the rebirth of something new and fresh.

Locke slowed to a stop before one particularly lavish sarcophagus, higher than his waist, with the carving of the man within laying atop the lid, as if he had died only a night past, now covered in a fine layer of dust, his resting place uncared for after so many years. An old warrior, a hero of some reknowned during his time no doubt, but his name now long forgotten.

What point is it to live and fight and become great, only to have been forgotten, blade-brother?

Locke stared at the face carved on the form, it's eyes were closed, a small smile on it's lips, as if the man had died peacefully in his sleep, but Locke knew that beneath the armour and the shroud he likely sported dozens of scars and the horrific wounds that would have ended his life.

Born bloody and screaming, to die bloody and screaming. Our lives are much like those of the world, it seems... At the end of it's time, the world is sent spiralling into a hellish pattern of bloodshed and death and horror... and through it all it is born anew.

Locke's face stayed still and sober as the face upon the carved rock before him. He stepped forward, reaching out with one black gauntletted hand to rest upon the shoulder of the dead man upon the tomb.

Tell me... is it the same for us, blade-brother? When we died screaming in battle, are we born again, or are we cursed to watch as the world continues on without us, knowing that our lives were wasted, the playthings of immortals and gods...?

Locke withdrew his hand, bowing his noble head in respect to the dead, then turning and continuing down the great hallway, past the tombs of hundreds of dead men and women, great warriors or not, at each one he gazes upon the faces he can see, trying to descern rhyme or reason from them, as if hoping they would come alive and speak, to tell him of what they see now that they are dead.

The form in black continues down the hall, armoured feet clicking and scraping softly over stone, long blonde hair stirring softly behind him... there are many tombs here, and he has a desire to see them all.

On he walks, alone...

[event]

These tombs were always darkened by some plagueing fate. Maybe it was the death's that have been witnessed here, or the death watching the death be buried.
What ever it was, it was there and felt like a plunge of needles in ones heart. So many bodies, through the wars their server's fuaght. Though a crime, amongst all crime in this noble home region was robbing the tombs of the dead...for any reason at all... and that was what was going on within these wall's just now as time passed.

A Homorid dress nicely in a Leather cuirras and greaves, pranced about like a happy school boy , around a fire. The othergrave robbers were dancing to the like. They had finally hit a score in a coffin and they were celebrating...the riches of the past and gone.

[lockeofblades]

Locke moved silently down the hall, tilting his head slightly at the sound of the revelry, the smell of smoke in the air from the fire. The babble of tongues excited in the air... Who would dare to host a party within such a sanctimonious place...?

Locke's hands tightened into fists, picking up the pace slightly, marching down the halls, his jaws grinding against eachother as his annoyance rose with each step. By the time he made it the short distance to the cross-ways of the hall, his face was a frightful grimace, hands clenching the hilts of the gladii at his waist.

He saw them. Only a short distance away, prancing and capering about the fire, chattering in their primitive tongue, the sound of it grating on Locke's ears, becoming vile like the speak of slime-beasts to him. His eyes flicked from Homorid to Homorid, then to the scattered rubble at their feet, the fire blazing away in the center of the hallway... and the shattered lid of the sarcophagus nearby, the skeleton's hand within pried out and scattered to the floor without care in their haste to rob it of it's valuables. The Crusader knight could see it in my mind, these creatures breaking open the tomb of the old warrior, making rude comments and jokes as they scattered the bones from their rest, disturbing the spirit within, raping it of it's repose, defiling it... angering it...

Locke could feel the anger swell within his breast like a tide of black water, flowing through every vein in his body. The crusader started forward, walking, his feet only making their soft clicking as he strode over the stone, black-leather gauntlets over his hands, gripping his blades. He doesn't rush towards them, he doesn't bellow and roar and charge in like a rabid animal, no... He will walk right into their midst, a tall, elegant knight dressed in black, bearing the red cross of his Chapter-House' sygil, and when they realise just what they are looking at, the intruder in their revelry, he will be too close for them to run.

And death shall stalk the halls once more...

[event]

The men partied their asses off looking around the room. One fell over from being drunk and nuasiated. The other started to luagh at him. As soon as locke walked into their prescence, the leader of all the bandits threw a piece of bone at his head smirking with a bit of ignorance. He looked about the room and then to his fellow tomb raider's.
"Hey, what we have her gentleman! Is a FEARSOME! bloody elf, with no sense of passion! ...A boy? you think you can do anything!? " he said hiccupping a bit at the end from the booze flowing through his old weak body.
"I killed kin more fearsome than you! ...stupid measly elf!" he said throwing a rock at locke. The other men knew enough to stop, they were even putting the stuff they stole back into the coffin ...then looking for a way out.

[lockeofblades]

Locke slowed to a stop before the fire, giving the men who were trying to return the stolen items into the grave a dark look... They might be sorry now, but they would recieve no pity from him. Had he not arrived, they would have kept everything, and they would return to do it over and over and over again. No, he had to calm the disturbed spirit by spilling the blood of those who woken him.

Locke turned his head slightly, letting the bone whizz past, ignoring it. The rock he threw next hit him in the chest, making a distinct plinking sound as it hit the solid steel beneath the silk surcoat. The elf look at the old drunkard, the man semi-consious on the floor, and then the others. The man on the floor was no threat, and the fact that the old drunk could actually still sit upright was amazing to him. So, the Crusader instead chose the graverobbers who were busy trying to return the stolen items. He stepped around the fire, the firelight dancing off his shimmering black plate armour as he moves, making the elf look like he is glowing with the fury of the dead...moving with a stern look on his face as it to ensure that they put in every last piece...

But that wasn't his intent. Instead, as he neared, the Crusader of Kulag tore both of the short, angular Gladii from their sheaths and lunged forward with a snarl, slashing at the throat of one robber and using his momentum to step forward and twist, spearing out with the second to try and catch another in the chest, to impale him.

The battle is joined, and only through the blood of these fools could he lay the disturbed warrior to rest!

[event]

The drunken old man watched in horror but held nothing back. He withdrew his Iron mace and got ready for a battle. He guarded himself watching Locke, drunken and disorderly. In the corner was a man locked up in a cage, about the age of the returner robber's...a man they had robbed earleir.
The passed out one started to spin with a bit of nuassia on the floor, he looked around slowly. waking up, but instead he kept his eyes closed to keep himself from being noticed. He didnt want to be there!
The old man swung vertically against the elven, hitting him in the chest with the old mace, leaving a little dent in the elven's armor.

[lockeofblades]

Locke's original targets fell away, both Homorids falling of their respective wounds. The first fell to the floor, his scream coming out in a horrid gurgle through his slashed neck, blood gushing from his arteries to the stone and dust. The second tumbled backwards shrieking in agony, the Gladius Locke has impaled him on left within him, the blade skewering him completely through to the hilt, the bloody chisel-point and eight inches of blade sticking out his back.

Locke turned as the old man came, his weathered face spattered with crimson from the man with the slashed throat. He tried to move out of the way of the mace, but the old man was too close and struck a hit, the old iron striking the new and well-forged steel with a dull clang, shredding some of the silk that was covering it. If anything, it annoyed him. The drunkard was no match, he was too old and too drunk to accomplish anything. Deftly, almost lazily Locke snapped his remaining Gladius up and in, slashing at the old man's wrists, growling as he did, muscles bunching beneath the armour, wanting to cut his hands from his arms as punishment for having used them to rob the dead.

His other hand, free of it's Gladius snaked forward to grab the old drunkard by the hair, black gauntlets gripping with strength borne of anger, wanting to tilt his head right back, to expose his throat, to drive the fear of death into him...

Yet the elven Crusader was still silent; silent as a mute; like a breeze upon rocky plains where no life can spring...

Silent as a grave...

[event]

The drunks were dyeing and tonight was going to be a bloody moon. Most that were bleeding were dead, and the drunken old fool was dieing already from lost of blood. He fell against the floor, passed out and out of reallity.
The man in the cage watched calmly as they were killed and looked at locke. He watched as Locke massacred the drunks then only the two of them were left in the room. "Sir, if you were to be so kind of to let me out, i would be eternally gratefull...I have been locked in here for atleast a few months now...im dieing of starvation and have only had a few drops of water in the last two days..." he said stareing at the bottom of the cage.

[lockeofblades]

Locke watched the old drunk bleed out onto the floor, holding his eyes until they finally closed, not to open again. The tall elven warrior turned and moved to where he had come in, ignoring the man in the cage for a moment as he pleaded, his armoured boots clacking against the floor, and coming to a stop next to the head of the man who was playing dead...

Locke stared down at him for a short moment, them promptly slammed the chisel-tip of his Gladius into his chest, heaving it through the thick sternum with a grunt, into the man's head, then twisting the blade roughly. The bones made a horrid ripping-popping sound and blood flowed over the startled drunk's chest. His cry of surprised is nothing more than a gugle, his movements getting sluggish by the second as he bleeds out. Locke watches him die, face still in a vicious grimace, spattered with blood. He leaves the blade buried in the man's chest, letting the Homorid stare at the source of his death until he bleeds out.

The Elven Crusader turns and walks towards the cage where the man is hanging, resting his bloody hands on the pommels of his other two Gladii... He still has half a dozen knives attached to his belt and chest, and the bigger blade across his back. He still doesn't look friendly.

He stares at the man with his cold grey eyes for a long moment, then speaks slowly, his voice could be light and musical, but here it is heavy and almost melancholy, "Why were you imprisoned within this cage? Tell me the truth of your ordeal, be it good or evil, for I can tell when one is lying. I will not patronize you... if I deem the reason you are trapped within this cage as worth the punishment, I shall leave you here..." His long eyebrow quirks slightly, head tilting, "If you are here for a reason yet I deem the cause not worth the punishment, I will release you from here and turn you to authorities for proper punishment. If you are truly wrongful placed here, I will release you and bring you to where you can have aid. I am honest with you, and I suggest you are honest with me..."

[event]

The man looked at his weapons and knew that the only thing to do is to trust the elf and tell the truth to him.
" I was on my Route to The Julas, for merchandising, im a traveling merchant. These bandits attacked me without warning, locked me up and threw the key away...now here i am stuck in here watching these hooligans act like imbosules. And thats when you came in and killed all of them, which i add a thank you for that, even if it wasnt to save me, it doesnt matter...those drunks got what they had comeing." he said glaring down at their bodies. "So if you would be so kind to let me out of my prison , i would be eternally grateful, if you like i could sell you some stuff! ...i have a great abundance of materials...well...that is if the bandits didnt destroy or sell all of it..." he said.

(( Get yer copper's ready, you can shop :3 ))

[lockeofblades]

"If your wares are stil here after so long, I am rather amazed. I can see that you are not lying, it seems like the perfect things for this scum to do. Mind yourself."

So saying, Locke moved away, reaching down to grab the handle of the bloodied iron mace, shaking it a little to coax the remaining hand off it, having to pry a few of the fingers to actually loosen it's death grip. He returns to the cage, eyeing the head of the mace for a moment, then drawing one of his knives. It is a long and fat bladed knife, made of thick steel and showing the knicks of being used often. It is known as a Helmet-Breaker, used from behind, the heavy blade giving enough weight to actualkly split some light helmets and the skull beneath. It would also be a useful wedge on the lock.

"Shield your eyes, there may be shards." So saying, he dug the heavy tip of the knife into the lock's loop, twisting it in such a way that the edges are pressed against the loop itself, the part that would provide the least resistance. Locke raised the Mace, his muscles flexing as he brought it down hard, slamming the ugly iron head onto the pommel of the durable knife, a loud CLANG sounding through the corridors and travelling down the halls. The Elven Crusader eyed the blade and lock for a moment, then adjusting a little and slamming the mace onto the pommel again and again.

It takes him a few minutes, but eventualy the lock cracks under the pressure. Locke tosses aside the mace and eyes the blade of his helmet-breaker in the light, noting the new notches on the side of the edge. He shrugs slightly and slides it back into it's sheath. Nicks didn't much matter to that type of blade, the edge wasn't the important part. He swivels the lock and pulls it out, then lets the door open.

Knowing the man must be a bit on the weak side, he offers a hand to help him down and to keep him supported. It would be a sad thing if he was just set free and ended up with shattered legs or something.

"You said you were en route to Julas...?" Locke eyes him in his usual distrustful way... or at least he looks distrustful. "Are you from there?" His black armour and blood-red cross over his chest and back tell the story of just what follower he is, a Kulag to the core. He waits for the man to gather his energy for the slow walk out.

[event]

he looked around as Locke opened the cell of his cage. He listened intently and shook his head. "Im not from anywhere, im a traveling merchant, Im from the Begand's originally...I really have no input between the kulag and the julas...the only reason i pass through here is becuase pay is quite good. " he said humbly.He looked about and slowly walked out and looked to the corner where his bag was. He walked over to the bag, picked it up and found it to be still quite heavy...
"I have some speacialty scrolls...one of a kind, just hit the Kulag's market!...there Recall tool's...you can use them to go to the Kulag Temple... Here... Tell me if you want it..."
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Kulag Recall Scroll- $10 - Allows the user to teleport himself into the nearest Kulag temple for safe reasons.
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[lockeofblades]

Locke nods slowly, letting the man sift through his bag for whatever reason. The elvish Crusader took the time to retrieve his two blades. He placed an armoured boot on the chest of the last man he slew and wrenched hard on the bloody sword stuck in his chest. Bones cracked and splinted as he forced the steel out of the breastbone. Locke knelt and wiped the blood off the edge on the dead man's clothing, on the dry spots in anycase. He repeated the proceedure with the second man, though clicked his tongue and grumbled in annouance when he saw that the man's fall had knocked the tip around on the stone floor and knocked a chip out of it. He slid both sword back into their sheaths with a soft click, turning as the man explained this scroll.

Locke looked with some interest at it, taking hold and eyeing the writing for a moment. Certainly a useful thing. He nodded and carefully tucked the scroll away into his one long belt-pouch, sealing the leather hard-case with a twist of a brass lock. In a smaller pouch he offered the payment to the man in full. He then moved to take the heavy bag from the man, slinging it with a grunt over his shoulder and motioning down the hall, "You must still be weak from your ordeal, I will carry your things for you. We should be gone, I would like for you to get rested in a proper place and see that you are safe... and I feel the energies rising within the tombs. The spirits come to take their vengeance on the souls of the men I have slain this day. It would be best that we do not remain..."

So saying, the Crusader began to walk, falling silent once more, his armoured boots clicking on the stone floor, just as how he had come in...

[gadel]

Gadel watched the elf walk forward and decided to fallow. He didnt want to become a nuiscence so he kept his trap shut, just fallowing the Big bad elf around with his big swords and heavy armor. He looked around the tomb as the left. He always hated tombs and such , gave him the creeps right down to the last homorid bone in his belly. The whole thing about ghosts and such had never sunk with him and never let him sleep. As they got out of the tomb he turned to locke.
"My name is Gadel..." he said quickly to locke.

[lockeofblades]

"Locke Du Iblis..." the elf replies softly. As they exit the ruins he gently sets the heavy pack onto the ground, eyeing the surrounding encampment. "I'm not very familiar with this area... would you happen to know of an inn or templegrounds where I can have you set up for a few days to ensure you are in decent health...?"

He looks around at the encampment, frowning a little to himself. He didn't like the sight of the tent city too much, thinking to the homorids he had just left dead within.. how many more here would be doing the same as those vile creatures...? He shook his head a bit, golden hair swaying behind him. He sighed and nodded onward.

"How long have you been a trader, Gadel...?"