{A Prelude: From "Between a Rock and a Hard Place"}
Come, dowsed in mud
Soaked in bleach
As I want you to be
He wondered for a brief moment what it would be like to only have two legs to run on. His mind's eye flashed with memories of times he had charged, four-leggedly into battle - memories of how his speed had saved him more than once.
Everybody runs, Rakeesh.
There was the damned voice again, luring him towards some dark future. ShadoWeaver was becoming more talkative every day now, since Rakeesh's latest defense of the Opal in the Outback. The old liontaur shut it out as he continued to race down the street, heading straight for the Adventurer's Guild's guardpost at the Dragon's Gate; the great northwestern entrance to the City of Rhy'Din.
As a trend
As a friend
As an old memoria
The liontaur pulled his massive weight up the rope, to the top of the wall that seperated Rhy'Din from the wilderness beyond. The horn-alarm had not stopped blaring since his race had begun, and Rakeesh had now reached its source. A young guardsman finally stopped blowing the horn as the large, furry Paladin pulled himself up onto the ramparts.
Croughen. He is wounded, Paladin. He is going to die. It is time to run.
"What happened, effendi?", Rakeesh bellowed, ignoring ShadoWeaver's taunts.
"Goblins, sir... watch -", before the young adventurer could finish his response to Rakeesh, several arrows sailed up from outside of the city walls. The Paladin's supernatural ability for predict danger triggered his veteran reflexes - however, he could not lower his large form enough to avoid all of the arrows, and a shaft of cruel wood shot through his left arm.
Rakeesh Sah Tarna roared out in pain, and even moreso, anger. "How did raiders get so close to the city?!", his deep voice questioned the guardsman, who was already in shock from his own wound. The liontaur apologized, his voice softening, "Quickly, effendi. The City Watch must be asleep. Wake them, and then find me outside of the city gates. I can heal you, but you need to be strong and reach the guard barracks. Can you do this?"
Croughen nodded slowly, and then crawled to the latter, the color drained out of his face. Rakeesh had always liked Croughen's quiet nature. It hid the young man's very large talent for swordplay, and did not diminish his sense of justice. Now, though, Rakeesh did not have another second to waste behind the walls in thought.
Run, Rakeesh. You still have one last chance.
It is time to show what you are made of, old man. That boy is relying on you to make it.
Rakeesh forced the seductive voice out of his mind, speaking over it (per se) via his own inner determination. And with that, the old Paladin leaped over the battlements and into the darkness outside of the city.
And I swear
That I don't have a gun
There was a crackling sound as the liontaur fell through the air and downward. The sound was that of his massive blade, Soulforge (thank you, Piotyr, for that gift of blessed steel), igniting in its holy blue-flame. Those of the goblin raiding party below that were observant enough to see it, would only see a small ball of blue fire falling from the city wall. Rakeesh tightly held onto ShadoWeaver where it was worn around his neck - its dark magicks encasing the liontaur's form in shadows.
The first note of the nearby bell-tower struck, sounding the momentary approach of Midnight. Simultaneously, the Paladin's blade followed his drop, slicing in-two the ugly mug of an unfortunate goblin as Rakeesh fell on top of him.
No, I don't have a gun...
A dozen of the beasts. Maybe fourteen, at the most. Look at their ugly faces, Paladin. Their twisted, evil, ugly faces. Their green faces. They would kill you. They would kill others if you let them. Those deformed, monsterous faces would devour everything.
Rakeesh did not have the ability to shut out ShadoWeaver this time - he was engaged in battle. It seemed almost too easy for the old liontaur, forcefully knocking one goblin's attack into another - cutting through their putrid flesh like butter despite the arrow sticking through his left biscep - losing himself more and more with the dancing rage of the night.
These goblins had no chance to win tonight. They could not have invaded the city. They were a surprisingly small force, incapable of any significant threat. Why were they here? What right did they have to be here, at this wall?
Croughen.
Croughen could be dead. Their suicide party, their witless, meaningless raid!
Images flashed through the liontaur's fevered brain, attacking him relentlessly. Momentary still-framed memories of those who had fallen. There had been so much wasted potential and youth that the old soldier had seen throughout his long life.
Rakeesh roared out in the kind of pain that can only be understood by those who have lost their path in this world - by those who have given too much, only to see history repeat itself. The liontaur's hopeless roar shook the trees of the nearby forest and seemed to echo off into the wilderness indefinitely. All around him were the dismembered and decimated corpses of the goblin raiding party that he had cut down.
A fire. Approaching. Beware.
Rakeesh turned to see a figure running towards him; in its one hand was a blade, and in the other was a torch, trampling the darkness that stood between it and the liontaur.
Their leader. An Orc.
The Paladin could see its face - scarred from battles and raids that held no mercy, snouts and lips twisted in hateful grimaces for all uncursed races. Monsterous. Ugly. Evil. Rakeesh sprung forward, covering the space between the two as he impaled his holy blade on the abomination before him.
Soulforge's blue fire was suddenly doused, and Rakeesh shuddered at just how unnaturally cold the hilt had instantly become.
No, I don't have a gun.
I don't have a gun.
No, I don't have a gun.
I don't have a gun...
Rakeesh looked down at the frightened, dead eyes of a young soldier, still impaled on the liontaur's massive blade.
Croughen.
Rakeesh slowly pulled away, pulling the blade out of Croughen's chest, as blood sprayed in bursts from the wound. His hands shook hard from the shock of what he had done, and he dropped Soulforge to the ground. The old soldier dropped down, passionately embracing the body of his murdered student.
Tears streamed freely down the Paladin's soft, furry face, as he looked up into the Heavens and called out in a deep, pained voice, "What more do you want from me? I have given you everything! What am I supposed to do? Tell me! ... TELL ME!!!"
Run, Rakeesh. Everybody runs. Pick up your sword. And. Run.
Rakeesh grabbed Soulforge, whispering to Sekhmet for forgiveness as he returned it to its sheath without cleaning the innocent blood spilled on its edge.
Then, Rakeesh ran. He ran four-leggedly through the forest, towards the Adventurer's Guildhouse. He ran as hard as he had ever ran in his entire life - as if he had looked down the barrel of a gun and had seen the Devil himself waiting for him in the Great Beyond. Rakeesh ran with Croughen's lifeless body slung over the liontaur's strong shoulders.
A nearby bell-tower rung out the final note in its song, summoning Midnight to the city of Rhy'Din. And ShadoWeaver could not help but laugh.
lyrics by Kurt Kobain
Come, dowsed in mud
Soaked in bleach
As I want you to be
He wondered for a brief moment what it would be like to only have two legs to run on. His mind's eye flashed with memories of times he had charged, four-leggedly into battle - memories of how his speed had saved him more than once.
Everybody runs, Rakeesh.
There was the damned voice again, luring him towards some dark future. ShadoWeaver was becoming more talkative every day now, since Rakeesh's latest defense of the Opal in the Outback. The old liontaur shut it out as he continued to race down the street, heading straight for the Adventurer's Guild's guardpost at the Dragon's Gate; the great northwestern entrance to the City of Rhy'Din.
As a trend
As a friend
As an old memoria
The liontaur pulled his massive weight up the rope, to the top of the wall that seperated Rhy'Din from the wilderness beyond. The horn-alarm had not stopped blaring since his race had begun, and Rakeesh had now reached its source. A young guardsman finally stopped blowing the horn as the large, furry Paladin pulled himself up onto the ramparts.
Croughen. He is wounded, Paladin. He is going to die. It is time to run.
"What happened, effendi?", Rakeesh bellowed, ignoring ShadoWeaver's taunts.
"Goblins, sir... watch -", before the young adventurer could finish his response to Rakeesh, several arrows sailed up from outside of the city walls. The Paladin's supernatural ability for predict danger triggered his veteran reflexes - however, he could not lower his large form enough to avoid all of the arrows, and a shaft of cruel wood shot through his left arm.
Rakeesh Sah Tarna roared out in pain, and even moreso, anger. "How did raiders get so close to the city?!", his deep voice questioned the guardsman, who was already in shock from his own wound. The liontaur apologized, his voice softening, "Quickly, effendi. The City Watch must be asleep. Wake them, and then find me outside of the city gates. I can heal you, but you need to be strong and reach the guard barracks. Can you do this?"
Croughen nodded slowly, and then crawled to the latter, the color drained out of his face. Rakeesh had always liked Croughen's quiet nature. It hid the young man's very large talent for swordplay, and did not diminish his sense of justice. Now, though, Rakeesh did not have another second to waste behind the walls in thought.
Run, Rakeesh. You still have one last chance.
It is time to show what you are made of, old man. That boy is relying on you to make it.
Rakeesh forced the seductive voice out of his mind, speaking over it (per se) via his own inner determination. And with that, the old Paladin leaped over the battlements and into the darkness outside of the city.
And I swear
That I don't have a gun
There was a crackling sound as the liontaur fell through the air and downward. The sound was that of his massive blade, Soulforge (thank you, Piotyr, for that gift of blessed steel), igniting in its holy blue-flame. Those of the goblin raiding party below that were observant enough to see it, would only see a small ball of blue fire falling from the city wall. Rakeesh tightly held onto ShadoWeaver where it was worn around his neck - its dark magicks encasing the liontaur's form in shadows.
The first note of the nearby bell-tower struck, sounding the momentary approach of Midnight. Simultaneously, the Paladin's blade followed his drop, slicing in-two the ugly mug of an unfortunate goblin as Rakeesh fell on top of him.
No, I don't have a gun...
A dozen of the beasts. Maybe fourteen, at the most. Look at their ugly faces, Paladin. Their twisted, evil, ugly faces. Their green faces. They would kill you. They would kill others if you let them. Those deformed, monsterous faces would devour everything.
Rakeesh did not have the ability to shut out ShadoWeaver this time - he was engaged in battle. It seemed almost too easy for the old liontaur, forcefully knocking one goblin's attack into another - cutting through their putrid flesh like butter despite the arrow sticking through his left biscep - losing himself more and more with the dancing rage of the night.
These goblins had no chance to win tonight. They could not have invaded the city. They were a surprisingly small force, incapable of any significant threat. Why were they here? What right did they have to be here, at this wall?
Croughen.
Croughen could be dead. Their suicide party, their witless, meaningless raid!
Images flashed through the liontaur's fevered brain, attacking him relentlessly. Momentary still-framed memories of those who had fallen. There had been so much wasted potential and youth that the old soldier had seen throughout his long life.
Rakeesh roared out in the kind of pain that can only be understood by those who have lost their path in this world - by those who have given too much, only to see history repeat itself. The liontaur's hopeless roar shook the trees of the nearby forest and seemed to echo off into the wilderness indefinitely. All around him were the dismembered and decimated corpses of the goblin raiding party that he had cut down.
A fire. Approaching. Beware.
Rakeesh turned to see a figure running towards him; in its one hand was a blade, and in the other was a torch, trampling the darkness that stood between it and the liontaur.
Their leader. An Orc.
The Paladin could see its face - scarred from battles and raids that held no mercy, snouts and lips twisted in hateful grimaces for all uncursed races. Monsterous. Ugly. Evil. Rakeesh sprung forward, covering the space between the two as he impaled his holy blade on the abomination before him.
Soulforge's blue fire was suddenly doused, and Rakeesh shuddered at just how unnaturally cold the hilt had instantly become.
No, I don't have a gun.
I don't have a gun.
No, I don't have a gun.
I don't have a gun...
Rakeesh looked down at the frightened, dead eyes of a young soldier, still impaled on the liontaur's massive blade.
Croughen.
Rakeesh slowly pulled away, pulling the blade out of Croughen's chest, as blood sprayed in bursts from the wound. His hands shook hard from the shock of what he had done, and he dropped Soulforge to the ground. The old soldier dropped down, passionately embracing the body of his murdered student.
Tears streamed freely down the Paladin's soft, furry face, as he looked up into the Heavens and called out in a deep, pained voice, "What more do you want from me? I have given you everything! What am I supposed to do? Tell me! ... TELL ME!!!"
Run, Rakeesh. Everybody runs. Pick up your sword. And. Run.
Rakeesh grabbed Soulforge, whispering to Sekhmet for forgiveness as he returned it to its sheath without cleaning the innocent blood spilled on its edge.
Then, Rakeesh ran. He ran four-leggedly through the forest, towards the Adventurer's Guildhouse. He ran as hard as he had ever ran in his entire life - as if he had looked down the barrel of a gun and had seen the Devil himself waiting for him in the Great Beyond. Rakeesh ran with Croughen's lifeless body slung over the liontaur's strong shoulders.
A nearby bell-tower rung out the final note in its song, summoning Midnight to the city of Rhy'Din. And ShadoWeaver could not help but laugh.
lyrics by Kurt Kobain