Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Arlin]

---

Side by side, the undead army shuffled along the road to Sanctus. It was amazing, how in just a short time, the Ebon Skull had filled its ranks with Death Knights, Liches, and every other type of undead Arlin could name.

And leading them was that damedable Zalar Soulblight. Even under his skull mask, Arlin could see a marked note of disappointment. Even Arlin was a bit surprised he was here, just a short trip from Sanctus, instead of defending his own homestead.

"Arlin, do you remember our talk?" Zalar hissed with no small amount of vitrol. Arlin nodded and responded that he did remember the talk. And that he couldn't have the blood of an entire city on his hands. "And what of your men? Will not thier blood be on your hands?"

"Aye...but its thier choice to be here too. And I'd not hold it against 'em if they left" Several of his troops nodded in agreement. For some, this would be thier first battle. And last.

Zalar turned around and hissed, barking orders to his slaves. "Unload the packhorses here!" Arlin growled, and instead of giving the Skull the upper hand, leveled his sword and ordered the attack.

The battle whipped into full fury, as the undead masses clashed with the green and black armor of the Army. A horn sounded behind the front line of the Army, and a second wave broke over the undead masses. This scattered and confused them if but for a moment, allowing the Army to press the advantage.

The Undead quickly regained control however, and although many of thier warriors had fallen, they were able to press back against the smaller Army. The full wrath of Oblivion was unleashed upon the hapless soldiers, and soon, nearly every warrior on either side had been felled. Arlin himself had been knocked aside, as Zalar took the form of a terrible beast, and sliced through his enchanted shield as though it were paper. A deep wound on his arm kept him out of the rest of the fight.

Soon it had come down to a handful of warriors, dueling against each other in small individual battles, as the slaves of the Ebon Skull and wounded watched on, chating, hollering, praying for sucess. Eventually however, Tylus, Shadelar, and Sa'leh were able to fell the remaining Skulls. A cry of victory went up over the field from nearly everyone, except Arlin. He loved over the horizon, and could see trails of black smoke drifting in the wind.

The home he had loved, was gone now, overun by the undead hoards the Ebon Skull. Arlin shrugged, and led his troops back to thier new fortress, back to his old town. Back to the place, where his new future would begin.

Arlin stepped out of the gate, and took in a deep breath. The salty scent of the ocean mixed with the varied smell of the forest. Arlin turned and gazed upon his seaside fortress, on northern edge of the town of Yew.

He was home.
_________________
As the fire fades to night, remember always the ember that started it all.

[Arcana]

---

Arcana nervously paced back and forth in the front hall at Riverrun, waiting for some word that Arlin was safe.

She hated waiting.

She'd much rather have ridden into battle beside him. But instead, she was stuck waiting while he put himself and his army between the Order of the Ebon Skull and Sanctus. Despite the anxiety, she was proud of him. Hearing a noise, she turned and grinned in relief at the sight of Arlin entering the manor.

"We won," he said with a grim smile, moving stiffly. She stopped just short of throwing her arms around him as she realized he was covered in blood.

"You're hurt!"

"Just a scratch... bastard cut right through mah shield." He held out his arm to show her, though unable to prevent its slight trembling despite his best efforts. Through the rent in the blood- and dirt-crusted armor, Arcana could see a wicked gash running from his elbow to the back of his hand, almost deep enough to see bone.

She must have gasped, because Arlin looked down and mumbled, "I didn't want t' worry you."

"Gods... Arlin... this is more than just a scratch. It needs tending." She helped him out of his armor and pointed firmly to a chair. "Sit," she insisted. "And don't move; I'll be right back."

Arlin did as he was told, trying not to let his also-wounded back touch the chair. Arcana returned within seconds with an assortment of healing supplies. She gingerly peeled away his shirt to reveal numerous small injuries, several beginning to bruise darkly or still oozing blood. At her expression of concern, Arlin shrugged slightly and said he didn't remember getting them. However, as she washed away the blood and grime while he sat stoically, she was relieved to find that most of the blood wasn't his.

"Stings a little," Arlin admitted as she gently probed the wound on his arm, considering it.

"This will help," she said with a sympathetic smile, having had long experience both tending and receiving battlefield wounds. She crushed certain herbs against the wound and murmured a healing spell. Arlin felt her hands grow suddenly very warm and a soothing tingle run through his arm as his flesh knitted under her fingers. The faint glow of the spell faded, and Arlin's face relaxed, free from pain.

Spirits renewed, he grinned at her mischeviously. "Ya might want t' make sure I'm not hurt anywhere else," he said with blatant innuendo.

Arcana rolled her eyes and finished bandaging his arm snugly, tieing off the knot tighter than, perhaps, was strictly necessary. She sat down on his lap, gazing at him sternly and poking him in the chest with her index finger.

"You have to be careful with that arm for a few days or you'll tear it open again. And no fighting."

"Sure thing, Arcy," he said with a smile, dutifully wrapping only his good arm around her waist.