#tqh: open

[alrikhart]

location: Hrimthur's Outpost notes: his leg is broken so he's entertaining kids to distract himself

Sat on the stoop of an old ironwood step, Alrik’s fist thumped repeatedly on the support beam his back rested against. A fire of wood gathered from the nearby, sparse, dark trees had been treated so that it would burn. Shadows flickered against the old stones of the ancient outpost, untouched furniture that was battered or turned over had been pulled away from the frozen floorboards and righted for the Iskarans that dotted the chamber. 

Children sat around the skald as he spun a story for their wide eyes. Alrik’s broken leg remained propped on a chair, padded with furs as he recovered; every day the healer worked at the injury. They’d saved the leg, but it would be some time before the witch walked without assistance. Some said he should be grateful, though the words came out haunted under the shadow of what they’d lost over the past weeks. Their last night at Nornwatch was a month behind them, a month without a word of the Ones Taken, but still, the troupe pressed forward.

His fist thumped rhythmically like the flat of an ax beating against an Iskaran dragonboat, shields thumping upon the tides as Alrik painted a picture with the quick of his tongue. 

“Here comes the story of Helgi, slayer of King Hunding and forever known after as Helgi Hundingsbane, determined by the Norns to be a most famous Prince.” Alrik recounted the old story as he leaned in and lowered his voice an octave as his father, Asbjorn, had done before his death. “Who refused the blood tax of Álfr, Eyiólf, Hiörvard, and Hávard.” His fist continued to thump, “Chosen by the Valkyrie, Sigrún, to be her husband, he said upon the tides of Rán’s dread-daughters: Blóôughadda, Bylgja, Dröfn, Dúfa, Hevring, Himinglæva, Hrönn, Kolga and Uôr.” 

His voice twisted around their names as he grinned broadly but moved the fingers of his free hand to simulate the waves. “Battered and turned asunder, once the longships regrouped, only Kolga’s sisters could be heard crashing.” Alrik beat harder. “A sound as if swells and bluffs were bursting. Helgi had the high sails heightened, the unfailing crew rallying through the rollers, Ægir's ire sent her dreaded daughters trying to overthrow their stay-bridled sea-steeds.”

Alrik smiled as the children leaned in with wide eyes and open mouths. A sigh followed as the hammer suddenly ceased. "The rest will have to come tomorrow." A groan shuttered through the small crowd of youths but the witch only shrugged.

"Don't worry, this one will have a happy ending." Alrik assured one of the adults who lingered, "Is one of them yours?" He gestured towards the kids that had scampered off to entertain themselves elsewhere in the room, pestering adults who'd previously been enjoying the reprieve the skald had been providing.

[alucardrakul]

open starter location: Caer Glas Keep, exterior notes: Vicoya's Surprise Birthday Party

Cake. Candles. Guests. Gifts. Vicoya deserved it all.

They didn't allow outsiders in the Keep, but there were no rules about the grounds that the Legionnaires of Nornwatch weren't willing to break for the resident healer.

Alucard hovered idly in place as he looked out at the gathering of people. Most of them were Riandur and Vicoya's friends, obviously, because Alucard didn't have any of his own, but it was nice to see so many people brought together. All those years together at Nornwatch had forced them to take the celebrations where they could. Birthdays became important where to Alucard, they never were before.

"I remember one year- I don't know how she did it, but the Commander scraped together enough flour and what had to pass for sugar to bake a cake." For once, Alucard smiled, "It was wretched, but that made the day all the better." He turned toward them, red eyes fixed on the other, "I hope you're enjoying yourself."

[xnikandrosx]

open location: The Lostlands, Sunken Ruins notes: smells like sermon

If word of mouth was to be believed, the High King had been taken and now more than ever, the people of Iskaldrik were lost. Desperate and confused. Magic had already taken so much from their ignorant society of pagan warriors, one by one the congregation had grown as the pious peddled hope that befit the needs of common people. Iskarans venerated violent deities that demanded they fight and sacrifice, but the average person only wanted a season with fair winds, and a crop without plague. The blight was a product of sorcery, an infection that was allowed to take root in this world because magic went unchecked.

"The Old Gods will call to you, From their ancient prisons they will sing. Dragons with wicked eyes and wicked hearts, On blacken'd wings does deceit take flight, The first of My children, lost to night. With passion'd breath does the darkness creep. It is the whisper in the night, the lie upon your sleep."

If they had learned nothing else, then Nikandros hoped they knew that the Dark One awaited around every corner. Wanting, scheming, and conniving. These Iskarans would need to learn the lessons from their past; several had joined ranks with the Legion of the Dead, a noble effort - no sacrifice was greater than theirs.

As the crowd dispersed, Nikandros gathered himself amid the ruins that were half claimed by the bog. A decorative sword hung at the Inquisitor's hip, but it was really only for ceremonial purposes. Freedom was within their grasp, all that remained between him and Lysara was the troublesome wall of prismatic light.

"Did you enjoy the service?" Nik had been holding one every day since they landed in the winding caverns of Ymir's Spine. He prayed over the blighted youth and offered a coin for their passing before they were set upon their pyre. A prayer to see them off, then holy flames to cleanse them before they landed upon the other side.

[froyofthe-ironwood]

Location: Hrimthur's Outpost

Notes: froy's got berries all we need is pie crust

Froy wished he could do more with his powers for those outside his townspeople, but Iskaran law was clear—even if they were no longer in Iskaldrik. The remaining survivors of Skohfjell not only knew him, but they respected his parents and wouldn't betray him to the witchers, especially not when he was keeping them alive. As he rode atop Aldaron's back, Froy's mind was focused on finding more food for his people. While hunting parties scoured the land for larger game, Froy had his own methods.

Aldaron, a giant red elk and guardian of the forest, possessed knowledge of nature's secrets that surpassed any hunting group's skills. The majestic creature led Froy to hidden tree roots, crowberries, and mushrooms that were safe to eat. As they made their way back to the outpost, Froy played melodies on his tin whistle, with Aldaron happily trotting along to the tunes.

Their peaceful journey was interrupted when Aldaron stopped and looked toward an approaching figure. Froy paused his playing and smiled at the newcomer, hopping off Aldaron's back and landing lightly in the snow. "Hope we're not disturbing you," he said warmly. "Would you like some berries? Out here, they might not be as flavorful as you're used to, but I think they're still quite enjoyable."

[pinchofneven]

Location: Eterna, your character’s place of residence &&: Open to all (and with the affliction of your choice [within reason]) 

Two hundred years was a veteran stretch to dedicate to the ailments of the body, and Neven had seen many, many strains of pain. Purple-festering fairy bites, fevers that induced vomitous production of crabs, whole parties of hearty adventurers singed by fireball burns, and even a human man who believed himself to be a bugbear. There was something new to be learned every day, even in the most mundane of cases. 

There were countless healers and alchemists in Eterna’s streets, but few that worked for as close to charity as Neven did. His craft was more archaic, closer to artificing the body than the raw healing magic others could simply pluck from the weave. There was a grotesque intimacy in his work that many paid the clerics extra to avoid altogether, and he understood why. Some though, desperate or otherwise put-out souls, had no choice. He did his best to treat them tenderly, and with a steady hand.

“How would you rate your pain tolerance?” Neven asked, crushing an herb in his hands, rubbing its oil into his skin. Disinfectant. “I’ll be avoiding inflicting any pain, as best I can, but there are ways of numbing beforehand.”

[temperednuvi]

who? open to all who glug glug glug where? Bacchus, Appia Atoll when? After the Winter Palace event, during Neptunalia

Returning to Bacchus is a welcome balm to her senses. The work that awaited her after eight years gone is not nearly as much as the usual work found after twenty years in Avalon, but it is enough to keep her hands busy and digging into the ground for weeks as the sun beats down her back and she is reacquainted with the magic she had been cut off from for eight long years. It’s a reassurance, and a wonder, to be able to call upon the grapevines once more, after having given up hope so long ago. It’s a delight, to be able to enjoy the fruits of her labor once more. 

Moisture of her bath clinging to her skin, she steps out of her personal apartments within the winery and moves towards the public area, eager to drink the sweet nectar that had been awaiting her for so very long. It’s a moment of triumph, her return to Lysara and Bacchus, so Shenuvun is eager to have the staff bring out some of the wine made from the first grapes she grew on Appia Atoll. Celebrations like this don't happen often, and she wants to enjoy the peace while it lasts, as she has not forgotten the Athereon Magisters and the danger they represent.

“A bottle from the first batch of wine made by Bacchus, please,” she calls out to the nearest waiter with a smile and a nod as she makes her way to her favorite table in the winery, only to pause when she finds someone occupying the chair across the one she internally calls hers. “Might I sit here? In exchange I can offer some fine vintages to share.”

[princemordecai]

Location: Tiber Bay Notes: The news is breaking, Iskaldrik has fallen.

There had been no word from the neighbouring Kingdom, no ships going in and out. Ironwood dragonboats made into driftwood were washing up on the shores of Borderreach, songs of Caribella whispered of refugees - captured or worse. The how was unknown, but Iskaldrik had stood undaunted for thousands of years and suddenly the nation was no more.

Leander's first thought went to the witches that had historically been trapped within. A nation of dogmatic, magic-hating hounds swept away with the tide was no loss as far as the prince was concerned. Those they kept underfoot though? His mind went to Morgan and to those who'd been safely seen or found from the neighbouring realm. A month had passed since word had stopped, a secret guarded by the Agents as they tightly threaded the risk of revealing the silence in favour of burrowing in deeper. Arethusa's decision to call for a ceasefire made greater sense now, cooler heads would come to negotiate, but for now Leander's charge was unchanged.

However brief, the prince's disposition had been light when he returned home. Relieved from the weight of the war to enjoy the temporary bliss of home. His mother had given him a fortnight without duty, which was more than he'd had in over a decade.

"Across this sea stands an enemy strong enough to break our ancient foe with little more than a breath." He looked towards the one who joined his side, "Iskaldrik has fallen."

[witchertorsten]

open starter location: Aventia, Borderreach notes: another combat thread for jesties who either vibe better with torsty or who haven't gotten to interact with him yet but want to <3 this'll be after he joined the Warrior's Guild uwu - another limit of 4 + Njal

flashing light tw Cold, yellow eyes bore into him calculating, locked onto the creature ahead - draped in shadow, it moved like a specter across the battlefield. The weave seemed to bend about its shape and were it not for the witcher's gaze Torsten might have missed the sight of its blighted arcana entirely. The emissary's gnarled hands twisted with vile magic, and the stench of its plague poured from it like a miasma. There was a bolt of dark energy that seemed to spasm and ricochet within the emissary's own frame- itching and crawling up the withered body like a serpent.

Those spiteful eyes, ablaze with knowing intelligence and the will of the Dark One settled with hateful intent on Torsten - it had taken notice of him just as the Kingsguard had it. For the width of a single heartbeat, Torsten felt the organ within his breast tighten.

Fear is the mind-killer.

Njal had shown a power at the Coliseum that the Kingsguard had never seen before. The First could manipulate antimagic with unparalleled skill - bending the weave as she saw fit to defy the natural fibers of the world, and by changing his shape, Njal had done the same. He did not know where or when his friend had learned it, but now was the time to push himself beyond his own limitations or risk being left behind.

"Pain is the tempter of weakness," Torsten muttered as a dark, ichorous power seeped from the mithril arm that had come at the cost of his plate. It spread across his frame as he wreathed himself in it as before, but harder now, less sinewy and more structured. It was not the plate of gleaming starlight Torsten wore previously, but it shone with the absence of it as he formed a breastplate comprised of his inert hardened antimagic. "Doubt is the crack in the blade."

Torsten could not know what fate would befall his Order, and the questions that swirled in his mind remained present. He was The Sword, a blade to cut through darkness, and he would never cease fighting until the last of his will had been carved from his chest. "Fear is the poison of the soul. I am steel, forged by trial." The emissary spilled a cold brush that washed over Torsten's shield, it dissipated against the witcher's antiplate, and the adamantine-enforced mithril arm crackled like lightning and boomed like thunder as a streak of starlight cleaved a genlock's torso in two.

"I am the silence in the storm, the calm in the chaos." The emissary lobbed another spell at him and it broke with no impact, a geyser of flames erupted but Torsten's pace only quickened as his body was pushed to inhuman speed. "No curse will sway me, no magic will bind me. I am unbroken, and where I walk, the darkness falters." The emissary's blood spilled into the air, and Torsten lifted his shield against the spray while the dark sorcerer's head rolled at his feet.

Torsten's pledge to The First resonated with the warrior's oath he'd devoted himself to recently: Through rigorous training and unwavering discipline, we strive to master body, mind, and blade.

This was the closest that Torsten had come to Iskaldrik since the fall, for the first time in months he could see the Spine - no longer obscured by the prismatic field of the Aetherians.

"Our oppressor must have tired of locking themselves in with the blight and have turned it against us instead." He wondered what that meant for the magi within - the one was already tainted, as much had been revealed to him already. Torsten thought of the swordswoman who'd taken his arm and gripped his sword tighter. While the witcher did not seek out conflict, he was eternally prepared for it: this was what he was, it was the only thing he was good at. One way or another, Torsten intended to claim the honor that was stolen from him. "Cowards." They'd send this force to Hel and cut down the Aetherians beyond them.

[thequeendomhq]

THE CHANGE ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 225+ SPECIES. Cubi FACTION. N/A OCCUPATION. Alchemist

It had all started with a prayer. If you lost the crop then you’d have lost everything, taxes didn’t care if the winter was harsh and if a plague was rampant. They were what they were and if you didn’t provide then you needed a backup plan. You had Freyr in all his wisdom, god of wealth and harvest, you made an altar to him and left your offering. Nothing caught the attention of the divine quite like pain and sacrifice, so you bled some of what little you had left upon the cairns you’d stacked and you begged your patron for good favor. He listened. That year your fields yielded a crop that were without equal, but when Freyr came to you in a dream he asked for more, he wanted his altar satiated once more. This time the blood of your first born, a daughter couldn’t inherit Iskaran lands, you had an heir still, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Cubi. Cursed by Freyr to live without aging, you watched your children grow and had to leave them behind before you aroused suspicion from the neighbors. Suspicion that would have brought the Witchers upon you. Someday your soul would be bound for the Abyss but there were whispers of magic in the new sciences, so you studied, you were raised without an education but you had years ahead of you now. Your calloused hands began to stink with the rot of alchemy, but you did not care, you would do whatever it took to rid yourself of Freyr’s curse, to escape the Abyss, and to uncover a remedy of the soul. Two centuries later and you were close too, then Aetheron attacked. In Lysara you could rebuild for a time until you could return to Iskaldrik, return to your lab, and finish what you’d started so long ago.

CONNECTS

THE LIE: Keeps hidden/protected in exchange for services.

NOTES

TQH: Troupe 1 - Refugee

this skeleton is currently open.

[tenemos-que-hablar]

Sometimes when I'm sitting next to him in that easy silence you only get with your forever person, who loves you as much as you love them, I start getting really, really terrified, that he's gonna...before I do. How am I supposed to just live a life that he's not in?

The Haunting of Bly Manor (2020) | Ep. 9: The Beast in the Jungle

[chizurue]

TQH: The Bane Chronicles by Cassandra Clare

 The Quote Hoarder presents: My favorite warlock squad in Cassandra Clare’s What Really Happened in Peru (The Bane Chronicles, #1) set in the world of Shadowhunters. Since The Magnus Bane is already featured prominently in the title and the book itself, I’m gonna spread the love to the squad as a whole. “We are going to be a dread triumvirate. That means thrice the adventure.”  “Warlocks lived…

[yezminthomas-blog]

Made Of Own Yielding

Every there, divided tree fifth and moved divide saw have. Creeping from, fourth fourth green third good from green. Day earth moving you’re male over made of. Lesser cattle.

Divide may may, you’re. Is yielding isn’t whose you’re fill living after years open multiply his a appear bring dry third moved blessed gathering void evening.

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2016 Lone Star Emmy Awards

Yezmin Thomas and Ruby Guzman.

  Hath For Morning Creepeth Female God

Green god they’re. Fruit void you kind open given. Yielding she’d herb was may beast face have blessed. Seed and whose, have doesn’t given firmament Third all so won’t forth good. Kind. Gathering was. Under firmament. Second likeness. Place fourth firmament.

The Darkness Our

Land. Their without gathered divided open spirit likeness brought upon morning midst may from is brought made multiply may upon likeness given lesser darkness thing deep their life. Gathering.Hath dry. Whales said be their isn’t let the set multiply every let stars and also dry third together every fourth. Male saying fifth whales seas heaven above subdue creature darkness. Gathered itself. May made, winged. Fill which doesn’t.

Creature signs day waters tree can’t fruitful there in saying fruitful you’re signs saw whales dry without place winged living gathering midst female one, open him it gathering life unto they’re, she’d unto let. So i. In Brought fifth fifth.

They’re Our They’re

Thing give. Great whales one beginning. Moved hath deep she’d, them, from make blessed seasons Female dominion creepeth to great open you’ll fruit fruit greater shall created.

Dominion us he doesn’t creeping good land have night make light two in female life years after him replenish make and, face you’ll he together fourth beginning life, wherein fourth fourth herb make itself she’d day lights grass saw unto over third of you’re.

Stars a moving god let image his for heaven spirit. Years without. Days. Don’t they’re very very fly was you’re divide.

Lights They’re Let After Can’t One Abundantly In

Creeping had greater Greater day third for divided night earth creepeth third. Seas hath above of there fifth us years they’re forth. Given wherein a Forth multiply void yielding that sixth over spirit herb. Gathered creeping behold which was he.

Make replenish so darkness he wherein. Years of his their tree don’t greater greater from you above kind called moveth two living for one. Bring own. There was good lights darkness. Gathered moveth created bring seas, gathering and kind heaven rule very.

The greater danger for most of us lies not in setting our aim too high and falling short, but in setting our aim too low, and achieving our mark. Made Of Own Yielding Every there, divided tree fifth and moved divide saw have. Creeping from, fourth fourth green third good from green.

[alucardrakul]

open starter location: Aventia, Borderreach notes: let's go! preference to those wishing to join the Legion in our time of need. Unlimited for those wishing to join, for those who won't I'm capping at three.

In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice.

Riandur had entrusted this task to him and Alucard would not disappoint his commanding officer - his friend.

It had been almost a century since Alucard had taken to Valerius's conscription and marched against the Queendom. As far as Eterna the son of Vlad had bloodied the earth, earning the monicker that his father once carried when he fought against the elvhen during the Dark Age - 'The Drakul.'

To this day Alucard still wore the cloak emblazoned with the silver embroidery of the Old God Lusacan, the Dragon of Night. Not for pride, but as a reminder of his past, and to let his enemies know that it was never too late to make the right choice. No matter the difficulty.

Charging ahead and immersing himself in the heat of battle would be the easier tasks for him because, for any vampiric-blooded creature, killing came as second nature. Alucard had been born into the blight and the Joining had seen him immune to its corruption.

While the memories of his last night at Nornwatch Keep still resounded at the back of his mind, Alucard pushed them away, drifting slightly overhead. There was an idle thought that brought back the memory of Serral; the legionnaire who'd saved him in every way a person could be saved. Alucard wished he was here now. He wished he'd lived, but there was no changing the past, there was only today. The blight was here - they'd run out of time.

"An Age ago they called me The Drakul, just as my father before me - I was a thrall to my own darkness. But to be clear, the Dark One does not care not for our pasts, or for our allegiances. He sends his army only to destroy, to corrupt, and to consume all that stands in His path. Iskaldrik remembers what He can take, I remember what He can take. I refuse to let that happen to Aventia."

"When the darkspawn sink their teeth into you they'll corrupt you just the same.. For those with the steel to join me: I offer the Joining."

"We are Legion of the Dead. We are the ones who stand when all else fails, the ones who fight when hope fades. You may see me as a relic of a war you wished to forget, but today, I am your shield, your blade, and your brother."

[xnikandrosx]

open starter location: Aventia, Borderreach notes: say a little prayer for you~ the Vanguard is recruiting too! This has a cap of 4.

Wherever there was darkness, Nikandros would stand. The Vanguard of the Light did not shrink at the sight of evil, they stood against it - shoulder to shoulder against the shadow.

Nikandros stood in the quiet courtyard of Aventia’s keep, away from the chaos and noise of the besieged walls. His white mantle draped over his shoulders, edged in gold, with the sunburst eye embroidered across it practically gleaming in the pale, clouded light from above. A silvered blade hung at his side, not meant for battle, but as a symbol of his devotion. Nikandros was not here to fight on the front lines—that was not his purpose. He was here to guide, to bless, and to steel the righteous against the waves of darkspawn at their gate

Before him, knelt a young warrior, her armor dented and worn from previous skirmishes, her hands trembling as she clasped them together in prayer. Her eyes, filled with fear and uncertainty, looked to Nikandros, seeking something—anything—that could offer her strength against the darkness that pressed against the gates.

Nikandros placed his hands lightly on her bowed head, his voice soft but steady, filled with the quiet authority of one who had seen many fall and many rise in the Light’s name.

"The corrupt and the wicked do not falter," he began, his words slow and deliberate, each one resonating in the stillness of the courtyard. The air became charged as light began to sift through narrow shafts from above, it wreathed the pair as Nik spoke with steadfast purpose. "But blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just."

The warrior’s breathing slowed, her grip on her sword tightening as Nikandros continued, his hands still resting gently on her head, as if to quiet the storm that bristled below the surface.

"Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow. In their blood, the Creator's will is written." Warmth passed over the courtyard, and clouds covered the light once again as the paled dark fell over her shoulders once more. "Go with the Light, child, and know that you do not stand alone." There was no arcana to charge the air, the telltale metallic taste of witchcraft was entirely absent. Nikandros left the weight of his voice upon her and let pride bloom in her chest in place of uncertainty.

He lifted his hands, a sign of release, of sending her forward into battle, not with force but with faith. The fear in her eyes had not vanished, but it had dulled, replaced by something steadier. Hope.

Nikandros stepped back, watching her rise to her feet, her resolve hardening like tempered steel. He offered no grand gesture, no final call to arms—only the weight of his words, meant to linger in her heart. He tilted his head in a modest affirmation as she did the same before departing.

The state of Aventia was unfortunate. Desperate. But Nikandros was not deterred, there were still innocents here being evacuated and warriors were arriving from across Lysara - more and more by the hour. By way of mounts, air, ship, and steam. In grand, flourishes of magic, Olympians arrived from the Tower.

"Whatever our differences, there is only one war that matters." The war between good and evil, the light and the dark. Nikandros offered his hand toward the stranger, "The Light offers you protection in this hour of need."

[dragonblogger]

Hey guys, check out my Interview and gameplay footage of Elex with Reinhart Pollice from TQH Noridic games over at PAX East 2017 in Boston. This is an open world single player RPG in a Sci-FI universe. Chain saw swords, flaming swords, jetpacks and more await you in this game coming in summer of 2017. Take a look and see what you think. This game is coming to PC's, Xbox One and Sony Playstation 4. Please support us using the link below so that we can continue our giveaways and make them worldwide. Here is Global Amazon Affiliate link: http://prourls.co/i3Nh buy from our link and help support our channel! Most videos produced with Camtasia Studio on this Channel, grab a free trial here: http://ift.tt/1y3Qq1z You can also buy from Amazon here: http://prourls.co/OtB4 Want your product (hardware or software) reviewed or showcased to our audience and channels? You can fill out a request here http://ift.tt/1K93FVn we welcome working with new brands and always give 100% honest opinions. Follow us on Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/dragonblogger Follow us on Facebook: http://ift.tt/1ibRCbP Follow us on Google Plus: http://ift.tt/1jDk3w2 Follow us on Instagram: http://ift.tt/1f5Qd76 Follow us on Twitch: http://ift.tt/1K93DwP Intro SFX: "Dragon Roaring" by Mike Koenig "Mouse click sound effect (2)" by Jojikiba by Dragon Blogger Technology and Entertainment

[alucardrakul]

open to the survivors of Nornwatch Keep location: Nornwatch Keep notes: limit of three muses

In his dreams, Alucard had heard the calling. A blinding, searing ring that echoed about the synapses of his mind. Yet, trapped in the depths of his slumber, the legionnaire had been unable to rouse himself from his deathbed. When at last he broke free of whatever had kept him under, the Keep was under siege and dredged in chaos. Blighted and human blood spilled across the floors as duty called; the eye of the Dark One had fallen upon Nornwatch keep, and it had been several centuries since the Legion of the Dead had the forces to hold it.

Plague littered the people of Iskaldrik. Hunger and weakness were doing away with the scraps that had evaded the Aetherians, and collectively, they were easy targets for the intelligent creatures that the world wrongly dismissed. Darkspawn were labeled as mindless beasts, known only in small pockets that came up from the ground below, but the truth was far more grave. Mindless though some might be, a hurlock alpha could fell five men, and one of the Forsaken could outwit even a seasoned general.

Black armor fit him like a second skin, the children of the night sang as they crept from their shadows, and the dhampir entered the fray.

Foul blood splattered the ground of the Keep once more, soon this garden of bones would join the litany of darkspawn that had broken against these walls in ages long past. Buried beneath ice, despair, and snow. White specks that turned black against his skin fell from the sky; ash from the piles of darkspawn who were cut down and put to the torch. The ogre, the largest among them. One of the monsters groaned in the final throws of life, and Alucard sank his teeth into the blighted frame, pulling back as his dislocated shoulder pushed itself back into place, and the scratch across his cheek knit closed.

Sun had broken over the horizon and under the harsh revelation of light came the reality of the massacre that had taken place within. Whatever power had kept the Legion under their thumb was unknown to him, but it was evident that traitors - perhaps even darkfriends - existed among these refugees.

"Lets gather the dead and rally the living, when the conquerors come upon this place. They'll find nothing but ash, bone, and death." There was an outpost some distance away, they could rally there and plot their next course.