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DogofHavoc

First Blood Posts: 10 Joined: 28 May 2008 330 gold

Artifact Wars (DotA Conflicts)

Posted: Sat Oct 04, 2008 5:33 am

Part 1
Rikimaru crouched low in the bushes, peering into the surrounding darkness. The forest was alive with the sounds of movement, some benign, others more sinister. His sword was slung across his back and his hands were slick with sweat. Eyes darting around, he waited for danger. He was not dissapointed.

Through a swathe in the bushes he had a clear view of a moonlit clearing. As he watched, an ominous silhouette loomed into view. As Rikimaru's eyes adjusted he could see the creature's features in better detail. It was a tall humanoid, over six feet tall. Head to toe it was covered in a dark red fur, with a long black cape winding down its back. Its eyes were a blazing dark orange, they seemed to soak in all the nearby light. As Rikimaru watched the creature let out a bloodcurdling howl, chilling the very air Rikimaru breathed. Heeding the call, two massive wolves came loping out of the woods, their dark black fur glistening in the moonlight.

Rikimaru was more frightened then he had ever been in his life. Afraid for his life, he began to slowly slip away. Then the creature did something that made the Stealth Assassin freeze. Sniffing the air, the creature turned and looked to the very spot where Rikimaru hid. It's eyes pierced the darkness and it let out a low growl. Then it dropped on all fours and pounded towards Rikimaru, its wolves in tow. The Stealth Assassin sprung into action. Hopping up, he crooked his elbows and slung himself into the tree above him. His sweaty hands fumbled in the branches, but he continued to climb.

Banehollow was not amused. Sinking his deep claws into the heart of the tree, he began to propel himself up the tree. Seemingly hurling himself upward rather than climbing. The wolves circled around the base of the tree, sharks eager for a meal. As they climbed higher, the canopy thinned and the cold whipping lash of the nigh wind began to berate them. The Lycan held fast in the driving gales, but Rikimaru struggled. His slight frame was whipped around and he struggled to keep his footing with his cumbersome satyr hooves. Glancing down he realized Banehollow was closing in for the kill. Thinking fast, the satyr whipped one of his smoke bombs into the wind. It exploded in mid air, and the whole tree was shrouded in a dark cloud of smoke.
Seizing his chance, Riki spun around and dove down from the branches. As he fell he unslung his sword and holding it tightly plunged towards the blurry shape of the werewolf. At the last second the smoke cleared and the Lycan saw the hurtling assassin, but it was too late. The cruel sickle satyr blade plunged into the Lycan. It tore all the way from his shoulder to his lower back, leaving a gaping gash down his spine. He grasped for Rikimaru, and together they feel intertwined to the earth. The Satyr was able to stay on top, and Banehollow broke his fall...and his own back.

Unhurt, Rikimaru stumbled off of the limp body and hurtled back into the forest, intent on completing his mission. Back at the tree the shadow wolves had found their master. They let out a mournful cry and nudged him gently. Banehollow let out a moan of pain, and gasping for breath fumbled for his pouch. Withdrawing a small vial of healing salves, he hurriedly placed them on his wounds and slipped into a feverish sleep.

Part 2

A hero works from dusk to dawn but a villain's work is never done. The Demon Witch smiled wickedly at his little joke. It was quite true actually, most of his work was done late into the night. Tonight was no exception. There was work to be done.

He stood tall in the large caged in pen, walled in all sides by large wicked spired fencing. The bright moon shone above him and behind him stood the arabesque fence gate, covered in demonic runes. Only he had the keys to the gate. Yes, only he had the keys. The Witch let slip another little smile. His captive froze in fear.

The prisoner was an elf small in stature and cowering in fear. Sitting in a puddle of his own urine and feces his eyes were wide with fear. Ribs poked stood out on his gaunt figure, a testament to his extreme hunger. His teeth chattered and his face poured with sweat. Yes, it was a most pitiable sight. If one could feel pity... The Witch
laughed at his latest little joke. He was in great spirits.

Taking his long twisted wand from his cloak the Witch advanced on the pathetic elf. With a cruel slash of his wand, the captive was forced to his feet. His body was petrified and the only thing he could move were his eyes. They were bulging in fear. Circling his prey the Witch looked around at his previous experiments. Melted flesh, frozen bones, singed faces cluttered the pen. Bodies with animal parts fused onto them, elves with dog heads, humans with eagle wings and treants with cow udders were joyfully grim reminders of past fun.

Turning his gaze back to his prey he massaged his cracked lips with his serpentine tongue. Then advancing once more towards the elf he whipped his wand through
the air. A flurry of sparks erupted towards the earth and dissolved into the soil. A look of relief flooded across the elf's face. The Witch giggled at the blissful
ignorance.

Two seconds later a pointed spear of twisted bloody rock erupted up from the ground, cutting the elf down the middle and spraying gore across the pen. Beautiful.

Lion. That's what they called him. It was not the traditional sense of the word. He was not a brave protector of the weak. The Witch was no golden champion of the downtrodden. No no no, he was called The Lion because of a most disturbing experiment he had carried out when just a novice. It had involved a living lion, a few small children, some demonic runes and a lot of blood. Yes. Lots of blood.

Lion was still enjoying his little bout of nostalgia when he came upon a most distressing scene. Banehollow was sprawled out in front of his pavilion, soaked in blood.

Acting quickly, the Witch dispatched nearby ghouls to the excavation site. Moments later they returned with the Scourge Doctor, Pudge. The mere fact that he was called The Butcher is more than enough to show his proficiency as a physician. Pudge was actually more of a healing source than an actual doctor. Pulling a wickedly curved dagger from a pouch, Lion slashed a chunk of Pudge's flesh off. The big dumb brute didn't even flinch. Mumbling incantations under his breath, Lion etched a rune into the piece of writhing flesh and laid it across Banehollow's wounds. Lion licked the blood off his hands and peered closely at the Lycan.
The large wolfish face had relaxed and muscles lost their coiled tension. Confident he would recover, the Witch set off towards the excavation site.

There was work to be done.

Part 3

The excavation site was massive. Rikimaru peered down into the large quarry with awe. It spanned several hundred meters in width and its depth was inestimable. Scaffolding spidered its way along the sides of the dirt walls,wooden planks hastily cobbled together to provide transit in and out of the dig pit. Ghouls scurried along the rickety wooden stairs,ladders,and bridges carrying mining tools with them. The sounds of rocks being chiseled and broken apart rang loud throughout the surrounding woods. Acolytes darted amongst the swarming ghouls, issuing orders with brisk hand gestures. Rikimaru's eyes shifted downward and found the focus of the efforts. At the bottom of the excavations stood a large pedestal with a stone coffin perched upon it. There were necromancers sitting all around it, scribbling away in dark notebooks as they deciphered the symbols on the tomb. That was a problem for another day he decided, he had other business to attend to. Eyes flicking side to side he scanned the canyon sides. It didn't take long to find what he was looking for, planning out the route in his head he slunk off towards his target.

N'aix mounted the ladder up out of the quarry cautiously. As he shifted his weight onto the rungs and began to climb, the ladder began to creak audibly. One rotting hand clung to the ladder, the other clutched a most valuable artifact to his chest. As he climbed he glanced down at the item in his hand. It was a large ornate mask, painted in what appeared to be dried blood. A gaping mouth dominated the mask's structure, large fangs protruded from the lower jaw. Reaching the top of the ladder, N'aix swung himself happily up onto onto solid ground. Now, safe from the danger of falling, he looked closer at the mask.

As he gazed at it, it gave off a faint red glow and markings became noticeable on one of the teeth. Holding the mask in his ghastly grip, N'aix pulled it even closer to his dead putrid eyes. Engraved along the teeth were legible demonic runes. With a grin N'aix remembered he spoke a very limited amount of the Demonic Tongue. This was a word he knew. It said Death. N'aix began to salivate, drool dripped out of the crusted undead holes in his jaw. Turning the mask over in his hands, he decided to put it on.

Just as he was about to be united with the unworldly artifact, a rock soared out of the woods and connected sharply with his claw. The beautifully dread mask was knocked from his hand. It rotated in the wind, and was swept over the edge down into the quarry.

N'aix let out a heart chilling dirge and prepared to unleash his rage on the source of his misfortune. Dropping on all fours he spun about face and peered into the nearby woods. The trees were clumped tightly together and dead blighted plants choked the forest floor. Letting out another painful cry, the Lifestealer galloped towards the thicket. Just as he reached the edge of the forest he was enveloped in a deep smoke. It seeped quickly into his dusty undead lungs and fogged his glazed eyes. Clawing in vain at the smoke around him, he tried to escape the asphyxiating gas.

Standing up, he attempted to get his head above the smoke, but as he did so a blade connected with his spine. N'aix was smashed forward and spun around in time to see another blade connect with his shoulder and sever his arm off. His dead limb dropped to the ground with a dull thud. Rikimaru came at him again, sword upraised. Diving underneath the swing of the sword, N'aix pounced upwards hard and bit deeply into the Stealth Assassin's arm. Blood gushed into N'aixs dusty mouth. N'aix jumped back, and a large piece of Rikimaru's arm went with him. Smiling through the chunk of satyr flesh in his mouth, he felt a tingling as his recently removed arm grew back.

Rikimaru stumbled back, his eyes wide with awe at the newly sprouted limb. Glancing at his own bleeding arm, he decided retreat was his only option. Whipping his last smoke grenade hard into N'aix's grinning face, Rikimaru escaped into the forest.

With his enemy defeated and gone, N'aix sat down on his rump at the base of a tree. Snacking on the remnants of his meal he sang a little ditty:

I like flesh,
I like it good,
I eat their flesh,
Like a good boy should.

His snack finished, he chuckled as he headed back to the quarry to search for his mask. He grinned even more when he remembered that it had the word "Death" written on it. N'aix liked death.

Last edited by DogofHavoc on Mon Dec 01, 2008 7:09 pm; edited 6 times in total

Artifact Wars (DotA Conflicts)

Artifact Wars (DotA Conflicts)

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