Quick Note: This is a freshly written story. Unlike the shorter ones that I find in my old computer, this one will hopefully show my progression to write, and include a wide array of detail for anyone reading. Thus we split both Jorifen and Drevias and send them off to their own stories and adventures. Enjoy!
Also. These didn't happen in RolePlay. Simply playing with words.
To Track a Worgen
Earning a keep by chasing down fugitives and either killing them or dragging them back beaten and bloodied is enough to make anyone reconsider the choices they've made in life. Though breaking the daily grind was his obsession with hunting animals for their leathers, meats, claws, and anything of value he could manage to sell upon others from his stall within Ashenvale or Darkshore. Unable to enter the city due to his still lingering exile. His wares sold for much less, yet there was always something to be done besides standing there reading raunchy books, drinking, or stuffing himself with rice cakes. Always a board to walk up to, pull down a wanted poster, and run off after whichever the sentinels wanted next.
It was one of those days as the hunter sat, propped up against the wall of the nearby inn, watching Kaldorei pass his stall with only a few glances to his product. The helmet he often wore sitting atop the head of the red, lava-fused Core Hound which slobbered a nice little puddle of orange goop as it stood the same. Lazy, or relaxing you might call it. Of course the city of Auberdine had recently been attacked by the Horde, luckily the repairs were underway and there was plenty of loud noises. Banging nails into roof shingles. Digging holes for the posts that had burnt to ash and using the dirt from said digging to plug in some pot holes in the road. Beautiful Kaldorei women walking busily in the dark woods, lithe frames yet each one with a distinct characteristic. Drevias would move his eyes, not his neck, as he managed to sneak a glance at each and every 'distinction'. However only one woman caught his eye as she wandered to a nearby board and hammered something in. Frowning, curious as to what it was Drevias scooped all his product in his bag and dropped it in one of the mouths of the now yawning Core Hound. Pulling his helmet to his head and crossing the veil over his face, and pulling down the metal plate which covered his left eye. He clicked his tongue and both the adult Core Hound, and a baby core hound took to each heel.
"Wonder whats on today's menu, girls." he mumbled to his companions. Pulling the parchment down and eying it over while mindlessly reaching for the bag in the hounds mouth to sling that over his shoulder. "Great. Another Worgen stealing goods, and sniffing the civilians..." he sighed, folding the paper skillfully with three fingers and tucking it into his belt. "Last seen... Ashenvale... That narrows it down." he grumbled as he walked out of the small town, crossing one of the bridges and heading towards the more war-torn area's of Ashenvale. Sure that he'd be able to find some indication that his prey was around that area.
"Keep your noses open for the smell of Worgen. You remember that scent. Smells like wet dog, even when dry." he chuckles, then realizes he's making jokes to two Core Hounds who, from his knowladge can't speak in return. He looks to them, and each of the four heads look back up at him. "Shut up." he mumbles. Making his way down the winding road.
Busily sniffing about, the pup wanders between Drevias' legs as both heads drag along the ground nose first. Before they stop, and in turn, Drevias and the larger hound stop as well. Both of the pups heads bark before splitting and aiming two different ways.
"For fucks sake." Drev couldn't help but place his palm against his face, stepping over the pups and continuing onward.
A little further and they saw a few furblogs, fixing their huts and conversing in their own language before they spot Drevias.
"You. Elf thing." one of them points at him, and Drev's eyebrow rises. Brushing along the brim of the metal helmet.
"I've really got to quit drinking..."
"Wot? No drink here. Worgen. Killing my people. Eating my people."
"Wait... a second... Aren't you trying to kill MY people?" both of the Core Hounds growl in sync with the world 'kill'
"Yes. Past. Uh... you go kill Worgen hiding back there. We not attack you."
Drevias nods, walking past the furblogs before aiming his gun with one hand towards one of them, pulling the loose trigger and sending a large slug into one of their chests.
"Sorry. Hair trigger on this thing." he mumbles, the furblogs running to the aid of their murdered friend. The Core Hounds following, sniffing around, trying to locate the Worgen directly.
The Worgen, who was indeed gorging himself on the succulent bodies of the furblogs looked quite feral. His eyes glowing red as he glared down at his freshly slaughtered meal. Tearing at its coat to get to the soft bits. He was far too busy to notice the cliche fashion Drevias and his hounds hid themselves in the top of the nearest tree. Only the small pup finding it easy by resting on Drevias' head. Alimore finding it difficult to grip on the branches, using both heads to try to keep itself balanced and upright.
Drev pulled the paper from his belt and looked it through. "Alright. Kill, bring back head. Alive, triple price for bounties head... Do I wish to have a Worgen head in my bags which might be eaten by hungry hounds... or a live Worgen who may in turn, eat me." He would continue to try and decide this for himself before a very large, purple Stormcrow perched itself on a nearby branch, and a small black box crackled out in a voice very familiar to Drev,
"Just knock it out."
"Son of a bitch..." Drevias took a swing at the bird, before him, both Core Hounds, and by managing to grab the crows tail, him as well. Fell down the tree. Bouncing on every branch along the way.
The Stormcrows box echoed out a pained voice when it spoke.
"Clearly you're the brains of the family..."
Friday, June 17, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
The Hal'Vine Family Tome
Chapter One - The Mother, The Father, The Hunter, and The Druid.
With a name like Hal'Vine you'd assume by the sound of it, they were a wealthy, well to do family. Sadly it was just a surname with the only wealth being the ability to run a general shop, help raise crops, and provide physical labor. At first, it was just Husband and Wife. He was a tall, violet colored man with short, sky blue hair. Handsome, and usually covered in dirt. Fit enough to swing an axe with little skill and looking as if he skips a few meals. His wife, a beautiful young kaldorei, dark blue hair cascading down her shoulders and reaching the brim of her rear end. Blue toned skin adorn with no markings staining her beautiful face. Looking as if she could be a princess when she wore the first, and only gift her husband could ever afford her. A metallic head band with a small, emerald gem in the center. Neither of them were built for combat, in fact they were more in tune with one another and work then anything else.
Soon they would purchase a small home on the outskirts of Darnassus, where they would raise crops and continue to attempt to forge a child together. Taking nearly as long as a full generation of humans to finally be blessed with a small, purple ball of joy. His fathers golden eyes swelled with pride and joy as he whispered to the small boy, "Jorifen." with a wide, thankful smile. They boy would learn to walk, and speak Darnassian at an alarming rate. Intelligent indeed, yet curious as ever. Mostly curious at the copper colored rock jutting from the hill beside their land. Little Jori would climb this vein of copper, pull at the ore that poked from the rock. His father watched from a distance, tending crops as usual, with the knowledge of what he son clearly wanted to do in his future. Soon, Jori would be the age of but a human teenager. Learning to tend the crops of his family, and help his mother with chores. It wasn't until one day when Elune would bless the family with another, yet claim more then it offered in the blink of an eye.
Jorifen's mother would pass on after giving birth to another, purple blue haired baby boy. His father cried from joy and woe. "Drevias." he said behind his fallen heart. Only to pass when Jorifen reached the age of a mere Twenty years old. He would bury his father close to his wife. Sitting there mourning their passing as baby Drev pulled at his ears. Giggling happily and lacking the tragedy that had befallen the family he was just recently raised into. Jorifen couldn't help but smile as he picked up his baby brother.
"Its just me and you now." he told the little purple child.
"Jor-Jor!" Drevias giggled, tugging at the youths ear again with a loud, cute giggle.
While Drevias grew, Jorifen made it painfully obvious that he was his brother. Not his father. Bringing the young boy to his families grave sites every week. Both would sit quietly, not eating, not drinking. Just sitting. Spending an entire day before their parents.
One Drevias was at the age of twenty himself, Jorifen took off. With only the word that he'd return from the emerald dream as a better man. A true Kaldorei, and that he would move his brother and him into the city. In wealth. In glory.
Drevias would simply tend the crops and, when the chores were done, he would travel to the city. His future sealed when on the way back to his home, he found a worn, chipped bow and three arrows. Drevias couldn't sell the worthless item so instead he simply refurbished it. And learned to use it. With deadly accuracy.
With a name like Hal'Vine you'd assume by the sound of it, they were a wealthy, well to do family. Sadly it was just a surname with the only wealth being the ability to run a general shop, help raise crops, and provide physical labor. At first, it was just Husband and Wife. He was a tall, violet colored man with short, sky blue hair. Handsome, and usually covered in dirt. Fit enough to swing an axe with little skill and looking as if he skips a few meals. His wife, a beautiful young kaldorei, dark blue hair cascading down her shoulders and reaching the brim of her rear end. Blue toned skin adorn with no markings staining her beautiful face. Looking as if she could be a princess when she wore the first, and only gift her husband could ever afford her. A metallic head band with a small, emerald gem in the center. Neither of them were built for combat, in fact they were more in tune with one another and work then anything else.
Soon they would purchase a small home on the outskirts of Darnassus, where they would raise crops and continue to attempt to forge a child together. Taking nearly as long as a full generation of humans to finally be blessed with a small, purple ball of joy. His fathers golden eyes swelled with pride and joy as he whispered to the small boy, "Jorifen." with a wide, thankful smile. They boy would learn to walk, and speak Darnassian at an alarming rate. Intelligent indeed, yet curious as ever. Mostly curious at the copper colored rock jutting from the hill beside their land. Little Jori would climb this vein of copper, pull at the ore that poked from the rock. His father watched from a distance, tending crops as usual, with the knowledge of what he son clearly wanted to do in his future. Soon, Jori would be the age of but a human teenager. Learning to tend the crops of his family, and help his mother with chores. It wasn't until one day when Elune would bless the family with another, yet claim more then it offered in the blink of an eye.
Jorifen's mother would pass on after giving birth to another, purple blue haired baby boy. His father cried from joy and woe. "Drevias." he said behind his fallen heart. Only to pass when Jorifen reached the age of a mere Twenty years old. He would bury his father close to his wife. Sitting there mourning their passing as baby Drev pulled at his ears. Giggling happily and lacking the tragedy that had befallen the family he was just recently raised into. Jorifen couldn't help but smile as he picked up his baby brother.
"Its just me and you now." he told the little purple child.
"Jor-Jor!" Drevias giggled, tugging at the youths ear again with a loud, cute giggle.
While Drevias grew, Jorifen made it painfully obvious that he was his brother. Not his father. Bringing the young boy to his families grave sites every week. Both would sit quietly, not eating, not drinking. Just sitting. Spending an entire day before their parents.
One Drevias was at the age of twenty himself, Jorifen took off. With only the word that he'd return from the emerald dream as a better man. A true Kaldorei, and that he would move his brother and him into the city. In wealth. In glory.
Drevias would simply tend the crops and, when the chores were done, he would travel to the city. His future sealed when on the way back to his home, he found a worn, chipped bow and three arrows. Drevias couldn't sell the worthless item so instead he simply refurbished it. And learned to use it. With deadly accuracy.
The Hal'Vine Family Tome
Chapter Six - Alteric Valley Blues
Part II
Explosions rang out in the distance as the battered front line warriors, mages, and other skilled classes fell back. A few of them stumbling up the hill, grabbing at a wounded limb, or being carried on the shoulder of their fellow fighters. A few thin trails of blood followed close. Jori simply ushered them along yelling at them to move faster before he'd look up only to see Drevian struggling to maintain control of his bow, using it to fend back the heavy two-headed axe of a Tauren brute. Jorifen pushed through the river of flowing soldiers before, at a quick pace, he stormed towards his brother. His gold eyes flaring just before his form changed to a feline and he was taking off in a quick sprint towards the Tauren. Leaping through the air and sinking those large, ten inch sabers into the enemy warriors arm.
The foe let out a scream of pain as his right arm was pulled away from his axe by the powerful, heavy feline, dropping the axe and clenching the left fist to strike the cat in the snout. Fortunately the druid released his grip, and the hunter used a heavy, mail boot to kick the Tauren down the archers hill.
Jorifen returned to his elven form, holding a hand towards the Tauren attempting to stand up to rain down a heavy bolt of moonfire upon the enemies shoulders. Turning to his brother to grab at his collar.
"When I tell you to fall back. Fall back." the druid grits his teeth, glaring at his brother before releasing his grasp with a shove. Walking back to the soldiers in need. Drevias followed heel, remaining quiet, knowing well enough that without his brothers help, that battle could have ended very differently. Jori wiped the Taurens blood from his beard, walking to the nearest bludgeoned warrior to give whatever help he could. The Hunter just watched.
"Damnit. this battle's been going on for days. Yet its still a draw over land controlled. We're getting no where fast and with the way these men and women are dropping and getting beaten back. We'll either die or be forced to retreat." Drev's mind raced with every possibility, a frown forming over his face as he continued to stare blankly at his brother. Every possibility lead to either him, or his kin being slain in this battle over the Valley with little chance of success now that they were forced back. He couldn't help but hope the Horde was having the same trouble with wounded and the dead. It was the only thought that brought him hope as he began counting the enemy he managed to shoot down.
Jorifen turned, pulling the worthless staff from his back as he began to draw in the snow with it. Explaining in detail the future plan that was to take place to retake the field of strife. Yelling loudly to assert what everyone's role would be in this up and coming battle. Drevias could only slowly step behind the circle forming and listen quietly. To both the whispers of the crowd and his brothers tactics. Its wasn't until the Gnomes, now only three of them, ran back yelling.
"The Horde are advancing!" one called out in a shrill voice, one turned around still lobbing iron grenades down the hill.
"Form up! Give them everything you've got! Let them take nothing but their dead back to their Commander. Nothing but the dead, and broken bones!" Jorifen bellowed. This hill would soon be covered in the blood of both the enemy, and the soldiers of the Alliance. It was inevitable.
Part II
Explosions rang out in the distance as the battered front line warriors, mages, and other skilled classes fell back. A few of them stumbling up the hill, grabbing at a wounded limb, or being carried on the shoulder of their fellow fighters. A few thin trails of blood followed close. Jori simply ushered them along yelling at them to move faster before he'd look up only to see Drevian struggling to maintain control of his bow, using it to fend back the heavy two-headed axe of a Tauren brute. Jorifen pushed through the river of flowing soldiers before, at a quick pace, he stormed towards his brother. His gold eyes flaring just before his form changed to a feline and he was taking off in a quick sprint towards the Tauren. Leaping through the air and sinking those large, ten inch sabers into the enemy warriors arm.
The foe let out a scream of pain as his right arm was pulled away from his axe by the powerful, heavy feline, dropping the axe and clenching the left fist to strike the cat in the snout. Fortunately the druid released his grip, and the hunter used a heavy, mail boot to kick the Tauren down the archers hill.
Jorifen returned to his elven form, holding a hand towards the Tauren attempting to stand up to rain down a heavy bolt of moonfire upon the enemies shoulders. Turning to his brother to grab at his collar.
"When I tell you to fall back. Fall back." the druid grits his teeth, glaring at his brother before releasing his grasp with a shove. Walking back to the soldiers in need. Drevias followed heel, remaining quiet, knowing well enough that without his brothers help, that battle could have ended very differently. Jori wiped the Taurens blood from his beard, walking to the nearest bludgeoned warrior to give whatever help he could. The Hunter just watched.
"Damnit. this battle's been going on for days. Yet its still a draw over land controlled. We're getting no where fast and with the way these men and women are dropping and getting beaten back. We'll either die or be forced to retreat." Drev's mind raced with every possibility, a frown forming over his face as he continued to stare blankly at his brother. Every possibility lead to either him, or his kin being slain in this battle over the Valley with little chance of success now that they were forced back. He couldn't help but hope the Horde was having the same trouble with wounded and the dead. It was the only thought that brought him hope as he began counting the enemy he managed to shoot down.
Jorifen turned, pulling the worthless staff from his back as he began to draw in the snow with it. Explaining in detail the future plan that was to take place to retake the field of strife. Yelling loudly to assert what everyone's role would be in this up and coming battle. Drevias could only slowly step behind the circle forming and listen quietly. To both the whispers of the crowd and his brothers tactics. Its wasn't until the Gnomes, now only three of them, ran back yelling.
"The Horde are advancing!" one called out in a shrill voice, one turned around still lobbing iron grenades down the hill.
"Form up! Give them everything you've got! Let them take nothing but their dead back to their Commander. Nothing but the dead, and broken bones!" Jorifen bellowed. This hill would soon be covered in the blood of both the enemy, and the soldiers of the Alliance. It was inevitable.
The Hal'Vine Family Tome
Chapter Six - Alteric Valley Blues
Part I
Jorifen sat against a bank of snow, his brother, Drevias leaning against the tree nearby. Tightening the string to his bow slowly, pulling at the twine every now and then just to test the tension. Dwarven patrols passing by every now and then, along with a few Kaldorei, human, gnomes, and other dwarves doned in battle armor. Ready for the invasion to start up only to once again be a stalemate despite the losses. Jorifen wore the highest grade of Dragonhide leathers, dyed purple and decorated with gems. Sheilding his face from the brisk wind, and leaving just enough room for his golden eyes to look at his brother. Not a word was said, but a simple nod as he pushed himself to his feet. Grabbing the staff from the snow. A staff which looked like nothing but a piece of driftwood dipped in green dye at both ends. Drevias simply pulled several arrows from the quiver on his back and held them close to the bow as they slowly walked their way down the hill. A few rushing humans in plate armor bumping their shoulders as they jetted past. Fancy military grade swords on their backs, and panic on their faces. Only a young Kaldorei female stomps to a halt besides the two male Night Elves.
"What the hell are you two doing! The Horde managed to push forward past the Field of Strife! We need to get there and lend support!" her voice was annoying, young, and caused the youngest of the two brothers to flinch.
"We'll get there eventually. Keep you panties on." the taller of the two cackles, nudging his brother, who simply mumbles, 'She doesn't wear any." smirking behind the leather mask on his face, brushing snow from his chain mail armor. The woman sighed, running from them and to the lines of war with the grace only an elf could have.
"Should be entertaining if they managed to break through the front lines." Jorifen comments, dragging the ragged staff along in the snow.
"I do hope you enjoy trying to reattach arms and legs. In that case." the other fires back, the slight tinge of grief in the back of his throat.
"Quiet down, you're starting to sound like a passive hunter who mourns those who managed to catch his arrows in their foreheads."
"There is a reason you carry that worthless stick. Remember that, Jorifen."
"And lets remember how I dislike your sarcasm, little brother. I'm the only link that saved your defenseless ass when that Troll decided to try and find your spine."
Drevias huffed, picking up his pace as they reached the hill to the first vantage point to the field. Where already injured soilders were being tended to by priests and warriors less injured, doing their best to stop the bleeding with torn bandages. At least twenty men injured, and the dead missing from being left upon the field of battle. The unspoken news, and just the appearance of the first guard towers post caused Drevias to burst into a sprint as Jorifen ran over to help tend to the wounded.
Drevias joined a small group of Kaldorei and Dwarven archers on a hill overlooking the Field of Strife. Each wielding a different weapon in hand. The field was just as grim as he'd thought it would be. Bodies of every being littered the field, small rivers of crimson trickling into shallow ponds. A few men dragging their lifeless bodies along the cold ground as they savored their last moments. Or prayed to the light for the pain to end. Atop those bodies, standing warriors clashing blades, casting spells, and demonic slaves flanking the menders on the field. If there was a place worse, it had not yet been discovered. The other archers took shots from a distance, most missing, fortunately when they struck their mark it was usually a killing shot. Drevias took the several arrows still in hand and fired each one at once with enough accuracy to pin a few spell weavers, and split a few enemy warriors skulls.
"Aye that's a nice shot, it is!" a Dwarven archer commented. Drevias remained quiet as he continued to pull back on the twine, and release another arrow with deadly accuracy. The dwarf attempting to mimic the Kaldorei with little success. However even with the archers, the Horde managed to continue pushing the warriors back, leaving more corpses for the Frostwolves, and leaving the Fields name to live up to its reputation. It was only a matter of time.
Jorifen continued to make an attempt to each wounded solider, walking up to a warrior so badly beaten his armor looked like a thin sheet of metal which was used as target practice on a firing range. Blood trickled from his cheek where it appeared the hilt of a blade had struck him, and his crushed armor labored his breathing.
"Think... T-think I'll make it..." The warrior groaned in pain, coughing a bit before looking up at the Druid with blood shot, close to death eyes.
Jorifen only looked at the man before placing a hand to his chest. Sending a surge of nature into his lungs before stepping up to his feet. Walking to the single pathway leading up to where the wounded soldiers we being kept. Sliding down the path on the soles of his leather boots as he pulls a heavy looking bag full of what looked from the outside like oranges. Holding it clenched in his hand before he came to where the Frontline was being pushed back. One Warrior, another elf, looked back before paying attention to the forsaken attempting to stab him by knocking his blade back his his maul.
"FALL BACK!" he yelled, and several gnomes took their place beside the druid. The front lines pulling away before attempting to push back the enemy, a few getting caught and quickly cut down.
"Ready for the fireworks?" one of the little men asked another. Who nodded with a wide grin, his thin mustache twitching as he pulled out a fist sized thorium grenade.
"What do you think!" he yelled out. Jorifen looked down at them before heaving the bag over his shoulder and dropping it to the floor. Each gnome digging in like it was a bag full of presents.
"Enjoy." was all he said as he wandered back to the wounded, looking up at Drevias, who looked back with a thumb held up.
Part I
Jorifen sat against a bank of snow, his brother, Drevias leaning against the tree nearby. Tightening the string to his bow slowly, pulling at the twine every now and then just to test the tension. Dwarven patrols passing by every now and then, along with a few Kaldorei, human, gnomes, and other dwarves doned in battle armor. Ready for the invasion to start up only to once again be a stalemate despite the losses. Jorifen wore the highest grade of Dragonhide leathers, dyed purple and decorated with gems. Sheilding his face from the brisk wind, and leaving just enough room for his golden eyes to look at his brother. Not a word was said, but a simple nod as he pushed himself to his feet. Grabbing the staff from the snow. A staff which looked like nothing but a piece of driftwood dipped in green dye at both ends. Drevias simply pulled several arrows from the quiver on his back and held them close to the bow as they slowly walked their way down the hill. A few rushing humans in plate armor bumping their shoulders as they jetted past. Fancy military grade swords on their backs, and panic on their faces. Only a young Kaldorei female stomps to a halt besides the two male Night Elves.
"What the hell are you two doing! The Horde managed to push forward past the Field of Strife! We need to get there and lend support!" her voice was annoying, young, and caused the youngest of the two brothers to flinch.
"We'll get there eventually. Keep you panties on." the taller of the two cackles, nudging his brother, who simply mumbles, 'She doesn't wear any." smirking behind the leather mask on his face, brushing snow from his chain mail armor. The woman sighed, running from them and to the lines of war with the grace only an elf could have.
"Should be entertaining if they managed to break through the front lines." Jorifen comments, dragging the ragged staff along in the snow.
"I do hope you enjoy trying to reattach arms and legs. In that case." the other fires back, the slight tinge of grief in the back of his throat.
"Quiet down, you're starting to sound like a passive hunter who mourns those who managed to catch his arrows in their foreheads."
"There is a reason you carry that worthless stick. Remember that, Jorifen."
"And lets remember how I dislike your sarcasm, little brother. I'm the only link that saved your defenseless ass when that Troll decided to try and find your spine."
Drevias huffed, picking up his pace as they reached the hill to the first vantage point to the field. Where already injured soilders were being tended to by priests and warriors less injured, doing their best to stop the bleeding with torn bandages. At least twenty men injured, and the dead missing from being left upon the field of battle. The unspoken news, and just the appearance of the first guard towers post caused Drevias to burst into a sprint as Jorifen ran over to help tend to the wounded.
Drevias joined a small group of Kaldorei and Dwarven archers on a hill overlooking the Field of Strife. Each wielding a different weapon in hand. The field was just as grim as he'd thought it would be. Bodies of every being littered the field, small rivers of crimson trickling into shallow ponds. A few men dragging their lifeless bodies along the cold ground as they savored their last moments. Or prayed to the light for the pain to end. Atop those bodies, standing warriors clashing blades, casting spells, and demonic slaves flanking the menders on the field. If there was a place worse, it had not yet been discovered. The other archers took shots from a distance, most missing, fortunately when they struck their mark it was usually a killing shot. Drevias took the several arrows still in hand and fired each one at once with enough accuracy to pin a few spell weavers, and split a few enemy warriors skulls.
"Aye that's a nice shot, it is!" a Dwarven archer commented. Drevias remained quiet as he continued to pull back on the twine, and release another arrow with deadly accuracy. The dwarf attempting to mimic the Kaldorei with little success. However even with the archers, the Horde managed to continue pushing the warriors back, leaving more corpses for the Frostwolves, and leaving the Fields name to live up to its reputation. It was only a matter of time.
Jorifen continued to make an attempt to each wounded solider, walking up to a warrior so badly beaten his armor looked like a thin sheet of metal which was used as target practice on a firing range. Blood trickled from his cheek where it appeared the hilt of a blade had struck him, and his crushed armor labored his breathing.
"Think... T-think I'll make it..." The warrior groaned in pain, coughing a bit before looking up at the Druid with blood shot, close to death eyes.
Jorifen only looked at the man before placing a hand to his chest. Sending a surge of nature into his lungs before stepping up to his feet. Walking to the single pathway leading up to where the wounded soldiers we being kept. Sliding down the path on the soles of his leather boots as he pulls a heavy looking bag full of what looked from the outside like oranges. Holding it clenched in his hand before he came to where the Frontline was being pushed back. One Warrior, another elf, looked back before paying attention to the forsaken attempting to stab him by knocking his blade back his his maul.
"FALL BACK!" he yelled, and several gnomes took their place beside the druid. The front lines pulling away before attempting to push back the enemy, a few getting caught and quickly cut down.
"Ready for the fireworks?" one of the little men asked another. Who nodded with a wide grin, his thin mustache twitching as he pulled out a fist sized thorium grenade.
"What do you think!" he yelled out. Jorifen looked down at them before heaving the bag over his shoulder and dropping it to the floor. Each gnome digging in like it was a bag full of presents.
"Enjoy." was all he said as he wandered back to the wounded, looking up at Drevias, who looked back with a thumb held up.
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