Storms Inferno

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veraka
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Storms Inferno

Postby veraka » Wed Jun 23, 2010 7:25 am

This is my story behind Veraka. I'd like to point out that this story is set in its own universe and is tied in no way, shape or form, to Forgotten Realms.

This story, and all its contents are mine and I give no permission for it to be redistributed, copied, or rewritten in any form.

This is something that I'm very passionate about, so I ask that the intellectual property be respected as well.

If anyone wishes to leave a comment or has a suggestion, I'd love to hear them, but please PM me about it or in the OOC forum.

Also me being a forgetful person, forgot to put up an "M" for mature, due to this having intense, and, sometimes, quite gory sometimes, violent fight scenes, as well as some minor sexual content, but that will come later on.
Last edited by veraka on Wed Jun 23, 2010 7:37 am, edited 1 time in total.
In War, Justice; In Peace, Hope; In Death: Sacrifice
Characters:

Veraka

Onix

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veraka
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Postby veraka » Wed Jun 23, 2010 7:34 am

Blurred, red vision filled Veraka’s eyes as consciences started to get its grip over him. Planting both his armored hands into the ground, Veraka slowly rose to his knees, then his feet. As he lifted his throbbing head, a horrid scene of blood and death filled his eyes. Buildings to his left and right were in the destructive grip of fire. Bodies of his fellow Aranites lay strewn everywhere, some of them he couldn’t even recognize because their bodies were so dismembered. Veraka’s immediate thoughts flew to his only friend and surrogate father, Armanth.

What happened to him? Where is he? Is he still alive? These and similar thoughts raced through Veraka’s head as he went from body to body looking for Armanth, hoping he was still among the living.

“Armanth!!!” Veraka bellowed into the crimson lit sky. Just as he did this, he noticed Rezan running up to meet him.

“Veraka! Veraka!! Are you alright?” Rezan asked as he skidded to halt in front of Veraka.

“I’m fine, if a bit bruised, but fine. What does the situation look like?”

Rezan’s face “Out of all of our fighters, only 39 remain, including you and me. Far as I can tell, all the women and young ones have been taken; those who resisted are dead, or worse.”

Veraka knew instinctively what ‘or worse’ meant. In troll terms, any creature that resisted being taken to the trolls’ camp would be made a meal right then. Veraka’s blood seethed at the thought of some of his friends becoming a ‘steak dinner’ for one of those two-legged monstrosities. He turned to Rezan, and in a calm, but very demanding tone asked “Rezan, where is Armanth?”

Rezan cast his eyes to the ground and as he did, Veraka knew exactly what had happened to the Armanth.

“Where is he?”

“Look, Veraka, we both know what has happ―” Rezan didn’t finish his sentence as the young Aranite’s temper flared.

“I said, WHERE IS HE!” Veraka roared at Rezan.

Rezan had seen the young warrior fight and if it is one thing he did not want to have, it was Veraka wanting to remove his head from his neck.

“Follow me,” he said, keeping his cool. Veraka silently followed Rezan to a body that which he recognized to be that of Armanth. When Veraka saw a pool of blood beneath the corpse, he fell to his knees and couldn’t help but reach out to start flipping the body over.

“Veraka, wait!” shouted Rezan, but it was too late. Veraka completely pulled Armanth’s corpse over. What he saw next would be burned into his memory for as long he would live. Where the face was supposed to be, an impression lay there, as if a blacksmiths hammer had been taken to the skull and hit multiple times in the same place. After that Veraka noticed that there was something more horrendous that had befallen his friend and surrogate father. Where the chest met the torso, almost the entire left side was torn out. Veraka leaned closer to examine the wound and thoroughly scanned his eyes over it. Veraka imagined himself as the attacker right then. The attacker got a sneak attack on Armanth and used a very large bastard sword to plunge into his back. Right after doing this, he observed that the assailant, who possessed great strength, was able to tear free the sword, literally taking a large portion of Armanth’s chest out with it. Veraka closed his tear-stained eyes, and gave a silent, but solemn vow to find the one who killed Armanth and make them pay.

“Does anyone know where those trolls made off to with our wives and young ones?” Veraka asked the remaining Aranites gathered around him.

“Who are you to be asking us where they took our wives, when our does not encompass you,” retorted one of the few veterans that’d survived the onslaught. In one deft movement, Veraka had the warrior pinned to the ground, and had his adamantine long sword pressed against the warriors neck.

“If I want your opinion on the issue, then by the Hells, I’ll ask for it,” Veraka stated all acid in his voice, “but until such a time comes, which I doubt it will, I need you, and any other stupid, no-brains, idiot to shut the hell UP!” Veraka roared into the warriors face.

“Why you incompetent, loud-mouthed. . .” the Aranite began, but was cut silent be a wave of the hand from Rezan.

“So what are you proposing then, Veraka?” asked Rezan, in as calm of a voice as he could muster.

“I’m not proposing anything!” Veraka yelled as he released the Aranite from his grip, “I’m saying, stay the hell out of my way.”

“You intend to take out an entire clan of trolls by yourself?” asked Rezan

“No, I intend to kill the one responsible for Armanth’s death.”

“That’s an interesting notion.”

“And why is that!?” Veraka snapped.

“Because, from my perspective, the one responsible is standing right here in front of me,” responded Rezan, his voice all ice. Veraka looked away from Rezan, “and before you decide to go off, let me just explain something to you, Veraka. It was you who left your post at the watchtower, and it was you who left it at your choosing.”

Veraka opened his mouth to start an argument up, but Rezan simply raised his hand to indicate that he was going to continue. “Yes, Veraka, you left because Armanth asked you to come with him, but you still had the choice in the matter, and you chose to leave your post, thereby, leaving our guard wide open to attack. If you had been in the watchtower, you would have seen it coming and would have been able to shout out a warning to the whole tribe. If that had been the case, Armanth would still be among the living; and you already know why this would have been, Veraka.”

“Yeah, I know why that would have been the case, and I also know that playing “the past” game will not solve any of our present problems,” Veraka said in an almost sorrowful tone.

“So then what do you say we do, hmmm?” asked Rezan pointedly.

As he finished his question, Veraka got to his feet, turned to face him and said, “I don’t know what you guys are going to do, and frankly, I don’t care. All I know is that I’m going after the troll chieftain to make sure that he dies once and for all. Whether you follow me or not is up to you, not me.”

“Well gentlemen, looks like we’ve been issued an ultimatum. What says you, Aranites of Kac’ory? Do we follow Veraka into glorious battle, or do we sit here and start to rebuild our lives without even the basics to which a man needs to survive: his loving wife, to be there when he needs her the most, and his gentle children, so he may raise them to be the best of both himself and his wife. If we stay, I ask you, how could we rebuild our lives without even these basic fundamentals?”

Rezan continued on with his speech for probably another five minutes. By the time he was done, the remaining warriors of Kac’ory were pumped up, blood-thirsty, and ready to follow Veraka to the troll lair, and get their loved ones back. Veraka had to hand it to him; when he wanted to, Rezan could really inspire his fellow Aranites. Veraka was beginning to understand why Armanth had appointed Rezan as his chief lieutenant. Rezan had the capability to lead men and guide the tribe on the correct path; but at this moment Veraka only had one thought on his mind: vengeance.

“Veraka, whenever you’re ready. We’ll march with you to the Hells and back if that’s what takes to rescue our loved ones,” Rezan said.

“Good, I’ve got a bone to pick with that chieftain,” Veraka darkly responded.

“You lead, we’ll follow,” the Aranite said, placing an armored gauntlet on Veraka's shoulder.

For the next several days, the Aranites hounded the trolls’ trail. Sometimes the tension in air got so thick, Veraka swore he could cut it with his sword. When the Aranite party caught sight of the trolls’ encampment, they stopped and pitched camp themselves. When Rezan was able to determine a rough distance that was between the Aranites and the troll camp, he started asking for scouts who would go and determine the exact nature of the troll camp. Veraka loved how trolls were pathetically predictable in that they used a cave as their base camp.
In War, Justice; In Peace, Hope; In Death: Sacrifice
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Postby veraka » Thu Jun 24, 2010 2:12 am

Veraka wandered into Rezans tent just in time to catch Rezan asking for volunteers for the advance scout group.

“Alright, I need about three to five men who’d be willing to go and scout out the troll camp. We need numbers and their unit strength, as in enemy strength, weapons that they possess, if they have any hunting beasts with them, you get the picture. So, who wants to volunteer or do I have to start picking ones to go.”

“I’ll go,” Veraka said matter-of-factly.

“Alright, I need about three more out of all of ya, then we. . .”

“Rezan, you’re not getting at what I’m saying. I’ll volunteer to be a scout, yes; but if I go, I go it alone,” growled Veraka, cutting off the chieftain. At this, Rezan raised a brow to the young warrior.

“What of ‘scouting party’ don’t you get? If you go, you’re going to need back up if things get nasty while you’re investigating the troll camp,” Rezan retorted, with a hint of resentment in his voice.

“That’s ridiculous. Aside from the fact that you’d be putting more lives at risk than is necessary, additional scouts would just slow me down. I’m the fastest out of the entire tribe, and you know it, Rezan,” Veraka exclaimed.

“Veraka, let me make one thing crystal clear for you,” his voice gaining volume, “I’m not asking you to not go it alone, I’m telling you not to!” Rezan shouted to Veraka.

Veraka knew that Rezan had just pulled ‘the shield over his eyes’, which was to say, Rezan had just told Veraka, very directly, ‘It’s my way or the highway’. Veraka understood the fact that Rezan was had command of the situation, as he was, at that moment, the tribal chieftain; however, Rezan had made one critical mistake when it came to Veraka that Armanth had understood. When Veraka set his mind on something, nothing would sway otherwise; simply put: Veraka was as stubborn as a Dragon in a bad mood.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Veraka shot back; and with that said, he stormed out of Rezan’s tent, intending on taking revenge for Armanth death. Veraka made his way through the camp and started to gather up his equipment for a long journey ahead him. He packed up rations, a sleeping roll, a tent large enough to fit his immense frame, and a few odds and ends that he thought would be essential on the road. All in all, took the young Aranite five minutes to prepped to leave and He was about to leave when a shout from behind drew his attention. He spun around to see Rezan sprinting after with what looked like a small package clasped tight under his arm. When Rezan caught up with Veraka, he was panting hard.

“Veraka . . . . . hold on. . . I’ve got something you need to have,” Rezan huffed.

“And that would be what? Hmm, what?” Veraka was curious about what could’ve possibly sent Rezan, of all people, sprinting after him, so Veraka decided that he would here the new chieftain out.

“Before you leave, there is something that I must give you.”
“What’s that?” asked Veraka, honestly curious about the package.
“Since you disobeyed me, you are, in the eyes of tribe, forever banished and will never be able to return to Kac’ory; however, that does not mean you are banned from whatever heritage Armanth would’ve bestowed upon you before he died. Since he is not here to do that, I shall do it in his stead,” Rezan said. The young warrior eyed his the chieftain directly in the eye, not knowing what to think

“And why would I want to accept something from you, hmm?” Veraka questioned accusingly. He honestly thought this was a ruse to get him to come back to the tribe.

“Because this gift is not from me, this is from Armanth.” Rezan handed the package to Veraka. Veraka unwrapped it; what lay beneath the wrapping surprised even Veraka. The “gift” was the set of bracers used by Armanth that were called Ter’yial’s Fists. The silver-looking bracers, which were at least half of his arms length and equal in thickness, gleamed in the sunlight.

“Made from the best mithral out there, these bracers should serve you well on whatever journey lays ahead of you,” stated Rezan proudly, “Armanth meant to give these to you when he felt you were ready to be fully initiated into the tribe as an adult. He was going to do exactly that on that fateful day, we all knew about it.”

Veraka now knew what he was talking about when Armanth told him to his house that night. For the first time in his life, Veraka shed a single tear for the loss of the closest person he’d ever had to family.

“So what exactly do these bracers do?” Veraka questioned.

“Armanth never really told anyone what they do, all I know is that while he was chieftain, he was always wearing them,” stated Rezan.

As Veraka slipped the bracers over his hands and onto his arms, he could feel a tremendous amount of strength flow through his body, as if the bracers had awakened some dormant energy source in his body. He slipped the other one on, and felt that these bracers would help him out a lot on whatever path he would forge out of his life. The bracers themselves wrapped almost completely around his forearms, with only a small gap that ran along his wrists and the underside of his arms.

Veraka started to turn when Rezan caught him by the shoulder, and looked him squarely in the eye. Veraka knew that after he set foot outside the camp, he could never return to Kac’ory. By looking him squarely in the eye, Rezan had told Veraka more than words could tell. Veraka silently nodded his farewell and with that in mind, Veraka walk out of the Aranite.

Knowing full well that Rezan had basically just entrusted him with getting the Aranites’ loved ones out of the troll liar, Veraka charged ahead toward the cave, leaving Rezan behind to wander if Veraka truly could get the Aranitan women and children out of there; Rezan, for the first time in his life, offered up a silent prayer to Ter’yial, that Veraka would give the trolls a true taste of Aranite wrath and retribution.

Veraka let his hatred for the trolls, for taking away his one and only true, real family, fuel his run, propelling him forward. Veraka set two goals that he had to accomplish before he left: One: Free the Aranites that trolls had captured. Two: Find the troll that killed Armanth and, make sure to kill it slowly―very, very slowly.

As Veraka neared the caves entrance, he could hear an assortment of growls, grunts, and belches that knew all too well to be the trolls inside. Veraka approached the entrance and snuck in, despite his heavy armor. The cave snaked deeper into the mountain, Veraka noticed a small but, very fast waterfall that dipped off somewhat to the side, and spilled into a deep chasm. Veraka made a mental note of the falls location. He continued deeper on into the caves, making his way past several formations of stalactites and stalagmites.

After that, the cave seemed to smooth out into an almost perfect circle. Veraka felt like he was going in circles, until he tripped over a large branch, nearly face-planting himself in the soft dirt. As he turned around to angrily stomp on the branch, his blood turned to ice and he immediately cooled his temper, for the “branch” that had tripped him was actually an ice troll club; and attached to that club, no more than seven feet away from Veraka, was the club's slumbering owner.

Veraka silently thanked whatever god―or supernatural force that was watching over him―for him being the stealthiest of the Aranites. Veraka slowly, and very steadily, backed himself up, keeping eyes on the snoozing troll at all times. When Veraka was about 25 feet away from the troll, he heard a sharp SNAP. His eyes darted to the every corner in the cave and he quickly spotted the disturbance; a small wolf pup had deftly avoided a trap in order to secure the bait, which happened to be quite a bit of food.
In War, Justice; In Peace, Hope; In Death: Sacrifice
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Postby veraka » Fri Jun 25, 2010 10:12 pm

“Stupid little bastard,” Veraka cursed under his breath as he dove for cover. Right as he rolled under a rocky alcove, the sleeping troll’s eye flashed open. It lumbered up to its full height, and looked around for the disturbance. Time seemed to slow around Veraka as adrenaline coursed through his veins; his breathing slowed and calmed. His mind became clear of all distractions, and became solely focused on the awakened troll.

“What that?” the troll asked itself as it ambled around looking for what had triggered the trap. The bumbling giant goblinoid came across to where Veraka was, stopping directly in front of the Aranite. Silently, Veraka drew his adamantine long sword; if the sentry spotted him, he would only have seconds to kill it before it bellowed for reinforcements. The troll looked to the left, then the right, then left again, this time looking directly at Veraka. He froze in position as the troll continued to stare at him; Veraka held his breath as he saw the troll narrow its eyes on his position. Seconds turned into hours, hours into days, or seemed to as the beasts eyes glazed over him with a curiosity that was bordered hostility.

“Hey, what you doin’ away from post?” came another troll voice from the direction of the camp. “Me swear me heard something. Something sprung trap, me looks for it,” said the troll turning its head, away from Veraka direction, to meet the unexpected troll.

“Me know me heard something,” persisted the sentry.

“You heard nothin, ‘sides, I got snack for us both.”

“Mmmm, me starving, food good,” said the troll as it lumbered away at a fast pace.

“Rule # 13: Never pull guard duty on an empty stomach,” Veraka sarcastically admitted as he slowly let out his breath, and shifted a little in his alcove. He wandered how he had evaded detection by the troll that had stared him down, for what seemed like an eternity to him; looking down at his thigh plate, he suddenly realized that his answer was in his armor. Veraka’s armor was heavy, very heavy by most standards; however it was made for from Darksteel. Darksteel, while not as sturdy as regular steel armor, had a very dark hue to it. It just so happened, that that particular hue within Veraka’s armor, matched up perfectly with shadow that was cast by the alcove that he was hiding in.

“Damn, I’m lucky,” Veraka whispered, astounded about his armor innate color. When he was sure that area was clear, Veraka made his way back to the waterfall he saw back near the entrance of the cave. He found the fall right where he left it. Now he needed to figure out a way to get across the chasm to the rocks where the falls came flowing out from. The chasm before him was easily a forty foot span from Veraka’s edge to the falls, and there was no way that he could build up enough speed to jump that span; Veraka wasn’t even sure if he could jump that distance.

“Ok, then we climb it,” he growled to himself. He looked around for a moment until he found what he was looking for; a lengthy, if narrow, crossing that spanned the entire distance of the chasm. Veraka quickly crossed to the other side, ignoring the cracks and breakage sounds that kept coming up from the crossing. I’d best be getting off this bridge and quickly, Veraka thought to himself. With that thought driving him, Veraka started to scale the rocks that bordered the waterfall. The water itself hammered him with each handhold closer that he got to the origin of the fall. Once, Veraka almost lost his grip on the rocks. He managed to reach the top of where the fall started; the climb up to that point had drained him more than he had thought it would have.

“Huh,” he breathed, relieved that he’d made it, “I’m not doing that again.”

The young Aranite was happy to see that the small cavern that the fall flowed from was big enough for him to get through. The downside of the cavern was that Veraka would have to crouch, or crawl, all the way through until he found his target. He made his way upstream through the small cavern, until the tunnel forked off into two separate directions. Veraka chose the dry path. Continuing to crouch, he made his way through the tight confines of the dry tunnel, until he came upon an opening in the floor of the tunnel that he was in.

“Let me go, you wretched spawn of the hells!” cried a female voice.

“Ah, Xerb likes it when his dinner fights rather than gives up,” a deep, throbbing voice retorted.

Veraka peered down into the hole, to see a young girl he knew to be Nannally, strapped down to table. She was surrounded by what looked to be vegetables and other meats. When Veraka registered this, his angered flared, but he held it in, knowing that stealth and surprise were still the best elements that he had at his disposal at the moment.

“Yous should consider yous self fortunate for yous kind, human. Most humans that enter Xerb’s belly are rarely dead before eaten; since you are Xerb's first meal, Xerb will give yous honor of dying before Xerb feasts on yous’s flesh,” the troll said, saliva dripping from his mouth.

“Not on my watch,” Veraka said in his low, about-to-kill-everything, tone. By that time, Veraka had already maneuvered himself into a position to which would give him a clear shot to lunge at and tackle the troll chieftain.

“And now Xerb will feast. Do you wish yous self dead before Xerb begins, human?”

“Do your worst, monster!” shouted Nannally.

“As yous wish it, human,” and with that, Xerb bit down into Nannally’s leg. Veraka felt his rage and anger come surging up from deep within him, but this time he didn’t suppress it, he just let it loose. Veraka saw Nannally scream from the pain of Xerb’s bite; he let out a battle-roar that startled Nannally and made Xerb look up from his feast in confusion, just in time to catch the full force of Veraka’s dive-attack.

The young warrior cannoned into the troll chieftain, and recovered quickly, rolling off of the troll and to his feet, skidding to a halt. Xerb, still dazed from Veraka’s battle-roar, struggled to shake off the impact that the young Aranite had imposed upon him.

“Xerb does not know how yous got in, human, but he knows how yous is getting out.”

“Is that a fact,” Veraka retorted, lifting his long sword above his head and placing his off-hand in front of himself, assuming his counterstrike stance.

“Yes, puny human, yous will leave in Xerb’s BELLY!” the troll bellowed as it came charging in at Veraka. Deftly sidestepping the troll, the young Aranite slashed at the beasts left leg. His sword connected and put a cut of decent size into the leg. The troll chieftain turned to Veraka, his face contorted with rage. Again the chieftain charged the Aranite, though this time, he managed to grapple Veraka’s shoulder, sending the young man to the ground. Slamming an armored fist into the dirt, Veraka got up and back on his feet just in time to dive out of the way of the charging chieftain. This went on for about a minute, with Xerb careening at Veraka, and occasionally scoring a hit on the Aranite. Though he could keep it up, Veraka was beginning to tire from all the jumping and dodging he was doing to keep himself from being trampled by the chieftain. Xerb yet again charged the Aranite, roaring as he came in.

Veraka countered by shifting his weight onto his right foot, and when Xerb was within six feet of him, he launched himself over the troll. Using the troll’s opposite shoulder as a guide for his off-hand to grip, Veraka slashed the other shoulder in a powered stroke. His long sword dug its sharp edge through the trolls shoulder muscle, and came out the other end. Veraka smiled as the chieftain cried out in pain to his perfectly executed counter-attack.

However, that smile quickly deteriorated as that same shoulder, and the arm that’s attached to it, came whipping around at tremendous speed. Xerb’s reverse arm-smash connected with Veraka’s shoulder and sent him spiraling into the throne room’s east wall. Veraka slammed into wall hard, and collapsed to the floor.

“So, yous spawn o’ tribe leader that Xerb kill not a ten-day ago.”

Upon hearing this Veraka’s thoughts flew back to that image of Armanth’s mangled body, twisted and bloody. A new energy surged up from deep within Veraka; the fatigue and exhaustion faded as that image, adrenaline, and a new found rage took over. Veraka got up as quickly as he fell, and, with a renewed vigor, charged the chieftain. As Veraka came within striking distance of the troll, he saw a glint of metal flash right as the troll pulled out a huge black sword from behind its back. Veraka dove into a roll and barely missed the sword as it slashed the air where his head used to be.

“Behind you!!” screamed Nannally as Veraka recovered from his roll; Veraka was barely able to get one of his bracers up in time to block the chieftain’s overpowered attack. The troll’s sword slammed into Veraka’s bracer, knocking him backwards. Veraka now understood one purpose for Ter’yial’s Fists; they were capable of absorbing a tremendous amount of punishment. Veraka whipped his sword around in a powered spin, and brought it down in a high-arc. Xerb brought his sword up just in time to prevent Veraka’s blade from smashing his skull in. Adamantine clashed with night black steel in a clang that resonated throughout the room. Veraka knew that he had mere minutes before the entire troll clan was upon him and Nannally.
In War, Justice; In Peace, Hope; In Death: Sacrifice
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