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 Post subject: Re: Raekhan's Prayers
PostPosted: Wed Jul 25, 2012 10:52 am 
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GSID: DLyonsbane
Name of Main PC: Rhage
Rhage stepped easily through the snow and mud, making his way into the temple of Raekhan. He enjoyed being here, the only place he felt at peace but at the same time was invigorated to go to war. A deep guttural laugh erupted from his lips and echoed off the walls.

Since his last visit the Praetor had beat him down again and again. He had been transformed and now knew a true strength. Since that point he improved his combat prowess tenfold easily. Though he always felt room for improvement, he knew he had been reforged and was happy.

Rhage slipped not one but two huge stingers from a bag that he had bested in the desert. He was investigating the city on orders and happened across both at one time. He had taken a good beating but killed both. Something had told him before he had been through the training with the Praetor he probably could not have done it but now he did so. Not only that but the Hand had been revitalized and he had been named the Blood Commander.

"Lord Raekhan... the Hand not only lives but is resoundingly strong as ever. I have dueled the Praetor over and over, refocusing myself. I learned a tough lesson but it has been learned. I continue to make strides in my combat prowess and these two stingers are from the colossal scorpions of the desert. I have also been named Blood Commader of the Black Hand. War is on the brink and I continue to ready myself. Thank you Raekhan for your guidance."

Rhage grinned, his sharp teeth revealed. He loved whom he was, it burned within him and he would die before he allowed himself to fail. He might lose a battle but to completely fail was not something Rhage would ever accept.

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In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced or cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance my head is bloodied but unbowed. Invictus - William Henley


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 Post subject: Re: Raekhan's Prayers
PostPosted: Thu Jul 26, 2012 2:23 pm 
Caenyr Land Owner
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Joined: Tue Jul 29, 2008 12:07 pm
Posts: 250
Location: Sweden, CET/CEST
GSID: Heike_WoC
Name of Main PC: Helcârax Van Korp
Preparations were being made. Strategies conveyed and battle plans formed, armor polished and weapons sharpened. Minds and bodies kept in trim. Yet the time before an attack, before a battle, was always the worst for the demonkin. When the blood stirred with anticipation for the awaiting combat, and the longing to be at the heart of conflict once more. Though there were much to occupy the daylight hours with while he waited, that impatience would never entirely relent. Maleneska had, for the most part, been quite a disappointment in his eyes. A slaughter of worthless sheep not worth their breaths - apart from the Lancers who so valiantly had come to the defense of the weak cretins inhabiting this pitiful village. He'd lie if saying the bloodshed had not gratified the thirst of the demonic side, but it had for the most part lacked the challenge he craved for. The melivarians among the Dread Talon seemed to have enjoyed the gorge well enough though.

He snorted, peering around the cave that served as a temporary home up among the Chail Mountains. A chilled breeze seeped in from the opening that led out toward the plains, but at his back the fire still burned steadily to keep the worst of the cold away. He hoped that the old tales told surrounding their next target were true, and would provide him with enemies of at least some worth. The thoughts strayed for a moment onto another topic as he glanced at the pile of papers set on a small, crude table beside him. He considered his meeting with the lizardfolk warrior by Eyrie, and the subsequent meeting with the Praetor. The duel fought and won against one of this champion's Black Handers. The conversation held between himself and some of the other Talonites. Each event serving only to reinforce his own convictions and the will to regain something he lost along the roads he walked in Tyran.

I do not speak empty words.

He never had, and never would. But spoke he had, much, in his past. A preacher once under the Rage and Hate. Seeker of the Spark in others, feeder of the Gift in himself and fellow faithful, speaker of the prophecy of the Day of the Firestorm. Though he had never been able to write and read before he had always kept with him the copy of Agren's book that former champion Iscarii once had given him. For its pages had always held truths for the man whose blood burned with the fires of the Fallen Mount. But the reformation had revealed even more truths to be beholden by, to cultivate and spread. He could finally put his finger on exactly what it was that had nagged on his mind for so long. He picked up the thick, charcoal pencil and continued the already crude text he had begun on.

Manuscript Excerpt wrote:
... Here, I shall lay out the creed of the warrior. The path every Raekhanite should seek to walk, and the virtues every Raekhanite should nurture and harness. Here shall I also speak of the vices of the weak heart - the sins that every Raekhanite should seek to abolish from their being in their eternal climb toward greater heights...


By word, or by war and ruin, they would be spread. And whoever where touched by them would either take them to heart and rise, or perish under the oncoming tide. With a snarl he threw the pencil across the table and rose to head outside, grabbing the heavy tower shield on the way.


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 Post subject: Re: Raekhan's Prayers
PostPosted: Sat Aug 04, 2012 7:40 am 
Caenyr Land Owner
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Joined: Tue Jul 29, 2008 12:07 pm
Posts: 250
Location: Sweden, CET/CEST
GSID: Heike_WoC
Name of Main PC: Helcârax Van Korp
The War God Speaks.

... And we Listen


Of all the bile that had been vomited by the mouths of thugs in red and black, these were the ones that etched themselves into the mind of the demonkin. Behind all the worthless excuses spewed at this sudden treachery, these words shone through like a beacon to the infernal-blooded man. That was the sole reason they crawled out from behind the protective walls of their stronghold to head up to the very gates leading to the Dread Talon's lands. The Lord’s Fury, no doubt commanding these pitiful wretches to step away from the complacency into which they had fallen. The firm belief that they would not come searching for trouble had it not been so grew for every passing moment after the highlands had grown silent again. A mere shadow of what they once were.

He, the demonkin who had acted as a sentry by the gates at the time, had fallen quickly against the four whom attacked. But before the blackness engulfed him he had heard the roaring thunder, and felt the cold winds that howled around them. The SoulFire flared in response as he felt the presence of his god and his features grown feral as he faced the undisciplined, vengeance-seeking cur that had initiated the attack. Then the other three had joined in. Cowards, the lot of them. His features were hard-set, with a clenched jaw and smoldering glare as he stood before the Lord’s throne. Calm had already settled as the initial rage at the actions and words of these mongrels retreated back to the depth of his soul. All the more hatred to fuel the SoulFire. Yet at the same time his heart burnt with pride, as what the halfling wraith had said for a moment flickered past in his mind.

Yet it was our Raekhanite brought back from death.


The demonkin had failed in his past, had faced punishment for such, but always risen again. Never falling into acedia, never growing indolent. He was not impressed with the so-called warriors of black and red, but it would be the Lord’s to pass judgment on their actions. He had a hard time getting it out of his mind however. That a former Praetor, if the miserable cur had spoken truth, would be so undisciplined under his rage and seemingly merely seeking revenge for whatever fate had befallen his former Athorian brethren. Had the teachings of Agren already been forgot? And what of the current Praetor who had fled with his tail between his legs once the Dread Talon had responded to their aggression with equal or greater ferocity? Pathetic. Words he had uttered once to his Emir alone, echoed in a baritone voice. Purpose.

Purged by the cleansing SoulFire,
Under the Flames of the Trinity.
Or by the torches of the Dread Talon,
Who march upon unmarked graves.

A land of endless ash and cinder.
The howling heavens set aflame.
The seas turned to roaring steam.
Vices of the weak burnt away.

The War of all Wars in either shape,
And Chaos all that shall remain.
As the Rage of my heart and soul,
Is finally unleashed upon all.

... And a new, stronger world, born from Destruction.


The axe clashed thrice in succession against the heavy shield, and then he raised his weapon skyward.

For War and Ruin!

For Raekhan!


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 Post subject: Re: Raekhan's Prayers
PostPosted: Sun Aug 19, 2012 3:04 pm 
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Joined: Tue Jul 10, 2012 7:29 pm
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GSID: An_RaKSHaa
Name of Main PC: Asharok
Sat alone with only the howl of distant wolves and sharp winds for company, the Khil'khi of the Dread Talon found a place of meditation amongst the Talon's latest creation, blotches of black, streaks of red upon a canvas of pristine white. The charred corpses of the dead that were not dragged back to their new dark fortress having been burned; the blood left to freeze on the snow where it splashed.

His mind retreated from the world around him, deep into the recesses of his young brain to scour across his memories; recalling training and wisdom of his many impromptu mentors and their teachings about Battle, Survival and the Lord of War.
Here amongst the broken remains of the enemy warband, he found it easiest to concentrate, to reflect, and to dedicate his performance to his Patron diety of the Trinity of Fire.. Raekhan.

After a time he rose, walking away from the freshly painted artwork to the new stronghold of the Dread Talon.. he desired to see what was in store for the leader of the attack. He did however take one last look over the winter plains and the carnage that took place.. let the others fight for Vengance, Ruin, and their childish diety of 'evil', he knew the true value of what took place in this grand demonstration of strength, guile and will. He would partake in the wars the Talon wrought upon the world, and his every battle would be a performance for the entertainment and favor of the God of War.

Only the strong deserve life..


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 Post subject: Re: Raekhan's Prayers
PostPosted: Tue Jan 29, 2013 8:21 pm 
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Joined: Fri Dec 07, 2012 6:26 pm
Posts: 60
Name of Main PC: Rak'tur Ryrr
The training dummy exploded under the force of Dyn's strike. He paused for a moment to catch his breath, glancing at his rapier to ensure there'd been no damage. He'd been spending a great deal of time at the sparing facilities since he'd been rescued from Azurwrath, trying to work off the cold fury that seemed to have settled into his being. And yet, it remained. Moreover, Dyn no longer desired it to be gone.

Ever since he'd arrived at Chail, he'd felt that something was...missing, from his being, somehow. It wasn't until he'd been defeated by Zaniel that he began to understand what it was that he hadn't had. In the midst of the fight, pushed to his very limit for the first time since he'd lost his memory, he felt the flash of rage. And it gave him power. Power enough to overcome Zaniel, but his fear of the anger had given him pause, and that pause had cost him victory. He'd tried to repress it afterwards, but his defeat and enthrallment at the hands of Azurwrath had changed everything. When he had been released, the fury had consumed his soul, and he finally understood. His fear of the rage had been a weakness. The cold fury was a gift. The lust for battle was a gift. It was part of who he was, not to be fought, not to be controlled, instead to be harnessed. Used to strengthen him.

Dyn smiled to himself. On some level, he supposed he ought to thank Az - He'd helped him rediscover a fundamental part of who he'd been. Perhaps he'd mention that, before he killed him.

Lord Raekhan...though I have wandered, lost, now I understand. I was weak, but trials have strengthened me, and awakened within me that which I did not know I possessed. May the swath I cut through the battlefield be a tribute to your name. Every stroke of my blade a prayer, offered to you.

Dyn turned and left the training facilities. It was time for real opponents, combat, and blood.

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