The aftermath: closed RP between Abaddon and Nortrom.
Abaddon crushed the ancient bones beneath his feet, dust collapsing from the withered fragments that had once been a man but to the Lord of Avernus they were nothing more that a fallen enemy. The last of the Ostarion’s troops had been vanquished, shattered beneath the Blades of Avernus and the soldiers of Aeol Drias. As they had breached the inner gates Ostarion had waited with his personal retinue, none now stood. Ish'kafel, the dark seer, had fled the field in a surge of speed when Jah'rakal, the troll warlord had destroyed Ostarion in single combat.
With the enemy so to did silence fall, not true silence, but the end of battle, cries of the injured rang true and clear, the creaking and groaning of the city fires below could be heard even in the citadel. But the clash of steel and bone ended, life was all that remained in the citadel of Franktou, no undeath to speak of, only the dust to mark their final passing.
Grinding his armored boot into the dust Abaddon turned his luminous eyes upon the hall. It was a scene of carnage, a grand throne room of white marble, cascaded in the blood of the fallen, dust littering coating the floor in a grey flood of death, if their enemy had been living, the floor would have been a river. At the end of the throne room, lying across the throne was Jah'rakal, tossing his axes up randomly to his own amusement, after vanquishing Ostarion and in his eyes, proving himself the greatest, Jah'rakal,had taken to the throne in an act of pure, though not uncalled for, arrogance. Ahead of the troll were the remains of their forces, soldiers of Aeol Drias supported troops from Avernus and a vice a versa in a sight of brotherhood that had not been seen since before his fathers time; but celebrations could wait.
“You, men of Aoel Drias” he called indicating a group of the purple glad soldiers closet to him, they were young but their eyes glistened with a determination that he had come to expect from Aeol Drias, “Secure the doors behind us” he barked, indicating the throne rooms entrance way.
“Captain Franquer” the Lord continued, looking for the captain amongst his men. As he spoke a trio of men clambered forward, one supported by the other two. The centre man and the man to his left were clad in the garb of Avernus, obsidian plate armour, devoid of decoration except for a faint crest upon their chest. The final man, to Abaddon right, wore the garb of Aeol Drias; he look battle hardened akin to the centre man. As they approached the young soldier of Avernus spoke.
“Captain Franquer is injured my Lord Abaddon, “we have to get him out of here.” the man implored, though in reality he was little more than a boy.
Abaddon looked to the centre man, sure enough it was the captain, his beard and rugged face were unmistakable. Though he was battered and bruised, his armour dented, blood dripping from his left side and a large gash across his head. “What is your name soldier?” he inquired, looking to the young man, he held a strong form for one so young, and his eyes, they seemed so...
“I am Hurgoth my Lord, Franquer is my Father” he explained quickly, hoisting his father up as his form slipped a little.
Abaddon nodded, the mans words answering his incomplete thought, “Very well Hurgoth, you’re Captain now in your fathers absence” he ordered, the youths face twisting through an assortment of emotions, bewilderment, shock, horror before finally, Duty. As the boy nodded Abaddon continued, “take half of the company captain and work your way back to the lower citadel gates, gather the wounded and get them to the grand hall two corridors back, I want it turned into a healing station at once. And send a runner to out forces outside of the city, have them send supplies to the hall on my express order.
“Yes my Lord” Hurgoth responded curtly, waving for half of the company to go with him, a few of the battle healers of Aeol Drais volunteering to go with them as they did so, a dash of enchanted blue in the sea of Black that swiftly began to search the immediate vicinity for the injured. As they began to work the soldier from Aeol Drias who had been helping Hurgoth turned to Abaddon.
“And what if their injuries are to serve Lord Abaddon?” he inquired sternly.
Facing the man directly, Abaddon stared into his light brown eyes and dark skin, “Then put them out of their misery” Abaddon responded curtly, his voice echoing through the room, a potent reminder of what this war would entail.
Turning away from the Lord, the soldier of Aeol Drias left with Hurgoth to take Captain Franquer to the great hall.
Turning on his heel Abaddon marched through the throne room, gathering soldiers of both Aeol Drias and the house of Avernus beside him, Abaddon worked his way to the throne and Jah'rakal, the imposing warlord.
“Jah’rakal!” the Lord commanded as he reached the throne, the troll twirling his axes absent-mindedly until the Lord called his name, at which point he turned. Abaddon could feel some of the men behind him shift nervously, the trolls temper was legendary. “Last I heard” the lord continued unabated.”The scourge of the plains, Luna, was having trouble clearing the enemy out of the Northern part of the city, care to show her how a real warlord does it?” the Lord inquired, knowing that the troll would no be able to resist such a temptation.
The trolls eyes shifted at the mention of conflict, turning to the lord but not moving from his throne. “I could go” he mused lazily, looking at all of the puny humans in front of him, only Abaddon looking anything more than a bag of blood. “But what do I get Lord Abaddon?” he wondered, his tone offering little respect to Abaddon, though that was not unexpected, the troll didn't respect anyone really.
Abaddon looked at the Troll curiously beneath his helm, he looked pretty comfortable in that chair; he had an idea, “Well, besides the bragging rights over Luna, why don’t we have that chair you’re so fond of delivered to your home after the battle?” Abaddon offered, causing a few concerned glances from his surrounding soldiers. “I mean, you did just shatter Ostarion twice for it, it would be a shame for it to go to someone... less deserving” the lord continued, watching the Warlord’s eyes react to the offer.
“A throne? all for me? YES! The Warlord deserves a throne!”he declared, jumping from the throne in one swift motion, shaking the ground with his bulk even as he twirled his axes. “I will show that elf!” he began, striding on past Abaddon and his men in eagerness.
“Oh Jah’rakal!” Abaddon called, causing the Troll to paused mid stride.
“Wha...” he began before it became clear. Waving his hands before the Troll Abaddon cast a shield of energy about him.
“Go with my blessings” the Lord commanded, nodding to the troll even as he turned away without even a note of thanks.
“On to my next victim!” he declared, twirling his axes as he ran from the throne room, intent of causing carnage wherever he want. As the Troll departed Abaddon could hear an audible sigh from his men; the Troll frightened everyone it seemed.
Turning to his soldiers Abaddon wasted no time on sentimentality, “We can celebrate later men, our job is not yet done. you men” he indicated a group to his left, roughly authority soldiers of both Aeol Drias and Avernus, search the remaining rooms for survivors, intelligence and artifacts, i want them all placed in this room unless they require medical attention.” he waved the men off, movement beginning immediately as the soldiers organised themselves into mixed bands, a growing sign of the trust the two forces had earnt for one another.
“The rest of you, with me, we are going to find the Nortrom, to the Cathedral!” he barked, his voice gaining a note of strength as he spoke. Striding away from the throne the soldiers followed, a mixture again, followed. As they marched quickly through the derbies one soldiers called from the group.
“How do you know he is at the Cathedral Lord Abaddon?”
“Do you really have to ask?” the Lord retorted, looking over his should with his luminous eyes.
nortromthesilencer
