deathhead154

Dont worry! Im here for you! *hugs hazardmaster* Thatll be 10$.

A kindred spirit! Marvelous! Did you read the Demonwars sagas?

Try writing it out on Word first, so no spelling mistakes. Other than that, not bad.

doormat What was the item Lois tried to steal while in Brians presence?

Or how about using the calculator function on your computer?

Several other chapters will be up and running after a while. Rate or hate. The old man could feel the cold sweat running down the back of his robes, permeating him in a general sense of fear. He could see them, oh how he could see them!, scouring the castle looking for him. He had just come here for a pocketful of free runes, but could he get them freely? Of course not! The mage shook away his frustrations and focussed on the problem at hand. The old man, Deathhead by name, was precariously perched high in the upermost tower of the castle man had built in the cold, infertile lands called the wilderness. He could plainly see the men calling out to him, drawing out feelings of utermost indignity from the venerable elder with their childish name-calling. A bead of sweat pearled on the bridge of the old manÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s nose, rolling down like rain on a leaf. Deathhead knew he was in trouble, for he was in no position to brush off the drop of sweat. His eyes crossed over looking at the drop roll down slowly, teasingly, finally to drop the dozen feet to the bottom floor of the fortress. Deathhead held his breath for a long time, praying to the skies above that his hunters hadnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t noticed the soft splish when the drop splashed on the stone floor. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, the voiced died down to a whisper, and Deathhead mustered the courage to look down the ladder. He couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t to see the pair of angry eyes, flecked with the taint of greed, looking right back at him. Deathhead let out a swear, and leaned heavily on the stone crenellation. He had to think fast. His enemies were going to get up here in a matter of seconds, and the old man didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t bear to think of what they were going to do to him when they caught him. Suddenly, a glint of metal caught the crafty old mageÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s eye. The ladder was fixed to the stone wall by heavy iron pegs, each driving into the stone for several inches. Deathhead drew out the last of his runes, each inscribed with a small flame so that the mage could remember their effects. A manÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s memory didnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t stay fresh for a long time after all! He threw himself on the floor of the tower and gripped the ladder forcefully. He touched the small rune with the heavy metal peg by him. Not daring to look down at the men climbing the ladder, he focussed all of his considerable mental power into that small object. The peg started to glow with heat, red, then orange, the yellow, finally white. Deathhead let out a final ferocious mental burst, sending all of his energy into the small rune. The peg started to soften, bending under the weight of the man climbing the ladder, then fully snapping, the blunt end flying into the old manÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s assailant face. How he howled when the burning metal touched his skin! The smoke drifted up the tower, into Deathhead,s nostrils, the smell of burning flesh assaulting his every sensibility. He pushed past his disgust and checked his every escape route. The ladder, which was now swarming with enemies flying to their fallen comrades valuables, or the edge of the tower, which was a drop of over 30 feet? A plan well into his whirring mind, the old mage opted for the tower. His bowed legs too weary to support his own weight, the old man neatly did a short pole-vault with the aid of his trusty staff, under the incredulous stares of his attackers that had just managed to scale the ladder. Deathhead, his fist clenched around one of the last runes in his pouch, one inscribed with a small white wave, shot his arm down at the ground, and released a mighty gust of wind. Flipping over in the remnant of the force he had unleashed, Deathhead landed safely on his feet. Launching a neat obsene hand gesture at his attackers, he started to walk away, whistling a merry tune. Suddenly, he lurched over, a sharp pain biting at his left flank. Looking back at the men on the tower, he noticed one of them handling a longbow. Grimacing away the pain, he started on a quick trot, dodging arrow after arrow. Finally getting the good sense that Saradomin gave him, he grasped the last runes in his pouch, and sent a wave of mental energy assault the small stones. Feeling his body lighten, he fully engaged in the transcendence. Soon after, he was in the busy town of Varrock, shaking away the dizziness that always accompanied the teleport process. The homely townspeople, seeing the stranger pop out of nowhere, soon guessed his origin. Deathhead walked the town of Varrock head low, hiding his pride and dignity safely away from the hoots and jeers of the crowd. Coward, they called him. Little did they know, he had respect from where he came from. Years ago, he was Deathhead, Archmage of the town of Lumbridge. He had it all then. Respect, he had. Money, that was no problem. But he had an itch that no one could scratch. He had a thirst for adventure. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ He had set off from the small duchy of Lumbridge, his pouch full of the finest runes and a bulging gold sack tied to his belt. Finally arriving at Falador, his robes tattered by weather, his purse considerably less bulging, but with a light heart, the old mage looked up at the whitewashed towers of the Falador castle, pennants flying from every roof and the sounds of sparring in the courtyard. Shoving through the crowds of beggars, their emaciated hands reaching up to him, the proud old man strode past the bridge spanning the length of the moat, and approached two burly men fighting with wooden swords. One of them, a youngish man of about twenty-five winters, had disarmed his opponent. The other, a woman with short-cropped brown hair, was on the dirt floor, her hand clenched on a throbbing leg. The man moved in, looking at a clean finish, but then the woman exploded into motion. In a fluid movement, she spun around, flinging a handful of dust into her opponentÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s eyes, kicking up her blade and finishing with a solid kick to the groin of the over-confident youngster. Doubling up in pain, the man found himself lying on the ground, a wooden blade to his throat. The woman flashed a brilliant grin to his opponent, before hearing a heartfelt clap from behind. The old spectator, having not seen such a beating in many years, strode up to the victor and gave her a heavy smack on the back. - Good girl, I wouldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t have expected such skill from one young as you! The disgruntled loser, getting up and settling into a stiff-backed pose, spouted a string of swears under his breath. -What is it boy? Cat got youre tongue? , said the mage. -Bah, the lassie barely beat me! TÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢was but a trick! She tricked me! The older and wiser man, seeing a perfect opportunity to teach the young one a lesson, settled into a defensive pose, the hand holding his staff in front of him. -Then come get me, unless youÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢re afraid that a creaking antique would beat you! The younger and heavier man, flying into a sudden rage, bellowed like an ox and charged towards the calm mage. Deathhead, waiting until the man was but three paces from him, tipped the staff, sticking the end into the ground, and vaulted into the manÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s face. His opponent, expecting a dodge from the older man, was completely caught by surprise, and received a strong kick to the face. Blood dripping from a shattered nose and from loosened teeth, he shook away his dizziness and backed off a bit. His respect for the old man suddenly to a peak, the stocky lad picked up the sword he had left during his last fight and strode towards the older mage, swinging the sword in complete and sure circles. Suddenly, he lunged, the point of the blade aimed at DeathheadÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s throat. The mage ducked, and sent a stiff-fingered hand up, towards the manÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s still extended hand. He sent his index flying to his opponentÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s wrist, hitting right on the pressure point. The young one howled in pain, dropping the sword and retracting his hand at the same time. The old man finished his move by grabbing the sword and tripping the youngster. The old manÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s opponent wondered how many times he had played out this scene, lying flat on his back, a blade at his throat. -Fine, fine! Let me go! , he screamed. The old man, having taught his lesson, threw the blade on the ground and picked up the staff he had dropped. -Im sprier than you might think, he winked at the lass watching him. The young woman, now realising she had not breathed during the whole fight, caught her breath and clapped her hands in sincere admiration. -Perhaps you are not as creaking as I had thought you. The youngster, picking himself up, wiped a sleeve across his face to wipe the blood, and walked up to the old mage and said : -You seem a bitÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ advanced in age to be a hand-to-hand fighter. Do you have any more surprises to show us? The old man smiled, reaching into his rune pouch, and pulled out a couple of small stones. He tapped a few times on one inscribed with a white wave, and one with a flickering flame. He bid his spectators to silence, and focussed all of his formidable mind to the small runes. He mumbled a few arcane words and tapped a second time the stone with fire graved into it. A small ball of pure energy started to rise from the stone, drawing the design drawn on it as well. The small ball rose high into the night sky, now a mere pinpoint in the dark sky. Deathhead tapped the rune a final time. A brilliant flash lit up the kingdom as the ball exploded into a rolling inferno. A glare, brighter than a thousand stars caused every knight in Falador to look away, for fear of damaging their eyes. Deathhead quickly drew the other rune he had and conjured a gentle breeze to whisp away the smoke left in the aftermath of the explosion. He looked to the dozens of knights staring at him incredulously and smiled. -I am full of surprises.

40 range. REAL MEN USE MAGIC!

Some guy killed a strange plant in a bank...

Rune h kites are about 350kish...

Nice to finally see a random do its job!

Im abnormally(sp?) flexible. I can put both of my legs behind my head, sneak my arms through the holes creathed by the bend in my knees, and walk on my hands in that, shall I say?, uncomfortable position. Also, Im always uncomfortable while sitting unless Im sitting Indian style on my chair at school.

High alchemy all the way.

7/10. See you every now and then.

Full green dhide, maple shortbow and longbow (short is better), and adamant arrows. Might as well throw in a power ammy while Im at it.

3/10. Just saw you in the thread about the new war area.

What is sadder than hearing that 4 emos just died in a car crash? Hearing there was room for 1 more...

Me! me! the smell will ward off those noobs following me begging and hitting on me...

Thanks everyone. I think I might rewrite some parts of the battle scenes. BTW, fttballplaya is the Dubtrub in my story. Not as good a leader as I profiled him though... :P

I remember I had written a script for a RS movie. I think I have it stashed somehwere in my comp...

Its just wine that you failed to make. So someone selling is not only proving that he is stupid and a scammer, but that he is a failure too.

Ess is now 20ea... Also, its 44 runecrafting to make nats.

Think about it. A lethal injection costs in total about 1million dollars. Rotting in jail for 50-60 years costs a wee bit much more than that. I say yay!

Wrong forum bud. Help and Advice.

Very few ppl were interested to play Runescape. The only time I met a French guy who was a member {he just looked for new French recruits but he stayed at the member worlds}. But that was a long time ago. Actually, world 37 is the main world for people from Quebec, such as me, to go on.

This is a story I penned about my clan and a war it went through. We won, but suffered heavy losses. All of the names used in this story are used with permission. It was a drizzly morning. The mage blew rainwater from his beard in exasperation and looked to his leader. Brave Dubtrub looked as if he had been struck by lightning. Pre-battle jitters, veteran pkers called it, and who wouldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t be nervous? Thsi batle would determine the place of the Crypt in the annals of history for years to come. Still, he was nervous. The mage, Deathhead by name, stared at the faraway torches, realising that his clan was sorely outnumbered. Still, heart had outmatched numbers in quite a few situations. He leaned heavily on a weathered staff. He was getting too old for this. He nervously played with the sapphire amulet around his neck. The jewel had been passed down from many generations. His father had used it, his father before him, and his father before that. Noble Deathhead lamented that he had left no heirs to carry the jewel, and that the fabulous amulet would serve no purpose when it was buried with him when his time came. The mage signaled for his squire to move near him. The small boy was trembling uncontrollably and showed no signs of stopping soon. Deathhead gave him a small scroll tied off with blood-red ribbon and told him this simple message : - Get this to our forward scout. HeÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ll know what to do with it. And let SaradominÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s own divine power quicken your legs. The battle grows near. The boy nodded and ran to a small hillock a few meteres away. He stopped by a crouched man, scimitar belted on his hip. He was a strange man, wizened by many battles. His tired eyes reflected all he had seen in his life, good times and bad. His face was scarred by many a battle, particularly by a long jagged line crosing over his nose and left eye and cleaving his cheek in two. - Umm, sir, Division Commander Deathhead bid me to give you thisÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ The scout tore the scroll out of the frightened boysÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ hands, cutting the twine with a swift slice of his nail. Perusing the scroll quickly with his eyes, he threw it on the ground in a fit of frustration. - Damn itÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ He moved quickly to the back lines, went inside his tent and just stood there, staring at the suit of armour that had served him well throughout his many years. It was a marvelous thing, polished to perfection, the blue-green metal reflecting the orange fire of dying sunset. He passed his hand over the cold, burnished metal and took up his whetstone. Drawing his scimitar, he engaged in a dazzling show of swordsmanship and sat down hard on his makeshift bed. Splashing oil on the small stone he had, he rubbed the blade to a razor-sharp edge. He realised it would soon be bluntedÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ Deathhead strode confidently over to Dubtrub, all smiles. - Field Commander, weÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ve just received intel from the other side. Seems theyÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ll be attacking at dawn. Dubtrub, his eyes misty from staring at the sun, quickly broke from his dream and barked out orders : - Tell Bulleye to prepare the archers and ambush party. You tell the mages to keep their gear in tip-top shape. If you people arenÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t ready when they come, itÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ll be your arses! Knowing his leader was all bark and no bite, Deathhead bowed a quick salute and retreated into the shadows. Dubtrub snapped his gaze back to the enemy camp, staring at the torches and tents, quite conscious that someone was probably watching him from the other sideÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ -------------------------------------------------------------- Deathhead slowly walked over to his superior officer, not wanting to surprise him. The scars he had received last time he had were still painfully etched into his chest. He picked up a small pebble and slowly lobbed it to the floor beside the kneeling swordsman. The man snapped his gaze to the robed mage. - Dubtrub says to ready your forces. The soldier absent-mindeddly waved the mage away, but he would not go. - Bulleye, I doubt you realise the importance of the outcome of this fight. If we win, we will be propelled into history. DonÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t you want your name to live on forever? BulleyeÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s mind went into a retreated state, flying past years to a time of joy, to when he had friends, to when he was the happiest man on earth. He pushed those visions back to where they belonged, to the dark corner of his mind where shattered dreams and impossible times lay. He stood up briskly, pushed the old mage out of his way. The mage watched the man go, recognizing his pain, but realising that this day would prove crucial to his clan, and pushed his worries about Bulleye farther away, where they couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t interfere with his concentration. Still, he couldnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t help but think about the man Bulleye had once been, and could still be. ------------------------------------------------------------------ Bulleye strode in front of the plattoon he commanded, emanating an aura of capability and power, striking a bit of confidence into the dark times that griped the hearts of the soldiers. - Allright men, today is the day. YouÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ve served beside me for years, and IÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢m damn proud of what weÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ve accomplished. But this isnÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢t like the other days. These enemies are bloodthirsty, savage and unmerciful. These people are all killers, and are damn good at what they do. So today, its kill or be killed. You will not pay any mercy to these enemies, for they are worthy of it! You will fight! You will kill! You will win! His heartened soldiers gave a throaty cheer and started to prepare for the attack. Bulleye moved from soldier to soldier with a mage, rendering each soldier partly invisible. They moved one a tree, melding within the trunk to be completely invisible, and completely deadly. Bulleye gave one final survey of the trap and left, satisfied. He returned to Dubtrub, him outlining a map of the area with Deathhead, in deep conversation with the old mage. Dubtrub pointed a grimy finger at the rough papyrus map, drawing random shapes on it. - All right. Deathhead, youÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ll move your division from the ruins to the field, Bulleye, youÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ll get the archers on the ridge and work on their mages. Meanwhile, Ill lead the heavy infantry through their ranks. All right? Both commanders nodded their approval to the fairly simple plan. Dubtrub gave them each a hearty clap on the back, Deathhead nearly buckling. Bulleye left the tent and went to brood in the quiet darkness of his tent, full aware that the attack would begin a few short hours hence. ------------------------------------------------------------------- Bulleye woke with a start, woken by the haunting dreams he had been having for many months, giving a great yawn and went to don his suit of armour and his gear. Knocking away the leather flap that served as a door to his tent a few minutes later, Bulleye appeared in all his splendor, the morning light shining dully on the plate. He stood there, staring at the distance at the small army gathering in the distance, knowing full well that they would soon be eradicated by his elite force. In the enemy camp, moral was fairly high. They were a few short kills away from gaining a high rank in the clan register and a place in the annals of history. The field commander walked in the back ranks, as leaders often did, and barked orders to his captains in the front ranks. They threw up great clouds of ash, walking in the lava channel-riddled landscape, staring at the small ruined building barely a mile in front of them. The officers were first to hear it then. A soft hissing sound coming from the sky. A captain had the misfortune to look up and see the huge cloud of arrows coming down upon him and his soldiers. The arrows rained on their forces, snakes tipped of adamant and mithril, biting into flesh and bone. A youngish lad limped barely a few steps, two arrows stuck deep in his thigh, then was struck by another trio of arrows, one sticking in his chest, the other two nailing him in the gut and neck. Such sights were all over the battlefield and the entire army was in chaos. Their surprise was then total when a dozen soldiers seemingly materialized from the trees, swarming into their ranks and cutting deep lines in the battle plans of the enemy officers. Deathhead fingered a small stone engraved with a skull, feeling the power growing within it, begging to be released. He pointed it to a small group of enemy soldiers, then released the stoneÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s power. A searing plume of flame shot from his hand, bathing the soldiers in fire, burning flesh, melting armor. When he was done, all Deathhead saw was a small pile of ashes and blackened metal. He was soon followed by an entire divison of mages, shooting blasts of fire and water, drenching the battle with magical energies. Deathhead picked up a single amulet from the pile, quickly pocketing it and moved to fire another blast. Having moved his plattoon deep into enemy lines, Bulleye was pleased, but his rage was not appeased. Seeing that many people fighting at the same time was too much for him to bear. Drawing his scimitar, he rushed down the ridge, screaming the name of his god. He jumped off the rocky ridge, onto the back of an armoured soldier, shearing the thick metal in a single sweep of the razor-sharp edge of his sword. His spine severed and blood running freely down his back, the soldier crashed down in a heap, his armour clanging loudly against the unyielding stone. Bulleye quickly got up, slashing a dragonhide-clothed swordsman, supple leather splitting wide. Now fully dominated by rage, he set his sights on the enemy leader, but was blown away by an invisible force. He saw a jeering mage, fully concentrated on binding him, mumble a few words to conjur a fireball. Suddenly, he rose his arms, the fireball growing huge. Spitting out series of words so arcane even worldy Bulleye could not understand, the mage drove all of his might into that single blast. Praying for a quick end, Bulleye was astonished to see the mage, in full spellcasting, fall down in a flutter of robes. Bulleye followed the length of his back with his eyes, seeing the still-quivering oaken shaft embeded deep in the mageÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s back. Released from the binding spell, Bulleye saw an archer, R and Ranger by name, grinning widely, plucking a tune on an empty bowstring. He nodded him his thanks and moved on. The battle had long since moved from the ashy plain, past the spider-infested hill, deep into the demon-inhabited ruins the Crypt had chosen as headquarters. The demons were having a jolly old time, not having seen so much meat in their habitat for a long time. Deathhead was scared out of his wits. Having seen the beast rake a foe in half with its claws, the mage was in no position to fight such a monster. He slinked back to the frontlines, helping out wherever he could. Having spotted a comrade a bit away, the mage moved to help. The dragonhide-clad warrior was being chased by a soldier in full battle regalia, obviously no match for him. He almost reached Deathhead, when he was punched in the back. At least, he thought he had been, and soon wish he had, as he saw the tip of a longsword protuding through him. Darkness immediately falling in front of his eyes, he slumped to his knees and died, only supported by the strength of his killer. Infuriated by the loss of Lank da Best, one of the men he had served with for many years, Deathhead quickly summoned his thoughts and concentrated all of his blind fury into one devastating blast. Powered with raw emotion, the sheet of flame immolated the armour-clad warrior, melting the metal, evaporating all of his bodily fluids. He screamed for what seemed an eternity, and when DeathheadsÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ magical energies were exhausted, all he was was black ash and fragments of metal- coated bone. He rushed to Lank, seeing if he could do anything. Feeling no pulse, he sadly closed LanksÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ eyelids over dead eyes, LankÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s dead spirit floating back to its birthplace. Bulleye ,however, was not faring any better. Surrounded by two soldiers, an archer and a dragonhide-clad man, he was in no position to fight. But the ranger had other ideas. His eyes set on nothing but the armour on BulleyeÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s back, he quickly notched an arrow on his bowstring and fired. The missile merely deflected against the armour-wearing warrior, causing no more pain than a good strong pinch. Grunting away the pain, Bulleye rushed the archer, lashing out with his sword, cutting a smooth red line across his enemieÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s throat. The archer stubbled a bit, seemingly unhurt, and then noticed the rather important flow of blood from his own neck. He teetered, then fell, breaking all of the arrows in his quiver. Bulleye could not enjoy his victory over the archer, for he was soon tripped up by the remaining swordsman. Flat on his back, Bulleye could clearly see his assailantÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s face. He recognized something there. Was it pity? He even saw the glint of a silver holy symbol strung around the man neck. He had barely seen twenty summers, and there he was trying to kill a man that had been fighting for all his life? Silly child. Bulleye rolled over, to the boyÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s blind spot, and hamstringed the lad. Falling heavily on his stomach, the boy was no match for the perfectly finished stab of BulleyeÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s manoeuver. Contemptuously wiping his blade on the boyÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s boot, Bulleye gave the body a look of grim satisfaction and moved on. He has lived his life without taking any risks, why have started now? Dubtrub was sorely knee-deep in trouble. Flanked by a mage and a ranger and backed by a wall, all the leader of the Crypt could see was the enemy leader beyond these puny foes. Launching in a forward roll, he slashed out to the side, lopping off the mageÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s leg. The mage tumbled heavily to the ground, screaming all the way. Not leaving the ranger any time to fire, he hurled the small dagger he always kept at his belt. The ranger seemed confused as to why was there a knife sticking out of his chest, and crashed down to join the mage. Dubtrub then rushed the leader, catching his full attention. He launched a small slash to the leaderÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s leg, taking a small nick to the wrist, but in the process, gouging a deep line across his foeÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s knee. The enemy swordsman was obviously a crafty veteran, so falling down, he hurled a small cloud of ash dust at DubtrubsÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢ eyes. His vision obscured by a gritty curtain of dust, Dubtrub relied solely on his fine hearing to find the enemy. He felt the wind as the swordsman lauched a slash at his side and parried appropriately. He also felt the blood on his hands as his fine blade dug into his opponentÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ã¢ââ¬Å¾Ã¢s side. Puzzled, the swordsman fell down. Wiping a hasty hand to clear his eyes, Dubtrub paced to his opponent and put his blade to his throat. - Surrender. Now. The enemy leader, seeing only one other course of action he did not want to experience, screamed loudly to the rest of his men to throw down their weapons. Seeing their leader so obviously bested, they quicky complied. Letting the enemy leader quickly brush the dust of his armour, wincing when he reached his side, Dubtrub moved among his own men. Seeing so many groaning in pain, and so many not moving at all, Dubtrub was distressed. He dispatched two of his elite force to secure the exit of the surviving portion of the enemy forces and watched his own troops loot the ones that did not survive. Deathhead was offering a quick prayer to the holy ones in the clan, and bandages to the ones who were not. After his sermon, he moved to the one duty he resented after a battle. Surgeon. Wincing as a flow of blood accompanied the extraction of an arrowhead from the shoulder of one archer, he packed the hole with bandages and neatly wrapped up the wound. It seemed as it would never end. He looked grimly at the line of patients awaiting care and only sighed. Dubtrub was slightly sad after receiving the count of wounded and dead, but soon rjoiced after it was announced that his clan had won a great victory, and that its name would never be forgotten. He gave a hearty clap to Bulleye, but then drew back as he noticed him not returning it. He left, still thinking about his stange companion. Bulleye was deep in concentration. Why had he struck out against the youngster? He dismissed that thought with logic; if he had not, he would be surely dead. But still, if only the boy had not seen war, he could have been a great man, changing the world for the better. Bulleye rocked back and forth, thinking the entire business of war inefficent and useless. When would he return to the man he once was? A man who would laugh and smile. Could he ever return to being that man? He could only dreamÃÆââââ¬Å¡Ã¬Ãâæ Bythe way, here is the link to my clan's webpage. Hope you enjoyed! http://s15.invisionfree.com/Crypt_of_de ... hp?act=idx