The Demon King's Glorious Return

[Thomas_Salsbury]

It was dark. The winds blew so harshly, that the tree branches and leaves were torn asunder. It was cold. The rain and ice came down like the wrath of god himself. The location of such a brutal storm was the small village in which Elves inhabited out on in the forest. It was a secluded area, not many folk knew it's whereabouts. But, it was that reason itself for which they were unsafe at the moment. The Elven Guards of the village fell left and right, and the attackers would not stop when they were dead....but would rather continue to mutilate the body of there foes, and devour the flesh. These creatures were demonic imps, brought forth from the depths of hell itself.

Screams were heard, as the Elven men were slaughtered and eaten in front of their loved ones, who would cry and then be taken from their homes and dragged down into the depths of hell, if they were lucky enough to be women that is....As the legion of imps continued, white, long pure feathers fell to the floor, as a figure with large white wings, greasy blonde hair tied into a pontail, and pale complexion with baby blue eyes floated down to the ground. He wore leather armor, with bits of chain mail sewn in over the vital areas. This was the angel Drenlin. Though he was an angel, he did nothing to stop the imp's monstrous attack. Instead, and he nodded and walked through the carnage.

"Good, good.....' said the angel, armed bent behind his back. " Lord Vortex shall be very pleased......Remember! Only the women survive! Anything that can't bare children is up for devouring, my minions!!!"

Drenlin through his greasy head back and cackled, as the sounds of death and destruction were all about on this night....

((OOC: Anyone may respond. "WoW" me! ))

[Rapscallion]

Rapscallion rode his tarantula, Riggs, over the hill and into the clearing overlooking the village. Sporting a slew of pelts, bone spears, and skins of small reptiles, he halted Riggs when he got to the top of the hill to witness the scenario. "Well if this damn weather wasn't enough, now there's this!" he said. "Apparently this elven village was not a good one to barter with, Riggs." He watched a gang of imps leap onto an elven guard very ill-equipped and kill him while devouring his face. "Revolting little bastards!" he exlclaimed with disgust. "I suppose we should leave before they see us."

[Dracofrost]

In the dark, in the pounding rain and hail, the wind picked up in a particularly cold and ominous gust. With a suddenness, the sky was pierced by a fierce cry as of a mighty eagle, a glowing spear arcing skyward above the forest to the south of the village. In that moment lightning flashed, followed almost immediately by a deep, chest throbbing thunderclap. The lightning illuminated what had not been previously seen: many dark and tall shapes gathering around the edge of the village, horsemen clad in black maille, their approach covered by the gloom and the trees and the pounding rain.

On the signal of that piercing cry, the assembled horsemen let loose their bowstrings. From fifty bows shot fifty arrows, tipped in dark poison and hard steel, arrows meant to slay and loosed by experienced hands well versed in this deadly art. Many imps fell in this first surprise attack, yet before any could react a second great cry went up, a great horn calling even over the pounding storm, the terrible call of the CHARGE!

Fifty more horsemen clad in black maille pounded past their brothers in arms, these ones armed with lances or long spears, and they charged into the fray, the thunder of their hooves shaking the very earth with the fury of their assault, as they slammed into the already somewhat confused imps, many now writhing and wailing in pain as the poison took it's grim course. One horseman in particular stood out, taller than all the rest, his steed larger and fiercer, with a dark steel horn mounted on it's forehead like some dread unicorn. He was the Ironheart, and his sword flashed in the storm and firelight as he slew imp upon imp.

Then he saw the angel, terribly out of place in these scene yet bearing an air of command. Seeing this for what it meant, Alaric turned to face him, his steed rearing into the air in a great display...

((OOC: Your turn now.))