Ancient Shadows (open)

[The Black Rider]

ooc: This thread takes place long ago. If you are an ancient or vampyre or other immortal/long living being and you want to be part of The Rider's history, please join. Enemies/Allies all equally accepted. Contact me through PM if you wish to join.

c. 150 years before the present year

The savage lands of Gais raged in infinite conflicts. It seemed that ever since the Sith had arrived, the lands were in a constant power struggle, each trying to usurp the others that would, in response, attempt to overthrow the previous. Peace would seemingly never be restored, as it had been so for centuries before now. It was truly a goal lost in a system that seemed to possess no direction. Many civilizations felt the sting of poverty, hunger, and death as powerful bands and tribes plundered many.

Crusades came forth to solve the problem that was a disjointed, unstable balance of power. They hoped to restore order in democratic ways. Even the Jedi came to Gais. However, all failed, as the planet had no means of centralized communication. It seemed that the system would never change.

Until the powerful hand of the Dark King fell upon the lands.

Lord Jarus, a knight from the Six Years Crusade, took command of a fierce army. He was a beacon of light to the people of Gais. He brought leadership, promise of stability and prosperity, and above all, peace. That was, untill he was changed...

The people of Gais could not explain the shift in demeanor. It was said that while in a battle with the West Sith tribe of Avelorn, Jarus found a ring--a ring of power. It was part of the Sith Treasury, and no Sith would dare wear it, for fear of its power. Jarus, in his desire to bring legitamacy, wore the ring, hoping to maximize his prowess in battle. It took a turn for the worse, and Lord Jarus became the Dark Lord Jarus Kun. Few new the significance of the name Kun, but those who did feared the Dark Lord.

The account of the last battle of Lord Jarus Kun's riegn follows--a testamant to one truth: All powers laiden in the darkside will eventually be conquered by the light.

*************************

The battlefield was ravaged--bodies and blood soiled the desolate plains. The stench of death filled the arid night atmosphere. Battle was never a thing of beauty, and this one was no exception.

Two armies clashed here on the outskirts of the largest city on Gais--Travilion. The armies had been fighting now for three days, which was quite respectable for the opposition. The opposition was the Bretheren of Peace, a good sized force of men who were intent on restoring justice to the lands of the oppressed Gais. Where freedom once exsisted, oppression had taken hold at the hands of the Dark Lord Jarus Kun and his forces, the Iron Fist. For the past thirty years, the amry had taken control of the small planet and restored order--in a tyrannical, depressing way.

However, the Bretheren were wearing down the forces of Jarus Kun. It seemed as though maybe, in the spirit of hope, the Dark Lord's reign would fall. However, the Dark Lord himself still remained strong in battle, his strength overpowering many.

At the helm of his forces, he led the army into battle. His men were dark beings, feared and revered by those that fought them. Vampyres, Sith, ghouls, men, and other creatures populated his cruel regime.

"We will not back down!" The voice of the man was heard across thousands of men, amplified by an unseen power. The man stood--dressed in flowing a flowing black cloak. The hood of the cloak did not shroud his face--he was handsome. His appearance, however, looked unnatural. He had ruled for centuries now, but he appeared to be no older than 40 years or so.

"Push forward! We will not surrender!" Jarus commanded, entering the fray. The forces of the Bretheren closed in as he searched for his next target. He attacked a few of the men, closing in on their center. Striking forward, he unleashed a series of attacks to the warriors. Three collapsed as the silver blade of Jarus struck down their hopes of victory. Two more fell to his blade as three others were lifted off of the ground by an unseen force, thrown hundreds of yards away. His men were collapsing around him, as it seemed that the army was overpowered.

"Do not quit! Do you hear me? We will not quit!" He spoke into the wind, and his powerful voice carried for miles.

[Evil Hobgoblin]

A pack of seven soldiers - beast riders, mounted on fierce scaled reptiles the snorted steam and clawed up the soil - suddenly burst from behind the trees behind Jarus. They rode in two groups of three with the lead rider in advance of them, falling upon the the ranks of Jarus' personal rearguard and cutting through them like kholm grass. The ranks attempted to close and reform, but the riders swept on, intent on their goal.

The death of Jarus Kun.

Five of the attackers became embroiled in personal battles, but the leader and his lieutenant pressed the attack. So busy was Jarus with the forefront of his battle that he was unaware of the rearward approach.

The lieutenant suddenly wheeled about, determined to prevent all access to his leader. Though the original seven-man unit had lost three men in their struggles, they'd taken an impressive number of the enemy with them. All that remained was for the beastrider captain to confront and dispatch the foe that had so long abused them.

The captain brandished a primitive sword, bright and burnished. He was a truly expert wielder of his weapon, and it would cut through the flesh of its' enemy if he could but get it close enough. Quickly, the captain veered left, swinging beneath a large tree near the hilltop to stay concealed that much longer. Branches, the tree trunk, chunks of clawed-up earth flying through the air, all of those sped by in a blur.

But the captain was so focused on his goal that he missed the dark shape in the tree reaching down with two huge, hairy hands. They plucked him from his mount with ease and grace, drawing him upward. For a moment, the captain saw a fierce, hateful face staring at him and he screamed in fear and despair.

The scream cut off in a gurgle as the figure broke the captain's neck.

Jarus dispatched the last man nearby and spun around to see a small, misshapen figure crouching over the body of the man it had just killed. The dwarf was playing with the sword it had taken from its' victor, brandishing it in a few mock swings. Behind him, the ranks of his bodyguards had closed once more, their surprise attackers now vanquished, but not without heavy losses of their own.

Jarus looked at Hob. "They've surrounded ye," he said with a shrug. "Snuck past yer flanks real quick-like with a lot o' troops. Ye'll be wantin' t' pull off an' regroup, don't y'know?"

[The Black Rider]

Jarus chuckled slightly to himself at the appearance of Hob. At any given moment, Jarus could likely not tell you where the dwarf would be. However, he could always trust that he would be near enough to aid the Dark King. It seemed as though little was done through Jarus Kun that was was not orchestrated with or though Hob. Fewer than that number was the number of beings that knew this fact.

He heard Hob's advice and scanned the scene. The battle was looking bleak--it seemed as though the army had little time left to survive. They were running out of air and, unless a miracle were to surface, they would be unable to surface. For those of darkness, few miracles ever found their way into the shadows.

A look of great pain struck Jarus' face--only that only Hob saw. It twisted his battle scared and hardened, kingly face into a knot of fear and tension. He thought back to the words of his Empowerer--Exar Kun. Fail me, Jarus, and you will taste the steel of my fury. He knew what that meant. Possibly he would lose his power. Possibly he would lose his status. Worse...he could lose his life. He feared the great power within him. He could not quit--he could not lose this battle. He must retain power for his own sake. He began towards Hob, his regiment trying desperately to hold their ground behind him.

"My friend...do you know what this means?" He asked with wide eyes and a quivering voice. An enemy warrior advanced on him from the rear. With a little less than a look, the warrior fell to his knees, clutching an invisible hand at his throat. "I can't--this can't happen. I have to win." The man behind him gasped his last breath as Jarus snapped blinked. "The Other...he will not accept this in me." The man was breaking down before the old dwarf. He tried to hold his fears back, but was unable to. He became distraught.

The battle around him did not quit. The armies covered the Iron Fist. It seemed as though the dark curtain that was Jarus Kun's power was being torn from its rod. The numbers of the dark army were thinning into terrifyingly low numbers.

"This...This can't be happening." He crouched before the dwarf, seeking the one person he still trusted. Truly, he had lost confidence in himself. He could only guess at what would become of him at the hands of The Bretheren. Worse, he would believe, would be the punishment from Exar Kun for his failure.

"What next? What?" His eyes wide, he looked to Hob for answers as he had done many times before.

[Evil Hobgoblin]

Hob shrugged. "I cannae tell ye how t'win," he said, still waving the sword playfully. "Only how t' retreat. 'tis far too dangerous for an assault, thinks Hob."

Hob consulted his memory for some solution- he'd read books about tactics in his hundred-odd years of life, but had no real call for that information before the past couple of decades. As such, he was not well-instructed, nor did the information he sought come easily to hand.

"The best advice Hob could give ye now would be t' take t' the trees," he said after cogitation. "When yer in among leaves, ye cannae be seen. Find some archers, retreat, an' set a trap in th' treetops."

Hob tilted his head upward sharply. "There be more riders," he said. "Comin' from th' east. Yer lines there musta fallen. Marshal yer forces an' lead them west- Hob shall find a place for the trap he spoke of."

With that, the dwarf spun around and loped off into the forest, leaving Jeran to command his beleagured troops against an onrushing tide.

[The Black Rider]

Jarus trusted the dwarf with no reservations. And, in trusting his judgement, he did as the dwarf reccomended. He gathered himself and looked upon the battlefield. His army was thinning at an incredible rate. He decided it best to take his elite and push for safety.

Calling out with his mind, he reached his private cavalry--The Blood Runners. He called a message to them, to join him. His position revealed to them in their brains. He began to see them emerge. There were twelve of them in the small, elite unit. 8 were emerging. Even some of their own ranks had followed.

Their blood-red cloaks--much like his own--whipped as the rode to him. Their faces, covered in hoods, were unseen. He had a special bond with this group--indeed, he had all but made them. They had been warriors selected and trained by him. Bearing weak, but effective, force powers, they were equal in level to Sith padawans. With just a taste of dark powers, however, they were quite superior to the human warriors they faced. Their faces were hidden so that they would be able to walk amongst the troops and the villages with no question to who they were.

"My Master, it seems as though we are facing a dark hour. Perhaps..." Eliet, the leader of the Runners, gave his piece of advice as Jarus' own mind trailed off. He looked in the direction of Hob--the little man already well out of sight. He turned back, interrupting the loyal soldier.

"Look upon the battle, my children. Your brethren fail you--they fail me. They are lost." As the group saw the battle before them, Jarus continued. "We have no use for failures among us. We will retreat--ride to the West. Their we will meet up with friendlies to our cause and regroup. This...this sad excuse for an army is no longer our concern." The Blood Runners turned to face him and nodded, obeying. Jarus spun his horse, and the company moved into the forest, riding quickly to the West.

[Evil Hobgoblin]

Hob sped along, his limber feet touching earth and root, tree trunk and rock in his haste to go elsewhere.

In a way, the dwarf held sympathy for Jarus Kun- Hob saw in the other much that held true to his own life. They were both wise, both clever and creative, and both outcasts for what they were. And after stumbling upon the situation that had brewed up in Gais, Hob had decided in his arbitrary fashion to assist the man who had come to be known as the Dark King. Many times, Hob had advised him to one course or another, and many times they had worked. Not always, but where Hob's subtlety and precision failed, Jarus' overwhelming strength managed to salvage the problem.

That strength, however, seemed to be nearing its' end. An entire new legion of followers would be needed to retake what had been lost in this last series of battles, and even Hob's best efforts had only lessened the damage.

But the small and misshapen being had no power, no strength to call his own. A few mystic tricks that were useful on occasion, perhaps, but the strength Jarus possessed was something Hob envied.

The dwarf came to an abrupt stop hanging from a tree branch. He did this because the ground had abruptly fallen away.

In the middle of the forest, a river had cut a path. The constant erosion of the water had done quite a job- without knowing it Hob had happened to be at the top of hill. Anyone approaching it rapidly would be taken by surprise, and possibly led to their death.

It was a perfect place for an ambush. Archers, if they had any left, could be stationed along the other side. An opposing force could be led up to the hilltop and then fallen upon from behind, driven to a deadly drop.

Hob turned and began swinging through the trees, searching once again for Jarus. Strength and subtlety combined had been, and would continue to be, a formidable combination.

[The Black Rider]

The Dark King--pride now damaged--had found a few scattered men as he rode towards Hob. He could feel the dwarf's position--through the Force--and he would find his trustee. He gathered the forces he could--his 8 Blood Runners, a handful of archers, a few spearmen, and two swordsmen. Hopefully, this would be enough. With his power, he could hopefully fend the remaining attack off to gain more time to escape.

Seeing the dwarf perched on a tree branch, he approached the wooded river. Coming to the embankment, he turned his men--roughly 20 strong, to watch the flank.

"The archers could provide some light range. I think perhaps we could develop a trap here for any pursuers--until the path to retreat was safe and cleared." He spoke to Hob, echoing what he thought the dwarf's strategy might be. A sad desparation in his voice seemed to be the undertow of his mood. He looked to Hob for answers now. His power--his strength and grasp of the Force--would do little against the mass of his oposition.

[Evil Hobgoblin]

"Aye," Hob nodded. "Tis a workable plan. We first rest, ye and I. Then, we continue on."

Then an anxious kind of tension fell across the small group. Hob and the Rider stood in readiness, patiently awaiting any who should attempt to follow them, but none did. After twenty minutes of waiting, the two looked at each other. "Onward, then," Hob said.

The Rider turned and waved half of his men back; a rear guard to lie in wait until the trap could be sprung. The rest of them would move forward to clear their path.

The force began moving through the woods, but only a few minutes into their march screams and hollers rang through the woods. The Rider looked to Hob, who also recognized the voices.

Without another word, the dwarf leapt to action, swinging through the trees. He reached the area where they had left their other forces and stopped.

There was nothing there but dead bodies. Clearly, the ambushers had been ambushed.

Hob twisted about and began swinging back. If he was not in time, whoever had dispatched this force could well ambush the remainder.

[The Black Rider]

Behind the dwarf, no less than a meter, a black blur whipped through the shrubbery and trees as Jarus immediately turned to follow. He had heard the cries--almost before Hob's very acute sense of hearing had. Damn it! He was blinded to the attack, blinding to the ambush! How! What was happening? How could he...

Kun.

I haven't failed you yet! You owe me! Jarus called into his own mind. He felt the laughter of an inner voice and dsmissed it for the time being. He had no time for this foolishness.

DAL! KALA! WREN! BI-DOR! Stay with the remaining footsoldiers. The rest come with me! The voice of Jarus called into the minds of his Blood Runners. They heard his commands louder than their own thoughts as they obeyed. The four remaining cirlced the group of soldiers left. Even though they were battle hardened, the regular foot soldiers showed signs of fear, their comrades' cries causing them to let go of all bravery left. The Blood Runners showed none, however, in their crimson hoods.

The familiar clop-clop of hooves rang out like thunder as Jarus lead the four furious riders behind him. Hob--dangling from trees and hopping about--was suprisingly just as fast. Coming to the river, the horses stopped as Hob perched himself in a branch above it. Jarus stood, his eyes now fiery with rage and even moreso tainted with a slight twinge of fear.

All the men had been killed.

A methodical, calculated attack had destroyed the small flank force. Blood poured into the river--staining the forest's purest source of drink. This day had been represented by so much symbolism--Jarus could see it in every area of the events. The blood ran into the stream, washed away by the swift, clean, pure blue water.

MASTER!

Wren. He had cried out in Jarus' mind. The other troop was finding itself under attack. Strangely, Hob had noticed as well, spinning on his heals as quickly as Jarus could. He ordered his men to follow him.

"Eliet!" He spoke, his voice commanding.

"Yes, my master," the deep voice came from within the faceless hood.

"You will remian at my side. Command your brethren to take to the woods. Tell them to be fleet of foot and silent. They must flank our attackers."

"Yes, my master. Gallen, Derrik--"

"No no, Eliet," Jarus commanded. "Use your mind. Use the Force." Eliet could very well be the last of Jarus' most powerful students. He would need to hone his skills. The other three Runners split off, disappearing into the woods, silently.

Jarus pushed on, following the dwarf in the trees.

[Evil Hobgoblin]

Swinging through the trees, Hob moved much faster than Jarus or his soldiers could progress mounted or on foot. He came upon a fight between one of the Blood Runners and a man in camoflauge grey. The assailant saw Hob coming and cut down the Blood Runner with a furious set of strokes, but he could not turn fast enough to protect himself from a large pair of feet hammering into his face. Hob landed on the ground standing over his opponent's head, where he drew back his fist and slammed it into skin, and through bone.

The face of the man in grey sagged and his limbs twitched lifelessly.

Hob leapt into the trees again continuing on. It wasn't long before he found a scene similar to the first. There were several other men in grey dead with Jarus' foot soldiers this time, and the sounds of battle could be heard not far away. Wasting no time, Hob sped in their direction.