Caemlyn

[Heavy-Metal-Hippie]

"Pity your loss, brother." Cobain called to Anthenor. "I lost mine, too." He wondered how he would strike the other man, being tied to a tree and all.  

[Ethin Thayne]

Ethin felt that he should say something to Esole but she had already made it clear she didn't want him to bother her. He sighed and watched Cobain. He had rather liked the man and didn't like see him being tied to a tree. He supposed he could ask Esole Sedai later if he could let the man free, but he'd have to worry about this Anthenor Asha'man and Andurael, not to mention Kiae Sedai meddling with his doings.
Looking from person to person, Ethin approached Anthenor and held out a hand, "I believe I was.. introduced earlier but no matter. I'm Ethin, Warder to Esole Sedai."  

[CR Kyrie]

(OoC: New Order of Shai'tan, post One. Darkfriends welcomed into our ranks! APPLY NOW via private message!)

One of the Trollocs snorted something to a friend, who happened to be standing to him. A conversation ensued, with both adding more, talking about something that we humans just cannot understand. If we could understand, we might realize they were talking about which of us they would kill.

However, that would not be the case today. From his place atop the hill, Djevik watched the people of Caemlyn go about their business. How he watched them was a mystery, really, considering he had no eyes, but that was beside the point. He had been built for this, to kill, to lead, to be the strategy behind the Great Lord’s plan. He would be Nae’Blis for this, after all the pathetic Chosen had been slaughtered by the demon he was searching for.

He had led the New Order from their place in the Borderlands (not that there was much of a border anymore) to this sickeningly beautiful country, where the demon resided. As he imagined his blade piercing the boy’s heart, pictured himself drinking the blood of the monster that had sealed his Lord, the Myrddraal spoke to himself. “Where are you now, Rand al’Thor?” His voice rasped with aeons of evil, with the deaths of thousands by his hand.

The New Order had not come across many innocents on the way through the countries separating their previous location from Andor. They had only had to wipe out a few towns, in which two of his Trollocs died. Pathetic creatures, worthless for anything except pure, wonderful slaughter. The butchers would never raise themselves to the level of anything more.

That was when he heard the conversation going on beneath him. Turning, he made his way down the hill, the cloak about him not moving at all. The overall image was impressive, if not terrifying. A smile came across his eyeless face. “Did I not tell you to be silent while I built a plan?”

The Trolloc who had begun the conversation jumped at the sound of the Myrddraal’s smooth, deathly voice. It started snorting an apology, fear making it more of a squeal than anything. Djevik’s smile disappeared, replaced by a look of the darkest fury. “When I tell you to do something, you sniveling beast, you will follow my orders. Without fail, do you understand me?”

The pig-headed beast nodded, falling to its knees and sobbing with fear. “Good,” the Myrddraal replied, his voice going soft again. “But you do understand that I must make an example of you, correct?”

The Trolloc didn’t have time to react before the Myrddraal’s blade severed a muscle in the back of its leg. His poisonous blade didn’t immediately kill the beast, but it served its purpose. After a moment of weeping, the Trolloc began shaking uncontrollably. Soon enough, its skin turned black and it stopped moving, the convulsions coming to a not-quite-peaceful end. In fact, the creature died in quite a lot of pain.

That brought another smile to Djevik’s face. He loved death. He really did.

“Now,” he said, moving back to the top of the hill to regain his hidden spot, the perfect place to spy on the people below, “Let’s see where you are, Rand al’Thor, so that I might kill you as well.”  

[Color Me Fubar]

Ranuu

"Now,” he said, moving back to the top of the hill to regain his hidden spot, the perfect place to spy on the people below, “Let’s see where you are, Rand al’Thor, so that I might kill you as well.”

(Had to shorten it, sorry, Ranuu. And can we keep OOC posts to a minimum, or at least delete them? It's getting to be a bit much.)

A woman moved through the Trollocs, a bright figure amongst all the darkness. However, she hardly moved gracefully; rather, she stalked through the beasts, daring them to challenge her. Nevertheless, she was a beautiful sight, power surrounding her like a mantle she wore well.
As Sielle neared Djevik, however, her pace changed to a more appropriate stance - her body language became more submissive, though still stubborn, and her movements filtered from stalking to almost gliding, and her colorful clothing gave the impression of an escaped circus tent floating among storm clouds.
"Lord Djevik?" she began hesitantly, executing a deep and graceful curtsy, remaining low to the ground. "I have brought the information you required."  

[CR Kyrie]

((Probably for the best =) ))

The Trollocs ran through the town, impaling the helpless country folk upon their swords, axes, and spears. The people of this pathetic place didn’t stand a chance. It was really quite unfair, but that just meant that Djevik could have even more fun with it all. Fairness was quite overrated.

The mayor of the small hamlet was laying on his stomach in the middle of the main square, shivering with the pain he was in. A Trolloc had given him quite the gash in the side. The wound itself wasn’t fatal, but the blood loss would soon be. Suffering. Pain. The loss of his family, who had been slaughtered before his eyes. The final, hurt look in the eyes of his son as the Trolloc spitted him upon a spear before those eyes faded forever. These ran through his mind one after the other.

Shaking uncontrollably through rage, fear, pain, and all the other negative emotions one feels before death, the man looked up. The thatched roofs of the village were burning, though most of the buildings had already collapsed. In fact, everything that could burn was already on fire. And there, through the haze of all the heat, came a demon, directly toward him.

The Myrddraal grabbed the man by the hair and dragged him up, causing even more agony for the poor soul. “Rand al’Thor,” it said.

“I,” the man gulped, the fear of that Eyeless gaze upon him, “I don’t… know him.”

“Where is he, fool?” Djevik’s voice had changed to a furious roar, and he threw the man up against a building. Fury boiled up in the monster, and as he held the man by the throat with one hand, his sword came up to rest right above it, against the jugular vein.

The hideous odor of the Myrddraal and his Trollocs filled the man’s senses, pushing him even further into the darkness of despair. And yet… “The Lord Dragon… will destroy you… just… like he… killed your master.” he replied. BLOODY ASHES… they always became brave right before death, when they had nothing more to lose!

And what was the mayor of this small village rewarded with? A sliced throat by the same blade that had killed half of his villagers. As he fell to the ground, choking on his own blood, which coagulated in his throat with the heat of the summer, Djevik watched. And the man’s final sight was that of the Myrddraal wiping off his blade on the mayor’s own shirt.

“Lord Djevik?” The unexpected voice shook the Myrddraal from his reverie, and he turned his eyeless gaze upon the newcomer. Ah, yes, Sielle… a true Friend of the Dark. She was one of the few here who seemed to be content with doing Djevik’s bidding, and one of the few who seemed to have a backbone. She continued, “I have brought the information you required.”

He had sent Sielle into the city below the day before to learn the defenses and where the Order might strike most efficiently. Though Djevik had viewed the ex-Tinker as expendable, he didn’t want her to die, seeing as how her brightly colored clothing assisted well with espionage. Djevik couldn’t approach every situation by going in at night and slipping through the shadows like he did.

“This is good,” he rasped condescendingly, still thinking about the mayor in that town and his defiance. “Tell me… where shall we strike?”