Naophulax Saphenia
Posted: Fri Nov 10, 2006 6:13 pmGujjek Bladewalker
Member of Naophulax Saphenia
Gravel crunched beneath his boot as he stepped down from the stirrup. The warhorse released a whinny of relief as the weight it was carrying was directed elsewhere. He was huge, monstrously so even for a member of his race; well over 6 foot tall and illusion or not, it seemed as if he was at least that broad at the shoulders. He released the reigns, giving the horse a look that conveyed his expectation that the horse be here when he returns.
Glancing to the north, he could see the faint shadow of New Targonor’s towers, a darker purple upon a darkening sky. He glanced around, insuring that they were alone. His hood rose as he sniffed the air almost revealing the face beneath. Seemingly satisfied, he removed his gloves, pale green skin shown on hands that were as large as he. Tucking his brown cloth gloves beneath the rear of his horse’s saddle, he flexed his fingers reflexively.
A loud grunt issued from beneath the hood. “I hate having to always remain covered”, he grumbled to himself, knowing well that his kind was neither well liked nor tolerated by most among the fairer races. He pushed the hood back, unclasping the toggle at the neck. The plain grey, wool robe fell open and slipped off his shoulders. Catching it up easily in one hand, he tossed the robe over his horse’s back.
The Orc wore faded brown leather pants, knee high riding boots, and a purple and yellow vest tunic that was cinched at his waist by a belt. Large incisors emphasized his under bite, being clearly visible as he spoke to his companion, “Are you ready?”
He drew a massive two-handed sword from the scabbard fastened to his horse’s saddle. The sword was simple grey, immaculately functional, grains from the metal large upon the unpolished blade. Turning away from his horse he swung the blade effortlessly in one hand, the muscles in his arm and chest rippling beneath the olive skin. The Orc strode into the clearing. He walked the perimeter, keeping one eye on the figure in the middle. Grunting in amusement, the Orc turned toward her. His voice was war drums in the evening breeze “Fight me then N’remiri”. He turned to the petite female elf, a smile upon his face, and drew a semi circle in the dirt around him with the tip of his sword. His lip drawing into a snarl, he gave a spine chilling war cry and rushed the elf, his sword, now in both hands, swung to his side, at the ready.
______________________________________________________________________________
Naremiri Rossarinya
Member of Naophulax Saphenia
Naremiri stood as she heard the horse approach. Perspiration stained her tunic and caused her violet hair to cling to her forehead and neck. She had just finished her evening devotions, a set of positions used not only as an exercise, but also to honor the gods, the known ones anyway. Each series within was dedicated to a different god, not in worship, but in acknowledgement of their place in Truth.
As soon as the Orc rode into sight she closed her eyes, focusing instead on envisioning the environment in her mind. She listened as the Orc readied himself, removing the disguise that is he must wear to avoid the complications that arise from prejudices. She heard him as he entered the clearing and circled around her. Listening for the sounds that betray her opponent’s position and movements, she stood immobile; her long sword held lightly at her side.
Naremiri was old, not so old to be called such by another elf, but outside of the elven lands an age of 243 years was ancient. She was a direct descendent of Saphenia, the Priestess of Gloriann that started the organization known as Naophulax. As old as she is, Naremiri has never know a united guild. The guild splintered and the collected knowledge scattered across Telon after Silas Lucertae, the elven tyrant, tried to take it for his own use. This all happened during the time of Naremiri’s parents, but she knew the stories. She found it ironic that the guild had come full circle, during the battle with the Unifier, Saphenia created the guild with the purpose of collecting lore and keeping it safe. Due to our help, the gods were able to jointly defeat the Unifier. Strange the way things work, back then Telon was united against a common foe, the Unifier. Elf and Orc alike set aside their differences toward this end. Once the Unifier was defeated, the ancient enmities reignited. Old hatreds reawakened the elves banished the Orcs from their lands. The Orcs left, but did not forget. Eventually they returned, burning the elven city of Leth Nurae to the ground, this happened 250 years before Naremiri was born. She thought regretfully about all that was lost in that war, the uselessness of it. In time, the Orcs were driven back and the elves rebuilt, but the hatreds remain. Ironic now that she stands across the battlefield from an Orc, but…an Orc who is not only an ally, but a dear friend. Her thoughts were broken by her opponents change in motion, a slight slowing of his steps that signaled his intent to change direction…his intent to attack. She was prepared well before he announced his attack with his war cry. Her eyes opened and she lithely stepped aside, avoiding his powerful stab. Gujjek quickly turned his sword and swung wide horizontally. Continuing the motion begun when she avoided his first attack, she spun on the ball of her foot and ducked beneath the blade...
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Member of Naophulax Saphenia
Gravel crunched beneath his boot as he stepped down from the stirrup. The warhorse released a whinny of relief as the weight it was carrying was directed elsewhere. He was huge, monstrously so even for a member of his race; well over 6 foot tall and illusion or not, it seemed as if he was at least that broad at the shoulders. He released the reigns, giving the horse a look that conveyed his expectation that the horse be here when he returns.
Glancing to the north, he could see the faint shadow of New Targonor’s towers, a darker purple upon a darkening sky. He glanced around, insuring that they were alone. His hood rose as he sniffed the air almost revealing the face beneath. Seemingly satisfied, he removed his gloves, pale green skin shown on hands that were as large as he. Tucking his brown cloth gloves beneath the rear of his horse’s saddle, he flexed his fingers reflexively.
A loud grunt issued from beneath the hood. “I hate having to always remain covered”, he grumbled to himself, knowing well that his kind was neither well liked nor tolerated by most among the fairer races. He pushed the hood back, unclasping the toggle at the neck. The plain grey, wool robe fell open and slipped off his shoulders. Catching it up easily in one hand, he tossed the robe over his horse’s back.
The Orc wore faded brown leather pants, knee high riding boots, and a purple and yellow vest tunic that was cinched at his waist by a belt. Large incisors emphasized his under bite, being clearly visible as he spoke to his companion, “Are you ready?”
He drew a massive two-handed sword from the scabbard fastened to his horse’s saddle. The sword was simple grey, immaculately functional, grains from the metal large upon the unpolished blade. Turning away from his horse he swung the blade effortlessly in one hand, the muscles in his arm and chest rippling beneath the olive skin. The Orc strode into the clearing. He walked the perimeter, keeping one eye on the figure in the middle. Grunting in amusement, the Orc turned toward her. His voice was war drums in the evening breeze “Fight me then N’remiri”. He turned to the petite female elf, a smile upon his face, and drew a semi circle in the dirt around him with the tip of his sword. His lip drawing into a snarl, he gave a spine chilling war cry and rushed the elf, his sword, now in both hands, swung to his side, at the ready.
______________________________________________________________________________
Naremiri Rossarinya
Member of Naophulax Saphenia
Naremiri stood as she heard the horse approach. Perspiration stained her tunic and caused her violet hair to cling to her forehead and neck. She had just finished her evening devotions, a set of positions used not only as an exercise, but also to honor the gods, the known ones anyway. Each series within was dedicated to a different god, not in worship, but in acknowledgement of their place in Truth.
As soon as the Orc rode into sight she closed her eyes, focusing instead on envisioning the environment in her mind. She listened as the Orc readied himself, removing the disguise that is he must wear to avoid the complications that arise from prejudices. She heard him as he entered the clearing and circled around her. Listening for the sounds that betray her opponent’s position and movements, she stood immobile; her long sword held lightly at her side.
Naremiri was old, not so old to be called such by another elf, but outside of the elven lands an age of 243 years was ancient. She was a direct descendent of Saphenia, the Priestess of Gloriann that started the organization known as Naophulax. As old as she is, Naremiri has never know a united guild. The guild splintered and the collected knowledge scattered across Telon after Silas Lucertae, the elven tyrant, tried to take it for his own use. This all happened during the time of Naremiri’s parents, but she knew the stories. She found it ironic that the guild had come full circle, during the battle with the Unifier, Saphenia created the guild with the purpose of collecting lore and keeping it safe. Due to our help, the gods were able to jointly defeat the Unifier. Strange the way things work, back then Telon was united against a common foe, the Unifier. Elf and Orc alike set aside their differences toward this end. Once the Unifier was defeated, the ancient enmities reignited. Old hatreds reawakened the elves banished the Orcs from their lands. The Orcs left, but did not forget. Eventually they returned, burning the elven city of Leth Nurae to the ground, this happened 250 years before Naremiri was born. She thought regretfully about all that was lost in that war, the uselessness of it. In time, the Orcs were driven back and the elves rebuilt, but the hatreds remain. Ironic now that she stands across the battlefield from an Orc, but…an Orc who is not only an ally, but a dear friend. Her thoughts were broken by her opponents change in motion, a slight slowing of his steps that signaled his intent to change direction…his intent to attack. She was prepared well before he announced his attack with his war cry. Her eyes opened and she lithely stepped aside, avoiding his powerful stab. Gujjek quickly turned his sword and swung wide horizontally. Continuing the motion begun when she avoided his first attack, she spun on the ball of her foot and ducked beneath the blade...
Feel free to visit us and read the rest of the story or record your own at