The Housewars

To defend the Wyvern's Claw from Fallbackpuppet and the Usurpers

by Brahm Tazoul

The Obsidian Study has grown more and more crowded over the last few weeks. As Generals filter in from the fields of battle, more swarm to the Wyvern's Claw to witness the all-but-sure Victory. The Claw has withstood it's attackers yet again, and the Guardians stand tall this day.

Out on the balcony, He of the Three and the UnNamed look the South-East, at the massive shadows playing on the horizon. The murmuring all but stops in the Study as the tension becomes palpable. The Hidjama Staff of Brahm Tazoul is raised, pointing South. The UnNamed raises his staff and directs it north. Lord Embersan, a recent addition to the balcony, points his enchanted charts to the East, and Wudiil, the NewComer, aims his Long Sword West. United, the Guardians of the Claw release their might;

A blinding flash emanates from the Tower, High atop the Obsidian Reach Mountains, Deep within the Province of Foreslate. The Beam rises, and races out to join the forces of the Claw.

Lord Killmaster, riding his mighty beast, races towards the final conflict, directing the hordes below towards the Keep of the Crazy Horse. Quickly, a shaft of light pierces his chest, and races onward. Power glows, and the Lord races on, redoubling his efforts, hereby strengthened by those at the Claw.

DocY, the Lethal Assassin, sulks about in the shadows of the Forms that he has summoned. Together, they march onwards, racing ever-closer to their destination. The Keep of the Horse is in sight, and nothing shall steal his glory in this final mission. He has slain many for the Claw, and tonight he ensures that none more shall pose a threat to her this day. An invisible beam of light stabs down, and infuses him with courage. Strength ebbs into his body, and he is prepared to face this conflict.

Pingu the Crazy lets out a "Whoop Whoop Whoop" as he rides his Hatchling onward. Waving his three-headed mace too-and-fro, he advances upon the tightly grouped circle of Colossa. A tint of madness gleams in his eye, as he who has survived incredible odds races towards possible death, with not a trace of hesitation in his stride. An implosion of light illuminates the battlefield, with Pingu at it's heart. He seems to grow, just a little, and a bit of glee can be seen as his cracks a smile and forges onwards.

Thistle, who has been at the Claw for some time, is found in the courtyard. Kneeling, she whispers sweet songs to her children. As they spread the word through the earth and root, the World itself seems to lend aid to the Claw's warriors. Closing her eyes, she digs her fingers into the soft dirt at her feet, and releases the power she has kept pent up inside, and a glow races down her arms, disappearing into the soil. Thus aided, her mighty albeit tiny army moves in.

Lupious The Critical smiles as he relaxes with a mug of Ale. His job completed, his Empire small, he enjoys his well deserved rest. Long had he fought for others, behind the lines, supplying what was needed to any front he could reach, and even those he couldn't. Around he are Nala Llams the Ranger and Nekro666 the Mercenary. They toast their victories and mourn their loses, each content with their accomplishments. No seeking of glory can be found among these three, as they stand together, happy that the Claw still stands.

CrazyTanya sits off to the side of those three, sipping on one of Tazoul's finer vintages. She looks the room over, love in her eyes, as she feels that these are some of the best friends and allies that she could ask for. Her battles were hard, her loss tragic, however she seems content. She looks out to the balcony to see the four, Tazoul, Ssmither, Embersan and Wudiil, continuing to pour their strength into the spell. Sighing, she wonders when those gentlemen will "loosen up" and enjoy the spoils of this war.

Microesq the Cruncher sits at yet another table. Hunched over his abacus, he calculates the number of men required to fulfill his daily Fury Requirements. Regardless of the assurances from the others that the war is over, he presses on, ensuring that there will be more Forms, more spells, and plenty of Fury in the Claw's Stockade. Frowning at the serving girl who offers him a refreshment, he instructs her to stand watch over his table. Racing to the small bar, he grabs the first bottle available. Above her protests, he pours the fiery liquid down his throat, coughs for a moment, and gets back to work. The Thirty-Six year-old bottle of Amber FireWine lays discarded on the tabletop, it's last drip burning an ever-deepening hole into it's Obsidian surface.

Stagrace, in all her elegance, rides upon the shoulder of Papagino. Which Papagino is unclear, however her faithful bodyguard looks every-which way as he advances upon the small crowd of Crusaders who huddle under the banner of the Horse. Suddenly, her battle-dress begins to glow, and it's pulsations force Papagino to cover his Amber eyes. When he feels it is safe to do so, he uncovers them, just in time to witness his lady clear the path of all those who opposed them with a wave of her hand. The Crusaders wilt under her power, and her army is once again free to advance upon the Horse.

Cyric Artemis, moves quietly through the trees surrounding the Keep. With him rides less than a score of his elite BloodGuard. On their Rip Lizards, they dodge too and fro through the trees, their mounts gloved claws whispering as they pass over dried leaves and upturned soil. The Gates to the Keep lay open and silent, like a giant maw waiting to swallow them whole. Cautiously, the 23 men and women race across the last open expanse separating them and their ultimate goal. Roots and other impediments move out of the way for these chargers, as the battles rage within a league of their position. Screams of death and pain are all that is heard as the party enter the Keep, and those screams echo down the massive hallway until they are granted a swift death by the silence that overpowers all. Slowly, padded feet hissing on the marble floor, they advance, and within moments they stand in front of two massive Oak Doors. Cyric Artemis dismounts, and waves for those around him to stay mounted. With hand signs, he directs them away from the door, to lay hidden in the shadows of the pillars that line the massive hall. Silently, they obey.

With a mighty push, the doors swing inward to reveal the Throne Room of the Horse. Plush carpets cover the floor as ancient and exquisite rugs hang o'er almost every wall. On an ever-slightly raised dais, he sits upon an unadorned throne of Oak. A simple throne. A strong throne. His huge battle sword lays bare on his lap, and two incredibly huge Colossa stand guard over each of his shoulders. Looking up, one cannot help but notice the glint of defiance in his eye. His face otherwise expressionless, he nods to Cyric Artemis, as an equal. Cyric nods in reply, and raises his arms. Hands poised like talons reaching for a kill, he chants. The words sound ancient, and they seem to roll with slight difficulty off of the warriors tongue. The two Colossa look on as a shaft of piercing white light blasts through the hall and into Cyric. Channeled through him, it splits and fires from his fingers, jabbing Crazy Horse in the torso. A quick look of pain is all that is apparent, and then he begins to dissipate. Slowly, Crazy Horse, most mighty of the Usurpers, most Powerful and Noble of those who marched against the Wyvern's Claw fades, his spirit racing to join the Gods. Finally, it ends, and Cyric crumbles to the floor in exhaustion. The sharp clang of metal is heard as the battle sword of Crazy Horse falls to the floor, rapping off the dais to rest upon the plush floor. Slowly, Cyric rises and advances upon the throne. With effort, he reaches down, and raises the massive blade, and stands it upon the throne of this passed Ruler. Looking up, one would swear that the Colossa nod their thanks as they begin to fuse together, the Fury that animated them exhausted with their masters defeat. Out in the entranceway, the same fusing is occurring as the Bloodguard stare up in amazement, realizing that the columns they were using as cover were in fact Colossa as well. Dozens of the Goliaths silently accept their fate, returning to the earth from which they came, their service done.

Back at the Claw, the four on the balcony lower their arms as one. The light fades, and they all sigh a sigh of relief. Turning, He of the Three faces his friends and allies, and smiles.

"Through the power of us all, we have emerged from our tribulations victorious. Not one of you can be thanked enough for your sacrifices and efforts. Together, we have shown those what the Claw is capable of. Together, we survived. Together, I say, we shall continue to strive and ensure that the Three are respected o'er Midia. Together we are unstoppable. It is only together that we have achieved all that we have. Without you all, the Claw would have fallen this day. Now, she stands proud, a refuge for those of Honor to come and gain respite from a Dark World. I thank you all, from the bottom of my heart."

Tears flow freely down the ancient, wrinkled face as Brahm Tazoul slumps behind his Obsidian Desk, exhausted from the War, the Losses, the Strain and the killing.

'At least,' he thinks to himself, 'it is bearable with friends like these.'

Thank you all,
Brahm Tazoul, Emperor of the Three.