Harping On Write Up - "Rage" - 18th July

Rage. Red and fiery and full of blood.
Rage pumping through muscle, and vein, and fist and eyes, as Moth cleaved through flesh.
Droplets of hot red blood spraying onto sweaty skin, staining it for weeks to come. His blood and their blood, filling the air with a sweet smelling red mist. And rage, pouring relentlessly like a dam burst, as an audience of adventures implored the bloody Barbarian to retreat.
The figure cut through monsters, in a dance that would be sung in song in later days. But for now he simply cut. Moth. Alone. Surrounded. And cutting. The sound of wet flesh being cleaved. Of howls. Of pants.


Val awoke. The bare wooden ceiling stared back at him in the darkness of the night.
His hair stuck to the hay filled pillow. And the summer heat clung to the open window frame of the inn.
Stepping outside Val sucked in dry air, waking himself in the darkness. His muscles tight and stiff, refusing to ease.
A figure shifted by the roadside, 50 feet away. A hulking shadow in the night, slumped and tired. Val approached the Half-Orc’s silhouette, the dry dust shifting under his worn boots. The two stood and watched the faint moon wander behind the blanket of grey clouds.
"Storms coming." Val turned to look at the figure expecting a response. Instead he saw Moth’s dark eyes, unblinking and wet. The air thick and clammy around them, all silent as the two continued to watch the approaching clouds.
Val inhaled through his nose, remembering the smell of the forest. Damp, fresh and full of life.


"Calm down.” Gallen held the naked harpy closer than he needed. Her body panting for air. "Calm." A thick smile working its way across the Gallen’s face, whilst Val’s sword lay on the throat of the winged beast.
Dorian entered from the forest edge, with Nix and Grimes behind, "We wish you no harm.” His voice calming both the Harpy and her capturers, “We have come to aid you - your kind have disappeared, is that correct?”
The Harpy looked at Dorian’s dark horned face, seeing kindness and caring that she did not sense in the two men who had attacked her, “Please, please don’t hurt me.” The dull ache of her bruised wings throbbing against the man who held her.
On Dorian’s command Val and Gallen loosened their grip, and the Harpy distanced herself. Standing naked on the damp forest floor, her wings expanding, readying herself to flee, “What do you want?”
“To help.” Dorian’s words continuing to calm the Harpy, as he told her of his group's desire to find out why her fellow Harpies had vanished. She sensed truth as the Tiefling spoke, and although her sisters were not here, she felt they too would trust him. Holding back the fear and sadness that had built up within her she shared her tale,
“My name is Clanteen, and my tribe has been captured. We were set upon by Gnolls. They raced from the woods like a pack of wild dogs and took us all. But me.” In her short 17 years this was the first time she had been alone as she explained she sense the bond of her sisters to the north, in a place the men knew as Silent Pines.
“We will help you.” Dorian confirmed Clanteen’s hopes.
“Will you join us Clanteen?” Nix spoke up as he saw her eyes dart to the tree tops above them, “Your sisters are gone. You are alone, and we need your help to find them.”
Clanteen found herself nodding as Nix spoke, “Yes. You are right.” And so Clanteen joined these strange men who had wished her harm, but were now her only hope, as they set off north.

The pines to the North were thicker than at Clanteen’s home. The bark darker, and the leaves both wider and flatter. The birds were fewer, and sang a sader tone as dusk drew in. Around her the men had set up camp around a small fire in a clearing, trampling ferns and grasses with their metal weapons and baggage. Yet they were now her companions, who settled down to rest until they continued their search for her sisters. She thought of her Mother’s smile, her Aunt’s song, and the games she played chasing the chicks. And then something stirred in the bush, as if wild dogs approached from all side. Clanteen’s feathers tensed and her dark eyes shot to Dorian, “They’re here!” And from the forest arrows and snarls and barks fired upon the camp.
Woken from sleep, Nix burst through the side of his tent, ripping a hole right through it, and stumbled into the path of a thick-set Gnoll with a scar across his snout. Instinct took over and the beast was ablaze in front of him as fire leapt from the Warlock’s palms.
To Nix’s left, a blade burst through the chest of another of the pack, as Val’s sword pierced the spine and chest cavity and a scream echoed around the forest. One after another each Gnoll was burnt and cut and smashed, until corpses surrounded the men’s camp, and once again they settled down to rest.
Canteen did not sleep that night.

Since the journey had begun the following morning, the forest had been dense with vines thick as a dwarf’s arm, but up ahead a clearing could be seen, “Not much further.” Grimes looked toward beams of sunlight as he marched through the undergrowth, his armour rattling with each step.
“Hold.” Nix called to the Paladin, and as Grimes did he then saw it.
“How bloody many are there!” Grimes wiped beads of sweat from his head.
“Too many to count.” Nix’s eyes darted across the gorge in front of them, at structures within the gorge made of wood, at a bridge that connected the gorge to the forest, at two wooden watchtowers by the bridge, and at the countless creatures who called this place home.
“This is base of sorts.” Dorian clenched this jaw as he saw kobolds, goblin, ogres and shadows.
Gallen played with a bolt in his hand as he looked to the Tiefling, “Maybe the Harpies are there.” and he pointed the bolt toward a large structure in the centre of the gorge.
“Lads.” Val’s voice was low, his eyes fixed on the trees the other side of the gorge, “We’re not the only ones here.” And from the other side of the gorge could be seen a small group, whose faces Val had seen many times in Daring Heights.
“Maybe that’s a good thing.” Gallen tuck the bolt back into its quiver.


“So it’s settled,” All eyes were on Nowhere, a Tiefling, whose sharp whisper drew the attention of each adventurer, “Keladry you will destroy the bridge, trapping them in the gorge, and-”
“And you, all of you,” Keladry looked across the group who had doubled in size as the sets of adventurers now knelt in a clearing way from the gorge. Her eyes settling on Moth’s, and their eyes locked, “- you will cause one hell of a distraction.” Her eyes still locked with the Half-Orc as a corner of her mouth tightened into a small grin.
“We will,” Nodded Dorian, as he readied the group.
Clanteen watched as one man polished his shield. She wondered if he did this before every battle. Another unsheathed his sword, and ran his finger up and down the centre of the blade. Two men spoke about the future, of brewing ale together on their return. The hulking Half-Orc inhaled the forest air, his eyes closed. Each and every one of the group prepared in their own way. They reminded Clanteen of her own tribe, each with their own ritual and habits. And for a moment her sadness waned, and Clanteen felt peaceful as she watched each walk toward the bridge. And then the clearing was silent, as a lone Harpy stroked her wings and thought of home.


Down in the gorge, a gnoll with brown patches of fur across its back, broke a bone with its teeth. The bone splintered in its mouth, as its rough tongue sought out the marrow inside. Wet and thick, the marrow tasted sweet. As it sat in the shade the gnoll felt the eyes of a goblin on his dinner. Looking up he saw the goblin, who was short and skinny for his type, its face pale green and vacant, and bloodshot eyes intent on the bone in the gnolls mouth. The gnoll snarled, hoping to get back to its meal in peace. The goblin still stared, and took a single step toward the gnoll. The gnoll rose from the dirt it was sat in as frustration grew, and snarled again at the small goblin. Still the goblin starred. The gnoll removed the bone from its jaw, and inhaled deeply, readying a roar that would send the goblin running. But another roar was heard. Not from the goblin, but high up by the bridge. Another rivalry perhaps, wondered the gnoll as his ear twitched at the sound. No, this was not a roar, but a scream. A scream full of pain, and fear. The gnoll watched the goblin turn to look, and he followed his gaze to see one of the wooden watchtower in flames, and then a moment later a crash and the second watchtower was ablaze. Now the gnoll did let out a roar, as his bone hit the dirt before being trampled under the feet of the small goblin, then another larger goblin, then gnolls and kobolds, and the entire camp as they ran toward the bridge.


Moth sunk his weapon into the neck of a kobold, as the heat of the flaming watchtower singed the hair on his neck. He was surrounded, in his element, as he dodged one blow, spun with the grace of an elf, and lifted a goblin into the air, tossing it into the gorge. A club landed against Moth’s back, alerting him to another foe that needed to be ended. Moments later a gnoll’s lower jaw landed with a thud onto the ground. Moth looked to the bridge, just as Keladry ran from it and toward him, a smile clear across her face. A moment later she was framed with a yellow brighter than a freshly minted gold coin. As the bridge exploded, her green eyes once again locked with Moth’s.

From further away a goblin fell, its arm separated from its body before the final blow to its skull. Val jerked his sword free, and then turned to watch the explosion. Around him the fellow adventurers fought, as corpses of the creatures dotting the battlefield like fallen conkers. Some crushed, others pristine but still. As Val watched Keladry run, he saw it: a beast larger than anything he had fought, climb from the gorge, fire licking its back, as its huge hand lifted Keladry into the air like a doll.

She called out, but from where Val stood he couldn’t make out what. But Moth heard. And then the rage began. Moth felt the blood beating through each vein, the colour in his vision dim, and his heart beat in his ear. With every beat he cleaved his way toward her. With every beat he swung. With every beat an enemy fell.
Arrows and spells hit the giant holding Keladry. Its large grey hand not loosing its grip. And still Moth pushed, and shoved, as beasts surrounded him. He didn’t feel the blades in his side, nor the teeth tear his flesh, or the heat of the growing fire beating down. He felt rage as his muscles pumped with each swing.
“Come back.” Moth heard a voice from within, looking back he saw he was alone. The fellow warriors drawing back as more creatures raced from the forest around them.
Moth screamed away the voice and threw himself closer to the giant, who was now turning back into the gorge, Keladry still in his grasp.
Blood ran over Moth’s entire body as another beast was knocked to the ground. The giant was now in the gorge, escaping the battle with his prize. More and more creatures were joining the battlefield, each one desperate to be the fiend that would stop this crazed Barbarian.
The voice again in his head, this time ringing, “Leave this place now.” From far back Rholor focused all his might to command his companion to return.
Moth’s body was ready to dive into the gorge, to sacrifice himself to save Keladry. But the voice in his mind was too much to resist, and so he ran from battle. As he did he looked back, and for a final time he thought he caught the bright green eyes of Keladry in the distance, before she disappeared from sight.


Back in Daring Heights the clouds had grown thicker as they hung overhead. The sky still dark, and a cool breeze now ushering in the coming rains. A single drop landed on Val’s black hair. “Storms here.” Once again he looked to the Half-Orc who stood still, just as he had for the past hour, saying nothing. Val thought about patting the Barbarian on his thick shoulder, but the thought passed quickly, and instead he went back to his room and his hay pillow and listened as rain beat down on Daring Heights. He wondered if Moth was still outside as the storm dragged on. He was. The Half-Orc stood in that spot all night, as the rain fell and soaked his hair, and soaked his skin, and soaked his clothes. And as the water filled his eyes.