Two Bri's Tales
In which Briaja wins a battle, but loses the war.
Briaja looked up nervously at the forbidding walls of the arena starting area. Her sister had told her that if she wanted to hone her battle skills, that applying to the arena masters for entrance onto the bloodied sands would be one way to test her mettle. A possibly painful and humbling experience, she had noted with a rueful quirk, but most enlightening. To her right, Flynx hissed softly to himself as his feathered wings calmly cut the still air. To her left, her mentor and friend Pryderi stood at ease next to his nightsaber Cathwylt. He at least appeared ready to take on the world, however she did not share that confidence. She was ... untested. The restless murmur of the spectators beyond in the arena proper sounded too loud. The heat rising off the sands made her uncomfortable. The waiting stretched into what seemed an eternity, even though no more than a few minutes had passed.
The crowd roared as the goblins activated the releases of the great doors, and the sands of the Nagraand arena stretched out before her. Through the heat shimmering up off the pale sand she discerned three figures. The demonic felhound (whose unnatural aspect always rather disconcerted her) indicated there was a warlock on the opposing team, and the sunlight glinting off brilliantly polished plate armor indicated either a warrior or paladin. The excessive shine led her to believe it was probably a paladin, warriors just typically didn't care that much.
By unspoken accord the two hunters told their pets to harry the warlock. They goaded them into a primal fury, and the unfortunate warlock found himself without his greatest tool - the various spells of fear and horror they knew didn't faze the enraged animals. Briaja called upon her arcane abilities and first embedded a special arrow into the warlock that would weaken him and cause the paladin's spells to be less effective. She next imbued her arrows with the ability to drain mana and sent them flying into chinks in the paladin's plate armor with the uncanny accuracy learned through years of traversing the wilds on her own with nothing but her bow and innate skill for protection. The warlock surrendered suprisingly quickly (Briara had always told her how awful it was to face one...this didn't seem so hard!) and the two hunters turned their attention to the paladin, who without her partner likewise yielded after a short fight. Briaja knew that it had been her partner's bow that carried the day, but still, they had won! The crowds cheered wildly - she could easily see how one could come to crave that accolade.
With their animal companions back at their sides, the two hunters left the field victorious.
(( However, with 7 minute per match queue times for the 2s, we didn't continue since it was late already. But hey - that makes our arena week a perfect 100% win rate! And ok, we *are* in what is probably the newbie bracket by now due to previous losses. No points this week though *cry* L2play earlier in the week nub!))
Are you trying to tell me something?
Briara was content. She was where she wanted to be, which is to say she was in Magtheridon's lair, freely moving about his clearly stressed keepers. They rolled their eyes at her as she paced serenely by, but they were unable to do anything else or the pit lord they were restraining would break free (and they no doubt feared for their lives should that happen). They should fear for their lives, Briara thought. They were party to the evil above, harvesting blood from the pit lord to use in creating Fel Orcs that were wreaking havoc in the Hellfire plains. And the greater evil was Magtheridon himself, agent of the Burning Legion. She had absolutely no sympathy for the captive being, she intended to be party to the stamping out of his miserable existence.
Around her moved others of the small army that had come to do this deed. Some like herself were veterans of many battles and a goodly number were younglings to the cause. Some had never dared set foot in Magtheridon's den before - she could tell which those were by the look of unwilling awe on their faces. It was insulting, almost, as their tactician explained what would be required of the people present. He spoke of killing the channelers right in front of their faces. She was honestly a little suprised that they didn't break and try to flee, but they had been chosen for this job because they were the ultimate in zealots, who had sworn via blood oaths to do their job no matter the cost. She could smell their fear though.
The not so well oiled group sprang into action. Briara called on the goddess and assumed the form of a bear, and with no small amount of battle joy smacked her broad paw across the face of the nearest channeler. She was unable to ignore that, and with a dire threat, launched a desperate counter-assault on the druid. The bear laughed to herself as the blows fell on her impervious hide. Well not quite impervious, but backing her up was a plate wearing defender of the light. With him assisting, she was never quite sure if she just didn't get hit or if the heals he cast upon her contained a numbing factor. At any rate, she was in her element. The channelers fell one by one, and Magtheridon, sensing freedom, was promising to reward his rescuers by giving them a quick death. As the last channeler fell dying at her feet, Magtheridon exultantly shook off the magical chains that bound him and turned toward the "rescue" party.
Warriors. One rushed in and bashed the demon. Magtheridon obliged his first volunteer for death by giving him his undivided attention, and the battle was on. Briara called on the powers of the wild and again shifted forms, this time becoming a sleek black panther with shining claws, which she immediately began applying to Magtheridon's hindquarters, nipping, biting, clawing, opening great slashes on his rear legs to bleed and weaken him. He roared in rage, and began to cast a immolating fireball, but they knew a secret...the mystical cubes the channelers had so zealously worked with would work for anyone. Magtheridon screamed his frustration as he was briefly banished again and his spell interrupted, but their intent was to kill him and not merely restrain him. He was simply too dangerous to have alive, and as a Demon Hunter sworn to combat the agents of the Burning Legion, Briara was obligated to aid in his downfall. He fought ferociously and some of the party fell to his spells and devastating attacks, but again calling upon her goddess given abilities, Briara called one of the fallen back to fight again. Growing desperate, the pit lord shatterd the crystal ceiling of his prison, sending sharp quartz shards pelting into the party. It was to no avail, and soon afterwards the pit lord was sent back to the Abyss with a final despairing wail.
Everyone looked a little bit dazed as they regrouped. The corners of the lair were searched, and treasures were found. One of them was a pale leather curaiss, and the hope of finding that very thing was Briara's secondary reason for coming to the pit lord's lair. The tactician displayed the treasures to the group and asked those interested in each to step forward. Briara stepped forward when he held up the curaiss...as did one of the rank younglings. (One whom, Briara had noted, had lain lifeless and limp on the floor of the lair for most of the battle) She could tell the tactician, a fellow veteran of many shared battles was not happy with that, but to be fair he had no choice. A red rage began to curl up in the druid's heart, because she knew exactly how this was going to play out. "A game of chance..." he said. Seething, she asceded to this, and the carved ivory dice were brought out. How she hated those dice, and how they hated her. She made her throw, and suprisingly, it wasn't as bad as usual. Her rival, blithely ignorant of the many battles and efforts the more experienced druid had endured to get to this point, made her play...and it was better. The feral rage tinged Briara's sight, and she started running.
Where...she wasn't sure later, but when the rage had passed, she was standing next to Ger'as on the upper tier of the great temple in Shattrath City. The great and small flowed in and out of the open air building, oblivious to her. In her hands, she held a soft cloak made of delicately cured leather, shined and oiled to shed moisture off its' outer surface. The silken lining felt cool and soothing in her hands. It almost shimmered with a inner light - she could tell that it had been blessed by Elune's healers. It felt..right? "Are you trying to tell me something?" she whispered to the air as she turned away from the Naaru. The armored stormcrow wore a most thoughtful expression as it winged its' way out of the city.
(( I lost the roll on the Defender BP *again*, this time to the first timer PuG who had A) come to fill in and wasn't even at the Gruul's run we had just completed and B) had never set eyes on Mags before. I Frakkin hate Magtheridon with a purple passion. I cannot express how frustrating this is, to lose and lose and lose that thing - IF he drops defender at all and IF we kill him. Our GL said he passed in favor of me, but you know, at least if *he'd* won it, I know damn well just how much he puts into the guild and while I would have been disappointed still, perhaps not quite so much. It's like the lottery though - the only way to ensure I won't win is to not be there. I suppose it's still not as bad as the time I lost the roll to one of our former hunters' shadowpriest alt who later confessed that he just wanted it to use for a few weeks until his tailoring skill was high enough to make the frozen shadowweave. This tale really amounts to: Mags makes me want to kill everyone for about half an hour after I lose that roll each time. On this run, I finally got enough tokens to be able to buy the badge tanking BP, and I instead bought Kharma's Shroud of Hope just to be spiteful, though whom I am spiting remains to be seen. Resto PvP set: 202 resilience and climbing! ))
Briaja looked up nervously at the forbidding walls of the arena starting area. Her sister had told her that if she wanted to hone her battle skills, that applying to the arena masters for entrance onto the bloodied sands would be one way to test her mettle. A possibly painful and humbling experience, she had noted with a rueful quirk, but most enlightening. To her right, Flynx hissed softly to himself as his feathered wings calmly cut the still air. To her left, her mentor and friend Pryderi stood at ease next to his nightsaber Cathwylt. He at least appeared ready to take on the world, however she did not share that confidence. She was ... untested. The restless murmur of the spectators beyond in the arena proper sounded too loud. The heat rising off the sands made her uncomfortable. The waiting stretched into what seemed an eternity, even though no more than a few minutes had passed.
The crowd roared as the goblins activated the releases of the great doors, and the sands of the Nagraand arena stretched out before her. Through the heat shimmering up off the pale sand she discerned three figures. The demonic felhound (whose unnatural aspect always rather disconcerted her) indicated there was a warlock on the opposing team, and the sunlight glinting off brilliantly polished plate armor indicated either a warrior or paladin. The excessive shine led her to believe it was probably a paladin, warriors just typically didn't care that much.
By unspoken accord the two hunters told their pets to harry the warlock. They goaded them into a primal fury, and the unfortunate warlock found himself without his greatest tool - the various spells of fear and horror they knew didn't faze the enraged animals. Briaja called upon her arcane abilities and first embedded a special arrow into the warlock that would weaken him and cause the paladin's spells to be less effective. She next imbued her arrows with the ability to drain mana and sent them flying into chinks in the paladin's plate armor with the uncanny accuracy learned through years of traversing the wilds on her own with nothing but her bow and innate skill for protection. The warlock surrendered suprisingly quickly (Briara had always told her how awful it was to face one...this didn't seem so hard!) and the two hunters turned their attention to the paladin, who without her partner likewise yielded after a short fight. Briaja knew that it had been her partner's bow that carried the day, but still, they had won! The crowds cheered wildly - she could easily see how one could come to crave that accolade.
With their animal companions back at their sides, the two hunters left the field victorious.
(( However, with 7 minute per match queue times for the 2s, we didn't continue since it was late already. But hey - that makes our arena week a perfect 100% win rate! And ok, we *are* in what is probably the newbie bracket by now due to previous losses. No points this week though *cry* L2play earlier in the week nub!))
Are you trying to tell me something?
Briara was content. She was where she wanted to be, which is to say she was in Magtheridon's lair, freely moving about his clearly stressed keepers. They rolled their eyes at her as she paced serenely by, but they were unable to do anything else or the pit lord they were restraining would break free (and they no doubt feared for their lives should that happen). They should fear for their lives, Briara thought. They were party to the evil above, harvesting blood from the pit lord to use in creating Fel Orcs that were wreaking havoc in the Hellfire plains. And the greater evil was Magtheridon himself, agent of the Burning Legion. She had absolutely no sympathy for the captive being, she intended to be party to the stamping out of his miserable existence.
Around her moved others of the small army that had come to do this deed. Some like herself were veterans of many battles and a goodly number were younglings to the cause. Some had never dared set foot in Magtheridon's den before - she could tell which those were by the look of unwilling awe on their faces. It was insulting, almost, as their tactician explained what would be required of the people present. He spoke of killing the channelers right in front of their faces. She was honestly a little suprised that they didn't break and try to flee, but they had been chosen for this job because they were the ultimate in zealots, who had sworn via blood oaths to do their job no matter the cost. She could smell their fear though.
The not so well oiled group sprang into action. Briara called on the goddess and assumed the form of a bear, and with no small amount of battle joy smacked her broad paw across the face of the nearest channeler. She was unable to ignore that, and with a dire threat, launched a desperate counter-assault on the druid. The bear laughed to herself as the blows fell on her impervious hide. Well not quite impervious, but backing her up was a plate wearing defender of the light. With him assisting, she was never quite sure if she just didn't get hit or if the heals he cast upon her contained a numbing factor. At any rate, she was in her element. The channelers fell one by one, and Magtheridon, sensing freedom, was promising to reward his rescuers by giving them a quick death. As the last channeler fell dying at her feet, Magtheridon exultantly shook off the magical chains that bound him and turned toward the "rescue" party.
Warriors. One rushed in and bashed the demon. Magtheridon obliged his first volunteer for death by giving him his undivided attention, and the battle was on. Briara called on the powers of the wild and again shifted forms, this time becoming a sleek black panther with shining claws, which she immediately began applying to Magtheridon's hindquarters, nipping, biting, clawing, opening great slashes on his rear legs to bleed and weaken him. He roared in rage, and began to cast a immolating fireball, but they knew a secret...the mystical cubes the channelers had so zealously worked with would work for anyone. Magtheridon screamed his frustration as he was briefly banished again and his spell interrupted, but their intent was to kill him and not merely restrain him. He was simply too dangerous to have alive, and as a Demon Hunter sworn to combat the agents of the Burning Legion, Briara was obligated to aid in his downfall. He fought ferociously and some of the party fell to his spells and devastating attacks, but again calling upon her goddess given abilities, Briara called one of the fallen back to fight again. Growing desperate, the pit lord shatterd the crystal ceiling of his prison, sending sharp quartz shards pelting into the party. It was to no avail, and soon afterwards the pit lord was sent back to the Abyss with a final despairing wail.
Everyone looked a little bit dazed as they regrouped. The corners of the lair were searched, and treasures were found. One of them was a pale leather curaiss, and the hope of finding that very thing was Briara's secondary reason for coming to the pit lord's lair. The tactician displayed the treasures to the group and asked those interested in each to step forward. Briara stepped forward when he held up the curaiss...as did one of the rank younglings. (One whom, Briara had noted, had lain lifeless and limp on the floor of the lair for most of the battle) She could tell the tactician, a fellow veteran of many shared battles was not happy with that, but to be fair he had no choice. A red rage began to curl up in the druid's heart, because she knew exactly how this was going to play out. "A game of chance..." he said. Seething, she asceded to this, and the carved ivory dice were brought out. How she hated those dice, and how they hated her. She made her throw, and suprisingly, it wasn't as bad as usual. Her rival, blithely ignorant of the many battles and efforts the more experienced druid had endured to get to this point, made her play...and it was better. The feral rage tinged Briara's sight, and she started running.
Where...she wasn't sure later, but when the rage had passed, she was standing next to Ger'as on the upper tier of the great temple in Shattrath City. The great and small flowed in and out of the open air building, oblivious to her. In her hands, she held a soft cloak made of delicately cured leather, shined and oiled to shed moisture off its' outer surface. The silken lining felt cool and soothing in her hands. It almost shimmered with a inner light - she could tell that it had been blessed by Elune's healers. It felt..right? "Are you trying to tell me something?" she whispered to the air as she turned away from the Naaru. The armored stormcrow wore a most thoughtful expression as it winged its' way out of the city.
(( I lost the roll on the Defender BP *again*, this time to the first timer PuG who had A) come to fill in and wasn't even at the Gruul's run we had just completed and B) had never set eyes on Mags before. I Frakkin hate Magtheridon with a purple passion. I cannot express how frustrating this is, to lose and lose and lose that thing - IF he drops defender at all and IF we kill him. Our GL said he passed in favor of me, but you know, at least if *he'd* won it, I know damn well just how much he puts into the guild and while I would have been disappointed still, perhaps not quite so much. It's like the lottery though - the only way to ensure I won't win is to not be there. I suppose it's still not as bad as the time I lost the roll to one of our former hunters' shadowpriest alt who later confessed that he just wanted it to use for a few weeks until his tailoring skill was high enough to make the frozen shadowweave. This tale really amounts to: Mags makes me want to kill everyone for about half an hour after I lose that roll each time. On this run, I finally got enough tokens to be able to buy the badge tanking BP, and I instead bought Kharma's Shroud of Hope just to be spiteful, though whom I am spiting remains to be seen. Resto PvP set: 202 resilience and climbing! ))