...Startled somehow out of a fitful slumber, Der-draigen looked out on a world of ice. The snow had stopped falling and the wind had died; and now only the deepest silence reigned over the frozen world. Der-draigen was practically frozen herself, as she discovered when she attempted to sit up. She was stiff and having a hard time breathing. But there was a sound on the air, like a distant voice, and the feeling she got from hearing it was very far from pleasant.
Slowly Der-draigen struggled to stand, and shuffled to the mouth of the cave, but dared not leave the shelter of the overhang. The sound was clearer now, and it was definitely a voice, and it seemed to be laughing a very nasty laugh. A laugh that was somehow familiar...
"Who are you?" she cried out, but it only came out as a croak. She tried to clear her throat and was suddenly met with a raging thirst. She fell to her knees and shoveled the fresh snow into her mouth. It didn't help much.
"Who are you?" she repeated. "Are you responsible for my being here?"
The laugh reached a high, sickening pitch. You're losing your touch, my friend. If you really had the power you would like to think you had, you would never have allowed me to get the best of you.
The best of me? Der-draigen thought. "What have you done to me and who are you? I demand to know."
You are in a position to demand very little, Destroyer. That last word was uttered with astronomical sarcasm.
For some reason, memories were now gradually returning to Der-draigen's mind. She had gone to a keep...the Keep of...of who? No matter, there were more important things to remember...
*sigh* You will be here for a very, very long time, I'm afraid. Probably, well, forever... A smug chuckle.
The wolves...and Gaur'hoth...and --
Long enough for me to obtain the Stone of Rohais and enter into my kingdom in this world! And of course by that time, if you do find a way out, there won't be a world to come back to...
Stone of...
Der-draigen gasped as if the breath of life were finally returning to her body, and clutched at the cloak about her throat. She dug behind her collar. She patted her chest and kept patting it, as if the thing she sought would appear the next moment simply from her wanting it to.
She was frantic.
It had all come back to her now, and the Stone was gone.
"YOU G'ANH HA'SIH' NAU'R'AUGH!!!" she cried, the old tongue naturally rolling from her purple lips.
Nasty language, my dear.
"YOU TOOK IT!! YOU TOOK THE STONE FROM ME!!! I WILL TEAR OUT YOUR HEART AND DRINK ITS BLOOD BEFORE YOUR FACE!!!"
Silence. Almost...an embarrassed silence.
You mean... the voice said, a bit sheepish now -- You mean you don't have it?
Panic. She had dared to hope that at least she would know where it was, that at least it would be in the hands of an enemy, an enemy she knew and could track down and rip to pieces with her bare hands in order to recover her property. But now...
Der-draigen stood to her full height, which was indeed impressive. "I will find that stone, and I will find a way out of wherever it is you've trapped me; and when I do, no god in existence will be able to save you."
No reply this time. She seemed to have silenced it. Perhaps the voice -- the cleric with whom she had grappled unsuccessfully -- had gone off on his own search. She didn't even know if the stone was here in this place, or...What should she seek first -- the stone, or a way out?
Whatever she sought, she would know when she found it. So she set out, left the cave and struck out in a random direction. And she hadn't forgotten the wolf. Had it only appeared in her mind? Would it be worthwhile to try to contact it?...
She reached out with her mind -- Gaur'hanh athh, n'haur ghan'nath...Find me...find me...find me...
The Order of the Dark Flame: Book 5. (story, no spam)
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Der-draigen
- Posts: 571
- Joined: Thu Jan 10, 2002 11:00 pm
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Tashara’s explanation of Galdervan Rockhome’s sudden appearance was rudely interrupted by a deafening cry as the rothe once again surged forward. Terrified by the Demon Knights, many of them had previously hung back, crowding together like rats in a maze. Their drow overseers, also having a healthy respect for the cambions and fascinated by the display of raw evil, had only pressed them distractedly. During this respite, the Dark Flames had not been idle. AC and Jennabard, using their own unique talents, had cleared the maggot tunnels, then set out mechanical and sorcerous traps within them. Thantor and Sybil worked the edges of the battle waged between Nippy, Thalimon, Tashara and the Hell Spawn to ensure that no other vermin interfered with their magnificent fight. Once the Demon Knights were no more, Thantor had moved instinctively to heal those in need, a process he found was unnecessary due to the miraculous effects of Tashara’s rain. He had just finished casting Defensive Harmony when Tashara and Gladervan had approached him.
As Tashara’s hurried explanation unfolded, Thantor quickly grasped the tactical advantage that could be gained from interrogating the svirfneblin, if only there was time. “Take him back to Scayde,” he barked, thrusting the startled gnome into the equally startled arms of Jennabard as he and Tashara turned to face the onslaught. Ducking and countering the multiple assailants that bore down upon him, Thantor realized that this unequal fight could not go on forever. As powerful and skilled as the Dark Flames were, they would eventually be divided and overwhelmed by the seemingly endless waves of drow hordes. Somehow, they needed to level the playing field. A grim smile etched Thantor’s face as he consider this thought. Yes, level was the correct word. Dispatching a crumpled and bewildered hobgoblin, he roared, “Fall back!” and began to intone the words to the needed spell. No sooner had the words ended then the earth began to seize and froth, the unstable rock walls weaving drunkenly. Spinning rapidly about, he caught sight of the immobile Mysteria in his path. Without stopping, he lifted her bodily off the ground with one arm and moved hastily out of range as the area circumscribing the western-most tunnel began to collapse. Losing his footing as the tremors ripped through cavern complex, he instinctively pulled Mysteria into his chest, twisting so as to fall on his back. Unable to compensate for the added weight, his head slammed into the rocky floor and he could feel himself on the verge of blacking out. NO! he screamed inside his mind. Fight.. fight it back! In the simmering waves of uneasy consciousness, he could feel the rocks and sand from the cavern roof breaking free… falling…. the feeble attempt to roll over on top of Mysteria forming in his mind, connect to his body… feel her break away from his grip as she reared back… purple light exploding into waves of energy that stuttered time… and then only sparkling dust, everywhere.
As Tashara’s hurried explanation unfolded, Thantor quickly grasped the tactical advantage that could be gained from interrogating the svirfneblin, if only there was time. “Take him back to Scayde,” he barked, thrusting the startled gnome into the equally startled arms of Jennabard as he and Tashara turned to face the onslaught. Ducking and countering the multiple assailants that bore down upon him, Thantor realized that this unequal fight could not go on forever. As powerful and skilled as the Dark Flames were, they would eventually be divided and overwhelmed by the seemingly endless waves of drow hordes. Somehow, they needed to level the playing field. A grim smile etched Thantor’s face as he consider this thought. Yes, level was the correct word. Dispatching a crumpled and bewildered hobgoblin, he roared, “Fall back!” and began to intone the words to the needed spell. No sooner had the words ended then the earth began to seize and froth, the unstable rock walls weaving drunkenly. Spinning rapidly about, he caught sight of the immobile Mysteria in his path. Without stopping, he lifted her bodily off the ground with one arm and moved hastily out of range as the area circumscribing the western-most tunnel began to collapse. Losing his footing as the tremors ripped through cavern complex, he instinctively pulled Mysteria into his chest, twisting so as to fall on his back. Unable to compensate for the added weight, his head slammed into the rocky floor and he could feel himself on the verge of blacking out. NO! he screamed inside his mind. Fight.. fight it back! In the simmering waves of uneasy consciousness, he could feel the rocks and sand from the cavern roof breaking free… falling…. the feeble attempt to roll over on top of Mysteria forming in his mind, connect to his body… feel her break away from his grip as she reared back… purple light exploding into waves of energy that stuttered time… and then only sparkling dust, everywhere.
Those who will play with kitties must expect to be scratched.
Many are cold; few are frozen.
Absence is to love what wind is to fire... it extinguishes the small, it enkindles the great.
Many are cold; few are frozen.
Absence is to love what wind is to fire... it extinguishes the small, it enkindles the great.
Jennabard guided the gnome, Galdervan Rockhome as they approached the ledge where Scayde was perched. Looking up in greeting to Scayde she offered a cursory introduction.
“Scayde, this is Galdervan Rockhome. He was liberated by Thalimon from bondage to the Drow.” Turning to face the rock gnome Jennabard added, “He has valuable tactical knowledge.” Then looking back up at Scayde, her obsidian eyes glistening and intelligent she continued, “Thantor has sent him to you. Avail yourself of this unforeseen opportunity and learn all that he has to teach you.”
Scayde stood for a moment silently regarding the small man. Smiling she extended her hand in an offer of assistance. He stood at the base of the ledge, his countenance broken, not returning her gaze. His shoulders, once straight and square drooped forward in quiet resignation to his fate. A small frame showed plainly through dark grey skin stretched tautly over his small well-defined muscles. Dark scars criss-crossed his body in obscene patterns of relentless torture. A bloody ring remained as evidence of the slave collar that had so recently encircled his neck in bondage.
Galdervan glanced back at Jennabard in an obvious show of deference, a survival skill learned by those held in captivity. Seek out those in charge and defer to them. Jennabard smiled softly at the little gnome before closing her eyes and singing a soft chant.
Dai’nal nttrathak isthal Mshikal Ishthak Dia’nal
Taking the sleeve of his tunic she cast an enchantment, ‘hide magika’. Jennabard then looked up to the ledge where Scayde was standing.”They will not ‘see’ him Scayde.” Scayde nodded, returning a knowing look. Turning her attention once more to the gnome, Jennabard instructed him. “Wait here Galdervan. Tell her all you know. Your tunic will hide your aura. The rocks will hide your body. May nothing ever again hide your soul” With that she turned away and headed back to where Thantor stood.
Galdervan grasped Scayde’s outstretched hand and as she pulled him up, he met her gaze for the first time. His eyes were iridescent violet, pregnant with too many unshed tears. Scayde’s breath came in rasps as she felt something tighten around her chest. Who would ever know the things he has endured? As he reached the top she forced a smile. “Hello Galdervan, I am Scayde Moody. Very pleased to make your acquaintance.” Galdervan briefly straightened to his full height and with shoulders squared and an expression that hinted of the man he had once been returned the salutation. “Well met Lady Moody, Galdervan Rockhome at your service.” At this Scayde smiled warmly with the honesty of someone who had found a new friend. Attempting to meet his formality Scayde Curtsied. “Well met indeed Sir Rockhome” Returning with his own weak smile Galdervan offered, “I am to instruct you on the placement of the priestesses mages, and wizards. I have been told you have a weapon. I am at your service.”
Galdervan’s voice was heavy and melancholic. His profound sadness did not escape Scayde as they discussed battle tactics. As she listened to his descriptions of the Drow magic wielders, their numbers and placement, she also heard the things he did not speak of. That he feared and hated these Drow. That although his collar may indeed be off from around his neck, his bondage was far from over. That they had taken from him all that he had, all that he defined himself by. That although he was glad to be free of the collar, he could not bring himself to trust his new freedom. In his voice she heard the echo of one who hoped not to survive, Yet there was a kernel here also. A kernel of hope, refusing to be squelched by the fear to honor it, living on in the little gnomes eyes.
“Scayde, this is Galdervan Rockhome. He was liberated by Thalimon from bondage to the Drow.” Turning to face the rock gnome Jennabard added, “He has valuable tactical knowledge.” Then looking back up at Scayde, her obsidian eyes glistening and intelligent she continued, “Thantor has sent him to you. Avail yourself of this unforeseen opportunity and learn all that he has to teach you.”
Scayde stood for a moment silently regarding the small man. Smiling she extended her hand in an offer of assistance. He stood at the base of the ledge, his countenance broken, not returning her gaze. His shoulders, once straight and square drooped forward in quiet resignation to his fate. A small frame showed plainly through dark grey skin stretched tautly over his small well-defined muscles. Dark scars criss-crossed his body in obscene patterns of relentless torture. A bloody ring remained as evidence of the slave collar that had so recently encircled his neck in bondage.
Galdervan glanced back at Jennabard in an obvious show of deference, a survival skill learned by those held in captivity. Seek out those in charge and defer to them. Jennabard smiled softly at the little gnome before closing her eyes and singing a soft chant.
Dai’nal nttrathak isthal Mshikal Ishthak Dia’nal
Taking the sleeve of his tunic she cast an enchantment, ‘hide magika’. Jennabard then looked up to the ledge where Scayde was standing.”They will not ‘see’ him Scayde.” Scayde nodded, returning a knowing look. Turning her attention once more to the gnome, Jennabard instructed him. “Wait here Galdervan. Tell her all you know. Your tunic will hide your aura. The rocks will hide your body. May nothing ever again hide your soul” With that she turned away and headed back to where Thantor stood.
Galdervan grasped Scayde’s outstretched hand and as she pulled him up, he met her gaze for the first time. His eyes were iridescent violet, pregnant with too many unshed tears. Scayde’s breath came in rasps as she felt something tighten around her chest. Who would ever know the things he has endured? As he reached the top she forced a smile. “Hello Galdervan, I am Scayde Moody. Very pleased to make your acquaintance.” Galdervan briefly straightened to his full height and with shoulders squared and an expression that hinted of the man he had once been returned the salutation. “Well met Lady Moody, Galdervan Rockhome at your service.” At this Scayde smiled warmly with the honesty of someone who had found a new friend. Attempting to meet his formality Scayde Curtsied. “Well met indeed Sir Rockhome” Returning with his own weak smile Galdervan offered, “I am to instruct you on the placement of the priestesses mages, and wizards. I have been told you have a weapon. I am at your service.”
Galdervan’s voice was heavy and melancholic. His profound sadness did not escape Scayde as they discussed battle tactics. As she listened to his descriptions of the Drow magic wielders, their numbers and placement, she also heard the things he did not speak of. That he feared and hated these Drow. That although his collar may indeed be off from around his neck, his bondage was far from over. That they had taken from him all that he had, all that he defined himself by. That although he was glad to be free of the collar, he could not bring himself to trust his new freedom. In his voice she heard the echo of one who hoped not to survive, Yet there was a kernel here also. A kernel of hope, refusing to be squelched by the fear to honor it, living on in the little gnomes eyes.
Scayde Moody
(Pronounced Shayde)
The virtue of self sacrifice is the lie perpetuated by the weak to enslave the strong
Mysteria frowned as she watched Thantor pushed the gnome into Jennabard’s arms and rushed back into battle with Tashara at his side. Gathering herself up for the next assault, she was startled to hear Thantor shout for them to fall back and then begin to go through the motions of a spell she couldn’t recognize. Mesmerized, she watched as the stone walls began to crumble, and she was still gaping when Thantor swept her off her feet. She had barely had the time to come to her senses when he lost his footing, dragging her with him in his fall. Twisting in his grip, she still couldn’t avoid landing hard on top of him, his head slamming into hard rock. The first small stones began pelting her back while she struggled to drag him to his feet … he didn’t exactly help her by trying to roll over on top of her. “Don’t!” Her shout was lost in the din made by a wave of falling stones … she knew the ceiling above was about to give way. NO! She finally broke free of his grip. NO! They would not die here!
Coils of magic suddenly unleashed and burst out in a violet thrust of energy, sending rippling waves across the stone avalanche. Shocked, she almost pulled back but then she just … pushed? … pulled? … she had no idea what she did but it was as if she told the earth to freeze, to stop at her command and … it did. As the last sparkle of magic disappeared, she was staring up at a rocky overhang, the substance of the original ceiling coalescing into a mass of smooth sandstone. In an instant she was on her feet, dragging the rumpled and still slightly groggy Thantor with her. She stopped after only a few steps, surveying the full extent of what her magic had caused. Where the tunnel roof had been a chaotic mass of irregular rock arched upwards and towards them, like a wave ready to engulf them, it had now been cast into a thick mass of mostly yellowish stone … her doing. The realization that her magic… she… had saved them, that for once her magic was not an annoyance but a force to be reckoned with, that maybe there could be… It was too much. Stunned, she let her gaze trail over the uneven surface, lingering a little longer where sandy yellow gave way to patches of glittering colour and darkest night. Lingering to give her mind time to try and understand and make sense of how this happened.
Out of the corner of her eye, something caught her attention and she focused on a structure jutting up close to the floor… something that very closely resembled a stone-encased hand. Suddenly she was shivering, digging her fingers into Thantor’s left arm – more to support herself than to keep him on his feet. “Whom …”, her voice trailed away, horror creeping up on her … whom had she trapped in such a grizzly way? She dared not turn around to count her companions.
Coils of magic suddenly unleashed and burst out in a violet thrust of energy, sending rippling waves across the stone avalanche. Shocked, she almost pulled back but then she just … pushed? … pulled? … she had no idea what she did but it was as if she told the earth to freeze, to stop at her command and … it did. As the last sparkle of magic disappeared, she was staring up at a rocky overhang, the substance of the original ceiling coalescing into a mass of smooth sandstone. In an instant she was on her feet, dragging the rumpled and still slightly groggy Thantor with her. She stopped after only a few steps, surveying the full extent of what her magic had caused. Where the tunnel roof had been a chaotic mass of irregular rock arched upwards and towards them, like a wave ready to engulf them, it had now been cast into a thick mass of mostly yellowish stone … her doing. The realization that her magic… she… had saved them, that for once her magic was not an annoyance but a force to be reckoned with, that maybe there could be… It was too much. Stunned, she let her gaze trail over the uneven surface, lingering a little longer where sandy yellow gave way to patches of glittering colour and darkest night. Lingering to give her mind time to try and understand and make sense of how this happened.
Out of the corner of her eye, something caught her attention and she focused on a structure jutting up close to the floor… something that very closely resembled a stone-encased hand. Suddenly she was shivering, digging her fingers into Thantor’s left arm – more to support herself than to keep him on his feet. “Whom …”, her voice trailed away, horror creeping up on her … whom had she trapped in such a grizzly way? She dared not turn around to count her companions.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players."
The stone beneath Thalimon's booted feet tossed about fitfully in a tumultuous upheaval, crying out in a thundering chorus of dismay as the framework of the subterranean tunnels was rocked by the seismic disturbance of Thantor's spell...
Clouds of granite dust and debris belched forth from the western tunnel in response to the cleric's magical summons, the aftermath of a cave-in of cataclysmic proportions. Beneath the weight of the earth none stirred, for in death there is no answer for the living, only silence...
The tiefling had little time to react, the Flame alerting him to the approach of the half-orc rothe and his wickedly spiked morningstar. The berserker howled as Thalimon side-stepped his blow, ropy spittle from his tusked maw splattering against the paladin's black chain armor in his mindless rage. Pivoting on his heels, Thalimon answered his assailant's bloodlust by severing his spinal column, Avenger cleaving through the muscle and bone of the rothe's lower back. Completing his spin, the Dark Guard vaulted forward in a roll...
The massive club of an ogre entered the space that Thalimon formerly occupied, connecting with the unfortunate head of the stricken rothe berserker. As the half-orc's skull exploded with the impact, Thalimon came to his feet slightly behind, and to the left, of the hulking brute.
Adrift in a sea of his foes, Thalimon surrendered himself once again to the slashing sword-wind of the Tharan'tiir. The Divine Storm gives no quarter, and shows no mercy to the doomed. Those caught within the fury of its embrace are flayed to ribbons, the lethal sand removing the flesh from the bones of those who dare to gaze upon the dark, burning heart of the Waste...
The blade of Cothindar smote yet another damned soul, white fire erupting from the ogre's eye sockets as the wrath of Torm brought his malignant existence to an abrupt end. This one would prey upon the weak no longer.
The hobgoblin elite formed a tightly knit wall before Thalimon Shestare, their shields locked together in a maneuver designed to overwhelm even the most determined foe. The tiefling had seen this many times before upon the battlefield, and had himself employed such tactics utilizing fearless Thykiri veteran warriors, footmen both heavily armed and armored.
The paladin normally eschewed the use of the shield in favor of the circular, dual-bladed attacks of the Thukariin's fierce battle mastery. Yet the hour called upon his mettle as a warrior, and in response Thalimon sheathed the Thukariin's blade at his side, requisitioning the shield of a fallen rothe at his side. Hefting the shield in his free hand, he recalled that even the stoutest wall of stone possessed flaws...hairline fractures that, if manipulated properly, could cause the entire structure to collapse in a mound of rubble...
Waiting patiently for their arrival, Thalimon scanned their distorted faces, looking for the fracture in the wall. Their broad swords glittered in the light of Avenger, mirroring the Flame as it flickered with the rhythm of the heavy footfalls...
The paladin smiled as the weakness presented itself under his determined gaze. The fracture in the wall stood revealed in the red orbs of a hobgoblin warrior, his gait somewhat unsure, his sword held slightly behind the line of his brethren...
Clouds of granite dust and debris belched forth from the western tunnel in response to the cleric's magical summons, the aftermath of a cave-in of cataclysmic proportions. Beneath the weight of the earth none stirred, for in death there is no answer for the living, only silence...
The tiefling had little time to react, the Flame alerting him to the approach of the half-orc rothe and his wickedly spiked morningstar. The berserker howled as Thalimon side-stepped his blow, ropy spittle from his tusked maw splattering against the paladin's black chain armor in his mindless rage. Pivoting on his heels, Thalimon answered his assailant's bloodlust by severing his spinal column, Avenger cleaving through the muscle and bone of the rothe's lower back. Completing his spin, the Dark Guard vaulted forward in a roll...
The massive club of an ogre entered the space that Thalimon formerly occupied, connecting with the unfortunate head of the stricken rothe berserker. As the half-orc's skull exploded with the impact, Thalimon came to his feet slightly behind, and to the left, of the hulking brute.
Adrift in a sea of his foes, Thalimon surrendered himself once again to the slashing sword-wind of the Tharan'tiir. The Divine Storm gives no quarter, and shows no mercy to the doomed. Those caught within the fury of its embrace are flayed to ribbons, the lethal sand removing the flesh from the bones of those who dare to gaze upon the dark, burning heart of the Waste...
The blade of Cothindar smote yet another damned soul, white fire erupting from the ogre's eye sockets as the wrath of Torm brought his malignant existence to an abrupt end. This one would prey upon the weak no longer.
The hobgoblin elite formed a tightly knit wall before Thalimon Shestare, their shields locked together in a maneuver designed to overwhelm even the most determined foe. The tiefling had seen this many times before upon the battlefield, and had himself employed such tactics utilizing fearless Thykiri veteran warriors, footmen both heavily armed and armored.
The paladin normally eschewed the use of the shield in favor of the circular, dual-bladed attacks of the Thukariin's fierce battle mastery. Yet the hour called upon his mettle as a warrior, and in response Thalimon sheathed the Thukariin's blade at his side, requisitioning the shield of a fallen rothe at his side. Hefting the shield in his free hand, he recalled that even the stoutest wall of stone possessed flaws...hairline fractures that, if manipulated properly, could cause the entire structure to collapse in a mound of rubble...
Waiting patiently for their arrival, Thalimon scanned their distorted faces, looking for the fracture in the wall. Their broad swords glittered in the light of Avenger, mirroring the Flame as it flickered with the rhythm of the heavy footfalls...
The paladin smiled as the weakness presented itself under his determined gaze. The fracture in the wall stood revealed in the red orbs of a hobgoblin warrior, his gait somewhat unsure, his sword held slightly behind the line of his brethren...
CYNIC, n.:
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
-[url="http://www.alcyone.com/max/lit/devils/a.html"]The Devil's Dictionary[/url]
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
-[url="http://www.alcyone.com/max/lit/devils/a.html"]The Devil's Dictionary[/url]
Reaching into his mind, Thalimon drew forth that which should not be touched. The weave parted easily, responding to the innate power that his tanar'ri heritage had imparted to him. He steeled himself as the power gathered in his gaze...
A hobgoblin warrior cried out in terror, dropping his sword to the hewn floor of the cavern. He clawed wildly at the air, causing his shield-locked comrades to break the line as he stumbled about blindly, groping for purchase in the impenetrable darkness which had suddenly claimed his vision. The blindness spell had worked upon the fissure in the wall, causing it to collapse in the confusion that ensued...
...into the chaos the Tharan'tiir descended, scattering the highly disciplined troops within a whirlwind of flaming death. Thalimon liberated himself of the rothe's shield by planting it firmly within the helm of the Captain, splitting his skull in the process. As he fell the paladin drew his short blade, plunging it deep into the helm of another hobgoblin warrior. A backwards snapping motion drove Avenger into the breast of the capstone, the single stone that had precipitated the breaking of the entire shield wall...
Yanking his blades free, the tiefling leapt upon a rothe as he turned to flee, his screams joining the others as they lie dead or dying, immolated in white fire, the oily smoke of their burning filling the air with a caustic fog...
A hobgoblin warrior cried out in terror, dropping his sword to the hewn floor of the cavern. He clawed wildly at the air, causing his shield-locked comrades to break the line as he stumbled about blindly, groping for purchase in the impenetrable darkness which had suddenly claimed his vision. The blindness spell had worked upon the fissure in the wall, causing it to collapse in the confusion that ensued...
...into the chaos the Tharan'tiir descended, scattering the highly disciplined troops within a whirlwind of flaming death. Thalimon liberated himself of the rothe's shield by planting it firmly within the helm of the Captain, splitting his skull in the process. As he fell the paladin drew his short blade, plunging it deep into the helm of another hobgoblin warrior. A backwards snapping motion drove Avenger into the breast of the capstone, the single stone that had precipitated the breaking of the entire shield wall...
Yanking his blades free, the tiefling leapt upon a rothe as he turned to flee, his screams joining the others as they lie dead or dying, immolated in white fire, the oily smoke of their burning filling the air with a caustic fog...
CYNIC, n.:
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
-[url="http://www.alcyone.com/max/lit/devils/a.html"]The Devil's Dictionary[/url]
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
-[url="http://www.alcyone.com/max/lit/devils/a.html"]The Devil's Dictionary[/url]
Thantor was unsure which was more annoying – the herd of water buffalos that had run over him, or the falcon digging its talons into his left arm. He jerked his arm away, only to find Mysteria suddenly attached to it and threatening to land on top of him once again. He quickly caught himself, and sighed with relief. One round with that wild mage was all this half-elf could handle in one campaign. Gathering his wits, he noticed that Mysteria was focused on something…. a rock… no, a petrified hand. “Don’t worry about it, Mysteria,” Thantor said gruffly, brushing himself off. “It’s only Gwally. I told him what would happen if he kept that up.” He shook his head sadly. “I guess it’s better than going blind.” Mysteria’s eyes first widened in horror, but then became angry slits as she caught the twinkle in Thantor’s eyes. “That is NOT funny!” she hissed. “You are right about that,” Thantor mused, bending down to snap off and then tossing the stony dwarven hand up to her. “Looks like he was about to ask you out on a date.”
Those who will play with kitties must expect to be scratched.
Many are cold; few are frozen.
Absence is to love what wind is to fire... it extinguishes the small, it enkindles the great.
Many are cold; few are frozen.
Absence is to love what wind is to fire... it extinguishes the small, it enkindles the great.
the wave of arachnid warriors seemed to have dulled in the minutes of combat that had inched past. Aegis could already feel his arm begin to tire from the continuous attacks he was unleashing upon the subterranian forces that never ceased to barrel forth from the dark maws of the caves in front. He had lost his bow somewhere in the thick of the melee, buried upon half a tonne of writhing bodies of the fallen, and no doubt snapped in half from the pressure placed on it. It wouldn't matter much, though, he mused to himself. He had expended his last few arrows when the giant sword spiders had gotten too close, too fast, having either snapped aprat when plunged into the spider's bodies, or left behind. Instead, the elven ranger waded forth, not too far away from the main group, but far enough in that he was knee deep in the next wave of oppenants, the slaves of the Drow. These were made up of an odd mix of Duerger, Gnolls, goblins, and other assorted creatures the Drow could get there treacherous hands on. Aegis began to work himself into a steady rythem, Sunfang rising and falling with each breath he took, each strike scoring blood. To look at the ranger now, would be to look upon the grim face of battle. The fine elven features, and rough scar tissue over his left eye, were soaked in the blood of enemies, thins lines running down the side of his neck, and matting down his long, blonde hair. His clothes were close in resemblence to his face, having been soaked early on in the blood of the spider. He was too tired, and too preoccupied to care.
As he continued to battle the mass of enemies, his ears suddenly twicthed at a deep rumbling sound. He took a brief moment to look behind him. Only a few feet back, the cave had started to roll down, a small avalanche forming quickly. He didn't wait much longer. Looking back towards the enemies, he took one final swing, cleaving the arm of a goblin right off, then spun on his heel. Within a second, he was swiftly wading through the moving tide of combatants, past the rock slide, and back into the safety of the cavern that the Dark Flames were making the stand. As he cleared the threat, he spun around again to face both the rock slide, and the enemies, a bit of grim smirk curling his lips as he noticed the grey hand of a Duerger, and at Thantor's quipe towards Mysteria. He then took a moment to gather himself, and his thoughts, and re-focused on the battle that was still being faught around him, readying Sunfang again, and glancing to where he might be needed most...
As he continued to battle the mass of enemies, his ears suddenly twicthed at a deep rumbling sound. He took a brief moment to look behind him. Only a few feet back, the cave had started to roll down, a small avalanche forming quickly. He didn't wait much longer. Looking back towards the enemies, he took one final swing, cleaving the arm of a goblin right off, then spun on his heel. Within a second, he was swiftly wading through the moving tide of combatants, past the rock slide, and back into the safety of the cavern that the Dark Flames were making the stand. As he cleared the threat, he spun around again to face both the rock slide, and the enemies, a bit of grim smirk curling his lips as he noticed the grey hand of a Duerger, and at Thantor's quipe towards Mysteria. He then took a moment to gather himself, and his thoughts, and re-focused on the battle that was still being faught around him, readying Sunfang again, and glancing to where he might be needed most...
The bright star of Avenger blazed fervently in the consciousness of Thalimon Shestare. Softly the sword whispered in his thoughts, leading his gaze to an opening in the cavern wall ahead. It stood unguarded, the way littered with the slain rothe of the Drow...
Thau'luthiin, Dark Guard. The Way is open before you. Seek that which binds others, and strike the blow that frees the one who is bound...
The nightmarish visage of the Glabrezu lay revealed before his vision once more. The eyes of the demon burned with a crimson malice, a beastial rage mindless in its intensity, fueled by a gnawing hunger that could never be truly sated. It was this hunger that cried out to the paladin...a reign of terror that spanned the centuries, feasting upon the souls of both the innocent and the damned with a sadistic cruelty that destroyed the fragile limits of sanity...
Thalimon knew what he must do. Vanquishing the Guardian was but part of the task that lie before him, for what awaited beyond the portal to Hell called out to him through space and time, the cry of a tortured soul abandoned in the grip of an nightmare without end. It was faint yet distinct, and his flesh tingled as the voice called his name, again and again. He knew this voice...from the embrace of twilight dreams, the voice had called out his name. As he stood in the forgotten tomb of ancient Cothindar, holding the holy blade of Nether in his trembling hand, he had been chosen.
It was his destiny. He understood now why the path in the Encircling Mountains had led to the labyrinthe tunnel complex of the Drow. A great wind had swept him into a dark chasm, away from the world of the Waste, and from the Lady of the Lykanviiri. Her cries still echoed in his mind as her company of Lykanviir fought vainly against the mighty wall of wind which separated them. They could not follow, and wailed in mourning as the Dark Guard was lost forever to them.
When he came to on his feet in the tunnels, he had found himself in the company of a Drow patrol at rest...instinct overcame confusion as the surprised Drow scrambled for their blades. Then it was that Thalimon Shestare discovered their identity in the gloom of the passageway...the amulets they wore matched the one he had found in a pool of blood, so very long ago...the night Shalimare was taken from him. These were the slayers of the spring song, the gentle rain that had washed the encroaching darkness from his troubled soul...Shalimare his mother.
Turning back towards his comrades in the cavern, the realization of his task stung bitterly. Valiant Nippy, his brother in the storm...he must leave his side.
Yshania...Tashara his sister...Bloodstalker...he looked upon each of his friends as the sword spoke in his mind. He had desired nothing more than to fight by their side against the tide of darkness in the accursed tunnels. Yet an even greater evil cried out to his soul now, and he could not deny the Way before him.
There was no time for farewells, for he could not bear the thought of leaving his new found friends in the hour of their need. He only hoped that Torm would keep them, for it was the bidding of his lord that called him towards his destiny.
As he turned to leave, he looked towards Scayde Moody of Texas as she stood with the freed slave. The mantle of Cothindar weighed heavily upon his shoulders that moment, and for the first time since that night long ago when Shalimare was taken from him, he felt the rending of loss. The tiefling wavered as he considered what he must do...
The passageway glowed brightly from the expanse of cavern wall before him. Avenger called to him through the voices of doubt.
Walk the Way, Thuk'ithbiin. Answer the cry of justice...she cries out to you.
Turning his back to his friends, Thalimon Shestare entered the opening that would lead him to his destiny.
Thau'luthiin, Dark Guard. The Way is open before you. Seek that which binds others, and strike the blow that frees the one who is bound...
The nightmarish visage of the Glabrezu lay revealed before his vision once more. The eyes of the demon burned with a crimson malice, a beastial rage mindless in its intensity, fueled by a gnawing hunger that could never be truly sated. It was this hunger that cried out to the paladin...a reign of terror that spanned the centuries, feasting upon the souls of both the innocent and the damned with a sadistic cruelty that destroyed the fragile limits of sanity...
Thalimon knew what he must do. Vanquishing the Guardian was but part of the task that lie before him, for what awaited beyond the portal to Hell called out to him through space and time, the cry of a tortured soul abandoned in the grip of an nightmare without end. It was faint yet distinct, and his flesh tingled as the voice called his name, again and again. He knew this voice...from the embrace of twilight dreams, the voice had called out his name. As he stood in the forgotten tomb of ancient Cothindar, holding the holy blade of Nether in his trembling hand, he had been chosen.
It was his destiny. He understood now why the path in the Encircling Mountains had led to the labyrinthe tunnel complex of the Drow. A great wind had swept him into a dark chasm, away from the world of the Waste, and from the Lady of the Lykanviiri. Her cries still echoed in his mind as her company of Lykanviir fought vainly against the mighty wall of wind which separated them. They could not follow, and wailed in mourning as the Dark Guard was lost forever to them.
When he came to on his feet in the tunnels, he had found himself in the company of a Drow patrol at rest...instinct overcame confusion as the surprised Drow scrambled for their blades. Then it was that Thalimon Shestare discovered their identity in the gloom of the passageway...the amulets they wore matched the one he had found in a pool of blood, so very long ago...the night Shalimare was taken from him. These were the slayers of the spring song, the gentle rain that had washed the encroaching darkness from his troubled soul...Shalimare his mother.
Turning back towards his comrades in the cavern, the realization of his task stung bitterly. Valiant Nippy, his brother in the storm...he must leave his side.
Yshania...Tashara his sister...Bloodstalker...he looked upon each of his friends as the sword spoke in his mind. He had desired nothing more than to fight by their side against the tide of darkness in the accursed tunnels. Yet an even greater evil cried out to his soul now, and he could not deny the Way before him.
There was no time for farewells, for he could not bear the thought of leaving his new found friends in the hour of their need. He only hoped that Torm would keep them, for it was the bidding of his lord that called him towards his destiny.
As he turned to leave, he looked towards Scayde Moody of Texas as she stood with the freed slave. The mantle of Cothindar weighed heavily upon his shoulders that moment, and for the first time since that night long ago when Shalimare was taken from him, he felt the rending of loss. The tiefling wavered as he considered what he must do...
The passageway glowed brightly from the expanse of cavern wall before him. Avenger called to him through the voices of doubt.
Walk the Way, Thuk'ithbiin. Answer the cry of justice...she cries out to you.
Turning his back to his friends, Thalimon Shestare entered the opening that would lead him to his destiny.
CYNIC, n.:
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
-[url="http://www.alcyone.com/max/lit/devils/a.html"]The Devil's Dictionary[/url]
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
-[url="http://www.alcyone.com/max/lit/devils/a.html"]The Devil's Dictionary[/url]
-
Yshania
- Posts: 8572
- Joined: Wed May 09, 2001 10:00 pm
- Location: Some Girls Wander By Mistake
- Contact:
Yshania became aware of a presence camouflaged by the shadows of Scayde's keeping outcrop. She squinted into the darkness, flinching as a soft movement revealed two large, yellow feline eyes. The huge panther hesitantly took a step towards her, it was as tall as the druids shoulder! Yshania took a step back and the panther halted...seemingly not wanting to threaten. Then the druid heard a deep rumbling that appeared to resonate from the beasts chest
"Wha?" She glanced quickly around then back towards the cat which inoffensively held its ground. A soft breeze of a movement beside her and Yshania became aware of the presence of Simbul.
"Gwalchmai" the mage advised her
"Gwally?" gasped Yshania "but how?" She swung to face Simbul "What have you done to him?" she demanded furiously. She turned, seeking Dragon Wench - sure that she would not have done this to their friend...maybe Mysteria's wild magic?
"Yshania" Simbul intoned sombrely "Gwalchmai now has...abilities that you do not"
Yshania turned back towards the panther who appeared to nod his heavy head in agreement.
"Oh my!" she said "wait until Aqua-chan sees you now!"
"Wha?" She glanced quickly around then back towards the cat which inoffensively held its ground. A soft breeze of a movement beside her and Yshania became aware of the presence of Simbul.
"Gwalchmai" the mage advised her
"Gwally?" gasped Yshania "but how?" She swung to face Simbul "What have you done to him?" she demanded furiously. She turned, seeking Dragon Wench - sure that she would not have done this to their friend...maybe Mysteria's wild magic?
"Yshania" Simbul intoned sombrely "Gwalchmai now has...abilities that you do not"
Yshania turned back towards the panther who appeared to nod his heavy head in agreement.
"Oh my!" she said "wait until Aqua-chan sees you now!"
Parachute for sale, like new! Never opened!
Guinness, black goes with everything.
Guinness, black goes with everything.
Galdervan scrambled to help Scayde to her feet from where the cave in had sent them both sprawling. Neither had been hurt, but both were visibly shaken by what had felt like an earthquake. The western tunnel had collapsed, and an immense wave of re-solidified rock now stood where ceiling had once been. Aegis had joined Thantor and Mysteria in the main cavern as the rest of the Dark Flames regrouped for the next wave of assailants.
Thalimon turned to face them all briefly before advancing into the tunnel which had appeared during the upheaval. Scayde stood silently as she watched him disappear into the darkness. Where was he going, and why was he leaving alone? She looked to Nippy, wanting him to intervene. Pleading in her mind for him to stop Thalimon from separating himself from the rest of the Dark Flames. Sensing her concern, Galdervan spoke to her gently. “My Lady, I sense he is capable. We must trust those we rely on to choose wisely. We cannot choose for them.”
Nodding her head in agreement, Scayde forced herself to refocus her attention on her own responsibilities. Bending to retrieve her rifle, she almost missed the tattle-tail glimmer of the magic being called upon by the Drow spell casters. The rockslide had rent a cleft in the far wall of the southwest tunnel revealing the location of three of their wizards. In an instant Galdervan was at her side. “There, there are some of them now”
Scayde chambered a shell and was about to draw aim on the wizards, but faltered as Gwalchmai stepped into her peripheral vision. The great cat was huge and although she had witnessed the transformation, she was startled and afraid. The distraction could have been fatal, had Galdervan not been there. “Focus Scayde. It is evident he means you no harm.” “The wizards!” The words had no sooner left his lips than fireballs began streaking over head.
With a brisk nod Scayde swung round to face her intended targets. Three wizards stood upon a stone diaz. Light shimmered around their fingertips as their gesticulations formed pictographs in thin air. Fire balls formed and shot out from in front of the magic wielders. Scayde focused on the foremost wizard, training the cross hairs of her scope on the base of his throat. Deliberately she squeezed off the round, the report echoing loudly off the rock facade of the cavern walls. His head flying forward as the discharged round exploded through the vertebrae of his nearly severed neck. His two companions searching frantically for the source of his demise.
In rapid succession they each met the same fate as with practiced precision Scayde sent the next bullet screaming into the face of the second target. His head exploding backward as red and grey matter splattered the last standing of the trio. Frantically the remaining wizard worked to bring the shimmering blue shield between him and this new and unforeseen magic. The futility of his efforts erupting in a bloody spray as the third bullet tore through the base of his skull, his lifeless form crumpling to the ground to join the others.
As the report of the rifle reverberated through the cavern, the great cat roared in response. Straining muscles, and writhing sinew bringing him into a bipedal posture as his black feline form gave way the shape of the druid, Gwalchmai. For a moment he stood blinking at his surroundings, then as if to test his reclaimed form, he stretched and jumped toward the stone keep, almost tripping over the uneven ledge. Darn, would have been nice if I could have at least stayed graceful.
Thalimon turned to face them all briefly before advancing into the tunnel which had appeared during the upheaval. Scayde stood silently as she watched him disappear into the darkness. Where was he going, and why was he leaving alone? She looked to Nippy, wanting him to intervene. Pleading in her mind for him to stop Thalimon from separating himself from the rest of the Dark Flames. Sensing her concern, Galdervan spoke to her gently. “My Lady, I sense he is capable. We must trust those we rely on to choose wisely. We cannot choose for them.”
Nodding her head in agreement, Scayde forced herself to refocus her attention on her own responsibilities. Bending to retrieve her rifle, she almost missed the tattle-tail glimmer of the magic being called upon by the Drow spell casters. The rockslide had rent a cleft in the far wall of the southwest tunnel revealing the location of three of their wizards. In an instant Galdervan was at her side. “There, there are some of them now”
Scayde chambered a shell and was about to draw aim on the wizards, but faltered as Gwalchmai stepped into her peripheral vision. The great cat was huge and although she had witnessed the transformation, she was startled and afraid. The distraction could have been fatal, had Galdervan not been there. “Focus Scayde. It is evident he means you no harm.” “The wizards!” The words had no sooner left his lips than fireballs began streaking over head.
With a brisk nod Scayde swung round to face her intended targets. Three wizards stood upon a stone diaz. Light shimmered around their fingertips as their gesticulations formed pictographs in thin air. Fire balls formed and shot out from in front of the magic wielders. Scayde focused on the foremost wizard, training the cross hairs of her scope on the base of his throat. Deliberately she squeezed off the round, the report echoing loudly off the rock facade of the cavern walls. His head flying forward as the discharged round exploded through the vertebrae of his nearly severed neck. His two companions searching frantically for the source of his demise.
In rapid succession they each met the same fate as with practiced precision Scayde sent the next bullet screaming into the face of the second target. His head exploding backward as red and grey matter splattered the last standing of the trio. Frantically the remaining wizard worked to bring the shimmering blue shield between him and this new and unforeseen magic. The futility of his efforts erupting in a bloody spray as the third bullet tore through the base of his skull, his lifeless form crumpling to the ground to join the others.
As the report of the rifle reverberated through the cavern, the great cat roared in response. Straining muscles, and writhing sinew bringing him into a bipedal posture as his black feline form gave way the shape of the druid, Gwalchmai. For a moment he stood blinking at his surroundings, then as if to test his reclaimed form, he stretched and jumped toward the stone keep, almost tripping over the uneven ledge. Darn, would have been nice if I could have at least stayed graceful.
Scayde Moody
(Pronounced Shayde)
The virtue of self sacrifice is the lie perpetuated by the weak to enslave the strong
You coward! Aqua-chan scolded herself. She was crouched behind a rock, a Shadow Arrow aligned on Panther's Leer. You sit here while the others fight - quite possibly to their deaths!
"What's the point?" she asked herself. Her mission - though they thought they knew - was not clear to the Dark Flames. Actually, Aqua-chan had lied through her teeth.
When she came to face the Abomination, her intentions were to do as she had been told: destroy it's minions, but not the thing itself. She knew she could be a pawn in Faldorn's game and nothing more, but she was willing to try.
Then the Dark Flames came along and Thantor felt the urge to put a little more sense into her head. The Realms were in danger because of this summoning and it had to be stopped. Did they have the power to stop it? They had to.
But in killing the creature, the Shadow Druids would be on the hunt for one little cat-lady. Faldorn would have a price thrown on AC's head for distrupting her plans. Unlike popular belief, Shadow Druids did not roam just in Amn. They were everywhere. Aqua-chan remembered seeing them in the woods near Baldur's Gate, supposably preparing to destory the city. Rumors put them in the Spine of the World Mountains, and who knew where else they were. Escape would be impossible.
But, she couldn't let the bloody thing live! There would be nothing left for her to protect as a Druid if it destroyed it all.
She had rammed her head into a wall, hoping to come up with the desired answer. There was only one, and unless a new idea struck her head, there was no other option. If she were to end the chase, she'd have to end it all.
"They call it an honorable death if you die in battle. What does it become when you die in battle on purpose?"
It's called "suicide", you dolt.
The battle raged on behind her. The noise of screeching spiders as they were pulled to oblivion mixed with the sound of the other warriors' battle cries.
So... She would never be human. All those weeks of looking for a way to lose her feline heritage were for naught. The grueling nights where she, Alora and Danti would defy sleep to slave over the books for ways to "cure" her. Now she finally had a way to become normal, but it wouldn't happen.
"T'is a beautiful day to die." She stood and shot her Shadow Arrow, relying on the mental image of her target to take her aim.
"What's the point?" she asked herself. Her mission - though they thought they knew - was not clear to the Dark Flames. Actually, Aqua-chan had lied through her teeth.
When she came to face the Abomination, her intentions were to do as she had been told: destroy it's minions, but not the thing itself. She knew she could be a pawn in Faldorn's game and nothing more, but she was willing to try.
Then the Dark Flames came along and Thantor felt the urge to put a little more sense into her head. The Realms were in danger because of this summoning and it had to be stopped. Did they have the power to stop it? They had to.
But in killing the creature, the Shadow Druids would be on the hunt for one little cat-lady. Faldorn would have a price thrown on AC's head for distrupting her plans. Unlike popular belief, Shadow Druids did not roam just in Amn. They were everywhere. Aqua-chan remembered seeing them in the woods near Baldur's Gate, supposably preparing to destory the city. Rumors put them in the Spine of the World Mountains, and who knew where else they were. Escape would be impossible.
But, she couldn't let the bloody thing live! There would be nothing left for her to protect as a Druid if it destroyed it all.
She had rammed her head into a wall, hoping to come up with the desired answer. There was only one, and unless a new idea struck her head, there was no other option. If she were to end the chase, she'd have to end it all.
"They call it an honorable death if you die in battle. What does it become when you die in battle on purpose?"
It's called "suicide", you dolt.
The battle raged on behind her. The noise of screeching spiders as they were pulled to oblivion mixed with the sound of the other warriors' battle cries.
So... She would never be human. All those weeks of looking for a way to lose her feline heritage were for naught. The grueling nights where she, Alora and Danti would defy sleep to slave over the books for ways to "cure" her. Now she finally had a way to become normal, but it wouldn't happen.
"T'is a beautiful day to die." She stood and shot her Shadow Arrow, relying on the mental image of her target to take her aim.
"There are worse things in the world than serving the whims of a deadly sex goddess." - Zevran
Feeling her legs could no longer support her; Scayde dropped to her knees in a spasm of tears. She had never before hurt anyone, and now she had taken not one but three lives. The enormity of it hit her in full force. Evil or not, who was she to judge. Those men would never again feel the embrace of their families and friends. What did she really know about this battle she now found herself in. She felt a bond with the Dark Flames, but was it enough to justify the taking of another human life? As the battle raged on around her, she saw only darkness. Nausea overtook her and she emptied her stomach on the stone floor in front of her. Her head spun as the chill of the abyss seized her heart. It was only the arm around her shoulders that pulled her back from the edge of oblivion. Sobbing she looked up into the violet eyes of Galdervan Rockhome.
“They would have killed you with out hesitation. No remorse, no guilt, you would have only been another objective to them. Your friends would have been killed... or far worse. These Drow are cruel beyond your ability to imagine. You did what had to be done. Taking a life always kills something inside, but it is by far the lesser of the evils you are facing. Rise to your feet. There is much left to be done.”
Sobbing, Scayde fell to the chest of the little gnome as he lifted her to her feet. Bruskly she wiped her tearstained cheeks. “I don’t know if I can do this.” Taking her by the shoulders, Galdervan looked her squarely in the eyes. “You can and you must. Your wand has powerful magic. You are needed in this battle. If we are to defeat this evil, every one of us must be unswerving in our determination. Only together can we hope to be stronger than any of us could ever be alone.”
Her red curls fell around her face as she nodded her acceptance. Too shaken to speak, Scayde reloaded her magazine and readied herself for the next assault.
“They would have killed you with out hesitation. No remorse, no guilt, you would have only been another objective to them. Your friends would have been killed... or far worse. These Drow are cruel beyond your ability to imagine. You did what had to be done. Taking a life always kills something inside, but it is by far the lesser of the evils you are facing. Rise to your feet. There is much left to be done.”
Sobbing, Scayde fell to the chest of the little gnome as he lifted her to her feet. Bruskly she wiped her tearstained cheeks. “I don’t know if I can do this.” Taking her by the shoulders, Galdervan looked her squarely in the eyes. “You can and you must. Your wand has powerful magic. You are needed in this battle. If we are to defeat this evil, every one of us must be unswerving in our determination. Only together can we hope to be stronger than any of us could ever be alone.”
Her red curls fell around her face as she nodded her acceptance. Too shaken to speak, Scayde reloaded her magazine and readied herself for the next assault.
Scayde Moody
(Pronounced Shayde)
The virtue of self sacrifice is the lie perpetuated by the weak to enslave the strong
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dragon wench
- Posts: 19609
- Joined: Tue Apr 24, 2001 10:00 pm
- Location: The maelstrom where chaos merges with lucidity
- Contact:
Dragon Wench felt a lurch of concern as she observed Thalimon step through the shimmering portal and it was with a mixture of worry and dread that she cast her eyes about the cavern.
From her vantage point she watched the red-haired Texan wretch violently after slaying the Drow and she felt a pang of empathy with her friend's reaction. She had been raised to view the dark elves as the absolute epitome of evil. Yet, upon drawing her sword against them she would invariably have to swallow down a rising bile of disgust at the seemingly wanton slaughter of beings so much like herself....
A subtle movement near Scayde caught her eye and the brief glimmer of adamantite flashed in the darkness. Conserving her magic for the larger battle ahead --and knowing that it would be essentially useless against the Drow-- Dragon Wench notched an arrow and aimed into the murky light. The missile flew unerringly past Scayde and into the shadows where an agonised scream confirmed that it had found its target. Not wanting to risk harming her friend by accident, she lightly sped towards the gutteral groan emanating from a small niche within the wall. Sprawled against rock and sand lay an elven woman; her blackish skin and silvery hair betraying her as Drow. The woman's sword had landed a few metres from where she had fallen, and Dragon Wench spied her own arrow protruding from intricately woven chainmail...like herself... the figure on the ground had studied both the sword and the mystical arts. Black eyes...resolute and resigned... observed Dragon Wench....waiting for that inevitable severing wherein life would drain away into uncertain finality. Clenching her teeth, Dragon Wench brought down her sword and aimed directly for the woman's heart...fervently hoping that a swift death would ensue..... blood spurted in a crimson arc showering her mage robe and breeches. The woman's hands passed briefly across her belly while her platinum lashes fluttered momentarily. Then.... the once vital eyes slowly began to glaze over...
Instinctively, Dragon Wench knelt to examine the body. In addition to the collection of scrolls she had expected were some dried herbs.... Although her knowledge of the healing arts was very limited she recognised them as birthwort, red raspberry leaves, dandelion leaves and fennel. Dragon Wench, recalling the woman's dying gesture, felt her mouth go dry at the impact of what she had just done... it were usually only pregnant women who carried such preparations...
"Why were you fighting?" Dragon Wench mumured to the still form upon the ground. Her heart heavy..... she placed the herbs and scrolls back into the folds of the woman's cloak...arranging it as one would a blanket.... In a final gesture... a single tear glistening upon her cheek.... she closed the unseeing eyes.......
From her vantage point she watched the red-haired Texan wretch violently after slaying the Drow and she felt a pang of empathy with her friend's reaction. She had been raised to view the dark elves as the absolute epitome of evil. Yet, upon drawing her sword against them she would invariably have to swallow down a rising bile of disgust at the seemingly wanton slaughter of beings so much like herself....
A subtle movement near Scayde caught her eye and the brief glimmer of adamantite flashed in the darkness. Conserving her magic for the larger battle ahead --and knowing that it would be essentially useless against the Drow-- Dragon Wench notched an arrow and aimed into the murky light. The missile flew unerringly past Scayde and into the shadows where an agonised scream confirmed that it had found its target. Not wanting to risk harming her friend by accident, she lightly sped towards the gutteral groan emanating from a small niche within the wall. Sprawled against rock and sand lay an elven woman; her blackish skin and silvery hair betraying her as Drow. The woman's sword had landed a few metres from where she had fallen, and Dragon Wench spied her own arrow protruding from intricately woven chainmail...like herself... the figure on the ground had studied both the sword and the mystical arts. Black eyes...resolute and resigned... observed Dragon Wench....waiting for that inevitable severing wherein life would drain away into uncertain finality. Clenching her teeth, Dragon Wench brought down her sword and aimed directly for the woman's heart...fervently hoping that a swift death would ensue..... blood spurted in a crimson arc showering her mage robe and breeches. The woman's hands passed briefly across her belly while her platinum lashes fluttered momentarily. Then.... the once vital eyes slowly began to glaze over...
Instinctively, Dragon Wench knelt to examine the body. In addition to the collection of scrolls she had expected were some dried herbs.... Although her knowledge of the healing arts was very limited she recognised them as birthwort, red raspberry leaves, dandelion leaves and fennel. Dragon Wench, recalling the woman's dying gesture, felt her mouth go dry at the impact of what she had just done... it were usually only pregnant women who carried such preparations...
"Why were you fighting?" Dragon Wench mumured to the still form upon the ground. Her heart heavy..... she placed the herbs and scrolls back into the folds of the woman's cloak...arranging it as one would a blanket.... In a final gesture... a single tear glistening upon her cheek.... she closed the unseeing eyes.......
Spoiler
testingtest12
Spoiler
testingtest12
Thantor bend down to snap off the stony dwarven hand, then tossed it up to her. “Looks like he was about to ask you out on a date.”
She barely caught it with her hands numb from digging fingers into Thantor's arm, then suddenly burst into laughter. "I guess he chose the wrong woman to date." She grinned and Than, "I see you've recovered your wits."
Turning, she looked up and down the stone wave ... "Impressive ... I never thought I could do something like THAT. Well, actually I never think I could do something with my magic till it just happens."
She took a few step backwards and looked around, her gaze catching on the blood-covered Aegis for a moment. Grimacing, she made herself look away and think about different matters. "I wonder when the drow will atta..." The rest of her sentence was swallowed in the whoosh of an exploding fireball, followed by the sounding of Scayde's rifle.
She barely caught it with her hands numb from digging fingers into Thantor's arm, then suddenly burst into laughter. "I guess he chose the wrong woman to date." She grinned and Than, "I see you've recovered your wits."
Turning, she looked up and down the stone wave ... "Impressive ... I never thought I could do something like THAT. Well, actually I never think I could do something with my magic till it just happens."
She took a few step backwards and looked around, her gaze catching on the blood-covered Aegis for a moment. Grimacing, she made herself look away and think about different matters. "I wonder when the drow will atta..." The rest of her sentence was swallowed in the whoosh of an exploding fireball, followed by the sounding of Scayde's rifle.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players."
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Gwalchmai
- Posts: 6252
- Joined: Wed May 09, 2001 11:00 am
- Location: This Quintessence of Dust
- Contact:
Gwalchmai had been having a grand time killing spiders. These spiders were monstrosities, plain and simple, and were not by any means a part of the natural world. So, he allowed himself to savor the joy of righting the balance through killing, just this once. And how easy it was! As he already found out, Phase Spiders were quite slow. The heads of Giant Spiders came off rather easily in his jaws. Sword Spiders provided a bit of a challenge, but nothing his enhanced dexterity couldn’t handle. Wraith Spiders were kinda spooky, but their legs curled up when they died same as any other.
He had bounded artfully from wall to wall, from rock to rock, picking and choosing his targets at will. This was an awful lot of fun! Finally, the spider swarm seemed to be diminishing – perhaps he had killed almost all of them? Not wanting the fun to end, he contented himself with playing with one remaining, rather small example, of a Giant Spider, leaping to block its path as it tried to scuttle away, swatting at it, biting off a leg every once in a while..... The thing eventually, disappointingly, gave up the ghost, and Gwalchmai had to settle for just eating some of the juicer entrails that leaked out of its wounds.
Gwalchmai looked up from the shadows and spied Yshania staring at him. Ah, how nice a little belly rub from this fine woman would feel! Purring, he took a step forward, but stopped when she recoiled ever so slightly. Something in the back of his mind reminded him that he hadn’t always been a great, sleek, powerful panther. “Don’t worry, Ysh! I’m only Gwally!” he tried to say, but instead it came out, “Growl. Snarl. Yawn. Meower.”
Fortunately, the Simbul came to his aid apparently, for Yshania soon cried, “This is Gwally?” in tones both incredulous and admiring at the same time.
“Yes,” Gwalchmai thought to himself, “She wants me.”
But his inability to communicate reminded him that he had been an animal for quite a long time. Though he had never had any formal training in Shapechange back in the Grove, he knew that to remain in animal form for too long could tempt a Druid to lose himself in this ultimate communion with Nature. Besides, he was starting to have strange urges to claw up the furniture or to climb screen doors for no good reason. He considered how to change back to human form.
Suddenly an otherworldly CRACK rang out, ringing his hyper sensitive ears at the same time that a small projectile moved at an impossible speed directly over his head. The sound was nothing like anything he had ever heard before! So loud, so staccato. Not a natural sound at all. Not a magical sound. It frightened him to the core.
Suddenly it was not a matter of how he could change back to human form, but how fast. Operating on pure instinct, his bones creaked as they were forced into familiar shapes, his skin crawled as black fur was absorbed. Suddenly and painfully human again, he did his best to leap to a place of safety, tripping and stumbling in his all-too-human lack of grace.
Finally, human logic told him of Scayde’s strange wand, and he calmed himself quickly. Unfortunately, that was when the taste in his mouth made him realize that he had just spent the better part of the battle eating spider innards. The rest of the battle will just have to wait while Gwalchmai retches.
He had bounded artfully from wall to wall, from rock to rock, picking and choosing his targets at will. This was an awful lot of fun! Finally, the spider swarm seemed to be diminishing – perhaps he had killed almost all of them? Not wanting the fun to end, he contented himself with playing with one remaining, rather small example, of a Giant Spider, leaping to block its path as it tried to scuttle away, swatting at it, biting off a leg every once in a while..... The thing eventually, disappointingly, gave up the ghost, and Gwalchmai had to settle for just eating some of the juicer entrails that leaked out of its wounds.
Gwalchmai looked up from the shadows and spied Yshania staring at him. Ah, how nice a little belly rub from this fine woman would feel! Purring, he took a step forward, but stopped when she recoiled ever so slightly. Something in the back of his mind reminded him that he hadn’t always been a great, sleek, powerful panther. “Don’t worry, Ysh! I’m only Gwally!” he tried to say, but instead it came out, “Growl. Snarl. Yawn. Meower.”
Fortunately, the Simbul came to his aid apparently, for Yshania soon cried, “This is Gwally?” in tones both incredulous and admiring at the same time.
“Yes,” Gwalchmai thought to himself, “She wants me.”
But his inability to communicate reminded him that he had been an animal for quite a long time. Though he had never had any formal training in Shapechange back in the Grove, he knew that to remain in animal form for too long could tempt a Druid to lose himself in this ultimate communion with Nature. Besides, he was starting to have strange urges to claw up the furniture or to climb screen doors for no good reason. He considered how to change back to human form.
Suddenly an otherworldly CRACK rang out, ringing his hyper sensitive ears at the same time that a small projectile moved at an impossible speed directly over his head. The sound was nothing like anything he had ever heard before! So loud, so staccato. Not a natural sound at all. Not a magical sound. It frightened him to the core.
Suddenly it was not a matter of how he could change back to human form, but how fast. Operating on pure instinct, his bones creaked as they were forced into familiar shapes, his skin crawled as black fur was absorbed. Suddenly and painfully human again, he did his best to leap to a place of safety, tripping and stumbling in his all-too-human lack of grace.
Finally, human logic told him of Scayde’s strange wand, and he calmed himself quickly. Unfortunately, that was when the taste in his mouth made him realize that he had just spent the better part of the battle eating spider innards. The rest of the battle will just have to wait while Gwalchmai retches.
That there; exactly the kinda diversion we coulda used.
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Bloodstalker
- Posts: 15512
- Joined: Wed Apr 18, 2001 10:00 pm
- Location: Hell if I know
- Contact:
Bloodstalker had been so occupied with containing his rising fury that Than's call to fall back had gone unnoticed. Caught offguard by the sudden rush of rock that had thrown him off balance, he had barely been able to scramble to a relatively safe area. As he slowed and looked for his companions, he found himself in a less than ideal situation.
He could see where the DF were gathering, but at the moment could not move to join them. Two Orcs were closing quickly,delaying his efforts while several Kobalds and Goblins picked themselves back up from where they had been thrown. Sensing his vulnerable position, they advanced slowly, seemingly still intimidated by the sudden upheaval and waiting for the orcs to make the first move. He knew their cowardice would not hold once he was occupied, as his isolation would give them the same courage a pack of wolves might draw from seperating their prey from the herd.
Striker came up to parry the blade that came in an overhead swing, tilting the blade downward and to the side at the moment of impact in a move that forced the orc blade to slide down his own and to the side, leaving him with an open strike across the beasts throat. He steped forward, meaning to follow through and end this threat quickly, when his boot slipped. The floor here was still wet with blood and entrails, and his slip forced him to stumble sideways, out of striking range and into the path of the second orcs sweeping warhammer.
Instinctively, he tried to roll his body away, but his loss of balance slowed him enough that he couldn't avoid the blow altogether. The warhammer connected solidly against his left arm, sending a wave of pain and nausea through his body as the bone snapped and splintered. The force knocked him to his knee, and he let the momentum carry him,pitching his body forward to avoid the second strike of the first orcs blade.
Pushing the pain away, Bloodstalker rose back to his feet, his shattered arm hanging limply at his side. For a moment, time seemed to stop. The goblins and kobalds stood staring dumbly at him, seeming to guage his vulnerability as the orcs came in again, this time with more deliberation as they sensed their prey had weakened.
Suddenly the moment was broken in a loud cry as the goblins had determined this one was close to the kill and rushed forward quickly. The cry peirced into BS's being, feeding the fury that had been simmering within. His arm throbbed as the pain came back to him, lighting the fires of his rage he had been trying desperatly to control. Faced with a charging foe and the pain of his broken arm, BS surrendered to it. His eyes lit with a wild light as reason left him. With a scream of absolute hatred, BS rushed forward to meet the coming attack.
He could see where the DF were gathering, but at the moment could not move to join them. Two Orcs were closing quickly,delaying his efforts while several Kobalds and Goblins picked themselves back up from where they had been thrown. Sensing his vulnerable position, they advanced slowly, seemingly still intimidated by the sudden upheaval and waiting for the orcs to make the first move. He knew their cowardice would not hold once he was occupied, as his isolation would give them the same courage a pack of wolves might draw from seperating their prey from the herd.
Striker came up to parry the blade that came in an overhead swing, tilting the blade downward and to the side at the moment of impact in a move that forced the orc blade to slide down his own and to the side, leaving him with an open strike across the beasts throat. He steped forward, meaning to follow through and end this threat quickly, when his boot slipped. The floor here was still wet with blood and entrails, and his slip forced him to stumble sideways, out of striking range and into the path of the second orcs sweeping warhammer.
Instinctively, he tried to roll his body away, but his loss of balance slowed him enough that he couldn't avoid the blow altogether. The warhammer connected solidly against his left arm, sending a wave of pain and nausea through his body as the bone snapped and splintered. The force knocked him to his knee, and he let the momentum carry him,pitching his body forward to avoid the second strike of the first orcs blade.
Pushing the pain away, Bloodstalker rose back to his feet, his shattered arm hanging limply at his side. For a moment, time seemed to stop. The goblins and kobalds stood staring dumbly at him, seeming to guage his vulnerability as the orcs came in again, this time with more deliberation as they sensed their prey had weakened.
Suddenly the moment was broken in a loud cry as the goblins had determined this one was close to the kill and rushed forward quickly. The cry peirced into BS's being, feeding the fury that had been simmering within. His arm throbbed as the pain came back to him, lighting the fires of his rage he had been trying desperatly to control. Faced with a charging foe and the pain of his broken arm, BS surrendered to it. His eyes lit with a wild light as reason left him. With a scream of absolute hatred, BS rushed forward to meet the coming attack.
Lord of Lurkers
Guess what? I got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell!
Guess what? I got a fever, and the only prescription is more cowbell!
From across the expanse of the cavern, Scayde noticed Bloodstalker in an unwieldy predicament. Seven attackers surrounded him, one of which had managed to land a critical blow to his left arm. It hung limply at his side. Scayde could tell by the awkward angle that it was badly broken, yet bravely he fought on. Quickly she chambered a round. As she squeezed off the discharge, the head of the first embattled orc exploded, sending debris splattering across the face of Bloodstalker and two of the approaching attackers. In rapid succession she dispatched two of the creatures rushing upon him from his left flank. Her admiration for his courage was sharpened as she noted that even in his weekend state he was able to exterminate two more of the assailants with precise thrusts of his massive blade. Quickly she locked her cross hairs on the fifth assailant, a large overly muscled brute which she assumed must be one of the orcs that Galdervan had described to her. As she carefully squeezed the trigger, the second orc was thrown back by the force of the impact, sending blood and tissue across the faces of his comrades. A sweeping arc from the sword of Bloodstalker split the next fiend into from the crown of his head through his left thigh. She followed up with a shot that left the seventh attacker freed of the greater part of his head.
As the last of Bloodstalker’s assailants fell to the sword or gun, Scayde slumped against the cold rock outcropping which had been providing cover for her throughout the battle. Sweat trickled down her brow as she silently reloaded her magazine.
As the last of Bloodstalker’s assailants fell to the sword or gun, Scayde slumped against the cold rock outcropping which had been providing cover for her throughout the battle. Sweat trickled down her brow as she silently reloaded her magazine.
Scayde Moody
(Pronounced Shayde)
The virtue of self sacrifice is the lie perpetuated by the weak to enslave the strong
Sheathing Avenger, Thalimon navigated the narrow passage at a run, coming to an abrupt halt as he heard whispered voices ahead. They spoke in the tongue of the dark ones, a speech which the paladin knew not, save for a few words which he had heard repeatedly as he stalked their silent patrols during his long sojourn in the tunnels.
Closing his eyes, the tiefling stirred the psionic power which lie locked away deep within the dark reaches of his mind, a legacy which his tanar'ri father had passed on to him. It lie nestled in a place where his humanity loathed to go...a dark, twisted realm of molten skies and perpetually shifting landscapes, a place where nothing ever remained the same from one moment to the next. It was this chaotic power Thalimon Shestare battled throughout his troubled existence, resisting its hypnotic call with every fiber of his being. Thus he walked the path of the paladin, subjugating the dark urges of his psyche to the blinding light in his soul, the gift of his lord, Torm the True. Many of his kind fell prey to their infernal natures, lacking the mettle to bend it to their wills.
It was a battle he steeled himself to endure at all costs, for the blight of the tanar'ri mocked existence itself. His father had given him more than the blood of demonkind in his veins...he had given his son something even greater than the taint of the Abyss. In many ways, the brilliant blade of the heavens by his side was an outward symbol of the strength of his father, his final wish for Thalimon...the power to strike at the dark heart of evil which had sought to claim him during the centuries of his long life.
As the power awakened in him, Thalimon became aware of the presence of a barrier nearby. Inwardly he sensed he was close to the beginning of his journey, and its end. The thought quickened his breathing as he pondered the meaning of what his senses reported.
The words of the Drow began to take meaning in his thoughts...
"The Captain...devoured...laughter...is not Rylanith...intriguing?..."
There were two. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Thalimon began unwinding the black twine wrapped around the greaves on his thighs. This he fastened about the scabbards of his swords, securing them tightly to his body to minimize noise...
"He was weak...foolish...plans were known...Rylanith is...interesting one...stands by the door..."
Reaching to his belt, he unfurled a length of black gauze. He wrapped the filmy material about his head, thereby dampening the greenish light of his eyes. This would give him away in the gloom of the tunnel, and he had stalked the Drow for far too long to underestimate the keenness of their senses.
Silently he began to move towards the voices as they engaged in the idle chatter which was the earmark of an uneventful watch...
"What now...Vurnin...shall you seek...Rylanith's attentions...she is...?...watch your back..."
The red light of their eyes began to take form in the passageway before him. They stood on the outskirts of a larger chamber, their whispers echoing upon the ore-rich walls many meters distant from their position at the terminus of the adjoining tunnel. He sensed these two were alone on the watch, for the majority of the Drow forces were dispatched to the battle against the Dark Flames...
CRACK!...CRACK!...CRACK!
The report of gunfire reverberated throughtout the tunnel complex, reaching the tiefling and his Drow quarry. Thalimon froze in midstride, joining the dark elves in wonder at the sound. Holding his breath, he melted into the gloom as the Drow warriors turned in surpised unison in his direction.
"Ai! What manner of sorcery is this?...Vurnin...have you heard such a thing...I was not aware of such magic in...Sorcerie?..."
"Let us go, brother...I must see what...of magic this is..."
Thalimon crouched low as the Drow warriors moved swiftly towards him. The moment was now upon him...grasping the hilt of the Thukariin's blade in one hand, and the Kris blade that lie concealed beneath the leather of his jerkin in the other, he patiently awaited their imminent arrival.
"I swear, Vurnin...never boring with Iilya about...why, I nev-...URK!"
Rising from his concealment below eye level, Thalimon unleashed the blades in his hands in a spinning motion, slashing the throats of his Drow foes in mid-stride. Denied of their voices, the guards gurgled in shock and dismay. Vurnin, the taller one, fell sprawling to the ground as his brother clawed at the gushing wound that the tiefling's shortsword had inflicted...
Kris blade and Zakkar both plunged to the hilts in his mailed breast, rupturing his heart and silencing his muted scream forever as his brother lie writhing upon stony surface of the passageway. Without pause the Demon fell upon Vurnin as well, widening the laceration which had opened his throat wide with a savage twist of his blades. The light fled the dark elf's eyes as the remainder of his life's blood mingled with that of his brother upon the carved rock.
Thus they perished with nary a sound, and the paladin continued onwards in his journey towards the portal which awaited him in the darkness beyond...
Closing his eyes, the tiefling stirred the psionic power which lie locked away deep within the dark reaches of his mind, a legacy which his tanar'ri father had passed on to him. It lie nestled in a place where his humanity loathed to go...a dark, twisted realm of molten skies and perpetually shifting landscapes, a place where nothing ever remained the same from one moment to the next. It was this chaotic power Thalimon Shestare battled throughout his troubled existence, resisting its hypnotic call with every fiber of his being. Thus he walked the path of the paladin, subjugating the dark urges of his psyche to the blinding light in his soul, the gift of his lord, Torm the True. Many of his kind fell prey to their infernal natures, lacking the mettle to bend it to their wills.
It was a battle he steeled himself to endure at all costs, for the blight of the tanar'ri mocked existence itself. His father had given him more than the blood of demonkind in his veins...he had given his son something even greater than the taint of the Abyss. In many ways, the brilliant blade of the heavens by his side was an outward symbol of the strength of his father, his final wish for Thalimon...the power to strike at the dark heart of evil which had sought to claim him during the centuries of his long life.
As the power awakened in him, Thalimon became aware of the presence of a barrier nearby. Inwardly he sensed he was close to the beginning of his journey, and its end. The thought quickened his breathing as he pondered the meaning of what his senses reported.
The words of the Drow began to take meaning in his thoughts...
"The Captain...devoured...laughter...is not Rylanith...intriguing?..."
There were two. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Thalimon began unwinding the black twine wrapped around the greaves on his thighs. This he fastened about the scabbards of his swords, securing them tightly to his body to minimize noise...
"He was weak...foolish...plans were known...Rylanith is...interesting one...stands by the door..."
Reaching to his belt, he unfurled a length of black gauze. He wrapped the filmy material about his head, thereby dampening the greenish light of his eyes. This would give him away in the gloom of the tunnel, and he had stalked the Drow for far too long to underestimate the keenness of their senses.
Silently he began to move towards the voices as they engaged in the idle chatter which was the earmark of an uneventful watch...
"What now...Vurnin...shall you seek...Rylanith's attentions...she is...?...watch your back..."
The red light of their eyes began to take form in the passageway before him. They stood on the outskirts of a larger chamber, their whispers echoing upon the ore-rich walls many meters distant from their position at the terminus of the adjoining tunnel. He sensed these two were alone on the watch, for the majority of the Drow forces were dispatched to the battle against the Dark Flames...
CRACK!...CRACK!...CRACK!
The report of gunfire reverberated throughtout the tunnel complex, reaching the tiefling and his Drow quarry. Thalimon froze in midstride, joining the dark elves in wonder at the sound. Holding his breath, he melted into the gloom as the Drow warriors turned in surpised unison in his direction.
"Ai! What manner of sorcery is this?...Vurnin...have you heard such a thing...I was not aware of such magic in...Sorcerie?..."
"Let us go, brother...I must see what...of magic this is..."
Thalimon crouched low as the Drow warriors moved swiftly towards him. The moment was now upon him...grasping the hilt of the Thukariin's blade in one hand, and the Kris blade that lie concealed beneath the leather of his jerkin in the other, he patiently awaited their imminent arrival.
"I swear, Vurnin...never boring with Iilya about...why, I nev-...URK!"
Rising from his concealment below eye level, Thalimon unleashed the blades in his hands in a spinning motion, slashing the throats of his Drow foes in mid-stride. Denied of their voices, the guards gurgled in shock and dismay. Vurnin, the taller one, fell sprawling to the ground as his brother clawed at the gushing wound that the tiefling's shortsword had inflicted...
Kris blade and Zakkar both plunged to the hilts in his mailed breast, rupturing his heart and silencing his muted scream forever as his brother lie writhing upon stony surface of the passageway. Without pause the Demon fell upon Vurnin as well, widening the laceration which had opened his throat wide with a savage twist of his blades. The light fled the dark elf's eyes as the remainder of his life's blood mingled with that of his brother upon the carved rock.
Thus they perished with nary a sound, and the paladin continued onwards in his journey towards the portal which awaited him in the darkness beyond...
CYNIC, n.:
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
-[url="http://www.alcyone.com/max/lit/devils/a.html"]The Devil's Dictionary[/url]
A blackguard whose faulty vision sees things as they are, not as they ought to be.
-[url="http://www.alcyone.com/max/lit/devils/a.html"]The Devil's Dictionary[/url]
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Gwalchmai
- Posts: 6252
- Joined: Wed May 09, 2001 11:00 am
- Location: This Quintessence of Dust
- Contact:
Gwalchmai’s mind felt a little clouded after experiencing his first animal transformation. He looked around the cavern and tried to decipher the current situation. All he could see was chaos. The floor was littered with bodies and carcasses of spiders, carrion crawlers, a few demons, and many humanoids. Many bodies lay charred and black. Curiously, one side of the cavern had changed shape somewhat, and more bodies could be seen frozen in a sea of solid rock. More curiously, there were puddles of water everywhere.
Yet the battle raged on. Lesser enemies – Drow slaves – assaulted the Dark Flames. His friends easily held the front line despite the sheer numbers of the hoard. Truthfully, it didn’t look like the slave’s heart’s were really in it. A more serious threat lay in a phalanx of Drow Mages, but these had been sent scurrying for cover by the projectiles of Scayde’s noisy wand.
Gwalchmai occupied a temporary island of peace within the battle, and knew it would be the best time to bolster his comrades. “Does anyone need healing? Poisons cured? Wounds bound? Gwally is open for business!”
Yet the battle raged on. Lesser enemies – Drow slaves – assaulted the Dark Flames. His friends easily held the front line despite the sheer numbers of the hoard. Truthfully, it didn’t look like the slave’s heart’s were really in it. A more serious threat lay in a phalanx of Drow Mages, but these had been sent scurrying for cover by the projectiles of Scayde’s noisy wand.
Gwalchmai occupied a temporary island of peace within the battle, and knew it would be the best time to bolster his comrades. “Does anyone need healing? Poisons cured? Wounds bound? Gwally is open for business!”
That there; exactly the kinda diversion we coulda used.