Hearing Thantor mention her name in conjunction with a spare set of mail Dragon Wench glanced around. The terrified pallor of Scayde's expression and the grim look in Thantor's eyes conveyed to the mage what had just occurred.
With haste she searched her pack and found the protective armour Scayde required. Although uncertain as to whether or not it would have any effect upon her friend, she also scooped up a small vial. Scayde smiled hesitantly at her approach, and Dragon Wench attempted a reassuring grin in return. Her eyes, however, betrayed the deep well of concern that echoed through her mind, her heart and her soul. Wordlessly, she helped Scayde with the armour and then proferred the potion.
"I don't know if this will help you," said Dragon Wench observing the unevenly formed segments of bark that partially covered Scayde's hands.
"You mean whatever is in that bottle?" Scayde asked nervously.
"Yes," Dragon Wench nodded. "It is designed to help confront the inevitable fears that assail during battle...to instill courage even when a situation appears impossible, but you seem immune to magic so I am unsure of its efficacy....... " Dragon Wench paused, wondering how much she should say, then she spoke again. "Just know, that the Dark Flames fight as group, and that we will do everything in our power to ensure you remain unharmed."
The Order of the Dark Flame: Book 5. (story, no spam)
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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:
Thalimon held the Avenger aloft as the tide of darkness spilled forth from the bowels of the tunnels of the Drow...
In response, the polished steel of the sword began to hum in the tiefling's hand...waves of brilliance flooded the chamber of the pool as tongues of dazzling fire completely engulfed the blade. The sun had risen once more, even here, in the black heart of darkness.
Thalimon lifted his voice in a prayer to Torm, the Holy Fire of the Heavens. The language was that of the People, whom his lord had placed in his trust so long ago...
Thuk'ariim chak thol ariel gibbar...Chuk'thaar inhaliim Thuk'saa...Torm, gibbar shiim chak thol...
As the words of the ancient prayer were uttered, a golden sphere of light appeared directly above the paladin, hovering in mid-air. As the last word escaped Thalimon's lips, a bolt of brillance erupted from the globe, infusing him with radiance and washing him with a hot, searing wind, a blast of fury from the Heavens themselves...
Steam began to issue forth between the cracks of his mail armor, for as the holy might of Torm flowed into his limbs, Thalimon's blood began to boil in his veins, raging like a hot flood. His eyes blazed ever the more brightly as the power spread to every part of his body...the leather jerkin which buttressed his chain armor creaked under the strain.
In response, the polished steel of the sword began to hum in the tiefling's hand...waves of brilliance flooded the chamber of the pool as tongues of dazzling fire completely engulfed the blade. The sun had risen once more, even here, in the black heart of darkness.
Thalimon lifted his voice in a prayer to Torm, the Holy Fire of the Heavens. The language was that of the People, whom his lord had placed in his trust so long ago...
Thuk'ariim chak thol ariel gibbar...Chuk'thaar inhaliim Thuk'saa...Torm, gibbar shiim chak thol...
As the words of the ancient prayer were uttered, a golden sphere of light appeared directly above the paladin, hovering in mid-air. As the last word escaped Thalimon's lips, a bolt of brillance erupted from the globe, infusing him with radiance and washing him with a hot, searing wind, a blast of fury from the Heavens themselves...
Steam began to issue forth between the cracks of his mail armor, for as the holy might of Torm flowed into his limbs, Thalimon's blood began to boil in his veins, raging like a hot flood. His eyes blazed ever the more brightly as the power spread to every part of his body...the leather jerkin which buttressed his chain armor creaked under the strain.
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]
"That's pretty good Thalimon, I'll give you that, pretty damn good..."
Nippy closed his eyes for a short time, and then re-opened them, he began shifting his hands in long flowing movements, and he began to utter a low droning chant that seemed to reverberate through the halls.
Suddenly Nippy stopped chanting and looked upwards at the cavern roof, and then a holy blue light burst through and washed over Nippy, warming him, strengthening him, making him quicker, smarter and more agile. He smiled as Torm's glory spilled over him. It enveloped him, he felt Torm's hand fall over his soul to protect him in this battle.
His blood rushed, and his adrenalin pumped through his system. One simple phrase came to Nippy's mouth. Some simple words that would mean the death of his enemies this day...
"Torm shall strike you down!"
Nippy closed his eyes for a short time, and then re-opened them, he began shifting his hands in long flowing movements, and he began to utter a low droning chant that seemed to reverberate through the halls.
Suddenly Nippy stopped chanting and looked upwards at the cavern roof, and then a holy blue light burst through and washed over Nippy, warming him, strengthening him, making him quicker, smarter and more agile. He smiled as Torm's glory spilled over him. It enveloped him, he felt Torm's hand fall over his soul to protect him in this battle.
His blood rushed, and his adrenalin pumped through his system. One simple phrase came to Nippy's mouth. Some simple words that would mean the death of his enemies this day...
"Torm shall strike you down!"
Perverteer Paladin
As the blue light fell upon Nippy, Thalimon recalled the Tharan'tiir, or Divine Storm, of the farthest reaches of the Waste. He regarded his friend gravely as he finished his prayer...
"My friend, many a dark hour has found me in a place such as this," Thalimon whispered, looking upon the approaching doom. "In the very heart of the Anauroch, the harsh mistress, there comes the Tharan'tiir, the divine storm, the cleansing furnace winds of the barren lands. It comes without warning, blasting the dunes with a purifying fire...it is feared, and rightly so."
He crossed his swords across his breast, the salute of the People, as he beheld the grim paladin. "My brother, we are the Tharan'tiir this day, cleansing the field of battle. I am honored to stand with you...
"Let us strike at the very heart. We shall carve a path, you and I, and there shall be no quarter. By Torm, it is a good day to die."
"My friend, many a dark hour has found me in a place such as this," Thalimon whispered, looking upon the approaching doom. "In the very heart of the Anauroch, the harsh mistress, there comes the Tharan'tiir, the divine storm, the cleansing furnace winds of the barren lands. It comes without warning, blasting the dunes with a purifying fire...it is feared, and rightly so."
He crossed his swords across his breast, the salute of the People, as he beheld the grim paladin. "My brother, we are the Tharan'tiir this day, cleansing the field of battle. I am honored to stand with you...
"Let us strike at the very heart. We shall carve a path, you and I, and there shall be no quarter. By Torm, it is a good day to die."
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]
As Scayde and Thantor approached the group, Dragon Wench joined them. Holding out what appeared to be a chain link t-shirt she told Scayde, “This is called chain mail. It will help protect you during the battle. You should put it on.” Scayde took the gift from her friend, thanking her for the concern for her safety. “It is like what they wear at the renaissance fairs at home. I have always wanted one, but never expected to need one,” Scayde said, forcing a glib smile. Dragon Wench returned the smile and passed her a small flask. “This is a potion to help you manage your fears. I think it would be good for you to drink it. It may help.” Putting the vial to her lips Scayde swallowed the bittersweet liquid, feeling the warmth pass through her. “It tastes a bit like brandy… it’s very good.” Scayde felt the soothing effects taking place. Yes she did feel calmer. “It works like brandy too.” She said, this time her smile much more sincere. “Do you feel anything else?” Dragon Wench asked. “Mmm no, should I?” Scayde replied. Dragon Wench then smiled at Thantor and raising her eyebrow said in a lilting voice, “Well at least we know she is not immune to the ‘herbal’ qualities of our potions.”
Thantor chuckled and put his hand on Scayde’s shoulder. “In that case, you might want to avoid drinking from Bloodstalker’s flask,” he said with a wink. Dragon Wench suppressed a heart felt giggle, as the two friends shared a quick glance over their shoulder at the tall ranger grouped with the warriors near the tunnel entrance. Feeling her face flush, Scayde had the distinct impression she was being teased, but the warm glow imparted by the elixir took the edge off her cares.
As Scayde donned the mail shirt, Thantor caught Simbul’s eyes, silently inviting her to join them.
Simbul glided down to the three from her vantage point. “Ah, a little lost lamb. Odd that Gwalchmai has not yet herded her off to…”
“Simbul,” Thantor hastily intervened, giving her a piercing look. “This is Scayde Moody from Texas. She is going into battle with us. Scayde, this is Simbul, Queen of Aglarond, Chosen of Mystra, Bane of the Red Wizard of Thay.” Scayde was vaguely aware that something past between the two of them, an exchange of sorts… and then Simbul turned toward her, her expression both softening and subtly filling with sadness. “Lady Moody. I am please to make your acquaintance.”
No hand was extended, yet the voice and expression were kind and respectful, with no trace of the condescension she had sensed earlier. Simbul hovered, just brushing over the ground, the aura of her sense of power and command encircling Scayde, her serene features never giving an indication of her thoughts. Scayde was awestruck by the woman, and for one of the few times in her life, found herself feeling shy and awkward. Uncertain of how to proceed, she glanced at Thantor for some kind of hint at how she should address this woman. Scayde nodded her head in acknowledgement and stammered, “Your… majesty...?
”Simbul moved as if to reply, then stopped, a look almost like surprise forming on her face. She turned quickly at Thantor and said, “This one is a void.”
Feeling the sting of what she perceived as an insult Scayde found her voice. “Listen lady, I may be no genius, and, no doubt I can’t fly, but so what... I am certainly not ‘void’ and just who are you to say that I am.”
Simbul laughed out loud, then flashed Scayde a compassionate smile that was absolutely beautiful. “You have spirit,” Simbul mused, “not a lost little lamb at all, it would seem. I meant no offense, my lady,” she continued, “In our world, all living things have a divine spark. Some are able to channel this energy, to manifest it way that changes reality. We call this ’magic’. Mortals, however, cannot directly shape raw magic. They must make use of what we call “The Weave” a type of interface between the will of the spellcaster and the raw force of magic. In this world, The Weave permeates us all, so that all living things within Faerûn are susceptible to effects of magic except in those areas where The Weave is disrupted. In you I do not detect the influence of The Weave. Oh I can see you are as alive as the rest of us, but to my magical senses, it is as if you do not exist. You are a void in the weave so to speak. There is nothing for magic to grab hold of. Therefore, you cannot be directly influenced by magic. Take care, however. Physical changes in the world around you, such as a rock slide brought about by an Earthquake spell, will still affect you.” She turned back to Thantor. “I take it you have already assessed her strategic value.”
“Indeed. We can’t count on the element of surprise to keep her safe for long. I was thinking she would be the perfect sniper.”
Turning once again to Scayde, Simbul looked at the rifle she was carrying. “Tell us about your weapon.”
__________________
Thantor chuckled and put his hand on Scayde’s shoulder. “In that case, you might want to avoid drinking from Bloodstalker’s flask,” he said with a wink. Dragon Wench suppressed a heart felt giggle, as the two friends shared a quick glance over their shoulder at the tall ranger grouped with the warriors near the tunnel entrance. Feeling her face flush, Scayde had the distinct impression she was being teased, but the warm glow imparted by the elixir took the edge off her cares.
As Scayde donned the mail shirt, Thantor caught Simbul’s eyes, silently inviting her to join them.
Simbul glided down to the three from her vantage point. “Ah, a little lost lamb. Odd that Gwalchmai has not yet herded her off to…”
“Simbul,” Thantor hastily intervened, giving her a piercing look. “This is Scayde Moody from Texas. She is going into battle with us. Scayde, this is Simbul, Queen of Aglarond, Chosen of Mystra, Bane of the Red Wizard of Thay.” Scayde was vaguely aware that something past between the two of them, an exchange of sorts… and then Simbul turned toward her, her expression both softening and subtly filling with sadness. “Lady Moody. I am please to make your acquaintance.”
No hand was extended, yet the voice and expression were kind and respectful, with no trace of the condescension she had sensed earlier. Simbul hovered, just brushing over the ground, the aura of her sense of power and command encircling Scayde, her serene features never giving an indication of her thoughts. Scayde was awestruck by the woman, and for one of the few times in her life, found herself feeling shy and awkward. Uncertain of how to proceed, she glanced at Thantor for some kind of hint at how she should address this woman. Scayde nodded her head in acknowledgement and stammered, “Your… majesty...?
”Simbul moved as if to reply, then stopped, a look almost like surprise forming on her face. She turned quickly at Thantor and said, “This one is a void.”
Feeling the sting of what she perceived as an insult Scayde found her voice. “Listen lady, I may be no genius, and, no doubt I can’t fly, but so what... I am certainly not ‘void’ and just who are you to say that I am.”
Simbul laughed out loud, then flashed Scayde a compassionate smile that was absolutely beautiful. “You have spirit,” Simbul mused, “not a lost little lamb at all, it would seem. I meant no offense, my lady,” she continued, “In our world, all living things have a divine spark. Some are able to channel this energy, to manifest it way that changes reality. We call this ’magic’. Mortals, however, cannot directly shape raw magic. They must make use of what we call “The Weave” a type of interface between the will of the spellcaster and the raw force of magic. In this world, The Weave permeates us all, so that all living things within Faerûn are susceptible to effects of magic except in those areas where The Weave is disrupted. In you I do not detect the influence of The Weave. Oh I can see you are as alive as the rest of us, but to my magical senses, it is as if you do not exist. You are a void in the weave so to speak. There is nothing for magic to grab hold of. Therefore, you cannot be directly influenced by magic. Take care, however. Physical changes in the world around you, such as a rock slide brought about by an Earthquake spell, will still affect you.” She turned back to Thantor. “I take it you have already assessed her strategic value.”
“Indeed. We can’t count on the element of surprise to keep her safe for long. I was thinking she would be the perfect sniper.”
Turning once again to Scayde, Simbul looked at the rifle she was carrying. “Tell us about your weapon.”
__________________
Scayde Moody
(Pronounced Shayde)
The virtue of self sacrifice is the lie perpetuated by the weak to enslave the strong
"Tharan'tiir... That, my friend, is what our name shall be this day! We are Torm's fury placed on this planet, we will be like wind, fast, deadly and final." Nippy's eyes glimmered in the low light of the cavern, reflecting his depth of feeling.
"We shall be like lightning, lethal to any who come into range of our fury, and we shall be the driving rain that washes away all traces of those that dare to stand before us."
Tharan'tiir...Yes Nippy, you and your brother in arms shall be like the divine storm that carries out my will. Remember this battle, for this is where the two warriors of Torm will become one. You will both show evil the damnation of their ways...
Nippy crossed his arms across his chest, reciprocating Thanak's gesture.
"Today, is indeed a good day to die." Nippy smiled wanly, and then his voice dropped to the merest whisper.
"For Torm..."
"We shall be like lightning, lethal to any who come into range of our fury, and we shall be the driving rain that washes away all traces of those that dare to stand before us."
Tharan'tiir...Yes Nippy, you and your brother in arms shall be like the divine storm that carries out my will. Remember this battle, for this is where the two warriors of Torm will become one. You will both show evil the damnation of their ways...
Nippy crossed his arms across his chest, reciprocating Thanak's gesture.
"Today, is indeed a good day to die." Nippy smiled wanly, and then his voice dropped to the merest whisper.
"For Torm..."
Perverteer Paladin
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dragon wench
- Posts: 19609
- Joined: Tue Apr 24, 2001 10:00 pm
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- Contact:
Watching the interactions between Scayde and Simbul brought a momentary smile to Dragon Wench's eyes. Yet...as she once more considered the gravity of their situation...it quickly faded. A gnawing, unsettled emptiness chewed at her from within...... Gripped by an edgy uncertainty, she once more went over her spells, and compulsively fingered her sword. Somehow preparing for this battle felt like preparing for death, and she tried to suppress the involuntary shiver snaking its way down her spine.
Eyes closed she clutched the amulet around her neck and sought the strength she knew she still possessed. The stone reminded her of the recent encounter with Shalimare.... the discovery that she had a brother..... of pain and loss and love. "Too many ghosts....," she murmured softly, as hazy images drifted across the landscape of her mind.
Dragon Wench saw Scayde glance at her with concern. Although she had not known this other woman long, although they came from very different worlds, she felt an empathy with the red-haired Texan. "I'm okay," Dragon Wench whispered. Scayde, somehow understanding the unspoken meaning behind her words, replied, "I think you will be."
Her expression steadier, Dragon Wench smiled wanly, and focused her attention on the weapon that Scayde held out to Simbul for inspection. Though entirely alien to her, she sensed the power that emanated from the cool metal barrel, and she somehow doubted the Drow would be immune to the magic it carried.
As she examined the weapon, Simbul eyed Dragon Wench with a scrutinizing stare.
"If you want to be of any use in this battle, child, you will have to get a hold on yourself."
Dragon Wench bristled, "I might be human, and not possess your near immortality....but I am no child."
Simbul, her glance taking in the amulet around Dragon Wench's neck and the tiny dragon that hovered by her side, raised her eyebrows. "Perhaps you are not a child, but I have little doubt you require guidance." Yet, her inflection did not have the patronising sneer that Dragon Wench might have expected, rather her tone had something of a gentle, enquiring air.
Instinctively wary, Dragon Wench looked downwards and tried to avoid Simbul's penetrating gaze.
Simbul simply sighed and shook her head knowingly before turning her attention back to the gun...
Eyes closed she clutched the amulet around her neck and sought the strength she knew she still possessed. The stone reminded her of the recent encounter with Shalimare.... the discovery that she had a brother..... of pain and loss and love. "Too many ghosts....," she murmured softly, as hazy images drifted across the landscape of her mind.
Dragon Wench saw Scayde glance at her with concern. Although she had not known this other woman long, although they came from very different worlds, she felt an empathy with the red-haired Texan. "I'm okay," Dragon Wench whispered. Scayde, somehow understanding the unspoken meaning behind her words, replied, "I think you will be."
Her expression steadier, Dragon Wench smiled wanly, and focused her attention on the weapon that Scayde held out to Simbul for inspection. Though entirely alien to her, she sensed the power that emanated from the cool metal barrel, and she somehow doubted the Drow would be immune to the magic it carried.
As she examined the weapon, Simbul eyed Dragon Wench with a scrutinizing stare.
"If you want to be of any use in this battle, child, you will have to get a hold on yourself."
Dragon Wench bristled, "I might be human, and not possess your near immortality....but I am no child."
Simbul, her glance taking in the amulet around Dragon Wench's neck and the tiny dragon that hovered by her side, raised her eyebrows. "Perhaps you are not a child, but I have little doubt you require guidance." Yet, her inflection did not have the patronising sneer that Dragon Wench might have expected, rather her tone had something of a gentle, enquiring air.
Instinctively wary, Dragon Wench looked downwards and tried to avoid Simbul's penetrating gaze.
Simbul simply sighed and shook her head knowingly before turning her attention back to the gun...
Spoiler
testingtest12
Spoiler
testingtest12
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Yshania
- Posts: 8572
- Joined: Wed May 09, 2001 10:00 pm
- Location: Some Girls Wander By Mistake
- Contact:
For this night of All Hallows Eve - a little interlude 
http://www.gamebanshee.com/forums/showt ... post356438
http://www.gamebanshee.com/forums/showt ... post356438
Parachute for sale, like new! Never opened!
Guinness, black goes with everything.
Guinness, black goes with everything.
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Gwalchmai
- Posts: 6252
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- Location: This Quintessence of Dust
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[ooc: place this just before the beginning of the battle]
Thalimon’s blade shone brightly against the dark, its blue-white light in stark contrast to the warmer, dimmer tones of the torches and natural luminescence in the cavern. Repeatedly, Gwalchmai’s eye was drawn to the light of the sword, causing his eyes to adjust and become blind to the dark. Irritated, he put up a hand to block the light, muttering, “Damn, that’s bright….”
Scayde overheard him and sidled close. “When you’re guarding the ramuda from wolves, always best to keep your back to the campfire and your eyes to the dark.”
“Yes, I know that,” Gwalchmai said irritably. He was quite familiar with low-light combat techniques and was confident that he would be able to accommodate the flashing sword’s light once the battle had begun. Many spells produced vast quantities of light, and he had developed the spell caster’s knack of looking away or blocking the light just before a spell fired. Still, that blade waving around in the dark was awfully irritating. But he knew it would be even more irritating to those denizens of the dark whose eyes could not adjust well to such light. And that blade will surely serve Nature's Balance well in the hours to come. He sighed and softened his tone. “Thank you, Scayde. That’s good advice.” He managed a weak smile as she turned to move away.
What is a ‘ramuda’?
Thalimon’s blade shone brightly against the dark, its blue-white light in stark contrast to the warmer, dimmer tones of the torches and natural luminescence in the cavern. Repeatedly, Gwalchmai’s eye was drawn to the light of the sword, causing his eyes to adjust and become blind to the dark. Irritated, he put up a hand to block the light, muttering, “Damn, that’s bright….”
Scayde overheard him and sidled close. “When you’re guarding the ramuda from wolves, always best to keep your back to the campfire and your eyes to the dark.”
“Yes, I know that,” Gwalchmai said irritably. He was quite familiar with low-light combat techniques and was confident that he would be able to accommodate the flashing sword’s light once the battle had begun. Many spells produced vast quantities of light, and he had developed the spell caster’s knack of looking away or blocking the light just before a spell fired. Still, that blade waving around in the dark was awfully irritating. But he knew it would be even more irritating to those denizens of the dark whose eyes could not adjust well to such light. And that blade will surely serve Nature's Balance well in the hours to come. He sighed and softened his tone. “Thank you, Scayde. That’s good advice.” He managed a weak smile as she turned to move away.
What is a ‘ramuda’?
That there; exactly the kinda diversion we coulda used.
Scayde hoisted her firearm and presented it to the small group. Addressing Thantor and Simbul she briefly explained the mechanism of the rifle, it’s accuracy, and it’s lethal potential in the right hands... Hers were the right hands. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the anxious expression of her friend. The uneasiness that passed between Dragon Wench and Simbul was not lost on Scayde. Their interaction was brief, but laden with emotion. Realizing there was much more here than this simple exchange, she cast what she hoped would be a reassuring glance, and was relieved when Dragon Wench perceived her intentions. “I’m okay “ Whispered Dragon Wench. Seeing the depth of emotion in her friend’s eyes, depth that reflected the strength and courage born of many trials, she understood. “I think you will be.” Scayde whispered in return.
Suddenly the chamber was awash in dazzling blue-white light. Gwalchmai’s attention seemed to be drawn to the source and he complained at the distraction while trying to shield his eyes from its glare. Reflexively Scayde tried to offer him a suggestion. “When you’re guarding the remuda from wolves, always best to keep your back to the campfire and your eyes to the dark.” She instantly felt her face blush when she saw the irritation flash across the mans expression. She recited to herself an often forgotten rule her Daddy had tried so many times to instill in his hyperactive daughter. “Unsolicited help is seldom appreciated.” She could hear his voice in her ears.
“Yes, I know that,” Gwalchmai said irritably. Scayde turned away in her embarrassment as Gwalchmai hastily added, “Thank you, Scayde. That’s good advice.” He said managing a weak smile.
As she returned to demonstrating her weapon, Scayde heard him ask, “What is a ‘remuda’? Suppressing a friendly chuckle she replied over her shoulder, “Fresh horses”
Turning back to Thantor, Simbul and Dragon Wench Scayde resumed listening to how she might be of the most help in the upcomming battle.
Suddenly the chamber was awash in dazzling blue-white light. Gwalchmai’s attention seemed to be drawn to the source and he complained at the distraction while trying to shield his eyes from its glare. Reflexively Scayde tried to offer him a suggestion. “When you’re guarding the remuda from wolves, always best to keep your back to the campfire and your eyes to the dark.” She instantly felt her face blush when she saw the irritation flash across the mans expression. She recited to herself an often forgotten rule her Daddy had tried so many times to instill in his hyperactive daughter. “Unsolicited help is seldom appreciated.” She could hear his voice in her ears.
“Yes, I know that,” Gwalchmai said irritably. Scayde turned away in her embarrassment as Gwalchmai hastily added, “Thank you, Scayde. That’s good advice.” He said managing a weak smile.
As she returned to demonstrating her weapon, Scayde heard him ask, “What is a ‘remuda’? Suppressing a friendly chuckle she replied over her shoulder, “Fresh horses”
Turning back to Thantor, Simbul and Dragon Wench Scayde resumed listening to how she might be of the most help in the upcomming battle.
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:
Moments slipped by.... becoming a realm unto themselves. Finally, after distractedly scuffing her boot into the ground, Dragon Wench looked up at Simbul, her eyes reflecting the depth of sadness and confusion that raged inside.
Haltingly she spoke, "It is fine for you to speak of guidance and direction with such calm confidence... but what am I to do with the ghosts and demons that perpetually tear me apart? How do I channel and direct my energies into a focused vision, when chaos seeks to trip me up at every turn? And what do I do with emotions and memories that are so deeply embedded they can't be exorcised?"
Simbul eyed her..... "You must find that place within you...that place of strength...and of emotion... you must learn to let go of that which you can no longer fight."
"Fighting is what I am trained to do," retorted Dragon Wench, again fingering the lethally sharp edge of her sword.
"Yet, you are training as a mage, and as you gain experience, so your powers will increase, you well know that you will no longer accrue skill as a warrior. Your life as a fighter is your past, your life as a mage is your future. The responsibilities of possessing and using magic are many; amongst these is the ability to properly direct your emotion, for a lack of control speaks to a lack of discipline. An inability to release pain will interfere with your spell casting; mages are not permitted such a thing as battle rage."
Dragon Wench lowered her head and actively sought to suppress the upwelling of tears that threatened to cascade from her eyes. She did not want to cry in front of the enigmatic and frequently sardonic sage that stood before her. Sudenly, incapable of holding back, she turned heel and fled towards Eldath's pool. The still waters beckoned to her....somehow a magnet for the rivers of emotion that washed and swirled against the banks of her soul... Fear, love, anger, confusion and from somewhere... a sense of betrayal.... became a flood demanding release.
Dizzy, she stared into the pool... An opalescent surface rippled... or were it the tears beginning to pool at the corners of her vision? Another shift in the smooth surface.... A dark visage hovered and then vanished..... hovering again.....then once more dissappearing...evading the hurt that spilled from her eyes. She knew the face..... it was one that had haunted her for so long now.....too long.... Simbul's words throbbed in her skull, "You must find that place within you...that place of strength...and of emotion... you must learn to let go of that which you can no longer fight."
Haltingly she spoke, "It is fine for you to speak of guidance and direction with such calm confidence... but what am I to do with the ghosts and demons that perpetually tear me apart? How do I channel and direct my energies into a focused vision, when chaos seeks to trip me up at every turn? And what do I do with emotions and memories that are so deeply embedded they can't be exorcised?"
Simbul eyed her..... "You must find that place within you...that place of strength...and of emotion... you must learn to let go of that which you can no longer fight."
"Fighting is what I am trained to do," retorted Dragon Wench, again fingering the lethally sharp edge of her sword.
"Yet, you are training as a mage, and as you gain experience, so your powers will increase, you well know that you will no longer accrue skill as a warrior. Your life as a fighter is your past, your life as a mage is your future. The responsibilities of possessing and using magic are many; amongst these is the ability to properly direct your emotion, for a lack of control speaks to a lack of discipline. An inability to release pain will interfere with your spell casting; mages are not permitted such a thing as battle rage."
Dragon Wench lowered her head and actively sought to suppress the upwelling of tears that threatened to cascade from her eyes. She did not want to cry in front of the enigmatic and frequently sardonic sage that stood before her. Sudenly, incapable of holding back, she turned heel and fled towards Eldath's pool. The still waters beckoned to her....somehow a magnet for the rivers of emotion that washed and swirled against the banks of her soul... Fear, love, anger, confusion and from somewhere... a sense of betrayal.... became a flood demanding release.
Dizzy, she stared into the pool... An opalescent surface rippled... or were it the tears beginning to pool at the corners of her vision? Another shift in the smooth surface.... A dark visage hovered and then vanished..... hovering again.....then once more dissappearing...evading the hurt that spilled from her eyes. She knew the face..... it was one that had haunted her for so long now.....too long.... Simbul's words throbbed in her skull, "You must find that place within you...that place of strength...and of emotion... you must learn to let go of that which you can no longer fight."
Spoiler
testingtest12
Spoiler
testingtest12
-
Yshania
- Posts: 8572
- Joined: Wed May 09, 2001 10:00 pm
- Location: Some Girls Wander By Mistake
- Contact:
And as his warmth faded, Yshania shivered and sagged. She felt suddenly cold and abandoned. Mael’s presence had left her reeling with uncertainty…and a deep sadness. He had reached out to her, had touched her, and then faded away – as fast as he had approached. His warm presence was now denied. She could handle the denial, she was sure that if he had stressed his lone purpose was to educate and leave, she would not have reached back, she would have denied his final efforts as obligatory and let fate take its course. But to be unable to communicate…
And now she felt left behind, left with this cryptic uncertainty, this sole responsibility, that threatened the very heart of all that she had believed. He had intimated coolly that one of the Dark Flames would die, yet his living tenet had been one of preserving life at all costs…of connecting and cherishing. Now he had left her with the knowledge that she would be instrumental in this death, and the fear began to bite deep…and it gnawed on the very marrow of her soul. She looked to Gwalchmai and T’lainya, she searched all faces for grounding and understanding…she looked to her friend Dragon Wench as she departed the cavern…then she hung her head, her pain too much to bear. She had stepped forward with her confident battle cry, and now she doubted her own intentions. Her own usefulness.
After an age, she left the company of Dark Flames and joined Dragon Wench beside Eldath’s pool. The druid ached to reach out to her friend but felt incapable of doing so…felt useless in the face of the prophecy she now believed she was responsible for. She felt the deepest grief.
And now she felt left behind, left with this cryptic uncertainty, this sole responsibility, that threatened the very heart of all that she had believed. He had intimated coolly that one of the Dark Flames would die, yet his living tenet had been one of preserving life at all costs…of connecting and cherishing. Now he had left her with the knowledge that she would be instrumental in this death, and the fear began to bite deep…and it gnawed on the very marrow of her soul. She looked to Gwalchmai and T’lainya, she searched all faces for grounding and understanding…she looked to her friend Dragon Wench as she departed the cavern…then she hung her head, her pain too much to bear. She had stepped forward with her confident battle cry, and now she doubted her own intentions. Her own usefulness.
After an age, she left the company of Dark Flames and joined Dragon Wench beside Eldath’s pool. The druid ached to reach out to her friend but felt incapable of doing so…felt useless in the face of the prophecy she now believed she was responsible for. She felt the deepest grief.
Parachute for sale, like new! Never opened!
Guinness, black goes with everything.
Guinness, black goes with everything.
Golhyrr watched silently as the last of the chattel tramped out of the upper staging area, herded along the appropriate passageways by other male drow, the sullen darkness illuminated only by the bobbing and weaving of their torches. The moving torchlight flickered off the dank, sweaty bodies of the rothe and the sickly brown highlights of the tunnel walls to mix with the acrid smell of sweat and fear that permeated the moving column of flesh. Since no female would attend to such menial labor, Golhyrr was ordered to supervise – yet other attempt by Iilya to humiliate him. But Golhyrr was unaffected by her order. In fact, he would have come of his own accord. The primal sensations that come into play when large numbers of creatures moved inexorably to their death intrigued him, reminding him of the ritual slayings he had often enjoyed at Erelhei-Cinlu. True, it did not have the elegance or sophistication of the Theatre of Atrocity or the carnival atmosphere plied with intoxicating vapors and bards singing of murder and artful torture. But here there was something much more palpable, much more visceral. He did not require the orbs of telepathic power in order to vicariously experience the horror and terror the victims were experiencing. Here, he could feel it between his teeth.
Reluctantly, he moved along the long, downward-sloping tunnel to the second staging area where Rah'fol was massing the streeakh. Golhyrr strode up to him, interrupting his conversation with another suicide-squad commander. “The rothe are in motion. Move your men into position,” Golhyrr ordered roughly.
“As you command.” Rah'fol’s reply had a steely edge. “But I will give them a few moments before moving them into the tunnels. The stench of the rothe is distracting before battle.” Having nothing further to say, and uninterested in being baited by someone who would hopefully be dead in a matter of hours, Golhyrr turned to leave.
“Lloth kyorl dos!” (Lloth guard you!) said Rah’fol, giving the traditional farewell with a decidedly mocking undertone. Golhyrr turned and fixed the dark elf with a measure of contempt and long experience. “Lloth guards no one. We are all but her meat.”
*************************************************
Having finished conferring with Scayde and Simbul, and finding Scayde a place that was both protected and along the route of their planned retreat, Thantor began the process of preparing for battle. Placing each of his maces on the ground, he grasped the one nearest him, unlocked the catch, and began twisting the haft. As he turned, a wicked looking spike emerged from the top of the mace. He repeated this with the second mace, then joined them, using a length of rod from his pack, into one weapon. He equipped his bow across his back, checked the rest of his gear, then began the process of casting the various protection spells he would require. Typically at such a time, his focus was totally consumed with the presence of Mielikki. But as he began to formulate the second spell, he found he was more and more distracted until he finally stopped and bowed his head. Of course she would be here… when he stood once again on the edge of death… Perhaps she had already passed over and was waiting for him….
Georgi….. He let out a slow, ragged sigh as the emotions rushed up to claim him, ricocheting into other memories, other lives, other losses…. The pounding of the advancing enemy became the pounding of war catapults became the pounding of impotent fists became the pounding deep in his chest… And from underneath the loss and loneliness and pain there emerged one last feeling, like the spikes that now sat atop his battle-worn maces. Like something torn from the roots and thrust bleeding, still pulsing, into calloused fists. Rage.
The clarity and focus Thantor sought slowly began to crystallize, congealing with the seething heat that flared inside him. He lifted his arms and again began the spells, screaming the words inside his mind, the energy spiraling into a terrible wrath. And he allowed it to sweep him up, the light from each successive spell flashing hard and noxious against the stony filth of the cavern walls. His skin became as rock, matching the flinty determination that slid down over his eyes. Two massive skeleton warriors sprung up on either side of him, their bones barbed and thorny, red orbs glaring insanely from darkened socket.
Scayde, crouched in her protected area, was stunned and unnerved as she watched Thantor progress through this transformation. He was no longer the warm, concerned person she had known. Watching the divine energies rippling off of his hardened features, it was as if he was no longer a person but had become instead a force thrust up out of the earth with only one direction and one lethal purpose. But Yshania, standing closer to him, only cast her eyes down sadly, for she knew better than any of them the raging fury that was unfolding inside of him and how utterly this wrenching squall ravaged the very fabric of who he was…
And then it was silent.
Looking quickly at each other, each member of the Dark Flames anxiously scanned their environment, looking for unseen assailants or poisonous spells. There was nothing. Only the suddenly heightened sound of a small pebble trickling down from its rocky perch.
Hands tightened on sweaty hilts, muscles tensed within straining limbs, but still no sound was heard. No enemy was seen. Nothing moved.
Thalimon, experienced as he was in this environment, thought he saw a shadow, a fetid movement darkening the already foul darkness of the tunnels before them. But it was Aegis who saw them first. “Spiders!!” he roared into the advancing blackness. And the shadows fractured as hundreds of Lloth’s pets flooded across the floor and walls of the cavern. It was at just that time that doors on either side of them began sliding open…
Reluctantly, he moved along the long, downward-sloping tunnel to the second staging area where Rah'fol was massing the streeakh. Golhyrr strode up to him, interrupting his conversation with another suicide-squad commander. “The rothe are in motion. Move your men into position,” Golhyrr ordered roughly.
“As you command.” Rah'fol’s reply had a steely edge. “But I will give them a few moments before moving them into the tunnels. The stench of the rothe is distracting before battle.” Having nothing further to say, and uninterested in being baited by someone who would hopefully be dead in a matter of hours, Golhyrr turned to leave.
“Lloth kyorl dos!” (Lloth guard you!) said Rah’fol, giving the traditional farewell with a decidedly mocking undertone. Golhyrr turned and fixed the dark elf with a measure of contempt and long experience. “Lloth guards no one. We are all but her meat.”
*************************************************
Having finished conferring with Scayde and Simbul, and finding Scayde a place that was both protected and along the route of their planned retreat, Thantor began the process of preparing for battle. Placing each of his maces on the ground, he grasped the one nearest him, unlocked the catch, and began twisting the haft. As he turned, a wicked looking spike emerged from the top of the mace. He repeated this with the second mace, then joined them, using a length of rod from his pack, into one weapon. He equipped his bow across his back, checked the rest of his gear, then began the process of casting the various protection spells he would require. Typically at such a time, his focus was totally consumed with the presence of Mielikki. But as he began to formulate the second spell, he found he was more and more distracted until he finally stopped and bowed his head. Of course she would be here… when he stood once again on the edge of death… Perhaps she had already passed over and was waiting for him….
Georgi….. He let out a slow, ragged sigh as the emotions rushed up to claim him, ricocheting into other memories, other lives, other losses…. The pounding of the advancing enemy became the pounding of war catapults became the pounding of impotent fists became the pounding deep in his chest… And from underneath the loss and loneliness and pain there emerged one last feeling, like the spikes that now sat atop his battle-worn maces. Like something torn from the roots and thrust bleeding, still pulsing, into calloused fists. Rage.
The clarity and focus Thantor sought slowly began to crystallize, congealing with the seething heat that flared inside him. He lifted his arms and again began the spells, screaming the words inside his mind, the energy spiraling into a terrible wrath. And he allowed it to sweep him up, the light from each successive spell flashing hard and noxious against the stony filth of the cavern walls. His skin became as rock, matching the flinty determination that slid down over his eyes. Two massive skeleton warriors sprung up on either side of him, their bones barbed and thorny, red orbs glaring insanely from darkened socket.
Scayde, crouched in her protected area, was stunned and unnerved as she watched Thantor progress through this transformation. He was no longer the warm, concerned person she had known. Watching the divine energies rippling off of his hardened features, it was as if he was no longer a person but had become instead a force thrust up out of the earth with only one direction and one lethal purpose. But Yshania, standing closer to him, only cast her eyes down sadly, for she knew better than any of them the raging fury that was unfolding inside of him and how utterly this wrenching squall ravaged the very fabric of who he was…
And then it was silent.
Looking quickly at each other, each member of the Dark Flames anxiously scanned their environment, looking for unseen assailants or poisonous spells. There was nothing. Only the suddenly heightened sound of a small pebble trickling down from its rocky perch.
Hands tightened on sweaty hilts, muscles tensed within straining limbs, but still no sound was heard. No enemy was seen. Nothing moved.
Thalimon, experienced as he was in this environment, thought he saw a shadow, a fetid movement darkening the already foul darkness of the tunnels before them. But it was Aegis who saw them first. “Spiders!!” he roared into the advancing blackness. And the shadows fractured as hundreds of Lloth’s pets flooded across the floor and walls of the cavern. It was at just that time that doors on either side of them began sliding open…
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.
-
Yshania
- Posts: 8572
- Joined: Wed May 09, 2001 10:00 pm
- Location: Some Girls Wander By Mistake
- Contact:
Stunned by the sheer volume of the crawling mass, Yshania could only watch as the spiders tumbled into the cavern, like a blanket it moved as one. "This is only for starters" her small voice lost in the din of thousands of skittering feet, somewhere among this army she knew there would be Phase and Sword spiders too...The Sword spiders would march with the fodder, but the Phasers were above that, they would be beside their chosen quarry without any warning other than a flicker of light as they traversed the dimension.
A squelching, sucking noise from around twenty paces away caused adrenalin to power through her. "Here we go!" Swinging around, she could just about make out an undulating white body mass fighting its way through a collapsed part of the wall. The stench that pervaded the cavern alerted those familiar that it could only be one creature...
"Crawlers!" she cried as, simultaneously, flame arrows from the bows of the archers as yet undistracted by the spiders whistled past her ears and found their target. Undeterred the creature rolled out into the cavern to reveal another directly behind it, the gap in the wall larger now...the walls of clay almost rolling back to deposit its rotten gut. The crawler lolled around before righting itself, the arrows buried deep in its body were aflame, and the smell of putrid burning flesh was offending the Dark Flames in this confined space. Raising itself bodily onto its rear, the crawler let out a prolonged steaming hiss before flopping awkwardly to the floor and advancing towards her. The second creature was also free of the confining walls now, and joined its comrade...a third fell out behind them, followed by a fourth and fifth...
Then she felt something land on her from above...looking up she realised as a couple more shadows descended and landed on her face and neck that the spiders were dropping from the celing in increasing numbers...she yelped, scrabbling at her face and throat, as she felt fangs needling into her skin and more of the creatures landing on her. Her yelp was more of fear and disgust, as the Iron Skins deflected any serious damage.
Suddenly a crawler was before her, raised on it's hind quarters and poised to strike. Instinctively she dropped to the ground and rolled as the loathsome creature collapsed and bounced. Rolling clear she sat panting, her back to the wall, trying to collect her thoughts. Hidden momentarily she looked around her, and a short distance away she saw a metallic glitter of something partially concealed on the tunnel floor. Crawling over she examined the object and was surprised to find her blades, still wrapped in the hessian cloth, laying on the tunnel floor. Standing mutely with the scimitars in her hands she tried to understand how the blades might have moved from where she had hidden them. Then distantly she heard his voice "The way of the dance" Troubled, Yshania unwrapped the blades and held them before her, suddenly appreciating like never before how much a part of her they had become.
Her back to the wall, she sidled back into the main cavern which was now illuminated by mage spells...the bodies of spiders dropping from the ceiling crisped...the crawlers bleeding their green and foul smelling life force over the floor of the cavern, arrows flew relentlessly and the blades and flails being swung received no metallic response from contact with armour or weapon, only the sound of steel through flesh and the occasional groans of disgust from the Dark Flames...
A squelching, sucking noise from around twenty paces away caused adrenalin to power through her. "Here we go!" Swinging around, she could just about make out an undulating white body mass fighting its way through a collapsed part of the wall. The stench that pervaded the cavern alerted those familiar that it could only be one creature...
"Crawlers!" she cried as, simultaneously, flame arrows from the bows of the archers as yet undistracted by the spiders whistled past her ears and found their target. Undeterred the creature rolled out into the cavern to reveal another directly behind it, the gap in the wall larger now...the walls of clay almost rolling back to deposit its rotten gut. The crawler lolled around before righting itself, the arrows buried deep in its body were aflame, and the smell of putrid burning flesh was offending the Dark Flames in this confined space. Raising itself bodily onto its rear, the crawler let out a prolonged steaming hiss before flopping awkwardly to the floor and advancing towards her. The second creature was also free of the confining walls now, and joined its comrade...a third fell out behind them, followed by a fourth and fifth...
Then she felt something land on her from above...looking up she realised as a couple more shadows descended and landed on her face and neck that the spiders were dropping from the celing in increasing numbers...she yelped, scrabbling at her face and throat, as she felt fangs needling into her skin and more of the creatures landing on her. Her yelp was more of fear and disgust, as the Iron Skins deflected any serious damage.
Suddenly a crawler was before her, raised on it's hind quarters and poised to strike. Instinctively she dropped to the ground and rolled as the loathsome creature collapsed and bounced. Rolling clear she sat panting, her back to the wall, trying to collect her thoughts. Hidden momentarily she looked around her, and a short distance away she saw a metallic glitter of something partially concealed on the tunnel floor. Crawling over she examined the object and was surprised to find her blades, still wrapped in the hessian cloth, laying on the tunnel floor. Standing mutely with the scimitars in her hands she tried to understand how the blades might have moved from where she had hidden them. Then distantly she heard his voice "The way of the dance" Troubled, Yshania unwrapped the blades and held them before her, suddenly appreciating like never before how much a part of her they had become.
Her back to the wall, she sidled back into the main cavern which was now illuminated by mage spells...the bodies of spiders dropping from the ceiling crisped...the crawlers bleeding their green and foul smelling life force over the floor of the cavern, arrows flew relentlessly and the blades and flails being swung received no metallic response from contact with armour or weapon, only the sound of steel through flesh and the occasional groans of disgust from the Dark Flames...
Parachute for sale, like new! Never opened!
Guinness, black goes with everything.
Guinness, black goes with everything.
"Yuck! This is foul beyond belief!" Cried Nippy, his hand flashed out and slammed into the body of a Sword Spider, stunning it and a sword thrust quickly finished the fell beast.
Nippy span around with vicious speed and his leg flew out in a round house kick that slammed into the body of a Crawler, the weight behind the blow was massive and Nippy felt the body give under the huge pressure exerted by the stunning kick. The crawler crumpled on the floor, hissing softly as it bled internally.
"I've had enough of this damn gore getting on my hands!" Nippy closed his eyes and weaved his hands in complex motions, utterting a spell that he had not used ever since he gained the abilities to use them.
He stopped chanting abruptly and a the image of a huge sword appeared above his head, normal in every way, until it pulsed a bright blue light that added to the glow created by Thalimon's sword, the light suddenly winked out and the sword disappeared and Nippy stood with his hand out, waiting for the spell to finish.
With another flash of light the hilt of a greatsword appeared in his hand, the blue blade grew to it's full size and Nippy smiled as he looked at the honed edge.
"This is my sword, you know why it's my sword? It's got Torm's fury written all over it."
Nippy roared and swung the sword in a huge over-head strike that split a spider clean in two, the gore splatterd all over the wall.
"Now that's one bad-ass sword..." Bloodstalker grinned at Nippy and lashed out with his blade.
Nippy looked for his comrade and saw Thalimon in a whirling dance of death...
Nippy span around with vicious speed and his leg flew out in a round house kick that slammed into the body of a Crawler, the weight behind the blow was massive and Nippy felt the body give under the huge pressure exerted by the stunning kick. The crawler crumpled on the floor, hissing softly as it bled internally.
"I've had enough of this damn gore getting on my hands!" Nippy closed his eyes and weaved his hands in complex motions, utterting a spell that he had not used ever since he gained the abilities to use them.
He stopped chanting abruptly and a the image of a huge sword appeared above his head, normal in every way, until it pulsed a bright blue light that added to the glow created by Thalimon's sword, the light suddenly winked out and the sword disappeared and Nippy stood with his hand out, waiting for the spell to finish.
With another flash of light the hilt of a greatsword appeared in his hand, the blue blade grew to it's full size and Nippy smiled as he looked at the honed edge.
"This is my sword, you know why it's my sword? It's got Torm's fury written all over it."
Nippy roared and swung the sword in a huge over-head strike that split a spider clean in two, the gore splatterd all over the wall.
"Now that's one bad-ass sword..." Bloodstalker grinned at Nippy and lashed out with his blade.
Nippy looked for his comrade and saw Thalimon in a whirling dance of death...
Perverteer Paladin
a little out of sequence
Thantor reached out and grabbed Scayde by the arm, stopping her in mid stride form following her friend, Dragon Wench. “ I know you want to go to her, but now is not the time Scayde. She is strong; She needs us all, but not in the way you are thinking. You are not the only one among us beginning a new life. Dragon Wench is experiencing the birth pains of her new beginning.” The sadness in his eyes giving lie to the smile on his lips. “And as any husbandman knows, those are pains that come closest to death, but in the end are the heralds of new life. You cannot free her from them. None of us can. We can only be here for her and wait.”
Simbul hovered closer, looking toward the pool, then spoke. “Come, we have preparations. Thantor, I believe you should let Jennabard continue Lady Moody’s education about battle tactics. You and I have other matters to attend.” With that she smiled at Scayde, and glided away toward the shadows.
Taking his cue, Thantor lead Scayde to a rock ledge, Stopping to make one more introduction along the way. “Jennabard, this is Scayde Moody of Texas. She will be joining us in battle.” Thantor cast a sidelong look towards Scayde, his eyes filled with compassion for their newfound friend, then returned his attention to Jennabard. “We don’t have much time. There are things she needs to understand, and things you need to know about also.”
After a brief discussion with Thantor, Jennabard turned to Scayde. “It seems you are to be our secret weapon.” Jennabard was tall, and her regal air left Scayde feeling rather insignificant, but when she spoke, her voice was warm and melodious. “You are the one, who was singing earlier, aren’t you.” Scayde inquired of the woman standing before her.
Jennabard smiled slightly at the recognition. “Tell me Scayde, did you experience anything unusual while you were listening to my songs?”
Scayde looked up at the woman; not sure what she was expected to say, deciding to answer as completely as possible. “Your voice is beautiful, and your song sounded both peaceful and heroic. What I experienced was deeply emotional, and filled with appreciation of the gift of an artist.” Scayde glanced down at her feet then back up into Jennabard's rich brown eyes. “I would not say it was anything unusual though. I have felt that way about music often enough. I used to feel it when my mother would take me to Houston to the opera. Beautiful music always moves me.”
Jennabard cast a knowing glance to where Simbul hovered half concealed in the shadows. “I see, yes this is very opportune” She said as if to herself. Turning back to Thantor and Scayde, She began to explain Scayde’s mission.
“You will be by yourself Scayde. But you will not be alone. We will hide you well and be near by. And remember, just because they will not be able to detect you with magic, does not mean you will be invisible. A false step, a panicked move, anything carelessly done, could give your location away. Remember your skills from hunting the deer. Be one with your surroundings, and you will be fine.”
Scayde gave a nervous nod, her red curls falling about her shoulders. “Thank you. I will remember all that you have told me.” Then glancing up into Thantor’s eyes she steeled herself with a deep breath. “I am ready.”
Thanking Jennabard, Thantor placed his arm around Scayde’s shoulders, giving her a reassuring hug. “Yes, I think you are. Come; let’s get you into position before all hell breaks lose.” With that he led her to an outcropping of rock near the junction of the main cavern and a bottleneck of converging tunnels. With a leg up from Thantor, Scayde scaled the outcropping and positioned herself behind three large boulders. With a nod and smile she communicated to her friend that she was indeed ready to face whatever fate had in store for them. Returning her smile, Thantor turned and made his way back to the main cavern.
Scayde huddled in her hiding place and watched with amazement as her friend was transformed into a man of stone. Massive in stature, she thought he was not unlike the titans of ancient myth. She was at the same time frightened and awestruck at the power he exuded. She saw Yshania at his side, furtively look away during his transformation and sensed her pain at seeing their friend transformed in such a way.
At once the cavern became deadly silent, and she noticed the companions countenance shift from anticipation to readiness. Just then the stillness erupted in an explosion of activity as thousands of spiders began to spill forth from the recesses of the rock walls surrounding them. The companions flew into action battling the scurrying beasts as great stinking masses joined in the mêlée. The putrid stench filling the air, the creatures looked not unlike great maggots on legs. it was all Scayde could do to remain in her appointed position for fear and longing to rush to their aid. It was only the careful instructions she had received that imparted to her the strength to remain hidden. She must not fail them. Taking the ammo out of her pack, Scayde loaded her rifle and made ready to play her part.
Thantor reached out and grabbed Scayde by the arm, stopping her in mid stride form following her friend, Dragon Wench. “ I know you want to go to her, but now is not the time Scayde. She is strong; She needs us all, but not in the way you are thinking. You are not the only one among us beginning a new life. Dragon Wench is experiencing the birth pains of her new beginning.” The sadness in his eyes giving lie to the smile on his lips. “And as any husbandman knows, those are pains that come closest to death, but in the end are the heralds of new life. You cannot free her from them. None of us can. We can only be here for her and wait.”
Simbul hovered closer, looking toward the pool, then spoke. “Come, we have preparations. Thantor, I believe you should let Jennabard continue Lady Moody’s education about battle tactics. You and I have other matters to attend.” With that she smiled at Scayde, and glided away toward the shadows.
Taking his cue, Thantor lead Scayde to a rock ledge, Stopping to make one more introduction along the way. “Jennabard, this is Scayde Moody of Texas. She will be joining us in battle.” Thantor cast a sidelong look towards Scayde, his eyes filled with compassion for their newfound friend, then returned his attention to Jennabard. “We don’t have much time. There are things she needs to understand, and things you need to know about also.”
After a brief discussion with Thantor, Jennabard turned to Scayde. “It seems you are to be our secret weapon.” Jennabard was tall, and her regal air left Scayde feeling rather insignificant, but when she spoke, her voice was warm and melodious. “You are the one, who was singing earlier, aren’t you.” Scayde inquired of the woman standing before her.
Jennabard smiled slightly at the recognition. “Tell me Scayde, did you experience anything unusual while you were listening to my songs?”
Scayde looked up at the woman; not sure what she was expected to say, deciding to answer as completely as possible. “Your voice is beautiful, and your song sounded both peaceful and heroic. What I experienced was deeply emotional, and filled with appreciation of the gift of an artist.” Scayde glanced down at her feet then back up into Jennabard's rich brown eyes. “I would not say it was anything unusual though. I have felt that way about music often enough. I used to feel it when my mother would take me to Houston to the opera. Beautiful music always moves me.”
Jennabard cast a knowing glance to where Simbul hovered half concealed in the shadows. “I see, yes this is very opportune” She said as if to herself. Turning back to Thantor and Scayde, She began to explain Scayde’s mission.
“You will be by yourself Scayde. But you will not be alone. We will hide you well and be near by. And remember, just because they will not be able to detect you with magic, does not mean you will be invisible. A false step, a panicked move, anything carelessly done, could give your location away. Remember your skills from hunting the deer. Be one with your surroundings, and you will be fine.”
Scayde gave a nervous nod, her red curls falling about her shoulders. “Thank you. I will remember all that you have told me.” Then glancing up into Thantor’s eyes she steeled herself with a deep breath. “I am ready.”
Thanking Jennabard, Thantor placed his arm around Scayde’s shoulders, giving her a reassuring hug. “Yes, I think you are. Come; let’s get you into position before all hell breaks lose.” With that he led her to an outcropping of rock near the junction of the main cavern and a bottleneck of converging tunnels. With a leg up from Thantor, Scayde scaled the outcropping and positioned herself behind three large boulders. With a nod and smile she communicated to her friend that she was indeed ready to face whatever fate had in store for them. Returning her smile, Thantor turned and made his way back to the main cavern.
Scayde huddled in her hiding place and watched with amazement as her friend was transformed into a man of stone. Massive in stature, she thought he was not unlike the titans of ancient myth. She was at the same time frightened and awestruck at the power he exuded. She saw Yshania at his side, furtively look away during his transformation and sensed her pain at seeing their friend transformed in such a way.
At once the cavern became deadly silent, and she noticed the companions countenance shift from anticipation to readiness. Just then the stillness erupted in an explosion of activity as thousands of spiders began to spill forth from the recesses of the rock walls surrounding them. The companions flew into action battling the scurrying beasts as great stinking masses joined in the mêlée. The putrid stench filling the air, the creatures looked not unlike great maggots on legs. it was all Scayde could do to remain in her appointed position for fear and longing to rush to their aid. It was only the careful instructions she had received that imparted to her the strength to remain hidden. She must not fail them. Taking the ammo out of her pack, Scayde loaded her rifle and made ready to play her part.
Scayde Moody
(Pronounced Shayde)
The virtue of self sacrifice is the lie perpetuated by the weak to enslave the strong
There was the Flame, the fragile tendrils of a flickering, brilliant awareness, extending all about the winds of the storm in a dance eternal, one which knew no beginning, nor end. Thus Thalimon began the dance, the bright star of the blade Avenger extending from his mind's eye to his hand, extending forth as a white-hot brand of Holy Fury...
The Harsh Mistress knew no conqueror. Her foes were incinerated in the merciless furnace of her windswept reaches, their flesh picked clean from sun-bleached bones by the slavering maw of the Sand Devil...
...or they fell prey to the horrors of the desolate night, stalking the dunes with glowing eyes and an insatiable hunger. Such were the terrors of the Anauroch Waste, the desolation of Faerun's distant past which heralded the end of glorious Nether, the crowning jewel of human civilization upon the face of Toril. Overwhelmed by swarming hordes of orcs, their shining empire collapsed into ruin, swallowed whole by the growing expanse of the Waste...
The Thykiri, the People of the Waste, thrived under the glare of the Burning Eye, dancing with the Sand Devil as he followed his winding, aimless path across the searing desert sands...their fires held the predators of the night at bay, and their curved shiim blades warded off the encroaching humanoid tribes which sought to devour their flesh.
The People had not conquered the Mistress, for she cannot be tamed or broken. The young Thykiri had embraced that which cannot be embraced, and had given themselves to that which devours and purifies. Surrendering themselves to the blazing orb of her lidless Eye, the Thykiri had embraced the Harsh Mistress herself, becoming lost in the soaring flight of the Raptu, the great bird of prey, as he scoured the dunes in his endless hunt...
By night, the mournful cry of the Zabiin, the black wolf of the barrens, became their song. Unlike other human cultures, the Thykiri sought not to tame or control the canine beast, breeding them to fit their fancy or desires, much like the war dogs and hunting hounds of the kingdoms of the Forgotten Realms. In their embrace of the Mistress they in turn received of her gifts, and the Zabiin became their ally in the bone-chilling cold of the night, his yellow eyes a beacon of comfort to the Thykiri warriors who stood the watch against the spectres of shadow. They greeted their brother silently, leaving gifts for him under the starlit sky, a sign of goodwill and trust.
The Thukariin had stood alone within the heart of Tharan'tiir, the eye of the divine storm, which swept across the reaches of the waste, cleansing and purifying. There it was that the young tiefling had discovered the Flame within, and learned of the dance eternal. Mind, body, senses and blades become one as the Flame reaches out to dance with the storm itself. The secret of the Flame joins the warrior and the storm into one, blending soul and wind into a force of elemental power. The secret lies within, and Thalimon thought of fire-eyes, Yshania his friend, sending his thoughts to her as his swords became extensions of his will, the winds of the Tharan'tiir...
The paladin rushed forward in a swooping arc, spider ichor erupting in greenish showers as the flaming sword Avenger cleaved effortlessly through the encroaching mass of arachnids, abdomens exploding upon impact. His path led him to the bulk of a sword spider, a bloated menace emerging from the shadows of the encircling darkness. Eagerly it apprised him with a row of glittering eyes, fangs dripping with venom as it made it's way through the tangle of the eyes and legs of its lesser kin...
As the great spider reared back to pounce upon the tiefling, Thalimon cast himself directly upon the arachnid, the Thukariin's blade plunging into the heart of it's fanged maw, severing nerves and sinew with a sickening crack. Pivoting at the waist in his deadly embrace, Thalimon sent Avenger upon a searing path through the chitinous armor of the spider's cephalothorax, killing it instantly as it's pumping organ helplessly spilled toxic blood onto the cavern floor below. The sword spider's legs relflexively convulsed in death, drawing Thalimon towards it's maw in an instinctual attack. The Thukariin's blade had rendered the spider's pedipalps and fangs powerless, however, and with a savage kick the paladin sent the upper portion of the spider hurtling to whence it came, ripping legs free of their thoraxial anchoring...
A demonic rage began to surge within the black river of his tainted blood, pumped into his limbs by his six-chambered, hybrid heart. This glowed like an ember within his mailed breast, and was the source of the steaming vapor which escaped his body as the fury of battle descended upon him. He smiled grimly, thrilling with the power as he channeled the curse of the tanar'ri directly into the brilliance of the Flame, melding the Darkness with the Light, subjugating the fury of Hell to the holy wrath of the Heavens.
Thalimon was an abomination to the Powers of the Abyss, despised not merely for his rejection of his demonic heritage - as his father before him had done - but chiefly for that which he represented: a light within the dark, a watch-fire in the impenetrable darkness of the twisted realms of their nightmarish horror. He cast himself with reckless abandon upon their malignant evil as the instrument of Torm the True, a Paladin of the Holy Flame...
The carrion crawler hissed as Thalimon's long blade sliced along the length of it's pallid mass, releasing the carrion-stench of it's innards into his flared nostrils. The tiefling's serpentine tail whipped through the air as the Thukariin's blade nailed the crawler's tentacled maw closed, the sword tip jutting out from between the creature's tiny eyes. By Torm, thought Thalimon with disgust, it reeks like the festering Zurkul, the rotting undead of the necromancers... Spitting into an eye, he drove his shoulder deep into it's quivering bulk, releasing his blade as the monster slammed into the unyielding stone floor. Spinning forward with the momentum, Thalimon cleaved the worm in two with Avenger his sword, chopping a deep furrow into the rock underneath in a rain of sparks and granite dust.
Charging into the heart of the battle, Thalimon unleashed an ecstatic cry into the cavern of the pool...
"Anthalimou kaa! Nai brith'shiim sa Tharan'tiir!" For Torm! Feel the sword-wind of the Divine Storm!
The Harsh Mistress knew no conqueror. Her foes were incinerated in the merciless furnace of her windswept reaches, their flesh picked clean from sun-bleached bones by the slavering maw of the Sand Devil...
...or they fell prey to the horrors of the desolate night, stalking the dunes with glowing eyes and an insatiable hunger. Such were the terrors of the Anauroch Waste, the desolation of Faerun's distant past which heralded the end of glorious Nether, the crowning jewel of human civilization upon the face of Toril. Overwhelmed by swarming hordes of orcs, their shining empire collapsed into ruin, swallowed whole by the growing expanse of the Waste...
The Thykiri, the People of the Waste, thrived under the glare of the Burning Eye, dancing with the Sand Devil as he followed his winding, aimless path across the searing desert sands...their fires held the predators of the night at bay, and their curved shiim blades warded off the encroaching humanoid tribes which sought to devour their flesh.
The People had not conquered the Mistress, for she cannot be tamed or broken. The young Thykiri had embraced that which cannot be embraced, and had given themselves to that which devours and purifies. Surrendering themselves to the blazing orb of her lidless Eye, the Thykiri had embraced the Harsh Mistress herself, becoming lost in the soaring flight of the Raptu, the great bird of prey, as he scoured the dunes in his endless hunt...
By night, the mournful cry of the Zabiin, the black wolf of the barrens, became their song. Unlike other human cultures, the Thykiri sought not to tame or control the canine beast, breeding them to fit their fancy or desires, much like the war dogs and hunting hounds of the kingdoms of the Forgotten Realms. In their embrace of the Mistress they in turn received of her gifts, and the Zabiin became their ally in the bone-chilling cold of the night, his yellow eyes a beacon of comfort to the Thykiri warriors who stood the watch against the spectres of shadow. They greeted their brother silently, leaving gifts for him under the starlit sky, a sign of goodwill and trust.
The Thukariin had stood alone within the heart of Tharan'tiir, the eye of the divine storm, which swept across the reaches of the waste, cleansing and purifying. There it was that the young tiefling had discovered the Flame within, and learned of the dance eternal. Mind, body, senses and blades become one as the Flame reaches out to dance with the storm itself. The secret of the Flame joins the warrior and the storm into one, blending soul and wind into a force of elemental power. The secret lies within, and Thalimon thought of fire-eyes, Yshania his friend, sending his thoughts to her as his swords became extensions of his will, the winds of the Tharan'tiir...
The paladin rushed forward in a swooping arc, spider ichor erupting in greenish showers as the flaming sword Avenger cleaved effortlessly through the encroaching mass of arachnids, abdomens exploding upon impact. His path led him to the bulk of a sword spider, a bloated menace emerging from the shadows of the encircling darkness. Eagerly it apprised him with a row of glittering eyes, fangs dripping with venom as it made it's way through the tangle of the eyes and legs of its lesser kin...
As the great spider reared back to pounce upon the tiefling, Thalimon cast himself directly upon the arachnid, the Thukariin's blade plunging into the heart of it's fanged maw, severing nerves and sinew with a sickening crack. Pivoting at the waist in his deadly embrace, Thalimon sent Avenger upon a searing path through the chitinous armor of the spider's cephalothorax, killing it instantly as it's pumping organ helplessly spilled toxic blood onto the cavern floor below. The sword spider's legs relflexively convulsed in death, drawing Thalimon towards it's maw in an instinctual attack. The Thukariin's blade had rendered the spider's pedipalps and fangs powerless, however, and with a savage kick the paladin sent the upper portion of the spider hurtling to whence it came, ripping legs free of their thoraxial anchoring...
A demonic rage began to surge within the black river of his tainted blood, pumped into his limbs by his six-chambered, hybrid heart. This glowed like an ember within his mailed breast, and was the source of the steaming vapor which escaped his body as the fury of battle descended upon him. He smiled grimly, thrilling with the power as he channeled the curse of the tanar'ri directly into the brilliance of the Flame, melding the Darkness with the Light, subjugating the fury of Hell to the holy wrath of the Heavens.
Thalimon was an abomination to the Powers of the Abyss, despised not merely for his rejection of his demonic heritage - as his father before him had done - but chiefly for that which he represented: a light within the dark, a watch-fire in the impenetrable darkness of the twisted realms of their nightmarish horror. He cast himself with reckless abandon upon their malignant evil as the instrument of Torm the True, a Paladin of the Holy Flame...
The carrion crawler hissed as Thalimon's long blade sliced along the length of it's pallid mass, releasing the carrion-stench of it's innards into his flared nostrils. The tiefling's serpentine tail whipped through the air as the Thukariin's blade nailed the crawler's tentacled maw closed, the sword tip jutting out from between the creature's tiny eyes. By Torm, thought Thalimon with disgust, it reeks like the festering Zurkul, the rotting undead of the necromancers... Spitting into an eye, he drove his shoulder deep into it's quivering bulk, releasing his blade as the monster slammed into the unyielding stone floor. Spinning forward with the momentum, Thalimon cleaved the worm in two with Avenger his sword, chopping a deep furrow into the rock underneath in a rain of sparks and granite dust.
Charging into the heart of the battle, Thalimon unleashed an ecstatic cry into the cavern of the pool...
"Anthalimou kaa! Nai brith'shiim sa Tharan'tiir!" For Torm! Feel the sword-wind of the Divine Storm!
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]
Frozen in place, barely breathing, Mysteria stared ahead into the darkness, knowing that the foe had to be there somewhere, knowing that it would see her before she could ... but she felt no fear, only a chilling numbness. It was as if all live had suddenly left the cave, leaving her stranded and alone, looking into the maws of hell that would soon spit out their foes ... Their foes ... theirs? Her companions seemed oddly distant, small, flickering lights of life in eternal darkness ... islands that seemed close and distant at the same time.
Blazing light disrupted the darkness behind her, her shadow appearing long and distorted on the ground for a second ... flanked by another. "Stay." A voice echoed in her head, her voice ... it sounded surreal, as if it longer belonged to her. Fang looked up at his mistress, his delicate nose picking up a chill scent, soon overwhelmed by a stronger, putrid stench that made his hackles rise.
... chill ...
The thought surfaced from nowhere, skittering across her mind to disappear into nothingness again. Calmly, she rose her bow, she could feel the granulated wood under her fingers, the strength of the string as she notched an arrow ... soon now they would come, soon. Focused ahead, past the fighters nearer to the tunnels, her gaze was sucked into the darkness of the tunnels, was there ...?
"Spiders!", the ranger's voice was still reverbating in her ear when she too saw the mass of black bodies pouring forth from the maw of hell. Spiders ... her hands moved out of their own accord, letting fly arrow after arrow at the moving mass, each of them finding its mark, each of them taking its toll as the spiders where so tightly packed that it was impossible to miss.
From her right, flames pierced the darkness as elven arrows took fire in full flight, two or even three of them embedding themselves in the dark bodies in the time her numb fingers fired perhaps one ...
... this is no my true talent ...
Again, the thought seemed oddly detached, strangely foreign ... odd. She felt the chill creeping through her bones, the sound of battle reached her as if through cotton wool ...
... chill ...
Suddenly sticky strands encased her legs, a bloated body hurled itself at her from above, from the ceiling ... it never reached her as Fang bulleted into it in full flight, a streak of gray in the darkness, taking both of them down to the ground.
Suddenly, reality snapped back, she was in the middle of a raging battle! Twisting her upper body around, she shot at the poisonous foe just as it turned around, sending it to wherever spiders went after dead ... somewhere unpleasant hopefully. With rage, she tore herself free from the sticky strands, beginning to weave around as more webs where thrown by the spiders who had begun to move across the ceiling, bypassing the warriors.
... die! ...
She snarled as a multitude of smaller spiders launched themselves at her ...
... DIE! ...
Icy rage filled her body, her breath condensating in front of her mouth ... the spiders froze in their track, chill invading their limbs, their brain ... they would not get her! They would not! A cold fire burned in her eyes, her arrows bringing an icy death to the spiders who attracted her attention.
Blazing light disrupted the darkness behind her, her shadow appearing long and distorted on the ground for a second ... flanked by another. "Stay." A voice echoed in her head, her voice ... it sounded surreal, as if it longer belonged to her. Fang looked up at his mistress, his delicate nose picking up a chill scent, soon overwhelmed by a stronger, putrid stench that made his hackles rise.
... chill ...
The thought surfaced from nowhere, skittering across her mind to disappear into nothingness again. Calmly, she rose her bow, she could feel the granulated wood under her fingers, the strength of the string as she notched an arrow ... soon now they would come, soon. Focused ahead, past the fighters nearer to the tunnels, her gaze was sucked into the darkness of the tunnels, was there ...?
"Spiders!", the ranger's voice was still reverbating in her ear when she too saw the mass of black bodies pouring forth from the maw of hell. Spiders ... her hands moved out of their own accord, letting fly arrow after arrow at the moving mass, each of them finding its mark, each of them taking its toll as the spiders where so tightly packed that it was impossible to miss.
From her right, flames pierced the darkness as elven arrows took fire in full flight, two or even three of them embedding themselves in the dark bodies in the time her numb fingers fired perhaps one ...
... this is no my true talent ...
Again, the thought seemed oddly detached, strangely foreign ... odd. She felt the chill creeping through her bones, the sound of battle reached her as if through cotton wool ...
... chill ...
Suddenly sticky strands encased her legs, a bloated body hurled itself at her from above, from the ceiling ... it never reached her as Fang bulleted into it in full flight, a streak of gray in the darkness, taking both of them down to the ground.
Suddenly, reality snapped back, she was in the middle of a raging battle! Twisting her upper body around, she shot at the poisonous foe just as it turned around, sending it to wherever spiders went after dead ... somewhere unpleasant hopefully. With rage, she tore herself free from the sticky strands, beginning to weave around as more webs where thrown by the spiders who had begun to move across the ceiling, bypassing the warriors.
... die! ...
She snarled as a multitude of smaller spiders launched themselves at her ...
... DIE! ...
Icy rage filled her body, her breath condensating in front of her mouth ... the spiders froze in their track, chill invading their limbs, their brain ... they would not get her! They would not! A cold fire burned in her eyes, her arrows bringing an icy death to the spiders who attracted her attention.
"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players."
T’lainya stiffened her spine as the wave of spiders poured across the cavern floor. A quiet fury rose in the priestess as she watched the skittering hordes of Lolths favorite pets. A touch to her holy symbol and a whispered word cast an opening spell. The sound burst broke across the spiders like the roaring of an angry storm, rising in power, thundering displeasure to the gods. The smaller arachnids caught in the path flipped and burst, spewing ichors and venom across the floor. The larger spiders scurried away from the spell path, squeaking in pain.
The priestess smiled and took a flask from her belt. She aimed carefully, and the oil flask sailed through the air in a lazy arc spilling the flammable fluid across the living, moving mass.
“Aegis! A timely arrow please.” The priestess sent the message spell winging towards the elven ranger. He twitched a lip and with uncanny elven grace he fired a flaming arrow into the oil-covered spiders. The oil flared with a strong, almost gleeful light as arachnids burned. The smell of burnt spider was strong and T’lainya thought it fitting, wishing only that the Tanar’ri spider queen would burn instead.
The smaller arachnids were giving way to the larger spiders, the vicious barbed legs of the sword spiders killing many of the smaller arachnids. The shimmering of the air betrayed the presence of phase spiders, and the foul odor of carrion announced the wraith spiders. T’lainya raised her flail and swung it hard, smashing more of the beasts. She was intent on moving towards the rear of the cavern; she thought that some glyphs of warding would be of use. A slight chill caused her to turn bringing her shield up into the glistening fangs of a phase spider. She brought the heavy weapon down onto the spider. The enchanted weapon crushed the spider’s body, tearing through chitin and organs alike, spraying gore as it destroyed the monster. Another phase spider appeared by the priestess, sinking dripping fangs into her arm between her mail and gauntlets.
“Consign thyself to the abyss and may your mistress strangle in her own web!” T’lainya cursed as the venom ran through her arm like a thousand tiny points of flame. She turned the pain inside and let the divine power wash over her. The pain disappeared, energizing her and clarifying her focus. She spun on her heel and faced the arachnid, aiming a blow at the face. The spider reared back, stunned by the failure of it’s poison. T’lainya brought her shield up into the creatures belly, slicing deep into the body. The spider bit wildly at her, mandibles clicking in a futile effort.
She smiled and swung the flail, smashing the wounded arachnid into pulp.
Her blood was roaring in her ears from the battle. Interfering with any of Lolths creatures was always a pleasure. The priestess looked up to see two glowing eyes in the darkness. The omen of Sheverash, it warned her of the presence of his enemy.
The priestess smiled and took a flask from her belt. She aimed carefully, and the oil flask sailed through the air in a lazy arc spilling the flammable fluid across the living, moving mass.
“Aegis! A timely arrow please.” The priestess sent the message spell winging towards the elven ranger. He twitched a lip and with uncanny elven grace he fired a flaming arrow into the oil-covered spiders. The oil flared with a strong, almost gleeful light as arachnids burned. The smell of burnt spider was strong and T’lainya thought it fitting, wishing only that the Tanar’ri spider queen would burn instead.
The smaller arachnids were giving way to the larger spiders, the vicious barbed legs of the sword spiders killing many of the smaller arachnids. The shimmering of the air betrayed the presence of phase spiders, and the foul odor of carrion announced the wraith spiders. T’lainya raised her flail and swung it hard, smashing more of the beasts. She was intent on moving towards the rear of the cavern; she thought that some glyphs of warding would be of use. A slight chill caused her to turn bringing her shield up into the glistening fangs of a phase spider. She brought the heavy weapon down onto the spider. The enchanted weapon crushed the spider’s body, tearing through chitin and organs alike, spraying gore as it destroyed the monster. Another phase spider appeared by the priestess, sinking dripping fangs into her arm between her mail and gauntlets.
“Consign thyself to the abyss and may your mistress strangle in her own web!” T’lainya cursed as the venom ran through her arm like a thousand tiny points of flame. She turned the pain inside and let the divine power wash over her. The pain disappeared, energizing her and clarifying her focus. She spun on her heel and faced the arachnid, aiming a blow at the face. The spider reared back, stunned by the failure of it’s poison. T’lainya brought her shield up into the creatures belly, slicing deep into the body. The spider bit wildly at her, mandibles clicking in a futile effort.
She smiled and swung the flail, smashing the wounded arachnid into pulp.
Her blood was roaring in her ears from the battle. Interfering with any of Lolths creatures was always a pleasure. The priestess looked up to see two glowing eyes in the darkness. The omen of Sheverash, it warned her of the presence of his enemy.
[url="http://www.gamebanshee.com"]GameBanshee[/url] Make your gaming scream!
"I have seen them/I have watched them all fall/I have been them/I have watched myself crawl"
"I will only complicate you/Trust in me and fall as well"
"Quiet time...no more whine"
"I have seen them/I have watched them all fall/I have been them/I have watched myself crawl"
"I will only complicate you/Trust in me and fall as well"
"Quiet time...no more whine"
-
Gwalchmai
- Posts: 6252
- Joined: Wed May 09, 2001 11:00 am
- Location: This Quintessence of Dust
- Contact:
Harsh whispers rose to a cacophony of noise inside Gwalchmai’s head as the clerics cast their protective spells. Bright flashes of colored light and the hiss of divine magic added to the surreal atmosphere. He felt more confused than usual, and did little to protect himself. The Iron Skins from the fight with the Mouthers was still active, and his muddled mind could not think of anything else he should do. He rocked on his heels, humming a tuneless song.
He felt strange, at a fundamental level. He wasn’t himself, really, and he felt out of place in the cavern. Not that he had spent a lot of time in dark caves waiting for Dark Forces to attack, but he should have felt more familiar with the situation. The cry of “Spiders!” seemed almost detached from the situation, and he continued humming even as his compatriots flew into action around him.
Imagine his surprise when a short buzzing sound indicated that a Phase Spider had materialized directly behind him. He gasped, threw himself forward, and rolled on the ground. Imagine his relief when he realized that he still retained some semblance of battle instinct in him. His lunge had helped him to avoid the first attack of the spider. Unfortunately, the spider leapt atop him and proceeded to sink its fangs deep into his shoulder. Only the Iron Skins spell prevented the spider from decapitating him.
That bite really hurt! Yet Gwalchmai grinned as he felt the venom enter his system. No natural animal venom could harm him, you see. Still, we can’t have a spider gnawing on his shoulder. What to do? The beast’s body was as large as his own, and he was effectively pinned. He grabbed the coarse hair on the spider’s abdomen and tried to force the spider down and away. Eight powerful legs prevented him from moving it, so Gwalchmai reversed direction, and slid himself further under the surprised spider. He wrapped his arms and legs around the beast and clung to its underside, well away from its fangs. He was also heavy enough that the spider could not get its own legs underneath to try to scrape the weighty human off.
So, there sat a panicking spider, effectively anchored by a large druid. Far, far away on a small farm outside Beregost, a little girl sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey in peace.
He felt strange, at a fundamental level. He wasn’t himself, really, and he felt out of place in the cavern. Not that he had spent a lot of time in dark caves waiting for Dark Forces to attack, but he should have felt more familiar with the situation. The cry of “Spiders!” seemed almost detached from the situation, and he continued humming even as his compatriots flew into action around him.
Imagine his surprise when a short buzzing sound indicated that a Phase Spider had materialized directly behind him. He gasped, threw himself forward, and rolled on the ground. Imagine his relief when he realized that he still retained some semblance of battle instinct in him. His lunge had helped him to avoid the first attack of the spider. Unfortunately, the spider leapt atop him and proceeded to sink its fangs deep into his shoulder. Only the Iron Skins spell prevented the spider from decapitating him.
That bite really hurt! Yet Gwalchmai grinned as he felt the venom enter his system. No natural animal venom could harm him, you see. Still, we can’t have a spider gnawing on his shoulder. What to do? The beast’s body was as large as his own, and he was effectively pinned. He grabbed the coarse hair on the spider’s abdomen and tried to force the spider down and away. Eight powerful legs prevented him from moving it, so Gwalchmai reversed direction, and slid himself further under the surprised spider. He wrapped his arms and legs around the beast and clung to its underside, well away from its fangs. He was also heavy enough that the spider could not get its own legs underneath to try to scrape the weighty human off.
So, there sat a panicking spider, effectively anchored by a large druid. Far, far away on a small farm outside Beregost, a little girl sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey in peace.
That there; exactly the kinda diversion we coulda used.