Fenyx is suddenly very glad for the presence of the enormous merman and half-orc that elected to serve as a buffer between those with ill intent and the rest of the party, though a tinge of worrisome doubt creeps across the man's face as he beholds the grim aftermath of the tatzlwyrms and their furious assault. The form of Rasso's eidolon wavering after the brutal attack, Fenyx plants his feet firm and wide atop his unwieldy snowshoes. He seems settled on a tactic, though the intervention of Marcellano and Styvanus give him momentary pause, and he instead turns about to lend aid to Ordrud against his foe.
A steamy exhale yields focus to Fenyx's demeanor, and his right palm darts swiftly up to the sihedron inscribed on his brow—its now red glow serving as stark contrast the nearly uninterrupted white of their surroundings. His hand clenches, the red glow now firmly in his grasp, and he lashes at the open air before him in Ordrud's direction with a fel curse on his tongue: "". Streaks of red energies coalesce and stream into the tatzlwyrm's side, finding purchase in the bleeding grooves that the half-orc's clawed gauntlets have made, splintering scale and flesh as the force of the impact carries into the tatzlwyrm's side.
Cursing behind his mask at the clumsiness of his new snowshoes Teladon nonetheless managed to move gracefully even in the deep snow. When the Tatzlwyrms first appeared the elf recognized them as a inferior form of dragon-kin. Briefly considering trying to parlay with the creatures the elf shook his head. The serpentine creatures had but one thought on their mind and no amount of discussion would turn them away from their goal.
Closing his eyes momentarily, Teladon called upon his training and stilled the beating of his heart. Drawing upon his arcane power, the elf uttered the 3rd invocation of combustion, drawing forth a wellspring of heat. Moving through the snow Teladon quickly drew forth his scimitar and then channeled the glowing bundle of heat through his sword and into the white wyrm.
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"Tatzlwyrms," she mumbled under her breath, "How did they get this far south?" Talavuc points at the tatzlwyrm attacking Ordrud and gives a shrill whistle, ordering him to attack. She lets the sling in her hand fall into the snow and grabs the spear hanging on straps from her back, readying the weapon, smiling a bit to herself as she feels the comforting weight in her hands.
Naasvit bounds through the snow, heading directly for the tatzlwyrm. I've seen and avoided them before, but never fought one. I don't like this. Talavuc grimaced and trudged through the deep snow, following her friend.
Tatzlwyrms? Never heard of them. Finally though, something to kill! Marcellano yells the obvious, "We're under attack from the flanks!" Seeing Rasso and Ordrud being attacked, Marcellano moves closer to Rasso through the deep snow, trying to get a better angle for his shot.
He then hefts his musket, pulls back the cock to firing position, and fires at the wyrm clawing at Rasso. The musket-shot rings out in the otherwise quiet forest, echoing far. A red explosion of blood on the Tatzlwyrm's flank shows that the Marine hit his target dead on and the beast releases a shrieking roar of pain but seems, horrifyingly, undeterred.
Wounded by a gunshot, the tatzlwyrm engaged with Rasso continues its savage assault. It brings its head back, jaws open, then lunges in and grabs a hold of Rasso by the shoulder, teeth sinking through his translucent carapace, peeling back more of the shell until finally it cracks. A scream of pain erupts from the merman as his eidolon flickers and fractures as if it were made of something far more fragile. With its grip secured, the Tatzlwyrm falls into a tumbling roll, coiling around Rasso and raking at his midsection with its terrible claws.
Across the snowfield, the tatzlwyrm's bonded mate performed a nearly identical maneuver. It pushes its weight forward atop Ordrud, lunges down with snapping jaws and bites down around his shoulder and neck, large teeth punching through armor and ripping through clothing. It then rolls, coiling him up in its length as its clawed forelimbs rip through his cold-weather gear and the armor below, tufts of batting and insulation mixing with blood in the struggle, even as Ordrud's clawed gauntlets continue to dig into the wyrm's flesh.
"Ye ain't the only one with claws and teeth bub! I've been walking all day, and I never had me a taste o' dragon before! Yarrrg!" Rasso says to the wyrm as he struggles with it. He claws and bites it in return. His teeth and left claw find no purchase as they struggle to hold the dragon's razor sharp natural weapons at bay, but his right claw is jammed directly into its belly, cutting up along its underside like a pair of shears. Hot, steaming blood drools down the side of the creature and smears across Rasso's claw and arm.
Fenyx is suddenly very glad for the presence of the enormous merman and half-orc that elected to serve as a buffer between those with ill intent and the rest of the party, though a tinge of worrisome doubt creeps across the man's face as he beholds the grim aftermath of the tatzlwyrms and their furious assault. The form of Rasso's eidolon wavering after the brutal attack, Fenyx plants his feet firm and wide atop his unwieldy snowshoes. He seems settled on a tactic, though the intervention of Marcellano and Styvanus give him momentary pause, and he instead turns about to lend aid to Ordrud against his foe.
A steamy exhale yields focus to Fenyx's demeanor, and his right palm darts swiftly up to the sihedron inscribed on his brow—its now red glow serving as stark contrast the nearly uninterrupted white of their surroundings. His hand clenches, the red glow now firmly in his grasp, and he lashes at the open air before him in Ordrud's direction with a fel curse on his tongue: "". Streaks of red energies coalesce and stream into the tatzlwyrm's side, finding purchase in the bleeding grooves that the half-orc's clawed gauntlets have made, splintering scale and flesh as the force of the impact carries into the tatzlwyrm's side.
The situation had escalated from bad to worse before the eyes of the young captain. Springing across the snow as quickly as he could, he closed in on the beast that had entangled his merman companion. Styvanus gripped the edge of his shield with his off hand and brought the two handed blow down on the nape of the neck of the dragon-like creature with all his might. The impact of the shield shatters bone and splits flesh, causing the tatzlwyrm to recoil and tighten its grip on Rasso, a yowling howl of pain issuing from its jaws.
Ordrud feels the tatzlwyrm he battles coil around him, but rage consumes him. He fights for his life. He digs his gauntlet claws into the dragon giving as hard as he is receiving. The claws sink deeper into dragonflesh, spraying blood out across Ordrud's face from the fissures in scales and skin. The creature whines noisily, then breathes in deeply in preparation for something, a rattlting sound now heard from deep in its chest.
ursing behind his mask at the clumsiness of his new snowshoes Teladon nonetheless managed to move gracefully even in the deep snow. When the Tatzlwyrms first appeared the elf recognized them as a inferior form of dragon-kin. Briefly considering trying to parlay with the creatures the elf shook his head. The serpentine creatures had but one thought on their mind and no amount of discussion would turn them away from their goal.
Closing his eyes momentarily, Teladon called upon his training and stilled the beating of his heart. Drawing upon his arcane power, the elf uttered the 3rd invocation of combustion, drawing forth a wellspring of heat. Moving through the snow Teladon quickly drew forth his scimitar and then channeled the glowing bundle of heat through his sword and into the white wyrm.
Teladon's ancient sword pierces through the tatzlwyrm's throat, twists, wrenches to the side and is torn out with a spraying trail of blood following in its wake. An arterial spray from the wyrm's throat gushes across the snow as it releases Ordrud, writhes around in the snow and coughs up a mouthful of blood, twists and contorts and finally smashes its head down into the snow with a choking rattle as it twists and coils one last time.
Steam rises up from the blood stained on Teladon's sword.
<< | | >>
Lumbering forward on his snowshoes, the weight of his armored form still caused him to sink into the snow. He struggled, but continued undettered by the heavy snow and he rushed at the still fighting wyrm with his warhammer raised high.
The Thassilonian runes etched upon the weapon seemed to catch the moonlight, but soon the weapon was careening downward as Ar'Zarrcal drove it into the scaled back of the tatzlwyrm. Yet the creature's scales proved resilent and the hammer bounced off, sending a numbing shiver through Ar'Zarrcal's weapon arm. There was not hate or fear in him as he attacked the tatzlwyrm. The beasts were merely in the way, an obstacle to the goal he was sent here to accomplish. He did not speak, roar, or utter a warrior's chant, as he struck the beast in a mechanical silence. Though the creature was not defeated, he trusted in his armor and the eventual victory of him and the expedition force.
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Marcellano, choosing to go in for the kill instead of try and reload his musket for another shot, trudges through the snow towards the heavily injured Tatzlwyrm. He moves opposite of Styvanus so they can flank the dragon-kin in order to finish it off easier.
"Lets finish these off before they can do anymore damage!"
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Round 2
When the dragon slumps to the snow, Ordrud turns and hustles toward its living mate. Drawing his greatsword from his waist scabbard, he positions himself for a killing blow with another mighty roar.
_________________________________________________________
Rasso continues his furious struggle with the wyrm grappling him. His teeth manage to latch briefly onto its throat before they are torn away in the tumbling melee.
_________________________
Round 2, Initiative 22
Seeing the tatzlwyrm Naasvit and she were moving to engage fall, Talavuc gives another shrill whistle, gesturing towards the other tatzlwyrm. She turned herself and headed for the tatzlwyrm as the mink came to a halt in the snow and switched his direction. We need to kill it quickly before it inflicts more wounds. As she looked at Rasso, the question of what the wyrm was truthfully doing to him rushed through her mind. What damage is it doing? How badly does it afflict him? It certainly seemed to wound him, though. Her mouth was a grim line as she readied her spear.
______________________________________________
Thrashing around in the snow with Rasso, the last tatzlwyrm snaps its jaws ferociously and tightens its coiled body around the merman. Blood smears in the trampled snow from their entwined forms. Rasso's chitinous exoskeleton cracks and pops under the pressure, and in one of its throes the tatzlwyrm brings its toothy maw close to Rasso's head and exhales a wheezing breath of poisonous gas in a spray across one side of the merman's face.
The gas stings Rasso's eyes and tingles his eidolon's flesh with numbing quality. It never sinks in, though, not to the wyrm's intention of paralyzing its prey. It shrieks loudly, saw-like teeth inches away from Rasso's fragile eidolon.
____
____
Fort DC 12; frequency 1/round for 2 rounds; effect 1d2 Str damage; cure 1 save. The save DC is Constitution-based.
Seeing the tatzlwyrm Naasvit and she were moving to engage fall, Talavuc gives another shrill whistle, gesturing towards the other tatzlwyrm. She turned herself and headed for the tatzlwyrm as the mink came to a halt in the snow and switched his direction. We need to kill it quickly before it inflicts more wounds. As she looked at Rasso, the question of what the wyrm was truthfully doing to him rushed through her mind. What damage is it doing? How badly does it afflict him? It certainly seemed to wound him, though. Her mouth was a grim line as she readied her spear.
Marcellano, choosing to go in for the kill instead of try and reload his musket for another shot, trudges through the snow towards the heavily injured Tatzlwyrm. He moves opposite of Styvanus so they can flank the dragon-kin in order to finish it off easier. "Lets finish these off before they can do anymore damage!"
Thrashing around in the snow with Rasso, the last tatzlwyrm snaps its jaws ferociously and tightens its coiled body around the merman. Blood smears in the trampled snow from their entwined forms. Rasso's chitinous exoskeleton cracks and pops under the pressure, and in one of its throes the tatzlwyrm brings its toothy maw close to Rasso's head and exhales a wheezing breath of poisonous gas in a spray across one side of the merman's face.
The gas stings Rasso's eyes and tingles his eidolon's flesh with numbing quality. It never sinks in, though, not to the wyrm's intention of paralyzing its prey. It shrieks loudly, saw-like teeth inches away from Rasso's fragile eidolon.
Rasso continues his furious struggle with the wyrm grappling him. His teeth manage to latch briefly onto its throat before they are torn away in the tumbling melee. Rasso's eidolon-boudn teeth sink through scales, his nek muscles flex, and he pulls away a stringy piece of the wyrm's throat, blood spraying out in great volume from the injury. The creature recoils, releasing Rasso from its grasp and falls down into the snow. It begins thrashing, gasping and gurgling up choked roars in its death throes.
<< | >>
____
"These things are useful." He says admiring his blood-drenched spiked gauntlets.
"Well, that was fun. What were those things?" Ordrud asks breathing heavily recovering from his controlled rage.
He turns away from the kill and stumbles a bit, "Ouch. That hurt, too. Now, I'm at half strength."
Rasso chews the bit of tatzylwyrm and swallows it. "Mmm. Not bad. A bit minty even." After a moment more of savoring the taste of dragon-kin, he comments "I kin keep going if you decide captain. I'm at about two thirds strength, with all me spells cast. Anyone else get badly wounded?"
Seeing that the wyrms were defeated, the rune-scarred dwarf slid his warhammer back into his belt. He bent down next to the one he was adjacent to and examined the creature. It did not make sense for these creatures to be here unless someone or something had transported them Southward from the distant North.
He glanced at his companions, his eyes narrowing as he accessed them. He nodded his head and then set his shield down on the snow, before slipping an arm free from his hefty pack. Opening the backpack, he fished through it for a few moments before he found a winter blanket which he unrolled over his large shield. He then set down a tin kit, which he opened to reveal thread, needles, and a variety of pastes.
Ar'Zarrcal then turned his gaze to Ordrud. It was clear that the Orc had seen better days and was in need of medical treatment. "I can knit your wounds with thread and needle... and if there are no objections I can call upon the power of the goddess to heal that which my mortal techniques cannot... should you accept the blessing and power of Lissala into your body and soul. As I stated earlier this day she does not usually grant her gifts to nonbelievers."
The Herald of The Claimer then turned his face to look over Rasso. It was clear that there was confusion on his face, as he tried to seperate merman from Eidolon. "I do not know whether I could heal you. I have never treated a joined being."
They are tatzlwyrms, a minor dragon-kin. Comes to fleeting sing-song voice of Teladon through his mask in a puff of steam in the chill winter air. Kneeling down next to the wyrm, Teladon takes out a small knife and a small glass vial and begins to carefully collect some bits of blood and scale. Dragons, even such minor creatures as these are still intensely magical. There was no limit to the uses that Teladon could find with a bit of bone, some blood and scale. Even now Teladon could feel his kin-entrusted blade slowly growing in power. When the time came for it to Awaken, an offering such as this would be very useful.
Meticulously sealing the vial of dragon’s blood and cleaning the bone and scale in the snow, Teladon wraped them up with a near level of reverence. Placing the remains within his pack the elf rises to his full height and with a single grunt brings his pack up and around his shoulders. Wordlessly nodding the elf moves back to his original position, clearly indicating his readiness to move on.
Looking over towards Styvanus and recalling the powerful blow the warrior made with his shield, Teladon frowned. He had never seen a combat style such as that before. Was it something of the man’s own making or something he had learned from another? Pondering an idea for a moment, Teladon cocked his head glancing at the other Tatzlwyrm and then at Styvanus’s shield. Some dragons bear immunity to elements such as the cold. If you were to wrap your shield in its scales, it might help to protect you against any cold based attacks. Shrugging Teladon turned back around showing his back to the shielded warrior. Or it might not.
Ordrud shrugs at the dwarf and nonverbally welcomes any healing.
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"Never tasted dragon before. Too bad we don't have the time. We don't have time to skin them or stitch up Ordrud, either. Treating his wounds non-magically would take an hour.. and we don't have that sort of time, aye? Anyone have any magical healing left?"
As he's saying this, Marcellano is reloading his musket, as he believes its best not to leave it unloaded for too long, in case more things jump out at the group.
Something akin to a grimace crawls across Fenyx's face, though he quickly stifles the thought behind it and muses aloud, "Eating creatures such as these is a decidedly foreign thought, although..." The necromancer's steps carry him to the still-twitching form of the tatzlwyrm that sought to make a meal out of the foul mouthed merman among the group. "Given our situation, desperate times may warrant equally unusual measures. Let us bury these in the snow quickly, and on the off chance another predator does not find it, we will have a hidden cache of... food."
"Some dragons bear immunity to elements such as the cold. If you were to wrap your shield in its scales, it might help to protect you against any cold based attacks." Shrugging Teladon turned back around showing his back to the shielded warrior. "Or it might not."
Fenyx turns to Teladon as the magus considers the quality of the scales. "With a larger dragon, perhaps. I'm not sure how serviceable ones such as these can be. What is truly a pity is being pressed for time; if not capable of shielding from the cold, these scales would make an excellent camouflage in such environs." Fenyx pauses again, evidently mulling over a new thought before continuing a conversation directed to no one in particular, "The vapor must come from somewhere. Perhaps there is a gland of sorts?"
Leveraging his scythe against the dead tatzlwyrm's maw, he pries it open and leans in for a closer look at the anatomy of the beast's mouth and jaws. "The fume is not particularly potent, granted, but perhaps a dose from the gland itself—if there is one at all—would pack a bit more of a punch?"
"My actual body is barely scratched. I kin heal me eidolon tomorrer. Fer now I'll have to run with me flag at half mast." Rasso responds to the dwarf with a grin. That and I'd rather die than accept your goddess's help. "Means I'll probably have ter blow a good portion of me magical strength immediately after we rest, whenever that ends up being. Shame! I'm a lot harder to kill when I have enough mojo left to call up me mage armor."
Talavuc gives a low whistle as the last tatzlwyrm falls. She pats Naasvit as he lopes back to her. She looks to Fenyx, "Is there a chance that the flesh would be poisonous?" A look of concern appears on her face, "I would like Naasvit to have a bit if not. He's not eaten properly for a while." She smiles softly at the necromancer, hoping for a positive answer.
The erutaki pulls a thin stick of wood from a tube of leather that hangs down her thigh. "Although none of the magics I have communed for are able to heal, I do carry a wand with such spells, just in case. It's been heavily used, but should last for a bit longer." She walks over to Ordrud and speaks a word in her native tongue, "подмлађивање." She grins for just a second after she says it, So much better than the common tongue. It just feels right to her. She touches the tip of the wand to Ordrud and watches, inspecting him while his wounds close. Seeing that they have not closed fully, she speaks the word again, "подмлађивање" and his wounds close over, leaving behind large bruises and other more minor injuries. She looks up at the towering half-orc, "Better or would you like another spell?"
Rejuvenation
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Tatzlwyrms are not inherently poisonous, relevant to Talavuc's question. Their soft flesh is actually highly nutritious, while bitter and stringy.
Their "poison" glands are contained in a sac in their throat where one of a true dragon's chemical glands for their breath weapon are located. Unfortunately, much of the poison that a tatzlwyrm makes is a combination of an inert substance kept in this sac that becomes a mild muscle-weakening toxin when mixed with their own stomach acids. Post-mortem it cannot be extracted, though with time, effort and alchemy a living tatzlwyrm could be effectively milked to create a paralytic aerosol.
Ordrud stretches after Talavuc heals him. "Much better, thanks. I'm back to where I was before the dragons. Still bruised and needing a couple good nights sleep, but ready to march."
Ordrud starts burying the carcasses and quickly skinning what anyone might want.
As Ordrud is digging through the snow to bury the wyrms, his shovel hits something solid with a muted clunk. There's a moment where he considers the depth of the snow and the position of the ground. A moment later, scraping at the snow with his shovel he uncovers a grisly scene. A frozen corpse, mostly stripped of flesh lays covered by the snow.
On clearing the snow away from the body a little more, the black suit of studded leather armor and black fur cloak resonate as familiar with Ordrud. Without a face it's hard to tell who the corpse belongs to, right up until he sees the shredded fabric of a black and red kapenia around its neck.
He knows this corpse.
Lance-Corporal Cerasan Falentini.
Once so full of life and care-free, now merely the cast-off carcass of a tatzlwyrm meal. He had escaped the ambush, just to die here.
Alone.
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> (Broken) Masterwork Studded Leather Armor
> Masterwork Rapier (Eagle wing basket hilt design)
> Snowshoes
> Varisian Kapenia scarf (unique red/black coloration and pattern significant to the Falentini family)
> Potion of Cure Light Wounds
> Belt Pouch
>> 15gp, 3sp
Ordrud sinks to his knees in calm reverie. He reverently ties the scarf around his neck. He pushes the potion and coin purse into his backpack. "I've another companion here. Lance-Corporal Cerasan Falentini. He won't be using anymore an Andoran rapier and some fancy Studded Leather Armor that needs mending."
He pushes to his feet and continues burying the dragons giving anyone else wide berth to examine the corpse.
A poor waste of resources. Teladon thinks to himself as he watches the others bury the dragonkin. In the spire each piece of that dragon would have been put to use. The teeth would have been fashioned into arrowheads, the bone towards artifice the sinew as stitching and the hide into cloaks, armor and shields. And yet here, the body of the creature was dumped without regard. While Teladon knew that the group was in a time critical situation, it seems somehow irreverent to leave the creatures corpses behind. Regardless, Teladon had said all that he was willing to say.
Crossing his arms, Teladon cocked his head and glanced through the eye slits at the others. It was time to move.
She nods to Ordrud, replacing the wand in its protective sheath. "I'll save the magic for later then. It will likely come in helpful later." She looks down at the bodies of the two tatzlwyrms. "Waste not, want not... is a common saying these lands, no?" Talavuc pulls her any-tool from her backpack, shaping it into a skinning knife. Kneeling down just as Ordrud uncovers the Lance-Corporal, she gasps, surprised, and staggers back a step, rising to avoid falling into the snow.
Talavuc watches Ordrud for a moment, paying attention to his reaction. She steps toward the corpse and Ordrud after he speaks to the group, looking at him with a vaguely worried countenance on her pierced and tattooed face. "Did you count him as a friend, or as a fellow warrior?" Her tone is solemn and she speaks just slightly slow.
Nasty way to go, that. Guess I'm lucky ter have the chops to wrestle a Tatzylwyrm and still be breathing afterward ter talk about it. Then again, I aint alone. Rasso looks serious as he contemplates the frozen corpse. Then looking to the others with him he smiles. Some of them may not be me favorite people, but at least we kick ass. He wanders slowly around the periphery of the group while they work on field dressing the tatzylwyrm corpses, keeping a watch on the frozen woods.
Ordrud solemnly replies to Talavuc, "Companion. I only knew him a couple weeks."
He continues after a brief pause, "When we secure these woods, I want to treat his and Andis's body better. We will also have time to clean these dragon bodies. Now the snow will preserve the carcasses until we return. Let's go."
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Styvanus stood silent after the rush of activity had came to a halt. Frosted air rolled out of his nostrils visibly in even, practiced breaths. They had all came through that encounter, but his team was clearly worse for wear for it.
He nods solemnly at Ordrud's latest words." Ordrud's right. When the time comes, we'll see to it that these men have a proper soldier's burial. For now, we press on."
"Form Up." He states with authority, not waiting for objections, Styv adjusts his pack on his shoulders slightly and begins moving forward.
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Poor bastard. He escaped one group of pursuers only to run into a second. He wasn't so lucky the second time, it seemed.
Marcellano walks up to the body and checks it for anything useful - anything that the others did not take. Can't say I'm any good with a rapier.. but it might come in handy. The armor.. heavily damaged but of very good quality.. the Dwarf could probably fix it easily enough. Might also come in handy.. if I had the space to carry it. I'll leave it here. The rapier's coming with me though. No good in wasting a blade. Might even be able to bloody it a little bit in revenge for this poor bastard.
Marcellano takes the rapier and scabbard and ties it to his belt. He's starting to look a little awkward with all of these weapons strapped to him. He's got a musket slung over his shoulder, a boarding axe, cutlass, rapier, two powder horns, a grappling hook and a pouch full of bullets hanging from his belt, in addition to three daggers sheathed on his hip and a bandolier carrying three flasks of alchemist's fire, a few flasks of oil, and numerous potions. Looks like he's becoming the group's armory.
"All set to go, Captain! I'm taking this man's rapier. See if I can't stab one of his killers with it."
With Cerasan's body left in the snow alongside the wyrms, Captain Rozier's team returns to the unforgiving march through the forest. Outside of the clearing, the travel becomes easier again with the snow depth lessened. While the cold is bitter and unrelenting, the group's protection against it does well to stave off frostbite and the dark sleep of hypothermia.
The logging trail cuts a wide path through the forest, but with so much further to go and the surroundings looking largely the same a sense of disorientation is natural. The forest begins to become largely indistinguishable from one part to another, though with the likes of Talavuc and Ordrud orienteering for the group they have no trouble. Thoughts of having to wander this frozen forest alone, however, are undoubtedly distressing.
<< | | | >>
After nearly another hour of travel the dark forest feels oppressive in its lightlessness. Cloud cover overhead prevents any moonlight or starlight from brightening up the night. Sunrods shed their warm glow across the snow, reflecting bright off of the snow and glittering in crystalline ice-frosted branches. The necessity for light makes traveling in the dark perilous, for the glow of the sunrods makes for a beacon to those who can prowl the forest without such mundane needs. For Talavuc, Styvanus, Marcellano and Fenyx, however, their light is an unfortunate necessity.
Up ahead, something glimmers in the trail. Reflecting the light of the sunrods the shape is indistinct at first, those with superhuman vision see a vaguely humanoid shape -- perhaps one of the frozen dead -- but it isn't moving. As the group draws closer, the shape's true form becomes clearer. Slouched against the trunk of a tree, half buried by snow, the frozen corpse of a bearded dwarf in chain armor under a black coat rests motionless.
Once again Ordrud recognizes a fallen member of Gwynn's team, having lost his life on the run from the figures that had ambushed them. Girardin, of all those of the team, was the least likely to have made it this far, from Ordrud's recollection...
Ordrud had seen Lance-Corporal Girardin Shalewind take a direct hit from that troll, a hit that should have killed him outright. Somehow, against all odds, that dwarf made it this far. Up closer now, everyone can see the dwarf's body riddled by dozens of tiny arrows -- none bigger than a writing quill.
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Ar'Zarrcal found it extremely odd that his companions left the corpse with the potion untouched. Being one of the slower members of the group and possessing the ability to detect the inherent magic of the liquid with ease, the dwarf was unwilling to let the exilir remain in the icy grave. He wasn't prone to looting the dead, but he made an exception in this case. They would likely thank him later.
As the night wore on and the trek continued through the darkness Ar'Zarrcal eventually came face to face with the frozen corpse of another dwarf. He said nothing as he stared at another of Ordrud's fallen companions.
: Ordrud took the potion. I missed it every time I read his post too!
"That's Lance-Corporal Girardin Shalewind." Ordrud says solemnly and suspiciously. "He took a direct hit from a troll that should have killed him outright. Those tiny arrows are from those bloody faeries. He shouldn't have gotten this far. Necromancer, has he become undead?"
"Aren't fairies invisible or sumthin'?"
"From this distance and without the corpse in motion, I can only guess. Let us assume the worst and hope for the best—for in this case, the two might well be the same." I would assume that he would be advancing towards us at this very moment were he truly undead. Doubt creeps across the necromancer's face. "The others were covered in a thick shell of rime and ice, if I recall. Is he in a similar state?" Fenyx turned a passive gaze in the direction of the body, though his less discerning eyes have trouble making out features on the fallen Lance-Corporal.
Girardin's corpse is half-buried in the snow, his eyes shut and head bowed. Snow and ice cover most of his beard and face and the tiny arrows bristling his body likewise seem to be crusted with a fine coat of frost. As the group is inspecting the surroundings, Rasso notices something poking up from the snow out of the light. At first it looks like a deadfall branch, but the glint of light off of pieces of metal has a different contrast in darkvision than ice does. After another moment of inspection, Rasso can make out the shape of a trigger guard and an engraved bolt-handle shaped like a dragon's head -- it's a rifle, mostly buried in the snow.
Rasso walks over and retrieves the gun from the snow. "Lookie 'ere." he says, examining it more closely.
It's not an ordinary musket, Rasso can see as he pulls it up from the snow. Finely crafted with a wide-bore and a long barrel, this rifle looks to have been a custom design. It isn't muzzle loaded, but instead looks to have its bullets loaded via a chamber locked in place by a bolt and slide mechanism. Elaborate engravings down the barrel depict surging flames and billowing clouds, while the muzzle opens to the snarling maw of a dragon's head. The wood stock is engrabed with the symbol of an axe and anvil surrounded by flames.
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The symbol on the stock is that of Angraad, the lawful-good dwarven god of fire and war. Also known as the Fire-Forge. He is known as the patron of tactics and planned battles.
Rasso offers the rifle to Marcellano, with a grunt. "I expect you'll find use fer this. We ready ter move on?" The merman peers into the snow enshrouded wilderness somewhat edgily. Who knows if them damn invisible fairies are still creepin' about here. I need a damn drink.
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In awe, as if some sort of Crusader was being given a precious holy relic, Marcellano takes the rifle eagerly and examines it. "I've.. I've heard of firearms such as this.. state-of-the-art advanced firearms from Alkenstar.. their finest works yet. I've never been able to examine one up close, though. They're extremely valuable... and for good reason, too. Unlike my flintlock musket, this rifle uses completely self-contained ammunition.. casings that contain the bullet and gunpowder built inside of them. This makes the weapon far less prone to misfire.. and due to the way the rifle itself is built, it reloads far faster and has a much greater accuracy over longer distances. Packs slightly less of a punch.. but that is of hardly any concern. We'll need to find some ammunition for it! Does the dwarf have any on him?"
Trudging along with the others in the group, Teladon placed a hand on his blackened scimitar. Pushing forward, the elf stopped. Unlike the humans, the night held no mystery for him. Each snow covered rock and ice-encrusted branch glittered in the darkness. Briefly Teladon wondered what it must be like, to be a human. To be blind, both literally and figuratively, to be born, grow and then die all in the time that it would take one of his people just to reach the beginnings of adulthood. It must be very sad. He finally thought shaking his head. It must be very, very sad.
Blinking away the idle and unnecessary musing, Teladon straightened his back and frowned. Where did that thought come from? Wondering what it must be like to be a human. It was pure foolishness! His was the true people, the right people and as long as a shadows shadow of his people remained he would serve as an example to all who looked upon him. Nodding to himself he stepped forward towards the corpse of the dwarf. Let them know me by my deeds. He thought, repeating the writings of the great elven warrior-poet Jer’miahth.
Reaching the corpse, the elven magus nudged the body with the tip of his snowshoe while keeping one hand on the ready of his scimitar. Slowly pivoting his head, Teladon directed his gaze towards Ordrud as he watched the others search the remains for anything of value and the pale chelish human excitedly take the dwarfs rifle. We have found three of your team. How many others remain missing?
Rasso shrugs to Marc. Waggling one claw at the frozen corpse he says, "Be my guest." He's only half listening to Marcelanno gush about the rifle. His paranoia has his eyes firmly planted on their surroundings. In fact, he's sort of rotating in place slowly like a drunken top, in a poor attempt to see all directions at once.