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In the fog and unable to see anything going on, Marcellano stands crunched over, hands grasping his head in panic. Without the beast in sight and everything else concealed by Talavuc's spell, however, Marcellano is able to come to grips with his fear - and realize how cowardly he just looked.
Oh hell no.
Annoyed that he just broke his own code of manliness, Marcellano heads past Talavuc and out of the fog and is able to see the others swinging wildly at the shadow-wrapped beast, occasionally even striking it. His hands empty as he had dropped his rifle in fear moments later, Marcellano doubles back around the group and works his way to a flanking position.
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Styvanus waits for an attack that never comes, at least not yet, and not in the fog where he had expected. The Captain didn't have time to think amidst the action, but if he had, his thoughts would be criticism for the lack of teamwork, and littered with expletives.
Seconds later the gleaming tip of the cold iron spear emerges from the fog, followed closely by Styv's scowling face. He sees the condition that the masked elf's arm is in and moves in his direction. He hardly trusted his aim with the spear, it wasn't his weapon of choice, so instead he focused on a series of jabs where the mastiff might be, hoping to keep the beast occupied.
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RPG Superstar 2014 Top 4
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Heart racing and eyes wrenched shut, Gwynn cannot see the way the battle is going, she doesn't want to. Instead, the ones resolute Andoran captain now finds herself huddled on her knees behind a partial rock wall, sobbing and covering the back of her head with interlaced fingers as the echo of that horrible creature's dreadful howl keeps repeating. Irrational fear consumes her, and all Gwynn can do is shake and tremble in place like a frightened child.
"No." The rebuke comes steadfast from Styvanus' side, not his back, and while the fog obscures her some, he knows that it is Talavuc standing shoulder to shoulder with him, her spear held out and braced at the bottom against the side of her foot. She crouches, ready to lunge forward if the dread beast dares enter the shroud of mist.
Senses return. Fleeting panic fades. The dampness of tears on his robe's skirt and the wet that still clings to the corners of his eyes is an unacceptable embarrassment. Fenyx was a representative of Karzoug; of Xin-Shalast; of Thassilon Resurgent. And yet there he sat, crumpled and crying like a child fearful of a parent's backhand. Unacceptable. Fenyx disperses the remainder of the tears from his face with the draw of a thickly sleeved arm. Absolutely, unequivocally, . The necromancer finds his feet wearing a severe look of hostility—both at himself and the Shadow spawned terror that so easily shattered his otherwise impeccable countenance. Years upon months establishing a guise; evaporated in an instant. Barely stifling a growl at his lapse in vigilance and courage, Fenyx peers over the stone wall where dwarf and half-orc engage the vaguely canine mass of shadow and hate that constitutes the shadow mastiff's position. He does not know what to make of the roiling mass of fog and mist where his allies had sat previously, having missed the Erutaki woman's exclamations whilst whimpering behind the wall for mercy from the powers that be. I must rectify this.
"" A long finger is jerked in the direction of the shadow mastiff, and the undead villager lurches forward obediently, a dry rasp of a groan briefly exhaling from its expired lungs as it seeks to ruin its opponent with a rain of powerful blows. Fenyx begins scrambling up the ruined wall he had previously hidden behind, hoping to gain a commanding vantage point of the unfolding melee before him. The towering form of the obelisk in his peripheral looms in dominance in his mind as surely as it does their current battlefield. It would seem I was correct. Could the obelisk be anchoring the beast's presence? Mind racing as quickly as hands and feet up the crumbling stone of the wall, Fenyx begins wondering to himself at the possibility of striking at their opponent by other means.
Running out of the fog, Yvonne's rotting carcass looks like something out of a nightmare; a pallid, decaying corpse stumbling as it sprints with hands outstretched and jaws open. As it charges the shadow mastiff, the commanded dead lunges for the hound's muscular flesh, but finds itself grasping at nothing but shadows.
Shadows and gloom was how the beast moved among the fog shrouded warriors and magi. The thunderous, ominous roar had scattered much of the group, still Teladon was able to rally and throw himself into the fray. His first attack had missed, his second as well. Silently the elf grew frustrated. This foe was more worthy then what they had expected. Teladon needed some way to strike the beast regardless of its flickering form. Shaking his head, he concentrated and waited for an opening.
Ar'Zarrcal did not return that earlier glare from Ordrud. He knew that ranged attacks would have small chance of success against the beast, but he also tried to explain that so too would melee attacks. The creature was not fully tied to this realm and it used shadows to obscure and shroud its actual position. What they needed to do was stay together, retreat toward the growing bank of fog, and lure the creature to them by peppering it with sling and crossbow fire.
Of course Ordrud would do the exact opposite. How typically Orcish. Who needed reasoned tactics when one could swing a big sword and roar real loud? Ar'Zarrcal shook his head and spat the curse word for Orc in the dwarven language. Despite his muttered curse, he advanced with the Orc and the corpse. Sheathing his crossbow, he pulled free his warhammer and clenched his teeth. He did not relish entering combat with the beast, but leaving Ordrud to stand alone was not an alternative he wished to entertain.
With the cold air rushing in his lungs, Ar'Zarrcal did not try to focus on the shadow mastiff. He knew he could not trust his eyes and so he swung with a fury and recklessness he tried to imitate from his half-orc ally. His hammer swung through the patch of shadow and darkness, swiping through the air, rising up and then falling in an ordered chaos.
The hound crouches low, letting out a sharp bark that echoes as if it were in a cave. With its focus redirected, the hound fails to notice the barbarian advancing from near the fog bank. Ordrud's berserker charge concludes with a cleaving swing through the shadows and into flesh. As ephemeral as the hound appears, it is all an illusion, and the Belkzen tenet all things can die remains true.
Ar'Zarrcal's hammer blow passes through where the hound was mere moments before Ordrud struck it, and pulls back only wispy shadowstuff in billowing clouds like smoke, as if the hound were not entirely a solid creature.
The oily black blood slicking Ordrud's greatsword runs in rivulets down the rough cold iron blade, and now the hound cries out in pain instead of hunger. The glowing red eyes pierce the darkness, turning towards Ordrud only to snap to the side as Teladon's lanky form comes charging out of the mist. The hound ducks, subsuming itself into darkness and shadow, reappearing not at the front of the berserker that injured it but the masked elf.
The mastiff leaps at Teladon, jaws open and saliva flinging from its jowels. Huge teetn sink into the blademaster's forearm, rending flesh and jerking the elf from side to side. The hound growls, a deep and terrible sound, and tries to either rip the elf's arm clear out of the socket or drag him to the ground. With a rebuking pommel smash of his scimitar against the hound's brow, Teladon manages to break its grasp on his now blood-soaked arm, and the beast recoils back into the shadows, red eyes gleaming.
Far off now, Rasso continues to run back through the forest, dodging between the massive darkwood trunks. Pretty soon he's out of sight of the battle completely, intervening trunks having blocked line of sight. Rasso doesn't even hesitate to leave his friends behind. The magical attack terrified him so badly that his only thought is fleeing.
Styvanus waits for an attack that never comes, at least not yet, and not in the fog where he had expected. The Captain didn't have time to think amidst the action, but if he had, his thoughts would be criticism for the lack of teamwork, and littered with expletives.
Seconds later the gleaming tip of the cold iron spear emerges from the fog, followed closely by Styv's scowling face. He sees the condition that the masked elf's arm is in and moves in his direction. He hardly trusted his aim with the spear, it wasn't his weapon of choice, so instead he focused on a series of jabs where the mastiff might be, hoping to keep the beast occupied.
In the fog and unable to see anything going on, Marcellano stands crunched over, hands grasping his head in panic. Without the beast in sight and everything else concealed by Talavuc's spell, however, Marcellano is able to come to grips with his fear - and realize how cowardly he just looked.
Oh, Hell no.
Annoyed that he just broke his own code of manliness, Marcellano heads past Talavuc and out of the fog and is able to see the others swinging wildly at the shadow-wrapped beast, occasionally even striking it. His hands empty as he had dropped his rifle in fear moments later, Marcellano doubles back around the group and works his way to a flanking position.
Somewhere, deep in the woods, Shor has disappeared beyond all sight. Even his tiny, icy glow is now swallowed by the darkness of the gloomheart.
<< | | | The Gloomheart >>
Rocking back and forth behind the wall, trembling and whimpering at the sound of every bark, scream, and sound of combat, Captain Gwynn whispers a frightened mantra to herself, "I musn't run away, I musn't run away, I musn't run away, I musn't run away." Whispering those words over and over to herself, the terrified gunslinger keeps her eyes wrenched shut and hands over her ears, trying -- in vain -- to drown out the sounds of the hound.
Clicking her tongue frustratedly, Talavuc keeps her braced stance and grips that spear tightly in both hands. Those fools! She chastises the others, why won't they listen? Drawing in a sharp breath, the druid knows better than to rush out into the cold, dark forest. Better to skewer the hound in here where its senses are as weakened as Talavuc's are to it.
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Rasso ducks behind one of the massive darkwood trunks. He cowers in between two large bulges of root, where they converge at the base of the ancient forest giant. The merman synthesist puts his knobby claws over his head and curls up in the shadow of the tree with his tail covering his face. Why do I feel so scared? I feel like I'll never be brave again. What the hell's happening to me? Rasso shivers as his body works against the magic pumping terror into his blood.
Yvonne continues grasping and flailing in futility at the lingering clouds of shadow constituting the creature's presence. Meanwhile, hearing battle fully joined beyond his former hiding spot and well without the mass of fog dominating where Talavuc had been standing, the sin mage elects to dart into the relative safety of the spreading mists. His footsteps crunch across the ruin of fine stones and dirt as he does so, Dirge drawn behind him in case he should have to do the unthinkable: actually swing his weapon.
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Round 2
Ordrud grins as his blade bites into the beast spraying ichor across his arriving companions in the backswing. He steadies himself and attempts to find the creature again through its shadows. Your eyes deceive you, don't trust them, rings through his head with the deep voice of his white witch mother. From a high guard position, he sweeps his cold iron greatsword through the shadow hound.
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In a different setting Ar'Zarrcal might have tried to reason with the creature. It seemed feasible that the shadow mastiff had an intelligence, that while alien, was capable of thoughts beyond killing, eating and mating. However the mission was too important and the creature had foolishly decided to attack the servants of Shalast and their current allies.
Raising his shield in front of his squat form, he moved with Ordrud, trying to keep the shadow mastiff flanked and boxed in to between them. He saw that the elf was wounded, but it did not appear to be anything serious. Thrusting out with his shield, he attempted to push the shadow mastiff further into Ordrud's incoming attack, before he swung his own war-hammer downwards into the patch of shifting shadows where he thought he made out the haunting eyes of the beast.
EDIT: Wait, what?!
EDIT 2: That's more like it.
High hits.
Black blade flicking onward, Teladon focused. He waited for the perfect moment. In his haste to charge the beast he had taken a wound, he knew he had to concentrate. He waited for the shadowy hound to wait for the right moment. THERE! Teladon though as the momentarily flickering stopped. Grabbing his blade in two hands the elf drove it downward towards the shadow hounds neck. With the sound of a cleaver slicing meat the blade drove down through the creatures hide in a gush of inky black blood. Though the others could not see it the elf smiled. Two hundred years of practice allowed for such moments.
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RPG Superstar 2014 Top 4
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Yvonne continues grasping and flailing in futility at the lingering clouds of shadow constituting the creature's presence. Meanwhile, hearing battle fully joined beyond his former hiding spot and well without the mass of fog dominating where Talavuc had been standing, the sin mage elects to dart into the relative safety of the spreading mists. His footsteps crunch across the ruin of fine stones and dirt as he does so, Dirge drawn behind him in case he should have to do the unthinkable: actually swing his weapon.
Flicker... Fade... Flicker... Fade... Black blade flicking onward, Teladon focused. He waited for the perfect moment. In his haste to charge the beast he had taken a wound, he knew he had to concentrate. He waited for the shadowy hound to wait for the right moment. THERE! Teladon though as the momentarily flickering stopped. Grabbing his blade in two hands the elf drove it downward towards the shadow hounds neck. With the sound of a cleaver slicing meat the blade drove down through the creatures hide in a gush of inky black blood. Though the others could not see it the elf smiled. Two hundred years of practice allowed for such moments.
The hound lets out a sharp, keening whine at the strike, inky-black ichor spilling down the edge of Teladon's sword. The creature recoils, ears folding back and red eyes gleaming in wide, feral terror. Now the tables have been turned.
In a different setting Ar'Zarrcal might have tried to reason with the creature. It seemed feasible that the shadow mastiff had an intelligence, that while alien, was capable of thoughts beyond killing, eating and mating. However the mission was too important and the creature had foolishly decided to attack the servants of Shalast and their current allies.
Raising his shield in front of his squat form, he moved with Ordrud, trying to keep the gravely wounded shadow mastiff flanked and boxed in to between them. He saw that the elf was wounded, but it did not appear to be anything serious. Thrusting out with his shield, he attempted to push the shadow mastiff further into Ordrud's incoming attack, before he swung his own war-hammer downwards into the patch of shifting shadows where he thought he made out the haunting eyes of the beast.
Ordrud steadies himself and attempts to find the creature again through its shadows. Your eyes deceive you, don't trust them, rings through his head with the deep voice of his white witch mother. From a high guard position, he sweeps his cold iron greatsword through the shadow hound. The stroke is long and brutal, cleaving into the mastiff's thick neck and ripping apart ligaments, tendons and other connective tissues. Effervescent smoke the color of night jets forth from a severered artery, black blood thin like ink drools down the edge of Ordrud's sword.
The mastiff yelps in pain, whines and turns around towards Ordrud, blood flowing out of its neck and ephemeral shadowstuff billowing along with it like steam. Its eyes narrow, teeth bare and it leaps up at Ordrud with all the ferocity it can muster in its shaky limbs. The beast pushes through the half-orc's defenses, clamps down on his right arm and tears teeth through the berserker's armor, then drags Ordrud off of his feet and down onto the midnight blue pine needles below.
The beast releases Ordrud's arm, looks as though it is about to lean in and simply maul the orc-blooded warrior, but its eyes unfocus. Its jaw slacks, legs wobble, and it chuffs out a half-bark and belches up blood onto Ordrud's armor, then whines one last time before falling onto its side next to the barbarian's prone form.
The mastiff's side rises and falls in shallow breaths, light-swallowing blood pooling out beneath it and seeping into the gloomheart's soil.
Far away, Rasso ducks behind one of the massive darkwood trunks. He cowers in between two large bulges of root, where they converge at the base of the ancient forest giant. The merman synthesist puts his knobby claws over his head and curls up in the shadow of the tree with his tail covering his face. Why do I feel so scared? I feel like I'll never be brave again. What the hell's happening to me? Rasso shivers as his body works against the magic pumping terror into his blood.
Then, as he hears that keening whine of the mastiff falling motionless to the ground, some of that dread begins to subside.
Is it safe?
<< | : 266 xp per character >>
When Talavuc hears the sound of the mastiff's dying whine and the clattering crash of Ordrud coming to the ground, she drops her spear at her feet and rushes out of the fog. The druid emerges, skidding through pine needles as she comes to a stop, withdrawing a slim, tapered wand from her side. "Is everyone alright?" The look of worry in her eyes is genuine, and that familiar wand infused with healing energy is at the ready to mend the wounds of her allies.
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(hit)
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>> (success; Ordrud is prone)
>>>
After about fifteen seconds Rasso comes jogging into view. He looks around and sees that everyone is still standing. He knuckles his forehead with one claw, embarrassed by his conduct. "Sorry 'bout that there. Dunno what got inter me." The normally vocal merman doesn't seem to have anything else to say. He goes to skulk near Styvanus, keeping his eyes on all the nearby shadows. The forest was full of shadows, and soon they would face a winter witch and her minions. The sheer terror inspired by the shadow mastiff's howl might have faded from the merman, but he was feeling less than sunny. If a damned dog can scatter us like chum, then what'll a troll and a witch goin' ter do?
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RPG Superstar 2014 Top 4
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Not long after Rasso comes back, Captain Gwynn walks sheepishly out from behind the stone wall she'd used as cover from the hound. Her gun still in its holster, the young soldier looks ashamed and fails to meet Styvanus' eyes. She glances, momentarily, at the shifting cloud of fog that Talavuc had created, then down to the ground at her feet.
Over by Ordrud, Talavuc raises one hand to her mouth and lets out a sharp whistling sound that echoes through the woods. On call, the crashing sound of a mink leaping through the deadfall grows closer, until Naasvit can be seen hurriedly rushing to Talavuc's side. The mink buries his face at her ankles, then looks up to her wide-eyed. "Ssh," she urges, scratching her fingers through his short fur, "I know."
Noticing that the creature was not dead Ar'Zarrcal decided that it was too valuable a tool to merely let perish. If it proved unreasonable or of little use later, it could always be destroyed then, but for now he would attempt to save it.
Kneeling down on the ground, Ar'Zarrcal unslung his backpack and began sowing up the terrible wounds that both Orc and Elf had inflicted upon the Shadow Mastiff. He pulled out his healing kit and got to work stabilizing the creature.
If he saved the creature, he would afterwards use his coil of thick rope to bind the beast, wrapping the rope repeatedly around its snout to keep it muzzled. Once the rope was in place, he would weave upon it several powerful runes to increase its quality and strength.
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Styvanus lets out a sigh of relief as he sees his team gathering. The mastiff had fell and none of his companions had, it was a success. He nods to Talavuc."Ordrud and our Elven friend could use some tending to...I believe the rest of us made it out unscathed." He directs the winter druid and turns to see his Andoran allies returning. He gives Rasso a warm smile" Rasso we could hear those big teeth of yours chattering from a mile away, I'm just thankful you got 'em under control." He gives his merman friend a playful jab to make sure he knows that the comment was lighthearted.
He steps in closer to Gwynn and places a hand on her shoulder."Chin up Captain, you've no reason to hang your head." He locks eyes with her reassuringly before turning his attention to the rest of the group.
"Courage is not the absence of fear, but the willingness to perform one's duty in the face of that fear. Our enemy will attack us from every angle, including our minds. Be aware of this, know that you will be sure to face even more fearsome foes, but you will not stand alone." He declares, hefting the spear in the air as a hurrah.
Two things still trouble him. He sees the rune-scarred dwarf go to work on the mastiff with his healer's tools, and he doesn't see Shor's guiding light amidst the high tree branches.
" Ar'z...What are you doing?...And has anyone seen our fey guide?"
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RPG Superstar 2014 Top 4
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"I'll go see if I can spot him," Gwynn is quick to offer, managing a mild smile to Styvanus, resting a hand on her holstered revolver as she turns and breaks away from the party to check the direction that Shor had flown off in. Talavuc glances in Gwynn's direction when the gunslinger starts to leave, and with a wag of one finger and a click of her tongue she sends Naasvit trotting after Gwynn to make sure she's not alone in these woods.
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RPG Superstar 2014 Top 4
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After taking some time to tend to the injuries of the Mastiff, Ar'Zarrcal seems to have staunched the flow of shadowy ichor from the creature's wounds and stifled the escape of black smoke from the severed artery. Makeshift bandages that look like oil-soaked rags now cover its wounds, and the unconscious mastiff breathes in deep, wheezing breaths where it lays on its side.
Talavuc tenses at the sight of Ar'Zarrcal tending to the creature's wounds. There is some -- albeit faint -- sympathy in her expression, though it is tempered by worry and uncertainty.
Ordrud pulls himself to his feet. His adrenaline continues to percolate like boiling water taken from the fire causing deep breaths. Steadying himself with his boot, he wipes the inky-black ichor from his cold iron greatsword on a clean section of the beast’s basalt coat and sheathes his weapon at his hip.
”Nice cut, mask,” he appreciates and nods toward the elf. ”I didn’t think any shot from range could find that bugger’s hide.” His earlier frustration with the dwarf’s tactics is clearly gone. He finally looks around to the returning companions and their shamed faces. Was their fear from a magical attack? Was it another case of ‘it’s better to be lucky than good’ as one of his Lastwall instructors enjoyed repeating? They never struck me as cowards. He wondered to himself.
Ordrud nears Talavuc and brings his mangled right arm toward her healing wand. He nods and grins in appreciation of the magic. When fully healed, he makes a fist and stretches his arm in several ways to enjoy the healing effects awhile longer. ”Much obliged, m’am,” he replies to the service and wanders the area expecting to be jumped again.
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The dwarf had considered healing Ordrud, but thought it better at this time to let those with wands take such a support role. The blessings of the goddess might be needed in the hours to come. Besides, the half-orc offered no thanks or compliment to him. Had he not stood beside him? Had he not struck a blow against the shadow beast? Sneering he continued to watch over the otherworldy mastiff.
At the captains words Ar'Zarrcal looks up at Styvanus, though little of his face can be glimpsed beneath the canopy of the forest and the shadow of the obelisk. He doesn't speak for several heartbeats but just stares at the Captain of the expedition, as if he were considering whether to answer the man or not.
"The shadow mastiff may be of use to us or may have some connection to the remains of the dimensional anchor. I would not have it perish if it can still be of use to us. You saw the power of its howl. Our number, having been exposed to the bay of the Outisder will most likely not succumb to their inner fears for some time. The dwarf spoke finally, breaking his stare and gesturing to the ropes he had enchanted and bound the beast within.
"Why should we allow a tool to go to waste? Unbound its maw and compel it to howl and we can turn it's power against those who would obstruct our progress. You saw the terror it manifested upon our faerie guide..." He let his words trail off and searched the branches overhead as if he were looking for the winter sprite, though he knew he would not find him. Ar'Zarrcal had been against bringing the faerie from the start. The fey were unreliable, untrustworthy, and unlawful.
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RPG Superstar 2014 Top 4
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Making a disquieted noise in the back of her throat once she's finished tending to Ordrud, Talavuc looks down at the unconscious heap of the mastiff. "It's at least four feet at the shoulder," Talavuc notes, crouching down beside the beast and examining it with a wary stare.
"I... don't think it's an ordinary animal, I can't-- I won't be much help dealing with it. If those ropes don't hold," she looks over to Ar'Zarrcal, "and no slight to your skill, but... if they don't hold," Talavuc chews at her bottom lip pensively. "We need to be careful."
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Grumbling to himself that he was less than useful in yet another combat scenario, Marcellano walks over to where he dropped his rifle in fear and picks it up, inspecting it to make sure it recieved no damage at his careless handling of it. Giving it a look over, and a second one just to be sure, Marcellano is satisfied the weapon is undamaged - and the shot not ruined, either. If he had handled his musket like that, fully loaded, in all likelyhood the thing would have had to been reloaded - luckily for him, this rifle was made of sterner stuff.
Upon hearing Ar'zarrcal's idea of keeping the beast as a potential weapon, Marcellano snorts. "Tell me, dwarf - how do you plan on transporting it? That thing looks like it weighs nearly three hundred pounds! Keeping it with us will only bog us down more than we need to be. Plus, you heard the druid - its not even a natural beast. Might as well just put the damn thing out of its misery and be on our way, once we find that damnable fey."
Seeing the marine fetch his rifle reminds Ordrud to recover his dropped sling. Ordrud shakes his head at the conversation and wonders what the shadow beast tastes like, probably inky chicken.
He thought he was getting on well with the dwarf, but when he went to heal the shadow beast before helping Ordrud to his feet caused him to think again. But Ordrud wouldn't worry about that like those Lastwall whelps. Keep it simple is how he remembers Oruk's unvoiced philosophy: allies or enemies.
Fenyx looms in the rear of the group, observing the captured creature and listening in relative silence as opinions are voiced and arguments made. Ultimately, the necromancer sees reason with Ar'Zarrcal's plan, though he wonders how it might be executed without risking all of them in the process. "If we can communicate with the creature, perhaps we can strike a deal with it. While I have no doubt the beast would seek the first opportunity to renege on such a bargain and devour us, we have no intentions of using the beast beyond aiming him at our immediate foes ahead. The realization that its survival rests in our hands might serve as incentive enough—might. Creatures birthed of Shadow are not known for their honesty and pragmatism, after all. If I were to guess, it will simply seek the first opportunity to slink off into the darkness and stalk easier prey. Have we something more substantial to offer it?"
Letting the question hang as it will, Fenyx begins scrutinizing the obelisk behind with painstaking detail, hoping to glean any clue or insight into how the ancient device might be turned to their advantage.
Rasso decides to take up guarding their new prisoner. He waddles over and stands above the huge ebon canine. "Ugly bastard aint he?" the merman muses, as he holds his claws ready to snip its throat should it try anything. "How long are we going ter look for Shor? What if that lil bugger ran off and decided ter join the Jadwiga?"
Nodding quietly at the half-orc’s words Teladon flicked his blade outward spraying black inky blood into the white snow. Softly Teladon blinked. The patter in the snow was ominous. Death stalked the woods. That much the elf already knew, but with the winter portal approaching, the like hood had risen. Sighing to himself, the elf nodded. In these days, death was an ever-present specter looming over ones shoulder. Briefly, the magi thought back to fighting aboard the ulfen ship and the elf woman that Teladon had been forced to put down. So many of his people were gone, like chaff scattered in the wind, it was a tragedy.
Sweeping the black blade back around, Teladon slid the blade into its sheath. Can the hound be trusted? Unlikely. Teladon stated, the words slipping through the slit in his mask, carrying with it a puff of steam. Regardless we need to move and the sooner we do so the better.
Wordlessly, Teladon watched as the arctic woman began to work here way around the group tending the wounded. Teladon had sustained a bite that left pieces of his chainmail hanging in scattered links. It would need to be repaired later. In the meantime, blood seeped through the armor and boiled leather below staining his pants leg red. As the woman approached him holding the wand, the elf nodded. She raised the wand and warmth began to spread around his side, knitting the flesh anew. My thanks. Teladon whispered liltingly.
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RPG Superstar 2014 Top 4
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Nodding faintly at Teladon's thanks, Talavuc's attention on the masked elf was fleeting. The sounds of breaking branches and footfalls approaching drew her focus. Spotting Gwynn emerging from the treeline, Talavuc breathed a sign of relief.
"No sign of 'em," Gwynn explains in regards to Shor, "With how fast he can fly he could be too far away now to even hear us if we called for him." Looking to Talavuc, Gwynn raised a brow. "Not to make presumptions based on your ethnicity, ma'am," her brows furrowed slightly, "but have you got a handle on our traveling direction?" Now that they were short a guide, Gwynn was worried they'd be lost in the gloom.
Taking some time to look around the woods, Talavuc's expression became laden with worry. It was clear from her expression that an unpleasant realization was dawning on her. "I-- I'm not... even sure which way we came from." There's a tremor of fear in Talavuc's voice and the erutaki woman looks apologetically to Styvanus.
"I'm-- I'm sorry, I don't know which way we should go."
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Styvanus watched the treeline with bated breath, his ears jumping slightly at each breaking branch and steady footfall. A sense of relief washes over him as he sees Gwynn emerge into the clearing. He meets her half way and looks past her for a few moments as though he expected some other threat to have followed the Eagle-Knight and the mink.
"It's okay." He says reassuringly, hearing the anxiety in Talavuc's admission of defeat.
He had half-expected to lose their guide from the onset, whether it was because of the fey's frailty or his predisposition to retreat, as such, he had taken time while they marched to take mental notes of their path thus far, and a perceptive eye noticed the signs of the eye of the storm ahead of them.
He turned and raised his arm straight in front of him, his pointer finger fully extended."This Way." He instructed, hefting his pack and moving forward, expecting his team to fall in line.
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After Styvanus signals to move out, Ordrud adjusts the weight of his backpack and how his musket falls on his shoulder. Then, he takes his place in the marching order, because he knows that they are going in the correct direction despite the guides' failure. He keeps the bound shadow hound in his peripheral vision as much as possible expecting problems and continuing to wonder how it tastes.
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Ar'Zarrcal looked off in the direction the Captain pointed and then looked down to the shadow mastiff he had taken cares to keep alive and bound. Kicking the beast with the steel toe of his boot, he realized he would not be able to move the large creature alone.
"Is it your command that I kill the beast, Captain?" Ar'Zarrcal said, trying to keep his voice low enough not to disturb anything else in the shadow haunted woods. "Do we not wish to investigate these ruins any further?"
Ar'Zarrcal, not masking his disappointment in the Captain's decision brought his warhammer down repeatedly on the bound Shadow Mastiff's head. He smashed it like a child taking a stick to their jack-o-lantern after the last day of Lamashan.
Not quite willing to let all of the creature go to waste, Ar'Zarrcal undid some of the stitches that were in place and pried open the creature's chest cavity. Plunging his gloved hand inside, the rune-scarred dwarf wrenched out the heart from the corpse and looked over it with some interest. It could prove a useful component for shadow magic and so he slogged through the snow over to Fenyx and held it up.
"Тоа е тажно. Ѕверот можеше да биде важна алатка. Срцето уште може да има некои моќ. Lissala ми нуди сè што ми треба, но ова ќе биде од понатамошна употреба за вас?" He spoke in the language of Shalast, not sharing this with others.
His eyes flicked up to regard the Captain with some annoyance. He wasn't sure that he liked the nickname Ar'Z. Intellectually he understood that Andorran's shortened friends names as a sign of closeness, but he found the custom weird and aggrevating. He knew why they did not address each other with their titles included, but Ar'Zarrcal was his name. He didn't call Styvanus, Captain Sty or Rozi.
Rasso stands around, waiting for the minds of the group to make a decision about whether they could get on with things or not. Ruins? What ruins? All I see is one damned obelisk and some piles of stone. You call this ruins? Don't we have a damn rush on to shut that portal? How could this possibly be important? He's clearly frustrated with the amount of interruptions to their quest to save the world, but he's professional enough not to say anything about it. Instead he picks up a stick, and begins cleaning his chompers. He polishes the teeth one by one until they are shiny white.
Fenyx saunters over to meet his dwarven fellow-ambassador as he proffers the shadow mastiff's heart. There is merit to Ar'Zarrcal's thought, and Fenyx accepts the gift with a knowing nod. Shadowy vapors yet cling to the organ as he carefully wraps and stows the inky thing in his packs. While the sin mage was a far cry from an Umbralmancer, he was sure he could find several applications for the grotesque trophy. If nothing else, the opportunity to study such a rare specimen up close intrigued the Shalasti necromancer. Fenyx's dark eyes flit to the team's Captain and back to Ar'Zarrcal.
"Јас се согласувам. Ова суштество може да се покажаа значителна предност на нашиот напад на порталот, иако методите на регрутирање тоа уште ме залажуваше. За жал, ние мора да се потпираат на вредностите на нашите сопствени сили што изгледа. Јас ќе учат на својства на срцето и да се најде некој метод на примена. Како и за обелиск ..."
Turning so as to include Teladon in the conversation, Fenyx gestures at the planar anchor. "That this device can serve a purpose is clear. I am not certain we possess the means to do so, unfortunately. Furthermore, I'm not sure we have the time to scrutinize it overlong. Most a pity; the thing is remarkable and warrants much study."
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Styvanus turns his head as the dwarf goes about his gruesome work. Even though he couldn't see Ar'Zarrcal's face, the tension hung in the air like a thick blanket of fog. He turned to see Fenyx accept the inky heart, and the flick of the necromancer's eyes towards Styvanus brought a chill to the back of his neck. He perked his head to one side at the stream of indecipherable language but did his best to dismiss his worrying.
He took Fenyx's words in common as confirmation enough."Alright. We Move."
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The journey through the gloom turned out not to be the shortcut that Shor sold it as. With the terrain as rocky as it was and much of the gloom riddled with ravines, sinkholes and winding, switchback trails it served to delay the Andoran team despite being -- geographically -- a shorter distance. Nearly an hour and a half of time was lost in that dark place, and the dreaded mastiff that dwelled there could well have killed them all had the ambush gone smoother for the beast. The one thing that is uncertain is whether Shor was simply wrong due to his perception of distance as a natural flyer, or if this was all some sort of elaborate trap.
When the team emerges on the eastern side of the gloom, the time for debating that has come to a close; they've reached their destination.
"Gods above," Gwynn whispers as she comes out from a cluster of fir trees that hedge in the gloom. It's the sight beyond the dense forest that has taken her breath, though the bone-chilling cold comes a close second. Rising up from the forest floor in a bowl-shaped valley at the heart of the Darkmoon forest is an ancient darkwood tree hundreds of feet tall. The thick, knotty branches of the tree are crusted with ice and snow, its midnight blue pine needles stripped bare on its south facing side from constant bombardment by hurricane-force winds. The source of those winds is a cyclone of snow and ice whirling in violent rotation from a single point of icy light down in the valley.
"The winter portal!" Talavuc exclaims, coming to the edge of the ridge that leads down into the valley. Dotting the landscape all around the portal are ancient barrows made from stone and covered in windswept snow. Tall obelisks rise up from the ground, some snapped off at half of their twelve foot height, others still fully erect. The ruins match those found in the gloom, and both Fenyx and Teladon are presented with the same sensation of awe and dread at the discovery of intact Azlanti structures.
Hunching her shoulders forward and pulling the hood of her winter outfit closer to her head, Gwynn lets out a noise of discomfort. "It's-- unbelievable[ here. H-how-- how can anything survive in this cold?" Looking to Styvanus, Talavuc's brows furrow and she seems concerned. Turning her attention to the cyclone of snow and ice that shoots over a mile into the darkening skies her expression hardens further.
"The wind is likely calmer down in the valley," the druid explains, "the force of the wind looks to be directed upwards by some sort of supernatural force, likely to disperse the snow and cold across the land."
With the wind driving the snow as hard as it is, only the distant glow of the winter portal roughly a quarter mile away can be seen. Silhouettes of larger structures are easy enough to make out, but any people or other forces loyal to Irrisen are consumed by the whiteout conditions.
"Captain," Gwynn looks up and over to Styvanus, affirming that he is indeed in charge. "Orders?"
"Finally!" Rasso exclaims as they break free of the dark undergrowth and into sight of the towering fir tree. He lets out a low whistle of amazement as Gwynn curses. "Lets review what we know. They've got fey, zombies and a troll down there right? Somehow, I don't think we're going ter catch them by surprise this time. Wind like this, guns are arra's are fer s@%!e. Talavuc, can ya summon in reinforcements once we get down there? We might be able ter hole up in one of those structures, and fight them at a choke point."
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"I can call aid, yes," Talavuc notes succinctly, staring down at the snow-covered barrows and structures. "From most we could use the snow to hide our approach, but if we find ourselves downwind of the troll... it will likely smell us. But that would be once we are practically on top of him."
Gwynn moves up to stand beside Rasso, brows furrowed and expression tense. "I've got a couple of knives, ain't much special with them, but they'll be a sight better than firing blindly through the snow."
"What about an avalanche? Bury the whole lot of them in their own accursed snow and then dispatch or capture the survivors." Ar'Zarrcal did not like the plan of rushing down there into the unknown and taking their enemies on head first. They didn't have much in the way of resources left and he knew that his ability to contribute in such a situation would be limited at best.
He stood before the great forest elder and rubbed his gloved hands together. The cold was wretched and even dressed as heavily as he was in furs, layered clothing and his heavy half-plate armor the cold still managed to get to his skin beneath and numb his extermities.
"Did someone carry along the explosives?" He did not have a concrete plan involving them, but wanted to know exactly what resources were at their disposal. Obviously pretending to be the corrupted druid would not work this time, as the man might be down in the camp even now.
Crouched on the edge of the sharp slope that overlooked the Elder Tree, the ruins and the wirling portal of snow and ice, Teladon felt the massive buildup of power niggling at the back of his brain. It was like an ever-present buzz or the feel of static electricity, except it carried with it a shivering cold. The elf tried to shake it off. He had seen worse. He had been in worse, or so he thought. Never the less he was concerned about the battle at hand. He sighed. The explosives were a good idea. They could set them up on the ridgeline and use the zombie to trigger them, drawing their foes away and allowing them to be picked off. It would cover their approach. Then they could slip in from behind dealing with the enemy piecemeal or so he hoped.
Frowning to himself, Teladon recalled the two vials of poison he had recovered in the lodge. Digging into his pack he withdrew one and carefully coated his black blade. It shimmered in the snow shrouded sky. Looking up, he nodded. Ar'Zarrcal makes an excellent suggestion. As before we assault a fortified position. A diversion is required.
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At the stop, Ordrud takes a haunch of frozen meat from the village out of his pack and starts munching. He surveys the valley and edge of the forest listening but not participating in the conversation.
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While Ordrud snacks on the frozen leg of venison, he reflects on his team. Captain Gwynn is not as tough as she seemed in Absalom and Andoran. Combat and fieldwork appears to have tested her and found her in need of further training. Maybe it was her capture, imprisonment, and interrogation that broke her spirit, because she is definitely a different person than the one that led the first mission.
Captain Styvanus seems more tempered by fire. Without him calling the shots , our group would take more time making decisions or fracture, he thinks to himself. His treatment of prisoners is true Andoran, as one would expect.
Those two followers of the Runelord have impressed him: their knowledge, their ideas, and their generosity. Maybe their combat tactics need a little more practice, but if this group fractures, Ordrud would join them.
The mask and fishman are mysteries. They are good fighters, which is not what Ordrud expects from a fish or delicate, elven flower. Maybe a half-orc is under that mask. That would make more sense. He is content with them fighting by his side.
That Chelish marine has been more bark than bite. Ordrud appreciates the musket lesson but has yet to see any preference over his greatsword. The marine talks gruff, but he has yet to make an impact in a fight. Maybe it is too early to tell.
And Talavuc. Ordrud would like to keep her warm. She has proved useful, but losing the trail in the Gloomwoods indicates the mission is getting to her. He wonders how she would take being protected. Would she violently react like an orc or appreciatively react like a Lastwall maiden? Maybe we will find out.
He wishes they would pick a direction. Although starting an avalanche with black powder would be interesting to witness, he does not look forward to the digging that would follow. Dig out the cave. Maybe dig out the portal. Just go down there and kill them like everything else.
Rasso wanders over to Captain Rozier. "Hey Styv, we're pretty exposed up here. How about we get ter movin'? It's not gonna get any easier if we freeze our arses off up here all day." The merman is clearly impatient and wants to get on with whatever doom they will face next. Working with a group has it's advantages, but sometimes I miss me days of wanderin'.
"I agree with Ar'Zarrcal. When dealing with creatures borne of such environs, using snow and ice as camouflage is seldom advisable. Let us crush them with a display of superior force instead." Fenyx nods grimly to the dwarf standing nearby. His gaze circuits the rest of the group as well, as he acknowledges another fact that has ever proven the case thus far. It's not as if one of them won't bumble, trip, or misfire their way into tipping our hand should we elect to approach quietly, anyhow. Shock and awe should serve us just as well.
Supporting himself with the haft of his scythe, the sin mage patiently awaits a decision.