As soon as Dantes and Dankorona had secured the rune in a makeshift stretcher, Dantes motioned for Syrathic, and the gnomes to lead them back to their settlement. Dantes put great stock in Morgeraut, he had been in the castle, and felt the fallen paladin's as his connection with his God was severed by the devious Modding Mage. Dantes had never met the mage in open combat in that battle, but he did distract the tower's defenses to allow the WindBringer to defeat the mage. Dantes' mind rolled around the bittersweet memories as they plodded on in the unending darkness of the Underdark. They had accomplished their goal, the fall of the Modding Mage, but at what a price. Morgeraut had paid that price in full, and more. Dantes looked at the knight. He still held himself regally even though the strain of the past few years showed in his eyes. He had the look of a lost soul. Dantes knew that more than anything the big man felt rejected by his god. It was true that the mage had severed his connection, but his god had not, as of yet, made himself available again to Morgeraut. He knew that this made him feel rejected and unworthy. Dantes knew that Morgeraut had been a noble paladin, and that he would do anything to regain his God's favor. Dantes could also understand his eagerness in wanted to track down and destroy those responsible for the death of the dragon, even at the cost of his own safety or life. Maybe by that action he could prove his worth to his god. Dantes wished there was something he could say to console the former paladin, but there was not. Morgeraut had to come to grips with it himself, until he regained his god's favor. It was a lonely path, Dantes knew, but one he would not have to walk alone. Dantes then contemplated his spell selection as he carefully carried the runestone toward the gnomish settlement.

OOC: These are mostly Dantes' thoughts of Morgeraut.

OOC>>>Great post, Az! You spelled out some very good points. By the way...if you ever felt that you had been somehow cheated out of direct confrontation with the Modding Mage...do not despair! There are more terrible things ahead of us that you will wish were as weak as the One that Modded. I'm telling ya folks...<font color=black>Doom and Gloom, Gloom and Doom!

</font>

OOC: lol maybe some slight regret, each had their own part to play in the battle. If everyone didn't do their job, the outcome could have been different. Dantes is always looking to test his skills, meager as they may be in comparison to the overwhelming might of the one who mods, especially with the ring. Honestly though I mostly brought it up as a lead into something else.

<font color=thistle>While the party converses, Cedrick draws a simple map to his village which he then gives to Dantes. Pointing to the tall warrior, the gnome tells Dantes that “That one especially will have trouble within the tunnels.” He explains that when news of the fall of the drow enclave had reached them, the gnomes sealed off the large tunnels leading to their settlement leaving only small and narrow passageways that would not be easily traveled by those much larger than themselves. Casting a glance at his wounded companion, his face registers relief at the improvement in his condition. Still, the injured gnome is weak. “Usually,” he says, “a hard day’s travel is enough to reach our village. But Dellon will not be able to move either so quickly or so long.”</font>

<font color=indianred>Brendon Grey 59/70

"I will help carry or whatever I need to. Just tell me. But let's get moving...I am beginning to get naucious at the oder of the dead."

Brendon covers his face with his sleeve as in action to highlight his growing disgust.</font>

<font color="99ff00">Morguerat {85/105}

"I can see that I am outvoted, and bow to the will of the party, we should be able to move the injured quickly enough, especially with the raw materials we have available, take the heads off of four of the axes, and use strap them together to make 2 poles, we can then use my cloak and fashion a litter that should hold Dellon, without worsening his condition, and perhaps with the proper guidance we can move at a sprint and make the journey in less than a day. As for getting me through, a spell of reduction would allow me to pass the tighter tunnels, it's a minor enchantment. Unfortunately I have used my spells for the day and must rest before my inner strength returns enough for me to try and cast it, do you know of a defensible position along the way where we could stay and rest, or perhaps I could stay behind along with any who have too much difficulty passing the tunnels, and await a magician who could reduce me, and allow me to pass the tunnels. If needed I could wait alone, if something came along while waiting for you to return then it would be better to have as much strength with the party as possible, rather than dividing just so that I would not be uncomfortable, or isolated."</font>

[ 02-03-2003, 12:18 PM: Message edited by: Morgeruat ]

<font color=lightgreen>Syrathic HP:43/74

Watching as the others prepared to depart, Syrathic began gathering the remaining jewels. He stuffed any gold coins on the blanket into his new dark purse, then stuffed it full of jewels. That left just a couple of bigger gems, which he put in various folds of his cloak, aligning them so they would not clink together.

With the blanket now empty, the Elf folded it up and handed it back to Brendon, murmuring softly, "Never hurts to have a little extra money for unexpected expenses."

Syrathic strode up to Dantes. "So where are we going? If I'm going to be out front, it helps to have some idea of where I'm going. Or is Dankorona going to be ahead too, so I can communicate with the other gnomes?"</font>

ooc: Syrathic is ready to go.

OOC: brb sick baby

<font color=white>The Treehouse</font>

<font color=white>Myron Epimetheus</font>

<font color=orchid>Having recognized a puzzle, his mind has seized it. The little man begins to mutter now, fitting the words of a strange and ancient language together in his speaking. Completing the sentence, he repeats it and his mutterings become insistent in their repetition of this strange grouping of words. Clarity returns as he mutters and he can see the dried and wrinkled skin of the coal black hand upon his thoughts. It is a foul thing, and seeing it the little man is aware of it s polluting touch within him. He shudders and by all that is normal he really should respond to the fear the sight of this hand provokes within him. Flee! His lifeless body stirs with a vigor of terror never felt while alive. Yes, he must flee.

But here is a puzzle and his mind will not release its grip, a grip it fought so desperately to achieve. Even as his limbs twitch in their urge for flight the old man’s mutterings shift in key and language and he sees beyond the hand to the leering face of the demoness that haunts his thought – one of the hags of night and exceedingly powerful for her kind. From his throat a sigh of relief rattles forth for while the danger is great, he now knows its cause. Again, however, the impulse to flee is strong and terror begins to tighten its grip upon his thinking. Sensing her victory, the hag laughs, a filthy sound like the gating of pieces of broken glass against one another.

He simply shakes in the terror that has seized him. How can this creature be so powerful? It is a simple question and in its simplicity there is clarity. With a desperate strength his mind seizes hold of it. The little man focuses his thinking here ignoring all other thoughts. Ruthlessly he holds on and with brutal logic he shoves aside all that would distract him. He speaks again, but this time his voice does not mutter but rings with a terrible resonance. The incantation is powerful and the air itself begins to glow around him and with a sudden strength the mind of the little man opens a corridor into the Ether itself. His lips continue to move but produce no sound within the material plane. The Ether, however, shakes with his words until with a sudden shifting in his tone the hag is expelled.

There is a stink like that of brimstone in the air of the treehouse and the hag lies stunned upon its floor. Exhausted and cold, the little man reaches for his cup. Perhaps something warm to drink will ease the terrible chill in his bones.</font>

<font color=silver>ooc: No problem, Ruby. Here's hoping the baby feels better soon.</font>