<font color=white>You know who you are...

Tao grabbed at her two rune stones used to enact spells while thrown from a distance. The first was a rune meant to aid Marcos, but Vincent had acted first, stabbing with his blade into the back snake-side of the demon. She did not need to look around to know what had attacked her...and she had intended on using Marcos for a different reason...namely dropping him on the head of her bladesinger...but decided that this human projectile would better be suited to wipe out the pesky half-elf behind her. Launching Marcos from her tail in a whip action, he went sailing towards and into Vincent, knocking them both several feet back and slamming into the wall.

The rune that Tao had thrown sailed harmlessly away and was lost somewhere behind the giant snakey woman-like demon.

The other rune was thrown towards the base of the marilith. It was a vibration spell, sent to the stone floor underneath her. She had not seen it coming, and when it hit, powerful vibrations rocked the floor and sent her "snaking" away from the scene while going all defence against Yevaud for a moment while she found solid ground again. Being as long as she was and having the snake's body...she easily escaped the rough trouble the vibrations normally would have caused somebody else who was planted firmly in one localized spot.

The vibrations however loosened the stone floor that had been chemically weathering for centuries in the swamp. Where cracks were made, muddy water began to seep in, causing a mess on the floor where it might be hard to get a nice stand and not slip. A snake however did not have to worry too much about that.

Ssayonele was no longer amused by this bunch of fools. They had already found a niche in her defences twice and were throwing spells that disrupted the interior of the room. She was ready to end this battle.

She pressed hard against Yevaud with her best sword-play, having had centuries more experience at it than this young bladesinger. She was confident of her ability against him and it was time to show him what she knew. Two of the people had already been taken down and two females stood nearby. She'd get to them in a moment.

Now having her tail again, she brought it behind Yevaud and struck at him from behind with it at the same time that three swords came foward at Yevaud from the front, two still remaining in defence. One sword came in from the right side. </font>

OOC>>>
Marcos: -7 hp from being thrown into Vincent.
Vincent: -12 hp from a fully-armored human projectile
Anarrima: Still in a daze from channeling such power to Tao.

Ssayonele: Damage recorded from Vincent's attack. A good hit, BTW.

[ 04-03-2006, 01:22 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

<font color=white>Thorrin Ebonshield</font>

<font color=gray>Born once what seems several lifetimes ago a member of a deep-delving clan of dwarves, his eyes were never those that looked for long upon the unfiltered light of the sun. Still, however, in that distant and vanished lifetime the glare of the sun held neither terror nor pain to his eyes. But that life is vanished – broken and swept ruthlessly aside – and he who has been by turns warrior and laborer and father and slave has been remade and reborn, a child of Shadow and the son of great Terrakis, and his eyes now are eyes that find no joy in the beautiful shimmering of these sheets of fragmented sunlight that stand so unaccountably deadly, so unaccountably powerful before him. Pain, brilliant and blinding, and not beauty is what fills eyes and those of his fellows here.

He hates the light. But he who lived unbowed and unbroken as the slave of the Giants of Shadow is no stranger to pain. Nor are his clansmen who even now gird themselves to try their strength against the light that so readily destroyed those first few that attempted to breach its boundaries......

“STOP!” His voice booms over the confusion and at once the others stiffen attentively. He says nothing more but rather breaks the silence with a violent banging of his hammer against the ebony of his shield. Again and again he strikes the shield defining a stern pattern of rhythmic beats whose echoes are picked up by the hard stone of the walls of this place – walls built to propagate sound. One by one the drummers pick up the pattern defined by the hammer and the sound of the beats swells to something not unlike thunder. He has heard the tale of the fall of the Mage and the collapse of the tower that stood once where this one now stands, this tower whose stones he helped shape. He knows that the power of thunder set suddenly loose within such stone as this was a blow every bit as decisive against the power of the Mage as that final release of bitter breath that slew him.

He and his clansmen do not command the power of thunder, but they understand very well the interplay of sound with stone and they have learned the lesson of the Enemy very well indeed. The wall of light might bar their movement, but sound propagated by stone is a thing such a barrier can neither destroy nor stop. Still the sound swells growing so great that it seems to fill the very air within this part of the tower. Ears begin to hurt and thinking clearly becomes difficult and still the sound rises.

And within the sound there is something else, something sinister and unexpected, for these are not like the drums of Tolkien’s goblins or the drums to which armies have marched in step in countless times and places. Drums such as these are ancient and terrible things found first within the pages of the ancient dispensation’s Dungeon Master’s Guide. They are called Drums of Panic and within the painful thunder of their sound is the touch of nightmare and the smell of fear, a fear that seizes hearts.

Still he bangs his hammer on the shield keeping time to the swelling of the drums. The barrier is a thing of magery and such things are seldom permanent. However long it lasts it must pass away at some point. And the stamina of dwarves is a thing of legend. There is no escaping without a further exercise of magery, but swelling sound and encroaching fear do not allow much space for the practice of such art. He smiles, a cruel smile, as the swelling thunder of the drums crashes steadily. And the touch of nightmare dances forward in time with the beating of the drums.</font>

<font color=skyblue>Larry Silverfall

If there was one person in that entire tower that would fail his save vs. the effects of the drumming, it would certainly be Larry Silverfall. He had become a level one character upon his rebirth into Ironworks, and since then had only gained one level more. He was in no situation to withstand the power of the drums.

The drumming built in power, until Larry could take no more, and he buckled under the weight of horrible fear. He had no where to run but the corner of the room, fall into a curled sitting position and scream into his enclosed space. He forgot all about any friends nearby, and felt very much alone and weak. He would die here. Blind, alone, and cowering at the mercy of an army of Shadow. </font>

Vincent Pathfinder 78/93

Momentarily blacked out by the impact, it took Vincent another moment to catch his breath and realize what just happened." <font color=silver> Are ye concious Marcos ?</font color=silver>" he asked before getting his ground and strength at the ready to shove the tank off. While waiting for his answer he looked to see if his weapons were near.

<font color=white>For Vincent

Funny thing about that sword of Silt's...it has magical enhancements but you have no idea what they are. You've been lucky enough to figure out one of the activation words, but how many more are there? And did Silt even know them all?

Funny thing, that sword of Silt's...it seems to hear your thinking about it. Just as you begin wondering where it was, several feet apart where it lay the sword began to slide across the floor and return to your awaiting hand.

How did it do that?</font>

<font color=skyblue>She sighs, "well....."

It was worth a try... She does chuckle a bit, as Marcos sails through the air and lands on Vincent. She watches as water, dark and muddy begins to seep through the cracked stones, and realizes this could be to the groups benefit, if not in the way of helping footing... but...

Tilting her head to the side, her eyes glow briefly and she looks at the water, rising her hands slowly, ever so slowly towards it, concentrating hard. She must make this count, because she is already feeling tired again.

She softly chants a spell to the water elements and earth, repeating it over and over, until the water and mud begin to swirl a bit on the floor.

Lowering her hands, she looks over at Vincent and Marcos again, and notices something unusual..
She watches as Silt's sword starts sliding across the floor towards Vincent, and a slow smiles comes to her lips as she gets the glimmer of understanding of what just has happened...

Her eyes flash as she turns again to the water and mud watching as the swirling begins to coalesce into a watery, muddy figure that begins to splash and flick a watery, muddy mess into the demonesses face over and over. Mostly harmless, it cannot inflict any damage to her, but it can be a very annoying distraction. And by splashing water and mud in her face, it can keep her semi-occupied with wiping her eyes so she can see....</font>

[ 04-10-2006, 06:27 PM: Message edited by: TAOWolf ]

<font color=seagreen>Yevaud

The battle was growing more difficult, the attacks were coming faster, harder, and the snake-lady was definitely giving him a run for his money. Even without the stones oozing mud between their cracks, and a paraelemental slinging mud Yevaud was having a tough time of it. He ducked one blade, caught two more on his left, dropped flat to avoid the tail, and tried to keep the tail between himself and the blade on the right as he did so, in the process covering himself in mud and swamp water. He was fully on the defensive now, doing everything he knew to do to avoid her attacks as they pressed him. He knew that at this point his skills would probably do little more than make it more difficult for her to herd him whereever she was trying to drive him to finish the fight. Conscious thought fled and the deadly dance of blades and bodies became all-consuming to him.</font>

<font color=orange>Inquisitor Marcos of Snowdale - 75/98

"Thus," the inquisitor rumbled, pushing himself back to his feet.

"The manifestation of murder and energies most foul elects."

His hammer lay pulsing well out of reach, the peculiar spell which now gripped it further proof of the corruptable nature of magic, as if any was required.

He ignored the hammer, still more certain than before that he would find no use for it against this foe. Interesting as he might personally find the weapon, he knew better than to pray the blessed hammer would distract a daemon with a love of melee tools.

The inquisitor positioned himself on firm ground, facing betwixt the snake-like being and the emerald. He knew the pull of the gemstone, and was well aware of the many souls gone into the spell to release this creature that sent his head pounding with the feel of the malign.

"I am inquisitor Marcos of Snowdale," he announced loudly, "and you will hear me, daemon."

Where did souls go once spent in outbursts of the arcane? A vanishing into nothing, a release to afterlife? More like a chaining, trapping the hundreds of victims in an eternity of labour. Merciless, a ward of evil in truth.

"By the will of all man holds sacred, I deny your presence in this place. By my words, your efforts are vain."

Should there be release for these souls so held in magics of wrong, would the pull remain?

"You have overstepped the lines of your domain. By the blood lost through your hide, you will commence your pennance."

Narrow and cold, his eyes were steady as he had cast thought of failure aside.
The inquisitor gathered the power to nullify this wrong. Then unleashed it.

"Daemon. Return to your prison. Your evil will be undone."
</font>

OOC: Far from a true banishment, Marcos casts a Dispel Evil Magic on the emerald in hopes it will either retrap or weaken the dreaded foe.

<font color=white>Yevaud pressed on with his swordplay, now feeling the burden of defending against such a powerful demon that prided herself on melee expertise. She was wearing him down by sheer might rather than by skillful supriority. Six blades working against him behind the strength of the Marilith was more than a bldesinger had been hoping for this early in the game. One could argue that he was not ready for such a challenge yet.

However, he did have two things to his advantage just now. Murky water from Tao's elemental was being slung towards the great demonic creature that caused her irritation, and irritation gets in the way of clear thinking. Aside from that, Marcos had stood and denounced her presence in this world, and using his god-given powers, attempted some power towards the emerald. Nothing happened that would prove any victory for the Inquisitor. It never had been the emerald that was evil, rather the force of the Marilith within the emerald which had been the source of so much death. With her release, the emerald had become nothing more than jewlery once again.

Ssayonele realized that it was time to stop playing games and she whipped around in the ankle-deep water, dancing and slithering around Yevaud who followed her around until she was back-turned to the pesky elemental. Using her tail now, she whipped at it, crashing into the thing and destroying it while she pressed harder at Yevaud. He was looking concerned, and she read his failing confidence. Now, emploring her tactics of swordplay to trick him, she led his singing blades to the right and came in hard with an afore-defending blade to his left, cutting him bad on the muscle of his exposed left arm. Just for good measure she hit hard from the right while he was there and off-balance and worrying about his cut left armto strain his defence even more.</font>

<font color=orchid>Anarrima

Ana was recovered from the dizziness and just in time. In time to see the Marilith begining to kill her friend, Yevaud. She had to stop her!

She began praying aloud for spell power, desperation in her quivering voice. </font>

[ 04-21-2006, 05:53 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

Vincent Pathfinder 78/93

He was amazed with the power's of the blade he had recovered. He had heard of enchanted blades like this from his father. He had warned though, that some have an ego of there own and to be careful with such gifts. Snapping back he realized Marcos had gotten up without so much as word. Yeah yer welcome, pig he thought as Marcos brushed him off. Rising to his feet he slipped back into the shadow's hoping to be lucky again. The demon changed it's course a bit and was really giving it to Yevaud now and he was faltering. some greek fire and this water would be nice burn on that snake, everyone need's to get out here though, cuz when it blows, this room is gone. Lining up for another shadow strike, he made his way around again and prepared.