<font color=white>Just a regular working stiff named Joe</font>

<font color=darkseagreen> Some days a guy’s lucky. Other days he’s good. Every now and then a guy gets to be both lucky and good for all of about 5 or 6 minutes. Most days though, a guy just gets dumped on. Now there ain’t much that’s easier than stepping through an artfully crafted doorway of pure shadow when said doorway opens right in front of you and is even so damn well made that the shadowy bad guys can’t pass through it. But here? Here we got the stumbling blind guy. Here we got the dame what keeps bouncing her head off the floor. Here we got the big guy what should be leading this outfit but who’s been content to follow the blind guy. Breech the bad guy’s tower without a plan. Fight the bad guy’s minions with no magic weapons except for the dagger the guy what ain’t equipped for fighting carries. Get trapped upstairs where the loot is kept and find some desperate way to get outta there. And damn it all if it don’t just about work......

Just about. You’d think this bunch could at least make it through the doorway. But then again a little good sense seems like it’s too much to ask. And who gets stuck doing all the work? The guy what’s collapsed here on what passes for ground in the Shadowlands. Of course, being collapsed has it’s advantages when you’re too tired to duck out of the way of a body that’s been thrown through the opening. Gotta be the kid. But you’d think he’d have enough sense to put the damn sword away when he can’t see to do anything with it anyhow – well nothing except almost cut the head off an exhausted guy whose trying to stand up. “Put the damn pig-sticker away, kid, that’s me you just about chopped up there.”

At least the kid’s blindness prevents him from seeing the graceless way he had to regain his feet. So tired. But they can’t rest here, not if that ham-fisted presence disrupts this plane again. As for the others – they’ve fallen. And he’s not in any condition to even think about helping them out. And the kid? He’d likely just get himself, or worse the two of them, killed if rushed back in there. Besides, it’s best not to think about how nasty someone’s gotta be if he breach the prismatic wall and can lay out the big guy that quickly. With a thought he seals up the breech he had made. He’s unsteady. He needs to rest. But he’s gotta finish this out. No sense wasting all that hard work by falling here. Looks like it’s him and the kid. ~ But I’ll be damned if I’ll babysit him like the big guy did.

“Get yourself together,” he says calmly and places a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “And listen up. We made it out OK. The other two didn’t and there’s no going back in after them. You gotta step up now. You’re the one that knows this IronWorks place.....” ~ This’d be so much easier if I just left and went on my own way. ~ He sighs. So tired. Too tired for all this. But all that artistry won’t be any good if just quits now. And such artistry – it damn near killed him pulling all that together – be shame, no, a crime, to waste it. He sighs again. “Let’s get moving. We don’t have much time.”

The kid knows IronWorks. But the kid’s blind. Nothing to do but pick a direction that looks promising and hope the kid’ll be some help when they get out......</font>

<font color=skyblue>Larry Silverfall 03/32

Larry picked himself up from the floor of this place of darkness and faced in the direction of Joseph, who he could hear yet not see. The blindness from the prismatic wall left him blind still.

He listened with growing sadness as Joseph said that Morgie did not make it. Senora did not either, but it was Morgie he felt worse about. The big man had saved him yet again...but this time with the price of his own life.

Yet...for all his desire to sit and weep at the loss, Joseph would not allow any dilly-dally, even to pay last respects to a friend. The urgency in Joe's voice was enough to convince Larry to listen rather than ignore. He said that there was not much time. Whatever he meant by that, Larry did not want to guess, but he figured that Joseph had got him this far, and there was no sensible reason to start doubting him now.

"Okay...I will go and I shall mourn my friends another time. Indeed I do know IronWorks, but with my blindness you are still my leader Joseph. I cannot help where I cannot see. And I am so weak. I can barely stand! I need some place safe to rest and have my wounds tended to."</font>

[ 05-21-2006, 10:02 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

<font color=silver>And with these words from young Silverfall the two of them stepped forward, the Lost leading the Blind. And when they emerge from this place of Shadow it shall be in another place within these forums, a thread that is not this one.</font>

<font color=plum>* Trigger activated

* Run Level_Up Script

* Morguerat - Level + 1

* Larry - Level + 1

* Joseph - Level + 1

* Senora - file not found

* End Level_Up Script</font>

[ 05-23-2006, 11:38 PM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]

Vincent Pathfinder 78/93

Just as he was about to attack, he himself was surprised to be surrounded 3 small creatures. Ugly in nature, they must also be of demonic accent as well, he fell into a defesive posture not sure what to do. Evading one strike he manuvered around them so they werent surrounding him on all side's, attempting to get them in line with each other so it would be easier to parry and counter while taking attacks of opportunity as they come. Just as he had gotten into position, the paladin came out of now where and grabbed one of them and tossed it at the portal, ending its life in charred thop on the wet floor.
Well that's one out of the equasion at least, And for a moment he almost slipped in the muck, but caught his footing just in time to parry a slice from one of the creatures with his dagger and countering with a downward cut of his own on to the creatures head...

<font color=green>Andrion Wilgor pityful owl HP/pityful owl HP ;)

For the shadow owl circling above the Tower of Shadow time passed slowly. Animalistic hearing and sight did not permit events passing inside the walls to be perceived. All that was heard was the incessant drumming. In these heights the sound bore barely a fraction of its intensity, only a portion of its raw power.

But inside the tower the sound would have relentlessly hammered against the will and resolve of anyone not accustomed to it. The evil mage trapped inside the owl's body imagined the fate the four adventurers must have been suffering with a curious, almost perverse pleasure. He guessed that the bumbling ranger would be the first to succomb to the unending sonar assault. The warrior would probably last longer. The elf lady had already fainted when our feathered friend had still been in the tower.

The unknown was that average guy. Never had Andrion met someone like him in these forums and indeed he seemed to be strangely out of place, almost from another world. Andrion had to admit to himself to feeling a strange curiosity about what Silverfall's companion was really capable of. As most mages of his level, Andrion saw the challenge of a duel against someone of comparable magical power an extremely rewarding experience. The winner won a considerable amount of vanity, while the loser could learn from his mistakes. Andrion was looking forward to be able to, sometime in the future, measure himself against his fellow magic-wielder.

But such duels were not approached without preparation and this feathered thing, which served as a body for him and was barely even able to perform functions the body had normally performed was definitely not sufficient to confront such a user of magic as the bumbling ranger's newfound companion.And there was also something strange about him, something which in the future might make Andrion cautious. He had seen many mages from different rule systems and different editions in his time and he was pretty certain that Joseph was not from third edition, or even its predecessor second edition, for he had seen mages from both, and their casting style, movements while casting and even the magic words were nothing like what he had seen Joseph use.

Andrion did not see Joseph cast many spells. There was that magical fog and the fireball against the ju-ju zombie, but any mage could have those spells inscribed in his spellbook. Andrion even had a vague suspicion that somehow magic had been involved in Nanashi's demise, although at the time it had seemed as a mere dagger strike. But why would someone, who later clearly manifested himself as a magic user, take the risk of engaging such a formidable opponent as Nanashi in melee combat. Something did not seem completely right. It would have taken considerable skill to be able to completely conceal a spell from Andrion's trained eyes, but it was not impossible, especially considering the limitations of this confounded body.

It was of course better than nothing, but ever since he had been forced into this feathered form, Andrion was faced by its severe limitations, which were in no way balanced by the fact that he could fly around. No arms to cast spells, no vocal cords to speak with...the list could have gone on for long and this was exactly what Andrion was thinking about in an attempt to chase the growing boredom of circling the tower. He hoped that the Mage was going to return soon.</font>

[ 05-27-2006, 08:21 PM: Message edited by: dplax ]

<font color=white>Elsewhere – The Holy Temple of Aerie</font>

<font color=gray>Like so many broken teeth the jagged stone remnants of the temple walls smile upward at the approaching dawn. The great statue of the wingless goddess was toppled some hours earlier and bludgeoned to pieces as those few who had not been killed outright during the assault of the giants watched. Once this was a place of beauty and a refuge for those of broken and fragile spirits. This night however has seen the end of those things, for all that had been beautiful here has been trampled underfoot and that which had been fragile has been smashed by arms that are strangers to the movements of pity. Great barrels are brought forward and opened and a thick acidic liquid is poured liberally over the ruined temple and the surrounding landscape and into the streams that run outward from what had formerly been the sanctuary.

“And so it falls, this wretched memory of other days, days when self-proclaimed heroes wandered these forums like so many ants, carrying the over powered trinkets of the bhaalspawn games.” With a sweep of his arm the giant forces his prisoners to survey once more the destruction of what they held so dear. “No more! No more!” He bellows. “Those days are finished. And where was your pitiful wingless bitch when a hand of genuine might was raised against you?” He nods his head and without warning dusky arms of great strength swing their swords and the prisoners are slain. “The time of the clans is over. The days of the bhaalspawn game are finished – as dead as the ancient blue boards. Even as the sun rises the might of Shadow grows.”

His voice swells, thrusting aside all lesser sounds. “We are his sons. The brothers of Terrakis......”

As one they cry out, the assembled host of giants, and this now desolate place shakes under the strength of their cry:

<font size=+2>“AND NONE SHALL CONTEST OUR CLAIM!”</font>

Only one more of the ancient clans remains and that last remaining clan is the most ancient of all. And it is in the direction of that clan and its sacred fires that the Giants of Shadow now move. All is silent once they leave. There are not even the groanings of the wounded to lament what has happened here for all have been slain.</font>

[ 05-28-2006, 02:00 AM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]

<font color=white>For Those Forgotten Heroes at Castle Lesismoore:

The situation is as follows:

Vincent had been relieved of one of the little demons by Marcos who was experimenting on the portal. Such experiment ended in the death of the summoned ugly. He parried against an attack by one of the remainder's vicious claws which resulted in the severing of that limb while Vincent bore down on its head in a counter-strike. The move proved fatal for the little beast while the third one jumped on Vincent from behind and began to chew on him. It weight knocked Vincent to the ground and under the the murky water that continued to seep up from the break in the stone floor. In fact, as the castle too on more water, the whole castle shifted slightly, rocking to one side and seeping a bit deeper into the swamps.


Meanwhile, Yevaud fought with his might against a tireless creature who prided herself as being a master at sword-play. She was baring down on Yevaud for the killing strike and Yevaud knew this...she wanted him to...and just as she was about to send three longswords into his body, the castle rocked to one side and sunk a few inches, knocking the balance off of the Marilith's attempts, making her catch herself to steady her huge body...and this opened up the opportunity of gold for the more nimble elf who was lighter on his feet than even a normal elf fighter,,,for he was a bladesinger.

Anarrima concentrated on commanding her lantern archon. She felt the tremor in the castle and the shift of weight made everything lean to one side and then the feeling of sinking did not help matters...but Anarrima was able to catch herself from falling and command the archon to attack now with its Light Ray spell. The Light Archon focused on the enemy and shot her with Light Ray. The marilith now had to worry about balance and the attack from the foul little bug.

That leaves Tao and Marcos; two would-be heroes of the day who have managed to live this long against possible odds. What would they do now?</font>

<font color=white>Elsewhere – A place far from the shadows of the Inner Forums</font>

<font color=teal>He could finish things here. Even without that terrible power which he possesses in those forums so far from the Sky, the One Who Mods has strength enough to be a worthy and a dangerous opponent – one mighty enough to slay him even here. But the Mage has for too long been accustomed to killing from afar and with ease – his movements bear this out, as if the most basic of gestures needs to be first remembered and then employed. ~ Still he has not learned the lesson! When I robbed him of the power of the Ring, he grew lost and unsure of himself. And here, stripped of the pretensions of divinity, he is likewise unsure and likewise he is lost.

“How very like Silverfall you are.” There is a cold focus to his words, words that despite the hatred in his bearing and the angry movement of the air about him, still do not rise above a whisper. “Shadows, the two of you – nothing more than shadows. Giving the illusion of being something greater, pretending to substance and significance, and possessing neither. Let the starry eyed romantics speak of shadow as the stuff of darkness and let them have their little share of the truth. Let the moralists speak of shadow as a metaphor for evil and let them be correct in their narrow way. Style yourself a practitioner of something called shadow-magic and revel in the semblance of power it gives you. But shadow is not all darkness, nor wickedness nor magical reality – it is also that which falls short of being genuine, that which lacks true depth, that which is but a poor substitute for the reality it apes.”

The movement of wind lessens. Still there remains the call to violence. Still it is attractive. Still his fingers hold the axe in readiness to strike. But he will not claim this day that which he has no right to claim. “I did not come here to fight a shadow. I have taken what was mine to take – the adopted of the Devourer is no more. And while Death stands here between us for the giving and the taking, while the Storm itself calls out in anger against you, I will not see Silverfall so easily absolved of his guilt nor so conveniently stripped of his duty. He is your opponent, not me nor those countless others that aspire to your throne, and I shall not lift a finger to help him. His lot it is to do battle with shades and his tale, even now, outpaces and defines your own.”

He is tired, both from wounds and exertion of his battle against the fallen giant, and here from the effort required to hold in check the rage that still seethes within him. “Go. There is nothing for you here, neither dominion nor battle nor friendship. Your place is in those forums whose rule you aspire to claim. And mine as well is elsewhere for the lands of IronWorks are not my home.”</font>

<font color=666666>The lands of the North

The darkness grew across the forums, light was obscured, lanterns of hope winked out as they were overcome by the dark. The darkness had always been a dominant force in these lands, but now, in many ways, and in many places hope was gone, the lights extinguished, not just dimmed by shadow.

And thriving in that blackness was one who had once been of the light, his back turned on all that was once true and good, the urges, desires, hatreds and such were embraced, brought to the forefront, and empowered by it. But even ultimate darkness had to worry about the occasional light, for darkness becomes mere shadow, and can even be banished, if only temporarily, by enough light. A spark of brightness that had been growing suddenly winked out of the awareness of the one called the Reaper of souls by those who knew of it's power. This pleased him greatly, this interloper, a piece of his fragmented soul was gone from his awareness, and so with a threat gone, he positioned his pawns again. Another village would fall, more darkness would crush the light, and the survivors would end up in his cells awaiting their turns in the labratories of his spellcrafters.

The darkness was well pleased, and permitted itself an indulgent smile, and a low chuckle that raised the hair on the necks of even his most vile servants.</font>

[ 06-01-2006, 10:22 AM: Message edited by: Morgeruat ]