<font color=white>TAO</font>

<font color=skyblue>A song… a chant… a prayer… begins to play in her mind. She can feel the near fatal wound in her side, and the sword continues to cut her already wounded skin and muscles if every slight motion..

She cannot lift her head nor move her limbs. She cannot shapeshift and can barely think much less try to speak. But a soft whisper does escape her blood-caked lips as soft as a feather floating on the wind, as she lays on Yevaud, and the sound somehow carries on the wind making its soft way to the ears of every member of the group………

'S Fagaim Mo Bhaile
Maidin is tús an lae
Is fágaim mo bhaile
Tá mo chroíse go brón
Is fad ar shiúl m'óige
Oíche is mé liom féin
Spéartha dubh go domhain, a choích
Ag cuimhneach ar laethanta a bhí
Gan ghá agus gan ghruaim
Eistim leis an ghaoth
Uaigneas mór, go deo, a choích

Deireadh an turas mór
Táim brónach, buartha 's briste
I mo dhiaidh nach mbeidh níos mó
Ach, tá sé i ndán dúinn, a pháistí
Is fada anois an lá
A d'fhág mé mo bhaile
Níl áthas i mo chroí
Níl ann ach an marbh.

She sighs softly…. The bracer around her neck glows softly, and tendrils of blue light from the moonstone set inside reach towards Yevaud, trying to give him strength that she cannot.

She whispers two words, before passing into the blood-loss sleep of the deeply wounded…. ”Save me….”</font>

<font color=white>Translation: And I Leave My Home
Morning and the day's beginning, And I leave my home. My heart is breaking, My youth is long past, Night and I am alone. Endless deep black skies, Remembering days that were without want and without gloom. I listen to the wind, endless great loneliness forever. The end of the long journey, I am sad, sorrowful, broken, After me there will be no more (of my kind), But children, it is our destiny. The day is long past, When I left my home, There is no hope in my heart, There is only death.</font>

Lyrics: 'S Fagaim Mo Bhaile (And I leave my Home) copyright - Enya

[ 06-23-2006, 06:25 PM: Message edited by: TAOWolf ]

<font color=white>The Giants of Shadow</font>

<font color=gray>There was a time when dragons were creatures both rare and wondrous and when none but the mightiest and most storied of heroes would even consider standing against them, let alone have even the slimmest possibility of surviving such an encounter. And the slaying of a dragon – once there was a time when such a feat itself would be more than sufficient to guarantee that the name of that one who had done so would be remembered in the songs of generations as one truly singular and truly favored. Then came the days of assigning statistics to dragons and of placing them upon wilderness and dungeon encounter tables. These days were followed by the multiplication of dragons and the even greater multiplication of the adventurers whose livelihood was made in their looting of their hoards and the selling of their skins. It happened then that the slaying of dragons became a thing merely a step away from the mundane, little more than a right of passage for the powerful character, and even CRPGs came to boast of the several powerful dragons that waited to be slaughtered by heroes as mere stepping stones on the way to some greater goal. How far the mighty have fallen!

Little wonder it is then that this game has witnessed the destruction of 3 such beasts, and little wonder as well that their destruction was simply perceived as a matter unworthy of either note or of celebration, for the death of a dragon is nothing but a commonplace. So it is this day when the growth of shadows at the falling of the sun brings with it the arrival of a band of creatures mighty in limb and pitiless of heart before the smoking crater that houses the lair of mighty Balagos, the dragon who once assaulted the Tower. Such defenses the dragon had are easily bypassed and its guardians are readily slaughtered, and when the giants stand before the creature they greet its vanity with the stern gazes of those who have nothing to fear. They say nothing, but the heat of their hatred fills this smoking chamber and it is the dragon who feels the grip of fear seize its heart.

Fire erupts toward the giants and still the stand. Again fire burns them, and still they stand. A third time, Balagos breathes, and still the giants stand. The burns upon their flesh do not slow them. The pain of the fire matters little to them. And Balagos, might Balagos, matters even less. A shout fills the chamber. “FOR TERRAKIS!’ And before the stones of this place stop ringing with its echoes, the dragon is butchered as if it were nothing more than some base animal. Its body is skinned and its flesh set aside as meat for the journey, and when the Giants of Shadow take their leave of this place nothing but the smallest of traces shall remain of either the dragon or its hoard.

<font color=silver>ooc: A tip of the cap to anyone who remembers Balagos. And as far as the once great dragon is concerned – memories are all that are left of him.</font>

<font color=green>Andrion Wilgor

Poisonous gases rose from the marshes, filling the air with their toxic stench. Andrion was glad to be able to leave behind this forsaken place, where the remains of his head shall forever lie. Andrion was sure that in less than a week no traces would be left of his head. Small insects and rotting would take care of all that.

In ages to come, should the marshes dry up, a traveller might stumble upon a peculiar skull, but Andrion seriously doubted it. Creatures stronger and hungrier than that chuul existed without a doubt in these marshes, creatures which would gladly devour two skulls inside a sack when other nourishment became scarce.

It was with no regret that Andrion left the marshes and a part of himself behind, wearily flying westward. Rest was much needed, and after hiding his badly rotting bodyparts in a small hollow amongst rocks, Andrion slept for two hours at the height of the day in the branches of a sprawling oak.

He was almost completely exhausted upon arriving back at the tower, close to nightfall, having used his wings for the best part of the last few days.

Arriving through the shadow opening in the side of the tower, Andrion sent a mental message to his master.

The head was too heavy to carry, but I have brought parts of it.</font>

<font color=seagreen>Yevaud 29/45

Yevaud gently rolled out from under Kaylisa, groaned and hissed in pain as he tested his own weight on his leg and side, and then scooped her up again, again waiting until he felt adjusted to the pain once more, and then set out for the window. Seeing the murky water on the other side he took a deep breath, covered Tao's nose with his fingers and her mouth with his, giving her a deep breath, then he covered her mouth with the hand that had blocked her nose so that she wouldn't exhale the air, and jumped through into the murky swamp beyond, kicking to push himself and his cargo to the surface.</font>

<font color=white>One by one, the three adventurers surfaced from the swamps of Lesismoore, having held their breath to fight through the muddy ickiness of the terrain for only a few seconds. It had been enough though to realize it was not something any of them wanted to repeat anytime soon. Anarrima, Vincent, and Yevaud, who was carrying Tao dug their way to the top and found solid enough ground to stand on as they watched the castle that was above ground continue to sink as the submerged one was flooded and lost forever. It had become a burial site for Marcos of Snowdale, the Inquisitor as well as a powerful demon. Both would be sealed forever together.

It was then that Anarrima remembered what she had seen happen to that one male before she ran underground.

<font color=peru>"Quick! Get out of the marsh! Leeches!</font>

But it was already too late when she sounded the alarm. Already they were on their way, and their mass numbers could be seen in the shallow muddy waters as they approached in their swarm.

Anarrima begins to pray...

<font color=peru>"Goddess aid me!"

A fire shield erupts around the cleric, giving off a warm glow to those nearby.

She begins to pray again, but needs time to work on her next spell. </font>
</font>
OOC>>>Sorry guys, Fire Shield comes to her as a level 4 spell for her Sun domain, and she is already on wits-end today so she chose to protect herself before beginning to work on one of the few remaining spells she has left to help us all. She's about exausted her spell list so we'll have to hope she has kept something back that's useful. Remember, I am using a list that I chose a loooong time ago for her active spells. Good luck fending off the leech swarm!

Note: While most leeches in this swarm are of the average size, there are several giant ones to watch for. Remember what happened to Liam, the one that Ana saw killed by this very swarm.

[ 06-26-2006, 10:58 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

<font color=steelblue>The Mage

Andrion was permitted into the throne room, and there he saw a new and marvelous sight to behold. The Shadow Dwarves had taken their jobs seriously and were proud of their new positions, standing in the very throne room of The Mage, watching over their lord as he conducted his business. The zombie was also there, clueless-looking and dangerous as ever. In the center of the grand scene sat the Mage himself...He that no longer had a name, for Larry Silverfall no longer held place in the consciousness here. It was to this throne that Andrion was allowed to flutter towards and land upon the ground several feet from the throne. The dwarven guard would not allow him to come nearer.

<font color=white>*</font> "Veo que cumpliste tú mandato, aprendiz mío."

"Lay the pieces down upon the floor and stand behind them."

Once Andrion did so, the Mage then said...

"Your body's pieces here will be used to reconstruct your shell. This is a simple task for me."

As he said this, he waved his hand through the air, gesturing to the pieces of meat on the floor. They melted on the spot but then the liquid flesh started expanding and taking shape vertically in the air, and within seconds, it was in the shape of a man. Another moment, and it had now begun to look like Andrion.

"The harder part lies with you, for now your shell needs a soul, and that is where you will need to make sure that you concentrate hard enough to get yourself back in and latched on. Once you are fitted in, you cannot be seperated again but by death or magical means. Are you ready?"

Without waiting for a reply, the Mage looked at one of the dwarven guards and said,

"Kill the owl."</font>

<font color=white>*</font> I see that you have completed your assignment, my apprentice.

[ 06-26-2006, 11:32 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

<font color=white>The Guardians of the Throne of the Presence</font>

<font color=gray>They are hostile to all save the Presence and the animal is tolerated only so long as the Presence wills it to be so. Beasts, be they birds of the air or be they things that crawl and slither along the ground or be they those human-like wretches whose shape is mutable, merit nothing but contempt and the Throneroom of the Presence is no place for animals, things little better than elves. Their gaze is attentive, at one and the same time hostile to the owl and responsive to the Presence. There is no wonder in their eyes at the prodigy of a body so readily conjured from bits of moldering flesh for such things are to be expected of the Presence.

And so is the command he gives.

Of course the owl must be slaughtered for it is a thing of no worth. The Presence commands and swift obedience follows. A hammer crashes into the wings of the creature breaking them. It is a blow intended not only to rob the beast of any possibility of flight, but to produce pain sufficiently great to break the concentration of that one whose soul is within. Other blows follow swiftly after the first. Bones are crushed and little is left of the animal beyond a smear of blood and feathers that clings to their weapons. And if this Andrion is weak then he too is dead and the Presence need not be troubled by the weakness of one unfit to serve.</font>

<font color=seagreen>Yevaud 29/45

Tired, wounded, worn down by constant battle, tireless foes, and carrying a woman much lighter than she has any earthly reason to be, even after the amount of blood she is losing, and now more monsters are coming. Carefully shifting Kaylisa Taowolf he pulls out a bit of gauze, waves it over a wisp of the smoke rising from the flames surrounding Anarrima. </font>

ooc: Wraithform: When this spell is cast, the wizard and all of his gear become insubstantial... with all he wears or holds in his hands, as long as the spell persists. ;)

<font color=green>Andrion Wilgor

It was with a sense of perverse satisfaction that Andrion watched the blow tear and rend one side of the owl body apart. He was truly and well fed up by the inadequacies and inabilities of this fragile body and seeing it pounded to a bloody pulp of blood, feathers and pieces of bone did bring some contentment with it.

It was with a horrific lurch in a corner of his soul that Andrion realised that he was observing the dwarves' work from the exterior of his body. It was a strange sensation to floot without an anchor to the physical world, one which Andrion had had the misfortune of experiencing after Silt's killing blow had landed.

Spiritual forces and currents the existence of which Andrion had never even imagined threw around his soul as though it were a ship with a broken rudder and no sails in the middle of a hurricane. Much energy was at play here, where the Mage of Shadows focused most of his power, and if not careful, a stray spirit like that of Andrion could be overwhelmed by such a maelstrom. Never had Andrion felt such fear since the day he had killed his own father.

While what he experience he was going through was similar to the one he had faced in the castle of Lesismoore, but with the powers at play in this room the the subtle differences added a dimension of danger to it, which Andrion had not expected. A hostile presence intruded on his consciousness, albeit only weakly and unable to exert much influence, but the malice could be sensed, coming from the deep dungeons sprawling under the tower. The presence had a slightly familiar, almost elven feel to it, and it did not take much imagination from Andrion to place it as Senora.

A body like the one of old, the one he had grown so fond of, the hands, which had killed so much, both with knife and spells, the eyes which had calmly stared into those of his father as he plunged the knife into his chest, the ears which heard the dying roar of Feldsproth, the great black dragon. This was what the mage was gifting to Andrion. Of course the body was grown completely anew and would likely not retain any of his physical memories.

Suddenly, without any warning whatsoever the fear he had been feeling intensified, almost as if it were reaching out for him. A powerful spiritual current almost tore Andrion from the throne room and it was only with a great effort of will that he managed to stay there. The evil he had felt in the strange force was more than anything he had ever felt or heard of and for a moment Andrion wondered whether the tales he had heard of an elven priestess vanquishing an ancient evil known simply as Hunger had been fully successful or whether it might be that the Modding Mage of Shadow was much more than even Andrion suspected.

With another tremendous effort of will, Andrion found that he was able to slowly edge closer and closer to his new body, and after what seemed to be an eternity he reached its welcoming embrace.

Suddenly he felt a body again. Familiar, yet still unfamiliar arms lifted in front of his face, and with a widely spreading grin, Andrion inspected the familiar, yet nearly lost lines on his hand. Andrion almost jumped in shock, when he yet again heard the death cry of Feldsproth, and almost at the same time saw the look in his father's eyes. His original eye and ear, taken from his own dead head, still seemed to remember what they had felt in his previous lifetime. Other parts of his body however did not, as Andrion realised with a slight disappointment, that while he had the knowledge of how to cast spells, he now disposed of hands, which did not know the necessary movements, and vocal cords, which had not been trained in the art of speaking words of power.

Andrion turned towards the mage and bowed deeply. His words came out slow and stuttering as he slowly started using the old, yet still unfamiliar vocal cords.

"Your...servant thanks...you for your gift, mas...ter. I shall try...not...to discard this shell...as foolishly as I did the last time."

Andrion lifted from the bow, never taking his eyes off of the throne, and its occupant.

"I await your orders," his voice was rapidly becoming steadier. It was not hard to learn what he had once known.</font>

Vincent Pathfinger 56/98

Making his way up and out wasnt to much of an issue due to his air bag. Once surfaced and ready to move, compressing the bag and putting it back in its proper bag, he wasnt as ready as he would have hoped for the onslaught og what appeared to be some rather large leeches headed in there general direction. Placing his dagger between his teeth he reached back into the satchel that held his oil and pulled forth his last jar of greek fire. He started to scan the surface for any protruding boulders that would be close enough to throw the jar at and cause an impact on these creatures. He noticed one about half way between himself the leeches. He said prayer and hoped his aim was true, throwing the jar at the boulder and running in the opposite direction for dry land.