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<font color=white>Lady Sombra</font>
<font color=lightblue>Were she fully substantial, the blow he struck may well have ended her life. As it is, it will be some time before either her speaking or her breathing will be done without pain. It will perhaps be even longer before she recovers from her shock at the unforgiving decisiveness of his anger. Her throat! He struck her throat..... Reflexively her hands move to the wound and she is unsure whether or not she should be grateful that her fingers, and her throat for that matter, are not yet so substantial that she might truly feel the incipient scar. She gasps, an action that immediately produces a spasm of painful coughing. When the coughing subsides, however, she smiles - a slight and thoughtful smile. There is a physicality about the pain ..... and ..... there is something more .... a scar is forming. What substance she had gained when her anger had seized hold of the Other has been lost and dissipated – an ephemeral thing – but a scar forms about the wound. “In pain one finds substance,” she says quietly and once more her fingers move to touch her wounded throat.</font> |
OOC>>Larry Silverfall and Joseph had escaped to the Lockesville game when they fled the tower. They sought medical aid there and rest. Larry has now found a way to continue onward with his journey and to do that, he had to hop back over through another portal into LoF/SoL.
<font color=skyblue>Larry Silverfall The portal walk had been easier than he'd expected. He knew where he wanted to go, and with what Joseph taught him about walking in the portals, you just kept your focus on the target and let it take you there. He had walked and walked, but the short amount of distance he covered really was larger in the material world. Finally knowing that he had reached his destination, he climbed out of the portal and as it closed behind him, he breathed in a deep fresh lung-full of cool forest air. He'd made it to Ravenwood. Ravenwood was the elven village that he had left Mistral in. She was here, most-likely buried somewhere, and all he had to do was find it. With him, he had his backpack that contained the material components for the most powerful spell that a player could perform on this game and not be a moderator. It was more powerful than even a simple ressurrection spell. And he did not even need to be a strong mage to perform the ritual, for it was all pre-packaged, such was in his plan from the beginning. The candle held the magic that was needed and all it took to work was a simple fire, and to be tended to in the right way. He walked onward in the night, the crickets singing along with his now joyous heart as he knew that tonight he would be reunited with his love. Mistral Freelight Silverfall would come back to him.</font> ================================================== ============================= Castle team <font color=white>The battle had commenced. After surviving this long, they were yet assaulted again, this time by a swarm of leeches of all sizes. Vincent reacted first, tossing the bomb which spewed fire across the surface of the water and seared many of the leeches that were taking that outer perimeter, though those under the surface of the water and under the protection of the bodies of their swarm were not harmed. Yevaud reacted next, causing himself to become insubstantial which aided both he and the passed-out Tao he held in his arms to avoid taking any attacks. He would be unable to aid in this battle, but his health was not well enough to do much good either, especially for himself.</font> <font color=peru> Anarrima already had a fire shield surrounding her and was praying for the power to toss more godly might at the infestation, and the time had now come. Ana casts: Searing Light She held her hand outward and spoke the ending to her prayer and a beam of ultra-brilliant light shot forth from it, striking the oncoming horde of leeches, and cooking them much like Vincent's explosion did. Many leeches became bbq, but still the leeches came onward. She looked about and noticed that Vincent had fled to a dry patch of land, but was otherwise stuck on all sides by wetland around him and the larger leeches could certainly climb up and get him if they wanted him. Yevaud had played it safe and taken his body and that of Tao's out of this dimension, placing themselves out of range of harm from the material plane. Ana was surrounded by flames but even now as the leeches reached her, she realized that their hunger drove them into her flames with no fear. She watched them die all around her, hoping to be the one to get through first and eat her! She had to do something more. The shield would not hold up long, and she could not imagine being eaten by such vile things...She begged her goddess for mercy in saving her life, and called forth for another spell to be cast. She did so through tears of great fear and desperation...Would she die in this swamp?</font> OOC>>>Anarrima has made her one magic move this round and needs another round before she can get the other off. If my fellow gamers would be so kind as to post so I could continue to fight, that would be wonderful. ================================================== ============================= <font color=steelblue>The Mage smirked at his minion's hope of a better future. As the dwarves stepped back to allow conversation between the two, The Mage merely waved a finger when the shadows in the room whisped about Andrion as though they were made of fluid material and as they whirled, they took on the appearance of a robe of the same color, attaching itself around his bare skin and clothing him in the same style of shadowy hooded cloak that the Mage himself wore. "Andrion...my pet has been killed. You are the last of my special infiltrating agents that can come and go in this game as freely as any player character. But you are too weak; you've proven that already. I do not want to waste my time in bringing you back to life again and so you will have one more chance to serve me well and in order to do so, I shall give you what you lack to be worth of my time. Stand up." As Andrion stood, the Mage too stood and spread his hands out, then bringing them together at first did not appear to have any significant result but then Andrion could realize...the shadows were growing thicker...rather...the ones in the room were being pulled from the corners and refocused in the center of the room, right where Andrion stood. The shadows surrounded him and incased him, and he could not see out from them for the thickness of the darkness thereof. The cacoon of shadow substance tightened its hold on Andrion and buried him from view. He was trapped inside as though he had been sealed in a stone. From there, the Mage walked up to the cube of dark material and knocked. "Here be your final exam, Andrion Wilgor...he who wants the power of the Modding Mage of Ironworks! From within you, there is a darkness. You know that you have it, but you've never cared to use it. That is where you've gone wrong and why you died that day. That is why you will never succeed in anything. When you have found that which I speak of, you will be able to use this power to get yourself out of this prison, for the Shadows within are your true source of power. Fail to do so, and these prison walls will close in on itself until there be nothing left, and you will have died into nothingness, and I won't even have to clean a grease spot." The Mage returned to his throne and watched on, expecting to see a failure. If indeed Andrion passed this final test, he would be rewarded beyond his imagination.</font> [ 07-08-2006, 12:36 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ] |
<font color=skyblue>Larry Silverfall
Onward through the darkness he trudged. The town was quiet for an elven town, and he was glad to not run into anyone, for he was on the outskirts of town far enough to not see anyone and he did not want to... The burial site would be far from town anyway. Especially if there were humans buried. The grass was tall in this area, unattended and left alone. After an hour or so of searching, he finally came to what he was looking for. Protruding from the knee-high grass were the tops of a couple dozen stones, with most of the names written thereon washed away from corrosion long ago. There was a newly-carved stone there, with the name written upon it, Mistral Freelight Silverfall. This was it. He felt the tears coming and the constriction of throat muscles and he welcomed it. It was okay...for she would be coming back. She would live again. He sat down in front of the stone, caressed the ground with his hand...and spoke to her. "I made it, Mistral. I am here! I will not let you down again! I have everything here, ready to make my mistake right. Please forgive me. Gods, how I miss you! But enough wait! You have suffered the cold of my errors long enough!" Larry turned to open his backpack and begin setting up. </font> [ 07-08-2006, 01:25 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ] |
<font color=seagreen>Yevaud 29/45
Yevaud knew that his options in this fight were limited, primarily to flight, and so he called to the others in a voice lacking in the substance of the living, a fainter more ephemeral call than that of the physical elf. "Flee while you can, your doom is certain in this abysmal bog" He then began whisping away across the swamp away from the castle and back in the direction he and Ana had taken to arrive at this cursed spot.</font> |
Senora (I forgot my hitpoint total, but will find it.)
In a crumpled heap upon a cold stone-like floor clothed in the rags of slaves, Senora lay unconscious. In an attempt at self preservation, her sub-conscience mind extended itself away from her in search of Kaelin’Dar’s presence. Her mind did not find the solace or comfort of the deity in which it sought. Instead it found traces of that powerful entity that had swarmed over her twice since she had come to the tower. A presence so strong that if she were to awake, it would detect her and likely force itself once again upon her psyche. An act she probably could not withstand a third time in her weakened physical state. Veiled within darkness the priestess struggled to regain consciousness. She fought desperately to tell the difference between dreams and reality. Shifting her body painfully she groaned as enough of her conscious mind awoke to let the pain of her battered body reach it. She hurt everywhere from various injuries which included but were not limited to severe abrasions on her head, several broken ribs and a severely broken wrist. Shadow Dwarves hated the creatures of the light, but especially elves. They did not spare her any abuse. Truthfully, she was lucky to be alive and intact. Her head throbbed and as she took a deep breath, the dust and dank air caused her lungs to burn and she turned onto her side and coughed, the very action causing her stomach and ribs to wrench in complaint. Her eyelids were heavy and as she tried to lift them the darkness of her dreams seemed to extend into reality. Something sinister rippled upon the outskirts of her thoughts as she fought to open her eyes. Her sub-conscience recognized the presence and desperately pleaded for mercy. She brought her right hand to her forehead instinctively. As her bracelet-clad hand touched the dried blood of her head an image flashed momentarily at her through the darkness. The image was quick, but effective. It was the elven form of her goddess Kaelin’Dar. She spoke one word in Senora’s native tongue before being once again engulfed in a void of blackness. “Sleep.” Senora hesitated only momentarily before giving up the fight against the wisdom of her sub-conscience. Blissfully she drifted back into her dreams in order not to draw any attention to herself. Her mind was a magnet for something horrid, something deeply, disturbingly evil. Sometimes even a priestess must succumb to darkness in order to walk a higher road. |
<font color=white>Myron Epimetheus</font>
<font color=orchid>It has taken the boy a long time to arrive. But the little man knows that boys are foolish and easily distracted. Especially those who style themselves adventurers. And even moreso those given to accepting the romantic lies that come so readily to the broken hearted. The boy is so distracted with his preparations that he has not realized that another had arrived before him and the little man is content to quietly observe his preparations. His desiccated lips form a satisfied and amused smile as he glances at his notes. All has followed a rather predictable course, and the time spent in exploring ancient and forgotten threads has been time well-spent indeed. Once more the little man glances toward the boy. To see one so unskilled attempting so great an enchantment would ordinarily be little more than an example of the low comedy which so often marks the actions of men. Here, however, it is a thing of melancholy for the boy is so desperate to believe that he can do such a thing, and that the way he has chosen to do so is truly an effective way. Still, it is necessary that the truth of things be disclosed, and the finding of truth is sometimes a painful thing. This too the little man knows well. He rises and shuffles forward, his feet moving a few inches above the ground. He mutters softly as he moves, a sing song pattern of syllables in a tongue long unspoken before Ziroc had brought these forums into being. The soft fabric of his robe rustles as he moves his arm. There is a movement near the boy and then his sword, a trinket named Nightblade, appears in the hand of the little man. The blade protests that the little man is not fit to handle it, but all enchanted blades have an inflated sense of their own importance. And the little man takes no orders from what is nothing more than a toy. Once more he mutters, but this time the words are from a sterner and less melodic tongue, and the protesting of the blade and all of its powers fall dormant. “You swords are always the same,” his muttering becomes conversational. “Despite your insistence that you are unique and special, all of you are the same. Children’s toys that cry like spoiled children. Crying and whining and preening and preening and whining and crying and crying and whining and preening. Always the same and never do they change, these spoiled little toys whose egos are so great. The boy does not need you, little toy. But you have need of the boy. And so you make him believe he has need of you.” His fingers run lightly over its cutting edge and a painful emptiness fills the blade. “That,” he says, “is the feeling a toy gets once it has been outgrown. Learn it well, little sword, for soon the boy shall be outgrowing you.” The boy will not listen to what he might tell him at this point – he has come too far and invested too much to be turned aside now. But he must try. The little man’s fingers reach out and grasp the boy’s shoulder, and the cold that passes over his body alerts him to his visitor. Small dots of light gleam outward from sunken sockets that once housed eyes as the startled boy turns. Before he can speak the little man holds Nightblade out that he might take it. “A nice little blade, this,” he says, “better than several yet not so fine as many others, but a nice little blade all the same.” The lights within the little man’s sunken sockets flare and he smiles. “I trust it is worthy of the one who carries it.” As the boy takes the blade, the little man turns and shuffles to a small boulder where he sits. “It shall not work, of course. But do what you must. I shall wait here.” Perhaps the boy shall converse with him. More likely, however, that he continues about this desperate business upon which he has founded his hopes.</font> [ 07-13-2006, 08:24 PM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ] |
<font color=skyblue>
Larry saw the Nightblade begin to glow brightly, moreso than he’d ever seen it occur before and as he touched the hilt, it was found freezing to the touch, and he remembered the last time it had been so cold, years ago. This did not bode well, but as suddenly as it had registered high magic nearby, it went blank as though “defeated”. That had never happened before…and while he was yet sorting it out, he had been approached by what appeared to be a lich or other undead creature. Larry was so paralyzed with a fearful shock that he knew not what to do even as the lich removed his weapon from his own hands as though taking a toy from a child. However, no attack came, and the lich gave the sword back to him and retreated a few steps, seemingly amused at the Nightblade but at the same time rating it with a critic’s cold opinion and claiming that it would not work. Does he mean to say that attacking him would be fruitless, seeing as his power is greater than that of the Nightblade’s usefulness against him? Just then Larry’s heart calmed a moment, for his mind had been racing and he’d finally discovered an answer to this mystery. This had to be a baelnorn he faced. He was in an elvish settlement, albeit outside the town itself. Baelnorns were good-aligned elven liches. The fact that the once-great Mage of Ironworks was here, so close by…having brought problems to this very town previously four years ago…this protector was now come to observe what Larry Silverfall was doing back here again…to ensure that no trouble was brewing. With his composure returned, he responded to the baelnorn. ”Fear not Great One, as I shall not attack you for I have not come to destroy nor desecrate but to alleviate. I have come to reclaim my sleeping wife with magic that is safe to use here, and will only be directed at one single target, and she lies here, dead. I am her husband and I tend to resurrect her. I ask of you only to allow me to complete my duty.”</font> |
<font color=green>Andrion Wilgor
The shadows embrace closed around Andrion, and he found himself in a cocoon, which closed off all light from the outside, yet strangely that did not trouble the mage. Any normal man would have been scared out of his wits by such an enclosed space, but not Andrion Wilgor. Not after all he had gone through, and the hope he had just been given. His body, although a feeling of familiarity hung on the muscles, and every twitch of the nerves brought a new feeling of déjà-vu, was vastly unfamiliar. It was his own body and at the same time was not. But still, it was a kingly gift, and Andrion was not prepared to lose it to a prison of shadow, which threatened closing in on him. His thoughts were wrenched off their course by the pressing matter at hand. Already the walls were moving towards him, and Andrion had no doubt that the Mage spoke truthfully, and indeed he might find death between them. Several times before had he felt the influence of shadow on his deeds, but not once had he been the master of this strange power. Instead it had been it, adding unforeseen effects to his spells, or lending a helping hand in a moment of need. But now, Andrion had to demonstrate his mastery over it. After his brief bodyless spell, it was not hard to find the shadow influence he had felt then. The almost invisible presence was barely discernible in the utter blackness, and Andrion felt it more than seeing it, as he stretched a hand out and made contact with the shadowy wall. To his surprise the wall did not push him back but instead let him enter, already ready to devour his flesh. With enormous willpower Andrion withdrew his hand from the wall, his will battling against another. As his hand left the wall, the shadows clung to it, and once the contact was broken, the sinking back of the shadows sent out concentric ripples on the dark inner surface of the wall. His curiosity aroused by this strange event, Andrion drew a finger along the wall, and again observed the hungry shadows clinging to his flesh, unwilling to let go. With a sudden push against his will, the shadows tightened, reducing his space even more. But Andrion was close to the solution. As one of his hands was plunged fully inside the wall, the other continued exploring the shadowy surface, until they found a small snag in the fabric of shadow. The power battering against Andrion's will recoiled in a sudden moment of surprise at Andrion finding the small snag. It was all Andrion needed. His mind guiding his hand he grabbed hold of snag, and pulled, putting his whole willpower behind that simple gesture. With that amount of pressure applied at the wall's weakest point, not even the shadows could resist and in a matter of seconds light started breaking through rapidly widening cracks, and before even Andrion realised what had happened, the only remnants of the shadowy prison was a handful of shadowy substance held in his hand. Andrion glanced up at the Mage, and turning his hand palm down released the shadows, which crept back to where they belonged, behind objects and in dark corners. Hanging his head slightly, Andrion awaited his master's judgment.</font> |
<font color=steelblue>
The Mage smiled on as he watched Andrion free himself from the confines of the shadows and master them. Finally, this apprentice was ready for the next level in power-gaming with the Mage of Ironworks. “Andrion, you embarrassed me once but now you may redeem yourself. I shall bestow a power upon you that will give you the chance to be my agent in the world and the world of Ironworks will know of my power through you. Now hold still.” The Mage conjured a laptop to his throne and began to rewrite Andrion’s character script and genetic makeup. </font> //begin Andrion Upgrade >>access “AndrionWilgor”; >>mutable; goto main; >>define perimeter Chosen; >>goto OOC thread; >>add struct ChosenOfMage; >>static char; >>end; <font color=steelblue> The laptop vanished and the Mage looked down at his new creation. His new monster. A truly unique entity on Ironworks, for none other could say that they had ever been granted such a portion of a god’s powers to use independently before. Andrion had taken on the dark powers of Shadow and now stood as a true disciple of the Mage and his strange magic. ”Andrion, I think you need a little practice with your new powers. Therefore I shall send you on a little quest. It is simple enough.” Behind Andrion, a shadow portal appeared. ”Passing through this portal, you will shadow walk to a village far from here that I have selected. Simply destroy the village and return. You will be graded on this test. Now go.” </font> [ 07-18-2006, 02:22 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ] |
<font color=peru>Anarrima 55/67
She heard her friend Yevaud over her own spell and realized that he was right, and decided that her prayer to her goddess for this final spell would be the one to give her cover enough to try and flee....or that the final one could help her save herself. She did not know what she could do for Vincent. He was beyond her reach and would have to get to safety himself. If she could, she would try to help clear him a way. She readied her spell as her prayer drew to a close. Ana casts: Air Walk (yes...it has been in my ready-list since the beginning.) She did not appear to have caused anything to happen, but suddenly she stepped forward and was treading on the air. She stepped up, climbing as it were a set of stairs at a 45 degree angle, and when she had taken a dozen of these steps, she ran as fast as she could towards where Yevaud had signalled they flee. She looked back to see Vincent's astonished expression and realized that he was still stuck on his tiny island of land in the middle of the swamp. She stopped and turned. "Vincent! I cannot leave you!" She realized then that she had almost walked out of this swamp and left Vincent...just like she had left Marcos behind...was she really this type of monster? She turned and started running back towards him, not knowing what she could do to help. She was about ten feet in the air when she got to him, and knew that her air-walk time would only last another 9 minutes before she had to decend. What could be done?</font> |
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