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[ 04-05-2005, 01:49 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

<font color=99FFCC>Morguerat

The warrior accepted the spells silently grateful for the aid. Finding the location of the scream was going to become more and more difficult as more time passed from the origin of the cry. He was no ranger, and had little experience with woodcraft, in fact he was probably only slightly more skilled than Larry, but he was confident that if it was his fate to find the person who had cried out that it would be so. Helm was not known to work openly but minor portents and a small bit of luck tipped in his direction would tell whether he was going the right direction in his gawd's sight.</font>

<font color=seagreen>Yevaud

The entire castle had become subdued, sound was nearly nonexistent except for the quiet voices or Ana and the defeated tones of Marcos. The soldiers were quiet, waiting for any sign of action to prove their value. They were demoralized by the previous day, revitalized by the morning, but the temper of their spirits was unknowable. With firm leadership they would be kept taut and functional. Yevaud himself felt fatigue pulling away at his alertness, and while elves do not sleep in the same manner as mortal men do, they have a need for rest and have similar limits before they must cease action and take reverie. Yevaud was fighting this need and losing the battle as his wits began to cloud and his eyes began to droop.

<font color=white>"Halt! Identify yourself, elf!"</font>

A cry from within the tower. He tore at the fog, slashing it away and clearing his head. He glanced nervously around and pointed at three of the guards who were in the main room. Two were armed with pole-arms and the third had a crossbow "You men come with me." He then began sprinting in the direction of the call. He would not allow the drow to escape in magical disguise, and if he had to take him down before the vile creatures spell was broken, it would be a pleasure to bag his first drow. A grim smile touched his lips as he said "We're hunting drow men, don't be fooled by it's illusions."</font>

OOC: the above post describes events as Yevaud sees them (especially his view of the men's morale and how they are feeling) not necessarily as they are.

<font color=555555>Reaper

The Reaper<font color=CCCCCC> was weary. His servants were failing him. He had not tortured innocents to death in nearly two days. His troops were chaotic and spitefull. Without direction they would establish their normal pecking orders. Orcs would treat the goblins as slaves and laze about while the goblins did the menial tasks that bred order and effeciency, and the goblins, hateful of their treatment would perform minimally, failing to develope the discipline the tasks were designed to impart. Making examples of them would not change their behavior. They needed a reason to work, a reminder of who their master was, and why they died under his heel. He spent much of that day grousing at his commanders deciding on a clan of Orcs to make his point with.</font></font>

<font color=peru>Ana 67/67

The good feeling one gets after an act of selfless service evaporated as Yevaud barked out orders to three human guards to go discover the source of the alarm from another human in the castle. It sounded like trouble was about to begin again.

"Oh dear!...I have the blessings from the Goddess to assist in battles, but at the moment I am unable call upon them! Yevaud! Do be careful!"

She called out after him, even as he disappeared around the corner and could be heard ascending the stairwell. Actually, it was the three humans that were heard. Yevaud's gracefullness gave him an ease at stepping with softer footfalls, even in his fatigued state.

She looked to Vincent and Marcos. Vincent had been missing his armor, but just then another soldier came running in carrying the very equipment that had been stolen.

<font color=white>"Look what I found! These were laying on the floor in one o' those rooms up there! I think it belongs to our elf friend here."</font>

"Thank you, sir. Vincent, Marocs? Are you well enough for battle? Has the ressurrection left you with any ill side effects?"</font>

[ 04-05-2005, 02:09 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

<font color=green>Andrion Wilgor 22/22

He heard a voice. A voice, which he did not recognize. Yet he needed to be sure. He wouldn't want to report false news to his master. Misinformation, he had learnt was worse than no information. Fighting against the tiredness gradually overwhelming him, Andrion flapped his wings and dived towards where he had heard the voices going, intending to get a visual confirmation.</font>

OOC: he shall not go nearer than 100 meters (~330 feet)

[ 04-06-2005, 01:21 AM: Message edited by: dplax ]

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

<font color=gray>Mighty Terrakis whose cunning and power crushed all who stood against the giants of shadow and their allies has been gone for some time. Such was the authority of his voice, however, that activity here is still directed by his words. Grim giants patrol these lightless warrens, hounds whose substance is culled from that of shadow itself bounding in packs before them. Those few surviving stragglers of those who had opposed them have been hunted down and slaughtered and the oppressive silence of a realm broken and enslaved fills these caverns where even the muted chorus of the dead would seem to have lost its voice.

To say that all is silent here, however, would not be correct, for against the hard stone of these cavern walls there echoes the ringing tone of a song, a tune of the dour and unyielding embrace of the harshness of this world, a song whose singing means that there is work to be done .......

<font color=plum>And it’s go, boys, go!
They’ll time your very breath,
and every day you’re in this place
you’re two days nearer death.
But you goooooooooooooooo!
- Great Big Sea</font></font>

Vincent Pathfinder 98/98

" <font color=silver> Aa'lasser en lle coia orn n' omenta gurtha </font color=silver>" Vincent to the gaurd in his common tongue as he was given his armor. " <font color=silver> A new sun rises on what has been a dark day for us. May we learn our lesson and strive to not forget it. Give me a momeent to get my armor in place and make sure I am capable. Cuamin linduva yassen megrille" </font color=silver>

ooc: Bozos has inspired me to put my own elvish in there. I have been slacking in rp skills. translations are : May the leaves of your life tree never turn brown and My bow shall sing with your sword. Edit for sig.

[ 04-06-2005, 09:20 AM: Message edited by: Elif Godson ]

Senora 60/60

Senora gasped quietly, but not quietly enough. The sound of a twig snapping while simultaneously seeing the rustle of the underbrush ahead and to the right of her took her completely by surprise. She automatically dropped into a crouch willing her heart to slow it's startled pace. The bushes she had seen move couldn’t be more than 10 feet ahead of her. Why hadn’t she become aware of something else near her before now? She could understand why it hadn’t been aware of her as she was traveling as stealthily as she could. However, she had also been using every elven sense she possessed to pick up any trace of any other presence in the forest. She should have noticed in time to avoid them if she wished.

She self-consciously tugged the hood of her cloak lower ensuring that whoever was behind those bushes would not be able to see her features, even if they were to encounter each other. She ran a thumb over the hilt of the short sword strapped to her side for reassurance. Some considered it an unusual choice of weapon for a cleric. She didn’t think so, after all, she was no usual cleric. She cleared her mind in preparation for a fight all the while never taking her eyes off the bushes she knew to be hiding someone or something behind it. Only years of mastery at self-control kept her mind from returning to the evil feelings that had flood through her a short time before. Allowing fear to creep into her thoughts would only cloud her mind and weaken her chances for victory if a conflict were to occur. Take every moment as only a moment. Assume nothing. Expect nothing. After all, those bushes may house little more than deer. Kaelin’Dar help me. She allowed her hand to fully grip the hilt of her sword and waited.

[ 04-07-2005, 03:18 AM: Message edited by: Salinye ]

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

He stood up, straightening the armor, adjusting straps and hanging the hammer back in its loop. When he considered himself presentable once more he turned to the healer.

"If I am risen from the dead to do battle once more, I shall. Though, it would ease my spirit were you to take my confession as soon as this is convenient for you."</font>

[ 04-11-2005, 07:18 AM: Message edited by: Legolas ]