Ironworks Gaming Forum - View Single Post - The Chronicles of Merick -- part I

Rockstar · 04-17-2007, 09:56 AM

CHAPTER 3
ACT VI
The Flaming Fist

Merick started his walk up to the Friendly Arm Inn. Although he’d received a heavy burn on his upper right arm, he knew the main roads were the quickest way to Peldvale, and time was of the essence. All he wanted to do was to find Tarzok. Merick pondered. Tarzok could not be the leader behind this whole operation. Tarzok was just a puppet being used to maneuver the bandit raids on the caravans. He had to be getting the funds from a higher source to pay these bandits for their services.

Merick journeyed about half way to the Friendly Arm Inn when he stopped in his tracks. He was not alone. The road he was on had turned into more of a bush track, with thick forest lining both sides of the road. As Merick had suspected five armored solders with bows sprung out of the forest creating a wonky twenty perimeter around the dwarf. On the chest plates of the soldiers was a picture of a burning fist. These soldiers were of The Flaming Fist. Merick wondered if he had bitten off more than he could chew this time. These soldiers were the elite of the elite and trained to work in small units. The officer that was searching for Merick in Beregost must some how have alerted a battalion up in Merick’s current location when Merick refused to go and speak to her. Merick felt his heart begin to race as he quickly drew his bow and an arrow as the five soldiers did the same and aimed at Merick.

Merick spun in a quick circle to see his enemies’ locations and aimed at one which spoke. “By order of The Flaming Fist, you are under arrest to stand trial for the murder of the Mayor of Nashkel. Now drop your weapons and lay on the ground. We will bind your hands and promise you will not come to harm.” Merick began to lower his bow as he muttered to himself. “This is one dwarf ye not be catching!” Merick snapped to his feet and fired a quick, but sloppy shot at the soldier in front of him. The arrow pierced the soldier’s hip before he cried out “Fire!”. Merick went to draw another arrow but got hit in his injured, right bicep. Merick dropped the arrow he was holding in that hand and bolted for the bush. As Merick hooked his bow over his back, he saw an arrow sail just above his head. He was nearly at the trees when he arched his back in agony as two more arrows hit him in his upper back. Merick dived into the forest and got hit again, this time in his calf. Merick thought that the end was near, but he could only run.

Bolting as fast as he could, Merick saw arrows sail past him and hitting tree trunks in front of him. Merick grit his teeth in pain, only concentrating on running as fast as he could. He jolted as another arrow hit him in the lower back. Merick kept running till he had lost them. Merick’s armor and thick skin had stopped the arrows from penetrating overly deep, but Merick was wounded, badly. Blood was running heavily down his armor, and as he felt himself weaken, Merick knew that couple more arrows in the wrong place would mean his fall. He hunched over in pain and exhaustion when he heard another arrow hissing through the air. An arrow hit Merick in the side, below his ribs. Merick kept on running, trying to keep a northward direction to save back tracking. Merick’s wounds were slowing him, but the forest was getting thicker and he soon lost his attackers.

Merick ran another kilometer before he nearly collapsed and stopped to rip out all the arrows and tip healing potions over his arrow wounds. Merick was deep in the forest where nobody could find him. His armor had heavy lines of blood leaking from the punctures where the arrows had hit and Merick knew that his only hope now was to rest in the hope that nobody found him while he recovered his wounds. The power that had healed him in the past was the only thing keeping him alive at this point. Merick lay against a tree and closed his eyes, knowing that if his power to heal was not strong enough, that he would die this day.

Merick awoke. He had overslept and the sun had gone down. He examined his wounds and found he was lucky. His wounds were bad, and although they had healed somewhat, he would be able to make a painful journey back to The Friendly Arm but would not be able to defend against any attack now until he could be healed. Merick got to his feet and trudged his way back to the main road until he reached the Friendly Arm Inn.

Merick went through the gates of the Friendly Arm Inn and headed straight to the temple. Merick staggered through and crashed over on a table. The priest could see Merick was wounded and immediately helped Merick onto the healing table as the healer got to work on him. Merick awoke to see the sun up. He had slept for hours and hours, but his wounds were gone and he felt rejuvenated. He sprung to his feet in a fluster and could only hope that Tarzok was still at the bandit camp, preparing the raid. Flustered, and not thinking, Merick threw a generous amount of at the priest and ran out of the in. His wounds were completely recovered but he did not have time to organise new armor. Merick dashed out of the Friendly Arm Inn and headed east and charged into the Peldvale Forest, to the bandit camp.

[ 04-17-2007, 10:17 AM: Message edited by: Rockstar ]

04-17-2007, 09:56 AM	#23
Rockstar Zhentarim Guard Join Date: January 4, 2003 Location: Australia Posts: 300	CHAPTER 3 ACT VI The Flaming Fist Merick started his walk up to the Friendly Arm Inn. Although he’d received a heavy burn on his upper right arm, he knew the main roads were the quickest way to Peldvale, and time was of the essence. All he wanted to do was to find Tarzok. Merick pondered. Tarzok could not be the leader behind this whole operation. Tarzok was just a puppet being used to maneuver the bandit raids on the caravans. He had to be getting the funds from a higher source to pay these bandits for their services. Merick journeyed about half way to the Friendly Arm Inn when he stopped in his tracks. He was not alone. The road he was on had turned into more of a bush track, with thick forest lining both sides of the road. As Merick had suspected five armored solders with bows sprung out of the forest creating a wonky twenty perimeter around the dwarf. On the chest plates of the soldiers was a picture of a burning fist. These soldiers were of The Flaming Fist. Merick wondered if he had bitten off more than he could chew this time. These soldiers were the elite of the elite and trained to work in small units. The officer that was searching for Merick in Beregost must some how have alerted a battalion up in Merick’s current location when Merick refused to go and speak to her. Merick felt his heart begin to race as he quickly drew his bow and an arrow as the five soldiers did the same and aimed at Merick. Merick spun in a quick circle to see his enemies’ locations and aimed at one which spoke. “By order of The Flaming Fist, you are under arrest to stand trial for the murder of the Mayor of Nashkel. Now drop your weapons and lay on the ground. We will bind your hands and promise you will not come to harm.” Merick began to lower his bow as he muttered to himself. “This is one dwarf ye not be catching!” Merick snapped to his feet and fired a quick, but sloppy shot at the soldier in front of him. The arrow pierced the soldier’s hip before he cried out “Fire!”. Merick went to draw another arrow but got hit in his injured, right bicep. Merick dropped the arrow he was holding in that hand and bolted for the bush. As Merick hooked his bow over his back, he saw an arrow sail just above his head. He was nearly at the trees when he arched his back in agony as two more arrows hit him in his upper back. Merick dived into the forest and got hit again, this time in his calf. Merick thought that the end was near, but he could only run. Bolting as fast as he could, Merick saw arrows sail past him and hitting tree trunks in front of him. Merick grit his teeth in pain, only concentrating on running as fast as he could. He jolted as another arrow hit him in the lower back. Merick kept running till he had lost them. Merick’s armor and thick skin had stopped the arrows from penetrating overly deep, but Merick was wounded, badly. Blood was running heavily down his armor, and as he felt himself weaken, Merick knew that couple more arrows in the wrong place would mean his fall. He hunched over in pain and exhaustion when he heard another arrow hissing through the air. An arrow hit Merick in the side, below his ribs. Merick kept on running, trying to keep a northward direction to save back tracking. Merick’s wounds were slowing him, but the forest was getting thicker and he soon lost his attackers. Merick ran another kilometer before he nearly collapsed and stopped to rip out all the arrows and tip healing potions over his arrow wounds. Merick was deep in the forest where nobody could find him. His armor had heavy lines of blood leaking from the punctures where the arrows had hit and Merick knew that his only hope now was to rest in the hope that nobody found him while he recovered his wounds. The power that had healed him in the past was the only thing keeping him alive at this point. Merick lay against a tree and closed his eyes, knowing that if his power to heal was not strong enough, that he would die this day. Merick awoke. He had overslept and the sun had gone down. He examined his wounds and found he was lucky. His wounds were bad, and although they had healed somewhat, he would be able to make a painful journey back to The Friendly Arm but would not be able to defend against any attack now until he could be healed. Merick got to his feet and trudged his way back to the main road until he reached the Friendly Arm Inn. Merick went through the gates of the Friendly Arm Inn and headed straight to the temple. Merick staggered through and crashed over on a table. The priest could see Merick was wounded and immediately helped Merick onto the healing table as the healer got to work on him. Merick awoke to see the sun up. He had slept for hours and hours, but his wounds were gone and he felt rejuvenated. He sprung to his feet in a fluster and could only hope that Tarzok was still at the bandit camp, preparing the raid. Flustered, and not thinking, Merick threw a generous amount of at the priest and ran out of the in. His wounds were completely recovered but he did not have time to organise new armor. Merick dashed out of the Friendly Arm Inn and headed east and charged into the Peldvale Forest, to the bandit camp. [ 04-17-2007, 10:17 AM: Message edited by: Rockstar ]