Part 5>>>The Shadow of Love (an LoF adventure)

[Larry_OHF]

Larry 23/23

He looked around to his ally to see if his expression warned him of anything,,,and when he turned back around he shrugged and said,

"Well...yeah I guess I could tell you of it. I am a little surprised however, seeing all the hostility taking place downstairs and you would hear of something as odd as this. What would it do for you to know?"

[Elif Godson]

Vincent Pathfinder 47/80

Watching his last arrow ricochet off the wall and fall to the ground he readily notched another arrow ready to let it fly when everything seemed to come to a halt, but only for a momment until he blinked and breathed in hot schorching air. The room was cast a fire and it seemed for a moment that the hot air was chilled as well. He blinked the pain away and reset himself, there was a new enemy in the room as well, a skeleton standing in front of Marco's who was standing still. Vince also noticed one of the gaurds moving, he had his eyes fixed on a location and before Vince could react the gaurd dove at the spot and fell to the ground clutching something in his arms. that must be the mage, it has to be he thought. Without a second thought he let the arrow fly at what the gaurd was holding, then charged forth unstringing his bow, towards the skeleton readying his bow to use as a club.

[RoSs_bg2_rox]

Silt 80/80

Silt, who had been iniating combat with Kynnen, blinked as he felt a heat surge fly past him. He saw Marcos get injured, fire, followed by ice. He must fight his own battle Silt decided. I must deal with Kynnen, for he is just as dangerous, and the only way to kill him will be to use speed as an advantage to the slow Halberd.

And with that Silt quickly turned back to Kynnen, eyes boaring straight into him. Raising his weapons he started moving them, slowly gaining speed until they were dancing all over, trying to get passed Kynnen's Halberd and at the Drow himself.

OOC>>is there a speed factor in this?

[Larry_OHF]

When Vincent attacks Andrion

Vince had been aiming for the mage, even before Time Stop. It was then enevitable that he'd see Mendel work his way over there, and get killed by an invisible assailant. Knowing what he was looking for, Vincent already had an arrow notched and ready. When he saw the shot, he took it.

Taking into consideration the penalty for trying to hit an invisible man, but then adding in the bonuses to hit by Vincent, Vincent's bonuses negate the penalty. Also, Andrion's AC vs. Vincent's Dex. bonus has been calculated.

Here is the result of the roll.

To hit:
Roll(1d20)
17
Total: 17 (Slam!!)

Damage:
Roll(1d6)+2:
4,+2
Sub Total:6 x 2 = 12HP damage
(Andrion is lucky this time)


Andrion has taken 12HP damage from the shot.


[ 01-31-2005, 09:44 PM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

[Cyril Darkcloud]

Kiria’na

She steps back a moment at the sudden bursting into sound of the woman, a sound as of a wolf emerging from the silver banded throat of a human. Deep and subtle are its tones and a curious combining of plaintiveness and strength gives them movement. The sheer strength of the howl is nearly overwhelming to one standing so close and the young woman takes a swift step backward. Steps made in an unhurried gracefulness quickly find a spot where she can stand and seek out the varied tonalities of the howling as it moves within the air of this place. She is silent and careful with her own breathing that she might do more than merely hear this sound. She feels it upon her skin and her lungs fill in time to its vigor. And so she remains, listening with the peculiar intensity of her people, a listening that is more than the simple hearing of sound, until the woman whose throat is caged in silver lowers her gaze, closes her lips and falls silent catching her breath in the fading echoes of her howl.

Meeting the woman’s eyes, she smiles and, as is her way, laughter follows naturally upon smiling. It is a bright sound, merry after the solemn notes of the howl, small in the wake of its power, but clear and sure nonetheless. She is curious, and it is with difficulty that she restrains the flood of questions she longs to ask this one whose voice sounded within the free and living air a song of sacrifice, a call of life to be lived and life to be lost. “I understand,” she says quietly, “at least I believe so .....”

She turns, to leave and then stops suddenly, turning once more to the woman. Again she laughs, “No,” she smiles, “I do not suppose he ever would have told you ....... Such is not his way.” Seeing the surprise and confusion in the woman’s face, her pauses. “Sof’ya,” she says, “Sof’ya ush’a ha’shamma’im ...... your name, the one he had given you ......”

“Hope that burns under foreign skies.”

She spins around once more, a movement that has more of dancing than of walking about it and as the dim notes of another more distant howling rise in the air, her dancing steps carry her forward a short distance and then she is simply gone from sight. Her laughter lingers, however, bright and merry. And within the laughter are words for the ear that is swift enough to hear them, “Sof’ya, Burning Hope, do not forget that sacrifice often is easy. Living, that is hard. Choose wisely.”

[Cyril Darkcloud]

ooc: As long as I’m getting caught up .......

Elsewhere - At about the dinner hour

A howl, thunderous and mournful, rises in the distance. Life, life ancient and powerful expresses itself. The woman. Ears straighten and nostrils expand hungrily after her scent. Once more, however, other scents are heavy in the air, the scents of other lives, lives to be devoured on the way to the woman, lives that know the woman. A rumbling rises within powerful bodies, a rumbling like the toppling of coffins and the breaking of the bones of the dead. In gasps of terrible hunger the rumbling shudders outward through throats filled with the polluted air of the grave. First from, the largest, a howling bursts forth, a sound heavy with the sonorous droning of unliving monotony, a weighty, ponderous and oppressive sound. One throat rumbles with sound and yet within a single throat is the howling of many, as if an entire pack of the dead find collective voice in the lifelessness of a single set of hungry jaws.

From other throats the same ponderous tones arise and within these throats too are the death rattles of the many. Heavy is the song, heavy with unrelenting monotone of the dead, and as the heavy notes of this song crash against the stillness of oncoming night legs begin to move. The air is heavy with the stink of life and death arrives singing the song of its hunger. They run as a pack and yet each itself is the death of a pack, and so they split, some toward the wolves that belong to the woman and others in the direction of the dragon. And a quiet town with its famous tavern lies along their way......

[Bozos of Bones]

Kynnen 67/85

Kynnen noticed the magics suddenly soaring around the room, a ball of fire and a wave of frost, and an enemy being stopped in his tracks. He glanced to see a man who was obviously not dead, but paralyzed, altho greatly injured already. He saw a great opportunity to use him. Moving backward, he came close to the man under the spell, and stood behind him. He took the halberd blade close to the man's neck with one hand, while grabbing him fast around the chest with the other, and looked at the swordsman on the other side of the man. "Come near, and he dies!" He turned so that the man also covered him from the archer just outside the room. He looked around to see the men the wizard had took under his control, and saw them either dead or getting there. Maybe this man would also be a good source of information? He looked like he had rank, and information to divulge. Kynnen grinned at his own genious.

OOC: If Silt moves to attack, or Marcos regains movement and tries to fight, the halberd comes down. Down at his poor little 11 hp life.

[ 02-01-2005, 11:31 AM: Message edited by: Bozos of Bones ]

[Larry_OHF]

Alone, in a tower created with the strange power of the weave of Shadow...sits an entity that has claimed ownership of much of the land of Ironworks. He sat upon his throne, observing the terrible creations that now aided him in his quest to terminate the life of one druid. The irony of the super-natural wolf against the unnatural wolf was not wasted, and the Mage laughed aloud as though he were watching a comic skit.

He was in his tower, but his eyes were there, viewing the hunt in a first-person view. A dark shape sat in the woods, watching with eyes wide and silent. Not many natural creatures were as great of a hunter as the owl...and when one is touched by the dark arts of shadow magic...that power is enhanced to unmeasurable degree.

As the wolves hunted below, the Shadow Owl took flight to follow them in silence above. Its eyes shone fierce with red hatred, which indicated the presence of the Mage...who was even now watching this band of hungry predators hunt for their meat.



OOC>>>Image has not been tampered with.
The red eyes are the result of the flash when the photographer captured the image.

[ 02-01-2005, 11:33 AM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

[Larry_OHF]

For Kynnen
(Who grinned at his own genious.)

"Attack the closest, until he is dead!"


That had been the command. The Skeletal Chieftan moved to obey. It saw Marcos, and that was its prey. It began to move.

But then an odd occurance took place. The drow had slipped by the half-elf who wielded two blades, come to the side of Marcos, and attempted to hold the held man hostage. He did so in a way as to prevent not only Silt, but also the archer Vincent to stay where he was...for Vincent had begun running toward Marcos and the Skeletal Chieftan to stop the undead from attacking the Inquisitor. But he no longer had to worry about that.

The drow had his back to his ally, Andrion, but also had his back to the Skeleton. Now Kynnen was the closest target. The Skeletal Chieftan examined this new turn of events, remembering the only command it had been given. "Attack the closest, until he is dead!"

The Skeletal Chieftan came within striking distance of the Drow, raised its rusty sword and brought it down toward the drow's shoulder.

OOC>>>I am at school.
I need a roll for hit and damage done here for me.
Cyril? Morgie?

[ 02-01-2005, 11:56 AM: Message edited by: Larry_OHF ]

[Cyril Darkcloud]

It does not breathe. It does not feel. No living heart beats behind the cage of bone that forms its chest. Still it moves, unfeeling and uncaring and capable of little more than destruction. The rattling of mail against bone is the only sound it makes, a cold and efficient sound. “Strike the nearest until he is dead.” Bony fingers grip the hilt of an ancient broadsword whose edge is wickedly serrated and a mail clad arm strikes out in a simple and brutal manner and combat is joined ......

Kynnen is struck by the sword for 10 points of damage.

...... strike the nearest until he is dead.

[ 02-01-2005, 12:23 PM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]