Part 6>>>The Shadow of Love (an LoF adventure)

[Legolas]

Inquisitor Marcos of Snowdale - 98/98

It was not hard to appear decisive so far. There was only one way to journey safe back. More relevant was the manner in which they would make that journey. Weapons ready, or at ease? With a wary eye for traps, or at a steady pace? Should they call out for whatever was inside, or use stealth and care to determine what they would be facing before any confrontations. The inquisitor leaned somewhat more to caution now that he had been sent a very plain reminder that his own success or failure would affect the lives of many. And they would not merely be guardsmen and travelling elves should the Modding Mage live to carry out its evil, in any guise or person.

As he did not detect such evil here, he assumed any killing had been done either by traps, by mindless guardians, or ancient defenders. He would not find out until facing whatever awaited him here, for while he recognised the importance of gathering intelligence perhaps more than any other, stealth, silence and deception were not the ways of Choc-fearing men. However, he deemed it best not to call out, for that would leave too little room to fall back to in the event of agression. They would advance to the next room and he would be in a better position to analyse their situation.
And while perhaps caution was warranted lest they end up in a death-trap, the high likelyhood of encountering something living meant that he was reluctant to send any one of those with him scouting ahead, only to be sent to an early grave. He would be the first to enter the next room then.

Finally then, the weaponry. Whether to be most battle-ready, or to radiate no hostile intent.
Knowing that men had entered here and that something had sent those outside running and screaming, he realised that any living creatures would by now be most unlikely to trust strangers.
And so, it would not do to shatter any and all chance at dialogue prematurely.

"There is no immediate threat, and you may sheath your weapons for the time. We will enter into the next room and see what awaits us there. Do not touch or take anything, do not go wandering on your own, and attempt to walk in line."

With that, the inquisitor opened the door and stepped through.

[ 06-23-2005, 10:58 AM: Message edited by: Legolas ]

[Larry_OHF]

As Marcos opens the door and walks through, the torchlight reveals a hallway in which the door that was just opened is at the dead end thereof. No other doors are seen along the walls, and straight ahead is a turn to the left. You hear nothing, see nothing and smell nothing that would alarm you, aside from the blood trail which leads you...if you so choose it to.

[Morgeruat]

Yevaud

Moving into position behind Marcos, Yevaud scanned the hallway, and then began listening for any noise, slowly letting his sword slide completely into the scabbard. While he was confident in his ability to defeat any mortal foe, being on edge for the entire night amplified the natural fatigue he felt as a result of not sleeping. He would press on as long as he was able, and then... he would climb that tree when he reached it.

[ 06-23-2005, 01:26 PM: Message edited by: Morgeruat ]

[Legolas]

Inquisitor Marcos of Snowdale - 98/98

The trail of blood was a plain indication that some thing or person had been dragging remains along. That rather ruled out any incorporeal beings, unless of course they were dealing with more than one type of occupant. It also hinted at a basic level of cunning or intelligence, either from the entity in question or from its master.
That implied two things.
Firstly, that it might indeed be possible to communicate with this other. Secondly, that following the smears blindly might send them stumbling into a well-devised ambush or similar trap. The amount of blood and the downward plunge of the guards' morale was enough of a demonstration of this other's brutality in battle.

But for the moment, there was but one way to travel. The inquisitor continued on without a word, and turned the corner.

[Elif Godson]

Vincent Pathfinder 98/98

" As you wish Marcos, but if unsure, let me check ahead".
With that he relaxed and slid his arrows back into there quiver. Hand at the ready should he need them, he focused on the path ahead.

[Larry_OHF]

For Marcos and team:

As Marcos turns the corner, he sees a doorway about 20 paces ahead and it has been left open, swung backwards, hinges on the left. From this view, those that are on this side of the door can see a table with chairs in the room ahead...but that is not all. Its what is in the chairs that causes an unsettling in one's stomach. The table's occupants are corpses, all sitting or fallen over in various positions from head down on the table to fallen over on the floor directly beside their chair. Dust covers the table and nothing seems to be moving within the room. The blood stain trails right into this room.

[Bozos of Bones]

Kynnen 73/85

Kynnen followed the frog leaping away Well, it was a good idea, he justified himself to himself And whatever walks towards me in this crypt will meet the same fate. Kynnen rose, and continued down the path, his falchion in hand, ready to cut legs off.

[Larry_OHF]

For Kynnen:

You follow the cavern pass and your elven senses tell you that you are gradually decending deeper.
After about 30 minutes of walking, you finally see something other than rock.
It is the corpse of another adventurer, by the looks of it. He is torn apart, limbs and head parted from the torso, and his metal armor ripped like cloth. He has been dead for some time. As you get closer, the corpse's head rolls over to look at you, eyes gleaming a faint red. It works its jaws in a manner of speaking something to you, but the language it is speaking is unkown and barely a dusty whisper.

[Legolas]

Inquisitor Marcos of Snowdale - 98/98

The entire scene resembled one Trisia would leave before their mother died. A deserted room, guests left behind like discarded playthings, at least the table was empty. A macabre teaparty forgotten by its host.
It suggested a childish, playful mind, but a twisted one besides. It was not a cruelty he would wish for any to fall prey to.

Wary for whatever might lurk in the corners, he entered this room also and took position beside the near door. From there he first examined the walls and ceiling, before turning his attention to the slain in an effort to determine the cause of their deaths.

[Morgeruat]

The perpetual storms that blackened the skies of the Reapers domain were silent this day. Silent, but not absent. The foul wind whipped through the ranks of the Shattered Knuckle clan. They were lined up, every man, woman, and child of the orcish clan, armed to the teeth and in their best ceremonial garb. A foul smelling and acting mob they were nonetheless proud to be the vanguard of the attacking force. As the sun rose a thin weak light filtered through the roiling clouds brightening the valley enough to make using their night vision unfeasible.
An ebon figure was spotted then, descending through the storm on the back of a horse that ran through the skies, flames leaping from its feet at every step.
Many of the dark servants cowered an unanticipated fear building to terror as the living nightmare descended into their midst. Ukelukiok the chieftain of the Shattered Knuckle clan stepped forward to await his master's arrival.

A few minutes passed and the clattering of hooves filled the silent valley as the Reaper landed his mount. In a single bound the vile knight was on the ground striding towards the orcish chieftain. A hollow voice rang out from the Reaper, the fearsome visage of his helm causing the words to echo dully even as the left his mouth. "Your clan has been awarded great honor, such that every member will be part of the initial strike and share the danger, and glory equally." A roar filled the valley as the clan broke out into cheers excitedly proclaiming the glory that would soon be theirs. After waiting for the cheering to quiet Reaper continued "An honor that shall be made doubly great by your noble decision to leave your armor and weapons here for those who will follow." Reaper paused for the applause that started then quickly died as the orcs realized what had just been said. A few voices cried out against the injustice and squads of man-wolves rushed in quickly to devour the dissenters.

Order was quickly restored and the Orcs began the march through the mountains, well informed that the wolf-men would be scouring the mountains for deserters, and that the best hope for survival the unarmed and armorless orcs faced was to bravely face and deal death at the hands of the hated dwarves.
The march through the mountains was brutal, the storms blasted dozens of orcs over the cliff faces while stragglers were picked off by hungry beasts dispatched to keep the orcs marching. Icy winds, frozen feet and starving children all faced the orcs. For a week they marched, until they were prepared for the confrontation with the dwarves. Starving, frostbitten, dying of exposure, they were ready as the Reaper had planned.

The battle was bloody and short, of the one thousand five hundred and thirty seven orcs that marched that day all were slaughtered, most before the gates of the dwarf lords who had barred their hold long ago, but several hundred also threw themselves off of the narrow cliffs, rather than wait to be slaughtered, and more ran, hoping to luck to escape the brutal efficiency of the wolf-weres, they were not so lucky as they had hoped.

A single goblin, a miserable creature ill-treated most severely by the orcs, had been dispatched as a standard bearer and returned, the spells warding him had returned him when the Orcs were destroyed. The banner of their tribe was hung at the gates of Reapers keep, and the story quickly spread that the Reaper would not tolerate disorder, shirking of duty, or complacence in his army, and the directed genocide of an entire clan who had been the most severe perpetrators of those crimes was a shockingly effective reminder. Reaper chuckled as order was restored to his troops and sent word that soon, very soon, the time would come to expand the kingdom. The training and tasks proceeded without further complication as the orcs and goblins worked to bring their skill to a level that would be deemed acceptable by the Reaper.


[ 06-28-2005, 02:34 PM: Message edited by: Morgeruat ]