Post by K Man on Oct 28, 2004 11:18:48 GMT -5
{Romar.... 
wow...seriously man. That was one helluva letter! Excellent work!}
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Hero, Garor, Callian, Angelus, Caelith and Newt - Trudging along through the woods, pushing the cart laden with the gem, you slowly watch the light fade from the world around you. As though 'The Master' himself is wrapping his tryannous hands around the earth, the sun falls quickly and you're all reminded of just how far from home you really are.
By the last inkling of twilight, you find yourselves looking upon the militant walls of Cannon't Foot with a sigh of relief. Even if the city is inhospitable, it's better than the colds wilds around you. The crossbows, the ballistae...every projectile weapon in the city looks infinetely more inviting than the forest you just came from.
As though to add emphasis to this eerie feeling, the woods seem to leak a thick fog, denser than any you have seen to date. An additional ingredient to this bizarre mix is the ramparts of Cannon's Foot...they are lined with soldiers holding torches. Each armored Elf and Dwarf atop the walls seem to graps their torch as though through sheer will alone they will keep the fog away.
Slightly picking up pace, you pause roughly thirty feet from the gate and prepare to annouce yourselves. Before you can even mutter a haling word, one of the soldiers atop the wall screams and points!
"Refugees!! Open the gates quickly! Before the SlaughterFog reaches them!"
SlaughterFog? The name strikes fear into you heart if its moniker is any indication of its ability...you spin and look to the very woods you emerged from moments ago.
The fog has moved...rather rapidly and has spread like the most contagious of viruses. You peer into the thick depths and you swear, even from a few hundred feet away...you can see...something moving in the mist. Several...no countless things moving...
The massive gates creaking open snap your attention back to Cannon's Foot. A single gate slides open ever so slowly and a group of ten men run out to usher you into the gates. They surround your wagon and nearly lift it from the ground, adrenaline and fear pushing their bodies to the limits. You have little choice but to not resist as you are all shoved into the city and the gate is slammed shut behind you.
The man from before leaps down from the rampart, catching a pole to slow his descent. He is an Elven man, less attractive by their standards...and maybe even a few human standards. His raven hair is pulled tightly into a frayed ponytail and his scale armor is battered and worn. A single scar runs the length of his left cheek. He looks you over and sizes up your strange cargo.
"Name's Delomme. I'd say welcome, but no one here wishes anyone to endure what we have suffered..."
"And by the name of all things good and holy, what the hell is that thing on the cart?"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Krysta, Girud and Galdren - Rushing through the woods, you do your best to follow the scouts. They seem to melt into the woods themselves, disappearing into the treeline leaving only slightly waivering branches and the occasional snap of a twig as a sign they were ever there.
You rush as fast as you can for an hour or more until, from no where, the woods seem to thicken with a mist that seems to have no origin. It is dense and hot, more like the steamy jungle mist than a cold fog in the air.
You are startled by your two scouts as they emerge from the woods nearby almost invisibly. They bow low again and speak in hushed tones, eyeing the surrounding woods.
"The city of Cannon's Foot lies just yonder m'Lords and m'Lady, however, the fog only thickens as you near, becoming almost inpenetrable. And..."
One of the scouts seems to swallow a lump in his throat. The other speaks over him hurriedly and quietly.
"And we have found tracks that are most...disturbing."
The scout leans down, to your very feet and moves his finger in an outline around a large footprint you did not notice. It's well over three of your own feet in length and width...and there are countless tracks all around you, moving in the direction of the city. The scout stands and mutters beneath his breath.
"Only one creature makes a track like this...trolls. There must be hundreds of them...."
The elite warriors stiffen, expecting the unexpected and looking to you for guidance.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Romar, Sehanine and Yuri - You each take the night to regain your thoughts, writing in journals, writing formal letters to nobility or simply sleeping off the fatigue you've been feeling lately. [Full nights rest. Regain HP = HD+CON Bonus if necessary]
Either way, the remainder of the night passes uneventfully. [Romar - Your Animal Messenger goes off successfully, your letter will reach Sturmguard.] You are alerted to the sounds of Dwarves in the hall as they ready for battle. Armor is donned, quick blessings are cast and the sound of a dozen or more warhammers pound against shields.
It appears that with the revival of their good King Grandil, the Dwarves have found a renewed vigor for the fall of their enemies. A few of the cast you approving glances as you walk to meet Marg and Grandil.
To your shock, Grandil himself is donning armor, despite the protests of Marg.
"I dunna think ye should be doin' this...lord."
"I'm not gonna watch me followers sliced to bits while I sit like a coward and await their return. Stowe ye lip Marg, I'm coming..."
The Dwarven noble sees your approach and nods.
"Excellent, glad to see ye rested and ready."
Grandil moves his gaze from you over the whole of his subjects, his eyes burning like fire. He stands on a nearby parlor table so he can address his audience from a high point. It appears that every Dwarf even remotely able to weild a weapon is doing so and stands ready for battle.
"Dwarves of Bazarkrak! We have been beaten, even the most stubborn of us canna deny that!"
Some murmured curses and agreements from the audience.
"But that was because we were hit when we least expected it! Like cowards, they struck from the darkness and breaking truces and laws, they jumped us like a bunch of goblin wastes!"
The crowd gets more into the speech, clattering hammers against shields and breastplates.
"Well...let's get in there and let them know that unless ye strike from the shadows like a coward, ye cannot beat a Bazakrak Dwarf!!"
The crowd erupts in cheer and Marg flings the doors open. In unison the Dwarves surge forward yelling and screaming for blood. Grandil hops down and quickly tilts his head, speaking low as to not be overheard.
"Listen laddies, I need ye help. This frontal assault is good for morale, but it will be a bloody battle. I need to ensure we do not fail."
"From the main hallway, head left instead of right, off by yourselves. Seek out the secondary forge labeled with a anvil and two hammers. Enter it and climb down the ventilation pipes nearby. That'll take ye straight to the main plan library..."
"Get the jump on this squiddy bastard and we'll meet ya in there!"
Without much further notice, Grandil raises his hammer, winks and charges down the hallway to the right with his followers.
You are left in a relatively empty great hall once the wave of Dwarves is gone....
__________________________________________________________________________________________
wow...seriously man. That was one helluva letter! Excellent work!}__________________________________________________________________________________________
Hero, Garor, Callian, Angelus, Caelith and Newt - Trudging along through the woods, pushing the cart laden with the gem, you slowly watch the light fade from the world around you. As though 'The Master' himself is wrapping his tryannous hands around the earth, the sun falls quickly and you're all reminded of just how far from home you really are.
By the last inkling of twilight, you find yourselves looking upon the militant walls of Cannon't Foot with a sigh of relief. Even if the city is inhospitable, it's better than the colds wilds around you. The crossbows, the ballistae...every projectile weapon in the city looks infinetely more inviting than the forest you just came from.
As though to add emphasis to this eerie feeling, the woods seem to leak a thick fog, denser than any you have seen to date. An additional ingredient to this bizarre mix is the ramparts of Cannon's Foot...they are lined with soldiers holding torches. Each armored Elf and Dwarf atop the walls seem to graps their torch as though through sheer will alone they will keep the fog away.
Slightly picking up pace, you pause roughly thirty feet from the gate and prepare to annouce yourselves. Before you can even mutter a haling word, one of the soldiers atop the wall screams and points!
"Refugees!! Open the gates quickly! Before the SlaughterFog reaches them!"
SlaughterFog? The name strikes fear into you heart if its moniker is any indication of its ability...you spin and look to the very woods you emerged from moments ago.
The fog has moved...rather rapidly and has spread like the most contagious of viruses. You peer into the thick depths and you swear, even from a few hundred feet away...you can see...something moving in the mist. Several...no countless things moving...
The massive gates creaking open snap your attention back to Cannon's Foot. A single gate slides open ever so slowly and a group of ten men run out to usher you into the gates. They surround your wagon and nearly lift it from the ground, adrenaline and fear pushing their bodies to the limits. You have little choice but to not resist as you are all shoved into the city and the gate is slammed shut behind you.
The man from before leaps down from the rampart, catching a pole to slow his descent. He is an Elven man, less attractive by their standards...and maybe even a few human standards. His raven hair is pulled tightly into a frayed ponytail and his scale armor is battered and worn. A single scar runs the length of his left cheek. He looks you over and sizes up your strange cargo.
"Name's Delomme. I'd say welcome, but no one here wishes anyone to endure what we have suffered..."
"And by the name of all things good and holy, what the hell is that thing on the cart?"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Krysta, Girud and Galdren - Rushing through the woods, you do your best to follow the scouts. They seem to melt into the woods themselves, disappearing into the treeline leaving only slightly waivering branches and the occasional snap of a twig as a sign they were ever there.
You rush as fast as you can for an hour or more until, from no where, the woods seem to thicken with a mist that seems to have no origin. It is dense and hot, more like the steamy jungle mist than a cold fog in the air.
You are startled by your two scouts as they emerge from the woods nearby almost invisibly. They bow low again and speak in hushed tones, eyeing the surrounding woods.
"The city of Cannon's Foot lies just yonder m'Lords and m'Lady, however, the fog only thickens as you near, becoming almost inpenetrable. And..."
One of the scouts seems to swallow a lump in his throat. The other speaks over him hurriedly and quietly.
"And we have found tracks that are most...disturbing."
The scout leans down, to your very feet and moves his finger in an outline around a large footprint you did not notice. It's well over three of your own feet in length and width...and there are countless tracks all around you, moving in the direction of the city. The scout stands and mutters beneath his breath.
"Only one creature makes a track like this...trolls. There must be hundreds of them...."
The elite warriors stiffen, expecting the unexpected and looking to you for guidance.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Romar, Sehanine and Yuri - You each take the night to regain your thoughts, writing in journals, writing formal letters to nobility or simply sleeping off the fatigue you've been feeling lately. [Full nights rest. Regain HP = HD+CON Bonus if necessary]
Either way, the remainder of the night passes uneventfully. [Romar - Your Animal Messenger goes off successfully, your letter will reach Sturmguard.] You are alerted to the sounds of Dwarves in the hall as they ready for battle. Armor is donned, quick blessings are cast and the sound of a dozen or more warhammers pound against shields.
It appears that with the revival of their good King Grandil, the Dwarves have found a renewed vigor for the fall of their enemies. A few of the cast you approving glances as you walk to meet Marg and Grandil.
To your shock, Grandil himself is donning armor, despite the protests of Marg.
"I dunna think ye should be doin' this...lord."
"I'm not gonna watch me followers sliced to bits while I sit like a coward and await their return. Stowe ye lip Marg, I'm coming..."
The Dwarven noble sees your approach and nods.
"Excellent, glad to see ye rested and ready."
Grandil moves his gaze from you over the whole of his subjects, his eyes burning like fire. He stands on a nearby parlor table so he can address his audience from a high point. It appears that every Dwarf even remotely able to weild a weapon is doing so and stands ready for battle.
"Dwarves of Bazarkrak! We have been beaten, even the most stubborn of us canna deny that!"
Some murmured curses and agreements from the audience.
"But that was because we were hit when we least expected it! Like cowards, they struck from the darkness and breaking truces and laws, they jumped us like a bunch of goblin wastes!"
The crowd gets more into the speech, clattering hammers against shields and breastplates.
"Well...let's get in there and let them know that unless ye strike from the shadows like a coward, ye cannot beat a Bazakrak Dwarf!!"
The crowd erupts in cheer and Marg flings the doors open. In unison the Dwarves surge forward yelling and screaming for blood. Grandil hops down and quickly tilts his head, speaking low as to not be overheard.
"Listen laddies, I need ye help. This frontal assault is good for morale, but it will be a bloody battle. I need to ensure we do not fail."
"From the main hallway, head left instead of right, off by yourselves. Seek out the secondary forge labeled with a anvil and two hammers. Enter it and climb down the ventilation pipes nearby. That'll take ye straight to the main plan library..."
"Get the jump on this squiddy bastard and we'll meet ya in there!"
Without much further notice, Grandil raises his hammer, winks and charges down the hallway to the right with his followers.
You are left in a relatively empty great hall once the wave of Dwarves is gone....
__________________________________________________________________________________________
