Group 30
Page 6 of 10

Author:  Varaken [ Sun Jul 31, 2011 4:13 pm ]
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Lenya seemed to die almost in slow motion to Malthang, his heightened senses taking in the gruesome end in all it's spectacular glory. The spray of blood forming a fountain of crimson perfection arcing into the air to spray the cobbles and walls. Somehow the damned warrior which had so tested the shade still drew breath despite the fact that a lesser elf would have been dead twice over by now. And it is said that our decadent cousins are the better race... thought the shade with bitter admiration for the armoured warrior's constitution. As time came crashing back into normality Malthang saw the two warriors of his group running back towards him. Glancing at T'Keela the shade knew the noble was dead, his brain just hadnt caught up with his body yet and if they tried to flee with him they would be caught and no doubt killed as any diplomatic solution seemed to have been shattered by the recent combat. The shade knew he could outrun the pursuing captain and probably his group as well but he would be known and would no doubt need their help.

[b]We cannot save the noble! I am loathe to leave him as he still have use but right now we have no choice! Run for the love of Khaine and don't stop! We are outmatched by far. T'Keela gave his life so we can escape, do not spit in his face by staying to retrieve a corpse![\b]

Malthang turned on his heel, sheathing his sword and began heading down the alleyway, taking care to avoid the wounded warrior and his impressive reach. All the while unlimbering his crossbow with a practiced, hunters ease, ready to reload it at the first opportunity

OOC: knowing the odds are so catastrophically stacked against them Malthang is going to run in typically druchii fashion. If he gets a chance (not sure if he can do it while moving or not...?) he is going to reload his crossbow just in case. He will also be looking for any side alleys which will stop him from running down the most obvious (and potentially dangerous with potential ambushes or guards placed) route.

Author:  Dresden [ Mon Aug 01, 2011 5:06 am ]
Post subject: 

Selkoreth felt a rush of excitement as the two warriors began their 2-pronged attack, barely noticed a crack that sounded like stories he had heard of the crude fire-arms used by humans and dwarves... only to be brought crashing back to the earth as the captain lept over his attack, blocked Helkor's blade, and on taking the shield slam simply did an arial flip and landed in a fighting crouch, in full bloody armor! Selkoreth wasn't easily rattled, and he had seen far more obscene things on the Northern Front. The fact that he had servived doing so, however, required a certain set of survival instincts, and he was suddenly very glad that his plan had involved running away from the captain. In a fight, at this point, he would be dead.

As he was running back toward the shades and T'Keela, he was given a very cear view of an elf who should have been dead, judging from the bolt sticking through his shoulder, seperate Lenya's head from her shoulders. He heard Helkor, hot on his heels, yell that he would hold off this highly durable lacky while they escaped with T'Keela. Stupid elf, you want to get yourself killed? Selkoreth thought. Nevertheless, while he bore Helkor no ill will he cared about his own survival much more, and if he was volunteering to stay behind, let him. Meanwhile Malthang yelled to leave the noble and just hoof it, before doing just that himself. As he ran, Selkoreth took a few seconds to contemplate that question, and decided to bring T'Keela. He was merely on death's door, and far too potentially useful to leave behind. Besides, Selkoreth was quite a bit larger than, well most elves, T'Keela included. As he ran by he slowed down just enough to somewhat unceromoniously sling T'Keela over his shoulder, having put away his shield and sword. After doing so, he risked drawing his blade again, but left the cumbersome shield away, the better to hang on to the would-be noble with his free arm. All the while he was continuing after Malthang as fast as he could, having shouted a reply of You know damned well the bastard would be rolling over in his grave at the though of dieing to save you. Besides, he's not dead yet and may still be of use.

If it came too it that he had to drop T'Keela, he would, but only then. Doing so would condemn him to death, and as such he would at least make it clean and quick.

Selkoreth will attempt to carry T'Keela over his shoulder as he followed Malthang, sword drawn but shield stored away. He will drop the other elf if he believes he absolutely must, but not otherwise. If he must, he will lop off his former comrade's head and take it with, both to spare him a slow death, last minutes possibly filled with torture at the hands of their pursuers, and tie up lose ends and prevent easy identification of the body.

Author:  Malus99 [ Tue Aug 02, 2011 10:03 pm ]
Post subject: 

Selkoreth pounded down the narrow alleyway, desperately trying to keep pace with the flickering shadow ahead, Malthang twisted and wove through the labyrinth of streets, and unencumbered by armour or an unconscious T’Keela hanging off one arm, he was fast leaving the struggling warrior behind. Selkoreth growled with frustration as he lost sight of the shade, having fallen too far behind to follow in his wake. Then came a sound the hunter had been dreading, his pointed ears twitched as they picked out a spine-chilling sound echoing down the confined streets, the sound of armoured boots striking the cobblestones, getting closer. And closer.
The enormous warrior turned another corner, guided now by instinct alone as he picked over the options and possibilities in his head, searching for a way out of his predicament. The footsteps were only a few dozen yards behind him now, and Selkoreth knew there was no chance of loosing his pursuer at this point as a Druchii would have to be half deaf not to be capable of hearing his clanking form rattling around in its armour at this distance. Even if he let go of T’Keela, he could tell from the pace of the footsteps that whoever was behind him, and Selkoreth had a bad feeling he knew who had pursued him, his tracker would still be able to outpace him. Leaving him with only one option, to run on, and pray for a miracle. Selkoreth wound down another tight path, his elbows almost scraping the walls of the buildings on either side, and knew if he was caught in a space like this that he would be dead in seconds. Searching for space, his eyes alighted on an opening to his left where the streets broadened out considerably, with a triumphant cry, Selkoreth leapt through the gap, putting on a fresh burst of speed in a renewed effort to escape.
A screamed curse echoed off the walls and the warrior’s elation gave way to a crushing wave of despair as he saw where his headlong flight had lead him. The streets had broadened out into a small cul-de-sac, Selkoreth’s eyes flicked across the enclosing circle of abandoned barracks, searching for a way out. But there was none to be had, the buildings were tall, with all the entry points boarded up or shut with sturdy and no doubt locked doors, and the walls would be a tough climb for a shade, let alone a warrior in full armour. The only street into the cul-de-sac was the one he had just appeared from, and as Selkoreth turned to make a dash for his only exit, he saw his tormentor standing in the entrance to the alley, paired swords drawn, and that mocking smile still adorning his arrogant features.
“Poor little rabbit, nowhere to run,” drawled the Captain as he casually walked forwards, grinding the points of his swords against the cobbles, the harsh grating sound bouncing off the walls until it seemed like the noise was coming from every direction, as if Selkoreth was surrounded by cruel swords and the sneering disdain of the elf who was about to kill him.
Selkoreth gently set T’Keela down on the cobbles, and then took his sword in a two-handed death grip, his shoulders set and his face twisted into the grimace of one who knows he is marching to his doom, but is damned if he won’t go without a fight. And then, like a rat backed into a corner, the warrior did the only thing he could; he bared his teeth, cursed every spirit on this side of the veil and the next to the abyss, and charged.

Helkor and his opponent circled each other warily, both were battered and bruised, both leaking blood onto the stones beneath already slick with the steaming essence of life lost. The captain had roundly ignored Helkor’s attempts to distract him and had dashed off after the rest of the bounty hunters, leaving Helkor squaring off against the heavily wounded lieutenant, and Helkor wasn’t about to complain about that. The two combatants paused in their slow dance, watching, waiting to see who would blink first. After a still moment, Helkor roared and dashed forwards, looking to finish his opponent quickly. Normally the warrior would have waited and played the defensive game, his opponent was bleeding heavily and getting weaker by the second, but Helkor knew every moment he dallied gave the captain more time to hunt down the other bounty hunters and then come back to polish him off, and he wanted to be long gone from here by then. Helkor came in low with a vicious sweep at his opponent’s knees, the lieutenant met the attack with a stiff parry from his own humongous sword, and then rolled his wrists to wrap Helkor’s blade in an expertly executed bind, but the experienced warrior disengaged before the lieutenant could disarm him with the follow up. Helkor dashed in again and the two began trading blows of bone-rattling force as each sought an opening in the other’s defences, Helkor could feel himself gaining the advantage as he battered away at the lieutenant’s guard, he crashed his sword repeatedly against his opponent’s, never fully engaging, looking to wear down his foe with swings more club-like than anything resembling swordplay. The hunter continued to batter away at Senthask, frustrated by the lieutenant’s stubborn defences, the broadsword moved in small, economical arcs designed to provide the best protection for the least effort, Senthask retreating inside a formidable shell of whirlwind steel. Helkor switched tactics, off the back of a crushing overhand blow which had been deflected neatly aside he pirouetted on the ball of his left foot, thrusting forwards in a fast stab towards Senthask’s guts, the lieutenant’s counter-move was made awkward by the size of his sword, and with a deft flick of the wrist Helkor twirled his blade over the top of the parry, stopping his thrust short the warrior batted aside the lieutenant’s blade, and with uncompromising brutality crunched his shield into Senthask’s face. The sudden switch from his normal style into the delicate and swift Sariya fencing, a form common among highborn duellists, disorientated the lieutenant, and the equally swift reversion to his no-nonsense battlefield assault mode with the vicious shield-bash completely wrong-footed Helkor’s opponent, finally breaking through the defences. The captain’s right-hand man reeled backwards, blood spurting from his ruined face and a howl of agony shrieking from his lips, once again Helkor thanked his lucky stars that he wasn’t facing the captain, the Sariya style was not one he was well-versed in and made even more difficult with a bastard-sword, against the captain he would have been out-manoeuvred and cut to pieces by those cursedly elegant twin-swords, as it was the lieutenant’s enormous broadsword had finally been his undoing. Senthask collapsed to one knee, driving the point of his mighty sword into the ground to try and hold himself upright, he clutched at his face with his other hand to try and slow the bleeding. The elf’s chest was heaving for breath and his face was paler than the northern snow, the blood flowing from the wound in his shoulder had slowed to a trickle, probably because there wasn’t much left to leak out, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused. Lenya and T’Keela’s combined efforts had obviously taken their toll, Helkor could see the elf was finished, as he approached Senthask weakly raised his sword and swung it blindly in front of him to ward off his attacker, but Helkor effortlessly batted the blade away and the lieutenant collapsed onto his side, unable to support his own weight anymore.
“You fought well, but now you meet the abyss.”
And with those parting word, Helkor thrust the tip of his sword into Senthask’s throat, and watched the life slip quietly from his eyes.

The clash of blades echoed off the walls of the cul-de-sac with a steady rhythm, clanging like Tilean chime-bells, the musical sounds interspersed with grunts, cries of triumph and fury and the occasional repressed hiss of pain. Selkoreth’s sword strokes were fuelled by anger and desperation, they weaved in deadly patterns reminiscent of a spider weaving its deadly web with the cold, cunning patience of an experienced hunter. But the target was no unwitting fly ready to offer itself up as the next meal, the focus of this spider’s attentions was a relentless and equally patient predator who ducked and wove past each thread in the web as it was strung, slipping through it’s grasp again and again to deal vicious stings not meant to kill, but to sap strength until it could wrap the hunter up in it’s own entombing web. Beads of sweat ran down Selkoreth’s skin as he launched into another pattern, striking at left shoulder, right hip, left knee, right eye, bouncing from side to side and twirling into each stroke with a practiced grace at odds with the warrior’s heavy-set build, yet still with deceptive power and speed. He varied pace, target, footwork, angle, strength and even weapon, interspersing sword strokes with flat-footed kicks and bludgeoning punches, striking with tip, edge and pommel of his long-sword, using every ounce of his experience and ability as a fighter to unbalance, ensnare and utterly destroy his opponent.
All to no avail.
The captain swayed with the blade, dodged the kicks, ducked the punches and parried anything else, his twin swords were everywhere and nowhere at once, he read every move before it happened and was already planning five steps ahead, his footwork was precise, his bladework well-measured and his eyes saw every detail. Selkoreth had been in enough battles to know a master swordsman when he saw one, and whilst the captain may not be anywhere near the fastest, the strongest nor the most experienced of Druchii, his technical skill was nothing less than absolutely superb.
“What’s this? Giving up are we? Come on, I know you can do better than that.”
Selkoreth glared stonily at the captain, refusing to be baited.
“Salakh khaharath, karal elthrai, khadanth elugan. Falakynth. Do you know whose words they are?”
“Arhakhadath, ‘he who darkens the stars’. One of the earliest devotees of Khaine in his aspect of the stalker of the void. Supposedly the only words he ever spoke, assassins never were ones for conversation.”
“Indeed,” said the captain with a tinge of surprise in his voice, “do you know what they mean?”
“In literal translation it equates to something like ‘glorious youth, cold hopelessness, end of stars. Silence descends. Generally it’s thought he meant when the fires of youth meet the cold, harsh reality of the world their heat is quenched, and the cold is such that even stars eventually freeze over and die, leaving nothing. Wildfires burn hard, burn fast and then burn out, where as the implacable ice, in time, devours all.
But I always thought he was just referring to how it is nice to sit beside a fire at night and dream, and then morning comes, your ass is frozen to the ground and you wish the world would shut the hell up as the hangover sets in.”
The captain’s lips quirked into a little smile, “you sum it up rather well, he speaks of patience levelling all, an unsurprising philosophy considering he worshipped the iron panther.”
“riiight, so are you trying to tell me to hurry the hell up and die or that we’re gonna continue to dance around until hell freezes over?”
The captain shrugged, “your choice.”
“well, having been a guard in the Northern territories for years, I always preferred the fire at night than the morning chill, so I guess its time for one of us to burn,”
“So you do not take heed of his advice?”
“I never much cared,” said Selkoreth as he lunged forwards with a two-handed swing from low to his left,
“for dead men’s philosophies.”
The captain smiled, “A pity.”
The twin swords whirled through the air, catching the long-sword in between their angled edges, the left-hand blade snaked around the long-sword and pulled it aside as the right-hand one slid under and then flickered outwards, before darting back in to open the warrior’s throat, spilling a glittering arc of blood into the wind.
Or at least it would have done, had Selkoreth still been there.
Halfway through his slash the canny warrior had shifted the grip on his blade, moving his right hand from the hilt to the pommel, and pushed with all of his strength. The wild slash transfigured into an upward thrust which battered aside the captain’s left-hand blade and lanced straight towards the officer’s throat. At the last second the captain saw it, leaping backwards, he fouled his own sword-stroke in order to avoid Selkoreth’s. But Selkoreth’s blade was longer. The edge passed within a razor’s width of the captain’s throat, but the point dug into the underside of his chin with a brittle crunch, carving an inch-long furrow out of his bottom jaw and scattering droplets of crimson across the stones. The captain howled with pain as he landed, one hand grasping at the wound as he fixed Selkoreth with a death-glare.
“Patience is a virtue, arrogance less so,” chided Selkoreth mockingly.
The captain roared with fury and twirled his swords as he assumed a new stance, then thundered forwards.
“Well at least I managed to piss him off,” noted the warrior wryly as he set himself for the onslaught.
The moment their blades touched, Selkoreth knew he was playing a whole new game. His opponent had shifted into a standard Sariya fencing form and was now utilising his considerable swordsmanship skills in offense as well as defence, immediately the hulking warrior was forced backwards by a tornado of steel as the Captain spun and darted, his blades flashing in from all directions and angles at break-neck speed. What made Sariya fencing so deadly was the sheer volume of attacks and how rapidly they came in, the form uses the bare minimum of movement, favouring stabbing thrusts or short and sharp slashes at vulnerable areas, and since traditionally practitioners use paired swords which, when used correctly, almost doubles the amount of attacks which can be made, the number of attacks an experienced user can put out is astonishing, even to fellow elves, to lesser races with slower senses like humans or dwarfs it is less like fighting someone with two swords than fighting someone with a thousand. Selkoreth backpedalled and parried madly, but he was being swiftly overwhelmed, the sharp shriek of sword grating upon sword was giving way more and more to the duller clang of steel edge glancing from breastplate, helm, vambrace and every other piece of armour. Selkoreth ducked aside from a swipe to the head and received a light cut to the wrist, twisted away from a slash to his midsection and took a shallow stab wound in the armpit, each blow was paired with another precisely timed and aimed so that he could never escape both, and this time the captain was attacking with deadly intent, no more playing around, this time he was serious. It took the captain all of twenty seconds to clinically slice his way through the warrior’s guard, entrapping Selkoreth’s long-sword between his own two blades once more, the captain cranked one arm around whilst he glided the other sword along the back edge of Selkoreth’s blade, and the hunter had no choice but to release his blade and helplessly watch it fly across to the other side of the cul-de-sac or risk losing all of his fingers with the same ultimate result. The captain lightly rested the tip of one of his blades in the hollow of Selkoreth’s throat, a sneer of triumph on his features.
“Time to die, pig.”
Selkoreth heaved a sigh and shrugged, “at least I put another dent in that ugly face of yours.”
The captain snarled with rage, drew back his sword and thrust forwards.
Selkoreth closed his eyes, and waited for the end to come.

He was flying backwards, the chill of the evening was replaced by a warm, buoyant feeling, Selkoreth smiled as he felt the heat caress his skin and warm his insides. He could feel light fluttering on his eyelids, everything was calm and still. Selkoreth floated into oblivion with a smile.

It was really very warm, not just warm, but actually, very, very…
“AAAAGGHH! By the dark mother that’s hot!” Screamed the warrior. Selkoreth pulled himself onto his hands and knees, shaking his head to clear the fog in his mind. The edges of his armour were a blistering red, flames licked across the cobbles a few feet away, marking out a scorched circle as black as midnight at least a dozen yards across. Staring at the flames, Selkoreth’s eyes were drawn to a rooftop on the other side of the cul-de-sac, there, backlit by the weak evening sunlight, stood a figure.
The Druchii wore full-length black robes embroidered with flowing lines of archaic script, his cloak fluttered in a non-existent breeze and a small tuft of brown hair projected up above a full-faced mask carved of dark red wood into a simple oval shape with a swirl pattern centring around two eyeholes. The figure was striking a dramatic pose, he was born aloft on a tower of swirling flames, one hand resting on his hip and the other holding aloft a flickering ball of blue fire. The flames he was floating upon danced and twisted, licking at the edges of his cloak and threatening to set the cloth on fire, they sputtered for a moment, and then with a faint pop, vanished. The Druchii seemed to hang in the air for a moment, then he looked down. Crashing onto the edge of the roof he had been floating above, the figure rolled off the edge and shrieked the whole twenty feet he fell to the ground, upon landing, the ball of fire in his hand exploded. The Druchii hauled himself to his feet and stood stock still for a moment as if trying to regain some poise, then he looked about, and sniffed at the air. Glancing down at his feet, he noticed his cloak was on fire.
“WEEEAAAOOOWWW!” he screamed and leapt into the air, Selkoreth watched in bewilderment as the figure pranced about shrieking and wailing, hopping from foot to foot and batting ineffectively at the flames swiftly eating away at his cloak, the Druchii eventually collapsed on the floor and began wildly rolling about until finally the fires died out and he climbed shakily to his feet.
Selkoreth opened his mouth, and then closed it again, speechless.
The Druchii was standing once more, and looked about thoughtfully, apparently completely unfazed by having fallen from the rooftop and setting himself on fire. He started in Selkoreth’s direction when a bellow of anger froze him in his tracks, he cringed and looked over his shoulder, looking like some comedy thief in an empire play.
“Who bloody dares?” shouted the captain as he gathered one of his swords, the other having flown god knows where, and pulled himself to his feet. Blinking his eyes, the captain took in the situation with one disbelieving glance, his gaze alighted on the mysterious Druchii and took in the arcane writings across his attire and the flames still licking around his feet.
“Vauvalka!” cried the captain.
“Bless you,” replied the mage, his voice was high-pitched and giggly like a mischievous child’s. With a roar the captain charged forwards, the mage shrieked again and backed hurriedly away,
“hang on, whoa, t.t.t.timeout!” he cried as the captain surged forwards, bringing his sword around in wild arcs, the mage dodged and ducked,
“ooh, ack, yeeow! You nearly got me with tha- Oh no…” The mage dodged aside from another blow,
“You mock me?” roared the captain as he turned on the balls of his feet and thrust out, his sword piercing straight through the mages belly.
“AAGH, Oh, He got me!”
“Just kidding,” laughed the childish voice from over the captain’s shoulder as the image the captain had skewered melted away like mist. With another roar the captain turned and slashed again, and again the mage melted from view and appeared behind the captain.
“Tell me,” said the mage, his voice suddenly serious for a moment as he placed a hand on the captain’s shoulder, “Do you know the definition of a master of defence?”
The captain screamed with frustration and, reversing his grip on the sword, stabbed backwards, this time the mage vanished and appeared directly in front of the beleaguered guard who’s eyes widened with surprise as he came facer to face with the vauvalka, the mage rested his hands on the captain’s shoulders again.
“The master of defence is one who is never in the place that is attacked.”
The captain looked down at his feet, and his eyes went as wide as saucers as he saw the golden circle glowing on the cobbles. The captain glanced back up to the mage.
A roiling pillar of lava exploded from beneath the ground, engulfing the captain in a seething furnace of molten rock which shot into the sky like a firework.
Selkoreth glanced over at the mage- who was waving around and blowing on his burned and blistered fingers- and raised an eyebrow.
“Oh forgive me!” cried the mage as he hastily hid his burnt fingers behind his back and strode over towards Selkoreth, his voice joyfully childish again.
“I haven’t introduced myself.” The mage struck another dramatic pose, “I am Amalii, Lord of the flames!” he boomed, his voice dropping an octave for effect.
Selkoreth raised his other eyebrow.
“Uh, Lord of the flames?”
“Yes?” rumbled the mage.
“Your mask is on fire.”
“YEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWW!!!!” screamed Amalii as he jumped into the air again, his fingers clawing at the flames burning away his mask, Selkoreth looked on in bemusement as the mage began prancing around again, beating at his mask and moaning before he started rolling across the cobbles, bashing his face against the ground.
The mage’s antics were halted by an all too familiar roar of anger and pain as, like some demon from a nightmare, a twisted lump of metal and charred flesh lurched to its feet. The broken body took halting steps forwards, his face was melted, his armour warped into unnatural shapes and his hair was all but burnt away, but the captain was still on his feet, and, miraculously, still holding onto one of his swords.
“I… am captain… Kheyleth,” rasped the elf, his words slurred and faltering.
“I… am second in command… to the Vaulkhur… of Ghrond. I will not… be beaten by… trash like you.”
Amalii interspersed himself between Selkoreth and Kheyleth, taking a stance, the mage drew a deep breath, and began weaving his hands together in complicated patterns.
“Secret art of Aqshy: Hot air blast!”
The captain flinched away as the mage thrust his palm forwards, emitting a puff of smoke and a gentle breeze which ruffled what was left of Kheyleth’s hair.
Amalii gave a nervous chuckle and turned to Selkoreth,
“Actually, that’s all there is to that one,” he said as he shrugged his shoulders guiltily.
Kheyleth roared again and swung his sword at Amalii.
There was a click.
Then a crunch.
The captain toppled forwards, a steel bolt protruding from his forehead. As the twisted form crashed to the dirt, Selkoreth could see Malthang striding casually forwards, reloading his crossbow as he went.
“How?” asked Selkoreth, his brain rather too overloaded from all the near-death experiences in the past few minutes to articulate his question any further.
“When I heard that lump turn off after you, I doubled back to see if I could get a chance at him, wasn’t exactly difficult to find you with the explosions and all.”
“And what about T’Keela, is he still with us?” The shade wandered over and gave the warrior a dubious prod with his toe, T’Keela groaned in response.
“And Helkor? Any sign of him?”
“Right here,” replied the warrior as he entered the cul-de-sac, limping slightly and with one hand pressed to the wound on his neck. “You won’t get rid of me that easily, the pillar of fire was pretty hard to miss.”
“Why run towards the pillar of fire? Magic usually means sorceresses in this neck of the woods.”
“I figured old toasty here wouldn’t need any help polishing off Selkoreth so anything that big would have to be from someone on our side,” replied Helkor as he indicated the dead captain, Selkoreth scowled at his fellow warrior.
“Speaking of which, who is our friendly benefactor?”
The mage puffed himself up again, his hands flexing and ready to conjure more fire,
“I am-”
“Amalii,” interjected Selkoreth hurriedly, Amalii deflated, looking crestfallen at someone stealing his thunder, or indeed, fire.
“And why did you help us?” asked Malthang.
“I too am hunted by the evil forces that guard this accursed city, I too am simply a traveller on the road to fame, fortune and stardom, I too…”
“Are a wanted fugitive who we could turn in to the guard to earn ourselves a pretty penny,” interrupted the shade bluntly. Amalii flinched backwards, bringing up his hands protectively,
“You wouldn’t do that to me would you?” asked the mage with exaggerated shock. Malthang tapped his foot impatiently, looking expectant.
“I… I could be a valuable addition to your team, I am lightning quick, I have an intellect keener than a cold one’s and razor sharp reflexes, I am a master of magic and with my formidable skills I can help you get out of the city.”
“You look like you’ve been half burned to death, twice,” commented Helkor drily.
“Indeed, I suffered all this and more to aid your companion,” said Amalii, nodding his head enthusiastically.
“Selkoreth, you need to reign in those eyebrows before they float off that hollow skull of yours,” laughed Malthang as he saw the warrior’s expression.
“I’m trying, I really am.”

Right then, I know I could have drawn this out over a couple more mod-posts to give you all the chance to make your decisions on continuing running or returning to help fight etc but I think this fight had already dragged on long enough and I didn’t particularly want the group ending up in all different parts of the city at this point, not to mention the fact that I’m sure T’Keela was getting pretty fed up of being unconscious, so I hope you don’t mind but I thought this would bring things to a swift and neat conclusion so we can roll on with the story. Amalii makes a convincing argument for himself doesn’t he? You need to decide on whether to let him join your group or not, you also need to decide on what you will do next, deciding on what to do with T’Keela (who is still semi-unconscious for the moment, sorry T’Keela!) and then trying to get out of the city might be an idea. Apologies for being so late with this mod-post but I had something important turn up on Tuesday and then on Wednesday my internet connection died due to thunderstorms. Since I ended up posting so late in the week and someone expressed interest in a Friday deadline, I will set the deadline at Friday night next week and we can try out the Friday night deadline for a little while. Happy RPing every one!

OOC Note: So that you can judge the relative strengths of your foes, Captain Kheyleth in warhammer terms would be little under the level of a Druchii Master as he was one of the most skilled captains in Ghrond.

Author:  T'keela [ Tue Aug 09, 2011 2:00 am ]
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OOC: It's fine. I enjoyed having an outer body experience.

IC: T'Keela could do little more than moan in response, he couldn't open his eyes but his hearing had begun to return and his sense of smell along with it. Too bad the only thing that could currently be smelled was that of burnt flesh and soot. Not the most pleasant thing to wake up to after being carried higgility-piggilty through the streets of Ghrond on someone else's shoulder...

Author:  The shadow king [ Tue Aug 09, 2011 3:10 am ]
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Helkor cocked his head like a dog that's heard a new sound as he considered the strange little Wizard.

And he smiled slightly, truth be told that little fellow reminded him of his kid brother or a puppy. Hmm, there's a thought, maybe I should get a puppy.

He shook himself. "I say we let him join, if he hadn't torched Khayleth." Helkor leaned over and spat on the corpse. "We'd all be in trouble right now, and we still need to get out here, I'd bet a Cold One hatchling that I'm not the only one who saw the blast from Amalii's handiwork, thank you by the way." He nodded to the Mage.

And considering what had happened they'd probably need the Mage, even if he was somewhat . . . erratic. At least he doesn't lean over and cut your buddy's throats for his spells.

"And I think most of us will need a Healer pretty quickly. And speaking of that, how come those two," He spat again on the Captain's charred corpse, "were so hard to kill?"

He waited for the others to respond and very carefully kept his hands on the hilt of his blade to keep them from trembling, that had been very close and even though Senthask was wounded, he entered the fight fully expecting to die.

He glanced over at where T'Keela lay and smirked. "Our hero awaketh."

Author:  Malus99 [ Tue Aug 09, 2011 1:58 pm ]
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The Shadow King wrote:
And speaking of that, how come those two," He spat again on the Captain's charred corpse, "were so hard to kill?"

OOC Note: as stated in my mod post captain Kheyleth was around the level of an 80 point Druchii Master (and his lieutenant about half as powerful) where as each of your characters are supposed to be roughly equivalent to a 6 point DE warrior, from that measure it is a miracle you are alive atall!

Author:  The shadow king [ Tue Aug 09, 2011 5:05 pm ]
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OOC: Okay, sorry. I thought they had ties to Chaos or something.

Author:  Malus99 [ Wed Aug 10, 2011 8:03 am ]
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OOC Chaos isn't responsible for everything nasty happening, we Druchii deal a good share of of the nastiness too :lol:

Author:  Dresden [ Sat Aug 13, 2011 1:52 am ]
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OOC: Woo-hoo, and the 6-point druchii warrior wounds the master! Unfortunately, he still had one left and lightning doesn't strike twice, fortunately fire seems to have picked up the slack :P

IC: Selkoreth attempted to flee, but it was clear that with his armor and baggage he would be unable to keep up wit hthe shade, and he was being hunted. He had a bad idea he new who it was. He began a frantic flight and eventually was conered in a cul-du-sac. He and the captain sparred awhile, Selkoreth had an opportunity to present his predictably down to earth opinion on ancient philosophy, and got to mar that cocky bastard's face real good.

He should have died, had it not been for the strangest occurence in hid life in recent memory, and since in the last couple days he has been crucified, taken in by one of the oddest assortment of bounty hunters in druchii lands, seen the manifistation of a daemon, and watched as the coven of sorceresses blow up to shower Ghrond in blood, that was saying something. A strangely childish elf in a mask and cloak lept off a roof, set himself on fire multiple times, made several grand pronouncements in between bouts of giggling, and sorched Selkoreth's opponent form the face of the map, more or less. Bolt of no bolt, I refuse to credit that arrogent fool Malthang with the kill, he thought somewhat sourly.

Eventually the whole group was reunited and began disscussing what to do next. Selkoreth decided to tossi n his two coin, I say we breing this Lord of flame character with us. Our numbers are thinning, and if he wanted to kill us he could have already. Besides, without Lenya around to try and torture T'keela, Malthang, and mostly Malthang while I watch, I need something to keep me amused in the down time, and this fellow is a few harpies short of a nest by the looks of it. Wit hthis, he turned to T'keela, mumbly something about not letting him die aft all that trouble. He checks his wounds and attempts to use burning remains of the fight to cauterize his wounds if they are still bleeding, asking the mage to help if this fails. Afterwards he stands up and gives his a little kick to the side, not enought to cause any real harm, even in his wounded state, but enough to be quite uncomfortable, and says Time to get moving oh noble sire. If you don't I may be inclined to ask our new companion to test the literal motivational merits of lighting a fire under someones ass.

Author:  Malus99 [ Sat Aug 13, 2011 9:35 pm ]
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"All right, you can tag along then Amalii," sighed Malthang wearily.
"Really?" asked Amalii, his eyes as wide as saucers, "Oh happy day, hurrah and huzzah, thankyou!!!" cried the vauvalka as he danced around in a circle with sparks bursting from his feet, waving his arms and cackling madly.
"You won't regret this, I promise you," bawled the sorcerer and flung himself at Malthang to wrap the shade in an energetic hug.
"Get... off... me," snarled the bounty hunter as he struggled to pry the mage free from himself, finally succeeding in fending him off with several vicious cuffs to the head, after which Amalii backed away with a whimper, looking like a whipped dog.
"Shame on you Malthang, you don't kick a puppy," chuckled Helkor.
"And you don't hug a Druchii," spat the shade in response, keeping a wary eye on Amalii as he said it.
"And you can shut it as well," snapped Malthang at Selkoreth, who couldn't breathe he was laughing so hard.
"I've only known him a minute and already I regret it."

Without anything to go on beyond you lot accepting Amalii that's it for this week's mod post, what will you do now and where are you going? And what about poor T'Keela? Deadline is Friday Night again.

Author:  The shadow king [ Sun Aug 14, 2011 4:16 am ]
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Helkor patted Amalii on the shoulder. "Don't mind Malthang," he said in a stage whisper, "he may seem grumpy but he's actually really horrible."

He glanced over at Selkoreth and nodded. Truth be told he was impressed with his 'companion''s ability and he felt a grudging surge of admiration. He qaushed it very firmly.

". . . Not bad, Selkoreth, not bad."

He turned to Malthang and sighed. ". . . Thank you, for your help." He said and supressed an urge to vomit. He felt a flicker of respect for the Shade which he again firmly quashed, granted Malthang had helped them with no small risk to life and limb when he could have let the Captain and his Lieutenant kill them and then exploit the situation but he wasn't about to let something like that change his opinion of Malthang.

He heard a soft groan and grinned down at T'Keela. "And how are we feeling today? And more importantly, can you walk? Or will I have to carry you again?"

He cocked an eyebrow at Amalii. "How about you Master Mage? Can you do anything for him? Because I'd rather not carry him . . . he smells funny."

Author:  T'keela [ Sun Aug 14, 2011 10:43 am ]
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T'Keela wheezed out an almost inaudible chuckle at Malthang's distress at being hugged by the sorcerer, though the amusement quickly turned to a hacking, painful cough and a curse to whatever fickle god would listen. Letting out a groan, the wounded mercenary garnered the attention of his fellows. I'll walk and if anyone smells funny, it's crispy over there... Smirked T'Keela to his comrades, though if anything the warrior seemed slightly older, his edge had gone and so had his self-righteous air of superiority... Oh, Helkor? Carry me like that again and I'll make sure when I awake I'll take my due from your hide. Well a little bit at any rate. Might I suggest we find the most sordid, inhospitable inn and stay there for the night? Leaving now would most undoubtedly be impossible. Without waiting for a reply, T'Keela turned on his heel and began limping in what hoped was the direction of an inn that fit his description. Amalii? Know anywhere dirty and discreet enough for us to go?

Author:  Varaken [ Fri Aug 19, 2011 12:53 pm ]
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Malthang resisted shooting the overly affectionate sorcerer in the eye with a great degree of difficulty. Throwing himself at the shade like that...disgraceful! Just when I thought these city-dwellers couldn't get any more repulsive... the shade mused bitterly. He heard T'Keela's chuckle and took great pleasure in the hacking cough which ensued.

"Careful oh noble one. We wouldn't want you causing yourself more damage than you have already." the shade said, his voice dripping with scorn and sarcasm.

He heard Helkor thank him with great difficulty and inclined his head, a mildly mocking smirk twitching at the corners of his mouth as he did so. You're welcome Helkor, next time maybe try not to find the only dead end in a 2 mile radius when you're being pursued by a dangerous foe? Just a thought."

The shade mused over the idea of finding an inn to stay in for the night. The idea of wine, food and a bed before striking out into the wild again was tempting. Especially the wine part. At the same time the guard would undoubtedly have descriptions and orders for their arrests or deaths and they had planned on meeting Sirruleathe outside the city that evening and time was already marching on with worrying rapidity.

"Very well, lets find somewhere to rest up for the night but we are going to have to be cautious. The guard will be on alert. With the assassination of a captain and the destruction of the coven I doubt they are going to be feeling in a generous mood. The gates will be shutting soon I would imagine, if they haven't been already due to the events in the city. If T'Keela can walk I suggest we move and fast. I can take a look at his wounds when we are in a safer location. Lets go. Amalii, make yourself useful and find us somewhere to stay."

Author:  Dresden [ Sun Aug 21, 2011 1:16 pm ]
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OOC: I apologize for posting late. Power went out as I was first trying to post on Thursday, lost the whole thing, and then one thing led to another, RL came up and here we are. I'll try to get one up a little later today.

Author:  Dresden [ Sun Aug 21, 2011 9:35 pm ]
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Selkoreth nearly busted a gut seeing Malthang's reaction to there new companion. Definitely keeping this one around...

He was equally amused, though in a more subdued way, by the shear discomfort evident in Helkor's voice as he was forced to off words of thanks/admiration to his fellows. In respose to the comment directed at him, Selkoreth smirked and said Felt good to get a bit of a real workout, first time since our detainment. In response to T'keela's awakening, he only said Of course my lord, next time I will leave you as a speed bump for our pursuers if my method of carrying is not to your liking. Any way, you beter be able to walk, for I shant carry you anywhere more tonight., his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The others then began discussing there plans, wiht several pointed jabs made toward T'Keela in the process. With everyone else decided on finding discreet lodging in the city to recover, and Selkoreth unable to come up with a better alternative, he said Well, if it's decided, lets get a move on. If not, I'm inclined to implore our new companion to go ahead with an extended version of my "lighting a fire under your ass" test on the lot of you He gave the rest a wicked grin as he said this.

Author:  Malus99 [ Tue Aug 23, 2011 9:30 pm ]
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“Onwards then brave friends!” Cried Amalii as he directed a finger towards the southern horizon, did an abrupt about-face and set off at a brisk march in completely the opposite direction, scattering the other hunters from his path as he bowled through the group and almost knocked the unsteady T’Keela from his feet. For a moment, the exiled noble looked like he was about to erupt into a blistering tirade of curses, his face went white with rage (or perhaps pain), he clenched his fists so tightly they could have crushed diamonds and a blood vessel ticking above his eye threatened to burst and disgorge whatever blood was left in the noble’s battered body it was pulsing so hard. T’Keela closed his eyes, and took a long, deep breath.
Counted to five.
And let it out again, relaxing ever so slightly.
Opening his eyes again, he glared at the nearest warrior (who happened to be Helkor) and hissed “lend me a shoulder or I’ll poke out an eye.”
Helkor sighed and sidled over, allowing T’Keela to support his weight on the warrior as he hobbled along. By this time the rogue mage was disappearing from sight as he rounded the corner exiting the cul-de-sac, forcing the other hunters to dash across the square to catch up, leaving the struggling T’Keela and Helkor wombling along in their wake looking like some strange, misshapen chaos beast with a lame leg (and in an even fouler mood than an ogre at a salad bar).
Amalii’s voice came echoing down the narrow alleyways, rabbiting on to himself and his companions in his childish voice, Malthang cringed as he tried to guess from how far away the mage’s ramblings would be heard.
“Could he possibly make any more noise?” hissed the shade in a strangled whisper, “We’ll be lucky if a single guard in Ghrond doesn’t hear his gas-bagging.”
The shade rapidly caught up to their guide, hand raised to smack him round the head in the forlorn hope that such a gesture may knock some sense into him, or perhaps just shut him up, when the mage suddenly twirled on his heel, his arms swinging round wildly such that Malthang had to duck to avoid being thumped himself, and bellowed back down the path: “Fear not my brave companions, I shall lead you through the darkness, come hell or high water, we shall march through the shadows of the veil and the great fires of chaos, to the gates of the abyss itself if that is where the path takes us!”
And then, just as abruptly, the mage turned and charged onwards down the alley again, vanishing down a side street as he cheerfully hummed a dirge under his breath, leaving a faintly bewildered and near-apoplectic Malthang behind with his hands still grasped protectively over his ears.

Twenty minutes of meandering through the dingiest back-streets of the North city, with Amalii constantly doubling back on himself, turning seemingly at random and wandering aimlessly down strangely familiar alleyways had Malthang utterly convinced that they were walking in circles. Selkoreth on the other hand seemed to be enjoying the stroll, or perhaps he was merely enjoying the shade’s mounting frustration. Helkor and T’Keela were almost lost to sight, Helkor being forced to half-drag his wounded comrade along just so they could keep up. At last, the mage darted across a broad courtyard and came to a halt before what was apparently their destination.

“Welcome to my humble abode!” cried Amalii happily as he gestured towards the building they had finally arrived at.
There was a moment of stunned silence.
“When you said you were leading us to the gates of the abyss, you really weren’t kidding were you?” Malthang eventually managed to sputter, eyeing a puddle of luminescent purple slime by the doorway which was undulating most unnaturally.
“How in the Dark Mother’s name have you never been discovered?” whispered Selkoreth as he stared in disbelief at a row of potted plants hanging off the wall, which were quite calmly staring straight back at him, in between languorously slow winks.
“Oh I make do, I know a few little tricks to keep myself hidden.”
A wheezing clatter of armour announced Helkor and T’Keela’s arrival, the latter semi-hysterically muttering all of the million tortures he would inflict on his erstwhile companions when he recovered.
“Please do come in,” said Amalii as he pushed open the door, which groaned on its hinges in an unsettlingly sentient manner, sounding like an old man reluctantly heaving himself out of a comfy armchair.
The hunter band hesitated for a moment, looks of trepidation and disgust plastered across each of their faces, bar T’Keela who was now too delirious with pain to take the slightest notice of his surroundings, the former noble still muttering under his breath a ceaseless litany of death threats.
“Will somebody please shut him up,” sighed Malthang wearily.
“I’ll pluck out their eyeballs and fry them in their own fat, I’ll rip out their fingernails and flay off their skin with them, I’ll pull their lungs out through their rectums and use them to decorate the walls of my mansion…”
Malthang rolled his eyes, Helkor tentatively prodded the wounded warrior in the side, which only caused the frenzied whisperings to grow even louder and more desperate.
“What in the dark mother’s name did I do to deserve this?” the shade cursed as he resigned himself to his fate. Squaring his shoulders, Ravensbane stiffly marched into the dishevelled old hut like a man walking into his grave. The rest of the hunters gingerly stepped around the pool of slime, which extended a tendril of ooze into the air and waved at them in a friendly manner as they passed, and followed him.

“What’s the diagnosis doctor?” asked Amalii cheerfully as Malthang rose to his feet from where he had been studying (the now mercifully unconscious again) T’Keela.
“Mental dysfunction, irrational and abnormal predilection towards self-mortification and an extreme case of Verbal Diarrhoea.”
“Well that doesn’t sound good,” whispered the mage conspirationally, blissfully unaware of who Malthang was actually referring too.
The shade gave Amalii a withering glare, which the mage responded too with a high-pitched giggle before shuffling off towards a cooker which looked more like it would try to eat you than cook for you.
“Anyone for Kaffe? Very popular in Tilea or so I hear.”
“How could you possibly not have been knocked on the head at birth?” asked Selkoreth in response to the mage’s question.
“Funny you should say that, because my father says he dropped me down the stairs when I was little, we had to move after that because the house burned down.”
“You don’t say?”
“Um hum,” replied the mage, nodding enthusiastically, “and from that day on we had to keep moving house and some form of malignant fire-spirit kept following our family around, burning down each new place we came to after a few months of our staying there.”
“Tell me Amalii, did this mysterious spirit suddenly vanish when you left home?” asked Malthang drily.
“That very same day,” said the mage with a solemn nod.
“Oh good lord.”

Right then, you are at Amalii’s hut, T’keela is unconscious having lost a lot of blood, he is still bleeding slightly through the wound in his chest and is having difficulty breathing thanks to the hole in his lung, after all of the recent action and all the time T’Keela has been left untreated he may only have a few minutes to live. You can either try to heal T’Keela or let him die, and you may also want to discuss what your plans are for getting out of the city as well.

I have to say I am really really sorry guys for being so late, I only planned to delay things for a day but then work got on top of me and the universe fast-forwarded to Tuesday night without asking my permission. The reason I planned on delaying things for a day was:

I have completed the first instalment of the poisons and medicines system, huzzah! The system is all laid down as are the descriptions of the first batch of ingredients (over 30 in total) as well as the first concoctions of poisons and medicines, I have tried to design the system to be flexible so that you can experiment and create your own mixtures and the recipes are just ‘suggestions’ hopefully giving you room to innovate and create your own unique concoctions, full details of the system and what ingredients/recipes/general knowledge of the effects of these things your characters each have (obviously those trained in healing will have a much wider knowledge than otherwise, so for you warriors the introduction of this system will not have such a great impact on your game at the moment.) will be sent out in PMs some time this week.

thanks for all your patience with your annoying modder

Author:  Malus99 [ Wed Aug 24, 2011 7:48 am ]
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*Edit* dammit, I knew I'd forgotten something, deadline is next Friday night (2nd september)

Btw, what do people think of the Friday night deadline? Do you all prefer Friday, Sunday or Monday Night deadlines?

Author:  The shadow king [ Sun Aug 28, 2011 2:58 am ]
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Helkor sidestepped the purple puddle by the door and decided not to think about where it came from and while the 'plants' were disturbing he'd seen far worse in the North.

He helped T'Keela sit down and grimaced at the ex-noble's injuries and cursed the man who'd wounded him. And again he wasn't sure why he cared.

One day I'm gonna have to sit down and resolve some things. He thought.

On the Northern Front there wasn't much you could do for a man who'd taken one in the lungs, just keep him comfortable, even if you were a Surgeon. . . Unless you were important for one of those darkness worshiping cows that called themselves sorceresses. Not that he wanted one of those 'helping' a member of the group. Even someone like T'Keela.

He stood. "I take it healing isn't exactly your strong suit, Master Mage?" He said to Amalii as he gratefully accepted a cup of Kaffe, he'd tried once on the recommendation of his File-Leader and discovered that not only did it give you a little push and stave off exhaustion on those long night-watches he also rather liked it.

How'd that joke go about liking one's women like one's Kaffe? He shrugged it'd come to him later and right he hurt to much to care.

He took a long sip of the hot liquid and sighed as it pushed back the waves of fatigue and mental fog, he looked around at the other and pulled his cloak around to hide his neck injury and the bloodstains. "I'm going to go find us a Healer who doesn't ask questions and find out what exactly happened at the Tower.

"Anyone care to come along? I figure with all the chaos in the city a few injured soldiers aren't going to attract much attention. However healers will be in high demand so we'll need to move fast."

OOC: Helkor will sneak out (whether or not anyone comes along) and do some discreet looking around to see what happened and find a Healer who won't ask any uncomfortable questions.

Author:  Varaken [ Thu Sep 01, 2011 1:30 pm ]
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Malthang made his way into the sorcerer's hovel carefully stepping around the various organisms which seemed to have taken up residence around the doorway. A cursory glance told the shade that distance would be best from such unnatural organisms.

He watched with a sardonic smile as the party helped the noble into a chair before Helkor decided to go look for a healer. Not the T'Keela would last that long, even someone without healing knowledge would see that he would be dead in minutes unless something was done. He watched Helkor leave to do his investigations before getting to work. At least they can get some information about what happened with the coven, hopefully the warrior won't get himself killed in the process.

"Ok, we need to move fast if we actually want to save the 'noble's' life. He might be useful for getting out of the city I suppose, he does seem to have a talent for catching arrows, even those fired by a temporarily blinded fugitive. Help me remove his armour and lay him on the floor, I have something that will help."

Malthang reached into his pouch and removed 6 vials, checking each for a few seconds before settling on a thick, deep red-purple coloured salve. Laying it almost reverently to one side he returned to the warrior and unbuckled his armour to expose the wound. The blood in the wound was frothed slightly, showing that the lung had indeed been punctured, the act of breathing creating a pink mist and foam that lay on the wound. Gently shifting some of this to see the wound he could see the neat puncture wound caused by the arrow on its passage through the elf's body.

"I need a sharp knife and quickly, I'm going to have to make an incision to heal the lung before I can secure the outer wound, otherwise he will only die of internal bleeding. And can someone please keep some damn pressure on this wound?"

OOC - Malthang is going to start to heal T'Keela as well as he can, intending to make a small incision to access the lung to apply the salve to the wounds there before healing the outer wounds.

Author:  T'keela [ Thu Sep 01, 2011 11:17 pm ]
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"RAWWWWWRRR! I am dying!" Screamed Tequila. "Save me, Or I'll kill you..." The pain had readily enough been replaced by blinding rage and a will to live. If these penniless curs don't save my life, I will slay them all and feed them to the abyss!

Of course considering he was lying on his back with a ragged wound through his chest, the wet sucking of his lungs trying to fill the air, making a deathly dirge in praise of the dead, he was in no position nor ability to making threats to several armed fighters.

Author:  Dresden [ Fri Sep 02, 2011 3:23 am ]
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IC: Selkoreth followed the mad mage with the rest of the group until they reached his "house", a term he used only loosely. Between the strangly organic door, seemingly sentient purple slime for a doormat, and plants that, when stared at, merely stared back, Selkoreth had no choice but to verbalize his bafflement at how the guards hadn't executed their new companion years ago. Well, whatevver he did, it seemed to work, so he saw no reason to hesitate when entering the shelter.

Inside, Helkor decided to go out in search of a healer and information. Selkoreth didn't know medicine, but he did know wounds, and a blind human could see that there wasn't time to fetch a healer. Oh well, someone needed to findout what the hell was going on, might as well be him. In the meantime he turned to help Malthang with his work, applying pressure at the shade's behest while saying What do you think I'm doing, anymore pressure and his ribs will crack inwards, last thing he needs is another hole in his lungs. Especially since I doubt even that would shut him up. He hoped it didn't take too long, he had some shopping he wanted to do.

OOC: Selkoreth will assist Malthang as best he can, starting by applying pressure on the wound. As soon as he is no longer needed, if time allows he will head out to do a little shopping, in particular looking for a halberd, or at least some other form of two handed weapon, while trying to keep as low a profile as possible.

Author:  Malus99 [ Fri Sep 02, 2011 8:50 pm ]
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Malthang wiped a bead of sweat from his brow as he lowered the knife. Setting the instrument to one side, he picked up the vial of thick, purplish liquid and, after a moment’s hesitation, poured a generous portion onto the puncture wound in the lung. The moment the liquid touched the raw flesh, T’Keela’s convulsions stilled and his breathing grew softer. As Malthang gently massaged the paste into the gash the burbling flow of blood stilled like someone had turned off a tap, and after a few moments the gaping hole in the spongy brown organ began to fill in from the bottom with healthy new pink flesh as a tide of restorative energy pulsed out from the potion Malthang had applied to the wound. As the hunters looked on, the wound in the lung closed over and sealed, muscle knitting itself back together at a phenomenal rate leaving little more than ragged scars and traces of sludgy blood the colour and consistency of tar in its wake. Selkoreth gave a low whistle of astonishment as he watched the wound disappear almost without a trace.
“Hurry and get me some thread and a needle,” snapped Malthang, “The wound in the lung is closed but we need to stitch up and heal the area we opened out to get to the lung or he’ll never be able to use those chest muscles again.”
“Here,” said Amalii as he stepped forwards out of a shadowed corner where he had been watching the proceedings. He held out a line of pure darkness which stretched from the shadows in the corner where he had been standing, as the mage reeled out more of the chord Malthang realised that it was coalescing from the shadows themselves.
“This should serve,” continued the sorcerer. His voice momentarily dropped its customary high-pitched childish tones, being replaced by a dark and husky whisper. Malthang glanced at Amalii’s masked face in surprise, seeing the sorcerer’s eyes narrowed appraisingly,
“I wonder who taught you that trick, master shade.”
Then the gleeful sparkle in the mage’s eyes returned and he giggled as he spun on his heel, pulling the full length of the thread from the darkness and twirling it around himself in a spiral before snapping it outwards like a whip to crack against T’Keela’s chest, causing the warrior to flinch slightly in his unconscious state.
“Hurry hurry then,” urged Amalii, his voice returning to its usual childish tone, “no time to lose.”
Malthang scowled and snatched the thread from the sorcerer’s hands, hastily stitching up each of the layers he had peeled away and applying a small portion of his healing salve to each layer, which swiftly sealed the sides of muscle, flesh and skin around the shadowy black chord that bound them closed. Malthang sat back with a sigh as the wound was finally sealed from the depths of the lung right up to the skin over T’Keela’s chest, he looked mournfully at the empty vile that he’d emptied the potion from, before returning it to his pouch. The warrior was sleeping peacefully now, his breathing very weak and light, but gradually growing stronger with each passing minute.
“Well done!” cried Amalii gleefully as he clapped his hands together like a little boy who’d just seen a magician pull a rabbit from a hat, he held his arms out for a hug, which the shade sourly ignored as he brushed past the sorcerer and headed into one of the adjoining rooms.
“Leave him to rest, call me when he wakes,” barked the shade before firmly closing the door behind him.
Amalii turned to Selkoreth with a shrug,
“I get the feeling he doesn’t like me very much.”
“I can’t imagine why,” replied the burly warrior with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
“No, neither can I,” said the sorcerer innocently, with what Selkoreth highly suspected was a bemused expression under that damned mask of his. The warrior rolled his eyes and returned his gaze to T’Keela, studying the scars and stitching across the elf’s chest, still astounded by how fast and how thoroughly the mortal wound had healed over.
“Handy bloke to have around,” he muttered to himself.
“Well, at least when you're getting holes poked in you,” he added with a wry chuckle.

Helkor inched cautiously through the door half an hour later, giving the puddle of slime (which was still waving enthusiastically at every visitor that passed) as wide a berth as possible. Glancing at T’Keela as he entered, the warrior looked relieved to see the exiled noble still breathing, though whether he was relieved because his companion was alive or relieved because he wouldn’t have to dispose of the corpse was harder to say.
Selkoreth glanced at his partner as he made his way into the room,
“Successful trip?”
Helkor shook his head.
“All the healers have either shut up shop or been called to the convent.”
“What happened there?”
The warrior shrugged, “From what little I heard, an intruder was discovered and the sorceresses took action.”
“That damned mad Khainite, what caused the explosion?”
“Don’t know, maybe his last stand? Whatever it was, it took a quarter of the convent with it.”
“Did they find him?”
Helkor shook his head again, “Not a trace, they reckon he was obliterated in the explosion.”
Selkoreth absorbed this in silence.
“He certainly gave us quite the distraction,” sighed Malthang as he entered the room, giving T’Keela an experimental prod with his boot as he passed which received a sleepy groan in reply. Nodding to himself, the shade cranked back his leg and kicked T’Keela in the side with as much force as he could muster, the warrior awoke with a yelp of pain and sprang to his feet. Amalii chose that moment to come bustling through holding a tray heavily laden with all manner of strange and brightly coloured biscuits whilst precariously balancing two steaming mugs in the crooks of his elbows, two atop his shoulders and the fifth on his head, all of which were wobbling at alarming angles in apparent defiance of all the laws of physics.
“Oh, your awake!” Cried the mage happily and dashed forwards, sending the mugs atop his shoulders and head flying into the air. Malthang caught his effortlessly, apparently used to the mage’s bizarre antics by now, whilst the warriors dived after their own beverages with strangled shouts of surprise and anger. Meanwhile Amalii withdrew one of the mugs from his elbow and pressed it towards T’Keela’s face as he dropped the tray of biscuits onto his toes, the sorcerer jumped into the air with a startled shout and an explosion of fire which singed T’Keela’s eyebrows.
“I’m still hallucinating aren’t I? Please tell me I’m still delirious” asked the former noble, his tone almost pleading as he took in his surroundings, cyclopean potted plants, friendly puddle of slime (which was waving at the newly awakened warrior so frantically it was splattering droplets of goo all over the door, who creaked in protest) and all, in a glance. Malthang shook his head with a chuckle.
“I’m afraid not. Welcome back to the land of the living, such as it is.”
“Oh, somebody please shoot me again.”
“Really?” asked the shade.
“No,” replied T’Keela bluntly. Remembering his injury, the warrior pulled aside the shirt he had been given and examined, with a strangely mixed expression of wonderment and horror, the stitched and healed wound.
“I fixed you up with some poultices and Amalii rustled up some magic string to stitch you back up,” commented Malthang. T’Keela gaped at Amalii and the shade, his face dropping the wonderment in the mud and swiftly assuming a look of pure terror.
“You mean you’ve been messing around with my internal organs and his magic is the only thing holding me together. I’m not sure which is worse.”
Malthang laughed harshly, whilst Amalii sipped at his Kaffe, looking at T’Keela like a dog that’s just brought his master a bone and is expecting a treat.
“And now I owe you my life too, how disgusting, how unfortunate.”
“No, don’t gush on so.”
“I’m sorry to interrupt this little pow-wow,” said Helkor, “But we need to plan our next move. The city garrison is inspecting the incident at the sorceress’ tower and soon they will find the bodies of the captain and lieutenant we killed, the moment they do, they will know there are still infiltrators in the city and getting out of the gate will become impossible. So what’s the plan?”
“Good question.”

Right then, what is your plan? You’re all fully operational again, but still with minor cuts, bruises and scrapes. T’Keela your injury has healed well from Malthang’s medical potion, but you will find it difficult to breathe normally and will be easily exhausted for some time to come, you don’t get over a wound like that overnight no matter how well you are treated. Also heavy exertion may cause you to tear your stitches or even re-open the wound.
Malthang you have used a health potion.
You know the deal, city gates close at night, guard patrols may take in strangers for questioning… What’s your next move? Deadline is Friday Night.
Do we have no opinions on the deadlines? Are we happy with Friday nights?

Author:  Malus99 [ Sun Sep 04, 2011 8:12 pm ]
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OOC: just realized that as that was an edit you guys won't get an alert saying there's been a new post so just bumping this to the top of the forum to let you know the mod post is up.
oops, screwed up again!

Author:  The shadow king [ Fri Sep 09, 2011 3:15 am ]
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Helkor stood, considered taking a look around the strange little mage's. . . house and quickly decided against it.

"I say we wait till daylight, pull our cloaks on over our gear and then walk out the gate and look casual."

He considered their other options and decided against them. As much he would hate having to spend a night Amalii's home it beat trying to avoid the guards in the dark and there were some fairly nasty things that lurked in the darkness outside the walls of any city in Naggaroth and now that winter was coming. . .

". . . Unless you all have a better idea?" He considered, briefly, asking Amalli to whip up something magical- And immediately quashed the thought.

OOC: I guess that's Helkor's plan and the Friday updates are cool with me.

Author:  T'keela [ Fri Sep 09, 2011 5:18 am ]
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OOC: Im cool with fridays, it's Friday for me now. I'll post within the next 10 hours. Cheers.

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