"Voices."
Otto was standing stock-still, nearly expressionless; head cocked to one side.
"And footsteps. One dozen. From the place from which we entered this room."
His face darkened suddenly, eyes sparking.
"We run. But we run further in...or--" (glancing through the hole)-- "up."
The Eye of Anubis: Book Four
-
Kaitou Kage
- Evil Genius
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- Joined: Thu Nov 29, 2007 11:53 am
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Kuzan pulled a scroll from his pack and recited it quickly. In his urgency, he nearly fumbled over the prayer, but managed to complete the magic safely. A heavy wind rushed up from underneath for just a moment, and then the priest's feet floated just a little bit off the floor.
He pulled a rope from his pack and glided up toward the hole in the ceiling. No sooner did he go up the tunnel did he turn around and descend back into the room.
"Blocked!" he cried, "A mass of swirling blades! We can't get out that way!"
He pulled a rope from his pack and glided up toward the hole in the ceiling. No sooner did he go up the tunnel did he turn around and descend back into the room.
"Blocked!" he cried, "A mass of swirling blades! We can't get out that way!"
Last edited by Kaitou Kage on Fri Apr 11, 2008 7:00 pm, edited 1 time in total.
[OOC: fear save 20]
Gathering his wits Khalil leaps nimbly down from the sarcophagus, wincing as the impact jars a possibly broken rib. Still immeninent death had a way of spurring you on....
"No time for this, let us leave NOW, deeper into the tomb, hurry!" Vaulting past the gibbett, the desert guide heads for the far tunnel, muttering a quick invocation to Anubis as he heads into the darkened doorway.
Gathering his wits Khalil leaps nimbly down from the sarcophagus, wincing as the impact jars a possibly broken rib. Still immeninent death had a way of spurring you on....
"No time for this, let us leave NOW, deeper into the tomb, hurry!" Vaulting past the gibbett, the desert guide heads for the far tunnel, muttering a quick invocation to Anubis as he heads into the darkened doorway.
"I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space..."
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space..."
-
Nathan of the FoS
- Fiendish Enforcer
- Posts: 5246
- Joined: Fri Nov 28, 2003 3:39 pm
- Location: San Francisco CA
Merciful Ezra.
As if the scene weren't weird and frightening enough already, now a quasi-divine entity is...threatening their lives? And making off after Cavendish?
Although the mere seeing Cavendish flee in terror alone is worth the price of admission, really.
"Sorry, old man," Charles says to the judge. "You'll just have to wait for His Nibs to come back; we have an appointment to be anywhere else beginning a few minute ago." Marveling a little at his own insouciance, Charles ducks down the hallway and does his best to keep up with the fleeing Dragomen.
As if the scene weren't weird and frightening enough already, now a quasi-divine entity is...threatening their lives? And making off after Cavendish?
Although the mere seeing Cavendish flee in terror alone is worth the price of admission, really.
"Sorry, old man," Charles says to the judge. "You'll just have to wait for His Nibs to come back; we have an appointment to be anywhere else beginning a few minute ago." Marveling a little at his own insouciance, Charles ducks down the hallway and does his best to keep up with the fleeing Dragomen.
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena:
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The Whistler
- Evil Genius
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Otto is close on Charles' heels, moving fast despite his bulk--though he stops for a few seconds near the gibbet, looking thoughtfully at the Judge.
What do you say to a man who is in a cage, has just been impersonated by your auxiliary sworn enemy, is possibly mind-controlled, in all likelihood didn't like you very much to begin with, and is the political subordinate of an ubermensch who has just sworn to kill you?
"...It wasn't us?"
The gunsmith purses his lips and points vaguely at the Confessor, as if attempting to figure out a half-decent parting sentence...then gives up and keeps running.
What do you say to a man who is in a cage, has just been impersonated by your auxiliary sworn enemy, is possibly mind-controlled, in all likelihood didn't like you very much to begin with, and is the political subordinate of an ubermensch who has just sworn to kill you?
"...It wasn't us?"
The gunsmith purses his lips and points vaguely at the Confessor, as if attempting to figure out a half-decent parting sentence...then gives up and keeps running.
-
Rock of the Fraternity
- Evil Genius
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Lia backtracks, still swearing, and runs after the others. Deeper into the tomb. 'Ten to one, Cavendish left more surprises for us in there,' she thinks. 'Grand. Just ... grand.' "If ever we do catch that swine," she says out loud, "he must pay for this. Kuzan, please keep that rope handy! I have an idea ..."
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NeoTiamat
- Evil Genius
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- Location: Boston, Massachusetts, USA
The Ossuary of Ibn Sayyid, The Necropolis of Phiraz
May 24th, 761, 6:28 PM; Day 68 of the Menetnashte Expedition
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Less talking, Miss Mournswaithe, more running!" Michel panted out as the group turned yet another corner in the winding, twisting tunnel.
The footsteps that followed the group were now loud enough for everyone to hear, even as the strange echoes at times seemed to be mere turns away. Still, you thought your pursuers weren't following too closely. If you didn't know better, you'd have thought they were scared of you. At any rate, they advanced cautiously but continously. Unfortunately, no paths branched away from the tunnel, even as you realized that Cavendish had carved it himself from the rock. And so you ran, and hoped that wherever the tunnel lead, you'd get out of it alive.
The strange acoustics of the tunnel nearly led you to a very nasty accident.
Turning a corner, the sudden roar of sound nearly deafened you, and the suddenly slick surface nearly sent you falling forward. Before you stretched a small ledge with no avenues up or down or to the sides, and before that....
The dam. Huge, immense, awesome, the sheer amount of falling water was mind-blowing. A million gallons of water fell over the side every few minutes.
Loup's claws skittered on the slippery ledge, and his traction was worse, and so the husky Alsatian slid towards the edge with a frightened yip. Lunging, Guy grabbed him by the scruff of the collar before Loup went over the side. "Easy there, I got ya..."
"Yes, and if we do not do something fast, they have got us!" Michel pointed out. "I take it back, Miss Mournswaithe. Ideas are very welcome just now."
And then, you saw the titanic battle in the sky above the city.
[OOC: Alrighty! You have four options before you, as far as I can see them (I imagine you guys being clever, you can think of yet more). All the round/level buffs have long since worn off, but the minute/level and hour/level are still going. The cave floor is slippery from the water, so its a DC 12 Balance Check when running or charging, and you are considered to be Flat-Footed.
The river below you is the Chakor river, and if you follow it, you'll end up outside the city near the Gate of the Scorpions.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, the great aerial battle continued over the City of Phiraz. John Lancaster Cavendish roses into the air, and Diamabel leaps after him, Spiritburner blazing in a holocaust of righteous wrath.
“Die, infidel!” the Prophet roars, and swings, cutting into the necromancer’s flesh and slicing open a a pant-leg, causing Cavendish to jerk in surprise.
"I'm sorry, but I already did." The necromancer gave a shark-like smile, only slightly strained. "Going up!"
The necromancer shot upward like a bullet from a musket, reaching the open air long seconds before the Prophet (though he flies with uncanny grace and speed) can reach the top of the shaft.
"Tusichu Kinjalov." With two words, Cavendish conjures a thicket of revolving blades, the greater version of Lia's magical missiles, and then beat his wings twice to gain some more distance. Lets see the self-proclaimed Prophet get through that.
The self-procliamed Prophet did just that, bursting through the ring of steel and ignoring the cuts they inflict on his flesh. “Stand and fight, dog!” he howls as he closes with Cavendish.
"If you insist." Cavendish obliges him by remaining in place long enough to reach out and touch him with a hand crackling with negative energy, and for a moment the fires of the angelic figure’s eyes dim—only to blaze up with renewed fervor as he draws on some inner reserve of strength. Cavendish scrambled backward but takes another blow from Spiritburner as he retreats, this time along the back. The necromancer had seen better days, it seemed. "Careful now! You might hurt someone. Me for instance."
“The power of purity is greater than you imagine,” Diamabel whispers, more to himself than to Cavendish…and the dozens of wounds he took bursting through the barrier of blades fade and are gone. “As you will learn to your cost!”
"Oh put a sock in it already." The necromancer didn't seem to be enjoying this quite so much anymore. Being nearly eviscerated a few times had a dampening effect on his enthusiasm.
Jetting forward again, Diamabel swungs Spiritburner over his head and the two begin their dance of death above the Necropolis—the black-clad, black-winged necromancer retreating strategically as the eagle-winged angel drives forward, sword in hand. A deadly ballet, a lethal waltz, the Prophet and the Necromancer.
"Umerai...." The necromancer breathed as an arc of black energy erupted from Cavendish’s hand and clungs to Diamabel’s body and raiment, shimmering darkly in the late afternoon sun. Cavendish did his best to keep his distance from the flaming greatsword—to no avail, as an attempt dodge is detect and a blow which would cut a warhorse in two bites deeply into his arm.
Cavendish was a vicious warrior, you had seen that before. But Diamabel was his greater in all matters of war. As a necromancer, however, Cavendish admitted no equal. It was a battle of titans.
"Volny Yad!" Cavendish cast another spell, bringing an eruption of green slime forth; a mutter prayer to Purity and it crystallizes and disperses into a thousand emerald flakes which drift down to the Ousserd, hundred of feet below, then retreats at the cost of another wound from Spiritburner, darting upward under the impulse of a magical updraft felt beneath his wings only.
“Coward!” Diamabel shrieks, throwing himself upward with uncanny speed. Abyssal flames danced around him and were gone; his wings were singed, his clothing tattered, but the rage and hate burning in the Prophet of Purity was too great to heed any bodily harm. The evil energies of the earlier spell were sapping him of his strength, and each sword blow came a little slower, each roar of defiance a little softer, but Diamabel was not yet ready to leave this fight.
"Why won't you just die already! Burn!" Cavendish snarled, frustration writ upon each syllable. He was not having a good day, even with all of his myriad preparations. One blow more, or two, and the deceiver and necromancer would meet his reward…another blow from Spiritburner, and Cavendish retreated again and again invoked the ring of dark fire against the angel.
When the fire died, it revealed a terrible sight.
Diamabel was still burning.
The flames that run along the great blade Spiritburner have been joined by others rising from his hair, his body, his wings, as if in preparation for some infernal cataclysm.
“NOW IT ENDS!” The shining Prophet of Phiraz screamed to the heavens, and launched himself forward again, Spiritburner held like a lance before him. In one blinding moment it seems to pierce the necromancer through the very heart, just as Cavendish reaches forward with one final spell, hand shimmering in a field of evil, malevolent energies, a cold …
The two adversaries, the holy warrior and the abyssal necromancer collided, and for a moment they hung in space, silent and unmoving…
A light brighter and more piercing than that of the setting sun itself ripped open the sky above Phiraz.
And when it is gone, neither the Prophet of Purity, Diamabel, nor John Lancaster Cavendish, were anywhere to be seen.
May 24th, 761, 6:28 PM; Day 68 of the Menetnashte Expedition
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Less talking, Miss Mournswaithe, more running!" Michel panted out as the group turned yet another corner in the winding, twisting tunnel.
The footsteps that followed the group were now loud enough for everyone to hear, even as the strange echoes at times seemed to be mere turns away. Still, you thought your pursuers weren't following too closely. If you didn't know better, you'd have thought they were scared of you. At any rate, they advanced cautiously but continously. Unfortunately, no paths branched away from the tunnel, even as you realized that Cavendish had carved it himself from the rock. And so you ran, and hoped that wherever the tunnel lead, you'd get out of it alive.
The strange acoustics of the tunnel nearly led you to a very nasty accident.
Turning a corner, the sudden roar of sound nearly deafened you, and the suddenly slick surface nearly sent you falling forward. Before you stretched a small ledge with no avenues up or down or to the sides, and before that....
The dam. Huge, immense, awesome, the sheer amount of falling water was mind-blowing. A million gallons of water fell over the side every few minutes.
Loup's claws skittered on the slippery ledge, and his traction was worse, and so the husky Alsatian slid towards the edge with a frightened yip. Lunging, Guy grabbed him by the scruff of the collar before Loup went over the side. "Easy there, I got ya..."
"Yes, and if we do not do something fast, they have got us!" Michel pointed out. "I take it back, Miss Mournswaithe. Ideas are very welcome just now."
And then, you saw the titanic battle in the sky above the city.
[OOC: Alrighty! You have four options before you, as far as I can see them (I imagine you guys being clever, you can think of yet more). All the round/level buffs have long since worn off, but the minute/level and hour/level are still going. The cave floor is slippery from the water, so its a DC 12 Balance Check when running or charging, and you are considered to be Flat-Footed.
- -You can take your chances with your pursuers, whoever they are.
-You can try to climb up or down the cliff. It's a 100 feet down, 150 feet up, and good chance that the pursuers will show up before you're all up or down. DC 20 Climb Check to do it normally, DC 5 with a rope, you move at a quarter your speed (15 feet a round), or half with a +5 DC (30 feet a round, I imagine).
-You can fly away like a birdy (Lucky Kuzan)
-You can take a dive. It's a DC 20 Swim Check, and if you fail it, you take 2d3 Non-lethal and 6d6 lethal damage, followed by three successful DC 15 Swim checks to get out of the area immediately below the dam. Afterwards, you just need to take DC 10 Swim checks to swim the river, and you can take 10. Swim rules are: http://www.d20srd.org/srd/skills/swim.htm
The river below you is the Chakor river, and if you follow it, you'll end up outside the city near the Gate of the Scorpions.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, the great aerial battle continued over the City of Phiraz. John Lancaster Cavendish roses into the air, and Diamabel leaps after him, Spiritburner blazing in a holocaust of righteous wrath.
“Die, infidel!” the Prophet roars, and swings, cutting into the necromancer’s flesh and slicing open a a pant-leg, causing Cavendish to jerk in surprise.
"I'm sorry, but I already did." The necromancer gave a shark-like smile, only slightly strained. "Going up!"
The necromancer shot upward like a bullet from a musket, reaching the open air long seconds before the Prophet (though he flies with uncanny grace and speed) can reach the top of the shaft.
"Tusichu Kinjalov." With two words, Cavendish conjures a thicket of revolving blades, the greater version of Lia's magical missiles, and then beat his wings twice to gain some more distance. Lets see the self-proclaimed Prophet get through that.
The self-procliamed Prophet did just that, bursting through the ring of steel and ignoring the cuts they inflict on his flesh. “Stand and fight, dog!” he howls as he closes with Cavendish.
"If you insist." Cavendish obliges him by remaining in place long enough to reach out and touch him with a hand crackling with negative energy, and for a moment the fires of the angelic figure’s eyes dim—only to blaze up with renewed fervor as he draws on some inner reserve of strength. Cavendish scrambled backward but takes another blow from Spiritburner as he retreats, this time along the back. The necromancer had seen better days, it seemed. "Careful now! You might hurt someone. Me for instance."
“The power of purity is greater than you imagine,” Diamabel whispers, more to himself than to Cavendish…and the dozens of wounds he took bursting through the barrier of blades fade and are gone. “As you will learn to your cost!”
"Oh put a sock in it already." The necromancer didn't seem to be enjoying this quite so much anymore. Being nearly eviscerated a few times had a dampening effect on his enthusiasm.
Jetting forward again, Diamabel swungs Spiritburner over his head and the two begin their dance of death above the Necropolis—the black-clad, black-winged necromancer retreating strategically as the eagle-winged angel drives forward, sword in hand. A deadly ballet, a lethal waltz, the Prophet and the Necromancer.
"Umerai...." The necromancer breathed as an arc of black energy erupted from Cavendish’s hand and clungs to Diamabel’s body and raiment, shimmering darkly in the late afternoon sun. Cavendish did his best to keep his distance from the flaming greatsword—to no avail, as an attempt dodge is detect and a blow which would cut a warhorse in two bites deeply into his arm.
Cavendish was a vicious warrior, you had seen that before. But Diamabel was his greater in all matters of war. As a necromancer, however, Cavendish admitted no equal. It was a battle of titans.
"Volny Yad!" Cavendish cast another spell, bringing an eruption of green slime forth; a mutter prayer to Purity and it crystallizes and disperses into a thousand emerald flakes which drift down to the Ousserd, hundred of feet below, then retreats at the cost of another wound from Spiritburner, darting upward under the impulse of a magical updraft felt beneath his wings only.
“Coward!” Diamabel shrieks, throwing himself upward with uncanny speed. Abyssal flames danced around him and were gone; his wings were singed, his clothing tattered, but the rage and hate burning in the Prophet of Purity was too great to heed any bodily harm. The evil energies of the earlier spell were sapping him of his strength, and each sword blow came a little slower, each roar of defiance a little softer, but Diamabel was not yet ready to leave this fight.
"Why won't you just die already! Burn!" Cavendish snarled, frustration writ upon each syllable. He was not having a good day, even with all of his myriad preparations. One blow more, or two, and the deceiver and necromancer would meet his reward…another blow from Spiritburner, and Cavendish retreated again and again invoked the ring of dark fire against the angel.
When the fire died, it revealed a terrible sight.
Diamabel was still burning.
The flames that run along the great blade Spiritburner have been joined by others rising from his hair, his body, his wings, as if in preparation for some infernal cataclysm.
“NOW IT ENDS!” The shining Prophet of Phiraz screamed to the heavens, and launched himself forward again, Spiritburner held like a lance before him. In one blinding moment it seems to pierce the necromancer through the very heart, just as Cavendish reaches forward with one final spell, hand shimmering in a field of evil, malevolent energies, a cold …
The two adversaries, the holy warrior and the abyssal necromancer collided, and for a moment they hung in space, silent and unmoving…
A light brighter and more piercing than that of the setting sun itself ripped open the sky above Phiraz.
And when it is gone, neither the Prophet of Purity, Diamabel, nor John Lancaster Cavendish, were anywhere to be seen.
Ravenloft GM: Eye of Anubis, Shattered City, and Prof. Lupescu's Traveling Ghost Show
Lead Writer & Editor: VRS Files: Doppelgangers; Contributor: QtR #20, #21, #22, #23, #24
Freelance Writer for Paizo Publishing
Lead Writer & Editor: VRS Files: Doppelgangers; Contributor: QtR #20, #21, #22, #23, #24
Freelance Writer for Paizo Publishing
-
Kaitou Kage
- Evil Genius
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- Joined: Thu Nov 29, 2007 11:53 am
- Location: Here and there
- Contact:
Kuzan pulled out another scroll from his satchel and recited the mantra on the page. The parchment crackled away with lightning and he reached out, touching Guy on the shoulder. The wind lifted the ranger up, enabling him to fly.
"Grab whoever you can," the priest said, passing his rope off to someone, "I'll take Loup and someone light -- " here, the priest paused to glance at Charles, Lia, and Michel " -- Even if we can't carry everyone, if we can at least get people to the calm water, we'll be all right. Then, we need to get to the Gate of Scorpions, wherever that is. Hopefully closeby."
He glanced at Lia. "If you have ANY flying ability at all," he said sternly, "spells, scrolls, whatever -- use it now and use it all on people who can carry others. Ishaq and Tomas or Khalil or something. It's our best chance of getting out of here safely."
A thought occurred to the priest.
"If we have enough rope, we can tie it around people's waists and pool our strength that way. As long as we get past the falls to the calm water, we'll be okay. Let's go. Quickly."
Casting fly on Guy. Lia, I'm trusting you to take care of Ishaq and if you have any other fly (scrolls or whatever), another person too. If we have to ferry folks down to the calm water, that's fine, since the people following us probably can't fly and we can swim our way to the Gate.
"Grab whoever you can," the priest said, passing his rope off to someone, "I'll take Loup and someone light -- " here, the priest paused to glance at Charles, Lia, and Michel " -- Even if we can't carry everyone, if we can at least get people to the calm water, we'll be all right. Then, we need to get to the Gate of Scorpions, wherever that is. Hopefully closeby."
He glanced at Lia. "If you have ANY flying ability at all," he said sternly, "spells, scrolls, whatever -- use it now and use it all on people who can carry others. Ishaq and Tomas or Khalil or something. It's our best chance of getting out of here safely."
A thought occurred to the priest.
"If we have enough rope, we can tie it around people's waists and pool our strength that way. As long as we get past the falls to the calm water, we'll be okay. Let's go. Quickly."
Casting fly on Guy. Lia, I'm trusting you to take care of Ishaq and if you have any other fly (scrolls or whatever), another person too. If we have to ferry folks down to the calm water, that's fine, since the people following us probably can't fly and we can swim our way to the Gate.
Khalil nods at Kuzans words, and reaching into his pack, he fumbles for a moment before drawing out a ridiculously long length of rope for the size of the pack. "Amazing what our friend Faruq has for sale no?" he says with a small grin.
"I am thinking this would be enough rope to climb with." he says squinting in the sun at the sheer drop below. "Or to tie ourselves togetehr as you suggest."
"Perhaps though we can buy ourselves some time whilst we decide." Pulling a bag form a belt pouch, the desert guide ducks into the tunnel for a moment, and throws a double handful of small metallic spikes across the floor.
"Now decide quickly can we fly from here?"
[OOC: Khalil has pulled out 150ft of silk rope, he also has a collapsible grappling hook if we are doing the climbing option. Oh and he just dumped a pouch of Caltrops 10ft inside the tunnel entrance]
"I am thinking this would be enough rope to climb with." he says squinting in the sun at the sheer drop below. "Or to tie ourselves togetehr as you suggest."
"Perhaps though we can buy ourselves some time whilst we decide." Pulling a bag form a belt pouch, the desert guide ducks into the tunnel for a moment, and throws a double handful of small metallic spikes across the floor.
"Now decide quickly can we fly from here?"
[OOC: Khalil has pulled out 150ft of silk rope, he also has a collapsible grappling hook if we are doing the climbing option. Oh and he just dumped a pouch of Caltrops 10ft inside the tunnel entrance]
"I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space..."
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space..."
-
Nathan of the FoS
- Fiendish Enforcer
- Posts: 5246
- Joined: Fri Nov 28, 2003 3:39 pm
- Location: San Francisco CA
Charles opens his pack and pulls something up from the very bottom...a massive coil of the best silk rope.
"I believe someone asked me once what I would ever do with two hundred feet of rope," he says. "Et voila!" Glancing over the side, he says, "Should enough for two. I'll be the last man down, if someone's willing to carry me; I have an idea for holding off our pursuers, but I'll have to stay up here for it to work."
Suiting deeds to words he hands the rope to Khalil and then turns his back to the Expedition, muttering a few words and holding up his hands, then kneeling on the floor of the tunnel, eyes fixed.
200 ft of rope to Khalil, which it sounds like we may not end up needing, and then go to where the caltrops end and cast a silent image of the mouth of the tunnel ending 20 feet early...i.e., before the caltrops, and without us.
"I believe someone asked me once what I would ever do with two hundred feet of rope," he says. "Et voila!" Glancing over the side, he says, "Should enough for two. I'll be the last man down, if someone's willing to carry me; I have an idea for holding off our pursuers, but I'll have to stay up here for it to work."
Suiting deeds to words he hands the rope to Khalil and then turns his back to the Expedition, muttering a few words and holding up his hands, then kneeling on the floor of the tunnel, eyes fixed.
200 ft of rope to Khalil, which it sounds like we may not end up needing, and then go to where the caltrops end and cast a silent image of the mouth of the tunnel ending 20 feet early...i.e., before the caltrops, and without us.
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena:
-
yalenusveler
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 1266
- Joined: Thu Nov 29, 2007 10:44 pm
- Location: Pennsylvania...or Baator
"Please please PLEASE tell me we have enough flight spells." Andre muttered, a bit frantic. This sort of behavior was most certainly NOT on the agenda for today. Fighting undead? Oh certainly. Having what may in fact be the literal agent of a deity upon the earth furious at the group? Oh HELLS no.
Never mind, if Diamabel were so all powerful, his getting tricked by Cavendish sort of put another nail in the coffin of the deities.
"A quiet archaeological expedition. Really, that's all I sodding wanted. Instead we have Angered Anubites, Belligerent Bards, Calcified Cats, and a Pissed off Prophet..." He muttered, watching the preparations. And REALLY hoping Lia had enough flight spells. Because..that WAS an awfully long way down.
Never mind, if Diamabel were so all powerful, his getting tricked by Cavendish sort of put another nail in the coffin of the deities.
"A quiet archaeological expedition. Really, that's all I sodding wanted. Instead we have Angered Anubites, Belligerent Bards, Calcified Cats, and a Pissed off Prophet..." He muttered, watching the preparations. And REALLY hoping Lia had enough flight spells. Because..that WAS an awfully long way down.
"Sometimes, Mr.Liquor cabinet is my only friend"
-
NeoTiamat
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 4119
- Joined: Tue Sep 12, 2006 5:00 pm
- Gender: Male
- Location: Boston, Massachusetts, USA
The Ossuary of Ibn Sayyid, The Necropolis of Phiraz
May 24th, 761, 6:42 PM; Day 68 of the Menetnashte Expedition
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Loup whined a little, pressing his ears flat against his skull and not enjoying this in the least. Guy held him by the collar, soothing the dog. "It's alright.. it's alright..."
Michel wasn't quite so sure. The Dementlieuse dandy looked down at the hundred-foot drop and the millions of gallons of rushing water with distaste. "Would now be a good time to point out that I can't swim?"
"No." Guy said shortly. And then Loup's ears perked up, and the ex-militiaman hissed you to silence.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Pharazian
."Come on, they can't have gone far!"
Voices. Your pursuers had finally caught up to you.
Even as Charles held his illusion steady, the foreshortened cave end and dam with its water a little too soon, you saw them come. Confessors. A full dozen of them, but you saw that these were not the usual religious police. Scale mail glittered from the folds of their white robes, and whips had been supplemented with swords and shields.
They stopped short at the illusion, glaring out at the rushing water only a few dozen feet away.
."They didn't go this way, not unless they grew wings." One of them said, the leader if his slightly more ornate sword was anything to go by. He yelled to his men. "Come on! Check back the rest of the tunnel, there might be a secret passage we missed. The Lord High Confessor will have our heads if we let the polluted traitors get away!"
And the group of Confessors headed back into the tunnel, tapping the walls and floors as they passed, until they disappeared out of sight. But you could still hear their voices from time to time, and you knew that it was only a matter of time before they gave up and returned to the ledge. And Charles's illusion wouldn't stand up to a detailed inspection.
You had to hurry.
May 24th, 761, 6:42 PM; Day 68 of the Menetnashte Expedition
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Loup whined a little, pressing his ears flat against his skull and not enjoying this in the least. Guy held him by the collar, soothing the dog. "It's alright.. it's alright..."
Michel wasn't quite so sure. The Dementlieuse dandy looked down at the hundred-foot drop and the millions of gallons of rushing water with distaste. "Would now be a good time to point out that I can't swim?"
"No." Guy said shortly. And then Loup's ears perked up, and the ex-militiaman hissed you to silence.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Pharazian
."Come on, they can't have gone far!"
Voices. Your pursuers had finally caught up to you.
Even as Charles held his illusion steady, the foreshortened cave end and dam with its water a little too soon, you saw them come. Confessors. A full dozen of them, but you saw that these were not the usual religious police. Scale mail glittered from the folds of their white robes, and whips had been supplemented with swords and shields.
They stopped short at the illusion, glaring out at the rushing water only a few dozen feet away.
."They didn't go this way, not unless they grew wings." One of them said, the leader if his slightly more ornate sword was anything to go by. He yelled to his men. "Come on! Check back the rest of the tunnel, there might be a secret passage we missed. The Lord High Confessor will have our heads if we let the polluted traitors get away!"
And the group of Confessors headed back into the tunnel, tapping the walls and floors as they passed, until they disappeared out of sight. But you could still hear their voices from time to time, and you knew that it was only a matter of time before they gave up and returned to the ledge. And Charles's illusion wouldn't stand up to a detailed inspection.
You had to hurry.
Last edited by NeoTiamat on Sat Apr 12, 2008 1:02 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Ravenloft GM: Eye of Anubis, Shattered City, and Prof. Lupescu's Traveling Ghost Show
Lead Writer & Editor: VRS Files: Doppelgangers; Contributor: QtR #20, #21, #22, #23, #24
Freelance Writer for Paizo Publishing
Lead Writer & Editor: VRS Files: Doppelgangers; Contributor: QtR #20, #21, #22, #23, #24
Freelance Writer for Paizo Publishing
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Rock of the Fraternity
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 6077
- Joined: Wed Nov 21, 2007 1:16 pm
(*salutes Kuzan* I'm on it!)
Lia waits for a few anxious breaths until she is certain the Confessors have left. Then she hurries over to the others, hands scrabbling at her scroll case, which has been fuller than usual of late.
"With thanks to Ulsaon Lowbane, fallen friend," Lia says as she rips a scroll from the case and claps her hand to Ishaq's shoulder, chanting a brief word: "Volo!" Energy crackles along the huge man's limbs, encircling them like snakes, then passing into him. Once they are inside, Ishaq can feel a buoyancy, the power to fly just by willing it.
"With thanks to a shopkeep in Dementlieu from whom I bought this," Lia continues, pulling forth a second scroll. This time, she slaps her hand to Tomas's shoulder. "Counting on you, White Knight, as always. Our safety is in your hands -- and I have not seen better ones to keep them. Facultam volati tibi dono!" A cold force envelops Tomas's body like the reaching arms of a squid -- or a spider? -- encircling him and sinking into him. Just as Ishaq, Tomas will find he can fly.
Both scrolls crumble into dust in Lia's hands, who hurriedly brushes it off and goes to seize Loup by the scruff of the neck. "Guy, please give this beggar-at-meals whatever order keeps him calm under strange circumstances. Those were the last spells of flight I can provide for today ... Let us leave as swiftly as possible. And let us leave no one behind: we have four fliers now, we should all be able to go. And those who can not fly, can still shoot at any pursuers if they should become too enthusiastic." Dragging Loup if necessary, Lia moves to Kuzan's side. "I am ready," she states.
(I used Ulsaon's scroll of Swift Fly and Lia's own scroll of Fly. That's it. o_o)
Lia waits for a few anxious breaths until she is certain the Confessors have left. Then she hurries over to the others, hands scrabbling at her scroll case, which has been fuller than usual of late.
"With thanks to Ulsaon Lowbane, fallen friend," Lia says as she rips a scroll from the case and claps her hand to Ishaq's shoulder, chanting a brief word: "Volo!" Energy crackles along the huge man's limbs, encircling them like snakes, then passing into him. Once they are inside, Ishaq can feel a buoyancy, the power to fly just by willing it.
"With thanks to a shopkeep in Dementlieu from whom I bought this," Lia continues, pulling forth a second scroll. This time, she slaps her hand to Tomas's shoulder. "Counting on you, White Knight, as always. Our safety is in your hands -- and I have not seen better ones to keep them. Facultam volati tibi dono!" A cold force envelops Tomas's body like the reaching arms of a squid -- or a spider? -- encircling him and sinking into him. Just as Ishaq, Tomas will find he can fly.
Both scrolls crumble into dust in Lia's hands, who hurriedly brushes it off and goes to seize Loup by the scruff of the neck. "Guy, please give this beggar-at-meals whatever order keeps him calm under strange circumstances. Those were the last spells of flight I can provide for today ... Let us leave as swiftly as possible. And let us leave no one behind: we have four fliers now, we should all be able to go. And those who can not fly, can still shoot at any pursuers if they should become too enthusiastic." Dragging Loup if necessary, Lia moves to Kuzan's side. "I am ready," she states.
(I used Ulsaon's scroll of Swift Fly and Lia's own scroll of Fly. That's it. o_o)
Last edited by Rock of the Fraternity on Sun Apr 13, 2008 5:21 am, edited 1 time in total.