Roleplaying > Moderated Freeform

Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

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"It would seem to be fixed, whatever _it_ is.  Brin, I would commune with your lord rather than subject myself to such sorcery as this, but the rest of you seem far more - accustomed - to such strangeness."


--- Quote ---<"The thing with Somnak is that he tries. He strives for the better life of the civilized, he strives to shed his barbaric roots, he strives to better himself. Of course, he is a savage and a barbarian and a brute, as he has proven so adequately just now, but such ambition is to be commended. Whoever said that the caterpillar's job of metamorphosing into true butterfly was easy? He is haunted by his past and his ancestry. I know not his past or his history, but if he continues to try, even if he fails to succeed, I can work with him.

<"And even if he is a beast, animals can still be helpful, no? Is not this snake a friend of yours? And if one were to dip into the analytical examination, it must serve some useful purpose, if only companionship and friendship. Think of the half-orc, and indeed the rest of them, as the dogs of war we let loose upon our enemies.">
--- End quote ---

Meleana leaned her head on his shoulder and listened to his words. They sounded wise enough, but she just didn't have enough experience with such things to be able to grasp how such a thing would be possible. The only "barbarians" she had known before these came along, were the quallan. And she had never heard any tales of one of them ever trying to be something they're not. And even if they had tried, who would trust a quallan's words?

< "I know nothing of the race of pig-men, but if they're anything like the quallan(and so far it seems like it), I do not believe such a change possible. Dogs of war... Our dogs may defend us at times of peril, but they also live among us, among the children. A rabid dog is put down. Be'Loa has never hurt me or anyone else, but if she had, I would have her head and wear her skin instead." >

She sat up and looked Melior in the eyes, letting him see that she was serious.

< "So far, the dog has not bitten anyone I care about. And admittingly, the false villager seneschal hardly deserved my protection. So I shall give him the benefit of the doubt, for your sake. I trust you, not him. " >

She looked up.

< "Looks like the big human managed to fix the sweat lounge... Join me?" >

She stood up and offered her hand and an inviting smile for Melior. Together they entered the rejuvenation chamber, some time after sounds were heard that made even the priestess of passion blush.

If anyone wishes healing before I step in, consider a cure minor wound or three cast: Minion: Gossamer rolls 3d8 and gets 4,3,1.

Kismet & Lumori

(ooc: Echo rolled a party initiative and lost)

The battle raged on...

The Caryatid that struck her once already, swung again, but this time Kismet's flamberge met the statue's steel-sword blade against blade, and another shower of sparks erupted. (Murometz rolls 1d20 and gets 13.)

Meanwhile the other column attempted to skewer the lizard-like Lumori, as he darted from statue to statue, and danced around the attacking woman of stone with his knives. (ooc:Murometz rolls 1d20 and gets 2. Feck!). But she missed, as Lumori ducked down for another thrust with his daggers...

(ooc: you two attack now)

"Nice moves, brigand" Kismet lauded Lumori's strike, only to feel the blade of the neglected caryatid pass through her shoulder.
Were the foes alive, she'd delight in punishing them for such a daring act. It was a pity the stone women were bloodless, unfeeling!

She swerved with a roar reminiscent of the fire emblazoned upon her shield, fury reflected in her narrowed eyes, all-consuming star-fire of the soul. Reaching deep inside into the fount of power that sustained her, the armored amazon brought the weight of her shield smattering across the caryatid's blissfully oblivious features, following with a feral strike against the exposed neck of the swaying statue.

An explosion of white dust erupted from the pulverized marble, the head rolling off into a corner, leaving the decapitated guardian swerving.
Rolled a critical hit, for 24 damage.

Not gloating nor resting, Kismet continued her motion, grabbing the headless adversary by its slender legs, and bringing it in a wide arc against its sister, stone clattering against stone, the lifeless statue crumbling to debris upon impact, its twitching limbs strewn to the corners - except for the leg, which Kismet threw against the still standing caryatid's face, breaking off its delicate nose.
11 damage to the other stone-cold hussy

Still the automaton advanced, and Kismet picked up her sword in a backwards roll.

"I guess it still does not have enough?"

Ancient Gamer:
Ardhalas laughed as Meleana pulled Melior into a private chamber, and threw the belt tassel at her as she did so.

"Tie him up, maiden of the festivities!", he said in High Elven, knowing that only she and Melior would understand.

"Oh, and the item is magical and will enable you to change appearance into that of another person, or humanoid if you want. It is your chance to be an orc, Meleana!"

Meleana catched the tassel and left with Melior. Ardhalas was sure she didn't appreciate his humor, but it was a friendly gesture nonetheless. She had the frailty of innocense about her, and Ardhalas feared she would break down if not tended. Certainly a tryst with Melior would do her good, and perhaps the Elven lovers would find some solace and sanctuary in there, away from the Azul brute and his sinister companions.

The hours passed and he studied and meditated, memorized and wrote down spells. The lizardfinger pen was dipped in the Orthsnail inkwell time and time again, as he copied the One-Eyed Mage's spells over to his own spellbook.

It seemed as the lovemaking would never end, and Ardhalas arched an eyebrow in surprise over Meliors stamina and prowess. But the sounds also brought back memories, and Ardhalas fell into thoughts of happier days, and how he had chased a laughing Meleilé through the meadow, and they fell into a bundle in the grass. He could clearly see her eyes, how they fixed upon him, and he started banging his head slowly into the stone wall behind him.

Thud... Thud... Thud... Thud...

Tears were running down his cheeks until they hit his facial brand, then they trickled down the scar and dripped down on his cloak.

Ardhalas abruptly rose, wiping his tears with the end of the cloak, then approached Somnak, the Azul Warrior.

"Mighty Child of Azul, I bring you this item of power! This ... ring, that I found on our vanquished foe, it is of a protective nature and will surely deflect many a sword blow from your innards!"

Ardhalas ceremoniously placed the ring in Somnak's open palm, then headed over to Thorgir. "Thorgir, noble creature, you said earlier that you wanted the helm. Well... Here it is. It is an item of understanding, and it will make you understand all languages as if they were your native tongue!"

Then he walked over to Melior's backpack and dropped the blood-smeared spellbook beside it.
Facing Brin, he smiled. "Seems like you and me will have to wait our turn", he said.

The Reading
The lovemaking was less intense now, and Ardhalas thought he heard Melior's content snoring.

"I have so many questions...", he stated. "And I guess you have too"

And with that, the Elf picked a deck of wooden cards from his lizardskin pouch. The cards were painted  a crimson-grey color, a rorschach pattern on the back of each card. A musty smell of age, blood and iron assailed the nostrils of the partymembers, and as Somnak walked over, Ardhalas looked him in the eye.

"Child of Azul, do you care for fate? Do you want to the consult the spirits, and get one answer from them this night?"

Looking grim, a haunted expression on his face, the half-orc sat down without a word, and drew a card from the deck.

"Put it down on the ground", Ardhalas instructed softly, and Somnak gently laid it down, backside up. There was a slight trembling in the room, and a loud crack from beneath the card. A crack in the stonework, about 6 inches long, had erupted from where he put down the card. Slightly unnerved, and staring accusingly at the fissure, Somnak spoke, as if addressing some unseen spirits.

 "Is there hope for me? Or am I chained by the call of my tainted blood."


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