Apologies for the big update. Still, we are getting near the end, so I wanted to make sure eeryone was getting a little moment, and also thigns were being wrapped up. You know how it is Hope it's ok!
Ameena held the light soul stone, its bright radiance that did not blind contrasting oddly to the black bird that was a little hard to see. The bird also did weigh something, and while Ameena was happy with the weight for now, she perhaps did not want to have to hold it up too long. If they actually had a decent amount of time, of course! The bird still looked at her with a cocked head, toying with and tapping the sul stone as if to punctuate each of her comments, as if he understood lots of her rushed speech. Still, a distracted Falkor - looking across to Theron's plight and barely holding up his part - magaed to speak with squaks and cheeps, perhaps getting the basics of what Ameena was speaking about.
The raven uncocks its head. And blinks once or twice. It caws a few times, and Falkor stops dead, attention turned from Theron's scrambling. "Umm," says Falkor. "It asked why you don't like it down here. Umm..and what it could get you to make it alright." Falkor looked embarrassed, apparently worried he had not translated enough of the infomation correctly, or had perhaps translated it too much, and it was a jumble. Still, the raven seemed to have chosen odd questions to ask. Especailly, if as Ameena suspected, it actually had understood more than it appeared, reacting to her words less than Falkor's.
I wonder what Ameena will say next? Hopefully somethign short and sweet :p
Meanwhile, Theron had been scrambling on the floor. Karnadee's appearance andwords and even tone seemed strange now. She was not the distracted young girl in a young woman's body they had first encountered, using songs like nursery rhymns to communicate. And not the young woman, fully aware, that she had been as she came close to Theron, could finally talk as equals to her brother. Now Kardnadee seemed a shadow of her former self, or liek a dream. As if she was repeating something often repeated. Most likely, by Theron's reaction, the moment of her death. A death that had played out in his dreams and head countless times over the years.
"Karnadee! NOOOO!" yelled Theron,m in tears and scrambling to the child's side. However, it was too late, the spell had apparently been invoked as it had been countless times before. The spells of mortals always channels raw magic through the runes of power, for it was a pact with the world to use the casters own might and let the world bind the runes. Castign raw magic was a talent only the most gifted, or the most learned - or the most powerful High Lords - dare try. A magic where you use the power of the world, and use your own mind's interpretation of the runes for element, form or alignment to create magics powerful or subtle.
Karnadee had apparently been gifted. Apparently, when she spoke, the world listened. She had wanted the healing waters to take away her pain. And they had appeared - inside her chest.
"NOOOOOO!" screamed Theron once more, as his sister began drowning on dry land, her broken bones from a fall from a tree long forgotten. It did not seem to matter that she was a spirit, somehow, she was dying once more. "NO!" said Theron once more, standing up. The tears dried, and his cry was less pleading, it had a firmness to it. "I AM an archmaster, of all arts. This will NOT happen again!" Theron began calling forth great magics, with arrogance and skill commanding elements and forms to his sister, commandng ether and the power of the negative elements and the void itself to come to his aid, invoking the power of OH and the embrace of BRO. Theron had been a boy with not half the gift of his sister, and he had run from it at her death. It was not until he was sixteen, when the Grey Lord had actively sought Theron out. The Grey Lord had forced the young man to sieze the destny herhad turned from, and the drive that had pushed him away from magic had become the drive that pushed him to find greater and greater power, to ensure nothing could happen as happened when he was a child. He would be the master of everything.
Finally, his sister stopped moving. Theron fell to his knees, tears coming back once more. "I...I cannot save you. Still..." he whispered in defeat...
Aww, how nasty of me...
By the east door, the wood creaked and broke with the weight of the forced behind it. Evn though the followers of Larethian - all clustered by the south door = were pulling focus, there was still a great build up of forces. Helm and Passin along did not have the raw strength to hold it long, and Petal's magical reserved had been depleted in the fight, her final mana now running out. The bar on the door split, though for the moment held. The door did begin to creak alarmingly, for not only was there a physical pressureof the foes, but there was a chill in the air, and the moisture of the door's wood was turned to ice, making it fragile. Small parts splintered and cracked, and a hand would suddenly shoot out to try and fine a victim. Passin had his sword, the sword he had stabbed Petal with not long ago. Now he used it to stab the grak-grak arms. Ameena, fimly, could feel Helm even as her own thoughts were distracted by the task at hand. His fear had reached a calm peak. He felt certain he was goign to die, but instead of running, he concentrated on defending Passin and Petal,stabbing at any appearing arm that seemed as if it would strike them. He received a blow for not paying attetnion, his arm ripping painfully, but he stabbed at that too, and then went back to defending the others. He could not spare the time to look and see what had become of Ameena, but even as he stabbed his foes, he spared a thoguth for her...
Meanwhile, Petal could only doone thing now, she felt. With her magical reserves exhausted, she closed her eyes, calmed herself, and began beseeching with her mind to the once voice that had been in her head. Trying to summon it back one last time, for one last favour.
And we'll leave those struggling NPCS and sadly auto-piloted PC there...
Deephold was not sure whether he should run to Haynuus's aid or the door's even as Westian yelled to the dwarf, but seemed to finally decide upon the door. Perhaps seeing Haynuus was done for. Perhaps deciding to honour Haynuus's actions. Certainly, to loose another warrior who had taken up the blade and worn the banded mail was not an easy thing.
Westian felt Deephold's hand crasp his arm, the dwarf comign to Westian's side once more. "Haynuus is...he is doing his part. We must do ours," said Deephold. "I have faith in you, we all do," he said to Westian. Did Deephold see the doube in Westian's eyes and mind? Westian's own senses were now thrown so widely he found it difficult to instantly read Deephold's mind, and the dwarf had changed the subject quickly. "Perhaps if I had asked you to come with me, we would not be in this mess!" said the dwarf lightly depsite the obvious contrary emotion, an unusual and unaccustomed smile on the dwaf's face. He nodded to Westian one last time. "I am glad someone had more sense than I, and sent you to my side anyway."
And then Deephold moved forwards. Apparentyl, he chose to go to Aurek's side, adding his physical strength to the the doors, instead of bolstering Westian's own petitions and faith. Was this one final lesson Deephold was trying to give? Or did he really have faith in Westian? "Lord Larethian, give us the strength of body equal to our strength of mind and strength of spirit!" he intoned in prayer. Deephold put his back in to the door, a doorthat was also starting to creak and grown under the weight of ice forming, and press of foes.
Aurek's powerful efforts seemed to hold the centre, allowing the Trolins and Deephold to lock themselves in place as living posts, anchoring the door shut for another stolen moment. Deephold opened his eyes, looking to Aurek. "I am glad Westian has had you by his side, lad," said Deephold. "I know what it is like to have a solid and noble support, but my own was taken by this place. Poor Umgold. I know you have been the one to act with surity when things have been difficult. You honour the paladins of our order. No not worry for the half-orc. His is a kindred spirit to yours. Do not let his actions and sacrifice be meaningless by doubting or regretting the necessity of your own." Deephold then kept the pressure up on the door, struggling to buy Ameena one more moment, even as the rest were - with their lives as necessary.
Wow, that's a bit mean of Deephold, leaving Haynuus all on his own Kinda like he somehow knows something you guys don't...
Westian still held the staff, and again raised it, even as he could see the masses of Lolth's stolen vessels in his mind. His own lack of faith was still with him, despite Deephold's words. And Haynuus's own plight divided his attention, a plight Deephold seemed to have made his peace with.
Westian's force of will was not, perhaps, the strongest, but he could not help but still be able to give some power to it. Was he so used to twisting the truth, sometimes, that he could even lie to himself? Or did he truly have some core of faith? Whatever, he knew that the front row had once more faltered, takign the pressure off the door for a moment. At least, the base of the door.
Unfortunately, the rear ranks of grak-graks finally were pushing their front kin with enough force that the middle ranks started to scramble over the front ranks, planting rows of monstrous, spider-like keep on the multi-faceted eyed heads of the front rank that hesitated.The top of the double door started to creak, and buckle there, New arms came in from the top, where pressure could not be applied. One arm managed to catch Deephold a nasty wound, though he still stood firm, yelling for everyone to keep pushing. Guree threw her knife at the arm, making it whipe away in pain, and was forced to club further assults with her fist. Uumakc too was scratched, but stood firm too.
Westian however, found it hard to keep his mind focused on the real world. There was so much fear and suffering aroudn him, the scream of Gholst's spirits pierced the half-elf's soul and his own internal doubts were echoing around his head. Even the grak-grak's in his mind's eyes were becoming fuzzy, the mass of them now resembled a pulsating sack of spiders, ready to burst open. Westian had a mental image of the delicate threads of time as he had once seen them, reachign backwards his past and forwards to both the certain future of who he could have been, and the uncertain futre. Except now, his mind made those threads thicker, strands of a spider web. He was trapped, trapped in the web with the dead and living and the surely about to be dead. Everyone he had pulled with him not once but twice apparently, in two times. Everyone he had confronted. All trapped, with him at the centre of the web. And the Spider Queen, the Demoness Lolth, ready to come and get him. Feast on him with all the others watching, knowing they were all damned too.
Westian heard deep, rich laughter, the laugh of a woman. It sounded like his mother, but she had never laughed like this. It was the laughter of his father, but his father's laugh had never had the tone of cruelty to it.
"You can feel them, can't you," the voice whispered seductively.
"The strongest clambering over the weakest, as it should always be. Don't regret your own path to me. You've used so many to come to my arms. Deny it, pretend you did not wish it, but really, what else do you have?" There was the laughter once more, this time gentle and sweet.
"Yours is the greatest riddle you deny yourself the solving of. What do you really beleive in? Your false god? Your friends? The goodness of others? Fate? Your superiors and their 'wisdom'? I do not think so, you cannot commit to any of them. You do not respect any of them. You know what you have done, what you have achieved. I am the answer to the riddle. Stop resisting. You have been given great gifts. Open your mind to me, and let the others go, for they have served their purpose. Open your mind to me, and be my powerful gateway. Dolo was a weak, broken puppet. You - you will be my strength in this place. My voice. Really, what else do you have?" The laughter rose in pitch, unheard by the others in the room, only echoing in Westian's mind.
Wow, she really has Westian's number there, OB. He's tried to be a good guy, but like you said he's sort of a Gaius Balthar/politician sort of person. Really, don't you want to escape the certain death and have him just Dolo out? Or has Westian actually discovered one thing he knows he truly believes in? Even though defiance will most likely lead to death and being the gateway anyway :p
Haynuus's mind sought to figure out a way to continue. His mind also tried to cling to the intelligence it had briefly gained, still wondering if Gholst had one last piece of knowledge to impart. It was sad, but it seemed that his swiftly fading body had the answer. It seemed that he was to be denied the chance, in this life, to find a peaceful life. Still, perhaps one last act of violence would buy him peace in the next life. Did screamer slices have ghosts that needed tending?
Haynuus gave one final, defiant cry as he perfectly aimed his strike at Dargat's body. He saw Gholst's face clearly, the warlord furious at the act, and then surprised at the blow, and then in pain. It was a good image to go out on, and Haynuus closed his eyes, notcing that the lifted club was moving in slow motion tiowards him...
There was no pain, it seemed. That was nice. And when Haynuus finally opened his eyes, all he saw were the familiar faces...
S8niff* and that would appear to be the end of Haynuus Gholst can't fail to do less than a 6 damage per blow in Dargat's body, and gets three attacks, so, yeah, that looks like that's it, really
Anyway, for those of you still alive, it's time t-