"Hey Bacon, you forgot to bring
the eggs with you!" Qwyn is
quite cross having to walk across the dungeon with his jewels exposed as he sketches
a glowing rune in the air with his fingertip (28 to hit). Lines of eldritch
power slashes across the Dire Boar,
causing red lines (23 hit points damage). The Dire Boar lets out a primitive
scream of pain.
Qwyn let out a primitive
scream. Qwyn needed to control. Over the wind. Over the heat. Over the cold. He
needed to control it. Months of research - the other students had believed his
laughably primitive lie that he was researching herbal supplements for the mind
- were at stake here. "Is it good Qwyn today? Or bad Qwyn today?" The
dwarven fool Rahul had asked the question in a loud, good natured way that
passed as Rahul's idea of humor. Rahul had asked too loud - Rahul always asked
too loud thanks to a punctured eardrum that had never healed properly - and the
dwarf also seemed to time his questions to maximize interruption. Once upon a
time Qwyn had used humor to temper the dwarf's incessant chattering and
questions; once upon a time Qwyn had used soft words; the only mood to get the
desired result of quiet was simmering anger. Anger that Qwyn trapped
millimeters beneath the surface of his skin. Good Qywn came out when he felt
pangs of pity for the exile dwarf - the other 90 percent of the time though. Qwyn
stared icicles at Rahul until the dwarf had packed up his scrolls, abandoning
their shared domicile for a safer area. Control over the elements themselves.
Literal control. Heat. Wind. Cold. Earth. To step between the planes themselves
one needed to control the doorway. The academy was sorely lacking when it came
to this particular information on this particular subject. Qwyn shut the book,
stuffing it quickly into his bag. Studying no longer held his interest for
tonight. A slow grin crept across his face. He would study tomorrow. Tonight was
a night for adventure.
Voss’s mind was
conflicted with the different possibilities. What had he done? What should he
do next? Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was a lack of focus. Voss finally
engaged the boar in the best way possible, slamming his magical sword (29 to
hit) through the Boar’s thick hide (18 hit point damage). Voss then slides away
from the swine (E9.)
Hudson slid away
from the swine. Or maybe the swine slid away from him. Both of them were
tumbling out of control down a muddy slope, each turn caking more mud onto Hudson’s
cloak. If his barracks mates – his former
barracks mate – would have laughed uproariously. The renowned ranger Hudson, a
man who had joined them years ago as Voss
of the Hudson, was being outsmarted by a pig. Though some former farmers in
the group claimed pigs were the smartest of all animals. Hudson (or was he Voss
once again?) had tracked the small pig – most likely a 20 pounder – through the
area. As a challenge he was only using a club. His reward had been a bank that
was not nearly as solid as he would have liked. He landed flat on his back, the
wind was driven from his body; as he gained his breath his wind was knocked
from him a second time as the pig landed on his chest heavily. Voss instinctively
grabbed the pig, squeezing his tightly as he lifted it high in the air. Voss.
Yes, he was Voss again, laughed. It had been a long time since he laughed.
Alion called down
divine radiance from his God to help smith his enemy. The light bounced
harmlessly off (13 to hit) the Dire Boar’s thick coat. That is a damned large pig, he thought.
That is a damned large
river. Alion couldn't suppress the grin as it crawled across his face. It
had been so long since he allowed himself a smile, the easy upward twitching of
his mouth somehow activated the muscles in his sore thighs as though his body was
reminding him not to be too happy for too long. Fourteen days in the saddle
gave new meaning to the term saddle sore. Fourteen days of chasing raiding
elves Westward had left him scraped from the near skirmishes with thick dark
bags under his eyes that resembled that saddle bags hanging from his horse.
This view though. This is a damned large river. The Mississippi. He had heard
about it from others in the rectory though only a few had brought word of his
God this far. Not that he was a proselytizer. There were others who could speak
the virtues of his god. His job was to protect the party members sent to bring
the elves to justice.
“Got eyes on 'em”. Joshua spoke the words in the quiet voice
of his. All the words of the tracking ranger were quiet, as though too loud a
noise would scatter the hunted. Most men could not track elves. Most men were
not Joshua. “We will circle around”, noted Abraham, get them on the move again.
Where Alion's group planned to fjord the river was anyone's guess. They were in
no hurry to catch the elves. After all the elves had no cleric to heal their
wounded. The elves were already living off the land. The elves had injured
slowing them down. The elves would be captured. Meanwhile Alion enjoyed the
view. If there was not so much death involved then it most have been a perfect
view. “I say we kill them all now,” Abraham. “They make it to fey land and they’re
gone.” “What do you think?” Joshua asked Alion. “Let them go. Our work is done.”
Alion watched the elves disappear. No need to kill them. No need at all.
Remmy brought his
two-handed sword heavily down (28 to hit) on the Dire Boar’s thick skull. Blood
and brain splatters (19 hit point damage.) In its death throes the Dire Boar lunges forward, sinking its
tusks into Remmy (9 hit points damage.) The Dire Boar then fell to the ground,
bleeding profusely from numerous wounds and cuts. Its life no more.
His life no more. Remmy watched the funeral procession for
his Uncle. Seemingly every dwarf in the kingdom had come out to say goodbye. This is how you say goodbye to a hero.
His Uncle was gone. His father gone. Rahul gone. Remmy reflexively put his hand
to his neck, feeling the small scars that were a souvenir where the rope had
been. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation. Uncle would have hated this. He hated all pomp and circumstance.
There was a debt to be paid though. A trip to his Uncle’s brother. His Father’s
other brother. The brother that was never spoken of, other than drunken regrets
and the morning after regrets. Remmy let out a large, loud laugh. It had been a while since he had laughed. Then Remmy let out the dwarven death wail. A
primitive scream of pain.
DM Notes:
All of them are dead
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