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Post by shinnkopf on Jan 1, 2009 20:22:55 GMT -8
It had been two days since Sarriet and Horace had left from Zarlane on their journey westward. At first it had been suitably awkward, but after a few hours of silence, sarriet had started up a conversation, and He, his Lynx companion Emara, and Horace and become suitably aquainted. When it came time to set up camp, Horace had inquired about what sort of rations Sarriet had brought, and Sarriet had had to confess that he had brought none. Before Horace could exclaim about a lack of food, however, Sarriet had sung a few syllabuls of the ancient language of the trans-sibran eldar and a small sprg of fliage erupted from the earth beside them. After several moments a sizable bush had grown and on it alighted several extremely large red fruit. Within them was an extremely tasty thick liquid that provided them with nourishment. Since the morning the had continued their travel westward through the harsh deserts of the Trans-sibra.
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Post by Horace on Jan 1, 2009 20:31:52 GMT -8
The fucking desert. Horace couldn't believe he'd lived this long in such a desolate country. Besides Sarriet's magic trick he hadn't learned anything interesting in days. Wait, on the horizon. Horace swung his crossbow up and looked through the telescopic sight he'd had made by a glassblower in Delphi. Aeromads. Desert raiders riding an assortment of winged beasts. "Well boss looks like we have something to worry about. We got three raiders on the north side. Looks like two griffons and a small wyrm." Horace checked his bolts and readied himself foe battle.
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Post by shinnkopf on Jan 1, 2009 20:50:07 GMT -8
Damn it all to Hell.... A battle was NOT what Sarriet had been looking for in an adventure. He knew well the culture of the aeromads however. It was not in them to let their prey escape without a fight, and on their flying mounts and in their current numbers, Horace and Sarriet would be hard-pressed to win...
Sarriet quickly flipped through his collection of spells that could be helpful... He toyed with a few subtle spells, but he then realized that now was not a time for the "subtleties of nature," as he had explained so many times. This was a time for survival. With a quick mumbled spell, Sarriet shielded his eyes along with Horace's and Emara's. Next he began a chant in the harsh language of the wandering dwarven Nomads of Trans-sibra. It took several moments to complete, but once he was done, Sarriet felt a wind rise up from behind him, subtle at first but growing stronger. Within another few moments the sand began to rise around them obscuring their vision, but not stinging their eyes thanks to Sarriet's previous spell. He could not see beyond the sandstorm he had created, but he hoped that it would deter the aeromads from pursuing them: Sandstorms are very dangerous, especially to those who are flying.
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Post by Horace on Jan 1, 2009 21:05:04 GMT -8
Several chaotic minutes later the sandstorm died down. The Aeromads were leaving, discouraged by the dangerous storm. However, they had drifted close to the two travelers. After carefully wiping the sand from his scope, Horace lined up a shot and let the bolt fly. The crossbow kicked against Horace as it pneumatically recocked itself. The bolt rocketed out, and Horace yelled with triumph as it pierced one of the griffons' hind legs. The ill-trained beast spasmed, throwing its rider. The man plummted several hundred feet to his death about a hundred yards from Horace and Sarriet. As the other two Aeromads wheeled around looking to fight Horace exclaimed, "Now we can have a little fun!"
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Post by shinnkopf on Jan 1, 2009 21:20:11 GMT -8
Sarriet sighed in relief when he saw that the aeromads had turned away. he was shocked when Horace proceeded to attack them anyway.
This man is going to get me killed
"Goddamnit," Sarriet whispered, but at this point, there was no turning back; These raiders were pissed off.
Sarriet had to think fast. With the raiders in the air, not much of his magic could directly hurt them, and he had no ranged weapons. He sighed and mumbled a short spell of magnification projected around the eyes of the remaining raiders and their mounts. This would magnify the sun's brutal rays before it entered, temporarily blinding and dazing the raiders.
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Post by Horace on Jan 1, 2009 21:29:46 GMT -8
Horace missed his next shot as the Aeromads jerked in pain in reaction to Sarriet's spell. After recovering, the men split. The remaining griffon rider, carrying a longbow, took aim at Horace and shot. The arrow struck Horace in the chest and knocked him flat. The wyrm rider, an orc, carried a massive falchion. As his comrade attacked Horace he dove straight towards Sarriet.
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Post by shinnkopf on Jan 1, 2009 21:52:14 GMT -8
Sarriet turned towards the man on the wyrm, confident that Horace's armor had taken care of the arrow and that Horace could take care of himself. The Orc's falchion was impressively large, but Sarriet had a plan. Emara had carefully hidden herself off to the side by blending in with the sand. she was almost as large as the Wyrm the orc was riding.
The wyrm dove at him, its long neck outstretched, ready to bite. When it got close enough to the ground, Emara leaped at the creature and grabbed its neck in her jaws. The orc astride it fell off and hit the sand. Hard. He was shaken, but got back up an, with a limp, started towards Sarriet
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Post by Horace on Jan 1, 2009 22:19:25 GMT -8
Horace was dazed momentarily, but he got to his feet. He grabbed his crossbow and rolled quickly dodging a second arrow. As he sprang to his feet he shot a blind shot that forced his assailant into a barrel roll. He quickly lined up his next shot and fired. The arrow pierced the griffon which rolled. The man a top the beast fought for control, but settled for a crash landing. Horace walked towards the man as he extricated himself from the dead griffon. Not a man, but an elf. One similar to Sarriet. As Horace readied to kill the elf, he was thrown back by the aeromad. He picked himself up as the elf drew a blade and charged him. He drew his scimitar and met the elf. The two fought desperately, but the elf was growing weaker as a livid gash in his side bled out. Horace was completely focused on his enemy, oblivious to Sarriet's condition.
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Post by shinnkopf on Jan 1, 2009 22:45:33 GMT -8
Emara was busy tearing out the small dragon's throat and Horace was obviously focusing on his own predicament. This left Sarriet in quite a pickle. He had no weapons on him and the orc was coming closer brandishing his rather large weapon. It struck and odd picture, the short oprc waving this giant weapon...
must be compensating for something, Sarriet thought and chuckled to himself. and now i'm laughing when i'm about to get my ass kicked by this shorty with the sword. Wow...
With this, he muttered a quick spell of binding and the orc's feet sunk deep into the sand. The orc looked around frantically and tried to get out, but the sand had turned to stone. With another quick chuckle he muttered another spell, his words burning the air. A fire erupted in the orc's eyes, boiling his brain and causing his body to slump to the ground, with his legs still sticking straight out of the rock.
With this enemy disposed of and Emara happily feasting on the dragon's corpse, Sarriet turned to Horace and his foe.
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Post by Horace on Jan 1, 2009 23:08:14 GMT -8
The elf managed to knock Horace over and was coming at him. Suddenly his comrade cried out as he was destroyed. Horace quickly used this opening to strike and stab the Elf. He fell back gurgling blood. Horace stood up and quickly decapitated the aeromad. Horace turned and said, "Hey boss, this guy any relation?"
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Post by shinnkopf on Jan 1, 2009 23:17:46 GMT -8
"Very funny Horace," said Sarriet, scowling. That actually was kinda funny he thought to himself, but he thought it best not to let on that he had a sense of humor, it could complicate things...
"Lets check the bodies and get the Hell outa here before any friends come." Sarriet was angry with the man for endangering their lives by attacking the nomads, but was also silently impressed by his courage and his combat skills.
Sarriet walked toward the body of the orc, still steaming and smelling of burnt hair. with a quick spell he cooled the body and checked for anything valuble. He found nothing of real value, for nomads generally had little of value at all, and that which they did possess the generally kept hidden at their secret oases. He did, however, take the falchion his opponent had carried. it was seized reasonably well for him, and he had received combat training under his father, though he was sure he was probably very rusty. Glancing over at Emara, still happily devouring the wyrm carcass, he said to Horace, though not looking at him, "Anything useful on that elf's body? Oh and 'no' he isn't a relation of mine, he is an elf of the wandering tribes. I hail from beneath the soil, not above."
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Post by Horace on Jan 1, 2009 23:34:31 GMT -8
Horace smirked and looked over the body. He found several coins and a whetstone. He walked over to the griffon's carcass and looked in the saddlebags. Inside he found a miraculously unbroken lute. However, the instrument did have dried blood on it no doubt from the owner who had crossed paths with the aeromad. Not finding anything else of use, Horace walked back towards Sarriet. "I got a lute! We should probably get going though."
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Post by shinnkopf on Jan 1, 2009 23:49:59 GMT -8
"Do you even know how to play a lute?" asked Sarriet exasperatedly. "Never mind, you're right, we need to get out of here, those aeromads could have friends coming our way, and i don't particularly fancy another battle."
Sarriet walked over to where Emara was eating and beant over the dragon. Taking out his knife, sarriet cut from the beast any valuable and/or useful parts and then said to Emara with his mind, lets go, i don't want another fight
She replied to him with her own mind and he felt her as if she was rubbing up against his consciousness with he soft fur. we are in the middle of the desert. How are we possibly going to escape their watchful gazes up here? I could hide myself well enough, but you two stick out against the hard desert landscape. we need to venture below the ground and make our way westward through the tunnels carved by your ancestors. It is the only way we can escape further conflict.
Sarriet saw the logic in her argument, but was loath to even suggest such a path to Horace. Sarriet hadn't stepped foot in those tunnels for years. Not since he had deserted his family in their quest for power. He had no choice however, for unless he and Horace had a death wish, the desert wasn't a good place for them to be: not above ground at least.
With great reluctance Sarriet turned to Horace: "Emara and I fear that we will stick out like great big pimples upon the earth to any more aeromads that should happen upon us. This area is filled with their kind and it would be folly to think we could avoid them. We believe that it is in our best interest to take our journey underground and continue westward from there, through the tunnels carved by the elves, dwarves, and other subterranean races of Trans-sibra..."
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Post by Horace on Jan 1, 2009 23:54:54 GMT -8
Horace was surprised at the idea, but eagerly agreed. He had never been underground in the caves of Trans-Sibra. He doubted very much the Aeromads would throw more men at them, but he did not want to say anything that would jeopardize his chances of going underground. "Right you are boss, lead the way." As they left Horace began experimenting with the lute's strings, trying to remember what he had learned from that minstrel in Alance...
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Post by shinnkopf on Jan 2, 2009 0:08:14 GMT -8
Sarriet was both relieved and slightly bummed out when he heard Horace's eager acceptance of his idea. He so did NOT want to go there, but the only entrance to the tunnels for miles around was the entrance of Rekvister. From there, if wished to travel west, you had to go through the elven city of Ekvisted. Oh well, a necesary evil I guess.
They traveled for about a day northwesterly. They had been about half-way to Urbaan at the time of their encounter, and the entrace was only about 10 miles northwest of their location at the time, with Ekvisted being about 2/3 of the way to Urbaan and slightly North. When they reached the huge outcropping of rock that looked as it somebody were demonstrating a rude hand gesture at the sun, Sarriet began to chant in his own native language. It was not a spell, but rather a means of communicating with the earth and telling her to let him in. After about a minute of chanting, he stoped and the rock began to tremble. The front seemed to turn to liquid as it morphed into a large ornate archway framing rough cut stairs down into an inky blackness darker than night. Before descending he conjured two globes of red light and handed one to Horace.
"Get ready my friend, for you are in for quite a journey."
With that, they began the 100 yard descent into the deep darkness of the elven territory of Shinnkopf....
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