Third Earth : Quest For Ravenstone

(ooc: I'm really sorry I haven't posted much, but life is being all homeworky at me right now, so I probably won't be as active until towards the end of the school year.)

 

(Which is what, two weeks? Pansy.)

 

(ooc: Four, actually, and a lot can happen by then. Namely, four giant projects, two huge tests, and three seperate final exams.)

 

(ook: Me too, though I will be giving the exams, rather than taking them. Good luck to you Ivan, Ferret)

 

(OOC: Mwah hah hah hah! *Thumps chest like a gorilla.* Me heap big senior! Graduate four weeks! You petty other folk. Hwah hah hah hah!)

(But AP Chem will hurt me. Bad. *Gorilla looks sad.* Stupid redox reactions. *Gorilla thinks about it.* No, stupid reactions. All kinds. Reactions not like HeinleinFan. They make exam grade fall like old tree.)

(*Gorilla brightens.* But college next fall make HeinleinFan happy. Escape stupid school district. Is good.)

 

(ooc: I graduated about 15 years ago, with honours no less. Does that make me a silverback..?)

 

Ooc: Or just old, whichever you prefer.

Another definition of "Old" is the age at which a person can no longer play Laser Quest effectively.

But college! *Sprouts a humongous grin* Only three more months to go . . .

By the way, the AP exams weren't as bad as I thought they'd be. It is quite happy-making.

 

(I've got finals all next week, so don't expect to see me at all. I love you guys, but enough to phail a class. )

 

Shall we agree to resume again next weekend, then, with the group either taking on the dragon or skirting around it and hightailing it through the rough country as fast as possible?

Assuming the answer is yes, I'll see you there!

 

(Y'know, speaking of, it might be a good idea to start voting on a course of action when stuff happens.)

 

(ooc: I'm too middle-aged to believe in dragons. I think it's a trick of the light).

 

This thread would be best served for gaming posts only. Instead of chit chat. I thought this was a game afterall.

There seems to be a few pages of this since the last game post was posted. I take it this game has ended then.

 

yeah Can we get back on the game topic please.




~Raven.

 

(ooc: OOC speak is a general part of any RPG. You get it, and it makes much more sense if it stays current. Putting it in a seperate post makes many misunderstandings, so I advise against a "chit chat" topic or whatever.
As for the game ending, I repeat, wait it out till the end of the school year. Once summer hits this forum will be flocked with members with spare time, seeing as so many of us are teenagers.
In the meantime, if you REALLY want a game post...)

Morian sighed.
"Dragons suck. Like, really, really suck. but hey, the woods are supposed to be my thing, so..."
She dashed after Tabula, the sound of flapping wings increasing in the distance.

 

(OOC: I would point out that several posts ago, I told the group to wait for the weekend. I had seven AP tests this year, plus finals; I just won't have much time for a while, and most people on this post are in a similar position. Don't worry, Hulls Raven - we're not going to abandon this place; it's too interesting.)

The barbarian sighed and followed. It seemed to her that, with luck, they could avoid the beast; if luck was not with them, they would probably have to fight. She wished for more control over her surroundings, but what was done, was done.

She jogged after Tabula and Morian, her axe sheathed at her side, stringing her longbow awkwardly as she went - just in case. Behind her, the sound of snapping twigs and the thud of footfalls told her that the rest of the group was following.

Up ahead Shannon heard a snap and ran faster. In very few seconds, she had run up to an area of higher ground, where she could see the dragon clearly through the trees. It had not spotted them; instead, it had apparently snapped at a running deer and missed, closing its jaws on a sapling instead and uprooting it. The loud pop of the roots breaking up had made the 'snap' Shannon had heard.

It was a truly magnificent beast. Like the old legends promised, it looked to be about the size and weight of the knight's warhorse, with a huge protuberant breastbone that supported the muscles to power its wings, which were at least thirty feet wide and covered in scaly webbing. Its tail was long, with sharp-looking spines supporting more webbing, and the dragon's neck was thick, strong, and held parallel to the ground. The eyes were those of a lizard or bird, and Shannon could find no hint of emotion therein. Those eyes, amber and filled with sparkling motes, looked at the running deer blankly for a moment before the huge beast took flight.

It was an awkward lift-off, as such things go. It had to move forward in a sort of trot, then leap with what looked like unreasonably powerful hind legs, spreading its wings as it fell back down. But the speed with which it moved after it had gained some altitude was impressive indeed, and Shannon felt a momentary pity for the deer. Somehow, she didn't think the dragon would miss again.

As the dragon vanished, still hunting, Shannon realized that the group had re-formed nearby. Morian was looking at the sapling, her forehead creased in a slight frown, and it occurred to Shannon suddenly that the jaws which had ripped the young tree up must have had a huge force behind them. Jonath and Laramy both were looking at the horizon where the dragon had disappeared, and Tabula was looking at one of the dragon's footprints from a distance, his eyes calculating.

Presently the Knight cleared his throat. "We should move on," he said. "No use staying where evil dragons are for any longer than necessary." He headed into the woods, Morian helping to guide the way, and the others followed. Shannon noted that all of them had weapons of some kind near at hand. If the dragon returned, they would be ready for it.

 

Now, it’s not that I’m unaccustomed to hiding, it’s that I don’t do it that often in a group. I’ve had reasons enough in the past to throw caution to the wind, and run like hell like through the woods, usually naked. Like I’ve said, this time is a little different. Long story short: save Tabula, I wouldn’t to have break out of prison with these guys. I’m sure that they mean well and all, but they make so much damn noise.
I remember lowering myself out of a tree, in order to escape traversing water, and seeing some one actually breaking a few twigs in their way. Gods help us if we ever have to run away from a real enemy. The dragon threat seemed a little far at the moment, that potion was having some great after-effects. Everything had a slight orange hue to it, which made the whole experience quite fun, to say the least.
Where we were going, I’ll never know. All I remember is that we made our way through the woods for what seemed an ass long time. Noise, cries of “Ouch, you sunnuva”, and the thudding of wet boots meet my ears, or, at least, I think they did. Through my pleasant dizziness, I noticed that the noise seemed to have stopped. Whoever was doing the elephant impression had clearly gotten their credit taken away.
I don’t rember much about the dragon, but all I do remember is that the group seemed a little... disappointed. Is that really the right word? Disappointed? Well, at any rate, I expected it to be bigger. Everything after that is a bit of a blur to me. I suppose, the potion had something to do with it, but I’ll never now for sure.
Presently, I ‘m leaning against the knight, and looking off into the sky, trying to piece together the evening. If knows why I’m actually leaning against him, he doesn’t say a word.

 

The grey sky above lights up momentarily. Once the light dies down a black sphere the size of a football spins in the sky above.
Its the mages eye. Your been watched. meaning somewhere ahead will be the walking dead.

 

Race: Warrior Priest
Age: 21
Weapons: Legendary Broken Sword Of Magma, Dual Daggers
Armour: Light Frag Armor
Occupation: Same occupation as a Paladin
Sex: Male
Personality: Forceful yet Independent and Strong Witted
Appearance: Calm yet Self Centered

 

Above them, the sky flashed, a bright light against the usual clouded gray. Half a dozen weapons went up, reflexively, and stayed there; the group had learned to act quickly in the face of a threat. Shannon glanced about her to see Laramy Swift almost invisible in the shadow of a tree, his rapier ready at his side; Jonath with his greatsword out, standing in the middle, looking ready for anything; Morian, her hands moving in the swift gestures she used when casting; and finally Tabula, his short spear held parallel to the ground, his hands placed in thirds along the handle in a blocking position.

(OOC: Dang! Somehow I never realized there were only five of us . . . Six if Carrson's Warrior Priest, above, steps in and helps.)

But the light dimmed again, leaving a small black sphere that hovered above them. Shannon felt a chill go down her spine, and she heard Morian's voice: "A Mage's Eye!"

"Gee, that helps," Tabula said, his eyes still focused on the floating black sphere, his spear still raised defensively. "How do we kill it?"

"We don't," Morian said. Her voice was tense, which worried Shannon Darrosdatter more than she liked to think about. Even Morian didn't like this.

Morian continued, "A Mage's Eye is - well, it's hard to explain, but it's like a window that evil wizards use to spy on things."

"Oh."

"Not just any evil wizard, either," Morian added, almost as an afterthought. "Necromancers use it most. We're going to encounter undead soon."

"Oh." This time, the whole group spoke. Shannon was definitely feeling more nervous.

But Jonath spoke up. "Well, we knew it was dangerous when we started. Let's head out." The group followed behind, keeping a watchful eye on the path ahead.

 

Morian wasn't scared of the dark. That was silly, she knew it. It was stupid to be scared of things you didn't know.

The thing was, it was really easy to be scared of the things you didn't know you didn't know.
As she walked through the forest, keeping a vigilant watch for the undeads she knew would soon be coming, things took on dangerous new dimensions. The warps in that tree were snarling faces, long ago turned into plants by angry gods. The shadows were full of creepy creatures waiting to jump out at you. That vine you tripped over was really the hand of an undead soldier reaching out at you. That hand of an undead soldier reaching out at you was the hand of an undead soldier reaching out at you-

Wait, what?
"Oh my GODS!" Morian screamed, in spite of herself, yanking her ankle upwards. There was a cckkreatch noise as the rotting hand severed from the fleshy, grey arm of the zombie crawling along the ground, moaning at her.
The travelers backed up in a circle against each other, as undead soldiers, crawling and limping and walking out of the darkness, began to surround them.

 

In a strange, and forceful language, Jonath shouted praise to his God. Filled with strength and valour, his blade glowing a mighty crimson, he awaited the enslaught.

Three.
Two.
One.

And the undead were upon them. "Here, you die - for eternity!" He swirled in a vicious circle of death, slaying any undead soldier that fell in his or his blades path. The group sprung into action, acting as a unit, swirling steel dancing in Death's ballroom.

Then there was more. Jonath looked around him. They seemed to be coming from all around. Jonath's mind raced for a way out. Think. Think. Oh, Great Armandil help me!

 

Morian thrust her hand upward, striking a dramatic pose. (One of the things she had learned about witching was that sometimes, it was all about appearances.)
Indeed, she struck a cosmic note- above her, the trees rustled, and started to grow. All around them, all along the path, leaves, vines, and creepers burst from the bark and the ground, covering, enveloping, adding to the weight-
"Take cover!" Morian yelled, and leapt backwards as the gigantic trees began to fall under their own weight, crushing undead around them, and blocking others from getting to the group.
She whirled and twirled, dodging undeads and trees, and focusing on making more growth, waving her staff-
-and then she moved just the wrong direction, and a tree almost took her hand off. She jumped back just in time, but her staff was catapulted from her grip by the errant tree, and she watched with horror as it flew into the darkness.

 

I learned a trick, back in my younger days, dealing with whiskey and marches. I only remembered it, when I found my sword utterly useless against the undead hordes surrounding us. It was little more than a razor when compared to the others’ weapons of choice. Of course all of this came with a price: it took me minute to figure it out.
THe first of the bastards was a God-awful grey, with hair like dead grandmother, maggots crawling out of his(?) mouth, and all the usual undead jargon. Shrieking, moaning, and welding a very imprecise claymore, he was quite an adversary.
He came at me, swinging his massive sword, I dodged, his word got stuck in the dirt. In the few precious moments it was stuck, I stabbed him about four times in the back with gusto. And I mean with gusto, the blade went down to the hilt. All he did was turn around and spit in my face.
I will admit that my next actions are, with little exception, comparable to a teenage girl yet to get her training bra. I turned, ran, and triped…twice…I may have been screaming. Upon the second time, my pack opened, at that night eight years ago came back vividly…
I send my arm deepinto the pack, next to my pipe-Damn, I’m almost out, too- and grab my matches, and, what I hope was, my cheapest bottle of whiskey. I take a deep hit, try vigorously not to swallow, and spit in the face of the ready-to-strike-zombie. The look of complete surprise on his face was almost human. The look of pain and melting “skin” a few seconds later wasn’t.
Turning, I send nearly a fourth of the bottle on the half dozen zombies to my left, and take another gulp. A moment after I light the match, I spew the liquid into the fire, and atop the undead.
Now, a few seconds before the present, I must note: they seemed to melt with the littlest application of heat...All of this (finally we're up to speed here ,guys), I note after I get hit in the head with a big stick.

 

The chaos ensued around Jonath. The crashing trees distracted him from one of the zombies as it clubbed him in the back, sending him flying forward. He spotted Morian rush into the darkness. He had no time to think about it though because at that moment, the zombie made to crush Jonath's head. Jonath rolled, and spotted his sword still glowing violently about 20 feet beyond the zombie. Luckily no zombie could touch it, lest they wanted to end up in a thousand pieces spread across the dragon land. Jonath looked into the undead things eyes. No intelligence. No reason. No faith.

No life. The abomination lunged; Jonath ducked. With a gauntleted fist, he swung at the things head, his mighty arm crashing into the zombies neck. It fell forward with a crash. Jonath sprinted to the blade, picked it up and stabbed it right through the heart of the zombie.

Suddenly, a massive roar sounded out. Jonaths hands went immediatley to his ears, trying to block out the sonic boom. The zombies looked confused and began to flee in terror. Dragons!! They were scared of the dragons. Who isn't. But whats the greater risk? Fighting a dragon or fighting zombies. With the party scattered, he couldn't abandon them. Instead, he made to fell some of the fleeing zombies around him, while his mind raced.

 

Shannon swung her axe in a tight arc, aiming at necks and limbs whenever they came nearby. She heard Morian shout and had just enough sense to run out of the open space she had previously occupied; a tree crashed into that spot, its limbs twisting viciously to spear an undead foe in its death throes. It occurred to Shannon that she had better run, and she did - away from the twisting mass of trees, toward higher ground.

More undead foe came out of the darkness, and Shannon changed tactics. It was kill or be killed, now; she could mourn the dark wizard's victims, but she vowed not to become one of them. In a short moment she had knocked her nearest enemy backward, into a group of three, giving her enough time to slide her left arm into the straps for holding her shield. She brought it up just in time to clatter against the slack jaw of the first undead, and stepped backward, her axe whirling once more, as the other undead caught up to her.

The next minute was a nightmare. They came, and she struck them down - they were monstrous, unhuman, but for all their fearsomeness they fought like the mindless thugs they were. When her axe caught on a thick chain around one undead's neck, she had to stoop to untangle it, and by all rights that stupid move should have killed her. Had it been an intelligent foe whom she fought, undoubtedly it would have. But the undead continued to attack in the jerky unthinking way that they always did, and she was able to smash it but good in the chest with her armoured right boot.

The hardest blow was not a physical one, but an emotional one. She had heard Morian's shout and seen the trees rise up to defend the young woman, but that had been all. She had not seen Morian run away, or make it to safety, or fight her way up a tree; instead, Shannon had merely assumed that the witch had done so. But that undead had worn a traveling satchel on its back, and hanging from it, stuck to the frayed strap by some rough part of the wood, was an all-too-familiar staff. It seemed to Shannon - was it illusion? - that there was a faint glow tint to the wood, fading even as she smashed Morian's presumed attacker to the ground and snatched up the staff.

There was blood on it. Not much, but not Shannon's, either. The sight of it threw Shannon's mind outward, skyward, into a very dark and very cold place.

The woodland sounds became suddenly clearer. The colors melded into shades of gray and green and red - the important colors. And Shannon felt a sudden unreasonable anger swell up inside of her, threatening to burst out.

Barbarians rage, she thought dimly. Then she was barrelling back toward the clearing, the staff in her shield hand and her axe in the other, a cry of rage and injury pouring out into the woods where it echoed and echoed before finally fading away.

She ran, and the undead foes failed before her. She ran, and her shout summoned them like flies to a roast pig, and they died again just as quickly, their limbs blasted from their bodies, their skulls caved in, or their vertebrae snapped from the sheer force of being struck by the shield of a charging barbarian fighter in full rage. Once she stumbled, and the fall turned into a roll, then an awkward kill as she rolled back onto her feet, knocking an undead into a tree limb that pierced its back and made it easy for her to take its head neatly off its shoulders with a horizontal slice.

It occurred to her, also dimly, that if she lived through this she would hurt like hell the next morning. The thought amused her.

"Morian!" she screamed, diving past a fallen branch, now only a dozen yards from the clearing that Morian had turned into a grave site for undead and trees alike. "Morian! Please - ANSWER ME!"