Post
by waysoftheearth » Thu Feb 27, 2014 2:03 am
| An indifferent reaction allows an additional reaction check if an alternate proposition be made. One is, so 2d6=9; a positive reaction. |
The water spirit giggles, a delightful mixture of babbling brook and merry humour. The shut-eyed elves hear her splashing and frolicking in the pool, and she laughs gleefully for a good while. "My time!" she laughs, "'tis a jest for the aeons!"
When the spirit at last has herself under control she says, "Tiny people, whether these armies or peoples or so named places ever come to pass is nothing here and now. But for your humour I will humour you in kind..." your ears prickle with anticipation: "In a thousand years hence--along a single skein of all that is--your forebears will rise to craft the arms you seek that they might hope to prevail against their infernal foe--and take battle to the skein of their enemy. In your world all this is done in ages gone by, and those arms rest still at the hands of their masters beyond the Seal of Seyal. I will show you. Now."
Our heroes feel a sudden dismay and know in their hearts that the water spirit is gone. As is the buzz of insects, and of all life! Eyes closed or no, they feel a terrible, hot wind blasting around them, and the whole of the forest is suddenly a tornado of fire! They are helpless gnats caught in an impossible inferno that consume all the trees and blasts them down to char and cinder in a mere moments! Their own flesh is steaming and smoudering as the red sky roils with smoke and churning cloud, and forest floor is turned blistering ash, then naught but parched and cracked earth.
In the awful noise of the hot blasting wind, our three heroes--Highbough, Wen, and now Dorgan too!--find themselves standing upon a barren, red landscape, shielding their faces and eyes from the heat. The hard earth is pocked and filled with hundreds of half buried skeletons and strewn liberally with jutting arrow shafts and broken spears. This must surely be site of a huge battle! But where on earth they are seems impossible to know. Looming over the entirety of it all is a daunting stonghold cast of black rock. There is a malign and alien look about its construction... and a sign set in the stone over its main arch... but there is no movement to be seen at this distance...
"Where---Are---We---??" Wen manages to shout over the howling wind...
[f=32]
Golgildir the Elf Medium (MV 12", AC 9, HD 1, hp 1/1, AL N) great cloak,
lantern; spells: color spray; scrolls: sleep, sleep, charm person
Hirelings: Georges;
torch[/f]