Kharolis Mountains
East base of the mountains
24th day of the 7th month: Pfier
9:15 pm
The fire of the Hellhound had come quite unexpected. In their rejoicing of their victory over the old man, they had let their guard down.
Malius stumbled backwards from the impact of the flames. His bow and some of his clothes had caught fire, and the rapidly started dousing the flames.

Alyssia’s robes were on fire as well, but there wasn’t much to be damaged that wasn’t damaged or stained already. She neglected the fire, and instead started casting one of the most powerful spells her Goddess granted her.
Loda ran for her shield, and snatched it off the ground. She was now ready to battle this hound from hell. As approached the hound, it looked her deep in the eyes. She could see an evil glow, like hot embers rejoicing the consumption of whatever fuelled their burning. She stared, and then started a sprint. The hair of her beard that caught fire earlier glowed more intense as air rushed past them. But before she could strike, a white hot beam of electricity flashed by. Alyssia had unleashed the anger of her divine patroness over the creature.

*************

Draven found himself on the edge of death, on top of the list of the Grim Reaper. He wouldn’t mind dying, would possibly even welcome it, but something kept him craving the feeling of his heart beating. He positioned his katana between himself and the woman in black.

"Who knowingly wagers their very existence, to take a life? There is a reason why none do. The consequences are terribly severe. My dear, Some fates are far worse then death."

The answer was both unexpected and unsettling. The woman spoke with a voice deep and not of this world, in a language spoken in the deepest crevices of the underworld. Still he understood their meaning, word for word:

“It was you, who wagered a life, Draven IreDante. And it is you who carry the consequences every day. I’ve come for you, to make your life worthy of your potential.”

Perhaps it was fear, though Draven didn’t know he possessed such an emotion, or perhaps it was defiance, but Draven’s onyx blade came down upon the woman before either of them knew it. It pierced her belly, slashed a deep gash in her flesh, and skewered her spine. The last of her words were almost breathless.

“…worth your….” And then she drew out her last breath. From Draven’s back, the shape of a large hound came flying overhead, and tumbled into the woman as she sank to the earth. It was Gothard, Loda’s faithful drunk companion. He looked at Draven as if to tell him: there, I saved you, now give me some ale. Then a bright flash illuminated the area, even penetrating the thick mist surrounding the warrior.

*******************

The companions in the camp gathered around the spot where the hellhound had been. All that was left were some patches of fur, and charcoal remains of what had been bones once. The creature had been diminished to ashes, under the electric bolt that Alyssia had unleashed upon it.

(OOC: you now notice that Gothard is missing, Draven is still nowhere to be seen, and you hear no sounds of battle anywhere near.)

---

Londelirinen Kingdom
Aerie of the High King
Urvanial’s tower
26th day of the 7th month: Pfier
1:25 pm
Elessarae was in no mood to be taken aback by a swarm of fiendish owls. While their gibberish reverberated against the walls of the druid’s tower, she fought off the effects in her head.
She fought her way through a cloud of feathers, and now found herself shoulder to shoulder with Urvanial. He was bleeding severely, but kept slinging small spells from his fingers that hindered the owls from coming too close. He glanced at Elessar, a look of appreciation and dependence. He needed her to concentrate on a strong spell.
The Khordaldrum with the shovel was now running rampant through the tower. He seemed terribly skilled with his weapon and chopped and bludgeoned the owls by large numbers. Still, they were strong, and many. Although he created a lot of confusion and chaos amongst the owls, they persisted on all of them.

Stepping back, Urvanial initiated his chant. He called upon Kith-Jora, in a melodious but simple hymn. His hands wove patterns that didn’t seem to fit the chanting, but Elessar could feel the power growing inside him, as she shielded the area.
Two owls dove down at her, but she could fight them off with her blade. She had to resist the urge to evade them, for that would mean they would go after the druid. Another owl came flying at her, straight from the front. She slashed at it, and kicked it hard with her boot. The creature tumbled to the floor, where it lay shivering spastically for a while before rising again.
From the corner of her eye she noticed one of the owls flying high over her head, ready to charge the druid from a difficult angle. When it let itself drop, she was ready to strike. In an upwards thrust she pierced the point of her sword through the creature’s body. Blood spattered everywhere, and the thing was stuck on her sword. She remembered a similar sight from a previous battle with these owls.

Then Urvanial called out: “Run to the lower level! NOW!!!”

(OOC: You have one round to get to a lower level of the tower, but it won’t be easy with all the owls flying around. Telliri is still crouching in mental pain on the floor, and Kher is still fighting the owls with his shovel.)

---

Alloryen Kingdom
Formian Hive
25th day of the 7th month: Pfier
4:12 pm
Tobin was confused. Was this why they had brought him here? Was this some test to see if he would stand up to this plant creature?

With a sudden slam a hard vine crushed into the sand inches away from the little Cidal. In an act of instinct he tumbled to the side and took out his sling. There were plenty of rocks on the floor here, so ammo wouldn’t be the problem. He released a stone on the bush.
The big opening in the plant went up and down in snarls and bites at the air. As Tobin’s rock pierced the creature’s leaves, it let out an extra roar of rage. Vines like tentacles dove at Tobin, and it became harder and harder to step or jump aside in time.

The ants clicked and krrrr’d around the arena. They cheered for him, or perhaps they cheered at the fight. The queen peered calmly at what was happening below. Her face betrayed no emotion, but the paper robed ants around her were more than amused.

Tobin slung another rock into the bush, and though it broke off some twigs and leaves, it didn’t do too much to harm the plant. The dark, strong vines were now all directed at him. They swooped by, pierced high and low, and then finally, when the pressure became too much, one got a hold of Tobin’s leg.
The ants fell silent as the Cidal was picked up from the ground, and dangled high into the air. Then the vine lowered again and Tobin’s head sank slowly into the large opening in the bush. Branches slashed at him. It felt like strings of barbed wire whipped over his face. Soon though, he was lifted off again, numbed by pain, his face a bloody mess. Then another vine got a hold of him, and his two captivators started a fight amongst themselves over the smallest hero of Antaron.

Then, Tobin felt his spine crack, and black darkness took over.

When he woke up he found himself laying, looking up into the face of one of the paper robed ants. He tried to lift his hand, but saw a crab-life claw rise instead. The ant smiled at him, or at least, he felt that the creature smiled. Then it helped him up and guided him through the hive, to a place where humans and other captives were digging new tunnels. He looked at his legs, but didn’t recognize the furry goat-legs, or the scaled abdomen they connected to. The ant left him in the care of two guards that handed him a basket, half full with sand. Here he would spend the rest of his days.

(OOC: Tobin’s brain and some of his head are now part of a patchwork creature known as a mongrelman, created by a Formian (antlike creatures) necromantic experiment.)

Loda ran fast at the beast, her axe hefted into the air, her shield ready to block any attacks. Her chest heaved as her breathes grew rapidly quicker. Soon she would cleave this vile creature into two for cooking her and her friends alive. Her eyes narrowed as she seen where she wanted to strike. Right into the open fleshy wound on the hounds side, wanting to strike as hard as she could into the bleeding weak spot.
She was but a few steps away from executing her final solution for this beast, but before she could do take the life of the assailant, a crackling blueish white bolt of lightning flew past her being, and struck the hound dead center.
A bright flash of light almost knocked her over, catching her off guard so easily. Once she was done shielding her eyes from the blazing ray, she looked back, and all that was left of the vicious monster was but a pile of dark ashes, a few hairs, and a pile of still burning bones.
Loda dropped her axe to the ground, and then herself, dropped to the ground also.
The vicious battle that was just fought drained the energy right out of her. From being punctured with a scicle, to being blisterd and burned, it was time for a quick rest.
Quickly, she caught her breathe, and stood up, her calfs feeling slightly tight from running so much, in such a short amount of time, and her arms aching from hefting the heavy axe. But it all comes with being a dwarf, and she was proud of it.
She looked back at Alyssia, who was recovering from the massive spell she cast, and looked around for her extra skins of ale.

" Now where did I put my back pack, near my seat? Or in my tent."
She spoke quietly to herself as she stood up, and wandered over to her area of the camp.

" If I cant find it, I bet Goth-"

Loda stopped dead in her tracks, and quickly looked around, dropping her back pack, the skins of ale spilling out, and one busting open onto the ground.

" Gothard, Gothard! where the in the hells are you!"

In the heat of the fray she had forgotten that he had ran out to help Draven. She tried to remember where she last saw him run to, and started sprinting towards the spot.
The only thing she could hear was the dead silence of the night, and her quick foot steps. For all the night creatures of the night went silent quickly after the battle started. But that was it, it started and now its over. She couldnt hear anything else around them, no scuffling, growling, grunts, nothing. If they were done, Gothard would of surely of come back. Unless something had happened them.

" Oh please, let not harm come down upon Gothard."

She ran into the dark, through the bushes, and started to search for them both. Gothard and Draven.

Inhabited Cave
South-west Chakran Mtns.
28th day of the 7th month: Pfier
12:37 am
The watery splashes up ahead in the tunnel betrayed movement. Perhaps more of the stinking fishmen were gathering there? Vidar had found the entrance to their cave by chance, earlier that day. He had been looking for a place to rest, a place where the sharp winds of the Chakran Mountains wouldn’t claw so much at his wear. Between several boulders he had seen a small opening in the rock, a small stream of water barely flowing from it.
He had a quest to fulfil, and this could be the place as good as any. So into the dark he had gone, his eyes switching to the black and grey of the Khordaldrum darkvision. After a few minutes he had been surprised by two humanoids that stank of rotting fish and slime. In the heat of the battle that followed he had no chance to see his enemy properly, but when their blood was spilling onto the already slippery rock, he had time to look more closely. They were a mix of men and fish, their bodies scaled but weaker in flesh. They had attacked with simple spears, no match for the seasoned fighter that Vidar was.

After that little encounter, he had been more on his guard. The damp tunnels were pockmarked with holes and crevices smoothed out by ages of running water. At times he mistook small bulbs of stone for the round eyes of the fishmen. The dripping of water slowly became less annoying. Ten minutes had gone by since his initial encounter with the foul smelling creatures, but now he heard something that was different.

Rounding a corner he peered from the darkness into a widening of the tunnel. A single torch burnt in a far corner. Its light was so dim, it didn’t even reach the place where he was standing. In this area stood several old and rotten pieces of furniture, obviously of elven making but mouldy and disfigured by ages of dampness. The room was about 30 feet long, and 12 at its widest point. In the vague illumination he saw at least 4 of the fishmen sitting and walking around. They had not spotted him yet.

(OOC: The tunnel continues beyond the room. There is also a bigger puddle of water close to where the torch is hanging on the wall.)

Vidar had finally reached the Chakran mountains after days of traveling when the weather suddenly changed to the worse. He had heard stories about how bad the winds could be up in the mountains, but he had not suspected them to be this bad. He found a cave where he could rest and get cover from those winds, but there he had been attacked by couple of weird looking creatures. Of course, they had no chance against Vidar and the fight only lasted for moments. Taking a closer look at his attackers, Vidar noticed their fishlike features.

An odd thing indeed, and so Vidar decided to take a closer look into the cave. He didn't want to waste much time away from his search but something was not right about this. They didn't seem much like trained warriors and they didn't look like militia with those weak looking spears. What ever they were, they were here for a reason. Perhaps they were guarding something, something like what Vidar was looking for.

Vidar held his Khordaldrum axe and shield ready as he walked slowly through the tunnel. His oak-brown beard was sticky from the attackers' blood and his armor was stained with the same substance, and so was his axe and shield. He had walked for ten minutes without another attack when he heard something. He slowly looked passed the corner to see another four of those fishmen within the light of a torch. The tunnel kept on, but he needed to get passed the four in order to go further. He could probably kill them easily, assuming they were as bad in fighting as the previous two, but Vidar wasn't sure if there were more hiding. Hesitating was not a good tactic, so Vidar casually walked towards the four but held a firm grip on his axe.

"I assume you are familiar with the two who stained my axe," he said as casually as he walked closer.

(OOC: I wait for any of them to attack. In case I win initiative for some reason I ready my attack until the first one strikes to strike him right back. If I don't win initiative, I'll attack the first one to attack me. Either way, I intend to use Power Attack for +2 bonus (and -2 penalty to AC). In case I get Cleave (not overly hopeful), I attack the next one closest to me.)

Elessarae continued her blade sweeping about her and ran, only as the Druid did, but her aim was not for the way down, but for the Captain of the City Guard helpless on the floor.

Grabbing his right arm in her left, she heaved him up.

"TAKE HEART, THE KING NEEDS YOU." she yells into his ear, while half dragging and lifting him and her blade danced about them as a shield between the menacing owls and their bodies. She then starts to sing a song of encouragement, one Bards learned very early on in their training. She used it now to encourage the Captain and the others as needed.

She aims for the way down and safety, she hopes. As she gets to the stairs to the lower levels she sends the captain first and then makes sure all were down in front of her, she will desend.

If the Druid or the Dwarf are still in the tower room she will keep the way safe and open for them.

As the codger neared, it was Draven that took note of something beyond appearance, perhaps some intuition that eluded the Khord. As battle hardened as he was, there were some things that Thondrek still didn't excel at, and apparently following gut feelings wasn't one of them.

Thondrek chuckled at the thought, but all signs of chortle fled his face leaving a grim stoic expression when Draven drew forth his massive blade. It was foriegn to Thondrek, both in material and style, it's curved edge seemed combersome yet the man bore it with ease, as an extention of will almost.

Draven took off into the brush, unnerved by something moreso than the aged stranger whom others seemed more than willing to extend hospitality to. Thondrek brandished his war axe, and took off in pursuit of the taller man. He wasn't sure if he felt more like the warrior might need aid, or if he could just glimpse that wonderful blade in action once more. It fascinated the Khordish craftsman, and one day he would have to try his hand at crafting a fabled weapon for himself, the one weapon with which his name would be remembered in long after his last breath had been swept away on the wind.

(OOC: Thondrek will head off after Draven, who obviously moves faster than the dwarf. When he comes across the man woman pinned by Gothard, Thondrek will react with the engaging of her in melee, placing his back to Draven with a comment like..)

"Seems ta meh, you owe the pup a treat when this is all over"

The flames burned hot and bright and it was all the Elvin Ranger could do to quickly put them out.

Where in the Nine Hells had a Hellhound come from and what was it relationship to the old yet not old man.

For the moment the questions unanswered Malius once again raised his bow to the attack only to find that the creature was quite dead killed by the mage of the party, once again with her use of overkill.

The flames on his body out but the pain yet there he turned away and looked to his bow hoping the Hellhound's fire had not damaged it too badly.....

(OOC: ok not sure if I have or had any healing Potions as I do not see any on my sheet so let me know)

The woman had given him enough trouble this night, Draven had thought, but as they squared off, and their "parting final conversation" commenced, she spoke with a voice, and in a language that, a lifetime ago, would have given Draven chills.

"Xhan' kuvbak hesh, ka sott Draven Ire'Dante. Ze xesdk' bar xut ko haskbak jaris. Yuv xhan'ka geshra koroto quotrokesh."

Her voice was hollow, but as heavy as stone against stone, and the familiarity filled Draven with an impulsive, uneasy rage (and...perhaps a touch of fear?) that he cut her short, and nearly in half as he lunged forward, and drove the wide blade of Grishnak so deep into her that it grazed her spine, and sent blood spraying in a fountain.

She staggered, his blade still driven deep within her, before falling to her knees before him. Her dying hands grasp at the armor at his waist frantically, and he glared down at her, still gripping the handle to the blade that jutted out her back. His eyes cast a burning, yellow light on her paling face. Her final words were in common. (and with a normal voice? Or still that one voice?)

"Worth...Your..."

Her eyes rolled back into her head, and simultaniosly the hound he had glanced, crashed into her. Draven gripped her shoulder and his blade, keeping her on her knees before glaring at the mutt of a companion that followed Loda around.

"You might want to turn your head, little friend."

His voice was cold, but he winked at the dog, and grinned. If the dog could sense coldness, then that grin would have sent chills down it's spine.

Turning back to the woman, Draven braced Grishnak for a moment, while he pulled back the black glove that covered his right hand. The mark that mottled his flesh swayed and wavered, as if it possessed it's own life, on his flesh. He stared at it a moment, then down at the woman, whos eyes were glassing over.

His fist clenched.

Make my life worthy of it's potential..."
He peered down at her.

"What is youre story?"

Not that it mattered. Or so he told himself. She had what he needed. But he hesitated a moment, and his heart chilled. Was she a normal woman? Perhaps possessed and lead to him? Dravens fingers twitched, but the sudden sound of feet rushing through the brush toward him snapped him into action.

Gritting his teeth into what could only be described as a snarl, he snapped his hand forward, grasping her clammy forhead. Gripping the hilt of his blade with the other, he yanked it up, and he felt her flesh tear, but he lifted her closer to his face.

Moving his hand over her forhead and through her hair, he gripped it. He could feel it now. He could taste her. The emptiness he had begun to feel was filling once more, and he would be sustained.

Kneeling over her, he placed his forhead against hers, he could feel her now, struggling, fighting. But it was hopeless. She battled a power greater than Draven Ire'Dante, and against that power, she would not win. His burning, gold eyes stared into her pale, lifeless ones, and, for a second, he wished she could.

When it was over, he held a drained shell of flesh and gore. Blood had run down the hilt, staining his hand. Her entrails had begun to spill through the massive hole Grishnak had now split, and as he let go of her head, it fell back like a ball tied to a sack.

He dropped her and stood, withdrawing his blade and wiping it on her clothes, before resheithing it, and inspecting her corpse. He didn't care for jewels or gold. He wanted a clue.

(He will not speak to anyone. He will go about his search, get up, and head back to the camp, but he will sit at a distance, perhaps under a tree, about 100 yards or so from the camp, where he can see whats going on, but have solitude. If someone chooses to follow him, its as if he does not notice them. He seems in his own little world while going about searching the body and heading to his spot.)

A symphony, a glorious symphony, of power surged through Alyssia as her need, her need of her goddess's power, drove the lightning before her fingertips. It was something new that had never before been cast by her. But here, in what may have just been her greatest moment of need in the time she had served her goddess, the power rushed forth. It rushed past Loda with just a breadth of space left to strike the abomination that stood before her now.

Divine power flowed through the hellhound and turned it into a small pile of ash. This last act had drawn a certain measure of strength from Alyssia, her limbs now feeling heavier as it was an effort of will to remain standing on her limbs. Pain flowed back from where she had been able to block out her wounds. It was now time to worry about her own pains, time to heal the damage that had been caused to her body.

"Lysora," she prayed in a soft tone, "take care of your disciple's wounds. Heal me so that I may continure serving in your light."

(Cast cure critical wounds)

With her own pain taken care of, it was now time for Alyssia to worry about those that needed the attention of her healing spells. She felt that Draven was one who could use the power of her goddes's magic much so.

Kharolis Mountains
East base of the mountains
24th day of the 7th month: Pfier
9:16 pm
As the evening progressed into night, the commotion in the camp died down. The sickle-wielding impostor and his hellhound companion had been defeated. The adventurers scattered on different paths now their common goal had vanished.
Alyssia lingered in her connection to her Goddess. She had felt a power rush through her that she had not sensed before. For a slight moment she had felt the grace of her divine patron, and it had drained her, together with the battle wounds and the hellish fire. Once more she connected to the energy of the Reverent Lady of Spirits, and she felt her body soaking in relaxation. Her wounds and scorched skin tightened and healed, though she needed new robes soon. She was showing more of her skin than a lady should.
Even in her weariest moment her mind went out to her companions, one of them specifically. But the man that approached her was no Draven, though he was dark in features. Malius approached, looking at his hands in astonishment. They were blistered and red. His dark skin had been burned so hard it looked like that of an ordinary Syl, but with a sick, dark red tone to it. He looked up at her, and then looked around. The ranger seemed to be looking for something, though he did not speak.
Alyssia stepped up to him and placed her hands on his forearms (I assume you’ll aid him). Moments later he was revived and healthy once more.

When the hellhound had been obliterated, Thondrek had not waited another moment to decide his next action. His mind was already set on seeing the incredible black blade once more. It was almost unfair that a human should wield it. A Khord would obviously do more justice to its perfect craftsmanship. But the Duskblade knew that for now it was enough to see the weapon in action, and so he eagerly plunged himself into the bushes.
Loda followed only seconds after him. But she was not pursuing a love-interest. Fear had gripped her heart, and no Khordaldrum could ever replace Gothard. He had been her drinking companion for too long!
She remembered how she had sent him to aid Draven. But the human warrior was nowhere to be seen, and there was an unsettling silence that nocturnal bugs didn’t even dare disturb.
The two Khords entered a sea of leaves, and soon a thick mist began to spread around them. They separately tried to find their way through the area. Through the fog they could see the silhouettes of trees and of each other. Then suddenly a man loomed up from the cloudy darkness. It was Draven. He passed them as if he didn’t notice them, and left in the direction they had come from.

Loda found Gothard near the body of a young woman. He was splattered with blood, that was not his own, and appeared to be in a state of utter hallucination. His eyes were blank and it took a while before he reacted to her. The woman had been cut open heavily, and the sight of her was unsettling to even the battle-worn Khords.

(OOC: Gothard will now join Loda again, but he acts like he had just had the biggest trip in his life)

Alyssia and Malius saw Draven walk through the camp, coming from the bushes but not stopping to even glance at them. He walked passed the fire and into the field, towards a lone tree. There he sank down, his eyes lost to the stars above.

---

Londelirinen Kingdom
Aerie of the High King
Urvanial’s tower
26th day of the 7th month: Pfier
1:25 pm
There was a heat building up in the druid’s highest room. Elessarae could feel it building up like the sun was gradually coming down upon them. Urvanial still stood in the place where he had been standing while casting his spell. His face was frozen in a grimace of concentration. For a moment she wanted to turn around and drag him with her, but she realized then that the warning had been for her. The druid had no intention of leaving the room. Owls dove at him and raked his flesh and cloths alike. The bladesinger herself was under a heavy attack. A cloud of approximately 25 of the creatures were now clawing and hooting their gibberish in and around the tower.

She tried to shield her face with her sword as she rushed through the waves of feathers and talons towards the exit. She found Telliri on her way and called out to him to get a grip on himself. Kher, the Khordaldrum assistant, also came running their way. He cleaved two owls with his shovel and then threw the tool into a far corner. He grabbed the captain of the guard, as Elessar started her chanting song of courage. Although she had sung it many times before, she felt her voice tremble under the constant pain of claws and beaks. Her skin was being shredded and punctured everywhere. The owls were too many to pick a single target clearly. The words from her mouth reached Telliri, and he started to crawl towards the opening in the ground. The Khord yanked him along as well, and so all three of them made their way through the swarm.

Exhausted and in agony Telliri let himself fall down the ladder. Kher followed him, sliding down without using the steps, and last came Elessar herself. She could barely see the walls of the room and Urvanial himself was lost from sight, but the heat was now incredible. Then suddenly an arm of flame sprang over her head and pierced like a cannon through the cloud of owls. Several tongues of fire followed and the bladesinger had to shield her face from the wavering heat.

Something tugged her down on her pants. It was the young moonhorse. A wooden lid closed the opening atop the ladder and they all breathed heavily in the underground territory of the druid’s tower.
(OOC: After several seconds the roaring noise upstairs fades. Telliri is now being taken care of by the Khord. If you decide to go up, you’ll find a scorched room with molten and burnt owls. They’re all dead, and Urvanial is lying on the spot where he was standing. He is alive, but heavily injured from claws and beaks, not from fire.)

---

Inhabited Cave
South-west Chakran Mtns.
28th day of the 7th month: Pfier
12:37 am
The fishmen looked at Vidar. Their bulbous eyes blinked several times before they reacted to his presence.
As he stepped closer, two of the creatures also stepped forward. The other two suddenly darted into action. They both ran towards the puddle under the torch, and dove into it. Although it had looked like a small surface, apparently it was deeper than it looked, for the two creatures completely submerged and disappeared from sight.
The other two took more steps forward, but only one persisted. The other backed against the left wall and stared at Vidar and its brother with an observant and emotionless glare.

The bolder fishman came straight at Vidar with nothing but claws and teeth. The Khord stood waiting for it, and when it came within reach he let his axe come down. Then he impossible happened; Vidar missed. The axe came straight, but bounced off a scale on the fishman’s shoulder. The creature grabbed the Khord by the shoulder and closed its jaws around his chest muscles. Teeth grit on metal as Vidar’s breastplate saved him from more damage. He let his axe come down again, and cleaved it into the fishy neck of the thing. Sharp spasms went through the fishman’s body, flapping its long tail back and forth. Then it fell limp on the floor, claw scraping over metal armor as it went down.

The other fishman backed away even further, pressing itself harder against the stone wall. It bend its head lower, though never took its gaze off Vidar. It looked scared.

Vidar watched as two of the fishmen jumped into the puddle, but was careful not to take his eyes of the remaining two for too long. They just stood there for a moment until one of them eventually attacked Vidar with nothing more than teeth and claws against Vidar's axe, an axe that came down upon the assailant only to bounce off the scaley skin. Vidar could hardly believe it, he didn't expect to miss with his first attack, specially not against this kind of foe. But the creature attacked and sank its teeth into Vidar's armor. Vidar loved his armor. The Khord struck the fishman again, this time driving his axe into the creature's neck, and thus ending the fight.

The remaining one didn't move from the spot where it stood and appeared to be too scared to act at all. Vidar looked at the creature with a heavy brow. He wouldn't lift his axe against it unless it would attack him first, and it didn't look like it was going to attack him any time soon. Vidar stepped over the lifeless body and towards the fishman. "Your kinsmen seem to either have no dignity or have no sense to choose their fights wisely." His words were not friendly but intimidating. His pose seemed confident, like he knew that nothing they had up their sleeve could do him harm.

"I hope for your sake that you can speak," he said, continuing in an intimidating manner, "because I would hate to have to stain my axe any further with the blood of your kin. You are going to tell me what I want to know, and as of yet I only want to know two things: Why did you attack me and where did the other two run off to?" The Khord still held a firm grip around the shaft of his axe, as if he intended to strike at any moment.

Elessar suffers the pain and pats the young moonhorse on the nose and when the roar from above is gone she drags herself back up the ladder and is stoppeed by the trapdoor. She finds she must take out her healing wand and use it on herself to get enough strength back to open the trapdoor in the floor. Almost exhausted by that effort, Elessarae crawls, afraid that she would faint from the pain and effort of standing, to where the Druid lay and began to use charges from her wand to get him healed enough to be conscious.

Only when he is conscious does she use the wand on herself.

In that time she wondered what had brought all the owls to the tower. Could it be in someway tied to the owl she had killed and brought here.

If I'm lucky, maybe I'll catch that magnificent blade in action Thondrek thought to himself as his short legs pumped underneath his stout frame. He plowed through the brush, leaves and foliage scattering around him, until his clarity of sight was stricken from him, obscured by a foul fog. Through the veil he could make out shapes and figures, Loda, her wolf... Draven.

The fog cleared slowly, and Draven walked past Thondrek as though he were merely another stone upon the earth. The Khord was about to say something, but thought better of it, preferring to leave the warrior to his own thoughts. turning his sight to the remnants of Draven's battle, the bloody heap of a woman reminded Thondrek that in this 'team' not everyone need depend on each other all the time, merely knowing they would be there should bolster one's resolve. Unfortunately, resolve wasn't the word Thondrek would use to describe the look held in Draven's eyes as he moved off into solitude.

Thondrek couldn't understand the man's thinking, for surely a clan would stand stronger than any individual.

"One day perhaps he'll learn that a single brick shant stand stronger than a wall of many."

Turning to face the arriving Loda he smiled. "Well, let us join our brothers and sisters in arms, that we may rest and move on from here."

(ooc: Thondrek will return to camp and listen to any conversation therein, wishing to press onwards towards their goal. -which i should know about once i read back throguh the posts lol) )

Loda ran up to where she last remembered Gothard and Draven were. But all that was there was a shroud of mist and total darkness. She looked around frantically, wondering what could of happened to them, and what was with this mist!?!

But soon it quickly dissipated, and out came both of them. Draven walked by her, quickly and briskly, seemingly undeetered by the fountains of blood that pooled at every foot step.

She looked around at his passing, and spotted Thondrek close by.

Now where was he for the whole night?
But his voice rang out and dissrupted her thoughts.

"Well, let us join our brothers and sisters in arms, that we may rest and move on from here."

She looked at him and smiled back happily.

" That sounds like a wonderful idea, but first I must get my little Gothard, he looks like he's been kicked by a mule!"

Gothard though looked like he had inhaled to much pipe smoke, and was sitting there, dazed and confused.

"Gothard, Gothard!"

She yelled his name, and soon he snapped out of his gaze and followed her again. Glad that her companion was safe and by her side, she had something else to worry about. Even though he kept to himself most of the time, he still was an important part of their group, and a person.

" Draven wait, I know you dont like to talk much, but you do need seom healing. Now come here before I make you!"

Loda runs over to where Draven has made his seat under the tree, following his steps and sounds. When she approaches him, she does not care what he does, she will try an help him, if she doesnt, he will die.

" Now just sit tight and dont complain."

Loda will start to cast Cure Light Wounds on Draven, then after she is done with the spell, cast another Cure Light wounds.

Loda brought her hands very close Draven, and started to silently chant words that were unknown even to his ears. They were words that very few people ever hear in their lifetime, and if they did, it wasnt always for the better. The words flowed freely and quickly from her mouth, and as soon as it started, it was over. White and green whisps of magic flowed over Draven, and soon she started chanting again, the words familiar to the ones that were spoken moments before.

When she was done casting her spells, she backed off, and took a deep breath, slightly drained the expendeture so sudden and quick.

" Now there, you should'nt drop dead by the end of the night now. Good Night Draven."

Loda turned and started walking back to camp with Gothard, patting him on the head as he nudged her leg, or more likely, the ale skin next to it.

Malius found himself in a state of disbelief, his skin a darker color then it had ever looked before. Though the flames were no longer burning he was in a state of pain he had never experienced before. Yes he was no stranger to pain or wounds taken in battle yet the Ranger had never been wounded this way. Without realizing it he had approached Alyssia all the while looking at his hands in astonishment nearly running her down. He looked up at her then finally seeing her there and then looked around as if trying to seek shelter but did not speak.
Malius was once again surprised as Alyssia stepped up to him and placed her hands on his forearms, moments later he was revived and healthy once more.

Almost in disbelief once again at her having healed him after the words spoken between them while yet in the hold of the Dwarves he gazed at her for a moment trying to read the why of it in her eyes.

“Thank you my Lady, I am in your debt.”

It was here that both he and Alyssia saw that Draven had returned and proceeded to walk through the camp, coming from the bushes but not stopping to even glance at them. He walked passed the fire and into the field, towards a lone tree. There he sank down, his eyes lost to the stars above. Clearly the man was in need of aid and Loda quickly moved to his side. With the battle over and his wounds healed the Ranger gathered himself into his bedroll to sleep.

(OOC: Ok Al he is all yours pretty much till after the 27th, so don’t kill him )