Topic: In the Dungeons...

Dungeoneer

Date: 2007-03-01 18:40 EST
I

The silence had gone on for far too long, lingering in the dank shattered temple room, a heavy shadow against possibility. The Warven cursed, echoing in the sealed door that kept the intruders. Bashing against the stone door, they had long since crushed enchantments that had protected him. If not for this rough angular features, C'ang Derr'Thorn would have appeared to be a normal blood-crazed dwarf. Yet this was no ordinary dwarf.

Built of a heartier stock than his southern-diluted kin, the Warven dwelled in the North, separated for millennia. Shut off in the once fabulous underground cities of the Isa Mountain range, , few, like C'ang, ventured forth, curious about the ways of presumed southern civilization. The cold and harsh weather had emphasized the higher cheekbones, the angular muscularity, and a thicker barrel frame that held within a heart which worked more like a metaling forge than an organ. Rare to see one of his kind in the south, and even more ironic to see one deep within the confines of an ancient underground system- let alone cornered by the ravenous undead.

Armed to capacity, the Warven carried an unusually broad double axe, its edge appearing more like teeth than steel. His armor encasing his thick torso, moved with him in an intricate display of overlaying plates. Each plate crafted to tell its own tale of show off another kill. The masterwork carried the distinctive signature and style of its bearer, a master armorer and weaponsmith.

Harnessing the powers of fire and water that once ascended his race from mediocrity to dominance of the underground by forging works of steel and architecture, C'ang considered himself an apprentice cleric. The Warven then cast a rune upon the floor to summon an astral link to his employer, the Notar. Yet despite his desperation, nothing emerged from the letter, as if Templeton no longer existed.

With increased strength, the undead bashed at the door separating them from C'ang. The Warven, in desperation, bowed in deep prayer, chanting ancient stories of smithing and war, before the giant figure of Uruz.

Dungeoneer

Date: 2007-03-06 21:29 EST
III

"I have told you, many times my friend, that you do not have to worship me. I may be a god in your faith, but I am no more a source of respect than the craftsmanship of your armor," the figure known of Uruz said, looking down upon the chanting, kneeling form of C'ang. The door pounded, even bent, and the giant horned humanoid, his skin shifting to match the world around him looked at to his right- the source of the intruders. At his knees a long weapon, separating at the end into two long Khopesh blades, moved with uneasiness. The massive head, turned observing the rapidly crumbling door to the north. His horns twitched, two long ivory tusks emerging impossibly from the cranium into a slopping horizontal curve.

"In my faith, you a god, and don't ferget it!" C'ang said as reverently as a Warven could. "But that damn pen wizard left us fer dead, can't get to 'im."

"Then we must open that door, we have no choice, and besides...." Uruz hesitated waiting to peak the Warven's interest. When C'ang looked up he spoke again, twirling his Khopesh staff and lifting his gigantic frame. "It will be fun!"

"Ger'head, with ya, me trip ta da golden forge is guaranteed," C'ang said stepping before the door and gripping his battle axe, D'nt with anticipation.

Thus Uruz did, flooding the chamber with the undead,

And chaos.

Dungeoneer

Date: 2007-04-06 10:31 EST
IV

This desperate battle, in a crowded room of enemies....

What they were made for.

Uruz- the horned demi-god of an ancient and long extinct race- crashed his mighty kopeche staff about the undead that swarmed him. Centering himself in the middle of the room, Uruz cleared out of space where no intruder could penetrate. Orbiting about him, a moon of destruction, C'ang spun and sliced, chopped and hacked, emitting the dust of the dead as he vaulted from encounter to encounter. The Warven moved from one concentration of skulls and bones to another, almost instinctively where the zombies and skeletons would collect. Smashing into the horde, Uruz defended his central position, trained since the beginning of time to defend temples and tombs, the Tir race of guardians had stood for centuries linked telepathically via their enormous cranial horns.

Until one day the horns grew silent, and a young Orleon was the only one to blame.

The apprenticed cleric, C'ang, dispelled with a fistful of faith, those that he could. though mounds and formations flooded into the entrance of the chamber. Something drew them into the room, to what the warlord had no idea. D'nt crushed the bone and flesh matter but the attack did not quench the blades thirst. It needed flesh, needed to splatter and bite deep of blood. Without that satisfaction it pushed its host further, farther, more furious through the horde. His vision blind, his prayers unanswered, the bearded ball of steel and cursing spit collided against walls and enemies alike. All the time dodging the ever present arc of Uruz's curved blade. If the beings would have been conscious, surely they would have retreated.

But somehow they continued to advance, continued to fill, beating back by sheer number the efforts of the Tir and Warven.

"Damn the cold fires of the eternal forge!" C'ang screamed. "If that accursed booklover ain't comin ta 'elp us." The statement only drove D'nt into a large section of a makeshift altar, spraying C'ang's three enemies with stone.

"I do not believe he is coming, and, and," the kpoche sliced a dry space between a zombie's pelvis and torso. The Tir then whacked the latter into five of his advancing fellows. "And C'ang, these creatures are not advancing they are retreating, being pushed by another force...."

The Warven sniffed, sensing something in the air. Never could forget the scent char-broiled doom, of baked death, with a hint of sulfur used to teleport. Black magic held its own spore of malevolence that assaulted the olfactory in a way that only Warven, pure Dwarven, and sensitive elves could muster.

"Aye, it be demon," Derr'Thorn said, his axe crashing with downward slam, kicking the remains, and spinning over a lunge, into another pack just clearing the main entrance. Focusing on the mental rune Templeton had given him, C'ang sent the image of his employer into the deepest recesses of the final 9th hell.

"DAMNED YOU BOOKLOVER!"

Dungeoneer

Date: 2007-04-16 08:28 EST
Despite the sound of crashing bone and shattered skulls, Uruz and Cang felt the air around them snap and split. Without warning it appeared as if someone was writing themselves into the story. The air snapped and tore as if parchment, a slashing moment slicing into the reality, perhaps the hand of an editing God cutting and pasting himself into the scene.

But apparently this God is bringing a Goddess, C?ang thought pearing at the shine and craftsmanship of the armor that appeared beside his employer, Templeton.

?Took da time, ta makit eh?? the Warven shouted, spit flying onto his enemy. ?And lookit da lovely luggage ya done bring us eh??
Good shapely armor had always been his one weakness.

Orleon Templeton

Date: 2007-04-27 20:13 EST
Never really sure if entering the realms of a grafica was travel or simply a highly detailed representation of the world around them, Orleon looked about at his surroundings. Seeing that the Warven was closest to him (both of them had 'teleported' just under the arm of the grey-white horned giant) Orleon smiled and filled his finger with ink from the stylus. It hissed and glowed into a myriad of colors, finally settling on a deep cobalt blue, almost metallic. The Notar's lips became enraged and he spoke in a low growl, as if a hiss to the hundreds of things swarming the interior of the room.

"Thisthssiithixa"

C'ang saw the finger coming towards him, the mouth filled with spittle and his body showing the minor bits of fragmented bone and leftover sinew of the undead. The warlord laughed, a hysterical laughter reaching a fever pitch when Orleon traced a strange symbol upon the apprentice cleric.

His blade glowed, vibrated, as if D'nt, his axe, grew teeth, becoming sharper, the image of the blade sliding into a more, shall we say, vengeful position.

The mark stayed, but the Warven made no time to move away, for he was gone, slamming into the world of bone with all his might, crushing them as Uruz passed his 'line axe' (at a time far away their race had both used the tactic and the name 'Linaje axe' to note its talents. If one used it effectively, for defending rather than attacking, no one would cross a line that the Tirok placed at a point before him) With a sweep the sound of the Kirosh blade slammed, and in the empty space, the Warven shot out as if from a catapult.

"Uruz, get to the entrance! Make it the line! Orleon screamed as C'ang heard and flung himself to begin cleaning the mess. "Hurry, I am not sure how long this Grafica can hold onto this world.

"Milady if you would like to use that, you are more than..."

"Temple man!" Uruz screamed, not ever sure of the pronunciation of the Notar's name, only calling him by the action that once released him so long ago. "I can see it and perhaps you leaving would be not so bad!

Dungeoneer

Date: 2007-04-27 20:29 EST
For centuries Uruz guarded the entrance to the Kulak Temple, deep in the Isa Mountains before Orleon's bumbling had released him. In that time the Tyrok fought off hordes of adventurers daring to desecrate the sacred tombs of ancestors, the long forgotten cache of dreamed treasures that would send most barons to madness. His Kirosh blade never allowed one step past what he considered an absolute threat. Demons had begun to invade the entrances of his clansmen, but they had been crushed, feeding off the molten blood of the thousands that dared. In fact, many Tyrok, unlike Uruz, used the remains and equipment of the infidels to create a more easily defendable position.

Not Uruz, he liked an open plain. From their vantage point, the surrounding tribes of the cold Isa, could see this horned giant kick the remains of their very best off the side of the mountain.

Their very best.

But in all those years of looking into the eyes of both the valiant and the foolish, Uruz never witnessed a thing that matched what was coming up the corridor from the south. The very thing that made even the undead screech and retreat to their doom.

"I can see it and perhaps you leaving would be not so bad!" Uruz said, placing his blade across his body, kicking the few groups that remained.

Kairee

Date: 2007-05-02 20:45 EST
The stench the dead, the putrefaction of flesh underscored with the moldy odor of the grave, filled the room; weighing down the air and oppressing the spirit. Kairee turned a baleful eye toward the mass of undead.

A sweeping slash of her sword and rushing wall of fire assaults the front line of the dead. A quick flick her wrist; the sword point directed at the doorway int he distance. Erupting amidst the walking, undead back by that crucial portal, a swirling luminescent green tornado appears. Sword-like tendrils lash out joined by others that slash like claws; decimating the creatures raised forth by necromantic powers.

Her brow knits as her attention is caught by the lumbering ??Thing. ?What in all the hells is that?? Kairee demands; her vision shifting to the arcane to determine its nature and to help determine its weaknesses.

Orleon Templeton

Date: 2007-05-12 13:50 EST
"I think there is a current here," C'ang said watching as the remains of the dead, body parts of various sizes and configurations, appeared to be drawn away from the room. They pooled and scuttled their way back from where they came. Drawn in by the power of the being, Uruz felt the remains whirl and push toward the end of the hall. There he was looking at it, watching as it came towards the group.

Uruz bit his bottom lip, feeling the hardness that came over him in moments like this one. This was they way that he drew the line, shaped it before him. No matter that all those parts coalesced to form the body of the being. Uruz again thought hard, and in his mind he performed that sacred act, the act of drawing the line.

Orleon Templeton

Date: 2007-05-18 10:25 EST
Orleon, readying a cartouche to hold off the demon that dwelled just beyond the hallway, suddenly squinted then cursed a rarity for him. The Notar felt it, his constant contact with the drawing he had made in the dungeon, suddenly shifted. Apparently his stay in Rhydin did not keep him practiced in the way magic shifted in other realms. Basically he had lost his touch.

The magic on the continent of Prytania worked in a different manner, its core connected to the essence of the world. Orleon's N'tar language may have lost a bit of its punch.

"Kairee, come to me, I think I am...." Templeton shouted. The barriers of the icons over the controlling arches, barely visible to those aorund it, began to crumble. Despite his best efforts the relentless torment of the undead prevented the Notar from repairing the damage. The three dimmensional orbs began to shrink and pop, cracking like balls of fine porcelain. "C'ang, I am leaving you with a temporary vocabulary of the N'tar, it may help, it will increase your power ten-fold. Teleport when you have a clearing."

Templeton worked desperately to avoid the obvious, to push his abilities beyond the limit. Scrawling protective icons over C'ang, and vaulting one to Uruz ( who probably needed it most of all); he then turned to Kairee.

"Beloved," Orleon croaked, almost not knowing what he was saying. His eyes appeared to shift, his whole mind trying to hold on to this reality. Already the traces of the small shack back in Rhydin beginning to bleed back into his reality. "I have not the strength to hold us both, it is retracting, cannot....."

With a snapping and crushing sound, suddenly Orleon no longer stood in the dungeon- leaving Kairee, C'ang and Uruz alone with the legions of Hades about them.

"Damn, scholah, always doin dat!"

Kairee

Date: 2007-05-21 16:40 EST
Kairee?s skin crawled and her stomach knotted as she felt the demonic force behind the necromantic abhorrence before them. Anger rose with her bile, her hatred of the kind keeping its mere presence from tearing open old wounds. ?Demon.? she spat before her attention on the Thing was interrupted by a gaggle of undead breaking toward her.

Slicing through the air, her blade cut deep, bits of rotting flesh, severed from them, flowed back to the demonic form .Kairee?s cool demeanor evaporating in the fight, determination coupled with anger and disgust as she; with strength beyond human hewed into the writhing, unthinking mass.

The demon must be dealt with if they hope to win the day and to deal with him she and Orleon will need space away from close combat to work their craft. With an angry cry and force of will; Kairee threw back the first two ranks upon those behind them and pressed down upon them all with a crushing Wall of Force. The taste and shape of the ambient magics here foreign to her palate and though she is certain she can master given time and adapt to Its uniqueness, Kairee cannot be certain that her spells will be as sound and effective as she needs. Shutting out all distractions and drawing upon the arcane energies stored in the various gems she wears, Kairee weaves binding spells, tying the undead before her to each other, trapping them in a web of power, encasing them in a form of arcane amber, preventing their forward movement and creating a protective barrier. So intent on the magic she wrought Kairee did not hear Orleon call to her.

With a surprised gasp at the first major breach of the dimensional gate, Kairee saw It begin to crumble. Wild power swirled chaotically around the Notar as he struggled to keep the structure intact and to prevent a magical mishap of an explosive kind normally the result of an uncontrolled rupturing of a spell.

?Beloved?? Orleon called to Kairee; the rest of his words were lost in the arcane whirlpool. Once the spell started to unravel, it decayed at an exponential rate. Though they were no more than ten feet from the other, closing that gap would be impossible as Order devolved into Chaos, scrambling reality as the connection between the two worlds frayed and snapped.

Alone.

That?s how it felt once the tether to Rhydin was gone, once Orleon was no longer here with her in this foreign and strange place. So unsettling to be so suddenly disconnected. Disturbing to find herself in a place she did neither chose nor knew the way home. Yes, in time should could find the way back to Rhydin but that will take time she does not currently have; time to, first, mystically ?find? Rhydin and then to draw the mystical map home.

Squelching these distracting thoughts and unnecessary emotions; Kairee?s emerald eyes dart back to the swarm of undead, the necromantic demon ahead and the swath cut towards it by C?ang, Uruz and the Afrit she had previously released.

Tapping her gems and marshalling her anger, Kairee spears the demonic essence with disruptive power, seeking to shake it?s hold on this mortal plane free and to send it roiling back to the pit from which it came.

The beast did stagger as her enchantment struck true. The quivering undead mass seemed to stumble to a stop in its progress; seeming to hesitate as if unsure of where it was. The necromantic energies flowing from it seems to sputter and die. The Undead attacking, tripped and fumbled as if all guiding force was lost to them.

Kairee could see the dark malevolence of the possessing demon casting shadowy echoes as her magic worked to sunder it from this realm. Hate and anger at her audacity flowed from the miasma; its unholy gaze looking upon her with eyeless sight. With a roar causing the skin to crawl and hairs to stand on end of all living creatures in the vicinity, the demon pulled itself back into the pervasion of life it occupied.

Thought her attempt failed, Kairee learned a great deal about the foul entity. It was strong and old. It tasted of a primal born demon and would not be easy to dislodge from this dimension. Most importantly she saw its anchor. The Necromancer still lived, if it could be called living, in the center of that writhing mass of undead flesh and body parts. His heart still beat; his mind, twisted and warped by the demon possessing him; aware and focused enough for the mage to still cast his necromantic spells.

The demon, rebounded, full of fury at the attempt to banish it back to its home abyss, took charge again of the monstrous being it had of formed from the Necromancer. Propelling its mass forward; it sought to destroy and consume every living thing in its path. A wave of nausea flowed out engulfing the entire hall.

?You!? Kairee shouted, forcibly containing a retching reaction to the nearly overwhelming sensation, ?C?ang! Uruz! Strike at the heart of the Necromancer! Kill it! Destroy the anchor! It is at the center of the beast! I will deal with the demon! Strike when it falters next!? her words echoed in their ears and in their minds as Kairee used telepathy to ensure the message got through and was understood.

An unspoken command to the Afret and it raced toward the creature. On its metaphorical heels, an explosive fireball erupted, blowing back the undead and clearing a path directly to the aberration for C?ang and Uruz.

?Go! Now!? Kairee commanded over the din of battle, ?Strike at the heart!?

Massing her power, drawing upon all her resources; Kairee patiently crafted the spell she had perfected over the years in battling demons. With the Necromaner dead, the demon will lose its connection to this world and without it to secure himself, Kairee was confident she could force him from this place given enough time and power.

She just needed to hold the spell long enough to give Orleon?s boys and her Afret a chance to get in close without demonic interference to end the life of the puppet Necromancer.

As for power, she will have to take a bit of a risk.

Dungeoneer

Date: 2007-07-02 21:30 EST
Though it would mean his death, this was what C'ang lived for. Impossible odds welcomed him, saw him as an old friend. In countless struggles across the continent and to the islands beyond, the Warven flung himself head long into crises. His axe, D'nt at hand, with a blade fabled to come from the stars themselves- a black still etched in crevices with dried specks of bloodied remains.

Flung, it whirled around in his mind, flung.

The world rattled about the druid's head, shaking it from distraction. Distracted, watching the vision of incantations, swordplay and armor before him. The clean edges of Kairee's armor moved without friction. Perhaps a heavy bond spell clung its massive plates to the voluptuous woman. With one hand clashing with a long sword at the undead; the other casting spirals of hexes into their numbers.

Gorgeous.

Gorgeous, and amid all that horror and chaos running and bleeding in that room, Cang DerrThorn stood motionless. His axes, lucky cut through lines and lines of the undead, an axe dragging its warrior about as if a divine puppet. One could not blame him, for his race long ago created from bitter and stubborn mountains, the great cities of the North. Pulling from that lump of material giant spires that began underground and crowned the peaks of the Northern Prytania with crowned city strongholds. That race, one of the few remaining, carried a deep understanding and appreciation for the exalted working of materials into armor. So rare today to fine such workmanship. Dazzling as that she-devil of crimson hair, flung herself about the room, obviously unhindered by the wieght or construct of the armor.

Where others would take off the intricate armor, Kairee exposed splendidly in her much coveted nudity, C'ang could only think of what she would look like with more armor and weapons strapped to the obvious curvature of the forged metal.

Then the flat of Uruz's Kopesh blade slammed into the side of his helmeted head. C'ang shook the blow and cursed, his eyes lusting over as his fingers tore another dead head from its neck.

"What!" he screamed as he watched his companion, his former demi-god back away from one of Kairee's hex blasts, The demon screamed in a hellish high frequency. The sound and the hit to the head somehow insulating him away from the daydreams of blacksmiths. "Ima killin' all I can!"

"Feel like flying my friend?" Uruz shouted within the heart of the storm his massive grayish hand out to his companion.

C'ang smiled to himself, it had been ages since the two adventures had performed the favorite maneuver of the duck and toss. Rarely had they needed it, the defeat a greater foe behind the current melee. The Warven gripped D'nt, the axe still wiping out a path around him. Gripping the arm before him, C'ang readied the blade for impact, tightening the leather grip, clinging it to his hand. Uruz managed to distract the demon from his Warven projectile, back handing the summoned (or was it the summoner? Such necromantic relationships were so confusing), forcing it to duck. The dodge crushed numbers of its followers. Their power momentarily untethered from its master.

In that moment Uruz, backed by the brute power of the Tui guardians, flung C'ang over the demon. Over the storm of electricity and sustained ectoplasm. Breaching the membrane, the Warven felt flooded by the heated gelatinous fluid Dang summoned, thinking to himself, ya always come out stinkin or slimed! Pushing past the goop, C'ang raised his axe in flight, cutting a path to the priest in dark robes behind the demon.

The being did not look cooperative at all. In fact it barely looked human. No longer linked to humanity at all, the dark cleric stood robbed of his very flesh. Bits and pieces of his flesh flaked off to sustain the abhorrent. Its limbs no longer its own, taken to keep the abomination centered onto his prime material plane. The struggle to do this spent the priest, now almost skeletal. Driven beyond its limits as half of DerrThorn's double axe slammed into his chest with a loud 'chunk'. Sounding more like cleaved wood than flesh, the necromancer toppled back, allowing C'ang to escape the searing retched roar of the demon, its connection momentarily lost.

Then the damned looked for another host.