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Tindarien

As most of the group are now following the halfling.. except for Zoltan who is staying to cover their back, he decides his best plan is to act as rear guard to the main group, should the dragon get past the paladin.

He salutes Zoltan as he leaves, indicating that Nestaron should precede him. He set Farvi on rear watch, keeping alert himself to cover their flanks.

At the log, he watches carefully as the group cross, intending to be the last to cross, unworried about falling as he has magic to deal with that. However he will take care as the fall will not hurt him but who knows what might await in the darkness below. Better avoided if possible.

[Fixed those stats, Zeim. Are you sure you aren't carrying any cursed items??]

Sergeant Almador

One moment he was feeling inwardly triumphant, elated, that they had fought off a dragon, and that being amongst these heroes, he had finally found the warrior within.

The next moment, he was being hustled through the woods in the dark, chasing after a halfling apparently. What did halflings know about adventuring? They were shaggy-haired farmers and pot smokers, always harping on about 'free love'.

Then again, Almador had to admit he was just Sergeant of the Guard in a provincial fishing town, and he truly hoped there was more to him than he gave himself credit for.

It was gloomy, but he roughly made out a log across a chasm. At the dark elf's urgings, he waved his hands.

"It's all right for you, mate! You can probably thread a needle in the dark. Very well. I will go... may the gods help me!"

[Recruiting for this player character. Send PM for details]

Nestaron

He couldn't help a smile as he watched the man-at-arms. D had done well to get the Sergeant moving. Crossing a chasm via a log bridge in the middle of the night wasn't a challenge any sane person would set themselves.

Nestaron saw Farvi's nose poking out of Tindarien's pack and gave him a stroke, before turning back to the bridge.

The half-elf couldn't see much better than Sergeant Almador, but he had faith and sometimes that was all that mattered. He stepped onto the tree trunk.

"You should be more specific Sergeant. You know in Newport, they actually have a god of crossing bridges. Says something about the quality of their bridges, I'd say."

Sergeant Almador

"I'm fair sure it was a nature god built this one!" He retorted over his shoulder, wobbled, cursed and near had a heart attack, but kept moving.

[Ghosted for Neptune]

Jex

The Jester of Drakenhall had taken a knee, waiting with Tindarien. It allowed him to catch his breath and stitch together a few rhymes. They all seemed a little vitriolic though. Perhaps it was battle-rage? Was Seyja rubbing off on him? Was that a sentence that nearly came out all wrong?

Could it be this sword?? Somewhat annoyed, he called out to the goodly cleric and sergeant.

"Maybe we should all pray to the god of hurry the hell up!?"

GM

Zoltan prayed, and overhead the constellation of stars that comprised the Herald shone, bright and bold, eyes of a distant god, watching the realm of mortals below. Did those eyes pierce into the Abyss, into the hellish worlds lorded over by demons? Did they look onto a red sea, where boneless corpses crashed in bloody waves? Or in its midst, an island citadel, with walls made of writhing black smoke and lit from below by a glow like hot iron. Could a god's eyes see the tortured faces in the smoke? Could a god's ears hear the cries of torment?

Rafts of people, bound together were driven to the island by demonic ships. They swam through the sea of carnage, screaming. Other poor souls were delivered in their thousands, tumbling through swirling portals, flogged and beaten. Demon overseers drove them like vermin through the gates to the citadel.

They were both cattle and fuel. To the demons they were life, they were growth. To the demon prince who sat upon the brass throne, they were the future. His skin was red as the surrounding sea and sprouted brass horns, and his eyes were pitiless black. He wore a robe of oily black, spun from despair. His name was Yzarra and for the demons of the Abyss, he was hope.

A choking, hellish vision. Once Zoltan had come to his senses, he was still stood in the glade by the fire. The dragon's deep cold had receded but as pleasant as the summer night was, the tiefling still felt a chill.

Stretching his toes, he realised the chill was real, a soft, cold breeze at ankle height that seemed to draw air over the precipice and downhill. Peering after it, the paladin saw only darkness, but by watching the wild grass he could see how the breeze shifted direction, as if what drew it was also moving. How could it be the white dragon? It was stealthy for such a massive creature, but Zoltan doubted it could have woven in and out of trees so fast even when it was hale. Remembering the lay of the land from the trek, Zoltan suddenly understood....

Cunning, old wyrm.

It was back. Having flown around the curve of the hillside, it had slithered into the steep defile that led down to the river gorge. The defile where Nestaron and Seyja had found the gory remains of Renn of Quagglen (whose armour Zoltan now wore). All of which meant that the Beast was snaking along the defile's course, downwards, a course that would surely intercept the rest of the party. From this distance, Zoltan's legs would never catch up with the others in time, but at this elevation, his voice just might.

Some way away, through the night, a fallen tree was serving as a bridge, the crossing slowed by Sergeant Almador, whose armoured bulk was not suited or practiced at such things. On the far side, the buckskin-adorned halfling hopped from foot to foot, agititated by the waiting. He could've been a quarter mile onwards, a quarter mile closer to safe haven.

<Weston>

The log bridge brought him more fully to the present. And he saw Almador looking a bit nervous. He would be much better with a bit more confidence. "You're doing fine Sergeant. Much easier than besting a dragon and you did just fine with =that=. Take your time, one foot in front of the other."

Zoltan

In reply to his prayer the vision was both familiar and disturbing. Familiar because he recognized the scene and knew the setting intimately. Disturbing because he had thought to have left Yzarra far behind. If this vision was truly a message, or warning, from the Herald, then Yzarra had not only finally found him, but was somehow watching him. And that put not only himself, but the others in terrible danger.

It was as these thoughts filtered through his brain that he noted the cold flowing across his ankles and realized what the Wyrm had done.

He realizes he can't catch up, but he is above both the dragon and the likely path the party is traveling. He can warn them.

Quickly ripping a piece of cloth he wraps it around an arrow and dips it into the fire. As soon as it catches, he runs to the edge of the defile and fires it into the air, screaming, "WYRM!" at the top of his lungs.

He immediately knocks another arrow and searches below for a target to fire at.

Seyja


She heard the scream and saw the fire arrow at almost the same moment and, pulling her greataxe from her back, Seyja whirled about, looking for the threat.

D

He kept his attention on the task of getting the man-at-arms across safely. Though the first place he looked was to the shadows, after all that is where he would attack from.

Tindarien

At the first alert, he seeks the nearest tree for cover, his eyes scanning the skies, his ears straining for the sound of wings.. but nothing. Magic at the ready, he sends his senses in other directions, seeking the threat.

<Weston>

Not again, he thinks to himself. He pulls his bow, grabs an arrow and searches for the target ...

Sergeant Almador

He didn't dare look up, not that looking down at his feet was much use. He could see the glint of his scuffed toecaps, but then only various levels of darkness between the tree, its branches, and the chasm below.

The Sergeant of the Guard was ultimately grateful for the dark elf leading him across the makeshift bridge. Despite Weston's encouragement, it was hearing the cry of WYRM! carried on the night air that really galvanised Almador.

"Faster!!" He said to D, swallowing his panic.

[Recruiting for this player character. Send PM for details]

Nestaron

He heard and looked look, craning his neck to see what those on the far side of the chasm could see. Fire arrow? It must be Zoltan, the hued warning too.

Nestaron had been using his staff for balance, but now he shifted his footing on the log and prepared to jab at the Beast. It was a moonless night and it had flown over their heads once without being seen. Then it would have launched itself from the top of Titan's Elbow though, and it hadn't concealed its deathly cold radiance.

Could the dragon have climbed the peak so soon, after the wounds the party had dealt it? Doubtful. Which meant it must be flying low over the tree tops. If it was above them, the first sign might be snowfall.

The cleric glanced ahead, he didn't want to pester or crowd the Sergeant of the Guard, but he didn't want to be caught on a log bridge either.

D

The dark elf nodded silently and then realized that the man might not see his movement. A soft "yes" of agreement to move faster as he did so. Being on the log wouldn't be the best place to defend from.

Jex

Getting across the log quickly was the imperative. For the court jester this was like his balancing act, and he moved with great confidence over it. Once on the other side, he readied a chaos bolt to fire at the great wyrm once it reappeared.

[ooc: Sorry about missing the last post. I thought I posted (a really long post) but I guess I forgot to press "submit". Oh well.

[[ Nep - that is why I usually compose longish posts in an editor and then past them in here <wink> Less chance to forget submitting, and I have the post in the editor in case something goes wonkky ... which, of course, would never happen here .. no really!! <weg> ]]

[Yikes, sorry to hear that, Neptune. I've done that so many times in the past... it's painful. Like MikeD, I always use a text editor these days.]

GM

Zoltan's fire arrow guttered as it arched high overhead.

Which fate scares a man more, being eaten alive by a legendary monster, or falling to one's death? Sergeant Almador's answer was to dash the rest of the way across the fallen tree, guided by the sure-footed dark elf, D.

As weapons were freed, there was a gust of wind, sucking debris and dirt into the chasm and suddenly a blizzard howled upwards out of the darkness. White scales, orange blood, jagged teeth and an eye that burned with magic, dark, evil, ancient.

It roared, rising faster than wave crashing against a cliff, its massive leathery wings crashing down over the trees and anyone stood either side of the chasm. There was a crunch as the Beast glanced off of the log bridge, splintering and chucking it into the chasm.

It didn't stop or slow or even hesitate, roaring into the night sky above from below. The companions did what they could with weapons against such a fleeting target. Huge or not it sped passed them, spattering them with its scalding blood.

As the dust settled, Zoltan appeared on the near side of the chasm, falling in with Jex and Tindarien. Although his bow was in hand, he hadn't had the range for a decent shot.

On the far side, Weston and Seyja searched for signs of Sergeant Almador and D. They were relieved to find them coughing and clambering to their feet only a few paces from the edge.

The mohawked halfling was already tying a rope around a nearby tree. They'd lost their bridge, but they still had to bring Zoltan, Jex and Tindarien over.

Wisps of snow drifted down out of the night, and the halfling worked the rope with complete commitment, preparing to throw a coil across to the others.

[[ weston had gotten his bow out ... did he have a chance at a shot? ]]

[Aye, this woud qualify as a hazard not a combat. Weston likely got a shot off, though couldn't tell the result as the dragon was moving too quickly. I've got a more in-depth hazard encounter lined up, that we'll go through step by step. It's another 13th Age thing.]

D

The dark elf cleared himself of debris and then offered a hand to the man next to him to stand.

Seeing the halfling busy at work the dark elf stayed out of the way. Instead dark blades appeared in his hands to be launched when the opportunity came, and he knew it would.

[[ no worries ... just checking <g> ]]

<Weston>

Zoltan's warning gave him just enough of a warning ... he got his shot off, but without being able to see much, he had no idea if he managed to hit or not. But it =was= a big target, so there was hope ... But there was =no= doubt that ... whether he hit or not ... it was still out there and was apparently unwilling to leave them ... to leave =him= alone.

He pulled another arrow and prepared for the next opportunity. Hopefully he could keep the thing at bey until the others could get across.

Seyja


The ancient white wyrm flew by so fast that Seyja really had no time to launch any kind of attack. She cursed at the now gone dragon and moved off in search of a better spot where she could stand watch until the others could assemble together.

Sergeant Almador

Breathing hard, he held out his hand to the dark elf who had just led him to safety.

"I am endebted to you, sir. I mean it! And I'm - I'm sorry if I was crotchety with you." His hand was trembling, but his gaze was steady.

Sergeant Almador didn't bother with his mace. He couldn't see himself swotting the dragon from the air with it, not even in broad daylight.

But once the rope bridge had been secured, he could at least help dampen its spring. So he worked with the halfling... if it let him.

Jex

The great wyrm had thwarted their efforts to cross the chasm. They would need the rope bridge to now get across. He saw the halfling on the other side working to get it over. He readied himself to do the needed work on this side to secure it, all the time keeping a look-out for the return of the frosty dragon.