DreamLyrics™ Play-by-Post Forums Hall of Fame - Latest Top 10 completed games HHE: The Haunted Helm HHE12: The Fork

<Weston>

"A brave decision Almador. I hope it was not a fatal one", he said as he clasped the Sergeant on the back. "Shall we go", he asked the group.

Tindarien

Time to go.

He stays at the bottom letting those who intend to fight in melee go first, giving them the possibility of the element of surprise. He will then follow on in his turn.

Zoltan

He nods at Almador's decision. "Glad to have you. You proved yourself before, no need to justify yourself to anyone."

Turning he follows Bearkiller and the others up and deeper into the cave.

Sergeant Almador

An astounded expression came over his face when Weston spoke.

"My father-in-law said that exact same thing to me before my wedding!" Almador muttered apprehensively, then, thinking about it, looked more cheerful.

"Well, must be a good omen, my marriage worked out just fine!" He said with a positive smile for each of the heroes.

<Weston>

"Well we are lucky to have you with us, Almador", he said clasping the sergeant on the back. "And I hope this works out as well as your marriage", he added with a wink. "Shall we go slay the beast", he asked with a nod deeper into the caves.

Seyja


"Yes," Seyja said, nodding her agreement.

"We all talk too much. It is time to do something."

GM

Up and up and round and round you went, in single file along the rough pathway cut into the rock walls of the mine shaft.

In some places the path narrowed to barely half a foot where the edge had crumbled. In others, it had fallen away completely, leaving short but nerve-wracking jumps.

Sergeant Almador had made his choice, choosing to fall in with the rest of the party and together face the dragon peril.

But one thing that might have increasingly lingered in your thoughts, was your own commitment to the party.

You were not formed or sanctioned by any officialdom, you were hardly even fellows. For the most part, you were nearly as strange to each other as you were to the Sergeant. If anything, it was the cramped confines of The Issitia's passenger quarters that had forged your bond of fellowship. How tennuous was it? How loyal were you to each other?

And in bluntest terms, how fond of each other were you? If the Beast could be slain, and the haunted helm could be laid to rest, if the river and town could be saved, what then? Was there aught else that held your party together? Or were you still merely passengers on the same journey?

***

Bearkiller hadn't lied, after you'd scaled the mine shaft hundreds more feet than you could guess at, the temperature dropped quickly, creating shivering air currents around the walls and causing your breath to mist in front of you. Above and below were darkness. You were huddled on the narrow path, lit by the glow of the candlewick lamps, an island of warm light floating in a void.

In the midst of the file, Tindarien was leaning into the wall, probably to keep out of the cold draught, when suddenly there was an explosion of rubble and dust next to him. Choking, the high elf's foot slipped off the ledge, his arm shooting out for a grip, finding none his fingers groped air.

To one side of Tindarien, a humanoid skeleton dropped onto Seyja in a murky cloud of debris, its bony arms clamouring for a hold on her neck. With only patchy light to see by, she backed into Jexric.

Tindarien fell, but then a calloussed hand clamped around his own. Weston grunted, trying to haul up the sorcerer, while Zoltan was hauling on the back of Weston's collar to prevent him from being dragged to his doom. Veins stood out on both their foreheads.

In the chaos, one of the mining lamps was dropped, plummetting down into the shaft, lighting the walls as it went. It showed that the shaft was stepped at irregular intervals, following an ultimately diagonal course. Tindarien swung. His ferret familiar was no matyr, scurrying up its master's outstretched arm, Weston's and Zoltan's, before springing boldly onto a shocked but seemingly safe Sergeant Almador.

At the front of the file, D had been following the halfling, who was pointing out a steepening of the path and irregular rough-hewn steps. Possible that they were nearing the top of the shiaft, but the ambush behind him drew his attention backwards.

Seyja


Recovering her balance, Seyja hoped she hadn't hurt Jexric, but did not have time to turn to check on the bard's condition. She started to swing her greataxe, but quarters were too tight, so she reached up with one hand to pry the bony hands from her throat even as she lunged toward the skeleton, trying to crush the monstrosity against the wall.

"Off me, you foul thing!"

<Weston>

It was a nerve wracking climb in more ways than one. Sure there was a bit of concern where the bits of the path they followed had deteriorated a bit. He was happy to help and encourage Almadore at those challenges since he knew that the man was not as 'comfortable' climbing as the rest of the group was. But it was also a bit unnerving as they moved ... waiting for some indication that the wyrm was there ... ready to attack ... but not happening. There was also time to think.

They may have started out as strangers, but they had become more than friends since they started ... at least as far as =he= was concerned. But what about when this was over ... if any of them managed to survive? When they had 'finished' their quest, then what? He knew that he had a duty to report back, but what would the others do? Did they have their own duties?

All of those idle thoughts were washed away in the cold that was suddenly all around them. That signified the presence of their foe. But how close? Had it detected his ring? Was it waiting to 'pounce' on them?

Then it started. He wasn't even conscious of the thought ... his hand shot out instinctively and grabbed at the outstretched hand that was rushing past ... and as he struggled to keep his footing in the sudden increase of off balancing weight, he felt the pull from behind. He retained his grip and bracing his legs as best he could, hauled ...

D

His steps were slower than normal as he made every effort to keep his balance in his woozy condition.

He had been watching forward taking in the information Bearkiller was offering, when the sounds started behind him. From his position he looked. If he could see a clear target he launched one of his deadly black blades.

Zoltan

Following along the winding path, he is considering how he came to be here, with this group. He's always been a loner, and even working with Weston was a stretch for him.

Then, in the blink of an eye, things changed. He notes Tindarien start to fall and reactions take over. Reaching across he grabs for the first thing he can get his fingers around, which happens to be Weston's collar, and he grunts as the mans' weight pulls at his arm. With Weston's help the downward plunge is halted, and he begins to pull back upwards.

[Update: Zeim, quickly fixed a typo for you, replaced "Tindarien's collar" with "Weston's collar" to prevent confusion. -nemarsde]

Jex
He's right behind Seyja when the skeleton attacked her. His sword was already in hand and once he saw a safe opening, he slammed it down on the bony assailant.

Tindarien

He is not thinking or analysing now. Everything is reaction and survival. Instinctively he knows that the quicker he can get back on the ledge, the less likely the others are to drop him. He uses his acrobatic skill to swing his legs up so that he can relieve the weight and gain a safe purchase. He is still not sure exactly what happened but that will have to wait a moment or two.

GM

Using his legs as a pendulum, Tindarien was able to swing his other arm up and grab Weston's wrist without breaking the other man's grip. Then it was raw, vein-popping strength from both agents of the Order of Averness, that heaved the high elf up onto the ledge once more.

Ahead of them, Seyja was slamming the skeleton against the wall, Jexric unsheathing his scimitar.

There was the sound of a splintering ribcage, and as the barbarian pulled back for another go, Jex smashed his pommel down on the skeleton's skull. The steady-handed light of D's lamp illuminated the dusty scene, and it was suddenly apparent that their was nothing animated about the skeleton. It was held together by ragged robes and mouldering leather straps, giving its bones weight and connectivity like a marionette. There was no balefire in its empty eye sockets, no dark magic at work.

It had fallen out of a narrow crevice in the wall, that had been sealed by rockfall. Someone's boot had probably scuffed a rock at the base as they passed, loosened it, and then Tindarien's hand had brought the pile tumbling down.

Coughing and dusting yourselves down, you reassembled.

The remains were in an even worse state now, after their battering, but it was quickly evident that they were dwarven.

Its apparel was so old, most of it had disintegrated and was lost, but there was one dusty item still encircling the neck. An ornate torc, thick twisted electrum, terminating in dragon heads that faced each other when worn.

Blowing it, the dust seemed to slide off of the torc, showing the metal's fine lustre as if it had been recently polished. After some conferring amongst the party, you agreed it was likely a Dragonhead Torc that could magically bolster one's natural powers. An unexpected but valuable find.

The crevice led nowhere, alas. For some reason, the dwarf had taken shelter there, perhaps hiding and been trapped by the rockfall. Buried alive.

[Dragonhead Torc. +1 to saves when you have 10 hp or fewer. When you use this torc, you gain another use of your racial power in the battle. Quirk: Sometimes unwittingly speaks in a language that sounds like it could be an ancient dead language of their race, if anyone else could understand it.

This magic item is only really useful for non-humans, since humans' racial power improves initiative. Obviously, the save bonus benefits lower hp characters more.]

Seyja


Her violent reaction to the skeleton's attack almost embarrassed her once she realized it was just a skeleton and not undead.

"Uh... scared me there for a moment," she admitted.

<Weston>

He wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry. On the one hand, the 'chain of events' was ... if presented in the right way at a tavern ... would have elicited some chuckles and perhaps a drink. But the 'accident' =had= almost sent Tindarien to his death. =That= had been a near thing.

The discussion about the necklace was interesting. It got him wondering about the dwarf. Was his possession of it at all like his ownership of the ring? Did he know what he had, how to use it? Or was the dwarf as clueless about his gift as he was about his?

But they were here for a reason, they had a mission.

"Ummm ... now what? Should we continue on?"

Zoltan

He breathes a sigh of relief when it becomes apparent they are not being attacked, although the noise they just made likely didn't do them any good.

He too looks at the Torc, and after a short discussion among them provides their best guess as to what it might be, he looks at D. "This might be best for you to have", he says.

(OOC - I looked at all the Racial Powers and it seems to me the two best non-human ones for the party to allow to be used twice would be Zoltan's or D's. Zoltan has a few more hps than D does so I think D is the best choice. Also his Racial power, used twice in a melee against the dragon, would be awesome.)

D

He offers hallow laugh when he realizes that is just an accident and not an undead attack. No one was harmed.

As a matter of course he eyes the torc. Shiny things are inherently useful for coin if nothing else, except when cursed of course.

As the discussion turns towards who should wear it, he is surprised by Zoltan's suggestion. Yet he nods willing if the others are of the same mind. His dark eyes twinkle at the way he can turn a blade to cause additional harm.

Sergeant Almador

He was shaking, gripping the wall with a pained expression. He hadn't had time to react to the events on the path and had his own crisis.

"This is right embarrassing! I-I think something jumped on me, has invaded my breaches. I beg the gods it is only a rat!"

He didn't want to know what kind of unnatural vermin infested such dark, woebegone tunnels, but they were likely inclined to evil and starving hungry.

Bearkiller

He was behind D, watching the scene intently. He'd hoped for some sign of Red Ed, but no, these remains were older in years than his ability to count.

Bearkiller chuckled at Seyja's remark.

"Then we try to get dragon scare you too. Should be short fight."

The halfling rubbed his hands together to keep his fingers warm. He didn't like standing in the cold draughts, but it meant they were getting closer, much closer to their goal.

In answer to Weston, he said, "Save a bone for He Who Sicks Balls. But this not time or place for rest. We go on."

Tindarien

"Thank you"

The words are simple but heartfelt, directed both to Weston and Zoltan. He recovers his breath and then leans in to look at the item.

"I too would benefit from the item. However I will abide by the group's decision at this time."

<Weston>

With a shrug, he picks up one of the leg bones for the wolf. Even if it was imaginary, it might give Bearkiller that they were taking him seriously.

Seyja


The barbarian warrior woman grinned down at Bearkiller, but there was little humor in the expression.

"I plan on the wyrm dying quickly... and painfully."

Jex
"You have nothing to be ashamed of Seyja. All that you and I proved is that our reflexes are fast and that nothing will stand in our way this day - dead, alive or anything in between."

He glances at the torc and see's that D is eyeballing it. "I think it goes well with your eyes. Take it and let's move on," he says to the drow before resuming his song.