DreamLyrics™ Play-by-Post Forums Hall of Fame - Latest Top 10 completed games HHE: The Haunted Helm HHE13: The Ice Chamber

GM

Long before he was one of Bearkiller's Bodejackers, Jexric was Jester of Drakkenhall, and as you might expect, he had some experience with dragons, even dragons as ancient as the Master of Winter.

So it was quite possible that he noticed the dragon had not exploded from the ice underneath, but rather from the foul rock-pool in which they all stood. It was only ankle deep, but the dragon had apparently cast off its humanoid form and shapeshifted out of the effluent, straight into an attack. Clever clever.

Jex's attack was less clever. Drawing Fusillade the Angry, he felt the blade's pent up frustration swell in his temples and rammed the magic weapon into the white scaly hide with a scream. It was a crude blow (though it must have felt pretty good), and the copper-headed bard was suddenly yanked off his feet, finding himself clinging high on the side of the dragon, fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

"No-one rides me, Dragon-Spoor!" Bellowed the Beast in outrage, "You will answer for this grave offence!"

With the dragon distracted, Zoltan lunged for a gap in the dragon's scales. The tip hit its mark, sinking in, the dragon gasping in painful shock, and with a flash of raw magic energy from the wound, Zoltan was fired backwards, sword ringing in his hand.

Before the Beast could snatch anyone else in its jaws, Seyja's fire bomb smashed against its snout. A whoosh and crackle as the mixture ignited, much of it falling into the monster's gaping maw but missing its one eye.

Sergeant Almador battered at it with his mace, Weston struck with a two-handed overhead chop, the magic rune flaring on his sword blade. Darting in and out, the dark elf's obsidian daggers plunged into the dragon, but however old and decrepit it was, the Beast of Titan's Elbow was thick-skinned. Bearkiller's halfling-sized knife failed again to even pierce it.

Ignoring the deafening roars and shuddering of the ground, Tindarien poured one of his healing potions between Nestaron's lips. The cleric's eyes instantly twitched and focused on his elven friend.

"Are you... always this late?" He wheezed, then grimacing started to struggling against his icy restraints.

With fire burning its tongue, the Master of Winter was unaware of the rescue happening almost under its nose. Instead the white wyrm lashed out at the barbarian who had thrown the fire bomb.

Its spiked tail caught Seyja across the midriff, crushing her against the wall of the cavern with a sickening crunch. Feeling her innards busted and leaking, the woman still gripped her great axe and staggered forward to engage this terrible foe. It was the Dimming of the Day, the Cold Touch of Winter. It was there when the Wizard King slew the White, it was the doom of a city of people. It defeated Gorulon Gorehound. Defeated Sir Edward the Red, Renn and Caeric. Who were you to stand against the Master of Winter!? Who!

[
D HP: 21/28; Rec: 3/8; AC 15, PD 16, MD 12; Init +10 (Engaging MW)
J HP: 18/32; Rec: 1/8; AC 15, PD 13, MD 12; Init +5*2 (Engaging MW)
S HP: 1/43; Rec: 0/8; AC 16, PD 16, MD 12; Init +4*2; Staggered
T HP: 15/24; Rec: 3/8; AC 12, PD 13, MD 15; Init +4
W HP: 33/44; Rec: 3/9; AC 17, PD 15, MD 12; Init +4*2 (Engaging MW)
Z HP: 37/40; Rec: 3/8; AC 22, PD 14, MD 15; Init +3 (Engaging MW)
Al HP: 6/27; AC 17, PD 14, MD 12; Init +3; Staggered (Engaging MW)
Be HP: 32/32; AC 18, PD 14, MD 14; Init +6 (Engaging MW)
Ne HP: 13/27; AC 13, PD 13, MD 13; Init +2; Staggered

MW HP: 52/90; AC 19, PD 16, MD 15; Init +8; Dazed (Engaging Seyja)
]

Zoltan

Rolling back to his feet he growls in demonic fury, face revealing his heritage for perhaps the first time any here had seen. He swings the sword through an arc and charges back in to slash at the dragon again. As he passes Seyja, he reaches out with one hand and touches her, healing energy passing from himself to the Barbarian.

(OOC - Bonus action of Lay on Hands, uses one of his Recoveries.)

Jex
His first attack with his new-found weapon showed his inexperience with the blade. Now riding the back of the great white wyrm, the bard drew the sword from the dragon and now straddling the monster he plunged it into the dragon again, hoping that this time he'll have adjusted to the newness and that this time the blow would be more serious. He once again issued his battle cry to help an ally recover.

[ooc: I still don't know if Seyja has recoveries left but if she does, I think she needs it. If she can't, I'll let the DM pick who gets healed. Sergeant Almador might be next on the need-list.]

[Seyja has no recoveries, so she to use a recovery gives her a cumulative -1 to attack and defence. Pretty severe. Jex's battle cry didn't trigger last round, unfortunately. Zoltan's Lay on Hands will allow Zoltan to use one of his recoveries for her, so is the best option.]

D

He rolled to the side, so that his next strike came from a different direction. He would make the dragon die of a thousand cuts if it took that many.

[Same as last round, keep moving, hit, run, and racial power if possible.]

<Weston>

He grinned when he struck, but the beast was still up and still attacking his friends. This evil creature =HAD= to die!!! He redoubled his efforts and swung again at the foe before him!

Seyja


She screamed in combined pain and rage and staggered forward, her greataxe poised as her rage grew. Then she felt a rush of warmth suffuse her wounds as the paladin granted her is healing power.

She would have to thank him later... if she survived and if she remembered.

Seyja lunged forward, swinging her weapon at the beast's neck.

Tindarien

A wry smile touches his face at Nestaron's words. He had so regretted waiting the night before attempting a rescue, even though he knew it had to be. He cannot imagine what the healer must have suffered in that time. He doesn't know if Nestaron is capable of spell casting but those distance healing abilities of his could still make a difference to them in this fight. Now he must fight with the others. Hopefully he will be able to do more for Nestaron later.

He feels for the breath spell but it still isn't there so he decides to try the opposite and use scorching ray. He is sure the dragon will not like that one!

[Gypsy, maybe try rolling your recharge when pchan is at least one mile away?]

Bearkiller

The Beast's armoured hide seemed impervious to his knife, whether thrust, slash or stab stab stab. But the Harthorn Mountain Halfing knew that if he could pierce it, just once, his envenomed blade might sap the dragon's vigour enough for a killing blow.

Dodging sideways to avoid a taloned foot the size of a millwheel, Bearkiller risked a glance at what his companions were doing. He saw Zoltan striding back in with sword and shield. The paladin had drawn blood by carefully aiming his attack, and only been repelled by dragon magic. The halfing decided to do likewise, sucking down his frustration and biding his time. He'd attack the furrow where the scales were lapstraked.

[OOC Good idea! ]

Sergeant Almador

Staggering from tiredness, from the treacherous footing and from injuries he couldn't even feel, the aging man-at-arms hefted his mace once more. Glancing left and right he saw his companions were also struggling with the Beast.

Last night it had them cornered, yes, but it had to stick its neck out to attack them. Here in the cavern, it filled the space, its clawed feet, spiked tail and fangs could attack anyone, anywhere, and even its scaly trunk had to be evaded. They were like mice jammed in a barrel with a bear.

But for his companions Sergeant Almador had to strive on. For his town, for his family, he must do, or he must die! He charged back in to attack.

[NEC Birmingham Show this past week and GypsyCon today, but not running as far behind as anticipated. Watch this space.]

GM

Captain Achelus sat bolt upright in his bed, regretting it immediately. Wincing and groaning at the crash of pain against the insides of his skull, he swung his legs over the side, feet touching down on the cool stone floor.

It was only an hour or so after dawn, but the summer nights were warm in Rosencliff, especially if the sea breeze wasn't blowing. The morning freshness, still pleasantly warm, was the most comfortable time of the day, and the townsfolk rose early to enjoy it and get some work done. Being a northerner, the mornings were when Achelus slept best, especially mornings after employing his heavy drinking ruse.

He often doubted that the Baronessa was convinced, but her Seneschal was, and consistently underestimated the Captain. Achelus belonged to the Order of Averness, no secret, but few people knew exactly what that meant. There were many stories. Many people thought it was a society whose glory days were long past, and now little more than a badge for impressing the naïve and dimwitted. Achelus leveraged this misperception.

The Order of Averness were suspicious of Lady Morgen. She had risen quickly into the ranks of the Empire's nobility, her past a mystery. Every noble had their own agenda, but Lady Morgen had demonstated a formidable will and had involved herself with parties that would make most nobles blanch. She'd rid herself of the Sword Point's lizardman pirates by recruiting a tribe of cannibal lizardmen from the Demon Coast. A gruesome but effective solution. Then there were midnight meetings with the Fey, and trips to Shadow Port, on the last of which she'd given patronage to the bandit bard, Jex Dragon-Spoor.

Maybe she was a villain, maybe she was just misunderstood. She could be a southern gypsy using her shady past to get ahead, but she could be a rakshasha or other monster plotting the downfall of civilisation.

So Captain Achelus tried to appear as ignorant and disinterested in intrigue as possible. So far he'd learned that her Seneschal had some dark secrets, but the Baronessa herself had proven inscrutable.

Either way, rubbing his dry, bloodshot eyes, Achelus bemoaned the subterfuge and wondered how bona fide roisterers coped. What had woken him anyway!?

He heard a commotion outside on the battlements, from the open door onto his balcony.

His quarters were in the top floor of the gatehouse, affording an excellent view of the surrounding country and the main road into town. In his breaches and crumpled shirt, Achelus pushed himself to his feet and out onto the balcony. Bright sunlight flooded over him and he felt another kick in the head from last night's wine. Gritting his teeth, he hooded his eyes with a hand and looked out.

It was sunny and clear, a morning haze giving distant features a washed out, vague quality, like lingering dreams.

Town guards were gathered at the parapet, gabbling and gesturing south, and out on the road, field hands were doing the same, stopped on their way to work. Everyone looked frightened, disturbed---

The sound came again, and Captain Achelus suddenly understood why the commotion, and what had woken him. A tremendous roar, that rose into outraged scream, carried on the tranquil morning air from the south, from the Titan's Elbow.

Even the Captain lost some his colour. The party of adventurers had found the Beast then. He prayed they weren't already dead, noticing Sergeant Almador's youngest were amongst those on the road.

"Good gods preserve us." He muttered under his breath.

***

The roars of the ancient white wyrm, its wings and flanks crashing against the walls of the cavern, caused a deluge of rock and ice from above.

Narrowly avoiding being crushed and dragged into a red streak, the Jester of Drakkenhall scaled scales with magic sword in hand, until he stood astride monstrous withers. Then stooping, he drove Fusillade the Angry into the Beast, as far as his strength, weight and cry would take it.

Below, lunging, Zoltan struck a blow across the dragon's neck, cutting into the same ghastly wound the party had noticed in the night.

The Beast's one eye, glowing amber in the gloom, bulged as it felt sudden sharp pain. It bore hideous and numerous wounds, old and new, but as strong their affinity for death magic was, white dragons had none for healing. That was why it had targeted Nestaron, snatched him, tortured him, tried to convince the cleric to use his famed healing magic. It was not to be. Yet the dragon stolen the party's only magical healer either.

Quickly grasping his sword blade with his shield hand, Zoltan reached out with his other hand and traced his fingers across Seyja's forearm. A golden warmth flooded into her, setting her innards aright, even as the paladin felt a pang of fatigue.

Seyja didn't hesitate, rushing the Beast with an ear-splitting scream, spittle flying from her lips and gnashing her teeth. To one side she Almador lose his footing and slip, disappearing under the dragon's bulk. No matter. Her axe was swung with more rage than skill, as the dragon's massive jaws snapped towards her, patches of fiery liquid still burning in its maw. The barbarian hit with the flat, the draconic head flinched away instinctively and into Weston's own blow. That too struck awkwardly, lodging into bone and Weston might have been eaten where he stood if not for Tindarien's scorching ray of sunfire.

Hearing Jex's battle cry had given the sorcerer a surge of confidence, and he angled his offensive spell straight down the Beast's throat, tracking it as it reared up. Weston fell away, landing in a crouch but still holding his sword.

Almador wretched and blinked the foul, gellid dragon's blood from his eyes. Shadows shifted around him and he looked up, too late to see the rearing dragon's bulk bearing down on him. He knew he was dead and tried to say something but his mind was suddenly blank. Out of the gloom, at full tilt, came the drow called D. The rogue's daggers sliced into the blizzard dragon's underbelly and it lofted itself with its wings, giving both men mere seconds to get clear. Sergeant Almador floundered to his feet and ran, thanking the gods for this dark elf that kept saving his skin.

The ancient white wyrm hit the roof and fell, hitting the ground on its side, its wing cracking and breaking under its immense weight. Jex was thrown off of its back, splashing down in the pool nearby, but as he scrambled to his feet, the monster was upon him. Zoltan leapt and the claws raked him before clipping the bard. The men were sent sprawling, nearly at Seyja's feet.

The Master of Winter drew shuddering breaths, bleeding from head to tail. You realised you were witnessing a legend. As evil as it was, it was the last of its kind. The last Primeval White. Its hindquarters collapsed and the malice in its one eye intensified with hatred.

"Your pains... have only just begun!" It snarled and suddenly freezing liquid blasted from its throat amidst billowing, thick white gas and hunks of ice.

Jex, Zoltan and Seyja were consumed by the blizzard but the dragon kept spewing. Orange blood boiled and bubbled from its wounds and black, smouldering marks appeared on its back. As cold poured from its mouth, the rest of its body burst into fierce flames.

Agonised, the Master of Winter writhed, thrashing around the cavern violently. Bearkiller cursed and took shelter behind rocks and he was probably not alone. Then with one misstep, the dragon toppled over the edge of the mine shaft, plunging like a flaming meteor to a death that was long overdue.

In the aftermath, the tiefling rolled onto his side with a gasp, but next to him Jex and Seyja were unmoving, encrusted in rime.

[
D HP: 21/28; Rec: 3/8; AC 15, PD 16, MD 12; Init +10
J HP: -7/32; Rec: 1/8; AC 15, PD 13, MD 12; Init +5*2; Unconscious, Dying
S HP: -4/43; Rec: 0/8; AC 16, PD 16, MD 12; Init +4*2; Unconscious, Dying
T HP: 24/24; Rec: 2/8; AC 12, PD 13, MD 15; Init +4
W HP: 33/44; Rec: 3/9; AC 17, PD 15, MD 12; Init +4*2
Z HP: 12/40; Rec: 2/8; AC 22, PD 14, MD 15; Init +3; Staggered
Al HP: 6/27; AC 17, PD 14, MD 12; Init +3; Staggered
Be HP: 32/32; AC 18, PD 14, MD 14; Init +6
Ne HP: 13/27; AC 13, PD 13, MD 13; Init +2; Staggered

MW HP: 0/90; AC 19, PD 16, MD 15; Init +8; Dead
]

D

The pale dark elf patted the sergeant at arms. "We lived," it was his soft voice complete with the surprise that he felt. He hadn't been sure that he would have.

Rolling to his feet he moved to one of the ones that didn't move. He still had a potion of healing that he could help others with, and he would.

<Weston>

He hit, at least. But sadly it hit bone and didn't end up doing much damage. But that disappointment was washed away when it looked as if he might become a snack for the great beast. Luckily Tindarien landed his fiery attack!

He managed to land on his feet ... mostly, his sword ready to try again. But the beast took to the air ... and then things got hectic as ice and rock fell everywhere ... there was a mind numbing cold and fire coming from the beast ... and then the beast was falling and burning and ... it was over ... again ... for good?

But the immediate question was how were his friends. He looked around and the most immediate concern was the lack of movement from Jex and Seyja. He moved to them to see how they were doing.

"Maybe not all of us", he said crouching next to his unmoving companions. "How is Nestaron doing? Can he help", he asked.

Sergeant Almador

He tried to chase the dragon to the edge of the abyss to watch its fiery end. Not to gloat, but to assure himself that the Beast of Titan's Elbow was finally slain.

His legs wouldn't carry him quickly enough though, and he trudged, half-limped wearily from the foul pool.

With overwhelming speed, sensation started to return. His cheeks was gashed to the bone, bleeding like a leaky tap, and a jarring pain shot up his leg with every step.

Looking down, he reached for the bloody tatters of his trousers above the knee and felt around. Eyes-boggling, with a slick sound, he slid something from his leg and held it up.

A fang, dripping with his own red blood.

"Oh that's nice." Almador mumbled almost to himself. It would take a few moments for his mind to catch up.

Nestaron

He needed someone's support to stand and could barely speak. His limbs were wracked with chilblains and the pain was staggering.

Healer that he was, the half-elf knew mundane medicine as well as magical. As soon as was possible, he bound the stump of his arm. He'd lost his pack when he was snatched by the white wyrm, but strips from his robes would do the job.

Nestaron was very glad to see the rest of the party, and more grateful than he could ever express. In this icy hell, at the mercy of an ancient draconic evil, the holy man had truly come to know despair. It hadn't crept into his heart and extinguished him, but he couldn't have survived for much longer.

Hearing Weston's question, Nestaron regretfully shook his head.

"I am spent. I am sorry." He answered.

Bearkiller

Wasting no time, the halfling ran over to any patches of flame and relit the mining lamp he'd taken from the tunnels far below.

They'd need better light to search the cavern and Bearkiller wasn't sure how much time they had.

"Dragon dead, cold gone. Ice melt, fall down. Must hurry." He shouted.

He wasn't a healer, and no matter how awe-inspiring the bard and barbarian were in life, if they were dead too, there would be a better time to mourn them.

Whistling to He Who Sicks Balls, Bearkiller began his search of the cavern, once a dragon's lair.

<Weston>

"No worries Nestaron. I am more glad you are still with us", he said as he got over to his damaged friend and helped him get up. "But you =do= look like you have been fighting with a dragon", he said with a grin.

He noticed that Almador had survived as well ... =AND= ... "That is =quite= a souvenir you have there", he said with a great smile and a nudge and wink for Nestaron. It would likely help with his status back in town.

Bearkiller's call got him a bit worried. He looked to the others. "Do we rest first or leave and then rest?" He would rather have rested up a bit, but not if this place was more dangerous than the trip out.

Tindarien

He feels a huge but numb relief as the dragon falls, even a small pang of regret, it is truly humbling to be part of the demise of a legend. Then his thoughts are with his firends.

"I have a potion too."

He calls out to D, running over to the prone forms of Jex and Seyja, kneeling beside them.

"There is still life, still a chance."

He gently lifts Jex's head, pouring the liquid into his mouth and murmuring an Elven blessing, hoping that they will survive.

Zoltan

He gives good blows, and he is pleased at the results to the dragon. At least until it turns, bats he, Seyja, and Jex to one side and breathes a blizzard of cold upon them.

He cannot see thru the rime, but suddenly there is a crash and the blizzard of cold ends. Frantically wiping his eyes clear he can no longer see the beast. He staggers to his feet, then hears the crashing and bouncing of it's body as it tumbles down the shaft.

It is only then he begins to relax. A moment later he kneels back down as he sees both Jex and Seyja lying unmoving near him.

He can only heal one of them, but luckily the hard choice is removed as Tindarien appears and pours a healing potion into Jex's mouth.

So, he lays his hands gently upon Seyja once more, and offers her his divine healing. He then sits down where he knelt with a large sigh.

Seyja


She exulted, roaring her pleasure when she hit the great wyrm even though it was a clumsy, glancing blow. Seyja was under the control of a truly impressive rage.

Then the Master of Winter dealt her a crushing blow and, even as she flew backward, expelled a blast of freezing cold at her and...

The next feeling she experienced was a slow, creeping infusion of warmth spreading out from her shoulders. Her eyes blinked open and she saw the Paladin leaning over her, but then quickly moving to her side and sitting down.

Seyja groaned, rolled to her left side and pushed herself to a halfway sitting position, instinctively looking around for her weapon. It was lying on the ice a few feet away and she scrambled toward it.

"Where... where is it?"

GM

Tense moments while potions were dripped between frozen lips, and the paladin called upon his own inner strength, a golden light.

Both Jex and Seyja came to, sucking in breath and painfully filling their lungs. Rime crunched as they moved, and with the help of their companions they were soon on their feet, shivering, stamping and rubbing away the chill.

Seyja was more reassured once she had her hands on her axe, but the answer to her question lay hundreds of feet down the mine shaft. Someone else would have to explain.

You had earned a moment's respite, and even the Sergeant found time to dress his wounds, helped by Nestaron. Some colour had returned to the holy man's cheeks, but he would need to convalesce and might never be the same again.

Bearkiller had survived the battle largely unscathed, and he wasn't wrong about the cavern.

The walls and roof were buried behind thousands of tonnes of ice. The battle and dragon's death throes had already damaged it, and as the ice melted it would become more unstable.

It was a summer's day outside, and now coils of hot black smoke were rising from the mine shaft.

So it seemed reasonable that you would follow the mohawked halfling in searching the cavern and start thinking about how to escape it.

Shining the light from the mining lamps on the walls revealed deep ice, in sheets and flows. You could see things in the ice, vague, distorted, treasure perhaps, coins, gems, and other prizes. With mining tools, it could be excavated but you doubted you'd have time and besides, wasn't the object of the quest to return treasure?

Bearkiller was picking over a pile of rubble when you caught up with him, following the light of his lamp. It looked like a column of ice had collapsed in a secluded corner and grown over with fine frost.

The tribal halfling had made a grisly discovery, a well-chewed human torso. Identifying it was easy, since the surcoat was largely intact and the coat of arms recognisable. Edwardias Pendry, aka Sir Edward the Red, knight errant and agent of the Order of Averness.

More difficlt was comprehending the audacity of the knight. He must have made repeated trips into the cavern, sneaking around the slumbering Beast and working on the ice, filling his bags with treasure. Eventually Red Ed's luck ran out and the dragon had awoken; his remains summarised what happened after that.

His own packs were strewn nearby, and from a half-empty sack you judged this was where he'd taken Gorulon Gorehound's helm from.

Your quest was nearing an end.

[
D HP: 21/28; Rec: 3/8; AC 15, PD 16, MD 12; Init +10
J HP: 20/32; Rec: -1/8; AC 15, PD 13, MD 12; Init +5*2
S HP: 34/43; Rec: -1/8; AC 16, PD 16, MD 12; Init +4*2
T HP: 24/24; Rec: 2/8; AC 12, PD 13, MD 15; Init +4
W HP: 33/44; Rec: 3/9; AC 17, PD 15, MD 12; Init +4*2
Z HP: 31/40; Rec: 0/8; AC 22, PD 14, MD 15; Init +3
Al HP: 16/27; AC 17, PD 14, MD 12; Init +3
Be HP: 32/32; AC 18, PD 14, MD 14; Init +6
Ne HP: 21/27; AC 13, PD 13, MD 13; Init +2; Weakened
]

D

He poured his healing potion down Seyja's throat when she was able to drink. They would live if they moved quickly enough.

When he had done all he could he straightened and moved to look at what the halfling had found. He wondered what a dragon's hoard looked like. He would find out even if they were leaving treasure behind. This was certainly the worst way to go if one were greedy. Thankfully life ranked higher for him, now.

Zoltan

"Dead, I think, finally." He points at the shaft for Seyja's benefit.

With a grunt he stands, having spent his last Recovery and feeling a bit better.

He moves across the chamber, looking at the ice-encased treasure as he does, until he comes upon the body of Red Ed. Reaching down respectfully, he removes the surcoat and folds it up, storing it in his pack, proof for the Order.

He then looks at the others. "Let's get about returning the treasure, yes?"

Sergeant Almador

When he finally came to his senses, he was relieved to see all of the party standing. True, he might've secretly been a little pleased if the dragon had trod on the halfling, but that was just sour grapes and Almador was old enough to recognise it.

It was the adventurers who'd set out with him on this quest that he was most concerned about.

Seeing Jex and Seyja back on their feet, and seeing the holy man, Nestaron still alive -- regardless of the terrible injuries -- warmed Almador's heart. It wasn't friendship, he knew he couldn't claim that after only a day or two, it was somehow more meaningful than that. Brotherhood? The sharing of an experience so monumental, so life-altering, it forged a bond that was totally unique.

Sergeant Almador thanked D again and asked to shake the drow's hand.

"I shall not deny, you aren't how I ever imagined a guardian angel to be, sir, but you have certainly proven to be mine!"

The truth was, he owed so much to all of the adventurers, he was just wary of sounding triumphalist while they were still stood in the dragon's den. The last time he thought he'd slain the Beast, it came back again and tried to eat him.

Limping, he fell in with Weston and handed him the fang for him to look at.

"If you call that a souvenir, you can keep it, son!" He said wrily, "I'll make do with memories and scars. And scarred memories!"

Then the paladin reminded them about the treasure, his grandfather's helm. He saluted Zoltan in acknowledgement and started bringing the treasure to where Red Ed's remains had been found.