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  #31  
Old 07-01-2019, 10:29 PM
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Dorran Stoneroot
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A furrowing of brows continued to paint Dorran's face as the reactions to those within the seemed rather tempered or perhaps a bit dismissive. Indeed most seemed to have their heads in the game as it were and as Chrysis laid a gentle touch upon Dorran's shoulder the pale dwarf eyed her sternly. She played behind masks and fancy words in a realm Dorran would not dare begin to tread, but it did not mean he would ignore it. Her suggestion of transferring ownership to her seemed to rub Dorran the wrong way which only intensified as he noted the control in the muscles of her hand as she brushed it against him. Deciding to hold his tongue lest his provoke her into another long winded speech that might delay their departure further, the pale dwarf merely nodded.

One by one the others seemed to rouse from their previous stupor of thoughts in far off places and began to visualize the path before them. The shapeshifter Anja's suggestion of flight brought a light smirk to Dorran's lips which seemed to melt into a concerned grimace at Veronica's suggestion that the orc had not died fully. Wary eyes shift from her to the subject of her soft words and Dorran wondered just how much punishment the orc could actually take before being brought low. Such knowledge would do little to quell the unease building within Dorran but the man had already declared his intent and one way or another he was going to stick to it.

With the awkward matter of ownership seemingly settled, Dorran's gaze did a slight double take as Veronica mentioned moving through the realm of dreams and shadows. Such things he had only heard of in stories and rumors, but this woman before him continued to reveal a surprising level of power that her humble form masked ever so well. "I can't say I'm much of a fan for traveling through shadows or dreams. Gaea knows you don't want to get stuck in one of my green dreams and if I can avoid them in my waking hours I'd prefer it.Ah cannae say aam much ay a fan fur travelin' ben shadows ur dreams. Gaea knows ye dornt want tae gie stuck in a body ay mah green dreams an' if ah can avoid them in mah wakin' hoors eh'd prefer it." Even as he spoke, it seemed a forgone conclusion as to the choice most would make. Even Dorran admitted the expediency of it was useful but the unnatural nature of it was obviously something he did not much care for. The thought seemed to spur him onward as he grumbled. "Well....... given what's at stake here I'll suck it up and risk it. Just don't blame me if my green dreams take hold. It's usually never a pleasant experience.Weel....... given what's at stake haur i'll suck it up an' risk it. Jist dornt blam me if mah green dreams tak' hauld. It's usually ne'er a pleasant experience."

Outside at Veronica's bidding, Dorran grasped hands with the two closest to him within the circle and seemed to steady his stance for whatever was to come. Shadows blanketed them and the world fell away into greys and mystery. An unnatural chill went up Dorran's spine as he felt himself separated from the natural realm of Gaea if even partially. Veronica's warning was wise, but for Dorran it seemed was hardly necessary as the pale dwarf keept close on the heels of the group with a wary eye periodically casting itself about as if looking for danger. For a time his concern's appeared unwarranted, but as Veronica declared they had arrived Dorran saw the concern written upon her face even as her words of warning lips her lips. Not knowing what would await them upon their return, Dorran steadied himself once more as the shadows returned them to the material realm and into the blinding snow of the northern day.

The day it seemed was not yet done proving Dorran's surprise still fresh for a full fledged skirmish was not what Dorran had expected to find so soon after leaving town. The strange yellow skinned warriors clad in foreign armaments appeared organized and determined to wipe out the barbarians. The first true test of the groups strength had come sooner than anticipated and Dorran looked about to those around him briefly before settling on Lady Chrysis in her newly transformed state. "Heh nice trick. Never thought I'd get to see an angel fight before. Thought you had wings though?Heh braw trick. Ne'er thooght eh'd gie tae see an angel barnie afair. Thooght ye hud wings thocht?" The musing sarcasm was not at all a slight towards Lady Chrysis but more one of apparent compliment to her powerful form. "Lets give our barbarian friends some cover from those arrows shall we?Lets gie uir barbarian friends some cowre frae those arrows shaa we?" Gazing out across the battlefield, Dorran began chanting in an ancient tongue as flickers of green energy began to reflect from behind his gaze. At the completion of his spell, the pale dwarf cupped his hands together and seemed to blow into them before releasing the cupped air into the sky. Moments later the fields of snow around the barbarian's suddenly kicked up as a violent wall of wind blew into existence around the surrounded barbarians. Eying the more brutish members of the group Dorran rolled his shoulders as he drew his bone shield and a vial from his chest bandolier. "Welp...... go do your thing folks.Welp...... gang dae yer hin' folks."



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Last edited by Eviltedzies; 07-02-2019 at 10:54 AM.
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  #32  
Old 07-02-2019, 02:10 PM
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What Strange Creatures These Are
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Wuzruz scowls at the haughty noble orc whom sees fit to chastise him on how he drinks tea... HIM. How dare she? This did not put a smile on his face, it did not indeed. Instead, he allows his scowl to continue as the small stunty orc spouts of his surprise at the turn of events and how the things went. He merely chuckles at the stunted orc and quickly explains; "Do not fret stunted orc, Wuzruz has died before and will likely die again. He has been punished and paid his price in blood to the Crimson King for the return to his family. If you would like to learn the secrets of how to do this, Wuzruz would be more than happy to share them with you."

When the bird orc spoke of flying and Veronica spoke of the shadow lands, Wuzruz just nods to Veronica, and hefted his ax onto his free shoulder, while reaching up to pat Vivian on the back before they prepared to move through the shadowlands; "This will be good for you little one, to experience the land of shadows and nightmares. There is a sleeping god hidden in the fabric of the nightmares here, if we are lucky, we might be gifted a glance at it's magnificence."

As they travel through the shadowlands, Wuzruz marvels at its wondrous sights, and carries on at least four conversations with various shadows that almost seem to coalesce around him in the tongue of Akklo, for those that understand. He speaks of the world they head to, and their mission, speaking of the tree of life and what has happened over the last year.

When they finally arrive at the outset of a battle that was unfolding before them, Wuzruz stops momentarily in his tracks, as his mind is bombarded with voices all demanding services of him.

'Kill them all, butcher them and dance in their skins for the rain gods!' said the dark and grim voice... 'NO, do not listen to that fool, they must be cooked and eaten alive! More food for Gluttony, more blood for the blood god!' said the frantic and insane voice. The quiet and thoughtful male spoke next, it's words seeming wise and just; 'Pay the others no heed Wuzruz, go forth and through the might of the word and pen, win them to your side! Then they will become your champions to fight for you evermore.' Lastly, the seductive female voice spoke, the mother of sorts, and one that Wuzruz frequently followed; 'Yesssss Wuzruz, go and win them to your side, go and bring them into the fold... Those are invaders, they seek to claim YOUR world. Bring them forth, and send them to whence they came, send them there with the destruction of their species, with a plague to ravage their lands. They will be the end of their kind, the harbingers of their own doom...'

Wuzruz considered the voices before making his decision, and he begins to outwardly nod, muttering to himself as he does so; "Yes, yes we must use these voices of the whole. All that they are must be brought low, Wuzruz understands. Wuzruz will do as you say..."

Wuzruz then begins to move forward at a trot, holding his ax just under the blade in a non threatening stance(as non threatening as an 8 foot orc wielding a 100 lbs ax can be anyway) and holds his other hand out in greeting to the creatures before him, then he yells forth to the newcomers as loudly as he can; "Fellow Orcs! There is no need for fighting in this find day, no need for bloodshed and death. The great gods from before have blessed us this day in finding each other, and they call to us to stand as one in the hallowed halls of eternity! Cease this fighting that we might all speak as one under the gods and bring closure to the wants of each of us, lest I be forced to slay in their names instead. I am Wuzruz, the Bringer of the Word, and I ask only that you listen to the word I bring that we might not need to fight at all!"



ooc

Ok, he is using diplomacy and intimidate to try and defuse the situation. His intimidate succeeded, and his diplomacy may have succeeded depending on the wisdom and starting disposition of the Gith. This is of course, assuming that they understand common.

 


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Last edited by Unforgiven; 07-02-2019 at 02:20 PM.
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  #33  
Old 07-02-2019, 03:28 PM
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On the Wing
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As Wuzruz moves, the little black and white warbler nuzzled into the soft warm neck of the small girl peeps alertness and dances a few steps out to peer from the girl's strands of hair. Her little talons grip and release as if anticipating flight. The flyer knows what it must do but would rather stay within the presence of the girl. But it is as if an eagle prowls her treetops and the little bird must alight to harass and, if necessary, attack.

Unless you've been a little bird, you don't know they are just as much hunters as eagles or falcons. And perhaps only get a glimpse of their tenacity when diving upon one of those larger flyers to protect territory and nest. So it is no surprise when the black and white warbler nips the girl's ear gently, as if to say stay safe, and takes wing.

I fly away,
angled from the orc,
skimming the snow
in brisk life.
My little wings potent,
my movement rapid.
The snow tries to follow,
air swirling 'bout my tail
as this place covers my body,
my little flying self,
in the breath of Gaia.
I am hunting.
I am fierce.
And although small
for a moment longer,
I am no less deadly.




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Last edited by GeneT; 07-02-2019 at 08:47 PM.
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  #34  
Old 07-06-2019, 04:08 AM
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Oota the Beast - Back on the Paths
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Oota was content to remain silent as theyprepared to move through the void to their destination. He knew that there were times he must speak, but he didn't feel like the time had come yet. And though he traveled quietly, he imagined what it might be like to take the sky with his new friend. And he felt nervous as he held Veronica's hand, though he didn't fight it as he might have done in the past. Incrementally his more recent expeditions had changed him. The space of the void disturbed him slightly, as he was reminded of the feeling of the whispering woods and his mind reminisced of his friends who had sacrificed everything by his side. But he never became too consumed with the thoughts as Veronica's voice. Something was wrong and Oota's mind sharpened as he prepared himself to meet it.

As the scene coalesced before him, Oota's eyes widened as he recognized the Gith, a sight that made his painful memories feel that much more real. A rumble emerged from his throat as he made an animalistic growl, even as Lady Viridula gave up a sizable secret. He had traveled across the empire and he had heard whispers of both names. But that surprise, or her gesture that called for action, could not distract him from the pale green skinned enemies or the painful rage that began to bubble deep within. Unfortunately, the dwarfs words were barely heard by The Beast.

Wuzruz' words brought him back just slightly as the big orc spoke, rather than raised his living axe. Oota glared at the orc as he called for the Gith to talk and declared himself Bringer of the Word. A growl rumbled again as he shook his head and Oota managed to compose himself just enough to speak to his companion, "I don't think that'll work, if Veronica's right about their battle rage. And even if they would talk, I will not. These bastards..." Oota stops without speaking anymore, but the others might recall his tale and put together the pieces.

Oota straightened his arm as he brought his large poleaxe before him and he spoke to the group in general, but his tone was not as subservient as before, "These will die today. I will hit the center and try to gain the attention of the enlarged ones. Anja, prepare and move against the detached group to the North. Fight hard, but don't die. We still need to fly together. Wuzruz, move the same way against the detached group to the East. Lady Viridula, I know of The Golden Angel. Aid whichever side you think needs it, and keep moving. Dorran, some additional numbers would be nice, but it's your support they need. Veronica, Vivian... give us your support too. Move and show these intruders the power of the Guardians!" Oota finished giving orders, on the one place where he had always had that right. But unlike before, there was sorrow mixed in the joy of being where he belonged and he began to take deep breaths.

His deep breaths however immediately started to change into pained growls as his rage grew. And then he suddenly roared in pain as his eyes shone a wicked purple and the skin of his arms writhed and stretched as if they were becoming tentacles. He hoped that the others were as strong as he hoped they were, but he had his place in the thick of combat. He let loose a battle cry and moved quickly toward the large figures. And with almost unparalleled strength and skill, he rent a massive gash into the back of the closest enemy. But his passion still burned and the faces of his friends still haunted him. And he let out a vicious but strikingly sorrowful whisper, "This one is for Winter..." Bolstered by his experiences, his unnaturally long arms lashed again, driving the spike of his mighty weapon through the hole he had opened and into the heart of the Gish. And as she fell, Oota roared again before issuing his challenge, "Come and get me, Gith trash! For if cannot kill me, I will slaughter you all!"

 
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Last edited by JackinIrons; 07-06-2019 at 07:08 AM.
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  #35  
Old 07-06-2019, 10:19 AM
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Mother of DawnAnja learned keening from her people. Sorrow is a natural thing. As is hunting to feed one self. But the nanuq are not a glutinous people, unless their need to chase the shapes of Gaia could be considered indulgent, and war, or killing to take what others have, is uncommon in their history. It has happened a few times, among one or another tribe, much to their collective embarrassment, but such a thing is to be avoided. They have fought against other things that wished to subvert or imprison them, but the nanuq have a different name than war for that struggle. And again another name for the responsibility of defending the land which may have Others call them Protectors of the North. This is where the nanuq's full sorrow stems. For the gift of change, they must live as people instead of things of the land and sky, mountain and river. They must struggle to protect Gaia's making against those that would destroy it when they would rather just live in that creation and breath without the knowledge that it needs protection. That it is vulnerable. That Others would abuse and manipulate it for their gluttony.

Anja careens in flight as a little black and white warbler and Oota's words are lost in the hum of the wind. She banks in a fast blur low to the snow, small wings carrying her with daring speed. Around her a small storm swirls and crackles, little bits of lightening sparkling along her lithe flying shape. Until she is almost upon them. These creatures that would rob and destroy from the creation. Then she changes, the keening from her beak a songbird's cry that alters as her flesh distorts in monstrous beauty. Her body grows as it unravels into a seething mass of snaking bone and blood that blinds her for an instant when her eyes are consumed by the digestive power and are reformed through its creative elegance. It is abhorrently stunning and mesmerizingly gorgeous to behold. A process that Ota may just catch aside him as he rushes to attack.
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Those against them are hopelessly unaware until the last moment. It would be impossible to care about a little bird when being rushed by Ota and Wuzruz. Only the edge of their position may turn at the rage of the ogre and startle as Anja takes the sky from them. She is impossibly massive. Her size stunningly fearful. Her keening blows through her huge trunk and trumpets forth like thunder from a dark storm. She is something from her people's prehistory. A shape passed down from generation to generation, from changer to changer, until Anja learned it from the only remaining nanuq that could create the flesh. And she, Mestet-Hente, the lost one, creates a memory of it even larger than those last seen by the nanuq. A shape of the first Mútur, mother of a species, daughter of Gaia, trumpeter of dawn.

The ground shakes under her weight. Huge curling tusks rake as she tramples. The sight of her so gloriously gargantuan as if to be incomprehensible. She runs through the glutinous that attack the barbarians with abandoned regret, to crush their bones into mud, to feed the land with their blood, and to rid the living of their presence. They did not deserve the sun and the moon, the wind and rain, the cold and snow. They did not deserve Gaia's spring and the coming of rebirth. They would cease to be.

She's does not pause when she is through rumbling over the largest of them but continues on toward the their smallest members, tusks throwing snow in huge furrows as she makes her intent known. Anja has ceased being and all that is left is the glow of a lost portion of Gaia blazing in her soul.


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Last edited by GeneT; 07-06-2019 at 06:02 PM.
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  #36  
Old 07-21-2019, 03:53 AM
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CarnageWhat menace came from beyond to taunt them in these wintry times? The man shrugged his broad shoulders as he advanced with his men through the trampled snow of their campsite to face these yellowed fiends from some place beyond the pale. Thorleif had heard tales of these Githyanki encroachers though until this very moment he had not been entirely certain the rumours he had heard had been anchored in truth. Now he knew for there they stood in all their gaudy splendor with flaming weapons drawn and brandished perchance to send him and his men to Gaia's hunting ground. Before either side could raise their weapons and spill blood onto the pristine snow, however, a shadow loomed over the hill just south and west of their encampment and the man wondered what new horror came for them from beyond.

Instead of horrors from beyond the realms of death, Thorleif saw a small unlikely band of humans with a pale skinned Dwarf, an Orc, a Hobgoblin and a little bird. One of the humans transformed before his eyes to some golden apparition and he wondered then if some angel had come to claim him after all. The Dwarf trudged through the compacted snow, then, and dispelled the notion as he wove his bond to the Great Mother and called a great wall of rushing wind to encircle his band. Throleif froze thinking this could be some attack, but quickly realized the barrier was meant as protection from Gith arrows and he breathed an easy sigh and gripped his axe more tightly.

Allies then? He hoped so.

The strangest sight caused doubt to rise in him once more as the overlarge and naked orc stepped forward and began to address his yellow gaudy foes and sought to parley with them.

"Can he not see it is our blood they seek? They are not here to parley..." the barbarian leader thought grimly.

Clearly Wuzruz did not see or did not care for he proceeded to erupt a sermon for some unknown gods even while he addressed a mass of Orcs which Thorleif could not see. Unless the mad Orc mistook them and the Gith for Orcs?

"What new madness is this?" he thought while his face distorted to betray his dubiety.

Then he recognized the Beast of Valejo.

Thorleif saw the Hobgoblin step lightly over the pristine snow and watched in amazement as his massive arms brought that gleaming Poleaxe to bear on the female Gith who seemed to carry some air of command over this creeping squad. Two mighty blows were all it took to paint the snow with her gift of life and now she lay dead and destroyed in a mangled heap upon the icy ground.

Thorleif allowed a seed of hope to bloom within him though he dared not let it flower lest it brunt his edge and make him careless.

Next the tiny bird flew from the girl-child's finger and streaked down from its hilly height and zoomed with murderous intent at their standing foes. Thorleif thought this was a strange and braver bird than ever he had seen, until the creature burst suddenly into gargantuan girth of fur and tusk and barreled into their foes sending many of them sprawling for their efforts at intercepting the mighty mammoth in her charge. When she was done only one of their southern foes preserved his footing with all others in his squad trampled and bloodied by the Elephantine beast's passing.

A girl then turned her gaze skywards and for a moment Thorleif thought she worried for the rousing storm, but when she raised her arms loftily and misted wings sprouted from her leathered footwear to lift her skyward towards the clouds, he truly wondered what it was that Gaia had sent to them for their reprieve. She spoke then and singled out the Gith who had perchance wielded magic to make himself unseen to mortal eyes. This pale and ghostly lass had seen through the dweomer it would seem and now pointed at some place where she claimed he flew.

"Vivie! He's there above Anja some three lengths of men above! Take him out!" she said.

The young woman then twirled her arms from her 'V' formation and brought her hands together as the wind caused he hair to dance and her eyes narrow to pierce her gaze through the gathering falling snow. Her hands pulsed with purple roiling light and as her arms strained from the effort of containing some pulse of darkness, she shot them forward suddenly unfurling her fingers as a streak of void lanced into a fallen Gith who had already fallen from the furry beast's attack. The creature screeched as the light invaded all its flesh and caused it to explode and shear from his very bones until its screams halted abruptly as the wind carried the dust which he became.

The girl-child flew then from the giant speaking Orc's shoulder and zigged and zagged over the icy snow and Thorleif saw that wings sprouted from her footwear as they had her mother's propelling her swiftly to the Beast's proximity. She turned her gaze skyward as had her mother's and her tiny eyes squinted as she strained to focus. Thorleif saw venom in her eyes then and saw Vivian for the monster that she was and shuddered. She had let her will lax from holding that little girl shape and now she was as she was born. Her black hair had tuned to white and now it danced wildly about her shoulders but in a way that seemed entirely incongruous with the flowing winds.

A babbling retching sound erupted from the airs above and seemed louder than perhaps it should.

"Badub baboodee! Bayend badoo baddie! Belumb bahum dum! Debodee dum de da dum!" the voice sang upon the wind.

All those below the sound craned their neck suddenly skyward and locked their gaze upon the Gith whose dweomer had now been shattered by his blathering chant. Only one of his fellows seemed to avert his gaze and seemed annoyed by his comrade's seeming fascination with their leader. Even the great gargantuan Mammoth seemed swayed by the unearthly babbling and the Beast of Valejo too.

But then chaos erupted all around him.

The Gith possessed some swift means to transport themselves between locations and they now began to blink one by one past the windy blockade and assaulted his men with their vicious attacks. By the time the flanking squads had finished, two of his men lay bloodied and dying on the once pristine snow. Then the Babbling Wizard seemed to regain some measure of composure and began to rise upon the wind to greater heights until the sounds of his babbling became faint enough for all but the Mammoth to ignore. One of his trampled Gith sought to rise from his place sprawled upon the freezing snow but was waylaid suddenly and finally with a single mighty stroke of Oota's Polearm. His fellows, having taken some measure of the Ogrekin's massive reach began to effect the swift blinking spells which transported them close and though the first swung his stained Falcata at the little girl, the rest of them spent themselves uselessly trying to waylay the unstoppable Beast of Valejo. Not a single strike found its mark upon him as they now surrounded him.

Now it was their turn.

Thorleif turned from the scene south of them and faced the upstart Gith who had dared place themselves among him and his men. Thorleif stepped towards the nearest of his foes and with his long Polearm splashed an arc of his blood upon the ground and then another and a third. His man stepped beside him to join his own thudding axe into the creature's chest and sent it cracked and broken down into the bleeding snow.

His men fought and they fought well.
OODM
 

 

 

 
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Old 07-22-2019, 07:39 AM
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Oota the Beast - Back on the Paths
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Oota did his best to prepare himself for the combat he had expected, but it took only a second to move in unexpected ways. First he witnessed the immensity that his newest friend could bring into a battle. He enjoyed seeing Anja move over and through the Gith, but he only spared her a glance from his intense eyes. After that, Veronica's voice pointed out a new target - a magic user. Oota glanced upward, though he noticed as one of the nearby enemies fell to her own abilities.

Moments later, Vivian flew right by his side and did something to the flying gith. He began to babble and he found himself enthralled for a brief moment, only vaguely aware that he was not the only one who stared. He also vaguely noted that the battlefield transformed again as his enemies showed an unexpected means of movement, the smaller ones moving against Thorleif and his men. The wizard moved away, until The Beast could no longer hear the babbling that had him fascinated and that seemed to free those nearby as well.

Oota watched as one of the fallen Gith tried to stand, and he lashed out and brought the axe blade down into the creature, making sure that it wouldn't rise again. But the others were smarter. Arrows flew against him but they bounced fruitlessly against his armored form. Warriors used their magic step to get close to him, but their blows were just as futile. As well as the one who tried to strike the child, which Oota was glad about in the back of his mind. At the corner of his vision he could see the barbarians launch their own counterattack.

The Beast grimaced as he focused on the four warriors who surrounded him, as well as the archers. His mind struggled in its rage, struggled for coherency for just a moment so he could shout, "Fell the magic user and support Thorleif! And drive these bastards to hell!"

Managing those shouts, his voice devolved into another growl as his attention moved to the four surrounding him once again. His lips twisted as he focused on the male warrior next to the mammoth. Bringing his poleaxe around, he slammed the hammer into his already damaged body and he could hear the bones crunching as he fell. But his weapon kept moving as he took a light step and struck toward the female, but Oota's boot slipped on the red snow and his attack went astray. As it did so, he let out a growl of frustration as he hoped the others could do better than himself.

 
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Old 07-22-2019, 10:41 AM
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The Last Mistake
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Wuzruz ceases his speech the moment two arrows pierce into his thick hide. His eyes turn to a solid black as rage begins to overtake him, and he bellows out with anger, as all the voices in his head begin to scream in unison; 'Kill them all, Kill them all and flay them for the Flayed King! Kill them all and hang them for the Hanged King! Kill them all with the fires of hell for the Crimson King! Kill them Kill them Kill them all!'

Wuzruz then begins to grow, he grows and grows to a massive height of over fifteen feet tall, then lets loose a primal and unearthly roar as small writhing tentacles being to strengthen his muscles and fortify his bones. They writhe and squirm beneath his skin, and wrap themselves around him as his tattoos begin to swarm around his body in a dizzying display. Then he begins to move.

The first enemy is close, it is a Gith, possibly one that had shot him, but he didn't really care. He was going to die now, Wuzruz would accept no surrender now. He was consumed by the fires of Yog Sothoth, and spurred forward by an unnatural force. His rippling muscles bore down upon the closest poor Githyanki, and he let loose a rage filled cry as his ax came down in a massive overhead swing; "So you choose death then! Death it shall be, all glory to the Crimson King!"

His ax hit with tremendous force on top of the Gith's head, and made a squelching sound as his head seemed to try to bend inward to absorb the force. Then there was a cracking and tearing sound as the ax decided to not be absorbed and cut through 57 damage kills it on HP, plus massive damage save vs. deaththe gith from head to groin. Blood sprayed out everywhere as the two halves of the Gith fall to either side of the enormous ax, coating Wuzruz in the thick blood of the Gith. Then ax itself begins to scream the hymns of the Crimson king across the battlefield in the minds of friend and enemyall who are there.

Wuzruz lets loose a feral, wolf-like howl in his blood frenzy, and turns to the next Gith in line with malice intent burning within his black, alien eyes.



ooc



 


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Last edited by Unforgiven; 07-24-2019 at 10:04 AM.
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Old 07-24-2019, 05:11 AM
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Lady Chrysis Viridula, The Golden Angel
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Blood sprayed across white snow. Cries of pain and cries of fury rose in choral cadence with the percussive tempo of metal clash and fleshy crunch. A scene of utter beauty spread before her, a stage upon which she could dance to the rhythm of her soul. She leapt from her position on the hill like a bird taking flight, laughing as the wind whipped at her hair and cloak, sending the two spinning out like fluttering feathers behind her. Landing effortlessly, her delicate feet barely touched the ground, leaving not a trace in the snow as she veritably floated towards combat.

As always, she had not entered combat without a plan...several plans in fact. She was gambling on her first guesses being right, though, as she focused with predatory intensity upon a single distant enemy. The Golden Angel continued to accelerate as she slipped past Wuzruz, the enemy he slaughtered, and Oota. Tiny clouds of crystal rose in puffs from the heel of each boot as the razor shard edges seems suddenly somehow sharper, Supernatural Improvisation (Su) on her boots, +2 honed by pure lethal fervor channeled into each movement. She flashed Oota a wink as she Tumble at full speed, auto-succeed at +39 Acrobaticssomersaulted midair past the enlarged warrior to his left, throwing out a comment as she rolled past...her voice managing to balance her signature languid drawl with battle-charged energy.

"I think you have this handled here...I'll be helping the poor Northmen if you want me..."

The last words trailed off through the frigid air behind her as she was already racing further away with each agile step. The distance to Thorleif's struggling forces was closed in an instant as her unwitting quarry was finally within reach. Jamming the heel of one boot into the crust of ice, she spun on point, other leg outstretched over her head to deftly place a 32 damage on Gith Warrior 6 | -2 AC Against All (-6 Against Chrysis) from Debilitating Injury (Ex) "Bewilderment"single blow to the base of the disgusting creature's skull. As its eyes glazed momentarily from the sudden burst of pain, Chrysis continued her rotation, a fine spray of blood droplets dribbling from her boot to leave fine crimson trails down her face. As she finally planted both feet to face the barbarians, the streaks of blood seemed to somehow heighten the beauty of The Golden Angel more than any amount of makeup could try to do. The gleam in her eyes said clearly that this...this was the sort of time she relished.

With her prey Flavor text for him being at 1 HP -- *NOT* a bleed effectspewing blood from the back of its head, she smiled as she gestured to the nearest barbarians like a mother wolf teaching her cubs.

"Well, boys..." Chrysis gave a sort of half-bow as she gestured grandly at their assailant, her golden body glistening resplendently against the snow. "...care to do the honors? I can't have all the fun myself, now can I?"

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Old 07-26-2019, 09:34 PM
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Anja burns. And she bleeds. But these things she does not notice. She is Mútur and her mind is blurred into the great beast's anger. She understands in some vague way what must be done, but it is like a distant voice upon the wind, or a clash of horns between two fighting stags deep in the forest.

Shaking her great head back and forth, she lifts her trunk and trumpets. The sound of it thunder, a shaking of the sky. The snow quivers as she rushes against her enemies. Things that she can crush under her bulk or scatter in numbers with a swipe of her great tusks. She runs over them, circling around Oota and Vivian. A rampaging behemoth.

The snow is more impediment to her than the gith.



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Old 07-28-2019, 11:25 PM
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Dorran Stoneroot
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Admittedly, Dorran had expected most of his present company to go bounding into battle raging and screaming bloody murder, but in a surprise move the orc Wuzraz began his assault with a litany of words more akin to a preacher than a warrior. Though his words were somewhat drowned out by the whirling snowfall, Dorran heard enough to make his eyes blink in rapid succession as though questioning what he was seeing. The orc whose instability and unnaturalness was barely contained within his flesh was actually trying to.... convert the foes?! The very thought flipped Dorran's mental mindset on its back for a short moment before Oota spoke up and drew forth a battle plan on short notice. The man's tactical assessment was a warm familiarity for Dorran and as he watched the hulking warrior bound forward and slice into the nearest foe it seemed to set the remaining group members into action.

Seeing Oota leap into battle was expected, but to see the shapeshifter Anja suddenly convulse and erupt int a massive mammoth out of the sky and descend upon the poor githyanki warriors with her massive bulk was not even remotely what Dorran had considered a possibility. A rock troll might have made more sense given her previous shapeshift, but as Dorran watched the wild woman tear through the ranks he realized that despite her wild spirit, the women had chosen her new form well. Disrupting as many foes as possible in one thundering trample was indeed an impressive sight. Dorran would have to share words with her later if all things went well.

A skyward voice carried itself to Dorran's ears and his gaze looked upward to see the woman Veronica working some form of magic. Though Dorran understood her intent clearly enough, as the woman called out to her apparent child Dorran's eyes went wide. The child was still on the orc's shoulders. Why in Gaeia's name had they brought a child into this madness? Time to think was not a luxury Dorran could afford and as a black lance of energy buried itself into one of the nearby gith Dorran watched as the little girl took flight like her mother. His concern was quickly overshadowed by a slight shock as the young girl suddenly unleashed her own powers against the invisible caster above the battlefield. Whatever she had done had seemed to work, and as the enemy mage began to babble incoherently, Dorran could only look between the mother and daughter and wonder just how they had ended up entangled in this mess up north.

With the element of surprise gone, the enemies now faced foes on two fronts, though Dorran's new teammates were certainly a far more visibly deadly adversary. Dorran watched with subtle interest as the opposing faction tried to reform their ranks in the face of the anvil maneuver. While not perfect, it took seasoned warriors to be able to weather a surprise assault the likes of which had just been unleashed and still be able to work cohesively. A light growl escaped the pale dwarf's lips as he watched several of the enemies magically teleport around his wall of wind to better engage the barbarians. They were stubborn foes he would give them that. A swift as the snow flurries though it became apparent that their efforts were too little too late however.....

Under full assault by the enemy, Dorran felt a shiver travel down his spine as the orc Wuzraz erupted into an enlarged mass of raging flesh and muscle. The shiver was in fact less from the orc's powerful display of strength in nearly splitting one of the enemy in two, but instead from the otherworldly hymns that echoed forth from the orc's weapon. Closing his eyes tightly, Dorran tried in vain to fight off the words but they infected his mind like a parasite. It was a burden the druid would have to bear for now as the others continued their assault undeterred. By the time Dorran's eyes had opened once more, he managed to catch a glimpse of the gleaming Lady Chrysis almost gliding across the battlefield in a surreal display of speed before dealing a near lethal kick to one of the foes with her stiletto shoe. A golden angel of death indeed.

Thankfully, the acts of his companions helped pulled Dorran back to his full senses. Throwing his head back, the pale dwarf chugged his held vial in three massive gulps before letting the empty container fall to the ground. Its effects became quite apparent as the pale dwarf's skin quickly began to shift in color until it appeared the man was made of solid stone. Seemingly ignoring the change, Dorran began to mutter another series of incantations in the Druidicgreen tongue. As he came to the apex of his spell, the man knelt and placed his free palm against the ground beneath him and a subtle surge of green energy pulsed through his arm into the ground before vanishing beneath the snowdrift. Seconds later the ground beneath two of the archers flanking the barbarian group sudden erupted in a massive overgrowth of razor sharp thorns.

In unison to the growth, Dorran's fingers traced a path within the snow causing the wall of thorns to continue its eruption behind the barbarian flanks. In seconds the wall had not only ensnared the two archers but cut off the other two archers direct line of sight to Thorleif and his men. Not yet done, Dorran circled his finger about causing the erupting wall to shift its angle and curve back around impaling another of the githyanki warriors. By that point all locked in battle had begun to reflexively try to move avoid from the deadly rampart, but even their battle hardened reflexes were not enough to avoid Gaea's reach. With one final jerk of his finger, Dorran's wall completed its growth by impaling the githyanki warrior who had had his skull pierced by Lady Chrysis causing him to go limp within the thorns. A trickle of crimson slowly painted the snow beneath his unconscious form.



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