Tales of Faerun

[josh900]

As they rested around the campfire, Lucas stared out into the horizon as he had often been doing since they began traveling again. Throughout the days he kept focused on one area for what seemed to be hours until he turned his attention back to the group and the path they traveled, only then to turn his attention on another area in an opposite direction. Tonight his stares were focused north.

 

It wasn't long until Azuris sat beside him. "Back again eh?" He asked, he had spotted the figure too,a small dot on the horizon, but most certainly humanoid, walking on it's own two feet yet somehow still able to keep up with the group's mounts, falling behind every so often yet appearing again in a few hours, to their left, right, back and sometimes even at their front. It unnerved them both, yet so fat it had made no attempts at traveling towards them, so they didn't bother the others about it.

 

"Yeah.... showed up a few minutes ago." Lucas answered. "Think it could be Tannin trying to scare us or something?" He asked.

 

"Doubt it." Grunted Azuris. "He's probably out of the country already, probably already getting into trouble. No... Iiii think out gracious host may have sent someone out to keep an eye on us. Could have a whole group of em waiting for us to let our guards down before they roll in killing and taking slaves." He said grimly.

 

"Wh... he wouldn't have done that..would he? He didn't seem to be that type.." Said Lucas.

 

"Ah hells if I know, our boogieman's gone though." He said motioning his head to where the figure should have been, but was mysteriously absent.

 

"Give him a minute.... He'll pop up to the south here in a few.... that's what creeps me out.... one minute he'll be way behind us, then we cross over a hill or something and there he is way out in front of us." Lucas said with a sigh of frustration.

 

"Why I think it's a group. Doesn't make much sense otherwise." Azuris said before getting up to move back to the campfire, leaving Lucas alone to stare off in the distance.

[AurianaValoria1]

"It is," Zorica responded to Llhunarra's statement. She hadn't learned much about the half-elf, but the flask the girl always kept with her piqued the half-drow's curiosity. It seemed rather small, and at the rate Llhunarra drank out of it each day, Zorica would have thought the thing would have run out long ago. As she stared at it, she wondered what on earth was in it that Llhunarra liked so well...

 

"So," Zorica finally spoke up, pointing to the flask, "What is in that thing, eh? You must enjoy it a lot to keep it at hand so much."

 

Meanwhile, as Conall was finishing with the horses, he noticed Azuris walk by after speaking with Lucas. Concerned, he motioned to the grizzled warrior, "Azuris!" He then jogged closer and glanced back in Lucas's direction, "Say...what has the squire been so focused on, lately? Is it that strange person who seems to be following us all the time?"

[Llhunara]

Still fixated on the fire before her Llhunarra only nods in response to the females words. It was a wonderful evening, the sweltering heat starting to dissipate enough that you could relax and not feel the sweat dripping down your back. With the sun setting in the distance the half-elf was anxious for it to disappear completely, the night her preferred time of day. When the light faded from the world everything changed. No longer did people toil in the fields or peddle their goods, many instead turned to food and drink. Such desires led to more casual conversations and less focus on one's surroundings, both things the rogue benefited from. Thoughts drifting to fun times spent in taverns the redhead is drawn from her day dreaming by the question.

 

The extended finger pointing to her most prized possession, Llhunarra couldn't help the playful grin that overtook her features. "A lovely mixture of whiskey and wine, do you care to taste it?" Shifting on the ground some she picks up the flask, prepared to toss it to half-drow should she wish to try it. "I promise you it is delicious." A matter of taste really, but to her it was the best drink in all of Faerun. Then again perhaps it was just the manner that she had acquired it that made the drink taste so delicious, every sip a reminder of minor adventure tied to the flask.

[Deleted6317247User]

Nawen felt relieved once they left Menarses's estate and continued their journey. Rhegar seemed to share the same opinion as the young wolf ran around the group happily, glad to be free from being confined in the stables for so long. All the while the group traveled, Shalena sat behind Nawen as they rode, as she didn't have her own horse and didn't really feel like she needed one, talking about any uses she might find for the outfit she danced in, but the drow was far too focused on someone following them to listened to anything the piratess said.

 

Once the group camped, and all the tents had been pitched, the piratess sat before the fire, which Nawen occasionally poked.

 

"You know," Shalena said, "I've heard that it gets really cold at night in these parts. Is that true?" She asked as she rubbed her shoulders to keep warm. It seemed that regardless if what she heard was true or not the piratess was feeling cold either way.

 

"Possibly," Nawen shrugged, "I've never been in an area like this." She then turned to the piratess. "But don't worry, as you already know, during the day it gets really warm so if you'll freeze into an icicle we'll tie you to the horses and drag along until the morning sun melts the ice away."

 

"Look at our little drow, everyone," Shalena exclaimed before chuckling, "cracking jokes at the expense of others."

 

"Just be thankful you're not in Icewind Dale," Nawen said as she poked the crackling fire again, "you probably would freeze into an icicle if you ever went there."

[AurianaValoria1]

Zorica hesitated a moment before gesturing to Llhunarra's flask, "All right, I'm game. I prefer a stout ale, myself, but I am no stranger to stronger spirits."

 

Meanwhile, Rhaine quietly sat beside Nawen, watching the drow poke at the fire with a stick. The Doomguide wanted to ask Nawen how she was faring, but she did not want to make the ranger uncomfortable. Rhaine had noticed Nawen becoming a bit more withdrawn as of late, which had, in turn, caused the priestess to be a little concerned.

 

Nearby, Sir Meowsalot had busied himself with bothering Amendale, tugging at the hem of the elf's cloak with his claws and meowing every other breath for attention.

 

Heidi had set up her cart on the outskirts of the camp and was busy polishing all the odds and ends she had obtained while at the estate.

[GrueMaster]

Doshkin gave a sigh of disappoint as he went to the stables to get his horse; he had spent half the day trying to find Llhunarra, but hadn't had any luck in doing so. Hmmph... I was looking forward to perhaps traveling with her... oh well... As he readied his horse, however, the aasimar overheard some of the servants gossiping in the stables... they were speaking of the group of foreigners had left earlier with Imhiros...

 

Oh, damn! the warlock cursed silently. "Why do I always miss the party?" But his irritated visage quickly swiftly turned to a grinning one as he began to feel it was time to move on to the next adventure. Excited now, Doshkin quickly went and gathered supplies for what may be a decent traveling time (after spending time fighting a war in the desert, even he knew enough to do something that prudent). Unfortunately, that took even more time, as there were many more nobles for the estate to deal with, and he was only one foreigner, so by the time he had gotten his gear, it was approaching dusk.

 

"Oh, to the Hells with it!" Doshkin shrugged with a smile after debating whether to get started, and so the warlock began following after the foreign party's tracks, looking forward to traveling with others again...

 

==============

 

Doshkin wiped his forehead as he rode his horse, somewhat weary and dreading he'd have to go yet another day in silence. By the gods, do these people ever rest? It had been a struggle for the warlock to keep up, as he had never quite learned to survive in the outdoors or how to read tracks. Luckily, though, the group he was following wasn't hiding their trail, and the weather had not wiped away their tracks, so the aasimar didn't have difficulty in finding the group (He was also not the greatest rider around, but the aasimar was too proud to admit that).

 

As night began to fall, and Doshkin's night-induced disdain began to grow (for the man had forgotten to bring some firewood to stay warm, of all things), his spirits began to lift once he saw a campfire up ahead. Oh, finally! Picking up the pace, he rode his horse in a slight trot, slowly coming up to the camp ahead.

 

"Hello?" he called out, dismounting from the horse as he approached, leaving his weapons stowed on his saddle. "My name is Doshkin Doiteain. Would this happen to be the group the lady Llhunarra is traveling with?"

[Flipout6]

"Who's been following us?" Arland demanded, frowning. "If they haven't caught up to have a chat by now they're not likely to be running around with good intentions."

 

"Hasn't done anything to indicate he's doing anything besides following." Marie told him. "I've had my eye on them ever since they showed up. They're taking care to stay out of bowshot."

 

"So they've got half a brain. Not a good thing if they're against us."

 

"Compared to you, I'd say having half a brain makes a genius." She commented drily.

 

"....There's no way I deserved that." He feigned hurt feelings. Marie just raised an eyebrow at him and went back to watching the horizon.

 

Weyland, meanwhile, looked at Nawen. "How in the hells does anyone stand it there? Farthest north I've been is Luskan and I think my armor froze over underneath all the furs. There are cold spells out there warmer than that."

 

"Not technically true." Amendale interjected even as he let Sir Meowsalot chase his fingers around, nipping at it. "Not if you're referring to anything offensive, that is." Suddenly he picked up the cat that was mercilessly mauling his fingers and began petting the yowling feline. He smiled at the cat. It was just too damn cute for him to stand.

 

"I beg to differ." Weyland mumbled, shivering. The rapidly-falling temperature of the desert wasn't helping anything.

 

"Listen to this big baby." Sybille taunted. "He's even got the face to go with it!" Annette giggled a little bit. Weyland threw a rude gesture her way with a big smile.

 

"There's someone else on the horizon there." Marie stated urgently. "They're on horseback, coming this way."

 

This "someone else" turned out to be looking for Llhunarra.

 

"Who wants to know?" Arland demanded, ready to draw a blade. "You the one that's been following us?" Arland knew he wasn't the person he was referring to, but he was hoping to see whether he was a liar or not.

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

"Stay inside! Stay inside!" Someone shouted. A colossal shadow descended upon a white-garbed shape outside, and the servant screamed as they were swept up into the air. The last faint wisps of grey light in the sky as the sun set, itself a faint orange, were not enough to reveal the beast in the skies above the estate.

 

They were grouped together in the gatehouse, the rest of the survivors. A measly quarter of the original number that had lived and worked within Menarses' estate. Most of them had been wiped out in the initial attack. The monster outside was simply picking off attempted escapees; the real danger lay with the dark force that assaulted the interior with black magic, monsters and undead. Many of the servants had been more than brave enough to grab a weapon and aid in its defense. Menarses had proven himself to be a formidable force to be reckoned with. Even when his servants fell around him, including ones with fighting skill, Menarses himself fought on. He threw himself between his servants and whatever came their way; bodaks, shadows, and specters fell before the magical might of the lord, still donning his ornamental garb robes and cap. Even when the ground shook with the thundering steps of a hezrou, Menarses stood fast, defending every life he could, and even the mighty demon could not stand against him. In the darkness of the gatehouse hallway, with all the torches having long since been knocked over or quenched, Menarses caught glimpses of a silhouette at the end of the hallway, against the back wall. It did nothing...merely watched.

 

That immediately marked it as something other than just another shadow.

 

Killing the hezrou and the other minions of this enigmatic attacker had taken most of Menarses' spells. All he had left in him was a relatively small selection of some of his most powerful abilities, even if his will remained strong. He might not hold against the party responsible for this...and for all he knew, the creature at the end of the hallway could be but one of many more.

 

Menarses stepped forward. If his own life saved even one other, it would be worth it.

 

"Come and combat me directly if you are to combat me at all!" He barked, his voice hoarse.

 

A growl reverberated down the hallway, bouncing off the now battle-scarred walls. Two golden orbs caught the minimal lighting from the dying fires as a gigantic tiger stepped into the light, standing almostas tall as Menarses himself, with fangs protruding from its mouth, a foot long each. Its fur was pale and its eyes were milky, and it was covered in scars and wounds recently-healed. Menarses narrowed his eyes and was already beginning to use one of his last spells before it charged down the hallway, covering twenty feet, thirty. It was nearly upon him within the next second, and Menarses roared in defiance. He was answered with a snarl from the big cat-

 

-which was then answered with two roars.

 

Anhsu and Nesati appeared out of nowhere, the black panthers blending into the darkness in a blur of movement, swift and lethal. They pounced upon the tiger, intercepting it mid-stride. So powerful was the tiger that it wasn't even stopped. Its momentum carried it over a surprised Menarses, who barely avoided the tangle of fur and flesh by dropping to the ground and rolling sideways until he hit the wall. The black panthers and the dire tiger collided with the wall at the end of the hallway, snarling and clawing and biting and bleeding right outside the door in which those Menarses protected huddled, terrified. Urgent, he pushed himself to his feet and began another spell....but it was too late. The silhouette at the end of the hallway burst into movement, and Menarses was wracked with incredible, disorienting pain. His robes clung to him as they were pockmarked with red, seeping with blood. He was hit with a second spell before he had recovered, something that manifested itself as a subtle tic in his thoughts. Menarses hacked and coughed up blood which soaked itself into his beard....but he did not collapse. Instead, he glared at the figure at the end of the hall and straightened his spine. The tic in his mind vanished when he forced it out.

 

"A coward's play." He spat.

 

"Not quite." Silithus replied calmly, his grin twisted. His dead eyes were hidden beneath a black hood, but as he stepped into what light there was, Menarses could clearly see the open sores oozing pus, the blackened teeth, the cracked, bloody gums. His robes were multi-layered and black, with reinforced leather providing some minimal protection, and everything was lined with jewels of various types and colours. Some of them were emeralds, some o them rubies, other gems were yellow or amber. A sizable jewel embedded over his chest glittered purple. The jewels ran along his sleeves and down his robes like trimming. His staff resembled a gnarled piece of wood, but it was made of darksteel. It was twisted and covered in spikes resembling thorns....one of which was driving right through the hand that held it, protruding out of the knuckle. The entire weapon was covered in grime from various sources....even the chains at the end, tipped with blades. "A coward would have killed you there. Me? I want you alive....for a while." His laugh was a rasping wheeze.

 

Menarses' response was a Greater Shout.

 

The soundwave rocketed down the hallway, shattering all in its path and cracking the very bricks in the walls. The wretch in black was casting something as the soundwave blasted by him. Several jewels in his robes shattered, shredding the surrounding flesh with crystalline shards...but otherwise, he was unaffected. Silithus was sheathed in powerful divine magic. It shielded him from the worst of the blast. And it did not stop him from finishing the Horrid Wilting spell that Menarses couldn't defend himself against.

 

If Menarses survived this ordeal, he would never forget the feeling that hit him then. It was like he hadn't had a drop of water in years. It was like becoming a pile of dust in the desert that hadn't felt moisture for centuries. He barely survived; nausea hit him instantly. But his retaliation was unfettered and righteous.

 

Silithus saw nothing but white once the light hit him. Fire lashed at him, setting his robes light and scorching his skin. Accompanying a blindingly bright flash of orange came a spray of virulent acid that hit Silithus in the face. He stumbled backwards, feeling along the wall for the corner he could turn to shield himself from the progressively-worsening effects of the prism. He only just reached it in time for the orange to brighten to yellow, and a bolt of lightning hit him square in the chest, cracking the violet jewel on his robes. He fell behind the wall, cackling maniacally even as his body screamed and burned in agony. He didn't even do anything to heal the damage done; he perversely enjoyed the pain. Surely Lady Loviatar smiled down upon him?

 

The prismatic sphere was eerily silent as it lit up the gatehouse like the sun itself. The snarling and growling of the big cats stopped suddenly, much to Menarses' unease. Several seconds passed and Menarses stood alone, protected by a shield of some of the most powerful magic a mortal could cast. The colours shifted swiftly, washing the surroundings with a new hue every few seconds. Blue turned a table to stone and then faded to indigo, and then a hauntingly beautiful violet that outright made some objects disappear entirely. Then it transformed again into red, which lit much of the hall aflame. When the acid sprayed again, it melted through entire sections of the walls and the hallway filled with sulfurous smoke. The servants, though perhaps blinded temporarily, had thankfully been shielded from the prism behind a wall and had survived. But in the end, it wasn't enough.

 

Silithus emerged from the corner and fired off a spell in a split-second. The sphere shattered with a great flash, and the colours vanished. Darkness clawed back its lost territory in the hallway, and only the tapestries that had been lit aflame prevented it from flooding everything entirely. Menarses was thrown off of his feet and Silithus advanced, closing the gap between them. A lash from the bladed end from his staff and the lord cried out in pain. Then another. And another. And another.

 

When the whipping stopped, Menarses refused to curl up into a ball like he was no doubt expected to. He was physically incapable of fighting any longer, but he refused to admit defeat even as he lay helpless. As he looked to see how his servants were doing, the Dire Tiger emerged from around the corner, matted fur steeped in blood. Its fangs were painted red, and were sunken deep into the flesh of a limp Anhsu, which it dropped in the corner. Menarses turned around and withdrew a dagger from within the folds of his ruined sleeves, the one he kept for emergencies. He roared and jammed it into the inside of Silithus's thigh, right into the artery. He pulled it out, and a spray of blood accompanied the wound, but the end of the wretch's staff tore his hand to ribbons before he could get in a second strike. Only then, once the weight of his injuries and the pain and the death all get to him, did Menarses let his head sag to the floor, tears filling his eyes. He'd failed.

 

"Don't think death will grant you its mercy so soon." Silithus rasped. Menarses couldn't make out the severe, bloody damage the acid had done to his face. All he saw was a blurry mix of red and black. It was amazing that the damage to Silithus's mouth hadn't prevented him from speaking. "....Nor any of your subjects."

 

The screaming lasted for hours.

[Llhunara]

Smirking Llhunarra would hand the flask over, letting the darker skinned female take as much as she pleased. Flopping onto her back afterwards the redhead stretches herself out across the ground. It felt so good to finally be off that horse, not that she didn’t appreciate the gift it was just not the most comfortable mode of transportation.

 

Hearing the others mentioning a rider on the horizon the rogue tilts her head back, trying to see who it was they were talking about. Spotting the silhouette she rolls onto her stomach, eyes narrowing as she tries to make out the figure. Not able to make out the details of the individuals features she was only confused until the male spoke up. Recognizing the voice a smirk rolls across her lips as she shoves up from the ground.

 

“Ar...” Crap, what was his name? Arnold…Arny..Arlay…Arland! “Arland, it’s alright. He is a friend.” Scampering away from the fire and past the rest of the group she heads over to greet him. Hopefully her word carried enough weight so that the others would not continue to be suspicious of Doshkin or her for that matter.

 

“You followed us, Doshkin?” With a cock of her head the smile she wore was replaced by a grin. The question already had an obvious answer, but she was curious to what he might say more for her own amusement than anything, he had just refereed to her as “lady Llhunarra” after all.

Edited January 24, 2015 by Llhunara

[josh900]

Azuris nodded at Conall. "Yeah, can't blame him really." He was about to say something else but stopped as Doshkin made his appearance. "Eyes on one, then another sneaks up on us." He grumbled.

 

Carrying along a large sack, Hexol approached Heidi, and put it out in front of her stall and started to go through it. "So umm... I found this bag with a lotta stuff in it... Don't know where it all came from. It's got like... plates, forks, spoons, jewelry, knives, curtains, a cooking pan, books, cups, bowls, ummm... a wig." He said, pulling out a humorously large hairpiece. "How would someone lose a wig exactly?" He asked, not remembering that he took it off of a sleeping man the day before the festival.

[AurianaValoria1]

Conall watched the red-haired stranger, who had called himself Doshkin, closely, replying to Azuris with a mere, "Indeed." The paladin crossed his arms atop his breastplate and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the unusually quiet Ariel glinting at his hip in the firelight. He was not very surprised that Llhunarra somehow knew this man, but he was a bit surprised that the man had followed them seemingly just to speak with her. Nearby, Rhaine responded to the man's call from her seated position before the fire, "Llhunarra is with us, yes. What is your business here?"

 

As the whiskey-loving half-elf jumped up to greet Doshkin personally, Zorica carefully uncapped the offered flask and tentatively took a sip. The half-drow winced; it was decidedly too sweet for her liking, but it was indeed potent. She then gently set the flask back down where Llhunarra had been resting moments before, watching the half-elf and the stranger converse with concern in her amber eyes. Sir Meowsalot, meanwhile, was purring loudly enough to wake the dead under Amendale's gentle hand, basking in the attention that the elf provided, and Aodh had perched himself atop Nawen's shoulder again, quietly observing the scene before them. Similarly, Imhiros stood on the opposite side of the fire, half-swathed in shadow, leaning on his spear as he examined their surroundings with a silent, dark gaze.

 

Heidi busied herself with inspecting the treasure trove of items that Hexol had acquired, picking through them with an appraising eye before squinting at the hairpiece, "Highly unlikely someone would lose something like that...unless someone took it from them..."

 

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Quarylene woke to the unpleasant sensation of her face and body being pressed into hard, cold stone. Nothing was holding her down, however, so it quickly became apparent that she had been laying on the floor of some chamber for quite some time - a position she found herself in all too frequently as of late. She groaned and hissed as she slowly picked herself up, brushing herself off and wobbling on her heels. Then, the feeling of imminent danger chilled her undead spine, and she instinctively drew her daggers, whirling around.

 

Nothing but darkness surrounded her. She was in a plain, rectangular chamber with no adornment or furniture to be found - not even a door; there was, quite possibly, no way out. There were also no lights save one torch that flickered with pale blue fire on the far wall, dripping embers every few seconds. The drow vampiress's white eyes squinted as she bared her fangs, certain that someone or something was watching her.

 

"Come now, there's no need for hostilities. I know that you were taken rather...roughly...but please understand that it was the only way I could rescue you from your...unfortunate...position."

 

It was the same voice that she had heard before in Ravenna's castle - feminine, soft, and almost sickeningly sweet, but undeniably dangerous as well. It was speaking most certainly outside and not inside her head, now. But the source of that voice was still beyond her sight...and her reach.

 

"Please, sheathe your weapons and we may share a drink together..."

 

Quarylene was abruptly struck with the demoralizing feeling of unquenchable thirst, and she was also hit with a startling revelation as she listened to the alarm bells that her mind and body were ringing loudly in her ears...

 

She had been captured by another vampire.