Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Oct 5, 2011 21:25:48 GMT -5
After the tournament, Shamoke was escorted back to High Horn. Officials led him to their vault to choose his prize. He looked around, seeing various pieces of history, priceless artifacts, and gold.....so....much....gold. He could barely contain himself.
Eventually his gaze caught something in the dark corner of the room, a shimmer of light catching his peripheral. He turned his head to face it, and walked toward the source. It was a suit of armor, but it looked so vastly different than anything he has seen before. It radiated the Weave, the mithril having a unique appearance which beckoned any mage closer. It looked as though it changed colors briefly as he approached.
"Oh my, what is this?" Shamoke asked out loud, mostly to himself.
"That is, what we refer to as, Spellplate. You don't want that," they said to him. "That is nothing but trouble."
"Trouble you say? Sold!" Shamoke replied. With that, he grabbed a piece of the armor. What happened next, he did not foresee...
The rest of the armor flew at him, and attached itself to the spots on his body where they belonged. Within seconds, Shamoke was fully armored.
"By Hanali's perfect breasts! Did you see that?!" Shamoke yelled. He turned around, but everyone had already run away.
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Oct 5, 2011 21:41:28 GMT -5
Shamoke teleported to Immersea for a stroll around town. He enjoyed walking by the ladies at the market, because they often whistled and hollered at his handsomeness. What better a place to show off his newly earned armor?!
"Hey there my Lovelies, what do you think of my new look?" Shamoke inquired. The ladies giggled and blushed, but one spoke up.
"It's alright I suppose, but you could definitely make it look nicer to...accentuate your...assets!" she said, giggling shyly immediately after.
"Hrm...perhaps you are right." Shamoke made his way to the inn. He bought a key, went to a room, and sat down to begin his work. "Alright, let's try this..."
*ping!*
"Gah!" His magical attempt did nothing. In fact, something strange happened. It felt as though, his armor tightened around his arm where he tried to make a change. Strange, he thought, but he ignored it and tried again, with the same result.
"Argh!" The armor got tighter, but also began to shift slightly around him, changing colors in various spots. "Oh hells no!" Shamoke exclaimed, and began to try and take the armor off. But it would not let go. He struggled and struggled, but the more he tried, the more violently the armor changed.
The sleeves and greaves retracted, and the thigh plates vanished, revealing goofy poofy pants. Strands of the armor wrapped around his wrists like bracelets, all of which had different colors. When he finally wore himself out, he collapsed to the floor, the armor ceasing to change for the moment. His entire armor was a hot mess of shapes and colors. He was a walking rainbow of shame.
"Gods, it's like Sven threw up on me! I need to get out of here!"
Shamoke whispered an arcane word and vanished from his inn room.
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Oct 5, 2011 21:55:22 GMT -5
He arrived in Greatgaunt within the blink of an eye. Perhaps the chaos of his armor would blend in with the chaos of the town.
"Damn, the square is packed full today." He was right. Adventurers were in no short supply that day in Greatgaunt. He continued to struggle with his armor, which continued to shift and color-change. He was attracting quite a scene. Some people thought it was just another prank, some thought he had finally lost his mind, but some had their curiosity struck. They approached.
He made his way west of town, to get away from some of the crowd. He struggled to no avail in removing the armor. A few adventurers laughed at him, amused by the scene. His armor grew more violent with every move that he made.
"What the?!" Energy began to form from the chest piece, giving off a slight glow. It swirled around his shoulder and down his arm, collecting into his palm. It glowed brighter and more concentrated. Everyone froze as it played out. The light died down to reveal.....a.....chicken?
"RRRAGH!" Shamoke felt his arm swing forward from the will of his Spellplate. The chicken flew from his hand with a startled 'cluck!' It bounced...then bounced again...then......exploded! Fiery feathers splashed around the area of impact, and dissipated quickly.
Everyone stood dumbfounded for a few seconds. Did that really just happen? Finally, one adventurer burst into controllable laughter. Humiliated and very confused, Shamoke teleported before the jokes could ensue.
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Oct 5, 2011 22:16:44 GMT -5
Shamoke at first did not notice where he landed, for as soon as his feet touched new soil, he took to the ground in a wrestling match with his armor. A few minutes passed by until he leaped up to his feet. "Okay okay, truce," he whispered to the armor. He looked around, and discovered that he had arrived in the Northwest Market of Suzail, right next to the fountain. He looked to his right, and saw Sir Cald Ashall and his wife Hannah, along with Morris Talthorn, Lionar of the Purple Dragons.
Shamoke stood perfectly still, glancing to his armor occasionally. The color-changing and shifting had died down. Perhaps it was sleeping dormant? Perhaps it let its guard down? He waited a few more seconds before he struck.
He reached his arm up with lightning speed, and pulled hard on the breastplate in an attempt to sneak up on the armor and free himself. The armor shifted and color-changed wildly!
"Grrrr! Gah! NO!!!" But it was too late. The energy collected into his palm quickly, and his arm flung forward. "Look out!!!"
"Bawkaaaa!" screamed a projectile chicken. Bounce, bounce, BOOM! Right next to the bench where Cald and Hannah sat.
"That's ENOUGH!" Morris shouted with authority, standing up swiftly and marching over to the scene. Shamoke froze. Hell, even his armor froze: no shifting or color-changing whatsoever. Shamoke eyed his armor scornfully and whispered to it. "This is all your fault..."
"Shamoke, if you endanger the citizens of Cormyr, you must leave the city at once." Morris ordered. He was a kind man at heart. He had married one of Shamoke's closest friends, Cald's sister Jacia. Shamoke had even taught her a spell. Nevertheless, Cormyr was also his beloved, and so were its laws.
"What do you expect me to do?! I can't take it off! If I go to the forest, I could start a fire! This must be contained until I figure out what is going on. Wait, that's it! Lock me up!"
"Take him to the War Wizards. They have antimagic cells." Cald suggested. With that, Morris restrained Shamoke, who complied, and escorted him to the city core.
When they arrived at the War Wizard tower, the armor color-changed and shifted with what can only be described as a fearful struggle. It fired two projectile chickens in different directions, which exploded on impact. Flaming feathers made the air sparkle. Morris hurriedly rushed Shamoke into a cell.
When Morris shut the cell door, the armor constricted hard on Shamoke, restricting his breathing. He flopped to the ground, gasping for air and tugging on his breastplate. Morris hastily uttered the antimagic command, and the armor released its grasp, freezing in its current form.
"Th...Thank you, Morris." Shamoke whispered, and passed out.
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Post by Booze Hound on Oct 6, 2011 8:40:02 GMT -5
//And THIS Shamoke...this is why I made you a suit of ridiculously colored poofy pants exploding chicken spewing EPIC semi-sentient somewhat symbiotic spell plate.
This cracked me up!
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Oct 6, 2011 18:42:10 GMT -5
//Thanks Boozy . There is definitely more to come I am sure from the both of us <3
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Oct 8, 2011 2:32:04 GMT -5
Shamoke sat in his cell, glaring at his equipped armor.
"I would really like to know what your problem is..." he said to the armor, unsure if it could even hear him in the anti-magic zone. The colors were ridiculous, but did not change. The shape of the armor was mismatched and asymmetrical, but it too did not shift in the slightest.
"Why can't we be friends? What do you want from me? Why do you fire exploding chickens?"
Shamoke shrugged off the silence, resting his head on his knees in thought. Hopefully Morris or someone will return with good news. Any information from High Horn would be helpful. Shamoke scolded himself for not asking any questions and making an "impulse-buy." Then again, it was who he was.
Shamoke stood up and motioned a guard to him. "I need to be let out a few minutes to clean myself with a Prestidigitation."
//this thread is open to players and DMs who want to contribute to the RP
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Oct 8, 2011 13:32:29 GMT -5
Later that night, Shamoke was seen leaving Suzail out the East gate toward Marsember. He found a quiet place to rest, and sat down, reflecting on what transpired that day.
Menelwen came to visit while he was cleaning himself. The armor was well behaved for the most part, until Shamoke said he would name it Hubert, upon which a chicken was thrown.
"Shamoke, your armor is female." Menelwen responded. It made sense to Shamoke, actually: It was behaving irrationally. It was emotional. It expected Shamoke to know what it was thinking and feeling without it ever explaining itself. It was fickle, and could never settle on looking a certain way (as women are with their outfits, Shamoke observed).
Menelwen came up with the brilliant idea of talking to the armor. She told the armor to raise Shamoke's right or left hand, depending on if it was a yes or no answer to a question. The results to the questionnaire were astounding:
The armor was female in some shape or form. It chose Shamoke to bond with for two reasons: One, he was handsome (the smaller priority, but nonetheless a priority). Two, he was a sorcerer. Sorcerers are less inclined to experiment and research, tinker and study. The armor did not wish to be manhandled by wizards. It wanted to be appreciated for what it was. Where it came from, or how it came to be, could not be found at this time.
Because he is a sorcerer, the Weave is intertwined with his very person. The armor bonded to Shamoke in this way. The stronger the caster, the stronger the armor could make itself.
Shamoke sat calmly within the trees. Wind moved his hair slightly as his eyes were shut in contemplation. He searched deep within himself to find the bond that they shared, in hopes of finding a way for them to communicate better, rather than hand-raising, violent shape-shifting, rapid color-changing, and projectile exploding chickens.
Time will unravel this mystery, Shamoke thought to himself. He just hoped there wouldn't be any more power struggles over control of his body!
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Oct 9, 2011 23:21:53 GMT -5
The armor had been behaving for the most part over the last few days. Shamoke wondered how long it would last. He returned to Suzail right as the sun rose.
"Surely, Erevan smiles upon your chaotic nature, but please act normal, alright?" Shamoke beckoned with his armor as he entered the city gates.
He made his way to the Northwest Market again, and took his place leaning against a wall by the fountain. He conversed with a few adventurers nervously. Everything was going smoothly...that is until Alora came walking up.
The armor started throwing a fit at her presence. It color-changed wildly, and shifted its shape with haste. It started pulling his arms forward, making him stumble.
"What? What do you want?" Shamoke shut his eyes and tried focusing on the emotion the armor was trying to project to him. His eyes opened after a few moments. "You want to leave?" The armor raised his left hand, meaning yes.
"Alright, fine. But why?" The armor responded by turning his body, and pointing his finger to Alora. "...Oh," Shamoke replied.
"Have I offended your armor?" Alora questioned.
"It does not like Wizards." Shamoke responded.
"Why?" The armor became more agitated with her questioning. It constricted very slightly in protest. Shamoke could feel an unnatural emotion flowing through him, building and building until finally he answered Alora. His tone was accusatory and angry.
"You -Wizards- like to study and experiment on things of the magical nature. Sentient armor like this does not take kindly to your meddling."
"Yes, but I would never experiment on something that did not belong to m-..." she was cut off by the armor rapidly shape-shifting while a growl emitted from Shamoke.
"Rrrr, I'm not going to discuss this any longer! I'm leaving. Goodbye everyone." And with that, he teleported.
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Oct 10, 2011 18:36:40 GMT -5
Shamoke arrived at his destination and fell to one knee, putting a hand to the side of his head as he shut his eyes. Those emotions were overwhelming, but they did not belong to him...they were of his armor. Shamoke slowly stood up and composed himself, his head tilted downward facing his chest.
"Are we becoming one?" he asked her. It was not alarming to him at the moment. The armor was trying desperately to communicate with him. Soon he would find the answer. But before he could contemplate it any further, a sharp pain shot through his left arm. He opened his eyes quickly and whipped his head to inspect the source of the pain, and found an arrow lodged deep within his exposed left triceps. Confused, Shamoke took in his surroundings. He had misteleported into the Underdark...with no magical defenses up...
Shamoke ran. It was all he could do. He felt arrows fly past him, one even nicking his right ear, severing a lock of his hair. He could not outrun the arrows, and he knew it. Instead, he took to sliding behind a small rock formation for a few seconds. He could hear the arrows ricocheting off the rock with tremendous force. With such little time to recuperate, he tried to cast an invisibility spell, but it failed. The armor did not compliment his movements, in fact it felt as though she was moving his arms in the opposite direction as him. It was as though two people were trying to steer a horse's reins.
"Damn you, you're going to get me killed! Stop fighting me and anticipate my movements!" He attempted a haste spell, succeeded with no resistance, and took to running again.
A few minutes later, he came to a corner in the path he had chosen. It was within one hundred paces...he just had to get there. He ran as fast as his magic would allow, counting down the distance in his head. Fifty paces...forty...thirty...twenty...ten... fiv-...a sharp pain hit his right hamstring and he slammed into the rocky surface...sliding on his stomach until his body halted.
"Argh!" he yelled in pain, and grabbed at his leg. The arrow went straight through his bone. He slowly stood up, favoring his left leg completely. He was so close, but he could hear their footsteps. He hopped with all the strength he had left. They were so close that he could hear their bowstrings pluck when they fired their arrows. He neared the corner and leaped, two arrows penetrating his shoulder and his other leg as he flew through the air. He landed on his side with a hard thud upon the rock. He pulled himself up to a sitting position, leaning back against the walls of the Underdark. He could hear them closing in on the path.
"Drow bastards," he muttered, spitting some blood, "It'll take more than that to kill me." He dragged himself up, his back grinding against the stone. He looked down at his armor, and whispered once more, "This is all your fault."
With that, he flung himself around the corner as six Drow came charging forward. Negative energy swirled around him in a red fog as his eyes turned a milky pale white. The fog collected into his lungs as he inhaled. Five of the Drow tried to stop, their feet skidding on the soil, while one brave (or perhaps reckless) Traitor continued with two daggers in his hands. Shamoke let out an ear piercing wail that rattled the caverns, the wind blowing the Drow's hair. The five fell dead on their faces, as did the one who did not flee, but not before he sunk his daggers into Shamoke's sides where the armor did not protect.
The color in Shamoke's eyes returned as he fell to his knees, coughing a steady stream of blood. A flash of light appeared in front of him, temporarily blinding him. When his vision returned, there stood a High Necromancer of Lloth. He spoke Elven with a dreadful accent.
"Aah, Shamoke, the one and only bearded Elf. Long have I wanted to be the one to bring you to your knees."
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Oct 11, 2011 17:10:40 GMT -5
The sound of a thud and a crunch echoed in Shamoke's head as the High Necromancer's staff swiped him in the cheek, dislocating his jaw and sending his face to the ground. Shamoke groaned and pushed himself up back to his knees, spitting out some bloody teeth, and looked the white-haired wizard in the eyes. He raised his arms and popped his jaw back into place.
"You Dhaerow Wizards are all the same. Your magic is weak, and you hit like bitches." SMACK! The wizard's staff hit him in the temple, knocking him unconscious.
Shamoke awoke in one of the Drow buildings as his body hit the tile floor after being tossed in a cell by two warriors. He inspected his body's wounds. The Drow had definitely tried to remove his armor, as the skin and flesh around his neck and shoulders had marks on them as though the Drow had yanked hard on the chest plate. Thankfully his vitals were stable...for now.
"How polite, they removed the arrows." Shamoke scoffed. He lifted himself up and limped into the interrogation chair. It was stained with blood, and smelled of decay. Shamoke wondered how many of his kin died upon it.
His cell opened after a few minutes, and the High Necromancer entered.
"We are aware of your home, Shamoke. Be a good Elf and tell us where it is. We shall make your death painless if you do." said the Drow.
Shamoke just stared into the eyes of the Traitor with a hatred that even now made the Wizard uncomfortable. He shifted uneasily at Shamoke's gaze, but then returned his own glare, followed by another hit with his staff into Shamoke's back. Shamoke winced, but otherwise showed no sign of emotion or recoil.
"My home is everywhere." Shamoke said flatly.
"Damn you!" screamed the wizard. "Fine. Let your death be slow. I warned you." He unsheathed a tiny dagger and stabbed downward on Shamoke, the blade sinking in between his shoulder and neck. Shamoke let out nothing but a small grunt. The Drow twisted the dagger back and forth deep within Shamoke's flesh. Shamoke could hear his muscles tearing from the sharpness of the blade. His chest became wet as his blood poured forth. His vision became blurred as he struggled to maintain consciousness. He felt the Drow lean in from behind him, whispering into his ear.
"With you gone, nothing can stop us. Your home will be found. Your forest will burn, and I will strangle your loved ones with my bare hands. I will squeeze until their eyes are dull and void of all life. Now, accept your death!" The wizard swung around to look Shamoke in the eyes, gripping his hands on Shamoke's throat and squeezing hard upon it. Shamoke grabbed at the wrists of the Wizard, trying to pull his hands away, but could not. He lost too much blood, and had no strength left. He gasped for air that would not come. His vision closed in to where he could only see the face of the Drow Wizard. The Traitor cackled wildly as he watched Shamoke slowly die.
"I'm so sorry...Eil'lia." He could not say the words verbally, but he repeated them in his head over and over, until finally darkness overtook him.
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Oct 12, 2011 18:01:04 GMT -5
"I failed them all. They will all die and it is my fault."
"So that's it then? You're just giving up?"
"I have no strength left. It is over."
"You're stronger than you think. You have been through much worse. I know you have. I know your thoughts. You can do this. -We- can do this. You just have to trust me and let me in."
"Who are you?"
Shamoke opened his eyes. He was standing, surrounded by white light, and wearing his green suit. He could see nothing but miles upon miles of it. He turned around, and saw a woman standing in front of him. She wore a golden dress. Her skin was fair, and her dark brown hair freely flowed down to her waist. Shamoke tried to focus on her face, and though he could not make out the details, he could tell she was stunningly beautiful. Her eyes gave off a blueish glow. She approached him slowly, her moves as graceful and soothing as a summer breeze. She wrapped her arms around his neck and spoke softly.
"You are, and always will be, my champion. I will not let them lose you. You are loved too much. You saved me from my prison. Let me save you from yours, just this once." She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the lips, her lips soft and warm. He shut his eyes, and felt a flourish of life being renewed in him. He felt a hard pressure on his throat, his head feeling very light.
When he opened his eyes, he saw the Drow again. Slightly disoriented, Shamoke's eyes fluttered about the room, taking in his surroundings once more. Before he could react, he felt his arms being moved by the armor. His gloves grabbed at the wrists of the mage, and easily pushed the hands off Shamoke's throat. Shamoke breathed in deeply and coughed violently, his senses returning. The armor brought him to his feet, and moved his arms to outstretch the Wizard's. Shamoke looked into the eyes of the Drow. They were filled with a newfound fear.
"No! It's not possible!" he hissed.
"Shut your eyes, my Shamoke." The voice was loud in his head, but he did so. He felt a familiar energy building inside his chest piece. He peeked open an eye just in time to see a projectile chicken nail the Drow in the face, exploding searing hot fire around his head.
The necromancer screamed in agony and fell back, his hair ablaze from the embers. He clutched at his eyes and growled, trying to regain his vision. He crawled away, distancing himself, and pulled himself to his feet, trying to face Shamoke again.
"Take him. He is yours." The female's voice said to him.
With a slight nod, Shamoke walked toward the Drow. The wizard could hear him advancing, and quickly cast an Acid Sheath spell. Shamoke did not stop. He extended his left arm, passing through the barrier, and grasped the throat of the Drow, pushing him into the wall. Shamoke's arm sizzled and bubbled from the acidic shielding spell, but he did not falter. He looked down to his right hand, a scimitar forming out of nothingness. He gripped the hilt, and looked back into the Drow's eyes.
"Nn...No...I was so close. Y...you....you were mine!" The Drow gasped for air.
Shamoke rammed the blade into the stomach of the Traitor, angling the blade upward so its path led up into the chest cavity, piercing the lungs and heart. The Drow flinched and tried to yell in pain, but Shamoke's grip on his throat was too tight for any sound to emit. His acid spell slowly faded as his legs gave way. He flopped to the ground, his breathing slowing down until all fell quiet. Shamoke looked to his left arm. The acid had eaten all the way to the bone, but he did not feel it.
"Alright," he whispered. "We'll do it together from now on."
The sound of heavy footsteps came from down the hall. With sword in hand, Shamoke moved to the center of the room, looking to the door. Three Drow appeared, and opened the cell. They circled around him wearily, eyeing each other and eyeing Shamoke in turn. Finally, one gave the signal with a battle cry, and they charged.
Shamoke advanced to the one in front of him, conjuring his energy shield on his left wrist. He deflected the warrior's sword, and swiped his scimitar into his enemy's neck. Blood gushed forth when he slid the blade through the flesh as he turned his body around to the left to face the other two. The one to his right swiped downward with his sword, but Shamoke parried the blade with his own, sliding the scimitar along his enemy's sword until he slashed the hand of his foe. The Drow dropped his sword, growled, and grabbed his hand. Before Shamoke could attack him, his peripheral caught movement to the left. The third Drow slashed downward at Shamoke's neck. Shamoke shut his eyes slightly in preparation for the pain, but instead felt the force glance off of him, the impact being absorbed.
Shamoke looked to his left shoulder, and saw the armor had changed shape into looking like fullplate. He smirked and looked to the Drow, who backed up in a combination of fear and confusion. Shamoke screamed and leaped at the helpless one to his right. The unarmed Drow stumbled back, but not out of reach of Shamoke's scimitar, and had his throat slashed. He fell lifeless on his back, a pool of blood forming beneath him quickly.
Shamoke turned and faced the last Drow with a dark smile. This one was more skilled than the others, possibly a weapon master. They stared at each other a few moments, walking in a circle slowly. They tested each other's movements. Shamoke knew his foe had better footwork.
Suddenly the Drow charged at him, leaping aggressively into the air. Shamoke sidestepped and raised his shield, narrowly deflecting a blow. The Drow twirled around to backslash him, but Shamoke parried his blade, stepping back hastily as he was overwhelmed by his powerful foe. He ducked, barely dodging a swipe that would have easily decapitated him. Eventually Shamoke tripped up and fell on his back. The Drow jumped into the air, aiming the point of his blade at Shamoke's throat.
"BAWKAAAAA!!!" Shamoke's armor glowed and fired a chicken at the airborn Drow, sending him flying on impact as the chicken exploded. Shamoke jumped to his feet in hopes of catching the Drow off guard, but the warrior had backward-somersaulted to his feet again, patting out a flame on his shoulder. The Drow ran at him again.
"Enough of this." Shamoke said with annoyance. He sheathed his sword, and spoke dark arcane words. He twirled his right arm around his head, a trail of negative energy following his hand, and sharply pointed his finger at the sprinting Drow. The warrior gasped and recoiled, as if punched in the chest, and fell to his knees, sliding to Shamoke's feet and coming to a halt. Shamoke kicked him in the chest, knocking him over. He was dead.
A few minutes later, Shamoke was seen running through the hall of the building. It seemed abandoned, and this was a good thing. It meant there were likely not that many stationed there. It was probably a temporary shelter for them to interrogate Shamoke...until reinforcements arrived. He knew he did not have much time, and ran faster. He came to the main room, and skid to a halt. Five assassins stood between him and the door that led to his freedom. They twirled daggers out from unknown locations, and slowly walked toward him. Shamoke took a few steps back, trying to eye them all carefully. His steps led him back into the narrow hallway. They followed, closing in on each other. Shamoke smirked.
"Fools." Shamoke raised his hands above his head, casting a powerful Horrid Wilting spell in the area where the assassins all walked closely together. Their eyes filled with surprise, they screamed as all moisture was forcefully removed from their bodies. They shriveled until they looked like the living dead, falling to their knees and dropping their weapons. Shamoke walked by each slowly, cutting off all their heads with swift slashes. He made his way to the door, opened it, and disappeared into the shadows of the Underdark.
"That is the Elf I know," the voice echoed in his mind, "I am proud to call you my champion." Shamoke smiled at that.
"I'm coming home, my lovelies."
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Jan 20, 2012 0:32:08 GMT -5
The sounds of frantic footsteps and painful shrieks echoed from down the hall. Drow guards rushed to their positions in the aged stone corridor. Warriors drew their swords and raised their shields, kneeling slightly in anticipation. Archers stringed their bows, and took aim at the doorway. A lone mage whispered incantations; the lights in the room fading to his will, providing cover. Louder and louder grew the stomping and blood curdling screams. The tension in the air became near unbearable. Finally, a single scout ran through the doorway, breathing heavily from his retreat.
"What is it?!" the mage asked in haste.
"It's him...the Elf..." replied the scout between breathes. "He has...something...I cannot describe..."
"Out with it!" the mage barked.
"Some kind of armor that..." the scout stopped mid-sentence, and turned around to face the door with a questioning expression. A faint hissing noise could be heard.
"Some kind of what?!" screamed the mage.
The scout recoiled as a flaming arrow curved around the hall, through the doorway, and landed straight in his chest, penetrating out through his back for all to see. He fell to his knees without even a grunt, and was dead.
"Get ready!" ordered the mage.
Their focused returned to the doorway. They heard footsteps again. But these footsteps were very, very different. They were more attuned to the scenario of a casual stroll through a park, with a few seconds between each click of the heel on the floor. Whistling chimed in, echoing gently with the rhythmic steps of expensive shoes. Humming joined the creepy symphony, followed by soft singing.
"Shammity Sham baaammm. Shamoke uh-Shammy ShamWowwww!"
The archers eyed each other, confused, then looked back as the source neared the doorway. Just as it seemed the Elf would round the corner to face them, the footsteps stopped. An eerie silence fell across the room. They waited...and waited, but nothing revealed itself.
The sounds of sharp sniffles struck their ears. Their heart rates increased, and their muscles tensed.
"aah...AAAAAAAH-CHOOOOO!" sneezed the Elf, a flash of green light and sparkles filled the opening to the corridor.
The Drow screamed and shot arrow after arrow through the doorway. The mage flung magic missiles and other projectile spells. Eventually, they stopped and observed the damage. They squinted, leaned forward, looking for signs of injuries. A bearded Elven face popped around the corner with a cheerful, yet embarrassed, smile.
"Sorry, not the climax you were looking for?" They shot more arrows and spells at the face, which promptly darted back around the wall to safety. When the firing ceased, the Elf added an enlightening remark.
"Damn, you Dhaerow are so hard to please. Especially that Matron Mother of yours. Couldn't get her to climax either. Makes sense, I suppose. She was in a lot of pain. Her fault, by the way. Slut doesn't know the meaning of the phrase 'no teeth,' so I resorted to removing her teeth. She improved greatly after that."
The warriors growled and screamed with rage, and charged forward. The mage yelled for them to halt, but it was too late. A sharp, arcane phrase boomed through the hall. Everyone's movement slowly came to a halt, breathing near ceasing. Those well-versed in the Weave would recognize it as a Timestop spell.
The bearded Elf waltzed around the corner, through the doorway, and settled himself in the center of the room, turning back around to face the frozen warriors. He breathed in deep, red energy swirling around him from the ground and into his lungs as his eyes turned a pale, milky white. He unleashed an ear-piercing wail, turned back around and lobbed a Forceful Hand spell at the mage. When time returned to normal, the warriors fell dead on their faces, and the mage was knocked to his back...very dazed. The archers stood dumbfounded for a moment. From their perspective, they saw their comrades charge, fall over dead, all the while an armor-clad bearded Elf appeared in the middle of the room out of nowhere. They looked to their mage, only to see him on the ground as well, mumbling something about kissing spiders in between singing the Cormyte's boast.
Once their minds processed what transpired, they fired their arrows rapidly at the Elf. The Elf, powerful as he seemed, shut his eyes and tensed ever-so-slightly. In his mind, a soft and assuring female voice echoed: "Trust me." The result was not what anyone could have expected. Their arrows flew with precision, but the Elf's armor performed a maneuver like no one had ever seen.
The armor split and broke off into multiple pieces, slightly levitating and circling around the Elf's body, revealing his soft and expensive linens. The armor parts flung through the air with unmatched speed, deflecting and absorbing all impact from the arrows. Within a few seconds, the quivers of the archers ran empty. They all stopped and stared in disbelief. The pieces of the armor twirled and weaved, froze midair, then jolted back at the elf, assuming the form of Mithril Full Plate around his frame once more.
"My turn," laughed the Elf.
He spun around, pointing his finger at random Drow, uttering powerful magic. He lobbed missiles and bolts of ice at them. They either fell dead outright or with a piece of magic lodged in their chest cavities. A lone archer, with little other choice, drew his dagger and threw it at the Elf's face. It spun through the air toward its target. The Elf caught a glimpse of it, as he too was still spinning, and repulsed slightly. His forearm jumped up unnaturally, the bracer deflecting the dagger which still managed to graze his beard, giving it an uncomfortable trim.
The Elf turned his head sharply, watching the dagger crash into a table in the corner, knocking over a mug and some dishes. He frowned deeply, and turned back to face the Drow, who was backing into a corner realizing his fate. The Elf approached the archer.
"Nobody...Nobody cuts my beard, lest he wishes to face the wrath of Tye'ea."
The Drow looked puzzled. "Tye'ea?"
As if in answer, the pixie flew out from a pouch on the Elf's belt, letting out the most annoying, high-pitched battlecry if there ever was one. Before the Drow could react, the pixie drew her tiny dagger and gouged out both his eyes. He screamed in agony as the pain ran through his head, covering his face with his hands. The screams were then replaced with gurgles as the pixie slit his throat without remorse, blood spraying forth and soaking her. She spun around to dry herself some, flinging drops of blood everywhere, and perched on the Elf's shoulder.
"All dones?" she asked.
The Elf smiled. "One left." He walked over to the still dazed and singing Drow Mage. The wizard moved his hands back and forth as if he was a band director conducting a musical ensemble, seemingly dancing in place on his back having a jolly good time.
"You know," the Elf mused, "this spell lasts an absurdly long time." And with that, he shot a flaming arrow through the wizard's skull, immediately spitting onto the twitching corpse afterward. He turned and walked back through the doorway, footsteps and whistles echoing down the hall as he strolled.
He hummed the melody of a love song. One that was sang to him years ago, and written specifically for him. What a beautiful tune, he thought to himself. Though, he may have been biased, since the song was about him after all. He became lost in the phrases of the song (and possibly the curves of the blond Elven lass who sang him the song) as he walked toward the exit. He felt a slight, sad emptiness as he neared the end of the melody. Before he could finish the song and exit the building, the pixie interrupted his humming.
"Hey Shamoke, you know how you complained about the Matron Mother using teeth?" The bearded Elf stopped, frowned, and eyed the Fey with suspicion.
"Yeah?"
"Well, I didn't use teeth, but you still complained about that."
The Elf stared at the Fey a few seconds, raised his hand, and flicked her off his shoulder, sending her crashing into pots and pans.
"Oof! Spousal abuse!" she huffed, and dove back into her home on his belt.
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Apr 7, 2012 22:44:12 GMT -5
Shamoke casually walked through the rocky abyss of the Underdark. Had it been weeks? Months? He did not know. It had been so long since he had seen the surface light, and those whom he loved. All he knew was that it was dark...and stinky.
His armor had finally become one with him. Her will was his, and his will was hers. Their thoughts and memories coincided as if one life was lived between the two of them, though her past was still hazy. They moved as one graceful being, no longer fighting each other's movements. Her chaotic colors had faded. The uncoordinated, asymmetric shapes had finally subsided into what resembled an armorsmith's masterpiece. Her mithril glow was a bold statement of hope within the bleak blackness that seemed to radiate malice.
"You have a beautiful voice," he softly spoke. "I am glad to have you always singing within me. I have not been this happy in quite some time, I must admit."
"You are too kind, my Champion. This trip has been good for us." Her voice was as melodic as it was breathtaking. Indeed, she sang what seemed to be a never-ending song. He liked how it was always something new.
His footsteps slowed as they approached a cliff which had no visible bottom. He stopped to look down the steep edge for a few moments.
"Dare me to jump?"
"I still need to get used to your sense of humor...Watch out!"
His body whipped around and tilted to the side. Shamoke's eyes bulged as an arrow whizzed by his face, severing a lock of hair from his head.
A loud humming sound echoed through the caverns as Shamoke's bright energy shield conjured onto his left arm. He raised it to his chest, and conjured his scimitar within his right hand. He lowered his stance and looked around cautiously. All was silent.
"What's that?" she asked. A light slowly appeared off in the distance. Shamoke squinted to focus on it.
"Aww hells. It's a FIREBALL!!!" The light quickly grew into a raging ball of fire, flying directly into his shield and exploding with such force that it knocked him back. Shamoke's feet stumbled back, but found no ground beneath them, and he toppled over the edge of the cliff. His shield dissipated and his scimitar left his hand as he reached for something...anything to grab hold of. But there was nothing. And he fell into the darkness.
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Apr 11, 2012 15:26:59 GMT -5
From the shadows they stepped out...about half a dozen Drow. A mage, accompanied by a battlepriest, along with a few archers. They cautiously walked to the edge of the cliff and looked down into the abyss. Their eyes panned back and forth alertly, the archers having arrows at the ready. A few moments pass.
"A direct hit," remarked the priest. "Twas a nice shot."
"Do not underestimate him," replied the wizard.
"No sign of him here," called one archer.
"There! What's that?!" another archer yelled. They each pulled their bowstrings back, and took aim. The priest equipped his shield and reached into a bag of holding, pulling out a large mace which glowed blood red. The wizard muttered arcane words beneath his breath, his eyes glowing slightly.
A glimmer of light appeared within the darkness, a speck in comparison to the endless chasm. The archers held their breath in anticipation. Silence filled the air...but then the speck disappeared.
"What...?"
"GET DOWN!!!"
A barrage of ten missile storms flooded their ranks, searing holes into their flesh. An archer screamed as his extremities were torn from his torso. Another opened his mouth to scream, but could not, for a magic missile hit him directly in the throat. He fell back, squirming and clutching at his neck, suffocating in a matter of seconds from his collapsed larynx. The remaining archers fired their arrows blindly into the chasm.
"Save your arrows!" barked the priest. Silence fell across the cliff's edge once more.
The mage stood up from his hiding place, applying some salve to a missile burn. "Do not shoot unless you see him! Understood?"
The speck of light returned, though in a different spot. The two remaining archers hastily took aim, but waited.
A blur of green and gold flew past them, vertically from the chasm. The incredible flash of raw speed startled them. They looked up, and saw the Bearded Elf...levitating while twirling a feather in his hand.
"Oi, Lads, ye' need t'work on yer aim!" He spoke like a drunken arrogant Dwarf, and laughed boisterously.
"Come down, Sorcerer! Your luck has ended!" screamed the wizard. He hoped to distract the Elf long enough for his archers to have a clear shot.
"T'would be a shame if dat were true, Lad." The Elf hiccuped.
"Stop your nonsense you coward!" the priest yelled. The Elf's gaze turned to him, and briefly appeared cold and emotionless at the sight of the Spider Queen's champion. Shamoke then cheerfully smiled, his eyes lighting up with joy, and responded.
"Stop my nonsense? You may as well ask me to stop being dashingly handsome!" As if on cue, an archer screamed in agony and grabbed his face. Tye'ea the Pixie had gouged out his eyes. He stumbled about until his foot slipped, and he fell off the edge of the cliff to his death.
The last archer took aim and fired a shot, which Shamoke blocked with his energy shield, the Symbol of Mystra within it still shimmering despite the arrow's pierce.
The Wizard, waiting for a moment to strike, saw an opening from this and began chanting powerful arcane words. But before his spell could be finished, Tye'ea poked him in the throat with her dagger. He gasped, grabbed his throat, and swatted at her with his other hand, managing to hit her and send her flying into a rock, knocking her unconscious.
Seeing this, Shamoke screamed with an unmatched fury and thrust his hand outward toward the wizard. He flew down with amazing speed, scooped the wizard up by the throat, and carried him back up in the air, dangling him above the chasm. He gasped for air, clutching Shamoke's wrist. His eyes softened as he met Shamoke's gaze.
"Let...let me go...please..." he begged.
Shamoke grinned childishly.
"Okay!" He released his grip, and the Drow cried out as he fell into the dark pit. Shamoke watched him fall, never blinking, and laughed like a maniac...until an arrow pierced his side.
"Ughh!" he winced as he pulled the arrow out. "Forgot about that damned archer!" He spun around, and his chest piece glowed. It fired a projectile chicken at the archer.
Bounce...bounce...BOOM!!! The archer launched into the air as a result of the explosion, knocking him off the cliff. He did not scream. He accepted his fate with honor, despite it being a rather hilarious way to die.
"You have dispatched the weak. Now, come and face me, Coward!" taunted the priest. He had watched everything transpire silently, awaiting his turn.
Shamoke's head tilted with curiousity. "What's this? A Drow with honor? Two gross things in one!" He casually flew to the ground, conjuring his scimitar once more, and approached the Drow. The priest immediately cast darkness over them both.
"Well shite," muttered Shamoke, "I've been had."
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Apr 13, 2012 18:03:44 GMT -5
Shamoke turned to run out of the magical darkness, but was bashed by the cleric's shield and knocked to the ground. The priest flung his mace overhead and slammed it down, narrowly missing Shamoke as he rolled away. He jumped to his feet and ran, conjuring his staff as he hoped his direction was a good choice. He tapped a rune on the staff, granting himself True Seeing, only to see that he was about to run off the cliff! He skid to a halt and leaned back, flailing his arms to maintain balance so he would not fall over the edge. When he established his equilibrium, he quickly spun around, just in time to see the cleric charging at him.
The priest swung his mace overhead again, but Shamoke ducked and rolled to his left, away from the cliff's edge. He sprung to his feet gracefully from the roll and turned back to face the Priest of Lloth, taking to running backwards and keeping his enemy in sight. He dissipated his staff, and conjured his scimitar once more. The cleric rushed and challenged him again.
They engaged in a match of melee. The cleric's attacks were slow, but deadly. Shamoke loathed the thought of getting hit by that glowing mace. In turn, Shamoke's attack were quick, but dealt very little damage through the tough Drow armor. They seemed equally matched, until the Drow murmured a powerful magic, combined with a prayer.
A flash of red energy swirled around the priest. Shamoke could feel the power of the spell give the Drow supernatural strength. Shamoke wasted no time in casting of Finger of Death, but the cleric was immune to his powerful necromancy. Before Shamoke could react, the priest swung his mace down upon Shamoke, who lifted his energy shield to protect himself. The impact was so hard that it broke his forearm, and brought him to his knees. Shamoke screamed from the pain. The cleric smirked and swiped his mace sideways, slamming it into Shamoke's left triceps, shattering the bone and sending Shamoke flying. He rolled and grinded upon the ground, sliding to a halt near the cliff's edge.
Shamoke groaned and slowly stood. It was difficult without the use of his left arm. His energy shield fizzled and sparked and finally disappeared. The priest walked toward him slowly, confident in his victory. Shamoke dropped his scimitar, the blade ringing as it hit the stone. The priest laughed.
"Giving up?" he taunted.
Their cold gazes met. Shamoke let out a fearsome battlecry and charged toward the priest, who was slightly puzzled by this. As he went to swing, Shamoke dove onto the ground, sliding between the legs of the cleric, and punched him straight in the gonads. The cleric growled and hunched over. Shamoke, now behind the priest, kicked him in the back, knocking him to the ground near the edge of the cliff. Shamoke stood his ground and caught his breath. The priest's mace had a draining effect on Shamoke's body, and he grew tired. The cleric stood up and pointed at Shamoke with his mace.
"What's your plan, Elf? You going to push me off the cliff? Ha!"
Shamoke smiled. He raised his hand to the side. The cleric braced himself for a spell. But when Shamoke swiped his hand, no spell was cast. Instead, Shamoke's scimitar, which was laying near the cleric's feet, quickly flew behind the Drow and cut both his calcaneal (Achilles) tendons. The pain caused the cleric to yell and fall backward. He reached out and grabbed the cliff, dangling and screaming in pain. Shamoke walked to the edge and eyed him. The cleric calmed his screaming and spoke.
"So, it appears the wizard was wrong. Your luck has not yet ended."
"Luck had nothing to do with that. Sound Strategy." Shamoke mused. He held his hand out, the scimitar's hilt landing in it, and he cut the fingers off the Drow. The priest screamed as he fell into the darkness.
Shamoke walked over to Tye'ea, picked her up, and placed her into his pouch.
"Is it over?" she asked
"Yes, Tye'ea."
"Did we get 'em?"
"Yes, we got them. It's time to go home."
As if on cue, the ground rumbled beneath his feet. Shamoke turned back to the cliff to hear the sound of a powerful roar coming from the deep chasm.
"What in the Nine was that?"
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Apr 15, 2012 9:50:34 GMT -5
Horns arose from below the cliff, followed by a large scaly head. When the creature revealed itself above the chasm, Shamoke's question was answered: It was none other than a Shadow Dragon.
With every flap of the dragon's wings, the ground shook, and Shamoke's hair blew from the wind. He stood his ground in moderate disbelief. The creature perched itself upon the crag, towering over the Elf in all respects. Shamoke muttered to himself.
"Gorstag would not be pleased. I am ill prepared for this. That and I forgot bandages, as always. He'd slap me right now if he cou-" Shamoke's musings were cutoff by the dragon's roar, which echoed across the vast chasm. It eyed him closely, then spoke the Common tongue. His voice boomed with power.
"SO, YOU ARE THE ONE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE RAIN OF CORPSES UPON MY LAIR." Shamoke winced, but the dragon continued. "THANK YOU FOR YOUR CONTRIBUTIONS. I ENJOYED THE MEAL."
"Err. You're welcome. I was feeling generous, and I know how tasty Drow can be. I ate sun-dried Drow fingers once. Drow: It's what's for dinner!" Shamoke winked and gave the dragon a thumbs up. He then paused and clarified. "They were given to me by a lich...it's a long story."
The dragon laughed and licked his teeth. His neck slithered about, surveying Shamoke. "HUMOR EVEN IN THE FACE OF DEATH. YOUR SKILLS ARE IMPRESSIVE, ELF, AND THUS I HAVE GRANTED YOU A CONVERSATION BEFORE I FEAST UPON YOUR TASTY FLESH. WHAT SAY YOU?"
Shamoke's eyes looked around, suspicious of the Dragon's treachery, but he engaged the conversation to humor the dragon. If anything, it bought him some time.
"WHO ARE YOU? AND WHY IS AN ELF LIKE YOU BY HIMSELF DEEP WITHIN THE DARK?"
"I am Shamoke Feyleaf, High Mage of Erevan Ilesere, and Warden of the Hullack Forest. I hunt the Dhaerow because they are my enemy. I hunt them alone for many reasons that I need not go into details about." Shamoke eyed his armor briefly, and thought about those whom he loved back at home. "I am told an army of Traitors are marching toward the surface, so I am searching for evidence of this."
"HMM, YES. I HAVE WITNESSED THIS ARMY. IT WAS LARGE ENOUGH TO WHERE I MYSELF AVOIDED BEING SEEN." The dragon laughed. "THEY ARE NOT FAR FROM THE FOREST NOW."
Shamoke growled and clenched a fist.
"IT IS A SHAME THAT YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO HELP YOUR FRIENDS ON THE SURFACE. THOUGH, PERHAPS I WILL NOT FEAST UPON YOU. HMM, YES, PERHAPS I WILL MAKE YOU MY SLAVE. I COULD USE A POWERFUL SORCERER. YOU CAN RIDE ME AS I TERRORIZE THE DWELLINGS AND INHABITANTS OF THIS DARK ABYSS!"
"Kinky, though I am not sure I wish to 'ride you' and be your sex slave. Besides, I don't have any leather chaps." Shamoke took a step back.
The dragon roared, his breath spewing forth powerful negative energy overhead. Shamoke froze in place.
"Oh come on, that was funny."
"I MAKE YOU A GENEROUS OFFER AND YOU MOCK ME? YOU ARE EITHER ARROGANT WITH POWER, OR YOU ARE A COMPLETE IMBECILE."
"To be honest, it is probably a combination of the two."
"FINE THEN, I WILL EAT YOU, AND ADD THAT PRETTY ARMOR OF YOURS TO MY TREASURE!"
"Well, Mr. Dragon Sir, it's been lovely chatting with you. But I really must be going. Maybe I will come visit again soon, and take you up on that offer. I'll bring beer!" Shamoke turned and bolted, not letting the dragon respond.
A globe of darkness flew over him and settled on the ground to his front. The Dragon shadow walked and arose from the darkness, essentially teleporting itself in front of the Elf. Shamoke skid to a halt, and went to run, but saw that the dragon had already covered his trail with shadow globes. He was trapped in a circle of darkness.
He turned back around to face the dragon, but it was gone. Shamoke could hear the dragon's laughter from all around as it shadow walked freely about the darkness. There was no way for Shamoke to anticipate where the dragon would teleport next. The laughter stopped, and silence filled the air. Shamoke spun around alertly, searching for any trace of the dragon, but could see only darkness.
He felt a wave of negative energy behind him as the dragon breathed in to blast him with its breath weapon. Shamoke took out his eagle feather, uttered a quick incantation, and jumped into the air. He took flight and soared upward. Looking down he could see how he narrowly escaped the dragon's deadly breath.
The dragon arose from the darkness, twirling and taking flight in pursuit. It shot globes of darkness at him from all angles. Shamoke flew as fast as he could, but he knew there was no escape.
"Teleport, Shamoke, it's our only way out!" The female's voice echoed in his head.
"I can't! It requires too much focus!"
"Concentrate! Too many people depend on us! You can do it! We can get out of this!"
"Alright." He sighed.
Shamoke spun through the air and arced his direction downward to gain speed. He was headed straight for a tight group of stalagmites. He halted within the air, and turned to face the dragon. It was flying straight for him. He closed his eyes and began speaking the arcane words necessary for the spell. He heard the dragon roar, and felt the powerful breath approaching his body.
"Just a few more words," she said to him. Her voice was melodic and soothing.
Negative energy surrounded him, and he felt himself physically drained as his body was consumed in Shadowfire. His body flew backward from the shear force of the blast, toward the stalagmites. Inches from being impaled, he uttered the final arcane word, and his body vaporized amidst the negative energy of the breath.
The dragon blinked and spread its wings to try and stop himself, but it was too late. His own breath had obstructed his view of the ground. His eagerness to pursue the Elf was his downfall. The sharp, pointed rocks impaled his soft underbelly, and one stalagmite pierced under his jaw and into his brain. The cavern rumbled as the dragon's body collided with the rocky terrain, his body oozing dark blood from where he was perforated.
Shamoke's body crashed and tumbled across the ground of the Hullack, finally skidding to a halt in the middle of the Crossroads. He lay there unconscious on his back; his body broken, burnt, and smoldering.
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Post by Teneas on Apr 15, 2012 9:58:47 GMT -5
Leaves rustled near the largest tree at the crossing. Within a familiar spot, a nimble elf emerged. Keeping his eyes trained on the area, he approached the body. Pulling a scroll from his pack, he read it over the body, and then wrapped himself within his own cloak. To all the forest it would appear they had vanished. Moving under the guise of invisibility the sun elf lifted his wounded brother, and took his body to a place of safety.
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Apr 25, 2012 21:45:13 GMT -5
White light...it was all he could see. He squinted and lifted an arm to his face until his eyes could adjust. When he lowered his arm, he saw he was sitting on the beach. A lovely sun shined overhead, and the wind blew his hair from his face. He observed himself, and noted he was wearing his green suit once more.
He looked to his left, and saw her sitting next to him: That beautiful maiden with long hair who saved his life from the hands of the Drow Wizard. As his eyes came into focus, he saw her face. She was so stunning that he could hardly speak. Her freckleless, fair skin shined in the sun's rays. Her mesmerizing, golden eyes sparkled like the ocean itself. She smiled to him, and touched his cheeks with her soft hands. He leaned into her palms, never taking his gaze away from her, and asked:
"Are we dead?"
She giggled lightly.
"No, my champion, not yet. But know that when you die, I will die as well. We have become one now, our spirits conjoined. I live because you live. The Weave has allowed us to be connected so deeply now, that severing the bond will kill us both. You have grown weak from this battle, and therefore I am weak. When your spirit travels to Arvandor, I will follow, and my metal shell will turn to dust. I would not have it any other way."
"Sounds kinky."
She laughed again, and kissed him.
"'Humor even in the face of death,' said the Dragon. Nothing has ever been truer about you."
"Other than me being breathtakingly handsome."
She smiled once again.
"I finally remember..."
"Remember what?"
"My name."
"That is wonderful! What is it?"
"You know my thoughts. Tell me what my name is." She winked.
He looked her over a bit with a searching expression. His eyebrows suddenly rise, and he smiles brightly. They embrace one another tightly.
Deep within the Hullack...
Shamoke's body shakes violently as positive energy counteracts the negative energy in his blood. Color returns to his face as Nakiasha's divine spells cleanse him of toxins. As she chants and prays, Shamoke's armor appears more lively and vibrant.
He jolts up and gasps.
"SHITE! FECKING SHADOW DRAGON!!!" he manages to scream, before collapsing back onto the table he lay upon. He breathes heavily, his body drenched in sweat. A cold, damp cloth rests upon his head, and he falls into a deep sleep.
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Post by elvishnation on Apr 27, 2012 16:23:46 GMT -5
Nakiasha shakes her head, and wipes his forehead with a damp cloth before picking him up gently and taking him to a room with two beds. She lays him on one of them, tends to him gently she starts to try and pull his clothing off, but stops abruptly and eyes it narrowing her eyes then leaves it alone. Softly she murmurs.
"My dearest brother what trouble have you gotten yourself into this time. Rest now, allow the father's blessings and word to fill your mind and heal you entirely."
She continues to sponge bathe what she can of him, and lays down in the other bed, wanting to stay near him till he's recovered.
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on May 7, 2012 21:57:47 GMT -5
Many hours pass as the High Mage of Erevan slumbers.
His body, aside from breathing, hardly moves as time goes by. As healing magic is cast on him, he twitches slightly from the cleansing. His peaceful sleep is periodically interrupted by groans, screams, moans, and laughter.
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He dreams of the past in sporadic flashbacks...
Arriving in Cormyr from Amn, a novice sorcerer with no knowledge of the Seldarine or the Old Ways trots into Greatgaunt. His beard earned him the distrust of the Elves at first, and he struggled to make allies.
Shamoke befriends a band of Dwarves of Clan Oghrann, led by one called Thordbard, and embracing them as his first family.
Thordbard leads Shamoke North of Greatgaunt to meet his close friend and ally, Strategist Gorstag Redsteel. Upon Thordbard's insisting, Gorstag reluctantly takes Shamoke on an adventure with his two other companions, sorceress Vorel Lorak and the Helmite paladin Gerard Rakurno. The air was filled with distrust, especially from the sorceress.
Various memories of the humorous banter between Gorstag and Shamoke.
Shamoke finally earns the trust of Vorel, and the two mages grow very close.
As part of a large adventuring party within the Necropolis, Shamoke observes a paladin practically lose his mind as he slays hundreds of undead with his sword. His disgust...his rage...it would not end until each abomination was destroyed. It was comical. It was beautiful. It was the start of a great friendship with none other than Justicar Kain Phalanx.
Within a house of Suzail, a flash of light fills the room. When Shamoke's vision returned, there stood a lich in a suit. Robert Cadalanter III, Necro Bob.
Back in Suzail's inn, the Wailing Wheel, Thril and Alindariel (an Elven couple) teach Shamoke of Erevan Ilesere. Thril proclaimed that Shamoke's heart was always Erevan's, even though he had not known of him until right then.
Shamoke witnesses Magius, the old mage of Mystra, fly over a river. Shamoke then spent the next three days learning the spell for himself.
Teneas, a Sun Elf, pierces Shamoke's ear, welcoming him as a Warden of the Hullack.
He had finally caught him. Aris Norman, the fugitive, lay tied up in Skull Crag. Shamoke laughed in his victory, but it did not last. The ground shook and portals began opening up all over the city. Balors poured forth like cockroaches. One of them swooped down and picked up Aris, taking him through a portal. Shamoke was left to fight the hundreds of demons alone.
Deep in the Underdark, Shamoke and company find themselves overwhelmed, under-supplied, and exhausted. They had been tracking the Matron Mother for days, and finally came upon her lair. She vanished through a portal, leaving a Shadow Dragon to destroy them all. The Purple Dragons fought it, but were quickly being dispatched in a matter of seconds. In a last resort, Shamoke uttered a Finger of Death and pointed at the Dragon. It gasped, and fell dead instantly. The whole group, including Shamoke, stood dumbfounded. "PRAISE TYMORA!" screamed Strategist Redsteel.
Outside Thunderstone's inn, Vorel appears before Shamoke. She tells him that she is with child, and announces that her and Gerard (now her husband) will be retiring. She gives Shamoke her staff, touches his cheek and says her parting words: "I will miss you Shamrock, my little Clover." She then disappears with teleport spell. Shamoke's eyes swell with tears and he returns to the inn.
"Zeekinate." The phrase echoed in his head, but no flashback occurred. Probably for the best.
Various memories of pranks and practical jokes with Lustig, Shamoke's partner in crime and High Priest. In one particular memory, Shamoke casts a Timestop spell, sprints through Greatgaunt, and spanks Zodika, High Whip Mistress of Loviatar. "Gods bless your name," whispered Lustig after learning what happened.
Shamoke arrives in Suzail's market square, and spots Cald Ashall, Silverstring. He approaches the bard, looks him up and down. "Nice suit, but it's missing something." He then pins an Elf Friend token on Cald's vest.
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"She is waiting for you..." the voice echoes in his head. He feels the sensation of a hand in his. He recognizes her touch, and grips her hand gently. His eyes flutter as he awakens. He looks to her, and smiles.
"Eil'lia..."
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Post by elvishnation on May 9, 2012 3:43:38 GMT -5
*Naki has left having been called off to other dire things*
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Jul 9, 2012 21:46:19 GMT -5
Within the town of Greatgaunt, a bright flash occurs, and the ground slightly rumbles with impact. Dust covers the area near Frubo, who continues playing relentlessly. When the cloud settles, there kneels the Bearded Elf.
He slowly stands, his back cracking in a few places. He wipes some blood off his lip, and stretches. More pops are heard from various bones and joints. It was clear he had been through a vicious battle. His mithril armor shines brightly through the dust, the golden metal reflecting the sun's rays with elegance. It shimmers slightly, and he directs his attention to the chest plate.
"Of course it was worth it! It gives me great pleasure to collect the scale of a Shadow Dragon that I defeated single-handedly."
The armor constricts slightly.
"Alright fine, you helped!" he laughs. "It was a good thing we went down there prepared to face it again; for even though the shadow dragon was already dead, that purple wyrm was quite an adversary after all those Duergar. I think I've had my fill of the Underdark for awhile."
The Elf pauses to look around. He scans the crowd for familiar faces, seeing mostly the newer adventurers. His gaze settles upon a red-haired lass dressed in dark green. She smiles as they make eye contact.
The Elf gasps and throws a hand over his mouth before dashing toward her. He scoops her up, twirls her about, and plants multiple kisses all over her face.
"Cheeky Elf!" she laughs between the smooches.
"My dear sweet Fynn, how I have missed you!"
Their excitement comes to an abrupt end when Bentin comes stomping over.
"Oi! Stop scarin' the locals with yer magic!" he yells from a distance.
They look to him, look to each other, laugh, then plant a playful kiss upon the lips of one another. Glitter and sparkles flutter about them in a blinding fashion, and they vanish. Instead, two pixies fly forth from the spectacle, plant kisses on Bentin's cheeks, and flutter away. He swats after them to no avail.
For the next few hours, local adventurers are seen flinching and recoiling as kisses are planted on their faces from random angles, with little evidence as to where the perpetrators escaped. Their bums are also given flirty pinches.
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Jul 28, 2012 17:32:39 GMT -5
A skeleton, adorned in tattered robes and dulled jewelry, emerges from the canopy of the King's Forest. He soars high into the air, staff in hand and sapphire eyes glowing brightly. Blue flames atop his skull dance and flicker in the wind. His cloak had formed a pair of black-feathered wings, which carry him toward his destination. He cackles madly as he casually flies southwest toward the Mouth of the Stormhorns.
"I am finally free from my prison within the depths! Cormyr will burn to the ground!"
Back in the King's Forest, near the waterfall which conceals an abandoned temple, smoke rises from the treetops. Underneath the canopy, the earth is scorched and dredged, the stone walls scarred by various arcane spells. A great battle had taken place here between two powerful mages for what appears to be almost an hour. The Bearded Elf sits propped up against the towering stone, covered in debris and rubble. His head hangs as one does when struggling to remain conscious. His breaths are painful for him, and he watches his blood stain the rocks which cover him. He struggles to move, but the weight of the debris has him trapped.
"All is lost..." he sighs to himself.
"We mustn't give up!" the armor's voice resonates in his head. "Zothor will destroy every village he lays his eyes upon! Keep trying!"
"Alright...I'll try. Can't let him...destroy the pubs..."
He groans and pushes at the rocks which cover him. His arms shake as he tries to lift the heavy stones, but the weight is too great and they collapse back upon him. He grunts, exhales, and finally loses consciousness.
//The hour-long battle the two mages had would have attracted the attention of the city of Waymoot, and any others nearby. Please feel free to get any of your pc's involved.
//or let Shamoke bleed out, whichever you prefer <3
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Post by jensmann on Jul 29, 2012 7:54:33 GMT -5
Wondering what disturbed him in his month long meditation, the red haired elf sets out to investigate what disrubted the harmoney of this part of the Kings Forest.
Looking down on the stones that bury the beared elf. He closes his eyes and starts to chant a prayer. A moment later the earth moves from itself and walks away from the elves and the elemental crumbles as it is released.
"Now to get you back on your feet." Isendir kneels down and prays to the Leaflord for this ones recovery. The beared elf wounds heal solowy thansk to the regeneration spell, and as he awakes the red haired elf had already left. Only a bottle of wine and some berries are left behind for the weakened elf.
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Jul 29, 2012 15:26:32 GMT -5
Shamoke's eyes flutter as his mind drifts in and out of consciousness. He sees fuzzy images of Isendir and a stone golem before losing himself again to exhaustion.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
He opens his eyes to find himself standing amidst the familiar white light, dressed once again in his green suit. She stands next to him with a peaceful smile, her golden eyes unable to be resisted.
"I can see your memories like they are my own." she says.
"If only we could see all of yours." he replies.
She nods solemnly.
"Remember this?"
The white lights blurs into various colors as a memory comes to life around them. The feeling of extreme cold covers Shamoke's limbs. He shivers and tugs his coat to cover his neck, realizing where he is.
"Icingdwell..."
An image of three figures starts to appear before him, the sounds of clashing steel and battlecries fill the air:
The first figure is a younger Shamoke, though a bit more prepared for the extreme climate of the mountain peaks. The young Shamoke leans heavily on his staff, watching the other two figures. He yells and shakes his fist, though he does not interfere in their duel.
The other two figures take shape:
The one on the right, dressed in shiny silver full plate, is revealed to be Justicar Kain Phalanx. He wields a longsword and a shield. He fights with discipline and finesse, but holds himself back, tortured by his own convictions.
The one on the left, adorned in black full plate, is revealed to be an ex-Banite blackguard. He too holds a shield, but wields a large morningstar. He fights with vengeance, hatred, and determination.
"That man..." she pauses, " he renounced Bane before going on his quest?"
"He renounced all the gods when he chose to pursue the Frozenfire, the artifact which absorbs souls and grants their power to the wielder."
"His wife and daughter...they were trapped in the gem?"
"Yes, trapped there by the doing of his brother, a lich known as the Bringer of Blight. Kain was chosen by Kelemvor to retrieve the Frozenfire as a means to settle a debt, but this man beat us to it after we defeated the lich. He sought to destroy it and thereby 'avenge' his family."
"He would not listen to reason and hand it over to Kelemvor?"
"No, he would not. He was prideful. He knew we were right, but he saw destroying the gem, or death, as the only way his quest was to end. Regardless of our intentions, if he handed over the gem, it would mean, in his eyes, that he had not given his all to save them. It was his quest, and he refused to share it."
They silence themselves as the battle wages on.
Kain appears to be bested. But each time he goes to fall, the blackguard would simultaneously grab him, heal him, and strike him once more.
"Come on, Holy Man, I demand your best if you are to fight me! Stop holding back and KILL ME!!!" His demands were more like pleas. Tears flow from the eyes of the three figures as the fight wages on.
With a tormented cry, Kain knocks the man back with his shield, charges forward, and thrusts his sword into his opponent's chest. The blackguard falls to his knees as Kain removes the sword. He struggles to breathe as more tears flow freely down his cheeks.
"T...Take the...Frozenfire...b...back to Kelemvor...*cough*...and you tell him...you tell him that I did everything...everything...in my power...to save my family..." He coughs, nods to the images of Shamoke and Kain, and falls over dead.
"So sad..." she whispers to Shamoke, hugging him and shielding her eyes from the scene. "I showed you this memory because I wanted you to realize something."
"Realize what?"
"That your current path is not Kain's path. He chose you to go with him, because he knew he could not survive the journey alone. He recognized his weaknesses, and saw your strengths as a means to balance him. He trusted you, not only as a friend, but as a comrade. He trusted you with his life. If you cannot learn to trust others again, then your path is that of the Blackguard, ending only in death."
Shamoke blinks, stunned at her words. He contemplates everything, looking at the scene in detail: A dead man lays, with a crying paladin's forehead on his chest. The image of Shamoke walks over, and places a hand Kain's shoulder.
Shamoke turns to her and kisses her forehead.
"Thank you, now let me show you something as well."
The scenery fades and is replaced with a grassy cemetery in Thunderstone. The images of Shamoke and Kain return to Lorelei, priestess of Kelemvor, and with them the Frozenfire.
Upon handing the gem to her, Lorelei's body begins to levitate as a greyish light surrounds her. Her eyes glow a dull purple. She opens her mouth, but the voice that projects is not hers. Its deep, low tone makes the ground rumble beneath their feet.
"Your debt has been paid, Justicar Phalanx. Your sacrifice this day will not be forgotten, and has been met with the gift of my forgiveness. But should you offer yet another sacrifice, I will impart to you two another gift. Justicar, you value your armor more than any other possession. Cast it away, and your sacrifice shall be rewarded. And you, the Elf called Shamoke, you value precious metals above all else in the world. Cast away all your gold, all your mithril, and all your adamantine, and your sacrifice shall be rewarded."
Kain readily discards his armor, but the young Shamoke hesitates before finally giving in.
"Yet another sacrifice has been made. Behold, I gift to you sight beyond mortal sight." Kelemvor points behind them, and a portal opens like a window into another world. Kain and Shamoke approach it, and peer inside.
"Behold, you look beyond the Veil, and into the Realm of the Dead."
The sight was unlike anything they had ever seen. A feeling of peace enveloped them, as if death's very arms had embraced them. Amidst the amazing sight, a scene appears before them:
A mother and her daughter are greeted by a man. The woman, surprised, holds her hand to her chest, and runs over to him. They embrace and kiss with long lost passion. They turn to the daughter, hesitant and shy, untrusting of the figure at first. She then jumps with excitement, and runs to him. He lifts her, twirls her, and the three of them together embrace. As they walk away into oblivion, the man lags behind and turns around, eyeing Kain and Shamoke. He nods, smiles to them, and continues on, the scene fading and the portal closing.
"Know this, Justicar, you saved the man's family. Had he succeeded in destroying the Frozenfire, he would have destroyed their very souls, never to see them again. Your sacrifice allowed him to be reunited with them. Go now, Justicar."
Lorelei's feet return to the ground, the light around her fading, and her eyes return to normal. She looks at them puzzled, unaware of what transpired. The memory fades back into bleak whiteness, until it is just Shamoke and his armor's avatar once more.
"You saw the face of Kelemvor, looked into his eyes, heard his voice...felt it, and saw into the Realm of the Dead!" she yells, surprised.
"All in a day's work!" he bluffs.
"Thank you for sharing that with me, Shamoke."
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Shamoke's eyes flutter and he breathes in sharply. He sits up with a stir, and looks around the King's Forest. He notes the berries, eats them, and quaffs the wine at his side.
"You have friends and allies, Shamoke. Do not push them away. Do not make all the sacrifices on your own. Share them. Some paths are meant to be walked alone, but not all. I fear that next time you will not be so lucky should you choose poorly."
"Thank you for revealing my path to me. Remind me to find Isendir and thank him for the wine."
With a quick arcane whisper, green flame encompasses Shamoke, and he vanishes.
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Jul 30, 2012 21:07:25 GMT -5
As quickly as the flames signal his departure, the green flash foreshadows his arrival into Waymoot. He peers around alertly, looking for signs of death and destruction, but sees nothing out of the ordinary. He questions a few locals, asking if they had seen a winged skeleton flying about. Most of them laughed or thought he was insane. He leans against a post and thinks.
"Waymoot is the closest village to the waterfall, so why did he not come here? Suzail makes no sense. Zothor would not make it past the War Wizards, and he is not that insane to my knowledge." He was stumped.
"Reflect on your meeting with him, Shamoke. Maybe there is a clue there."
Shamoke nods to his armor and shuts his eyes, thinking deeply.
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"Inform the Matron Mother that we found him." ordered a Drow commander. A scout nods and runs out of the cavern. The commander, along with a wizard, stays to observe their finding.
In front of them, at the cave's end, was a large crystal formation. Within the crystal, one could see the glowing eyes of Zothor. The beautiful, sparkling rock had been his prison for over a hundred years. He was unable to move, and unable to speak. The tale of how he came to be trapped was unknown to the Drow populace. The mage approaches the crystal, and extends his hand to touch it, but his wrist is snatched by the commander.
"Do not meddle, Wizard. We await orders from the Matron Mother."
"She is your Matron Mother, not mine."
The commander gasps and reaches to grab his sword, but is blasted by a barrage of magic missiles. He flies back into the cavern wall, ricochets, and falls to the ground. His body remains motionless. The mage laughs, and turns to the frozen lich.
"Now your knowledge shall be mine." He holds up his staff and chants a few words. Starfire launches from his staff and into the crystal, which begins to slowly dissolve. He cackles maniacally as his mission nears being accomplished, but his laughs are drowned by gurgles as a flaming arrow pierces his neck. He falls to his knees and turns around.
"I thought I smelled something ugly!" Shamoke jests as he enters the cave.
The mage breaks the arrow and pulls it through, his flesh sizzling. His body cripples in agony.
"Now then, what are you sneaky Dhaerow up to this time?" Shamoke inspects the crystal, noting the lich. "Well well, what do we have here?"
"DIE!" The wizard screams as he downs a healing potion and casts a spell. Shamoke spins around to counter it, but is too late, and is sent flying through the air by a green fist. His body collides with the cavern ceiling, and then with the floor. He grunts at his landing.
Forgetting about the Elf momentarily, the wizard turns his attention back to the crystal, and resumes his staff's blasting. Shamoke groans, shaking his head, and looks up from the soil. He conjures his own staff, and thrusts a magic bolt at the wizard. The wizard is in turn blasted into the cavern wall, his bones cracking on impact. He slowly slides to a sitting position against the wall, blood trickling from his mouth. Shamoke stands and approaches him.
"Didn't your mother teach you to not play with liches? They are nothing but troub-." His lecture is interrupted by a powerful arcane word from behind him, setting off a massive crystal explosion. Shamoke dives behind a stalagmite and peers over it. The lich's head had been freed from the crystal, and he was able to cast a spell to free himself the rest of the way.
"Z...Zothor..." coughs the Drow. "Your humble servant is h-!!!" his words are ended by a death spell from the lich.
"Thank you, my humble dead servant who I have never met." The lich laughs, and walks out of the cave. Shamoke runs after him, but when he arrives at the cave entrance, the lich is nowhere to be found. After a few moments of searching, Shamoke looks up to see him flying away with a pair of bird wings. Shamoke casts a spell, and takes flight after him.
"Git back here!" screams the Elf, hurling spells at the lich, who deflects and ignores them all. "Stop that! I don't like being ignored! Pay attention to meeeee!!!"
The chase leads up a tunnel in the Upperdark ceiling. They weave in and out of the narrow passageway, which leads them through a hole in the floor of an abandoned temple. The lich passes through a door like a ghost. Shamoke faceplants into it.
"That's not funny..." he grumbles, and goes to open the door, but it's locked. "Now I'm pissed." He kicks open the door and charges out of the temple, running through a waterfall and finding himself in the King's Forest. He looks up again to see the lich flying toward the canopy. He focuses, and launches an Undeath to Death spell ahead of the flying skeleton.
The golden blast of positive energy brings the lich to a halt. He twirls around abruptly, extends his boney hand, chants an arcane word, and vanishes. He reappears directly in front of Shamoke, grips his throat with the extended hand, and lifts him off the ground. Shamoke kicks and flails his feet to no avail, and grabs at the lich's wrist. The skeleton's voice is raspy and low.
"You dare cast such spells at the likes of me, Elf?! I am Zothor, and you will die for your insolence!"
"I...*gack*...disagree." Shamoke reaches a hand into his bag of holding, and grips a staff. He shuts his eyes and chants an arcane word, activating Tenser's Transformation. His body twists and convulses as it changes shape into a hideous killing machine, his neck so large the lich can no longer maintain his grip. The beast swings his sword at the lich, who launches himself back twenty paces, landing gracefully on the ground once more. Shamoke transforms back to his normal self.
"Now why did you go and make me do that? I hate transforming into something gross. I'm too pretty to be doing that sort of thing."
The lich says nothing, only stares. Shamoke stares back, unblinking. Several minutes pass. Not a sound is made.
Shamoke flicks his left wrist, and his energy shield appears, humming and thrumming loudly in the peaceful forest. The lich takes a step back and repulses.
"A Mystran?!" he questions.
Shamoke gives him a puzzled expression and looks to the shield, realizing the symbol of Mystra shimmering in the middle. "Oh, no, it was a gif-"
"DIE MYSTRAN!!!" the lich yells as he throws a fireball spell. Shamoke ducks and raises his shield. The fireball explodes on impact with the shield, sending sparks and flames in all directions around the Elf.
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"He certainly did not like Mystrans for some reason..."
"Shamoke! Mystra's Grove!"
"Feck! Shallybrook!"
Green flames, and he is gone.
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Aug 4, 2012 9:00:51 GMT -5
Shamoke's teleport brings him within the inn of Shallybrook.
"Am I too late?" he questions himself, and looks around. Halflings chat and laugh and drink with one another. Everything seems peaceful.
Shamoke makes his way to the door, opens it and walks outside. She shuts the door behind him, and peers into the sky.
"Am I wrong again?"
A tiny dot in the sky appears. It moves with incredibly speed. It makes its way to the center of the Hin town, and hovers. Shamoke squints and focuses on it, and much to his dismay, it is Zothor, wings flapping.
Zothor casts many protective spells, laughs, then speaks loudly.
"I am free! Free to seek vengeance on those who imprisoned me!"
Panic ensues.
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Aug 5, 2012 20:50:44 GMT -5
The Hin citizens of Shallybrook run and hide within their homes. The shops lock up, and the guards muster to their formations. All the while, the lich laughs menacingly.
"This precious village will be destroyed, and with it the Mystrans of the Grove!"
The lich raises his boney hand to the sky, and chants powerful arcane words. The sky above him swirls and darkens. Spherical masses start to form within the clouds, taking on a fiery appearance. Indeed, the lich was speaking the words of Meteor Storm.
But before he can finish, a figure flies toward him from the surface. It is Shamoke, flying with a speed he had never flown before. He conjures his shield and sword, and collides with the lich midair. The sky returns to normal, and the fiery balls dissipate as the spell is interrupted. The two figures are seen trading melee blows throughout the sky, twirling and falling and rising again like two birds fighting.
Shamoke strikes overhead with his sword, the lich blocking it with his staff. Zothor kicks Shamoke in his chest, sending him downward toward the ground. Shamoke slows himself down before colliding with the hard surface, and charges back up. Zothor points his staff at the Elf, and launches a spell. Shamoke raises his energy shield to protect himself, but the spell is one of Bigby's fists. It grabs him, and drags him to the ground, dust rising where his body crashes into Shallybrook, leaving a small crater where he lay.
Shamoke opens his eyes to see Zothor casting Meteor Storm again. Still laying on the ground, he casts Mordenkainen's Disjunction. The white ball of light leaves his hand and flies toward the lich. It collides with his skeletal body, stripping him of all magical properties, including the wings on his back. His spell is once again interrupted as he free-falls to the earth, splashing into the water right next to the bridge into the mountain. Shamoke rises to his feet, and walks over to the water. He looks about but sees nothing.
The water bubbles and boils as a burst of magic flies right at Shamoke's face, which he barely dodges. When he looks back to the water, he sees Zothor emerge, carried by a water elemental. With a quick arcane word, his wings reappear and he flies off to Mystra's Grove. Shamoke goes to chase, but is blasted back by the water elemental. Dripping wet, he slowly picks himself up. But before he can strike, he hears the battlecries of Hin soldiers as they charge the elemental.
"Go, stop the lich!" the sheriff yells. With a quick nod, Shamoke takes flight over Mystra's Grove, and charges down through the canopy.
He finds Zothor, launching fireballs throughout the Grove. Shamoke lands behind him, and observes the destruction. He sees the lich walking toward a familiar place that he holds dear, the waterfall where Gerard and Vorel were married by Gorstag. Unwilling to accept damage to that part of the Grove, Shamoke lets out a blood-curdling scream and runs at the lich. Zothor spins around, walking backward, and launches spell after spell at the Elf.
What spells he can dodge, he does. What spells he can counter, he does. Spells in which he can do neither, he takes to his shield. When the shield breaks, sparking and fizzling out, he takes the remaining spells to his body. The lich, backed up against the waterfall, Wails like a Banshee as a last resort. Shamoke, body torn and burnt from spells, hesitates but continues walking. The wind from the wail blows his hair back, the skin on his face rippling from the aggressive current. He squints and presses through the spell, until he finally stands face to face with the lich.
"Impossible! No Elf's body is that resilient!" Zothor barks, his sapphire eyes shining in defiance.
"Yes well, if you haven't noticed yet, I am a lot different than most Elves."
Shamoke smiles charmingly, grabs the face of the lich, presses his skull through the waterfall (which extinguishes his flaming hair) and up against the rocky wall. He casts a maximized Undeath to Death spell. Positive energy explodes forth from his hand, surrounding them both in a blinding display.
When the light fades, there stands only Shamoke. He pulls his hand back from the waterfall and looks into it. The lich's sapphire eyes sit in his palm. He smirks.
"Arrogant lich. You have two phylacteries, and you carry them both on you? You should have taken a Lichdom course with Cadalanter." He begins to cast a spell, but stops himself, looking to his breastplate then back to the jewels. He studies them more closely.
"Hmm, if I were to have tried to destroy these just now, I would have been slain by these protective magics. You were right, my dearest, not all parts of the path need to be walked alone." He strolls through the grove, extinguishing flames as he passes them, and arrives at the entrance to the temple of Mystra. He takes a deep breath, and steps into the portal.
Upon being transported, he takes a few steps inside the temple, only to have multiple staffs pointed at him, ready to fire.
"Stop!" orders Talinnita, priestess of Mystra. "He's a friend."
Shamoke smiles and approaches her. "It has been too long, Talinnita. I am in need of you once more. I have two favors I must ask of you."
"You saved us from the wrath of Zothor. What do you wish of me?"
Shamoke presents the two sapphires.
"See to it that these phylacteries are destroyed. They require divine methods that I am incapable of."
"Very well, and your other request?"
Shamoke holds out his left arm.
"Fix my shield."
She inspects the damage.
"By all the Lady's Mysteries, what have you done to it this time?!"
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While the two deeds are being handled, Shamoke stays in Shallybrook for a few days. He mostly sits outside the inn at a table, enjoying the sun's warmth. Locals periodically visit him. They kiss his hands, give him Hinhugs, buy him food and drinks, or offer blessings. He accepts all the attention with his charming smile and flirty winks.
A Hin child timidly approaches him on his last day in the village. Her words are soft and reserved.
"Umm, excuse me, but are you Shamoke?"
"That I am, my dear. What can I do for you?"
"Umm, well, I was wondering if you accepted the challenge that I heard about."
"Challenge? What challenge?"
"They say the archwizard, Lustig Luther Latherion, has challenged you to a duel to the death."
"Has he now?" Shamoke chuckles. He stands, and kisses the Hin on the forehead.
"Tell your friends that I accepted."
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Shamoke
Old School
The beard will consume you!
Posts: 295
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Post by Shamoke on Sept 18, 2012 22:33:19 GMT -5
Deep within the Hullack, a Drow mage moves his hands throughout the air, murmuring powerful arcane words. The air cracks loudly as the dark spell is cast.
Shamoke, with hasted speed, runs and weaves through trees in search of the one Drow who escaped his attack. The others fell rather easily, but this one was resourceful. He rounds a corner and halts abruptly, leaving a skid trail across the forest floor. His eyes widen as he sees a fiery portal open between two large oaks.
"You're too late Elf!" laughs the Drow mage. "The ritual is complete!"
Indeed, Shamoke had arrived at the scene merely seconds after the final arcane word was uttered. Emerging out of the flaming rift, a large Balor cackles darkly.
"Demon!" orders the mage. "I command you! Slay the Bearded Elf!"
The demon simply cackles louder, standing upright as the portal closes.
"What are you waiting for? I order you to kill him!"
"SILENCE!" screams the Balor, letting out a roar so fierce that the ground shakes. He conjures a mighty greatsword, and slices the Drow in half at the waist. The Drow barely has time to scream as his soul is purged from his body and absorbed into the sword. The black sword emits a vibrant red glow as it does so.
"Well, that was amusing. I'll be going now. See you later!" remarked Shamoke.
"YOU'RE NEXT, ELF! MY BLADE THIRSTS FOR YOUR BLOOD!" The Demon's presence makes the air around its body distorted and wavy from the heat.
"I was afraid you might say such. You Demons really should learn to be more diplomatic. You would be vanquished a lot less frequently."
The Demon roars and charges the Elf, who conjures his energy shield and scimitar. The Demon swings his sword overhead, Shamoke rolling forward to dodge it. Shamoke strikes upward to stab the Balor, but the Demon jumps back to avoid being impaled. The Demon swings his sword sideways. Shamoke raises his shield in an arching motion, slightly deflecting the sword over his head. He jumps into the air, landing on the Balor's arm, and runs up to its shoulder. He slices downward at the Demon's head, but is punched by the Demon's left hand, his strike ricocheting off the Demon's horn. Shamoke, knocked off the Demon's shoulder, tumbles onto the ground and rolls to his feet. The Demon charges him again.
Shamoke quickly drops his sword and casts Bigby's Forceful Hand, sending a giant green fist at the demon in a bull rush fashion. The Demon runs through the spell, the fist dissipating.
"...Feck." mutters the Elf as he is pummeled in the stomach by the Demon's shoulder, his body dangling over the Balor's back. The Balor, however, keeps running. Shamoke weakly turns his head to see a rock wall approaching. The Demon roars as he is about to crush Shamoke between his shoulder and the rock formation. Shamoke hastily grabs the Demon's horn and pulls himself onto its back. He looks forward to see the stone wall within ten paces (which, in Demon paces, is more like two). He instinctively jumps off the Balor and to the side, the Demon turning itself to grab the Elf, but they both collide into the rocks. The crash from the Demon's large and powerful body causes rocks to rain down upon them.
The forest grows very still as the dust settles. A few rocks move, and a beaten and bloody Elf emerges from the rubble. He stumbles in a random direction, not cognizant of his surroundings. He falls to the ground, and loses consciousness.
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A young, pre-bearded Shamoke sits in a jail cell in Athkatla, being viewed by himself in 3rd person.
"You thought you were going to die here?" his armor's voice echoes in his mind.
"I wanted to." he replies.
"Why?"
In response to her question, the scenery changes to that of a beautiful and elegant mansion. Shamoke is seen pleading with a dazzling human woman to come away with him.
"She was engaged to an aristocrat. I couldn't bear the thought of him having her. I loved her more than anything else in the world then. I gave up the Shadow Thieves' trials for her."
Shamoke pleas and pleas, but she continues to say no, despite her eyes having affection for him. In a last resort, he pulls her to him and kisses her, but just as he does so, her fiance walks in.
"Oh no," the armor whispers. "He thought you two were having an affair."
"Exactly."
The aristocrat draws his rapier and charges Shamoke, who is caught off guard. He bests Shamoke, disarming him, and knocks him to the ground. He sheathes his rapier, and picks up Shamoke's scimitar, attempting to kill the Elf with his own blade. But before he can strike the killing blow, the woman grabs his arm to stop him. In his rage, he turns around and stabs her in the heart. His eyes soften as he realizes what he has done. She gasps for air and falls back, the sword sliding out of her body as she collapses on the tiled floor. The aristocrat drops the sword and goes to catch his fiance.
Shamoke lets out a blood-curdling cry, and leaps to his feet. He picks up his sword and charges the aristocrat, who is now the one caught off guard. He cuts off the aristocrat's hand, and slices his throat, kicking him in the chest and knocking him to the ground. Shamoke then watches the two humans reach for each other, holding hands as they bleed out and die. The scenery changes back to the jail cell.
"Gods, that is so sad, Shamoke. For so many years, you blamed yourself for their deaths."
"Yes. I interfered with true love that day, and this is what resulted. I waited there until the authorities arrived, and they took me to jail."
"How did you escape?"
"Watch."
The cell door opens, and a guard appears in the doorway. The young Shamoke stands to await his fate.
"Some evidence went missing, and what they did have was tampered with. You cannot be convicted. You're free to go."
As Shamoke leaves, he notices in his peripheral that the guard's eyes were a Fey-like purple.
The armor gasps. "That was Erevan wasn't it?!"
"I did not realize it until I spent some time reflecting in Cormyr. I assumed it was the Shadow Thieves. I did not follow the Seldarine then. When Thril and Alindariel told me of Erevan and his appearance, I remembered this. They told me that my heart was always Erevan's, even though I did not believe. He gave me a second chance. A chance to start a new life, and become what I am today."
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Shamoke awakens, and groans as he struggles to his feet. He rubs his head and turns around. He sees the Demon open a portal and walk through it. Without hesitation, the Elf sprints toward the closing portal, and dives in.
He appears high in the sky above the Bramblewood, and instantly screams as he starts falling. He covers his mouth as he notices the Demon below him, flapping its flaming wings and levitating above the canopy. Shamoke composes himself, and positions his body to crash into the Balor. Seconds before impact, Shamoke let's out a battlecry:
"CANNONBALLLLLLLLLLL!!!"
The demon spins around, and Shamoke crashes into its chest, sending them both spiraling down toward the forest. Shamoke climbs the demon's chest, grabs both of its horns, and pulls its face to look him in the eyes. The demon clutches the Elf's body, and squeezes. Shamoke can feel his bones start to crack, but he keeps his grip on the Demon's horns, meeting its fiery gaze.
The Elf's eyes turn a milky, pale white as negative energy surrounds the two of them. It collects into Shamoke's mouth, and fills his lungs. He shuts his mouth briefly, containing the energy. He tilts his head sadistically at the Balor.
"I will rend your soul," the Elf whispers, and then let's out an ear-piercing wail. The demon roars as his very soul is thrust from his body and sent back to the abyss. His corpse however, keeps a firm grip on the Elf.
Shamoke's eyes return to normal as he begins prying the Demon's fingers from around his body.
"Hurry Shamoke!"
"I'm trying! This would be much easier if we weren't spinning!"
"Look out!!!" The Elf and the Demon crash through the canopy of the Bramblewood. As their bodies hit the ground, the Demon's corpse explodes, sending embers in all directions.
Rising from the flame, the bearded Elf walks unscathed out of the fire, having some form of elemental protection surrounding him. He goes to cast a spell, but stops himself, turning back to the demon's body. He pulls out a cigar, places the stem in his mouth, and lights it off of the demonic corpse, puffing slowly. He then recasts his spell, ice falling from above, extinguishing the flames.
"You've been Shamoke'd."
He turns around, noticing a group of adventurers, and approaches them.
"Am I late for the party?" he grins, and blows a smoke ring.
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