Post by Thrym on Jan 17, 2009 15:39:33 GMT -5
His eyes shot around, quickly asserting the situation. The hin lass next to him shot arrow after arrow, each easily finding it’s target, but not really doing much to stop the unliving knights. Cathrine and the Marut were holding them off, but he wondered how long they could still manage that. A small puddle of blood had already formed under the young paladin, the red contrasting from both her shining armor and the titanic, frozen halls of this place. The construct fared better, the small cracks showing in the onyx skin and golden armor of the towering giant quickly closing themselves, but he knew even his powerful extraplanar ally was no match for so many of them.
Luckily he was a wizard. And he was prepared.
He reached for the pouch of diamond dust on his belt and flung some of it’s contents into the air. Softly he started to chant, turning louder and louder as the amazing power of life and creation gathered in his hands, ready to blast forward and destroy those that dared defy death itsel…
The magic vanished.
Gone, disrupted by some sort of … abjuration?
A Counterspell. But from whom?
His eyes shot around again, searching for the other mage.
There.
There he was.
It was.
Standing on a bridge connecting the platform they stood on with another in the incredibly large, frozen halls, towered a skeletal form, sheathed in torn robes and ice, it’s hand extending towards him, still holding some of the quickly fading energy it had unleashed to counterspell. The wizard quickly judged his foes stance. Ready to counter again. It knew it would win. If it simply kept him from casting his magic, the undead knights would soon slaughter them all.
Luckily he was a wizard. And he was prepared.
His hand rushed to his belt, drawing out one of the scrolls attached to it.
‘Hrmpf. Counterspell THIS.’
He ripped it out, causing it to roll open in the process. His lips began to move. He could almost see the lich being slammed into the icy ground by the magical fist already.
The undead mage raised it’s head and it’s jaw begann to move. The first syllable escaped it’s fleshless throat.
Sadly, it was a wizard. And it was prepared.
The living wizard’s eyes widened, realizing this was the end as time became just as frozen as everything in these halls.
Seemingly just a second later, everything had changed. The paladin dropped to the ground, encased in inches of solid ice, the Marut’s nearly indestructible body crumbled and broke under the magical assault as if it was made of glass, and the scroll he had been reading was torn apart by a skeletal hand.
The lich stood in front of him, a lifeless, cold light shining out of it’s empty eye sockets into his horrified face.
With a scream, the little hin next to him grabbed her mace and hurled herself towards the undead mage. Not even bothering to look at her, the lich raised a single skeletal finger and pointed it at the hapless scout.
She took another step.
Then her legs failed, along with everything else and she dropped to the ground lifelessly.
The lich’s other hand slammed forward, grabbing, clutching itself around the wizard’s throat.
They had lost. Utterly and completely lost. He could already feel the negative energy powering the undead mage push into his body, filling him with a feeling of cold and despair that made the icy wind blowing around him feel like a summer breeze. His muscles failed him. He could not move.
Luckily he was a wizard. And he was prepared.
He could not save them. All he could do now was run. Flee. Get help maybe. With a single thought, he triggered the silenced teleport spell he had prepared and dissappeared from this accursed frozen hell.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He materialized again, lying on his back in the snow. The stars were shimmering in the night sky above Eveningstar. He tried to move, but his body failed him.
Great. If no one found him fast, he might just freeze to death here instead of there.
A movement.
The hazel eyed face of a young man somewhere in his late teens pushed itself into his view.
‘Uncle Barrister? What are you doing here? I thought you went with sis and that pesky hin to take care of those undead you heard of? Uncle Barrister? Say something! Uncle Barrister!’
His nephew’s hand reached out to check his pulse.
‘… darn it, you’re almost dead! Hold on, I’ll get you to the priests!’
Carrying the old man, young Brannon made his way to the temple as fast as humanly possible.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He leapt forwards. He felt exhausted, but there was no stopping. His hand clutched the pitchfork. He used his sleeve briefly to rub away the tears streaming down his face and kept running.
He could still see the faces of his parents in his mind.
They had been devastated. Cathrine was dead. Cathrine. The talented one. The charming one. The pride of his parents. He had always been measured against his sister, against the mighty paladin who had went out to destroy evil and help people, while he would barely be a good farmer one day.
He hated her. He had cursed her name for everyone always just paying attention to her.
And now she was dead.
He should be happy, shouldn’t he?
When why was he running through the snow, without even knowing where they went, nor what killed them, armed with nothing but a pitchfork?
He could see her face, grinning teasingly as she patted him on the head and made fun of him before turning away to follow Uncle Barrister and that pesky hin friend of hers out of the north gate.
North. Undeads.
That was all he had.
He’d find her, he’d find her, he’d…
He stopped at the sound of a bellowing roar in front of him.
He raised his head just to spot a huge, feral looking giant leaping from a cliff above him.
His heart almost stopped as the giant landed right in front of him, licking his lips and raising a massive club that was apparently made from the huge bone of something he didn’t really ever want to meet.
He had been foolish. And now he’d die, and he’d never find her. He closed his eyes and cowered, awaiting the inevitable.
With the sound of bone shattering, the Inevitable made it’s entrance.
Brannon lifted his gaze to see that the club had shattered on a huge, onyx arm hovering above him. The giant stared dumbstruck at the armored construct, even as it’s other arm slammed forward at amazing speed, seemingly without effort breaking the monster’s neck.
His uncle appeared next to the Marut.
‘What where you thinking? Did you think at all? There is nothing you can do, nothing anyone can do, least of all a silly boy with a bloody pitchfork that doesn’t even know where to go!’
The boy lowered his gaze as his uncle let out a deep sigh and sat down in the snow next to him.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Twelve years later…
The door closed.
Today, his uncle, his teacher, his master, his friend, Barrister Grayson had passed away.
He sighed. He had finally mastered the art. His only chance to find his sister, or rather what was left of her, wherever she was.
Sadly, he had only mastered some cantrips yet and his uncle had never told him where they went and what they had faced out of worry he’d do something foolish again.
And now he was gone and couldn’t tell him anymore.
He had to search on his own it seems.
He shook his head and grasped the holy symbol of Kelemvor dangling from his neck.
He would make it.
He would find her remains and make sure she at least got a proper burial.
He would make it.
He was sure of that.
Because luckily he is a wizard. And he will be prepared.
Luckily he was a wizard. And he was prepared.
He reached for the pouch of diamond dust on his belt and flung some of it’s contents into the air. Softly he started to chant, turning louder and louder as the amazing power of life and creation gathered in his hands, ready to blast forward and destroy those that dared defy death itsel…
The magic vanished.
Gone, disrupted by some sort of … abjuration?
A Counterspell. But from whom?
His eyes shot around again, searching for the other mage.
There.
There he was.
It was.
Standing on a bridge connecting the platform they stood on with another in the incredibly large, frozen halls, towered a skeletal form, sheathed in torn robes and ice, it’s hand extending towards him, still holding some of the quickly fading energy it had unleashed to counterspell. The wizard quickly judged his foes stance. Ready to counter again. It knew it would win. If it simply kept him from casting his magic, the undead knights would soon slaughter them all.
Luckily he was a wizard. And he was prepared.
His hand rushed to his belt, drawing out one of the scrolls attached to it.
‘Hrmpf. Counterspell THIS.’
He ripped it out, causing it to roll open in the process. His lips began to move. He could almost see the lich being slammed into the icy ground by the magical fist already.
The undead mage raised it’s head and it’s jaw begann to move. The first syllable escaped it’s fleshless throat.
Sadly, it was a wizard. And it was prepared.
The living wizard’s eyes widened, realizing this was the end as time became just as frozen as everything in these halls.
Seemingly just a second later, everything had changed. The paladin dropped to the ground, encased in inches of solid ice, the Marut’s nearly indestructible body crumbled and broke under the magical assault as if it was made of glass, and the scroll he had been reading was torn apart by a skeletal hand.
The lich stood in front of him, a lifeless, cold light shining out of it’s empty eye sockets into his horrified face.
With a scream, the little hin next to him grabbed her mace and hurled herself towards the undead mage. Not even bothering to look at her, the lich raised a single skeletal finger and pointed it at the hapless scout.
She took another step.
Then her legs failed, along with everything else and she dropped to the ground lifelessly.
The lich’s other hand slammed forward, grabbing, clutching itself around the wizard’s throat.
They had lost. Utterly and completely lost. He could already feel the negative energy powering the undead mage push into his body, filling him with a feeling of cold and despair that made the icy wind blowing around him feel like a summer breeze. His muscles failed him. He could not move.
Luckily he was a wizard. And he was prepared.
He could not save them. All he could do now was run. Flee. Get help maybe. With a single thought, he triggered the silenced teleport spell he had prepared and dissappeared from this accursed frozen hell.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He materialized again, lying on his back in the snow. The stars were shimmering in the night sky above Eveningstar. He tried to move, but his body failed him.
Great. If no one found him fast, he might just freeze to death here instead of there.
A movement.
The hazel eyed face of a young man somewhere in his late teens pushed itself into his view.
‘Uncle Barrister? What are you doing here? I thought you went with sis and that pesky hin to take care of those undead you heard of? Uncle Barrister? Say something! Uncle Barrister!’
His nephew’s hand reached out to check his pulse.
‘… darn it, you’re almost dead! Hold on, I’ll get you to the priests!’
Carrying the old man, young Brannon made his way to the temple as fast as humanly possible.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He leapt forwards. He felt exhausted, but there was no stopping. His hand clutched the pitchfork. He used his sleeve briefly to rub away the tears streaming down his face and kept running.
He could still see the faces of his parents in his mind.
They had been devastated. Cathrine was dead. Cathrine. The talented one. The charming one. The pride of his parents. He had always been measured against his sister, against the mighty paladin who had went out to destroy evil and help people, while he would barely be a good farmer one day.
He hated her. He had cursed her name for everyone always just paying attention to her.
And now she was dead.
He should be happy, shouldn’t he?
When why was he running through the snow, without even knowing where they went, nor what killed them, armed with nothing but a pitchfork?
He could see her face, grinning teasingly as she patted him on the head and made fun of him before turning away to follow Uncle Barrister and that pesky hin friend of hers out of the north gate.
North. Undeads.
That was all he had.
He’d find her, he’d find her, he’d…
He stopped at the sound of a bellowing roar in front of him.
He raised his head just to spot a huge, feral looking giant leaping from a cliff above him.
His heart almost stopped as the giant landed right in front of him, licking his lips and raising a massive club that was apparently made from the huge bone of something he didn’t really ever want to meet.
He had been foolish. And now he’d die, and he’d never find her. He closed his eyes and cowered, awaiting the inevitable.
With the sound of bone shattering, the Inevitable made it’s entrance.
Brannon lifted his gaze to see that the club had shattered on a huge, onyx arm hovering above him. The giant stared dumbstruck at the armored construct, even as it’s other arm slammed forward at amazing speed, seemingly without effort breaking the monster’s neck.
His uncle appeared next to the Marut.
‘What where you thinking? Did you think at all? There is nothing you can do, nothing anyone can do, least of all a silly boy with a bloody pitchfork that doesn’t even know where to go!’
The boy lowered his gaze as his uncle let out a deep sigh and sat down in the snow next to him.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Twelve years later…
The door closed.
Today, his uncle, his teacher, his master, his friend, Barrister Grayson had passed away.
He sighed. He had finally mastered the art. His only chance to find his sister, or rather what was left of her, wherever she was.
Sadly, he had only mastered some cantrips yet and his uncle had never told him where they went and what they had faced out of worry he’d do something foolish again.
And now he was gone and couldn’t tell him anymore.
He had to search on his own it seems.
He shook his head and grasped the holy symbol of Kelemvor dangling from his neck.
He would make it.
He would find her remains and make sure she at least got a proper burial.
He would make it.
He was sure of that.
Because luckily he is a wizard. And he will be prepared.