D&D 4th Edition Lost Eberron 4E Style: Combat over, Level up!




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  1. #1
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    Lost Eberron 4E Style: Combat over, Level up!

    Hesh and Thormir

    Hesh Sul'tashk

    Hesh leaps into the air, looking to the sky as he jumps, victory within his grasp. A single spark shows in the air above him, and then a flash of lightning brightens his vision, blinking as he stumbles in unfamiliar terrain. Hesh appears to be on the beach, the sweltering jungle to one side, and a limitless blue ocean on the other. Ships partially buried lie on the beach and others are half submerged in the reef. A figure is seen further away. Sex or race canít be determined, but judging from their body position they see you as well.

    Thormir Brassbeard

    Thormirís glee is unbound as he places his hands on the wooden chest. He salivates at the thought of the gold inside. He relishes in the feel of the smooth wood beneath his hands and then he blinks in sudden blindess as electricity flares before his eyes. A trap? No everything else is different too, except for the fact that his hands still touched wood. As his eyes recover from their ailment, he sees he is not where he was. Also, his hands are no worse for the wear. A jungle lies off to his left, and an endless ocean off to his right. The wood he was touching appears to be a ship of some sort, half-buried in the sand. More ships are nearby, and yet more are half sunk in the reefs off shore. A figure is seen in the distance, too far to tell sex or race, but they see you too.
    Last edited by EvolutionKB; Wednesday, 13th May, 2009 at 03:11 AM.

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    Lorn SpellWright, Xandren, and Stellan Scarhide

    Lorn

    Lorn was fighting for his life against the undead, his battle magics shaping the field around him. His allies were falling like flies, and an arrow took the ally to his left in the throat. As soon as his comrade hits the ground, his form twitched twice, then stood once more. His allyís eyes shown red, and didnít seem to care about the arrow sticking from his throat. The newly formed zombie reaches out to pull the mage to the ground, but it never got a chance. A blast of electricity arcs from somewhere behind it and splits it in half, and Lorn is next in line, who is blinded by the arc of lightning as well as the exploding gore from the undeadís destruction. Next thing he knows he is coughing and gagging on a combination of sand and seawater. After rolling over and ridding his lungs of the water, he realizes he is not in Cyre anymore. He is laying on a beach, soaking wet. Half buried ships litter the beach, and more are half sunk in the reef offshore. He stands and takes in his surroundings, surprised to see a huge warforged, partially made of stone, not steel, come out of a gap in the hull of a ship nearby. It is holding a large blade in two hands. The warforged sees the mage as well and stares at him in curiousity and perhaps a bit of untrust.


    Xandren

    Xandren was tall, taller than the elves that he fought alongside, but not nearly as tall as the giant that he served, who called the battle behind him. The jungle was loud with the eerie sounds of battle against the quori. There was the normal cries of the mortal deaths of drow and other warforged slaves, but the quori fell differently. They just as often died with a mournful wail as they dissolved into pools of slime. Fighting them made him uneasy but he had no choice. The one they were currently fighting had pincer like claws, slithered on a thick tail, and had a mass of eyes on itís forehead. Itís very prescence was not natural. He raised his great blade over his head, and he smelled an ozone odor, then just as suddenly an arc of lightning struck his raised blade. Then he awoke, it was dark, but light poured through in an crack in the wall. The sounds of the jungle was around him. He felt around, and found the comfort of his blade. In the meager light, he could see the tip was scorched from the lightning. He walks into the light, and gathers his senses, then stares, on guard, at a pale frail looking creature, that seems to be gathering himself as well. He holds a staff, but seems harmless, but still it is strange to the warforged.

    Stellan

    Stellan was climbing a sheer cliff, hand over hand and foot over foot. Taking his time, he was stalking his prey. The bandits had taken the long way up the ridge, up the easy footpath. Stellan was climbing the cliff with other Wardens of the Wood and once they cleared the top would set an ambush for the bandits. Looking to the sky, clouds were gathering in the sky, and a storm was brewing. Thunder echoed nearby. Suddenly, lightning arced between the clouds, and then to the top of the cliff, where an avalanche was started by the force. One great boulder was rumbling right for him and the shifter tensed waiting for the impact. Light lanced into his eyes and he wonders how he escaped death...or maybe those Flame priests were right all along. Thinking himself captured by the bandits he held still and listened around him. No, the sounds were different here. Birds could be heard, but they were not the familiar bird calls of the woodlands where he lived. The crash of water against sand could be heard. He cracked open an eye cautiously and appeared to be in the crowís nest of a ship that rested at an angle. Impossible. But it was true. He stood and looked around. He was indeed on a ship, but the vessel was buried in the sand of a beach. Other ships were nearby, also half-buried in the sand as well as half sunk offshore. He takes in his surroundings from his great height, and can barely make out the shimmer of water running down the beach from the jungle beyond the sands. That was good, he was immensely thirsty. Astonished he looks down, and notices two more figures below him, they donít act like theyíve seen him yet. One is a warforged, massive, and not sleek, made partially of stone. The other is a young human, wet from the surf, clutching a staff. The pair seems to have just noticed each other and are still blinking in surprise(well, not the 'forged). Further down the beach, opposite the stream two other figures can be seen.

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    An immense warforged, plainly of a make not found in modern Khorvaire, strides forward towards the small, weak-looking creature with the staff. Its plating is wrought with harsh lines and strange angles, and it features more stone and less metal than modern warforged. Its right hand reaches over its shoulder and grips the hilt of an equally immense blade as it finally speaks.

    "Who are you? What are you? Where is this place?" he demands in a deep voice. Then, more intently, "Are you a servant of the Quori?"
    Gary Hoggatt - www.garyh.net
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    Hesh blinks his eyes a moment, peering intently into the strange jungle and beach. A trick of the enemy. Foolishness. The hobgoblin spins around, eyes straining for sight of anything or anyone. If this was elven trickery, he would need to find his bearing and then find a way back. Staying... staying was out of the question. He had duties. He had obligations. This... this was a setback, nothing more.

    He focused on the shadowy form before him. Approaching without caution, the flail of his father casuallyóbut readilyóslung over his shoulder, he stomps through the wet sand. When he gets closer, the hobgoblin starts and blinks a moment. Nope, he's sure of it. A dwarf! What in the name of the Six Kings is going on?

    Planting his feet wide, he boldly addresses the stranger. You, dwarf. Are you here by elvish trickery as well? What do you know of this place?
    stonegod -- LEB judge and spawn of Khyber since 2005 (Blog)

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  5. #5
    The young man, dripping wet and still covered in the signs of battle that he thought he was fighting only moments ago staggered back a step holding his forked staff up in a defensive posture. For a long moment he stared at the large warforged in confusion, it didn't look like any House Cannith model he'd ever seen.

    Huh? Quori? I stand for Cyre...

    He backed up another step, his eyes shifting from side to side to see if there were any more of them.

    What side are you on? Who's your owner?

    He paused for a second.

    And what do you mean, where is this place? You tell me!

    EvolutionKB


    Does Lorn recognize anything about the warforged from a historical perspective, even something as general aesthetics of design?

    History (1d20+10=15)

    Oni

    "Each man, one way.
    Each horse, one stance.
    Each church, one buddha.
    Each master to his own technique."

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    "Owner? Side? the warforged replied, doubtful. "I serve the giants in the never-ending wars against the accursed Quori. If you are not a thrall of the Quori, what manner of creature are you? I do not know this 'Cyre'."
    Gary Hoggatt - www.garyh.net
    "Such heroic nonsense..."
    Living 4th Edition - Join EN World's community-created Play-by-Post world! Adventure awaits you in the Transitive Isles!

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