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Der Kluge's Wilderlands Campaign
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<blockquote data-quote="reddist" data-source="post: 2957244" data-attributes="member: 5212"><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'">… the first one reaches me before I can draw my sword and rakes its claws against my chest and neck. Blood spurts out, and I see red drops trailing from the skeleton’s claws, hanging in the air as I tumble backward. My stomach grows cold and my vision goes dim… the pain vanishes as quickly as it came…</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'">… I don’t know that I actually <em>died</em>. I can’t tell you how much time actually passed, unaware of it was I was. I know that I was in the kitchen and dining room alone, and then it went black. When I came back, Cyridon stood above me, gazing down at me and whispering thin, spidery words that made me feel cold and empty, both of which were improvements on feeling <em>dead</em>. His words give me a frigid strength and filled me with a grim resolve that can best be described as <em>not yet</em>. As I regained consciousness, I could hear Balderic bellowing, his sword smashing through brittle bones like dried kindling. I leapt to my feet, shoving Cryidon back against the wall in my fear and confusion…</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'">I snatch another chakram from my belt and jump onto the scarred oak table, flinging the disc at the skeleton still slashing at Balderic with its sharp claws. The chakram passes by only to bury itself deep into the wooden door frame with a meaty thunk. Balderic brings his sword around again and smashes down on the bony frame, cracking through the shoulders and sternum, severing the link to the Realms Beyond and giving the corpse its final rest.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'">Panting, I lower myself to lay on the table, breathing in great heaving and painful gasps. Frantically, I rummage through my satch to find the pouches of herbs I took from the altar room, crushing them to release their oils and smearing them on my wounds. My hands shake and crushed herbs run through my fingers. Calmly, Cryidon takes the pouch from my quivering hands and gently spreads the paste on my chest, covering the claw marks. Their pungent odor fills my nostrils, and I find Cyridon’s touch strangely… cold.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'">Satisfied with his work on me, Cryidon turns his attention to the shattered skeletons. He picks up the skull of each, looking them in the eye, then flips the skulls over to look at the back of the heads.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'"><span style="color: DimGray">These were not made, </span> he announces calmly. <span style="color: DimGray">These skeletons arose from their own unrest. There will be more. </span> And with that he drops the skulls to thock hollowly on the wooden floors, rolling against the walls, grinning at us with their white, rotten teeth.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'">I stomp on one as we leave the kitchen, and it gives a satisfying crunch as fragments scatter across the floor. Wrenching my chakram from the door frame, I curse silently to myself as Balderic leads the way up to the next floor. <em>What, exactly, are we doing here?</em></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'">The next level presents us with a locked door at the top of the stairs. Theros produces a key, saying he came across it while going through the desk downstairs. The key fits, and the door opens…</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'">Barracks, rows of beds whose straw mattresses and rough canvas sheets have long since rotted together. And skeletons, standing there, waiting for us. They move as one, all raking claws and silent screams and that quick, surreal movement unhampered by muscles or tendons.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'">Cryidon stands ready for them, raising the medallion on his necklace and shouting deafeningly in a language that leaves cold ripples crawling down my back. The skeletons all stop, lowering their arms, and they seem to gaze blankly at Cryidon’s sigil, swaying slightly on their feet.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'">Balderic does not wait for instructions. He plows into them, cutting them down two at a time. Seconds later nothing remains but splinters and dust.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'">Cautiously, I test the doors leading from this “tomb,” but I can hear or sense nothing behind either of them. The first door opens to a room with a single bed, armoire, and another desk. The other, a nursery. An ancient crib made from a white hardwood, and the tattered remains of cotton bedding.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'">A quick glance is enough to tell me the nursery holds no surprises. The bedroom though… something even now lingers, something hinting at a woman’s touch. Pentolus had a wife. Searching the bed, I find a small hidden compartment built into the wood of the frame. Inside, two pieces of jewelry, a bracelet and a necklace, both of gold and amethyst. Theros is aiding me, unfortunately. I turn the pieces over to Cyridon.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'"></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'">One more flight of stairs, but these lead to the top of the tower and the observation deck. There, hovering and nearly translucent in the midday sun, is a wavering, shadowy figure. Balderic and I draw back, weapons in hand. Cryidon, however, approaches the figure, arms held wide…</span></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="reddist, post: 2957244, member: 5212"] [SIZE=3][FONT=Century Gothic]… the first one reaches me before I can draw my sword and rakes its claws against my chest and neck. Blood spurts out, and I see red drops trailing from the skeleton’s claws, hanging in the air as I tumble backward. My stomach grows cold and my vision goes dim… the pain vanishes as quickly as it came… … I don’t know that I actually [I]died[/I]. I can’t tell you how much time actually passed, unaware of it was I was. I know that I was in the kitchen and dining room alone, and then it went black. When I came back, Cyridon stood above me, gazing down at me and whispering thin, spidery words that made me feel cold and empty, both of which were improvements on feeling [I]dead[/I]. His words give me a frigid strength and filled me with a grim resolve that can best be described as [I]not yet[/I]. As I regained consciousness, I could hear Balderic bellowing, his sword smashing through brittle bones like dried kindling. I leapt to my feet, shoving Cryidon back against the wall in my fear and confusion… I snatch another chakram from my belt and jump onto the scarred oak table, flinging the disc at the skeleton still slashing at Balderic with its sharp claws. The chakram passes by only to bury itself deep into the wooden door frame with a meaty thunk. Balderic brings his sword around again and smashes down on the bony frame, cracking through the shoulders and sternum, severing the link to the Realms Beyond and giving the corpse its final rest. Panting, I lower myself to lay on the table, breathing in great heaving and painful gasps. Frantically, I rummage through my satch to find the pouches of herbs I took from the altar room, crushing them to release their oils and smearing them on my wounds. My hands shake and crushed herbs run through my fingers. Calmly, Cryidon takes the pouch from my quivering hands and gently spreads the paste on my chest, covering the claw marks. Their pungent odor fills my nostrils, and I find Cyridon’s touch strangely… cold. Satisfied with his work on me, Cryidon turns his attention to the shattered skeletons. He picks up the skull of each, looking them in the eye, then flips the skulls over to look at the back of the heads. [COLOR=DimGray]These were not made, [/COLOR] he announces calmly. [COLOR=DimGray]These skeletons arose from their own unrest. There will be more. [/COLOR] And with that he drops the skulls to thock hollowly on the wooden floors, rolling against the walls, grinning at us with their white, rotten teeth. I stomp on one as we leave the kitchen, and it gives a satisfying crunch as fragments scatter across the floor. Wrenching my chakram from the door frame, I curse silently to myself as Balderic leads the way up to the next floor. [I]What, exactly, are we doing here?[/I] The next level presents us with a locked door at the top of the stairs. Theros produces a key, saying he came across it while going through the desk downstairs. The key fits, and the door opens… Barracks, rows of beds whose straw mattresses and rough canvas sheets have long since rotted together. And skeletons, standing there, waiting for us. They move as one, all raking claws and silent screams and that quick, surreal movement unhampered by muscles or tendons. Cryidon stands ready for them, raising the medallion on his necklace and shouting deafeningly in a language that leaves cold ripples crawling down my back. The skeletons all stop, lowering their arms, and they seem to gaze blankly at Cryidon’s sigil, swaying slightly on their feet. Balderic does not wait for instructions. He plows into them, cutting them down two at a time. Seconds later nothing remains but splinters and dust. Cautiously, I test the doors leading from this “tomb,” but I can hear or sense nothing behind either of them. The first door opens to a room with a single bed, armoire, and another desk. The other, a nursery. An ancient crib made from a white hardwood, and the tattered remains of cotton bedding. A quick glance is enough to tell me the nursery holds no surprises. The bedroom though… something even now lingers, something hinting at a woman’s touch. Pentolus had a wife. Searching the bed, I find a small hidden compartment built into the wood of the frame. Inside, two pieces of jewelry, a bracelet and a necklace, both of gold and amethyst. Theros is aiding me, unfortunately. I turn the pieces over to Cyridon. One more flight of stairs, but these lead to the top of the tower and the observation deck. There, hovering and nearly translucent in the midday sun, is a wavering, shadowy figure. Balderic and I draw back, weapons in hand. Cryidon, however, approaches the figure, arms held wide…[/FONT][/SIZE] [/QUOTE]
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