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Der Kluge's Wilderlands Campaign
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<blockquote data-quote="reddist" data-source="post: 3051673" data-attributes="member: 5212"><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="font-family: 'Century Gothic'">I hear Chath cry out just as a biting pain pierces my shoulder, driving me to my knees. A savage hissing fills my ear, and I can feel hot, rank breath on my neck. One of the stalactites! Dropping from the ceiling and punching through my armor! Whatever the foul monstrosity, it chews on my neck and shoulder… I can feel it pushing itself deeper, digging into my chest. My vision swims as the pain mounts, and I can sense Theros coming up behind me as Balderk and Chath shout out, both rushing towards me. From the corner of my fading vision, I see more of the dark mantles drop from the ceiling, stabbing at the knight and halfling.</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'">Theros reaches out to touch my shoulder and mutters the harsh, guttural words of his spell language. They seem to bounce off my ears, I hear them but I can’t comprehend them or even remember them, and I sense a tugging at my center and I let it go. It pulls at me, and for a moment I feel like I am being strained through a fine mesh. For some reason I think of making sun tea on the porch with my mother, straining the tea through cheesecloth, squeezing the water out into a pitcher. I blink, and then I stumble against the wall, several paces from where I was. The mantle remains behind to fall to the ground at Theros’ feet, though the hole it made in my shoulder is now gaping and burning.</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'">Cyridon comes up behind me, placing his hands on my bloody wound as it pumps out bright red blood, and he utters his own prayer in his thin, spidery language. My skin crawls under his touch. I don’t think I will ever get used to the chill he gives me, or the way I can feel insects crawling over my skin when he uses his whispering prayer-speak. Still, his utterances fill me with a cold strength and I am able to stand straight and bring my bow to bear on the battle Balderk and Chath fight against the mantles.</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'">Balderk has little to worry about. Dodging the first piercing attack, his armor protects him from further lashings and he simply mows down his opponent with the sword of Torm. Chath is not faring nearly as well, these mantles weighing nearly as much as he does. I quickly put two arrows in the one he faces while Theros plugs the last one with a bolt from his crossbow. Our foes fallen, we pause where we are to scan the rest of the stalactites… spotting two more of the beasts hanging from the ceiling. I take my aim and put arrows into both of them, their corpses dropping to collapse in bloody, twitching heaps on the dark gravel, kicking up stones to rattle off in the darkness.</span></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="reddist, post: 3051673, member: 5212"] [SIZE=3][FONT=Century Gothic]I hear Chath cry out just as a biting pain pierces my shoulder, driving me to my knees. A savage hissing fills my ear, and I can feel hot, rank breath on my neck. One of the stalactites! Dropping from the ceiling and punching through my armor! Whatever the foul monstrosity, it chews on my neck and shoulder… I can feel it pushing itself deeper, digging into my chest. My vision swims as the pain mounts, and I can sense Theros coming up behind me as Balderk and Chath shout out, both rushing towards me. From the corner of my fading vision, I see more of the dark mantles drop from the ceiling, stabbing at the knight and halfling. Theros reaches out to touch my shoulder and mutters the harsh, guttural words of his spell language. They seem to bounce off my ears, I hear them but I can’t comprehend them or even remember them, and I sense a tugging at my center and I let it go. It pulls at me, and for a moment I feel like I am being strained through a fine mesh. For some reason I think of making sun tea on the porch with my mother, straining the tea through cheesecloth, squeezing the water out into a pitcher. I blink, and then I stumble against the wall, several paces from where I was. The mantle remains behind to fall to the ground at Theros’ feet, though the hole it made in my shoulder is now gaping and burning. Cyridon comes up behind me, placing his hands on my bloody wound as it pumps out bright red blood, and he utters his own prayer in his thin, spidery language. My skin crawls under his touch. I don’t think I will ever get used to the chill he gives me, or the way I can feel insects crawling over my skin when he uses his whispering prayer-speak. Still, his utterances fill me with a cold strength and I am able to stand straight and bring my bow to bear on the battle Balderk and Chath fight against the mantles. Balderk has little to worry about. Dodging the first piercing attack, his armor protects him from further lashings and he simply mows down his opponent with the sword of Torm. Chath is not faring nearly as well, these mantles weighing nearly as much as he does. I quickly put two arrows in the one he faces while Theros plugs the last one with a bolt from his crossbow. Our foes fallen, we pause where we are to scan the rest of the stalactites… spotting two more of the beasts hanging from the ceiling. I take my aim and put arrows into both of them, their corpses dropping to collapse in bloody, twitching heaps on the dark gravel, kicking up stones to rattle off in the darkness.[/FONT][/SIZE] [/QUOTE]
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