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Justicar's Bastion - Eagle Elf [Updated 5th Dec 06]
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<blockquote data-quote="PieAndDragon" data-source="post: 3173773" data-attributes="member: 18108"><p>The silence after the dragon’s defeat lingered for several moments, before several voices broke it at once</p><p>“We survived a dragon attack”</p><p>“That thing must have a mound of treasure, everyone knows they do”</p><p>“It was green, did you see that, a green dragon!”</p><p>As his pack-mates clustered around the Sun priest, begging for his healing touch, Snarf watched the dwarf looking thoughtfully over the area where the dragon had ambushed them. Burc sniffed at some leaves, fingered prints left by the dragon, and started off into the forest, muttering about a dragon trail. In recent weeks, the berserker had watched the tracker carefully, picking up tips and tricks where he could, sure he had the natural senses and keen scent to pick up trails better than most.</p><p></p><p>A few hundred feet into the forest, Snarf watched as the dwarf admitted defeat, punching an offending tree with his gauntlet. The dragon tracks lead back to a small grove where it had landed, and they lacked the skill and means to follow a trail in the sky. Dismay turned to alertness as a high-pitched voice called out from among the leafless trees, each word following quickly after the next.</p><p>“What are people like you doing in the forest”</p><p>“Hunting a dragon” called back Derris, always willing to let others hear his voice, “a green we injured a short time ago. Do you know of it” </p><p>Krunk listened as the creature danced a verbal match with Derris and Layla. It knew of the green dragon, Rynskald, and was willing to lead them to it’s lair. All it wanted in return was a recipe book from the dragon’s hoard, needing little coaxing to help them. It was far from a friend of the dragons, claiming to have lost loved ones to its fangs and claws.</p><p></p><p>They followed their invisible guide through the forest, guided by thrown rocks, shaken branches and the occasional tiny arrow. The dwarf and druid suspected their mysterious friend was a pixie, a small winged fey with many powers, famed for playing tricks and duping unwary travellers. It would take a wily creature to dupe a creature such as Snarf, bought up among treachery and hatred, trusting of only a loyal few. </p><p></p><p>When their guide indicated the bushes which covered Rynskald’s lair, a quick plan was drawn up, using the nature magic of Laucien and prayers of Ra to protect the nomad, who would lead the assault on the beast’s lair. Sam’s passage was broken when vines lashed out from a mass of vines and leaves, trying to wrap around his neck and trap his limbs. The rest of the undergrowth came to life, snatching at those nearest the desert warrior, binding arms and legs in tangled grasps.</p><p></p><p> Snarf wrenched himself free, crashing through reaching roots and grasping branches. Around him his companions struggled. Sam slashed at the living green with his blade, cutting off any reaching vines which got in his way. Burc cut at it with his axe, and the druid moved up to aid, barely caught by the vines. The rest of his packmates were either entrapped or their magics ineffective against such a foe. The plant served its purpose as Rynskald made himself known, the whoosh of wings shortly followed by a familiar burning of acidic fumes.</p><p></p><p>The berserker avoided the worst, taking cover among the vines and tangles which sought to entrap him. His companions bore the brunt from the wounded dragon, moving awkwardly from earlier wounds. Snarf made out a faint aura covered the wounded nomad, who turned in a rage upon his new attacker. As the dragon twisted in midair, four feet of dwarven steel cut a hole in it’s chest, sending the beast to the ground where it twitched and then lay still. Exultation at their victory overtook the berserker, his sword scything through a mass of vines to cut through the centre of the living plant, stilling roots, branches and grasping bushes all around. </p><p></p><p>With a quick study of the fallen dragon, Snarf’s hopes of dragon-hide armour were crushed. Perhaps there might be enough for a ferret or toad, but the amount of scales needed for one of his kind would require a far larger dragon corpse. He reached for his dagger still, hoping to take the skin from the beast while the others ransacked it’s hoard. The cries and whoops from within told him that the haul was a good one. After a few hours, Layla had catalogued and valued their find, but Snarf’s attempts had been less successful. His dagger was blunted, and the few twisted scales removed from the dragon were hardly credible as those from a green specimen. Dusk having fallen already, the Company of Rifter bedded down among the coins and other treasures of Rynskald, hoping the dragon had no other family which would visit during the night-time hours.</p><p></p><p>The night was filled with bright lights, strange noises and almost constant laughter, the presence of fey creatures unmistakable. When morning finally came, Snarf helped to distribute coins, gemstones, books and other goods. The dragon had gathered an array of treasures, desert incense mixing with reams of paper, the marble bust of a horse’s head occupying pride of place alongside exquisitely made halfling slippers made from raven feathers and satin. Soap, dyes, armour, crossbows, an elven tapestry and bolts of silk rounded out the hoard. Of greatest value were three items of magic, robes of different patches, finely made gloves and a horn covered in murals of giants, the powers of each yet unknown. Derris was keen to experiment but warnings from priest and enchantress of curses for the unwary blunted his keenness.</p><p></p><p>For a glistening pearl, their pixie friend guided them back to the path, and they returned to the hamlet of Turvin. Assuring the mayor they would still deal with the threat, the decision was made to make haste to Corelane, fabled city of spires two days south. Snarf’s thoughts were filled of the wealth which he had helped win. What would such riches buy? What would an escaped slave like him do with the wealth of a dragon’s hoard?</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="PieAndDragon, post: 3173773, member: 18108"] The silence after the dragon’s defeat lingered for several moments, before several voices broke it at once “We survived a dragon attack” “That thing must have a mound of treasure, everyone knows they do” “It was green, did you see that, a green dragon!” As his pack-mates clustered around the Sun priest, begging for his healing touch, Snarf watched the dwarf looking thoughtfully over the area where the dragon had ambushed them. Burc sniffed at some leaves, fingered prints left by the dragon, and started off into the forest, muttering about a dragon trail. In recent weeks, the berserker had watched the tracker carefully, picking up tips and tricks where he could, sure he had the natural senses and keen scent to pick up trails better than most. A few hundred feet into the forest, Snarf watched as the dwarf admitted defeat, punching an offending tree with his gauntlet. The dragon tracks lead back to a small grove where it had landed, and they lacked the skill and means to follow a trail in the sky. Dismay turned to alertness as a high-pitched voice called out from among the leafless trees, each word following quickly after the next. “What are people like you doing in the forest” “Hunting a dragon” called back Derris, always willing to let others hear his voice, “a green we injured a short time ago. Do you know of it” Krunk listened as the creature danced a verbal match with Derris and Layla. It knew of the green dragon, Rynskald, and was willing to lead them to it’s lair. All it wanted in return was a recipe book from the dragon’s hoard, needing little coaxing to help them. It was far from a friend of the dragons, claiming to have lost loved ones to its fangs and claws. They followed their invisible guide through the forest, guided by thrown rocks, shaken branches and the occasional tiny arrow. The dwarf and druid suspected their mysterious friend was a pixie, a small winged fey with many powers, famed for playing tricks and duping unwary travellers. It would take a wily creature to dupe a creature such as Snarf, bought up among treachery and hatred, trusting of only a loyal few. When their guide indicated the bushes which covered Rynskald’s lair, a quick plan was drawn up, using the nature magic of Laucien and prayers of Ra to protect the nomad, who would lead the assault on the beast’s lair. Sam’s passage was broken when vines lashed out from a mass of vines and leaves, trying to wrap around his neck and trap his limbs. The rest of the undergrowth came to life, snatching at those nearest the desert warrior, binding arms and legs in tangled grasps. Snarf wrenched himself free, crashing through reaching roots and grasping branches. Around him his companions struggled. Sam slashed at the living green with his blade, cutting off any reaching vines which got in his way. Burc cut at it with his axe, and the druid moved up to aid, barely caught by the vines. The rest of his packmates were either entrapped or their magics ineffective against such a foe. The plant served its purpose as Rynskald made himself known, the whoosh of wings shortly followed by a familiar burning of acidic fumes. The berserker avoided the worst, taking cover among the vines and tangles which sought to entrap him. His companions bore the brunt from the wounded dragon, moving awkwardly from earlier wounds. Snarf made out a faint aura covered the wounded nomad, who turned in a rage upon his new attacker. As the dragon twisted in midair, four feet of dwarven steel cut a hole in it’s chest, sending the beast to the ground where it twitched and then lay still. Exultation at their victory overtook the berserker, his sword scything through a mass of vines to cut through the centre of the living plant, stilling roots, branches and grasping bushes all around. With a quick study of the fallen dragon, Snarf’s hopes of dragon-hide armour were crushed. Perhaps there might be enough for a ferret or toad, but the amount of scales needed for one of his kind would require a far larger dragon corpse. He reached for his dagger still, hoping to take the skin from the beast while the others ransacked it’s hoard. The cries and whoops from within told him that the haul was a good one. After a few hours, Layla had catalogued and valued their find, but Snarf’s attempts had been less successful. His dagger was blunted, and the few twisted scales removed from the dragon were hardly credible as those from a green specimen. Dusk having fallen already, the Company of Rifter bedded down among the coins and other treasures of Rynskald, hoping the dragon had no other family which would visit during the night-time hours. The night was filled with bright lights, strange noises and almost constant laughter, the presence of fey creatures unmistakable. When morning finally came, Snarf helped to distribute coins, gemstones, books and other goods. The dragon had gathered an array of treasures, desert incense mixing with reams of paper, the marble bust of a horse’s head occupying pride of place alongside exquisitely made halfling slippers made from raven feathers and satin. Soap, dyes, armour, crossbows, an elven tapestry and bolts of silk rounded out the hoard. Of greatest value were three items of magic, robes of different patches, finely made gloves and a horn covered in murals of giants, the powers of each yet unknown. Derris was keen to experiment but warnings from priest and enchantress of curses for the unwary blunted his keenness. For a glistening pearl, their pixie friend guided them back to the path, and they returned to the hamlet of Turvin. Assuring the mayor they would still deal with the threat, the decision was made to make haste to Corelane, fabled city of spires two days south. Snarf’s thoughts were filled of the wealth which he had helped win. What would such riches buy? What would an escaped slave like him do with the wealth of a dragon’s hoard? [/QUOTE]
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