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Steel Dragon's "Tales of Orea"
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<blockquote data-quote="steeldragons" data-source="post: 5867154" data-attributes="member: 92511"><p>Evaranthriine stood gazing up upon the scrying "window", wreathed in the flames from the fire pit from which she'd conjured the image of what was occuring outside, in the center of the spire chamber. Her face was the the mask of stoic which she had worn...almost constantly...for so long.</p><p></p><p>Imgulg, geside her was much more animated. Muttering "oo's" and "ah's" and jabbing with his own arms as if he were one of the figure on the field of battle which the duo watched.</p><p></p><p>She saw as the poor little "daelvar Hilltender" quickly fell behind his companions in their charge to battle. Yet, with an unheard invocation of his divinity, several of the heroes blades suddenly flickered with a honey-colored light.</p><p></p><p>She saw Alaria conjure up a wide swathe of violet flames that arched up over her comrades to engulf three of the zombies. One fell immediately. The other two shambled their way forward a few steps, each, before succumbing to the magical fire.</p><p></p><p>She saw Braddok, this human swordsman so like her lost champion in so many respects, and touched by one of the Eight, no less. He raced across the long-dry lake bed, slicing zombies in twain with his sword as he went. </p><p></p><p>Everanthriine closed her eyes in sorrow, yet no tears fell. These figures which the heroes cut through had once been her responsibility. Her servants. Her ladies. Her lords. Now nothing more than mindless husks of undeath and bent on destruction.</p><p></p><p>The druid Fen's reviving of her garden, bringing daylight back to the night-clad realm was attracting them all. Yet, the druid raced forward, even as the warriors, stabbing and slashing with as much energy as he could to end the undead incursion. </p><p></p><p>Indeed, thought Evaranthriine, as he should as these souls are all on his order's soul. And yet...it was not directly this half-blood's fault...</p><p></p><p>Evaranthriine did not weep nor lament the destruction of the undead <em>things</em> that exited the woods in ever increasing number. They had been caught for so very long, by her fallen sister's malicious enchantments. They were finally being led to peace that she, herself, had not the where with all to grant them. Opting, instead, to hide. To linger in this tower-prison. Letting her fallen sister do with the realm, her <em>own gifted</em> realm, as she would. </p><p></p><p>Alaria was striking down the creatures with the electrical bursts of her staff. At one point, she opened up the field with the toss of some kind of forceful energy burst, blasting several zombified creatures around her and the elf and the halfling to the four winds. The origin of which Evaranthriine could not determine.</p><p></p><p>The satyr made significant headway, with Braddok close to his side, slicing through the onslaught of the undead creatures, a short curved blade in each hand. He jumped and leaped through their number, damaging all that he came near.</p><p></p><p>The elf had forgone the use of his bow, after a few well-placed arrows, in lieu of the slender elf-made longsword which he always had at his belt. He, too, sliced through the former-people and tainted creatures that now streamed from all directions out of the long-blackened forest.</p><p></p><p>Even that cad of a rogue dwarf was taking down creature after creature, altering between some curious small crossbow and a green-energy ensconced dagger. It was anyone's guess what he would strike with next!</p><p></p><p>Imgulg made a "hoohoo!" cheer with every abomination the younger dwarf dispatched.</p><p></p><p>Suddenly, it was there.</p><p></p><p>Evaranthriine turned her head from the view of the battle to make sure.</p><p></p><p>Yes, it was. It...<em>she</em>...was coming.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="steeldragons, post: 5867154, member: 92511"] Evaranthriine stood gazing up upon the scrying "window", wreathed in the flames from the fire pit from which she'd conjured the image of what was occuring outside, in the center of the spire chamber. Her face was the the mask of stoic which she had worn...almost constantly...for so long. Imgulg, geside her was much more animated. Muttering "oo's" and "ah's" and jabbing with his own arms as if he were one of the figure on the field of battle which the duo watched. She saw as the poor little "daelvar Hilltender" quickly fell behind his companions in their charge to battle. Yet, with an unheard invocation of his divinity, several of the heroes blades suddenly flickered with a honey-colored light. She saw Alaria conjure up a wide swathe of violet flames that arched up over her comrades to engulf three of the zombies. One fell immediately. The other two shambled their way forward a few steps, each, before succumbing to the magical fire. She saw Braddok, this human swordsman so like her lost champion in so many respects, and touched by one of the Eight, no less. He raced across the long-dry lake bed, slicing zombies in twain with his sword as he went. Everanthriine closed her eyes in sorrow, yet no tears fell. These figures which the heroes cut through had once been her responsibility. Her servants. Her ladies. Her lords. Now nothing more than mindless husks of undeath and bent on destruction. The druid Fen's reviving of her garden, bringing daylight back to the night-clad realm was attracting them all. Yet, the druid raced forward, even as the warriors, stabbing and slashing with as much energy as he could to end the undead incursion. Indeed, thought Evaranthriine, as he should as these souls are all on his order's soul. And yet...it was not directly this half-blood's fault... Evaranthriine did not weep nor lament the destruction of the undead [I]things[/I] that exited the woods in ever increasing number. They had been caught for so very long, by her fallen sister's malicious enchantments. They were finally being led to peace that she, herself, had not the where with all to grant them. Opting, instead, to hide. To linger in this tower-prison. Letting her fallen sister do with the realm, her [I]own gifted[/I] realm, as she would. Alaria was striking down the creatures with the electrical bursts of her staff. At one point, she opened up the field with the toss of some kind of forceful energy burst, blasting several zombified creatures around her and the elf and the halfling to the four winds. The origin of which Evaranthriine could not determine. The satyr made significant headway, with Braddok close to his side, slicing through the onslaught of the undead creatures, a short curved blade in each hand. He jumped and leaped through their number, damaging all that he came near. The elf had forgone the use of his bow, after a few well-placed arrows, in lieu of the slender elf-made longsword which he always had at his belt. He, too, sliced through the former-people and tainted creatures that now streamed from all directions out of the long-blackened forest. Even that cad of a rogue dwarf was taking down creature after creature, altering between some curious small crossbow and a green-energy ensconced dagger. It was anyone's guess what he would strike with next! Imgulg made a "hoohoo!" cheer with every abomination the younger dwarf dispatched. Suddenly, it was there. Evaranthriine turned her head from the view of the battle to make sure. Yes, it was. It...[I]she[/I]...was coming. [/QUOTE]
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