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Story Hour
The Cask of Winter -4 July-
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<blockquote data-quote="ForceUser" data-source="post: 2925939" data-attributes="member: 2785"><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">It gnashed its teeth with a sound like clashing swords. The wyrm, all fangs and claws and armored scales that sliced the air like shards of ice, was hoary the way the mountains were ancient, a relic of a time when gods walked the earth and humanity raised its feeble arms in fearful supplication of those beings that bled rivers and cleaved fjords from the frozen coast. It roared, a rib-rattling thunderstorm, shaking the geodesic walls of the spire cataclysmically. Crystal fragments rained like daggers, tumbling and shattering on the crust of the earthen floor. The creature’s blue-white scales expanded, contracted and rippled with the motion of its gigantic six-legged body as it thundered toward Ilse, Wigliff and Stefano. Its claws, glowing spears of ice, cracked the floor, and its several rows of sword-like teeth grated within the wyrm’s wide, flat head as it swept into the central chamber. A halo of frost enshrouded its reptilian girth, which penetrated their wards and caused their extremities to immediately contort and numb with frostbite. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">With difficulty, Stefano performed the complicated gestures of an <em>invisibility</em> spell and disappeared from sight. Wigliff darted toward a doorway, evading the searching bite of the wyrm’s massive, groaning head. Ilse, suddenly facing down the beast alone, grimaced and set her shield for a rush. But from somewhere behind her, Louis’ clear voice rang out a rousing tune of valor, and as she took a breath with renewed confidence, Einar’s hoarse shout of “Oski!” sounded from her right, and then the big barbarian was charging in front of her, bearing down fearlessly upon the wyrm. The Vangal hacked carelessly with Angreiðr, which ricocheted off the monster’s scaly hide, drawing sparks. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">The waves of numbing cold seized them again, and they gasped and shuddered at the unnaturalness of it. From behind the creature, a throaty yell and a hurried clanging signaled Rurik’s arrival to the fray. From the shadowy corner in which Wigliff hunkered, a lance of fire leapt across the distance and sprawled across the wyrm’s flank, and the creature thrashed and shuddered as the <em>scorching ray</em> left a hideous black scar along its torso. Enraged, it bit down upon Einar, impaling him upon its armada of icy fangs. The barbarian screamed, in pain and in rage, and Ilse echoed his cry, gasping and doubling over as bloody blisters sprouted like wildflowers upon her skin—the link forged by the <em>shield other</em> spell wreaking the balance of the injury. Leaving a chunk of flesh behind as he wrenched himself free of the wyrm’s toothy maw, Einar whirled and planted his axe deep inside the unarmored wattle of the monster’s neck. Frosty blood spewed out, searing the barbarian with terrible cold, and Ilse reeled sympathetically with his pain. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Staggering away from the melee, Ilse concentrated until a warm white glow from within her breast filled the cavernous room, and with a prayer, her grievous wounds healed. As she resolved herself to reenter the battle, two more gouts of flame erupted from the fringes of the fighting to score the wyrm with fire. The smell of burning flesh filled the ground floor of the structure, and choking smoke sizzled away from the monster’s body as it lurched in agony. Stefano, having reappeared, cradled his frostbitten hands and hugged the spire wall, as far from the beast as he could get. Rurik hacked savagely at its armored flank, to little effect. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">The wyrm roared again and reared upon its hindmost pair of legs, bringing four of its claws to bear upon Einar. It tore into him with savagery, and Ilse fell to her knees and nearly blacked out from the pain. She drew upon her faith and determination in that moment, and stood, focusing upon her companion’s welfare—Einar was nearly dead on his feet, and he wobbled in a rapidly-freezing pool of his own blood. As she staggered forward, Louis swept in, a green glow upon his hand, and infused Einar with life. Stefano, too, a golden energy radiating from his core, braved the teeth and cold to heal the struggling barbarian. Ilse arrived, and with the wyrm thrashing and towering over her, invoked her most powerful litany of healing in defiance of the creature’s threat, and laid her gauntleted hand upon the tall Oski warrior’s shoulder. White light exploded from the point of contact, and with that, Einar’s many wounds became tiny pink scars.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">The barbarian grinned madly, still caught in the throes of his rage, and assaulted the wyrm with vigorous abandon. He drove his axe into the creature’s armored throat, again and again, and Ilse joined him, swinging her blessed mace with bone-crushing force. At its flank, Rurik all but severed the wyrm’s tail with an inhumanly powerful stroke, and Wigliff burned it once again with a streaming jet of fire from his wand. The wyrm tottered, and Ilse ran beside its laboring head. With all the strength of her faith, she swung Saint Carlo's mace in an overhand arc, and buried it deep within the monster’s skull. With a hollow whimper, the frost wyrm staggered, slalomed sideways, and fell with a shuddering crash. The light in its ancient eyes slowly faded, and with it faded the aura of frost.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">The heroes sagged, exhausted in their victory.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">~~~~~~~~~~</p><p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“A frost wyrm,” Einar marveled, panting and leaning heavily upon Angreiðr. Frozen blood caked his body. “I have only heard of such creatures in legend.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Oh, they’re real enough,” replied Stefano, “wyrms are dangerous relics of the ancient world. We’re quite fortunate.” The theurgist cast <em>prestidigitation</em> and cleaned the dirt and blood from Einar’s body with a wordless gesture.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Let’s hope that’s all the danger this tower has to offer,” said Louis, “I don’t know if we can handle another fight like that.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Don’t get your hopes up,” snorted Wigliff as he cleaned the rime of frost from his cherry wood wand. “Something’s causing that red glow.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“I saw a human body in the other room,” Louis mentioned. “I think it was the beast’s lair. I’m going to take a look.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“I’ll go with you,” coughed Einar.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Frozen to the husk of a dead mountain goat and quashed between bits of rubble, they discovered the half-pulverized, mummified remains of a person. He wore ragged bits of what must have once been fine garments underneath his frayed winter furs. With a word and a gesture, Louis cast <em>detect magic</em>. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">”There’s magic here!” he whispered excitedly.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“What kind?” Einar rumbled suspiciously. “I’ve had my fill for today.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Oh, er, there’s really no way to know,” declared Louis, who had never studied spellcraft in his life. “But these bracers possess a strong magical aura! And…something else. Can you help me clear these rocks? I need to turn him over.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">After much straining and groaning, they managed to clear the debris, and after carefully separating the corpse from the icy earth, they discovered a tattered satchel slung to the body’s crushed hip. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“It’s a bag,” said Einar.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“No, no, you idiot! Here, give me your knife.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Einar handed the bard Saxgrimmr, which was two feet long and carved from the leg bone of a troll. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“How charming,” Louis quipped as he gripped the weapon delicately. Sawing carefully, he peeled away the bag to reveal a horseshoe-shaped object, wrapped in cloth, that was over a foot in width. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“What’s that? Is that it?” asked the barbarian.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Yes,” Louis breathed, “It’s a lyre. A magic lyre.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Reverently, the bard removed the rotted strips of cloth to reveal an instrument of hideous magnificence. It had two curved arms connected at the upper end by a crossbar, and appeared to be made of exquisite mahogany, with ivory carvings that resembled a pair of writhing skeletons, one on each arm of the instrument. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“What’s a liar? Besides a person worthy of death?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Louis scowled at the Vangal. “A lyre is a type of harp, you dolt. It was traditionally used by the ancient Thrycians to accompany a singer or reciter of poetry. This is a very special one…I can feel the energy inside it calling to me.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Yeah, great. Give me the bracers and let’s go.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Get them yourself.” Louis stood up, reverently cradling the skeletal lyre. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Whatever,” growled the barbarian. Reaching down, he snapped the skeleton’s hands off at the wrists and divested it of the magic bracers. “Huh,” he said, inspecting them, “it’s Mani.” </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“The god?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Yeah, look.” Einar held them up for Louis’ perusal. The grimy bracers appeared to be covered in mother-of-pearl, and delicate carvings depicted the Vangal god Mani driving his moon chariot and filling the night sky with light.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Interesting. There’s some coin here, too.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Stefano stepped into the lair. “Are you two finished?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Yes!” said Louis. “Stefano, perchance are you able to identify the properties of magical items?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Yes…”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Are we ready?” barked Ilse from the other room. Louis cringed.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Another time,” said Stefano.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Right,” said Louis. He helped Einar gather the spilled platinum and gold coins, and they rejoined the others in the main chamber.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“I found a stair going up,” announced Rurik. “It’s back this way.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Let’s get on with it, then,” growled Ilse.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">~~~~~~~~~~</p><p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">They climbed the crystal stair that encircled the interior of the spire, leading to the strange formations a hundred feet above the hulking corpse of the wyrm. Crystalline stalactites hung perilously from the tower’s narrowing ceiling in an inverted inner spire, which the stair began to circle. Reddish light, refracted from somewhere above, infused the structure around them. Arriving at a platform whose upper view was obscured by the hanging inner spire, they stopped. Louis pursed his lips and said, “Be as quiet as you can. I’ll take a look ahead, okay?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Be careful,” whispered Ilse sternly. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Louis flashed the templar a mischievous grin, “Of course,” and began to sneak up the stair. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Wait,” snapped Wigliff, “Do you hear…flapping wings?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">The gargoyles, cruelly caparisoned in curving horns and jagged spikes, dove upon the party from above, slashing with their wicked claws. Their red eyes glowed fiercely, and they attacked without making any sounds except the flapping of their stony bat-like wings. One of them raked a long gouge along Stefano’s spine, and as the theurgist screamed and buckled, the other gargoyle slammed into Ilse, lifting her off her feet and pitching her toward the platform’s edge, which jutted over empty space six stories above the tower’s debris-filled floor. Scrambling for balance, Ilse dropped to her knees and grabbed at the floor, arresting the motion that would have sent her sprawling over the side. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Driving with his longspear, Einar jabbed at the nearest gargoyle, penetrating its rock-like hide with all the force he could muster. “Rargh!” he screamed in frustration, as a blow which would have skewered a man merely drove a few inches into the monster’s body. He dropped the spear and pulled Angreiðr from his back. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Stefano, in pain, raised his quarterstaff to ward off further attacks and pressed his back against the wall of the tower, keeping as far away from the ledge as possible. Wigliff darted a short distance up the stairs, drawing his shortbow. Rurik pulled his greatsword from its sheath on his back and swiped at a gargoyle, striking only air. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Still airborne, the creatures swept down upon the party again—one plummeted toward Einar, wrenching an arc of blood from his body with a triumphant swipe of its claw. The other rushed Rurik, throwing the force of its momentum behind its boulder-like weight as it drove into the half-ogre’s body with a bone-jarring impact. Rurik, standing near the platform’s edge, dropped his blade and pinwheeled his arms for balance, grasping at the creature, at his comrades, anything. His flailing found no purchase, and he toppled over the edge and tumbled through the air toward the brittle flotsam far below. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Rurik!” shouted Louis.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">The gargoyle chuckled darkly, its mouth all leering tusks, and it whirled through the air to make another pass. </span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="ForceUser, post: 2925939, member: 2785"] [font=Georgia]It gnashed its teeth with a sound like clashing swords. The wyrm, all fangs and claws and armored scales that sliced the air like shards of ice, was hoary the way the mountains were ancient, a relic of a time when gods walked the earth and humanity raised its feeble arms in fearful supplication of those beings that bled rivers and cleaved fjords from the frozen coast. It roared, a rib-rattling thunderstorm, shaking the geodesic walls of the spire cataclysmically. Crystal fragments rained like daggers, tumbling and shattering on the crust of the earthen floor. The creature’s blue-white scales expanded, contracted and rippled with the motion of its gigantic six-legged body as it thundered toward Ilse, Wigliff and Stefano. Its claws, glowing spears of ice, cracked the floor, and its several rows of sword-like teeth grated within the wyrm’s wide, flat head as it swept into the central chamber. A halo of frost enshrouded its reptilian girth, which penetrated their wards and caused their extremities to immediately contort and numb with frostbite. With difficulty, Stefano performed the complicated gestures of an [i]invisibility[/i] spell and disappeared from sight. Wigliff darted toward a doorway, evading the searching bite of the wyrm’s massive, groaning head. Ilse, suddenly facing down the beast alone, grimaced and set her shield for a rush. But from somewhere behind her, Louis’ clear voice rang out a rousing tune of valor, and as she took a breath with renewed confidence, Einar’s hoarse shout of “Oski!” sounded from her right, and then the big barbarian was charging in front of her, bearing down fearlessly upon the wyrm. The Vangal hacked carelessly with Angreiðr, which ricocheted off the monster’s scaly hide, drawing sparks. The waves of numbing cold seized them again, and they gasped and shuddered at the unnaturalness of it. From behind the creature, a throaty yell and a hurried clanging signaled Rurik’s arrival to the fray. From the shadowy corner in which Wigliff hunkered, a lance of fire leapt across the distance and sprawled across the wyrm’s flank, and the creature thrashed and shuddered as the [i]scorching ray[/i] left a hideous black scar along its torso. Enraged, it bit down upon Einar, impaling him upon its armada of icy fangs. The barbarian screamed, in pain and in rage, and Ilse echoed his cry, gasping and doubling over as bloody blisters sprouted like wildflowers upon her skin—the link forged by the [i]shield other[/i] spell wreaking the balance of the injury. Leaving a chunk of flesh behind as he wrenched himself free of the wyrm’s toothy maw, Einar whirled and planted his axe deep inside the unarmored wattle of the monster’s neck. Frosty blood spewed out, searing the barbarian with terrible cold, and Ilse reeled sympathetically with his pain. Staggering away from the melee, Ilse concentrated until a warm white glow from within her breast filled the cavernous room, and with a prayer, her grievous wounds healed. As she resolved herself to reenter the battle, two more gouts of flame erupted from the fringes of the fighting to score the wyrm with fire. The smell of burning flesh filled the ground floor of the structure, and choking smoke sizzled away from the monster’s body as it lurched in agony. Stefano, having reappeared, cradled his frostbitten hands and hugged the spire wall, as far from the beast as he could get. Rurik hacked savagely at its armored flank, to little effect. The wyrm roared again and reared upon its hindmost pair of legs, bringing four of its claws to bear upon Einar. It tore into him with savagery, and Ilse fell to her knees and nearly blacked out from the pain. She drew upon her faith and determination in that moment, and stood, focusing upon her companion’s welfare—Einar was nearly dead on his feet, and he wobbled in a rapidly-freezing pool of his own blood. As she staggered forward, Louis swept in, a green glow upon his hand, and infused Einar with life. Stefano, too, a golden energy radiating from his core, braved the teeth and cold to heal the struggling barbarian. Ilse arrived, and with the wyrm thrashing and towering over her, invoked her most powerful litany of healing in defiance of the creature’s threat, and laid her gauntleted hand upon the tall Oski warrior’s shoulder. White light exploded from the point of contact, and with that, Einar’s many wounds became tiny pink scars. The barbarian grinned madly, still caught in the throes of his rage, and assaulted the wyrm with vigorous abandon. He drove his axe into the creature’s armored throat, again and again, and Ilse joined him, swinging her blessed mace with bone-crushing force. At its flank, Rurik all but severed the wyrm’s tail with an inhumanly powerful stroke, and Wigliff burned it once again with a streaming jet of fire from his wand. The wyrm tottered, and Ilse ran beside its laboring head. With all the strength of her faith, she swung Saint Carlo's mace in an overhand arc, and buried it deep within the monster’s skull. With a hollow whimper, the frost wyrm staggered, slalomed sideways, and fell with a shuddering crash. The light in its ancient eyes slowly faded, and with it faded the aura of frost. The heroes sagged, exhausted in their victory. [center]~~~~~~~~~~[/center] “A frost wyrm,” Einar marveled, panting and leaning heavily upon Angreiðr. Frozen blood caked his body. “I have only heard of such creatures in legend.” “Oh, they’re real enough,” replied Stefano, “wyrms are dangerous relics of the ancient world. We’re quite fortunate.” The theurgist cast [i]prestidigitation[/i] and cleaned the dirt and blood from Einar’s body with a wordless gesture. “Let’s hope that’s all the danger this tower has to offer,” said Louis, “I don’t know if we can handle another fight like that.” “Don’t get your hopes up,” snorted Wigliff as he cleaned the rime of frost from his cherry wood wand. “Something’s causing that red glow.” “I saw a human body in the other room,” Louis mentioned. “I think it was the beast’s lair. I’m going to take a look.” “I’ll go with you,” coughed Einar. Frozen to the husk of a dead mountain goat and quashed between bits of rubble, they discovered the half-pulverized, mummified remains of a person. He wore ragged bits of what must have once been fine garments underneath his frayed winter furs. With a word and a gesture, Louis cast [i]detect magic[/i]. ”There’s magic here!” he whispered excitedly. “What kind?” Einar rumbled suspiciously. “I’ve had my fill for today.” “Oh, er, there’s really no way to know,” declared Louis, who had never studied spellcraft in his life. “But these bracers possess a strong magical aura! And…something else. Can you help me clear these rocks? I need to turn him over.” After much straining and groaning, they managed to clear the debris, and after carefully separating the corpse from the icy earth, they discovered a tattered satchel slung to the body’s crushed hip. “It’s a bag,” said Einar. “No, no, you idiot! Here, give me your knife.” Einar handed the bard Saxgrimmr, which was two feet long and carved from the leg bone of a troll. “How charming,” Louis quipped as he gripped the weapon delicately. Sawing carefully, he peeled away the bag to reveal a horseshoe-shaped object, wrapped in cloth, that was over a foot in width. “What’s that? Is that it?” asked the barbarian. “Yes,” Louis breathed, “It’s a lyre. A magic lyre.” Reverently, the bard removed the rotted strips of cloth to reveal an instrument of hideous magnificence. It had two curved arms connected at the upper end by a crossbar, and appeared to be made of exquisite mahogany, with ivory carvings that resembled a pair of writhing skeletons, one on each arm of the instrument. “What’s a liar? Besides a person worthy of death?” Louis scowled at the Vangal. “A lyre is a type of harp, you dolt. It was traditionally used by the ancient Thrycians to accompany a singer or reciter of poetry. This is a very special one…I can feel the energy inside it calling to me.” “Yeah, great. Give me the bracers and let’s go.” “Get them yourself.” Louis stood up, reverently cradling the skeletal lyre. “Whatever,” growled the barbarian. Reaching down, he snapped the skeleton’s hands off at the wrists and divested it of the magic bracers. “Huh,” he said, inspecting them, “it’s Mani.” “The god?” “Yeah, look.” Einar held them up for Louis’ perusal. The grimy bracers appeared to be covered in mother-of-pearl, and delicate carvings depicted the Vangal god Mani driving his moon chariot and filling the night sky with light. “Interesting. There’s some coin here, too.” Stefano stepped into the lair. “Are you two finished?” “Yes!” said Louis. “Stefano, perchance are you able to identify the properties of magical items?” “Yes…” “Are we ready?” barked Ilse from the other room. Louis cringed. “Another time,” said Stefano. “Right,” said Louis. He helped Einar gather the spilled platinum and gold coins, and they rejoined the others in the main chamber. “I found a stair going up,” announced Rurik. “It’s back this way.” “Let’s get on with it, then,” growled Ilse. [center]~~~~~~~~~~[/center] They climbed the crystal stair that encircled the interior of the spire, leading to the strange formations a hundred feet above the hulking corpse of the wyrm. Crystalline stalactites hung perilously from the tower’s narrowing ceiling in an inverted inner spire, which the stair began to circle. Reddish light, refracted from somewhere above, infused the structure around them. Arriving at a platform whose upper view was obscured by the hanging inner spire, they stopped. Louis pursed his lips and said, “Be as quiet as you can. I’ll take a look ahead, okay?” “Be careful,” whispered Ilse sternly. Louis flashed the templar a mischievous grin, “Of course,” and began to sneak up the stair. “Wait,” snapped Wigliff, “Do you hear…flapping wings?” The gargoyles, cruelly caparisoned in curving horns and jagged spikes, dove upon the party from above, slashing with their wicked claws. Their red eyes glowed fiercely, and they attacked without making any sounds except the flapping of their stony bat-like wings. One of them raked a long gouge along Stefano’s spine, and as the theurgist screamed and buckled, the other gargoyle slammed into Ilse, lifting her off her feet and pitching her toward the platform’s edge, which jutted over empty space six stories above the tower’s debris-filled floor. Scrambling for balance, Ilse dropped to her knees and grabbed at the floor, arresting the motion that would have sent her sprawling over the side. Driving with his longspear, Einar jabbed at the nearest gargoyle, penetrating its rock-like hide with all the force he could muster. “Rargh!” he screamed in frustration, as a blow which would have skewered a man merely drove a few inches into the monster’s body. He dropped the spear and pulled Angreiðr from his back. Stefano, in pain, raised his quarterstaff to ward off further attacks and pressed his back against the wall of the tower, keeping as far away from the ledge as possible. Wigliff darted a short distance up the stairs, drawing his shortbow. Rurik pulled his greatsword from its sheath on his back and swiped at a gargoyle, striking only air. Still airborne, the creatures swept down upon the party again—one plummeted toward Einar, wrenching an arc of blood from his body with a triumphant swipe of its claw. The other rushed Rurik, throwing the force of its momentum behind its boulder-like weight as it drove into the half-ogre’s body with a bone-jarring impact. Rurik, standing near the platform’s edge, dropped his blade and pinwheeled his arms for balance, grasping at the creature, at his comrades, anything. His flailing found no purchase, and he toppled over the edge and tumbled through the air toward the brittle flotsam far below. “Rurik!” shouted Louis. The gargoyle chuckled darkly, its mouth all leering tusks, and it whirled through the air to make another pass. [/font] [/QUOTE]
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The Cask of Winter -4 July-
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