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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 4866777" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p>Typical soldiers on leave drink and whore. They get into bar brawls. They bitch about their commanders and their realms, mock the navy and the enemy, grumble about how long it has been since they have seen their families. </p><p></p><p>It is a rare soldier indeed who, confronted by a month of free time, keeps working. Loridell has had enough for the time being; she joins her brothers and sisters in arms in the taversn.</p><p></p><p>But there’s just so much to do!</p><p></p><p>Among other things, the dwarves have been having problems with <em>something</em> that was released from deep below the earth in the trap that they triggered six years ago, at the outset of the siege. Although Ligir argues for a return trip to the Feywild to try to find the black unicorn that he has had occasional fleeting contact with, the party (minus Loridell) eventually agrees that the threat to the dwarves must come first. </p><p></p><p>They head into the Black Gorge, just outside of Fandelose. The dwarven sentries recognize them- they are, after all, friends of the dwarven Thane and have helped the dwarven operation in the past. They head down to question survivors of the mysterious creature’s attacks, fighting off a band of hideous, red cap wearing fey along the way.</p><p></p><p>The Dunstone brothers didn’t get a good look at the thing, but one of them says, “It seemed to club us, but I don’t know if it used weapons. It didn’t seem humanoid. And it could vanish at will, almost as if it wasn’t there! It was hard to concentrate around it...”</p><p></p><p>Cook shudders, thinking of the morkoth of Baphomet. <em>I hope it’s not another of those creatures!</em></p><p></p><p>But it isn’t. When the party finally finds it, searching in the areas that the monster has struck from, it proves to be some sort of strange, almost worm-like creature with six tentacles. It is equally capable of moving along the floor and the ceiling- and worse yet, it is able to teleport, seemingly at will, and when it does, it distorts reality around it, leaving anyone too close to it dazed.</p><p></p><p>To top it all off, it can turn invisible. </p><p></p><p>But our heroes aren’t called the Heroes of Fandelose for nothing. They take care of the problem and bring the head back to the thane, who- as always- joins them for a dwarven mug of dwarven ale. Long ago, he gave each of our heroes a stein of their own; to this day, they make a point of carrying them when they go to the Black Gorge. </p><p></p><p>After the celebration, the party returns to Fandelose. This time, Iggy wins the argument, and the party agrees: they will return to the home of the mad architect Hyswell the Bitter, whom the party slew before the siege. There, they know, there is a crossing to the Feywild; using his <em>fey crossing</em> ritual, Iggy can allow them to cross over, between the worlds. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>With the ritual at their beck and call, there is no need to wait for the barrier between the worlds to weaken of its own accord. Instead, once they reach the mad architect’s house, now filling with dust and dead insects, Iggy- an eladrin- easily goes through the requisite words and gestures until a glittering membrane of greenish-amber seems to wash over them.</p><p></p><p>And ah, but they feel <em>alive</em> all of a sudden! </p><p></p><p>Their journey into the Feywild makes their blood sing, makes their brains brilliantly alert, their senses vibrantly acute. The realm itself energizes and affirms; it makes them feel, somehow, more capable.</p><p></p><p>They are looking for the black unicorn; what they find is a large number of goblin tracks. </p><p></p><p>“The Hand?” wonders Heimall.</p><p></p><p>Ligir shrugs uncomfortably. “It’s hard to say. There are plenty of goblins in the Feywild that <em>aren’t</em> part of the Six-Fingered Hand...”</p><p></p><p>“Why? What are they doing here?” demands Vann-La.</p><p></p><p>“This is a whole world. There are all kinds of... unsavory things that live here.”</p><p></p><p>Vann-La scowls.</p><p></p><p>The party starts to follow the goblin footprints, but before long a large shadow crosses over them.</p><p></p><p>A green dragon.</p><p></p><p>Weapons hiss free of their scabbards. Hkatha clutches his orb; Iggy draws his gun. Cook darts into cover. The party watches for signs of it.</p><p></p><p>“There,” hisses Hkatha. “It’s circling us.”</p><p></p><p>It drops out of sight; due to the trees all around them, if it isn’t pretty high up, they can’t spot it.</p><p></p><p>The wind picks up.</p><p></p><p>And it flies in to attack from the side, darting in under the tree line. </p><p></p><p>Vann-La rushes out to meet it, hitting it with a <em>steel serpent strike</em>, and its claws scrabble at her, but her armor prevents her from serious injury. </p><p></p><p>Then the chaos of battle takes over. Blows fall; others are deflected from scales or armor, or parried by weapon or shield. Cook buries a shuriken in the dragon’s lower back, leaving it <em>walking wounded.</em> “I’m gonna eat your eyeballs, dragon!” the dwarf yells.</p><p></p><p>The dragon’s eyes blaze yellow. It rises up above the party, and they cannot help but quail. Its very presence is frightful enough to leave Vann-La, Cook, Hkatha, Ligir and Heimall all stunned with terror for a few precious moments, but Torinn uses an <em>awe strike</em> to keep the dragon pinned down long enough for the others to recover... he hopes. </p><p></p><p>The dragon breathes, a cloud of toxic gas, green and foul-smelling. It envelops Torinn just as he takes a deep breath, and he coughs madly, with flecks of blood erupting from his nose.* Hkatha and Heimall groan in pain as the gas envelopes them as well. </p><p></p><p>But then Iggy, Vann-La and Cook throw off their momentary paralysis. Iggy hits the dragon with a <em>magic missile</em> and Cook makes a <em>sly flourish</em> that sends his dagger into the dragon’s neck. It grunts, then winces as Torinn’s spiked chain slaps it hard across the face. The dragon claws at the dragonborn twice, opening itself up to a blow from Vann-La, and then starts to retreat. </p><p></p><p>Vann-La charges across a bank of mossy rocks at it, landing another blow. <em>It doesn’t even look all that badly wounded,</em> she thinks. <em>Why is it-</em></p><p></p><p>“I am here to impart knowledge,” the green dragon says with a laugh, “if you survive!”</p><p></p><p>“Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine!” Iggy replies, firing his pistol. The bullet bounces from the dragon’s thick scales. Simultaneously, Vann-La rushes up and hits the dragon with appalling force. Unfortunately, this leaves him too close to avoid Hkatha’s <em>fireball</em>, which explodes in a <em>whoomph</em> of orange flame! Ferns and bushes blacken and die; a tree catches fire. Vann-La grits her teeth and lets the fire wash over her, assuming a combat stance and letting a <em>rain of steel</em> whip all around her as her bastard sword cleaves through the air!</p><p></p><p>The dragon laughs, seemingly delighted by the deep cut the Kree warrior’s sword slashes in its side. It breathes another cloud of venomous vapors out, and Vann-La reels back, coughing and gagging. It lays a claw across her, ripping open her chest and breast, and she staggers back a step. Then the dragon slashes her again, this time across the leg, and she stumbles. </p><p></p><p>It fixes her with its gaze, and, irrationally, Vann-La backpedals, giving it enough room to spread its wings and take to the air without being assaulted. Leaves shower down from the forest canopy overhead as it breaks through to the sky.</p><p></p><p>“Follow me!” it cries, and wings away.</p><p></p><p>“Damn it!” curses Heimall. “It got away!”</p><p></p><p>“Maybe, but maybe not,” replies Hkatha. “Look.”</p><p></p><p>Indeed- the dragon flies much faster than the party can walk, and it should be able to easily make its escape. Instead, however, it moves off a ways and then circles- far enough away to be out of range of any of our heroes’ attacks, but close enough to tantalize them- to lure them after it.</p><p></p><p>“It must be trying to trick us into falling into a trap,” says Hkatha grimly.</p><p></p><p>“Quick, let’s fall for it,” answers Vann-La wryly.</p><p></p><p>The party pursues.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>The dragon leads them on a merry chase. Almost two hours go by before it finally lets them catch up with it.</p><p></p><p>And when they do, they are disconcerted to find that its face has changed. </p><p></p><p>Now its tongue lolls out like a pug’s. Its eyes bulge and are constantly rolling; they don’t seem to focus evenly on anything, nor do they track together. Brightly colored- feathers? Fur? Scales? Our heroes can’t quite be sure- run off the dragon’s back and wings. </p><p></p><p>It laughs as they approach, weapons in hands. “There is no longer any need for combat!” it cries. “I have tested your mettle, and found you worthy!”</p><p></p><p>“Gee, thanks,” Iggy retorts sarcastically. “Give us one good reason why we shouldn’t cut you down now!”</p><p></p><p>The dragon’s laughter booms through the lush forest again. “I will give you a name, a most important and precious name to you! A name connected to the beginning of your foe...”</p><p></p><p>“Arawn, right? Yeah, we already know his name.”</p><p></p><p>The dragon laughs again, and says, “No- Dawn.”</p><p></p><p><em>Who the hell is Dawn?</em> wonders Hkatha. A moment later, he voices his question.</p><p></p><p>The dragon’s response is circuitous. “She is the start of it all! Too many betrayals, and now too many beauties. Ahh, too many, too many. He has been betrayed too many times, and only once. Infinity and solitude. <em>There are too many of her.</em> For too long- too short. It seems like forever. Too many betrayals- she betrayed me. <em>They</em> betrayed me! <em>SHE</em> betrayed me!”</p><p></p><p>“Well, that’s clear,” remarks Hkatha in the following silence. </p><p></p><p>“I am a fey oracle,” the dragon retorts. “What do you expect?”</p><p></p><p>“If you have something to tell us,” Ligir sighs, “please, just do so. If you have advice, give it to us. If you’re just playing around, just knock it off.”</p><p></p><p>The dragon howls laughter again. “Advice? Aye, here’s a piece of advice for you. <em>Before you go to Tirchond, you must have the Silver Rose.”</em></p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>They can’t make heads or tails of what the dragon is trying to tell them, at least not much, at least not yet. There are two things that they keep in mind, though: <em>the Silver Rose</em> and <em>Dawn.</em> But what do they mean?</p><p></p><p>While they think it over, the party decides that they might as well get back to the pursuit of the goblins that they were tracking. They did come from uncomfortably close to the fey crossing into the real world; the chance that the Hand is moving on the Feywild as well as the material plane seems worth investigating. </p><p></p><p>The party ends up following a waterway replete with frolicking nixies. The fey confirm that the goblins are in uniforms with a hand motif. Our heroes continue along, and more of the nixies help guide them to a dark passage that leads into the Feywild’s parallel to the Underdark- the Feydark.</p><p></p><p>The nixie paints a picture of the Feydark as a terrifying, mysterious, deadly place. The Feywild is a lot like the world, only moreso. Trees are taller, more alive, give better shade, harder wood. Wilderness is wilder, more untamed, more dangerous.</p><p></p><p>The Feydark is deeper, more convoluted, more frightening than the mortal world’s Underdark. It is almost a living thing unto itself. The tunnels might change while a group travels through them, unable to find the way out- because it no longer exists. Worst of all, the rulers of the Feydark are the terrible, deformed giants known as fomorians- equally twisted in mind and body, foul-brained, foul-odored, with crippled limbs and crippled morals.</p><p></p><p>“If the Six-Fingered Hand is trying to ally with these fomorians,” says Heimall, “we have to stop them. They could be very dangerous allies.”</p><p></p><p>The party pursues, heading into the tunnel. Their quarry don’t seem to be moving very quickly, so the party hopes that if they move quickly, they might be able to catch up. The darkness quickly closes in behind them, the dappled amber light of the Feywild forest lost far above. Rocks shift treacherously underfoot. Here and there, pools of water or trickles of mud run along the floor or drip down the walls. The smell of loam and earth is gradually replaced by the deep, strong scent of stone. The oppressive sense of thousands of tons of rock above the party presses down on them.</p><p></p><p>Deeper. Deeper. Further from the sun, from places of hope and joy. </p><p></p><p>Until, finally, the party comes into a large chamber with several exits. Something moves towards the party, fast, only half-illuminated by their <em>light</em> spells. </p><p></p><p>Iggy doesn’t hesitate. He <em>shoots from the hip,</em> and his bullet blazes out and hits a small creature moving very fast.** It is humanoid, grey-skinned, three-toed and evil-faced, with pointed ears, needle-like teeth and large, glossy eyes. </p><p></p><p>“It’s a quickling!” Torinn exclaims.</p><p></p><p>Behind it, another quickling zips into view- and a trio of hulking, one-eyed creatures move up. </p><p></p><p>“And cyclops,” adds Vann-La, whipping out her sword. </p><p></p><p>Especially since Iggy already shot one of them in the chest, it doesn’t look like a parlay is going to happen. Instead, a vicious, violent fray ensues, with the quicklings moving with such speed that they are nearly invisible. The cyclops stick to brute force, swinging great battle axes and hurling spears. </p><p></p><p>They are strong and wily combatants, but even so, our heroes manage to overcome them after a struggle. The quicklings keep trying to corner Iggy, but fortunately, he is able to <em>fey step</em> and <em>dimension door</em> out of imminent danger. Hkatha uses a <em>flaming sphere</em> positioned very close to himself to keep the quicklings from threatening him without consequence; thanks to his diabolic blood, he is barely singed by the <em>sphere.</em></p><p></p><p>When the battle is over, the party is wounded and their strength is depleted. “We have to rest,” groans Heimall. “But we have to catch up with them!”</p><p></p><p>“We’ve passed two of their campsites,” says Torinn. “So we’re moving twice as fast as them. We don’t want to come up on them if we can’t take them.”</p><p></p><p>The party agrees and makes camp. Already they are losing their circadian rhythms; they have no idea how long they have been below ground. They set an uneasy watch after Vann-La finds the goblins’ tracks. Then the rest of them lay out and go to sleep.</p><p></p><p><em><strong>Next Time:</strong></em> Will our heroes reach the goblins before the goblins reach the fomorians?</p><p></p><p>*Breath weapon critical hit.</p><p></p><p>**<em>Shoot from the Hip</em> is Iggy’s paragon path 11th level attack power, which lets him fire a shot <em>before</em> initiative as long as he perceives the enemy and has his gun out and loaded.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 4866777, member: 1210"] Typical soldiers on leave drink and whore. They get into bar brawls. They bitch about their commanders and their realms, mock the navy and the enemy, grumble about how long it has been since they have seen their families. It is a rare soldier indeed who, confronted by a month of free time, keeps working. Loridell has had enough for the time being; she joins her brothers and sisters in arms in the taversn. But there’s just so much to do! Among other things, the dwarves have been having problems with [i]something[/i] that was released from deep below the earth in the trap that they triggered six years ago, at the outset of the siege. Although Ligir argues for a return trip to the Feywild to try to find the black unicorn that he has had occasional fleeting contact with, the party (minus Loridell) eventually agrees that the threat to the dwarves must come first. They head into the Black Gorge, just outside of Fandelose. The dwarven sentries recognize them- they are, after all, friends of the dwarven Thane and have helped the dwarven operation in the past. They head down to question survivors of the mysterious creature’s attacks, fighting off a band of hideous, red cap wearing fey along the way. The Dunstone brothers didn’t get a good look at the thing, but one of them says, “It seemed to club us, but I don’t know if it used weapons. It didn’t seem humanoid. And it could vanish at will, almost as if it wasn’t there! It was hard to concentrate around it...” Cook shudders, thinking of the morkoth of Baphomet. [i]I hope it’s not another of those creatures![/i] But it isn’t. When the party finally finds it, searching in the areas that the monster has struck from, it proves to be some sort of strange, almost worm-like creature with six tentacles. It is equally capable of moving along the floor and the ceiling- and worse yet, it is able to teleport, seemingly at will, and when it does, it distorts reality around it, leaving anyone too close to it dazed. To top it all off, it can turn invisible. But our heroes aren’t called the Heroes of Fandelose for nothing. They take care of the problem and bring the head back to the thane, who- as always- joins them for a dwarven mug of dwarven ale. Long ago, he gave each of our heroes a stein of their own; to this day, they make a point of carrying them when they go to the Black Gorge. After the celebration, the party returns to Fandelose. This time, Iggy wins the argument, and the party agrees: they will return to the home of the mad architect Hyswell the Bitter, whom the party slew before the siege. There, they know, there is a crossing to the Feywild; using his [i]fey crossing[/i] ritual, Iggy can allow them to cross over, between the worlds. *** With the ritual at their beck and call, there is no need to wait for the barrier between the worlds to weaken of its own accord. Instead, once they reach the mad architect’s house, now filling with dust and dead insects, Iggy- an eladrin- easily goes through the requisite words and gestures until a glittering membrane of greenish-amber seems to wash over them. And ah, but they feel [i]alive[/i] all of a sudden! Their journey into the Feywild makes their blood sing, makes their brains brilliantly alert, their senses vibrantly acute. The realm itself energizes and affirms; it makes them feel, somehow, more capable. They are looking for the black unicorn; what they find is a large number of goblin tracks. “The Hand?” wonders Heimall. Ligir shrugs uncomfortably. “It’s hard to say. There are plenty of goblins in the Feywild that [i]aren’t[/i] part of the Six-Fingered Hand...” “Why? What are they doing here?” demands Vann-La. “This is a whole world. There are all kinds of... unsavory things that live here.” Vann-La scowls. The party starts to follow the goblin footprints, but before long a large shadow crosses over them. A green dragon. Weapons hiss free of their scabbards. Hkatha clutches his orb; Iggy draws his gun. Cook darts into cover. The party watches for signs of it. “There,” hisses Hkatha. “It’s circling us.” It drops out of sight; due to the trees all around them, if it isn’t pretty high up, they can’t spot it. The wind picks up. And it flies in to attack from the side, darting in under the tree line. Vann-La rushes out to meet it, hitting it with a [i]steel serpent strike[/i], and its claws scrabble at her, but her armor prevents her from serious injury. Then the chaos of battle takes over. Blows fall; others are deflected from scales or armor, or parried by weapon or shield. Cook buries a shuriken in the dragon’s lower back, leaving it [i]walking wounded.[/i] “I’m gonna eat your eyeballs, dragon!” the dwarf yells. The dragon’s eyes blaze yellow. It rises up above the party, and they cannot help but quail. Its very presence is frightful enough to leave Vann-La, Cook, Hkatha, Ligir and Heimall all stunned with terror for a few precious moments, but Torinn uses an [i]awe strike[/i] to keep the dragon pinned down long enough for the others to recover... he hopes. The dragon breathes, a cloud of toxic gas, green and foul-smelling. It envelops Torinn just as he takes a deep breath, and he coughs madly, with flecks of blood erupting from his nose.* Hkatha and Heimall groan in pain as the gas envelopes them as well. But then Iggy, Vann-La and Cook throw off their momentary paralysis. Iggy hits the dragon with a [i]magic missile[/i] and Cook makes a [i]sly flourish[/i] that sends his dagger into the dragon’s neck. It grunts, then winces as Torinn’s spiked chain slaps it hard across the face. The dragon claws at the dragonborn twice, opening itself up to a blow from Vann-La, and then starts to retreat. Vann-La charges across a bank of mossy rocks at it, landing another blow. [i]It doesn’t even look all that badly wounded,[/i] she thinks. [i]Why is it-[/i] “I am here to impart knowledge,” the green dragon says with a laugh, “if you survive!” “Don’t worry about us, we’ll be fine!” Iggy replies, firing his pistol. The bullet bounces from the dragon’s thick scales. Simultaneously, Vann-La rushes up and hits the dragon with appalling force. Unfortunately, this leaves him too close to avoid Hkatha’s [i]fireball[/i], which explodes in a [i]whoomph[/i] of orange flame! Ferns and bushes blacken and die; a tree catches fire. Vann-La grits her teeth and lets the fire wash over her, assuming a combat stance and letting a [i]rain of steel[/i] whip all around her as her bastard sword cleaves through the air! The dragon laughs, seemingly delighted by the deep cut the Kree warrior’s sword slashes in its side. It breathes another cloud of venomous vapors out, and Vann-La reels back, coughing and gagging. It lays a claw across her, ripping open her chest and breast, and she staggers back a step. Then the dragon slashes her again, this time across the leg, and she stumbles. It fixes her with its gaze, and, irrationally, Vann-La backpedals, giving it enough room to spread its wings and take to the air without being assaulted. Leaves shower down from the forest canopy overhead as it breaks through to the sky. “Follow me!” it cries, and wings away. “Damn it!” curses Heimall. “It got away!” “Maybe, but maybe not,” replies Hkatha. “Look.” Indeed- the dragon flies much faster than the party can walk, and it should be able to easily make its escape. Instead, however, it moves off a ways and then circles- far enough away to be out of range of any of our heroes’ attacks, but close enough to tantalize them- to lure them after it. “It must be trying to trick us into falling into a trap,” says Hkatha grimly. “Quick, let’s fall for it,” answers Vann-La wryly. The party pursues. *** The dragon leads them on a merry chase. Almost two hours go by before it finally lets them catch up with it. And when they do, they are disconcerted to find that its face has changed. Now its tongue lolls out like a pug’s. Its eyes bulge and are constantly rolling; they don’t seem to focus evenly on anything, nor do they track together. Brightly colored- feathers? Fur? Scales? Our heroes can’t quite be sure- run off the dragon’s back and wings. It laughs as they approach, weapons in hands. “There is no longer any need for combat!” it cries. “I have tested your mettle, and found you worthy!” “Gee, thanks,” Iggy retorts sarcastically. “Give us one good reason why we shouldn’t cut you down now!” The dragon’s laughter booms through the lush forest again. “I will give you a name, a most important and precious name to you! A name connected to the beginning of your foe...” “Arawn, right? Yeah, we already know his name.” The dragon laughs again, and says, “No- Dawn.” [i]Who the hell is Dawn?[/i] wonders Hkatha. A moment later, he voices his question. The dragon’s response is circuitous. “She is the start of it all! Too many betrayals, and now too many beauties. Ahh, too many, too many. He has been betrayed too many times, and only once. Infinity and solitude. [i]There are too many of her.[/i] For too long- too short. It seems like forever. Too many betrayals- she betrayed me. [i]They[/i] betrayed me! [i]SHE[/i] betrayed me!” “Well, that’s clear,” remarks Hkatha in the following silence. “I am a fey oracle,” the dragon retorts. “What do you expect?” “If you have something to tell us,” Ligir sighs, “please, just do so. If you have advice, give it to us. If you’re just playing around, just knock it off.” The dragon howls laughter again. “Advice? Aye, here’s a piece of advice for you. [i]Before you go to Tirchond, you must have the Silver Rose.”[/i] *** They can’t make heads or tails of what the dragon is trying to tell them, at least not much, at least not yet. There are two things that they keep in mind, though: [i]the Silver Rose[/i] and [i]Dawn.[/i] But what do they mean? While they think it over, the party decides that they might as well get back to the pursuit of the goblins that they were tracking. They did come from uncomfortably close to the fey crossing into the real world; the chance that the Hand is moving on the Feywild as well as the material plane seems worth investigating. The party ends up following a waterway replete with frolicking nixies. The fey confirm that the goblins are in uniforms with a hand motif. Our heroes continue along, and more of the nixies help guide them to a dark passage that leads into the Feywild’s parallel to the Underdark- the Feydark. The nixie paints a picture of the Feydark as a terrifying, mysterious, deadly place. The Feywild is a lot like the world, only moreso. Trees are taller, more alive, give better shade, harder wood. Wilderness is wilder, more untamed, more dangerous. The Feydark is deeper, more convoluted, more frightening than the mortal world’s Underdark. It is almost a living thing unto itself. The tunnels might change while a group travels through them, unable to find the way out- because it no longer exists. Worst of all, the rulers of the Feydark are the terrible, deformed giants known as fomorians- equally twisted in mind and body, foul-brained, foul-odored, with crippled limbs and crippled morals. “If the Six-Fingered Hand is trying to ally with these fomorians,” says Heimall, “we have to stop them. They could be very dangerous allies.” The party pursues, heading into the tunnel. Their quarry don’t seem to be moving very quickly, so the party hopes that if they move quickly, they might be able to catch up. The darkness quickly closes in behind them, the dappled amber light of the Feywild forest lost far above. Rocks shift treacherously underfoot. Here and there, pools of water or trickles of mud run along the floor or drip down the walls. The smell of loam and earth is gradually replaced by the deep, strong scent of stone. The oppressive sense of thousands of tons of rock above the party presses down on them. Deeper. Deeper. Further from the sun, from places of hope and joy. Until, finally, the party comes into a large chamber with several exits. Something moves towards the party, fast, only half-illuminated by their [i]light[/i] spells. Iggy doesn’t hesitate. He [i]shoots from the hip,[/i] and his bullet blazes out and hits a small creature moving very fast.** It is humanoid, grey-skinned, three-toed and evil-faced, with pointed ears, needle-like teeth and large, glossy eyes. “It’s a quickling!” Torinn exclaims. Behind it, another quickling zips into view- and a trio of hulking, one-eyed creatures move up. “And cyclops,” adds Vann-La, whipping out her sword. Especially since Iggy already shot one of them in the chest, it doesn’t look like a parlay is going to happen. Instead, a vicious, violent fray ensues, with the quicklings moving with such speed that they are nearly invisible. The cyclops stick to brute force, swinging great battle axes and hurling spears. They are strong and wily combatants, but even so, our heroes manage to overcome them after a struggle. The quicklings keep trying to corner Iggy, but fortunately, he is able to [i]fey step[/i] and [i]dimension door[/i] out of imminent danger. Hkatha uses a [i]flaming sphere[/i] positioned very close to himself to keep the quicklings from threatening him without consequence; thanks to his diabolic blood, he is barely singed by the [i]sphere.[/i] When the battle is over, the party is wounded and their strength is depleted. “We have to rest,” groans Heimall. “But we have to catch up with them!” “We’ve passed two of their campsites,” says Torinn. “So we’re moving twice as fast as them. We don’t want to come up on them if we can’t take them.” The party agrees and makes camp. Already they are losing their circadian rhythms; they have no idea how long they have been below ground. They set an uneasy watch after Vann-La finds the goblins’ tracks. Then the rest of them lay out and go to sleep. [i][b]Next Time:[/b][/i][b][/b] Will our heroes reach the goblins before the goblins reach the fomorians? *Breath weapon critical hit. **[i]Shoot from the Hip[/i] is Iggy’s paragon path 11th level attack power, which lets him fire a shot [i]before[/i] initiative as long as he perceives the enemy and has his gun out and loaded. [/QUOTE]
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