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The Lost Boys vs The Sunless Citadel
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<blockquote data-quote="Goonalan" data-source="post: 4064837" data-attributes="member: 16069"><p>Sorry about the delay, v.busy with other campaigns, oh and work.</p><p></p><p>Turn 8.4: Together we will rule the world.</p><p></p><p>It’s a big, old battered chest, and now its open, Dartamor shoots backwards, stumbling- turns hard right, all the time looking away from the chest, dry gags and heaves.</p><p></p><p>“What… is it?” Aleso clearly doesn’t want to know.</p><p>Saradomin backs off a little too.</p><p></p><p>Grand Alf looks from one to the other, then back to Dartamor who continues to dry heave and gulp, he wanders over to the battered trunk and flips the lid.</p><p></p><p>Inside is a decapitated head, lidless staring eyes, the mouth a ragged “O”, the last agonising gasp, the hair matted in blood, bruised, battered- broken.</p><p></p><p>“Hey, there’s a load of gold- I’m rich I tell you, rich.”</p><p></p><p>Grand Alf whoops and pirouettes.</p><p></p><p>Sure enough the head lies on a bed of gold coins.</p><p></p><p>Grand Alf reaches in, grasps the last remains of the missing male Hucrele and yanks it out, he’s about to start his “gottle-ov-gear” ventriloquist show when he spies the faces of the others. He tosses the head aside, into the thick undergrowth.</p><p></p><p>“I… I… I…” Aleso splutters.</p><p>Saradomin nods and blinks hard, the tears are stinging his eyes.</p><p>Dartamor looks up, spits, “let’s get him good.”</p><p>Saradomin continues to nod.</p><p></p><p>The three march off, into the Twilight Grove.</p><p></p><p>“Don’t you want… Hey, wait for me.” Grand Alf races on after them, Jerky trailing after his eyes on the spot where the head rolled into the undergrowth, not wanting to see it and yet unable to look away.</p><p></p><p>Through a twisted maze of stunted trees and grabbing briars, illuminated by the purple-death glow of rotting fungi, they scrape and scratch their way through.</p><p></p><p>Anything that gets in their way is chopped, slashed and hacked- obliterated.</p><p></p><p>“Eerie.” Aleso states.</p><p></p><p>Saradomin looks put-out.</p><p></p><p>“Hardly, it’s very close, humid even.” He counters.</p><p></p><p>Water drips.</p><p></p><p>There’s a clearing, the ruins of some sort of building, crumbling ancient stone walls most no more than two or three feet tall.</p><p></p><p>A low mist seems to gather on the ground, they follow the path on…</p><p></p><p>“He’s got it nice.” Grand Alf mumbles and strides forward, “very homely.”</p><p></p><p>Jerky catches up to Grand Alf crosses himself and attempts to hide behind the Sorcerer.</p><p></p><p>There’s a reception committee, the Lost Boys approach- cautiously, till the ragged man that stands before the swaying, seemingly dead, tree puts up his hand to signal that they should come no closer.</p><p></p><p>Beneath the venomous fungal light grows a singular tree of evil. Its blackened, twisted limbs reach upward, like a skeletal hand clawing its way from the earth.</p><p>The great dead tree reaches up and over, grasps and clings to the ceiling, almost arching over the adventurers where they stand.</p><p></p><p>Before the tree stands a ragged, bearded and robed man, a human, with a maniacs gleam in his eye.</p><p></p><p>To the left a stout Knight complete with curly moustache and red cheeks, wrapped in heavy armour, with a gleaming longsword in hand.</p><p></p><p>To the right a slight young woman, robed- she’s beautiful, the Hucrele girl- Sharwyn, and yet there’s something not quite right.</p><p></p><p>The man and the woman stare right through the Lost Boys, statue still they await there instruction.</p><p></p><p>High up in the withered branches of the great tree a giant frog clings and gulps, bats its rubbery eyelids and calculates its leap.</p><p></p><p>Surrounding the clearing bushes move- Twig Blights manoeuvre into position.</p><p></p><p>“I am Belak, the Outcast, stay your anger- listen to me.” The ragged old man speaks.</p><p></p><p>Aleso takes his hand off the hilt of his longsword, gulps, Dartamor finds the hilt of his rapier.</p><p></p><p>“Think what you do now, do not listen to the words of others, make up your own minds. Look around you- its beautiful is it not, nature exists, adapts, survives- even in this dark place. I dared to go further, and for this you have been sent to destroy me, look again- what do you see?”</p><p></p><p>The Lost Boys take a moment, stare at their surroundings.</p><p></p><p>“You’re mad.” Dartamor spits.</p><p></p><p>“Mad. MAD.” The Outcast gibbers, “I’m furious. Livid.”</p><p></p><p>He turns to point at the tree.</p><p></p><p>“Perfection, it called to me, over decades, over thousands of miles, it grew here- in the dark, a vampire staked through the heart, in its last moment breathed life into the green stake that destroyed it- the Gulthias tree.”</p><p></p><p>The Outcast admires the tree some more.</p><p></p><p>“Feel its power, reverberating.”</p><p></p><p>The Outcast waves and frolics.</p><p></p><p>“Perfection. Nature’s bounty.”</p><p></p><p>“I think what Dartamor was trying to get across was that you’re a nutter.” Grand Alf clarifies, and then pulls faces at the others. Jerky stays hidden. The others are not in the mood for smiling; all hands are on hilts now- their armed and dangerous.</p><p></p><p>“No, NO. NO. Don’t you see… My children.”</p><p></p><p>Several Twig Blights crawl into view, that’s it, swords and other assorted armaments are drawn, the adventurers take a collective step back, quickly form a half-circle.</p><p></p><p>“NO. NO. No, leave them- do not harm them, they are my children, the children of the Gulthias tree, from its seeds they grew, I nurtured them, I…”</p><p></p><p>“Cuckoo. Cuckoo.” Grand Alf demonstrates with further hand-signals the scale of the Outcast’s madness.</p><p></p><p>“Do not anger me for all of nature is within my power.” The Outcast growls, the Twig Blights take a step closer.</p><p></p><p>“I’m a little teapot”, Grand Alf sings back, “short and stout, here’s my handle, here’s my spout- tip me up and poor me out.”</p><p></p><p>The Outcast starts forward, “You…”</p><p>“Hold.” Saradomin waves the confrontation to a stop.</p><p></p><p>“What are they?” his heavy mace points, wavers slightly, at the Knight, then the woman.</p><p></p><p>“Supplicants, they have seen the error of their ways and have chosen to join with the Gulthias tree, the first supplicants, imbued with its true power, they are death and destruction, they are new life.”</p><p></p><p>The Outcast kneels, looks up at the tree, a mixture of longing, lust and lunacy.</p><p></p><p>He turns to the Lost Boys, “join us”, he whispers.</p><p></p><p>“Its not too late, together we can rule the world, together we can…”</p><p>“Hang on. Back a bit, the bit about ruling the world, how’s that work?” Grand Alf interrupts.</p><p>The Sorcerer can feel his companion’s stares; he reddens, then turns to look at them, “I was only asking- just thought…” Grand Alf snorts into silence for a moment then continues to mutter, “bloody killjoys, chance at world domination and not-so-much-as ahhem.”</p><p></p><p>“Oh flipping heck then”, Grand Alf stamps his foot, “let’s get him.”</p><p></p><p>Which signals the start of the end.</p><p></p><p>Next Turn: Oh-Oh we’re in trouble.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Goonalan, post: 4064837, member: 16069"] Sorry about the delay, v.busy with other campaigns, oh and work. Turn 8.4: Together we will rule the world. It’s a big, old battered chest, and now its open, Dartamor shoots backwards, stumbling- turns hard right, all the time looking away from the chest, dry gags and heaves. “What… is it?” Aleso clearly doesn’t want to know. Saradomin backs off a little too. Grand Alf looks from one to the other, then back to Dartamor who continues to dry heave and gulp, he wanders over to the battered trunk and flips the lid. Inside is a decapitated head, lidless staring eyes, the mouth a ragged “O”, the last agonising gasp, the hair matted in blood, bruised, battered- broken. “Hey, there’s a load of gold- I’m rich I tell you, rich.” Grand Alf whoops and pirouettes. Sure enough the head lies on a bed of gold coins. Grand Alf reaches in, grasps the last remains of the missing male Hucrele and yanks it out, he’s about to start his “gottle-ov-gear” ventriloquist show when he spies the faces of the others. He tosses the head aside, into the thick undergrowth. “I… I… I…” Aleso splutters. Saradomin nods and blinks hard, the tears are stinging his eyes. Dartamor looks up, spits, “let’s get him good.” Saradomin continues to nod. The three march off, into the Twilight Grove. “Don’t you want… Hey, wait for me.” Grand Alf races on after them, Jerky trailing after his eyes on the spot where the head rolled into the undergrowth, not wanting to see it and yet unable to look away. Through a twisted maze of stunted trees and grabbing briars, illuminated by the purple-death glow of rotting fungi, they scrape and scratch their way through. Anything that gets in their way is chopped, slashed and hacked- obliterated. “Eerie.” Aleso states. Saradomin looks put-out. “Hardly, it’s very close, humid even.” He counters. Water drips. There’s a clearing, the ruins of some sort of building, crumbling ancient stone walls most no more than two or three feet tall. A low mist seems to gather on the ground, they follow the path on… “He’s got it nice.” Grand Alf mumbles and strides forward, “very homely.” Jerky catches up to Grand Alf crosses himself and attempts to hide behind the Sorcerer. There’s a reception committee, the Lost Boys approach- cautiously, till the ragged man that stands before the swaying, seemingly dead, tree puts up his hand to signal that they should come no closer. Beneath the venomous fungal light grows a singular tree of evil. Its blackened, twisted limbs reach upward, like a skeletal hand clawing its way from the earth. The great dead tree reaches up and over, grasps and clings to the ceiling, almost arching over the adventurers where they stand. Before the tree stands a ragged, bearded and robed man, a human, with a maniacs gleam in his eye. To the left a stout Knight complete with curly moustache and red cheeks, wrapped in heavy armour, with a gleaming longsword in hand. To the right a slight young woman, robed- she’s beautiful, the Hucrele girl- Sharwyn, and yet there’s something not quite right. The man and the woman stare right through the Lost Boys, statue still they await there instruction. High up in the withered branches of the great tree a giant frog clings and gulps, bats its rubbery eyelids and calculates its leap. Surrounding the clearing bushes move- Twig Blights manoeuvre into position. “I am Belak, the Outcast, stay your anger- listen to me.” The ragged old man speaks. Aleso takes his hand off the hilt of his longsword, gulps, Dartamor finds the hilt of his rapier. “Think what you do now, do not listen to the words of others, make up your own minds. Look around you- its beautiful is it not, nature exists, adapts, survives- even in this dark place. I dared to go further, and for this you have been sent to destroy me, look again- what do you see?” The Lost Boys take a moment, stare at their surroundings. “You’re mad.” Dartamor spits. “Mad. MAD.” The Outcast gibbers, “I’m furious. Livid.” He turns to point at the tree. “Perfection, it called to me, over decades, over thousands of miles, it grew here- in the dark, a vampire staked through the heart, in its last moment breathed life into the green stake that destroyed it- the Gulthias tree.” The Outcast admires the tree some more. “Feel its power, reverberating.” The Outcast waves and frolics. “Perfection. Nature’s bounty.” “I think what Dartamor was trying to get across was that you’re a nutter.” Grand Alf clarifies, and then pulls faces at the others. Jerky stays hidden. The others are not in the mood for smiling; all hands are on hilts now- their armed and dangerous. “No, NO. NO. Don’t you see… My children.” Several Twig Blights crawl into view, that’s it, swords and other assorted armaments are drawn, the adventurers take a collective step back, quickly form a half-circle. “NO. NO. No, leave them- do not harm them, they are my children, the children of the Gulthias tree, from its seeds they grew, I nurtured them, I…” “Cuckoo. Cuckoo.” Grand Alf demonstrates with further hand-signals the scale of the Outcast’s madness. “Do not anger me for all of nature is within my power.” The Outcast growls, the Twig Blights take a step closer. “I’m a little teapot”, Grand Alf sings back, “short and stout, here’s my handle, here’s my spout- tip me up and poor me out.” The Outcast starts forward, “You…” “Hold.” Saradomin waves the confrontation to a stop. “What are they?” his heavy mace points, wavers slightly, at the Knight, then the woman. “Supplicants, they have seen the error of their ways and have chosen to join with the Gulthias tree, the first supplicants, imbued with its true power, they are death and destruction, they are new life.” The Outcast kneels, looks up at the tree, a mixture of longing, lust and lunacy. He turns to the Lost Boys, “join us”, he whispers. “Its not too late, together we can rule the world, together we can…” “Hang on. Back a bit, the bit about ruling the world, how’s that work?” Grand Alf interrupts. The Sorcerer can feel his companion’s stares; he reddens, then turns to look at them, “I was only asking- just thought…” Grand Alf snorts into silence for a moment then continues to mutter, “bloody killjoys, chance at world domination and not-so-much-as ahhem.” “Oh flipping heck then”, Grand Alf stamps his foot, “let’s get him.” Which signals the start of the end. Next Turn: Oh-Oh we’re in trouble. [/QUOTE]
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