Valley of the Dead: Chapter 2 "Home of the sleepless"
[FONT="]Zinerath was a little caught off guard when Ferviel grabbed him by the arm, it was not a reaction he was expecting.
Yet, he was caught even more off guard by Bolgrin, he was asked that phrase several times in the past but it was the first time it was asked without venom and it had the boyo, instead of being degendered, Bolgrin acknowledged that he was distinctly not an ‘it’. He looked at the dwarf, and blinked with a dumb stuck expression; an honest, none task related, question, Zinerath was not too use to them. “um…” he mumbled while he recomposed himself from the unexpected question.
He then pondered the question briefly before answering with a tired grin. “The kind that if Lathander had to choose to welcome my either of my most influence forefathers, or the cruelest and most depraved, utterly evil, mortal ever known…” Zinerath paused with a pained sigh and upwardly arching eyebrows before continuing with growing fatigue and regret “Lathander would sweep the sinner of his feet while slamming the gates close on my forefather without hesitation…”
His answer warn on him, his gas drifted downwards and trembled while his fists balled tightly and his lip found its way between his teeth as his face was contorted into a quivering grimace as he mood and poster sank.
He bite down.
His cloak jerked upwards as four distinct knops did the same beneath it, his lip ripped itself free of his fangs, his arms tensed with raged as his eyes filed with fervor and his face became knotted with ire; his eyes leered at the ground directly beneath his feet.
Having some mind about him during his anger he chose to turn about face and make some breathing room while he knobs of his wings ebbed lower and let down his cloak
The crimson of his eyes surged briefly while the self-inflicted wounds on his lower lip bleed black ichor and shed a foul and black mist that stank of brimstone while the wound crackled and hissed in violent protest before swiftly closing and leaving not a trace it was ever there save the rapidly thinning mist and the ichor that was still dripping down his chin as the glow in his eyes stared to fade away.
A low, deep and loathing, growling rumble sounded in his throat as he grew a massive, snarling frown that exposed a mouthful of tightly clenched fangs, sheened in black blood.
Once he got what he assumed would be a reasonable distance away he would alleviate hit growing frustration, with spiteful, venomous words spoken softly and harshly in shifting tongues while pointing at the ground, as if pointing at an individual; two words were chief among his remarks and repeated in every tongue he knew, “Damn you.”.[/FONT]
Yet, he was caught even more off guard by Bolgrin, he was asked that phrase several times in the past but it was the first time it was asked without venom and it had the boyo, instead of being degendered, Bolgrin acknowledged that he was distinctly not an ‘it’. He looked at the dwarf, and blinked with a dumb stuck expression; an honest, none task related, question, Zinerath was not too use to them. “um…” he mumbled while he recomposed himself from the unexpected question.
He then pondered the question briefly before answering with a tired grin. “The kind that if Lathander had to choose to welcome my either of my most influence forefathers, or the cruelest and most depraved, utterly evil, mortal ever known…” Zinerath paused with a pained sigh and upwardly arching eyebrows before continuing with growing fatigue and regret “Lathander would sweep the sinner of his feet while slamming the gates close on my forefather without hesitation…”
His answer warn on him, his gas drifted downwards and trembled while his fists balled tightly and his lip found its way between his teeth as his face was contorted into a quivering grimace as he mood and poster sank.
He bite down.
His cloak jerked upwards as four distinct knops did the same beneath it, his lip ripped itself free of his fangs, his arms tensed with raged as his eyes filed with fervor and his face became knotted with ire; his eyes leered at the ground directly beneath his feet.
Having some mind about him during his anger he chose to turn about face and make some breathing room while he knobs of his wings ebbed lower and let down his cloak
The crimson of his eyes surged briefly while the self-inflicted wounds on his lower lip bleed black ichor and shed a foul and black mist that stank of brimstone while the wound crackled and hissed in violent protest before swiftly closing and leaving not a trace it was ever there save the rapidly thinning mist and the ichor that was still dripping down his chin as the glow in his eyes stared to fade away.
A low, deep and loathing, growling rumble sounded in his throat as he grew a massive, snarling frown that exposed a mouthful of tightly clenched fangs, sheened in black blood.
Once he got what he assumed would be a reasonable distance away he would alleviate hit growing frustration, with spiteful, venomous words spoken softly and harshly in shifting tongues while pointing at the ground, as if pointing at an individual; two words were chief among his remarks and repeated in every tongue he knew, “Damn you.”.[/FONT]
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Myth and Legend
First Post
Ulfrettin seems to be fine - he has suffered no injury that cannot be remedied by Ferviel's Wand of Lesser Vigor.
Bolgrim eyes the demonic child warily, then bursts into laughter like an idiot and shoves a pint of ale in his clawed hands. He doesn't seem to understand everything Zinnerath said, but the dwarf obviously does not dwell on such things. After a bit of conversing, where some of the dwarves try to make friends with the two women (and fail miserably), everyone sets off.
The two groups head back to the camp in a brisk pace. Without the need for further inspection of the carcass, the men haul it over to the side and leave it as a silent monument to the ever looming threat of undeath around the Valley. By the time they get back, Ferviel's glowing banner has faded away, and you all make your way under the bright silvery glow of the half moon, peeking trough the cloudy night sky.
The small bands of men that had thought to make their camps separately from the main force have apparently been rounded up. In only a few hours, the camp has been transformed and you return to a fortified hilltop, with neatly arranged tents, a fence of sharpened wooden stakes around it, and even a deep ditch in front of that. It is obvious that magic has been used to dig the ditch, as otherwise it would have required a great deal of manual labour.
The party goes to visit Lazarus, who has Adelaide with him. She has told him all that she remembers, and the group and Ferviel add the rest. The leader of the crusading army is deep in thought, and warns you to trust in Ferviel's judgement and be wary of deception. He thanks you, and Adelaide does so again, though she is quite ashamed and rarely lifts her gaze from the ground.
You are instructed to ride out once again, tomorrow at first light, and secure the area around the Lychgate, where the entrance to the Valley lies. This is to be the future main outpost for the army, from which a main expedition will be sent out. With that, and an uncharacteristic "Job well done." from Ferviel, you are allowed the freedom of your evening.
It appears that every one of you has gotten their own personal tent - you are, by the words of the men around the site, some of the most capable warriors and spellcasters employed in the army, and if it was not so un-paladin like, you would think that some are jealous of your quick rise to the important position of the army vanguard and reconnaissance team.
Certainly, amongst the mercenaries, you are known and some wonder if you are a group of note, or if you serve a larger mercenary company and who your paymaster is. These are all rumors and tidbits going around the camp, that you learn as you make your way to get your food, water, or to inspect the layout of the camp.
At some point the men around the various campfires scurry away back to their tents, not wanting to spend too much time drinking and storytelling when tomorrow may bring a fierce battle upon them. Even Bolgrim's dwarves decide to give in to sleep, though they are the last to do so. The group is relieved of guard duty, that being the burden of Lazarus's men.
You each have a choice. You may go around camp, talking to the others, or join a gathering around a fire pit and drink and eat with the soldiers. You may approach any of the leaders, or your own recently acquired team mates. Sooner or later, you all return to your tents for much needed rest.
You are pleased to find that the tents are quite spacious, sturdy and equipped with sleeping rolls, a chest that can double as a desk or table, and pitchers of water and trail rations.
[sblock]OK if anyone wanted to do any RPing around camp, with your fellow PCs, or anything else, we can add it as a flashback. Just let me know. Also let me know what your character does before he/she goes to sleep.[/sblock]
[sblock=Thok]Thok is undisturbed in his tent. His new sword and armour shine with the familiar blue light of magical weapons. As he settles down to remove his shoes, he can hear the giggling of a little girl, coming from outside his tent.[/sblock]
[sblock=Lórquelië]Lórquelië is likewise left to her privacy, though she receives a complimentary bottle of wine from Lazarus via one of his men.
"From the captian-general." he says, bows and hands her the bottle, wrapped in cloth.[/sblock]
[sblock=Geryk]Geryk is approached by some new converts the faith of Lathander and is asked to dispense blessings, even if they are reluctant to pester him, though they seem eager. They are two men and a woman, of obviously common birth. Out of a mercenary company - "The Bloody Boars", or so they say.[/sblock]
[sblock=Zinnerath ]Zinnerath is left to his own devices, but his tent is conspicuously in plain view of one of the watchmen and a patrol regularly passes by its' entrance. Also, his tent smells of holy incense. A clear flask of water sits invitingly on the chest, right in the middle of the heavy wooden lid.[/sblock]
[sblock=Mei-Ying]Mei-Ying prepares for her rest, when she sees a letter tucked away in her bedroll.
[sblock=letter]You have come from foreign lands to risk your life in the Valley. I will have words, so that I can give more direction to your purpose. If you agree for me to enter your tent, produce a source of light outside the entrance.[/sblock][/sblock]
[sblock=Rufus]Rufus enters his tent and begins to strip his armaments. When he gets to his shirt, he hears a female voice, coming from a shadowy edge of his tent.
"My my, aren't you a handsome man. Do not reach for your sword, please, I have no ill intent."
The voice belongs to a woman, dressed in a black grab with a crimson sash that goes trough her quite voluptuous breasts, and hooded with a crimson cloak and hood. She slowly raises her hands - pale and delicate, and removes the cover, revealing a face that could make any man melt with the sheer lust it exudes. Even if her features are somehow... feral, and her eyes glow red like charcoals, her beauty is unmatched.
Rufus is certain he did not see her when he entered the tent.[/sblock]
Bolgrim eyes the demonic child warily, then bursts into laughter like an idiot and shoves a pint of ale in his clawed hands. He doesn't seem to understand everything Zinnerath said, but the dwarf obviously does not dwell on such things. After a bit of conversing, where some of the dwarves try to make friends with the two women (and fail miserably), everyone sets off.
The two groups head back to the camp in a brisk pace. Without the need for further inspection of the carcass, the men haul it over to the side and leave it as a silent monument to the ever looming threat of undeath around the Valley. By the time they get back, Ferviel's glowing banner has faded away, and you all make your way under the bright silvery glow of the half moon, peeking trough the cloudy night sky.
The small bands of men that had thought to make their camps separately from the main force have apparently been rounded up. In only a few hours, the camp has been transformed and you return to a fortified hilltop, with neatly arranged tents, a fence of sharpened wooden stakes around it, and even a deep ditch in front of that. It is obvious that magic has been used to dig the ditch, as otherwise it would have required a great deal of manual labour.
The party goes to visit Lazarus, who has Adelaide with him. She has told him all that she remembers, and the group and Ferviel add the rest. The leader of the crusading army is deep in thought, and warns you to trust in Ferviel's judgement and be wary of deception. He thanks you, and Adelaide does so again, though she is quite ashamed and rarely lifts her gaze from the ground.
You are instructed to ride out once again, tomorrow at first light, and secure the area around the Lychgate, where the entrance to the Valley lies. This is to be the future main outpost for the army, from which a main expedition will be sent out. With that, and an uncharacteristic "Job well done." from Ferviel, you are allowed the freedom of your evening.
It appears that every one of you has gotten their own personal tent - you are, by the words of the men around the site, some of the most capable warriors and spellcasters employed in the army, and if it was not so un-paladin like, you would think that some are jealous of your quick rise to the important position of the army vanguard and reconnaissance team.
Certainly, amongst the mercenaries, you are known and some wonder if you are a group of note, or if you serve a larger mercenary company and who your paymaster is. These are all rumors and tidbits going around the camp, that you learn as you make your way to get your food, water, or to inspect the layout of the camp.
At some point the men around the various campfires scurry away back to their tents, not wanting to spend too much time drinking and storytelling when tomorrow may bring a fierce battle upon them. Even Bolgrim's dwarves decide to give in to sleep, though they are the last to do so. The group is relieved of guard duty, that being the burden of Lazarus's men.
You each have a choice. You may go around camp, talking to the others, or join a gathering around a fire pit and drink and eat with the soldiers. You may approach any of the leaders, or your own recently acquired team mates. Sooner or later, you all return to your tents for much needed rest.
You are pleased to find that the tents are quite spacious, sturdy and equipped with sleeping rolls, a chest that can double as a desk or table, and pitchers of water and trail rations.
[sblock]OK if anyone wanted to do any RPing around camp, with your fellow PCs, or anything else, we can add it as a flashback. Just let me know. Also let me know what your character does before he/she goes to sleep.[/sblock]
[sblock=Thok]Thok is undisturbed in his tent. His new sword and armour shine with the familiar blue light of magical weapons. As he settles down to remove his shoes, he can hear the giggling of a little girl, coming from outside his tent.[/sblock]
[sblock=Lórquelië]Lórquelië is likewise left to her privacy, though she receives a complimentary bottle of wine from Lazarus via one of his men.
"From the captian-general." he says, bows and hands her the bottle, wrapped in cloth.[/sblock]
[sblock=Geryk]Geryk is approached by some new converts the faith of Lathander and is asked to dispense blessings, even if they are reluctant to pester him, though they seem eager. They are two men and a woman, of obviously common birth. Out of a mercenary company - "The Bloody Boars", or so they say.[/sblock]
[sblock=Zinnerath ]Zinnerath is left to his own devices, but his tent is conspicuously in plain view of one of the watchmen and a patrol regularly passes by its' entrance. Also, his tent smells of holy incense. A clear flask of water sits invitingly on the chest, right in the middle of the heavy wooden lid.[/sblock]
[sblock=Mei-Ying]Mei-Ying prepares for her rest, when she sees a letter tucked away in her bedroll.
[sblock=letter]You have come from foreign lands to risk your life in the Valley. I will have words, so that I can give more direction to your purpose. If you agree for me to enter your tent, produce a source of light outside the entrance.[/sblock][/sblock]
[sblock=Rufus]Rufus enters his tent and begins to strip his armaments. When he gets to his shirt, he hears a female voice, coming from a shadowy edge of his tent.
"My my, aren't you a handsome man. Do not reach for your sword, please, I have no ill intent."
The voice belongs to a woman, dressed in a black grab with a crimson sash that goes trough her quite voluptuous breasts, and hooded with a crimson cloak and hood. She slowly raises her hands - pale and delicate, and removes the cover, revealing a face that could make any man melt with the sheer lust it exudes. Even if her features are somehow... feral, and her eyes glow red like charcoals, her beauty is unmatched.
Rufus is certain he did not see her when he entered the tent.[/sblock]
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Dragonwriter
First Post
Rufus spent some time at one of the nearer campfires, talking amicably with some of the other warriors who had signed on for this grave matter before heading to his tent for the night...
[sblock=Myth]
Rufus lets out a low whistle of mixed surprise and admiration. He coughs slightly and gives a deep bow. "Apologies, lady fair, but your ravishing beauty left me stunned and speechless for a brief moment." He comes out of the bow with a charming smile on his face. "My name is Rufus. How can I be of service to you?"
[/sblock]
[sblock=Myth]
Rufus lets out a low whistle of mixed surprise and admiration. He coughs slightly and gives a deep bow. "Apologies, lady fair, but your ravishing beauty left me stunned and speechless for a brief moment." He comes out of the bow with a charming smile on his face. "My name is Rufus. How can I be of service to you?"
[/sblock]
Scotley
Hero
[sblock=M&L]Geryk is pleased to be distracted from his gloomy thoughts and provides the requested service to the converts from The Bloody Boars asking them to sit outside his tent. He stands and prays for their success in fighting evil and bringing glory to the Morning Lord. He will sit outside and chat casually with them for a bit about the joys of service and praises them for the wise choice they have made. He asks some questions to determine how much instruction they have had in the ways of the faith and will offer them some advice as needed. OOC: Has Geryk ever heard of the Bloddy Boars. Knowledge History is +6.
Afterward, he checks in on Zinnerath knowing the insults and slights of the day have been a trial for him.
Finally, he would like to talk with Ferviel about the dangers of the valley and what might be at stake if the gate is open. [/sblock]
Afterward, he checks in on Zinnerath knowing the insults and slights of the day have been a trial for him.
Finally, he would like to talk with Ferviel about the dangers of the valley and what might be at stake if the gate is open. [/sblock]
Myth and Legend
First Post
[sblock=Rufus at the campfire]Rufus approached the men, gathered around a nearby campfire. They appeared to be charring meat on the flames and drinking something that looked like wine, but smelled more like vinegar.
The men stopped their conversation for a spell, and looked at the newcomer. They were all plainly dressed, still in their armour and their weapons at their sides. Not particularly clean and not particularly handsome, and most probably - not particularly smart. But like all men of the trade of war, they enjoyed swapping stories over their cups and this is one of the few pleasures they could have in this camp. Naturally, there were no whores following this army of Paladins.[/sblock]
[sblock=Rufus]The woman doesn't relax visibly when Rufus introduces himself. In fact, she had not seemed tense at all. But she smiles, and that smile is so inviting, Rufus almost feels that all the other women he has met thus far, have been naught but sulky fishwives.
Her hair is wavy, raven black and shiny in the silvery moonlight that creeps trough the open flap of his tent. Her skin is pale, delicate and smooth, like a cross between milk and a silk shoal. Her voice is also smooth, and with a low, tender sound, but her words come out somehow strange. For one such as Rufus, who has spent much of his time listening to the tales of the locals of many of the rural areas around Muirlane, he immediately recognizes her accent as one that is archaic and that had not been in use in the past century at least.
"It is truly a brave man that who behaves as a gentleman of honor, even when taken unawares by a stranger in his own tent. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Rufus. My name is Vivian, and I apologize for sneaking in uninvited. In my defence, you had not claimed this tent as your own when I entered it." - she throws Rufus a smile and continues abruptly. - "But these are formalities soon forgotten, I am sure."
Vivian smiles again, and runs her fingers trough the back and sides of her head, lifting the great wavy waterfall of black locks and letting it fall on her shoulders once more, rearranged.
"I shall be blunt, as time is of the essence. You are headed for the Valley of the Dead. Such a dreadful name, that. Most nobody remembers the old name any more. But this is besides the point. You are all headed for the Valley, and plan to open the door and enter it. And... How to put it?"
She pauses and purses her red lips for a moment, before continuing with a serious expression:
"You will all be slaughtered."
She drops the words, and regards Rufus for his reaction, but continues as she nimbly jumps and plops herself atop a wooden chest, tucking her legs beneath her and joining her index fingers before her chest. For a moment, Rufus is about to drown in the sight of the great cleavage, but he swiftly shakes such thoughts from his head.
"Is there any chance for this army to be turned back? For you, and your superiors, to be discouraged from such action?"
Her voice is hopeful and sweet, but there is also a flicker in her eyes. She is not tense, even as she speaks of an upcoming massacre, but it is obvious this issue means a great deal to her.[/sblock]
[sblock=Geryk]The men are named Henry and John, and the woman is named Jemma. Henry is tall, lean and of visible age between thirty and forty. He wears four days' stubble on his chin, at least, and carries a longsword on his belt. He is brown eyed and has a face as common as they get.
John is younger, broader of shoulder and almost as tall. He has dirty blonde hair, grey eyes and carries a mace and a shield. Jemma is a young woman, her hair red as fire, her eyes blue and large. She is not what one would call a beauty. Her face is too broad, her nose too meaty, and her teeth are crooked. But she has a spirit to her, and she laughs frequently. She does not appear to be armed.
"One of our ilk got gutted in the temple square today. Ferviel saved his life, and from a stomach stabbing that I've seen take many a men to the afterlife. When I saw Lathander's energy cure a bag of
such as Marek, I knew that He is truly a good god."
Henry speaks with a raspy voice, and his companions nod in agreement. Jemma opens her mouth to reveal her teeth, each with it's own direction and idea of where to point to.
"Aye, that he is. You know, I prayed really hard. I means really, really hard. And I think He answered me prayers, glory be ta Him! I didn't see Lathander, no I ain't good enough for such things. But I got a moment of clarity, ya know? What's it called?"
"A revelation." John says solemnly and nods in approval.
"That's right! A revel...netion... What John said! Well I got inspired ta do something with me life. I used ta worship Tymora, in hopes I gets good luck and strike it rich. But no more, I've found a purpose greater than meself, greater than gold!"
They all look to Geryk, as if he will start preaching right then and there. The fervor in their voices and zeal in their eyes is unmistakable to him as a cleric, they have earnestly converted to the faith of the Morninglord.[/sblock]
The men stopped their conversation for a spell, and looked at the newcomer. They were all plainly dressed, still in their armour and their weapons at their sides. Not particularly clean and not particularly handsome, and most probably - not particularly smart. But like all men of the trade of war, they enjoyed swapping stories over their cups and this is one of the few pleasures they could have in this camp. Naturally, there were no whores following this army of Paladins.[/sblock]
[sblock=Rufus]The woman doesn't relax visibly when Rufus introduces himself. In fact, she had not seemed tense at all. But she smiles, and that smile is so inviting, Rufus almost feels that all the other women he has met thus far, have been naught but sulky fishwives.
Her hair is wavy, raven black and shiny in the silvery moonlight that creeps trough the open flap of his tent. Her skin is pale, delicate and smooth, like a cross between milk and a silk shoal. Her voice is also smooth, and with a low, tender sound, but her words come out somehow strange. For one such as Rufus, who has spent much of his time listening to the tales of the locals of many of the rural areas around Muirlane, he immediately recognizes her accent as one that is archaic and that had not been in use in the past century at least.
"It is truly a brave man that who behaves as a gentleman of honor, even when taken unawares by a stranger in his own tent. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Rufus. My name is Vivian, and I apologize for sneaking in uninvited. In my defence, you had not claimed this tent as your own when I entered it." - she throws Rufus a smile and continues abruptly. - "But these are formalities soon forgotten, I am sure."
Vivian smiles again, and runs her fingers trough the back and sides of her head, lifting the great wavy waterfall of black locks and letting it fall on her shoulders once more, rearranged.
"I shall be blunt, as time is of the essence. You are headed for the Valley of the Dead. Such a dreadful name, that. Most nobody remembers the old name any more. But this is besides the point. You are all headed for the Valley, and plan to open the door and enter it. And... How to put it?"
She pauses and purses her red lips for a moment, before continuing with a serious expression:
"You will all be slaughtered."
She drops the words, and regards Rufus for his reaction, but continues as she nimbly jumps and plops herself atop a wooden chest, tucking her legs beneath her and joining her index fingers before her chest. For a moment, Rufus is about to drown in the sight of the great cleavage, but he swiftly shakes such thoughts from his head.
"Is there any chance for this army to be turned back? For you, and your superiors, to be discouraged from such action?"
Her voice is hopeful and sweet, but there is also a flicker in her eyes. She is not tense, even as she speaks of an upcoming massacre, but it is obvious this issue means a great deal to her.[/sblock]
[sblock=Geryk]The men are named Henry and John, and the woman is named Jemma. Henry is tall, lean and of visible age between thirty and forty. He wears four days' stubble on his chin, at least, and carries a longsword on his belt. He is brown eyed and has a face as common as they get.
John is younger, broader of shoulder and almost as tall. He has dirty blonde hair, grey eyes and carries a mace and a shield. Jemma is a young woman, her hair red as fire, her eyes blue and large. She is not what one would call a beauty. Her face is too broad, her nose too meaty, and her teeth are crooked. But she has a spirit to her, and she laughs frequently. She does not appear to be armed.
"One of our ilk got gutted in the temple square today. Ferviel saved his life, and from a stomach stabbing that I've seen take many a men to the afterlife. When I saw Lathander's energy cure a bag of
such as Marek, I knew that He is truly a good god." Henry speaks with a raspy voice, and his companions nod in agreement. Jemma opens her mouth to reveal her teeth, each with it's own direction and idea of where to point to.
"Aye, that he is. You know, I prayed really hard. I means really, really hard. And I think He answered me prayers, glory be ta Him! I didn't see Lathander, no I ain't good enough for such things. But I got a moment of clarity, ya know? What's it called?"
"A revelation." John says solemnly and nods in approval.
"That's right! A revel...netion... What John said! Well I got inspired ta do something with me life. I used ta worship Tymora, in hopes I gets good luck and strike it rich. But no more, I've found a purpose greater than meself, greater than gold!"
They all look to Geryk, as if he will start preaching right then and there. The fervor in their voices and zeal in their eyes is unmistakable to him as a cleric, they have earnestly converted to the faith of the Morninglord.[/sblock]
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Dragonwriter
First Post
At the campfire, Rufus just chatted, swapped stories, and relaxed for a bit.
[sblock=Myth]
Rufus's eyes go wide as she so plainly states the army will be slaughtered after opening the gate... and then he has a hard time getting his eyes away from focusing on her body. "Slaughtered? Everyone? How do you know this? But I doubt they can be turned from it... The Paladins and the Church seem pretty focused on this task. Especially as at least some of the undead are roaming beyond the walls of the Valley already. Just this afternoon, two Hulking Brutes (I think they were called) were re-killed. And at least the Dawnbringer thinks more of the undead have broken free and are roaming about."
[/sblock]
[sblock=Myth]
Rufus's eyes go wide as she so plainly states the army will be slaughtered after opening the gate... and then he has a hard time getting his eyes away from focusing on her body. "Slaughtered? Everyone? How do you know this? But I doubt they can be turned from it... The Paladins and the Church seem pretty focused on this task. Especially as at least some of the undead are roaming beyond the walls of the Valley already. Just this afternoon, two Hulking Brutes (I think they were called) were re-killed. And at least the Dawnbringer thinks more of the undead have broken free and are roaming about."
[/sblock]
Myth and Legend
First Post
[sblock=Rufus]Vivian tilts her head and regards the warrior like a predator. She replies, her constant smile vanishing from her face.
"Hulking Corpses I gather. Well I tell you right now, these things cannot leave the Valley themselves. They are usually artificially created, and rarely form from latent negative energy. Even so, I am certain that they cannot have left the Valley. Creatures that are bound to it may never find themselves outside. Those of much higher standing and intellect have tried breaking free, and have failed. Such lowly beasts are not capable of doing so."
She pauses and sighs.
"But that doesn't matter to your leaders and probably matters little for you. You see undead, some farmers die, and you all grab your shiny swords and come on a mission to purge. As far as your question of how I know your doom - what I know, is that there is a hierarchy of sorts, in the Valley, but there is scarcely any central authority to be had. As it stands today, every undead being that is tied to that place is gathered by Robert, though frankly he himself and his two aids will surely be enough to end you all."[/sblock]
"Hulking Corpses I gather. Well I tell you right now, these things cannot leave the Valley themselves. They are usually artificially created, and rarely form from latent negative energy. Even so, I am certain that they cannot have left the Valley. Creatures that are bound to it may never find themselves outside. Those of much higher standing and intellect have tried breaking free, and have failed. Such lowly beasts are not capable of doing so."
She pauses and sighs.
"But that doesn't matter to your leaders and probably matters little for you. You see undead, some farmers die, and you all grab your shiny swords and come on a mission to purge. As far as your question of how I know your doom - what I know, is that there is a hierarchy of sorts, in the Valley, but there is scarcely any central authority to be had. As it stands today, every undead being that is tied to that place is gathered by Robert, though frankly he himself and his two aids will surely be enough to end you all."[/sblock]
Dragonwriter
First Post
[sblock=Myth]
"They can't break free themselves... which is why the Dawnbringer believes these things had help from this side. According to him, some strange things have gone on around here recently. Undead roaming free that shouldn't being the biggest. But, who is this Robert? And why come to me with this information? I'm not exactly a commander of anything but presence and stories."
[/sblock]
"They can't break free themselves... which is why the Dawnbringer believes these things had help from this side. According to him, some strange things have gone on around here recently. Undead roaming free that shouldn't being the biggest. But, who is this Robert? And why come to me with this information? I'm not exactly a commander of anything but presence and stories."
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