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B Is for Bellatrix & Brutos: Visit the flying cities of Bellatrix, and hope the Brutos aren't on strike.

Whew! I've not updated this thread in a while now. I'm not going to post links to all the blogposts I've not already linked, except for this one: A Is for Artists Against Tyranny!: The alphabet tossed down its gauntlet, and I picked it up, answering the A to Z Challenge for the second time. Huzzah!

Good question, Electric Wizard! I'll get you an answer ASAP. I'm sure the answer is "Yes", but I need to look at the details. Everyone: Sorry for the slowdown. Holiday weekend kept me busy with church and family stuff. I'll update the game tomorrow or Wednesday at the latest. :)

Martik sighs. "Sounds like we climb more stairs, eh, Narford?" Narford nods in response, and the group, along with Melina, follows Atilla's lead back to the stairwell. The floors pass by, with a brief stop to check out each one from the stairs. The next three are all the same: hallways with...

Update tomorrow. Maybe late in the evening, but tomorrow nonetheless. :D

Well, I'm thinking maybe Yella should just target the creatures that are already dead. They might be targets he can hit. :)

OOC: Somehow I missed several posts. Odd. "Shades of Iggy!" Yella shifts his spear to his left hand, thrusting defensively, and uses his right hand to pull an L-shaped device from within his tunic. He aims at the nearest lobstrosity. The device glows and a spot where Yella aims burns...

Melina starts a bit, but then cocks her head to the side, blinking at Attila. Melina shakes her head. "I'm not sure. It just seemed to me that, if there is hope, it must be farther away from the water." Melina shuffles forward a bit. "You could fight demons? Is such a thing even possible?"

Yella continues trying to free the pinned creature. If a crab-thing gets too close, he jabs at it with his spear. Attack Roll, Damage Roll: 1d20=4, 1d6=4

The dog-creature squats in the corner. As she speaks, her eyes wander from Wing to Thudarr, to the others who move closer, to the part of the room where Attila lurks unseen. "Can you truly not know? How can you be exiles, and not know?" She waves a paw-like hand. "Listen as I, Melni, tell you...

"If you're not demons, then you should go," the dog-creature says. "If you're here after sundown, you're going to die. No one survives in the Flood Zone after sundown." She shudders, glancing sideways toward a nearby cracked and dirty, floor-to-ceiling window. "This is a place of exile and death."

The creature relaxes just a bit. Her body is still tense; her eyes still wide. But, there is a hint of doubt in those eyes now as she looks at Thudarr and Wing, and the others grouped behind those two and out into the corridor. "You're not demons?" she says. "You're not here to punish me?"

The creature attempts to retreat from Wing, back into the corner as far as possible. Tears flow from her eyes, for Wing can now see she is indeed female. She wears a plain brown skirt and a sleeveless shirt, both of homespun. Wing notices a bloody notch on one of her ears, as if a small triangle...

Yeah. Last week was rough most of the week. I'm not sure what's going on with some of my students, but whatever it is needs to stop. :)

Stars Without Number. :)

http://www.enworld.org/forum/attachment.php?attachmentid=56655&d=1362245063Attila sweeps into the room with Thudarr and Wing not far behind. Huddled in the farthest corner of the room behind a mound of debris is a dog-faced humanoid creature about the size of a halfling. Attila can hear it...

Taking a break from heavier reading to romp through Jack Vance's Tales of the Dying Earth.

Been hitting the old movies on Netflix. Introduced my children and my students to the genius of Buster Keaton, for example. I've also dipped into the Roy Rogers selections a bit.

Yella's trying to pull the pinned creature free while he hopes they don't get eaten.

As Thudarr takes the lead, he advances only a few steps before he hears an animal sound like frightened whining and whimpering coming from the open door Attila indicated. "Maybe it's injured?" Mogullen whispers as he tightens his grip on his club.