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Anka Seth - The Rise of the Hydra (New Update April 19, 2007)
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<blockquote data-quote="Fiasco" data-source="post: 2845282" data-attributes="member: 15187"><p>While Stravarius stood guard, Mortec tended to the downed Fastendian. The head of the arrow had passed completely through and it was an easy matter to break it off and withdraw the shaft. Then, calling on the might of his dark mistress, the gnome incanted a short prayer of healing. The harsh intonations of the petition sounded incongruous with their intent. He had spoken correctly, however, and in doing so became a vessel for a tiny spark of his Goddess’ holy essence. Mortec felt the divine power gather in his chest and tried to channel as much of it as he could into his hands. He only managed to maintain contact with the divine for a moment, but it was enough to infuse himself with healing energy. Reaching forward, he grasped hold of the wound and allowed the accumulated potential to wash through it. Severe though the injury had been, Mortec had proved to be a worthy enough channel to heal it almost completely. From above and behind he heard Stravarius speak words that caused even him to blanch. A man screamed in response.</p><p></p><p>Argonne’s call had given Gerard and Moxadder a direction to work towards. Throwing caution aside, the nobleman surged free of the strangling vegetation and darted into the open towards the outcry. He quickly spotted Argonne’s opponents; two men who pressed the woodsman with cutlass and rapier respectively. Readying his own weapon, Gerard leapt boldly to the attack the man on the left. </p><p></p><p>His opening lunge failed to find the warrior’s flesh but distracted him sufficiently to miss Moxadder’s approach from behind. The Irudeshian straightened from his furtive crouch as he manoeuvred into position, killing intent etched deep into harsh features. He darted forward to plunge his dagger deep into his victim’s back but fell instead to his knees, brought down by a root snagged treacherously around his ankle. With surprising dexterity he managed to get back to his feet but by then the opening was lost. </p><p></p><p>Gerard was shaking his head in disgust at the cowardly and futile attack when his foe lunged unexpectedly and stuck a good two inches of steel into his thigh. The pain of the blow served as a cruel tonic to his battle field moralising on chivalry in combat. </p><p></p><p>A distance away from Gerard and his lesson in ethics, Morgan became aware of sharp rocks digging into his back. With a start, he realised that he must have fallen though he had no recollection of it. Just as he started to remember the blinding agony of the bolt reaving through his side, it dawned on him that the pain was no longer there. He looked up and saw the gnome crouched over him, his hands giving off a strange radiance that faded even as he watched. </p><p></p><p>The expression on Mortec’s face was a queer one. Part awe, part gratitude and shades of relief battled against the overlying mask of clinical detachment. The gnome sensed Morgan’s scrutiny and their gazes locked. An uncomfortable moment passed between them. What exactly did a gnome think? The Fastendian wondered. Was there concern there? Had he empathised with his companion’s hurt or was he just acting out of shrewdness, doing what was needed in order to better his own chance of survival? Man and gnome averted their eyes at the same time. Somewhat embarrassed, Morgan retrieved his bow from where it had fallen to the ground. For his part, Mortec seemed relieved to return his attention to the aggressors.</p><p></p><p>Gerard’s timely intervention had allowed Argonne to focus his efforts on one opponent. Tendons straining in effort, the woodsman arrested the flight of his axe and brought it down on the base of an incoming cutlass. The blade shattered, leaving his surprised adversary with a numbed arm and a shocked expression. Acting from instinct, Argonne leapt forwards and crashed his shoulder into the man’s chest, hurling him backwards towards the edge of the chasm. For a long moment, the warrior teetered on the brink of the crevasse before falling backwards into the void. A long second later a heavy thunk heralded his demise. </p><p></p><p>Argonne’s move had exposed his back to the remaining warrior and he would have suffered for it had Gerard not lunged desperately to divert the retributive attack. He succeeded but received a painful nick to his forearm by way of a skilful riposte from the stymied attacker. The move also saved the swordsman from Moxadder's follow up strike, leaving him unharmed but outnumbered. Defiantly, the man caught Gerard’s eye, his intentions clear as he circled to his right, further away from Moxadder. The nobleman gulped nervously. His forearm burned with pain and blood had flowed down to his hand, making his grip uncertain. Gerard lips compressed into a thin line of concentration as he focussed tightly on swordsman’s face, hoping to read the direction of the next thrust. </p><p></p><p>Without warning there was a blur of motion, a sickening noise and then his opponent was a bloody heap on the ground. Standing above it was Argonne, eyes ablaze with the thrill of the kill. There was a moment of silence as the three of them surveyed the results of the death blow and then the noise of the conflict on the other side of the chasm reasserted itself. With a bloodthirsty grin, the woodsman began to lope in that direction, eager to continue the fight. With a resigned shrug, Moxadder followed, though with a good deal more circumspection. Considerably slowed by his wounds, Gerard limped to the rear. Realising it would take him too long to reach the fray, he readied his crossbow with the aim of picking off any reinforcements that might appear.</p><p></p><p>Three enemies were visible to the Hydra on the other side of the crevasse. They were working their way forwards through light cover, loosing missiles as they advanced. Morgan and Mortec’s bows twanged close together, but neither found its mark. </p><p></p><p>Stravarius achieved a better outcome. Ignoring his crossbow, he summoned the dark energies wrapped tight around his soul. A guttural word, a violent thrust of a gloved forefinger and a viridian dart leapt into the chest of a heavily bearded attacker. The man cried out in fear and pain but didn’t fall. The Black Elf growled in annoyance. It was becoming easier to draw on his corrupted essence but the effects were not universally deadly. He stepped back behind Morgan and Mortec, the better to give himself time to arm his fearsome bow.</p><p></p><p>The trio’s foes pursued their own strategy. A grizzled man in his forties hung back and began to crank his crossbow while the other two pressed forwards. The bearded man struck by Stravarius’ sorcery hoped to take the easy option by swinging his axe at the gnome. His target’s reduced stature foiled the attack, however, with the blade passing harmlessly above its head. </p><p></p><p>Mortec narrowed his eyes in anger and then beseeched his goddess once more. Morgan, could not decipher his words but felt the menace contained within them. The gnome’s hands grew dark and a spitting line of black energy snaked down his arm and into his open palm. There it curled up into an eldritch ball which emitted a high pitched crackle which contrasted sharply with muted rush of the surf and the laboured breathing of the combatants. Almost casually, the gnome stepped forwards and grasped the man’s out thrust knee. The result was spectacular. </p><p></p><p>The blackness jumped from Mortec’s hand to the victims knee, whereupon it elongated and raced up the length of the man’s body before diving deep into his chest. His skin shrivelled as all the vitality and moisture was stripped from his body. He flung his head back in agony, mouth opened in a scream rendered silent by the necromantic assault. With a resigned whisper, the empty shell of humanity collapsed at the gnome’s feet like a sack of dust. </p><p></p><p>Morgan, who was battling a tangle haired swordswoman, mastered his shock and struck her in the shoulder with his rapier. More because of the horrid demise of her companion than the pain of her wound, she fled, narrowly avoiding Morgan’s follow up thrust at her unprotected back. The bowman who had hung back loosed a panicked bolt at Mortec that missed wildly, before dropping his weapon and joining his companion in flight. They managed to run some hundred feet before the man was caught high in the neck by a dart sped from the other side of the chasm. The woman managed to run a dozen steps further before Stravarius sprawled her dead to the ground with an oversized bolt sunk deep into her back. </p><p></p><p>It took a long moment for Morgan to realise that that pounding he heard was not merely his heart, but the sound of Argonne’s approaching footsteps. Still aghast at what Mortec had done, he glanced vaguely past the woodsman’s shoulder and saw Gerard posed theatrically in the distance, crossbow still braced against his shoulder. He looked back at the gnome and saw he was staring at him, defying him to make comment on the manner of the bearded man’s demise. Knowing that Stravarius would offer him no support, he shrugged resignedly. With deep unease despite the relief of victory, he waited for the others to join them.</p><p></p><p>The Hydra took several minutes to regroup and search the bodies of their foes. They had killed five in all, and a hasty accounting of each other’s actions suggested that none had escaped to raise an alarm. Not entirely reassured by this, they turned their attention once more to the hidden cove. No movement was apparent, though the ruined body of Argonne’s first opponent leaked blood onto the wooden dock. Nearby, the long boat sat nearly motionless in its sheltered mooring. A closer look showed the familiar red canvas of the Blood Sails furled tight to its mast. Exhilaration gripped the company. Finding the secret lair of the Blood Sails was success far beyond their expectations. Surmising that their opponents had come up from the hideout, they began to search the surrounding area for some means of making the descent.</p><p></p><p>They spread out and moved towards the far side of the sink hole, their boots crunching through stubborn tangles of salt stained bushes. Mortec, still vitalised with the strength drawn from his desiccated victim, was the first to notice an entrance concealed by a screen of brush. Stravarius moved quickly and threw the obscuring shield aside. A sturdy reinforced door was revealed, set at an acute angle in the rock of the cliff. Impulsively, the Black Elf grabbed at the large latch securing entry. With a vicious snicker, a length of steel swept down at his wrist. Stravarius snatched back his hand just in time to avoid the trap. </p><p></p><p>“Watch out for the trap”, said Moxadder snidely, “damn near took your hand off”.</p><p></p><p>Stravarius merely glared by way of response. Despite the trap being harmlessly sprung, he gingerly worked the latch with his dagger and shouldered the door open. They all crowded forwards, effectively blocking all light into the passage. The Black Elf’s eyes burned through the darkness with ease, however, and he saw steep, narrow steps carved into the damp limestone. The stair led down in a tight spiral, allowing him to see only a little way down. </p><p></p><p>The stone in the passage way was moist and the cool dampness of the air was pleasant after his exertions in the sun. Looking behind him, Stravarius saw the determination in the faces of his companions. Without need for words, they began their descent into the heart of the Blood Sails lair.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Fiasco, post: 2845282, member: 15187"] While Stravarius stood guard, Mortec tended to the downed Fastendian. The head of the arrow had passed completely through and it was an easy matter to break it off and withdraw the shaft. Then, calling on the might of his dark mistress, the gnome incanted a short prayer of healing. The harsh intonations of the petition sounded incongruous with their intent. He had spoken correctly, however, and in doing so became a vessel for a tiny spark of his Goddess’ holy essence. Mortec felt the divine power gather in his chest and tried to channel as much of it as he could into his hands. He only managed to maintain contact with the divine for a moment, but it was enough to infuse himself with healing energy. Reaching forward, he grasped hold of the wound and allowed the accumulated potential to wash through it. Severe though the injury had been, Mortec had proved to be a worthy enough channel to heal it almost completely. From above and behind he heard Stravarius speak words that caused even him to blanch. A man screamed in response. Argonne’s call had given Gerard and Moxadder a direction to work towards. Throwing caution aside, the nobleman surged free of the strangling vegetation and darted into the open towards the outcry. He quickly spotted Argonne’s opponents; two men who pressed the woodsman with cutlass and rapier respectively. Readying his own weapon, Gerard leapt boldly to the attack the man on the left. His opening lunge failed to find the warrior’s flesh but distracted him sufficiently to miss Moxadder’s approach from behind. The Irudeshian straightened from his furtive crouch as he manoeuvred into position, killing intent etched deep into harsh features. He darted forward to plunge his dagger deep into his victim’s back but fell instead to his knees, brought down by a root snagged treacherously around his ankle. With surprising dexterity he managed to get back to his feet but by then the opening was lost. Gerard was shaking his head in disgust at the cowardly and futile attack when his foe lunged unexpectedly and stuck a good two inches of steel into his thigh. The pain of the blow served as a cruel tonic to his battle field moralising on chivalry in combat. A distance away from Gerard and his lesson in ethics, Morgan became aware of sharp rocks digging into his back. With a start, he realised that he must have fallen though he had no recollection of it. Just as he started to remember the blinding agony of the bolt reaving through his side, it dawned on him that the pain was no longer there. He looked up and saw the gnome crouched over him, his hands giving off a strange radiance that faded even as he watched. The expression on Mortec’s face was a queer one. Part awe, part gratitude and shades of relief battled against the overlying mask of clinical detachment. The gnome sensed Morgan’s scrutiny and their gazes locked. An uncomfortable moment passed between them. What exactly did a gnome think? The Fastendian wondered. Was there concern there? Had he empathised with his companion’s hurt or was he just acting out of shrewdness, doing what was needed in order to better his own chance of survival? Man and gnome averted their eyes at the same time. Somewhat embarrassed, Morgan retrieved his bow from where it had fallen to the ground. For his part, Mortec seemed relieved to return his attention to the aggressors. Gerard’s timely intervention had allowed Argonne to focus his efforts on one opponent. Tendons straining in effort, the woodsman arrested the flight of his axe and brought it down on the base of an incoming cutlass. The blade shattered, leaving his surprised adversary with a numbed arm and a shocked expression. Acting from instinct, Argonne leapt forwards and crashed his shoulder into the man’s chest, hurling him backwards towards the edge of the chasm. For a long moment, the warrior teetered on the brink of the crevasse before falling backwards into the void. A long second later a heavy thunk heralded his demise. Argonne’s move had exposed his back to the remaining warrior and he would have suffered for it had Gerard not lunged desperately to divert the retributive attack. He succeeded but received a painful nick to his forearm by way of a skilful riposte from the stymied attacker. The move also saved the swordsman from Moxadder's follow up strike, leaving him unharmed but outnumbered. Defiantly, the man caught Gerard’s eye, his intentions clear as he circled to his right, further away from Moxadder. The nobleman gulped nervously. His forearm burned with pain and blood had flowed down to his hand, making his grip uncertain. Gerard lips compressed into a thin line of concentration as he focussed tightly on swordsman’s face, hoping to read the direction of the next thrust. Without warning there was a blur of motion, a sickening noise and then his opponent was a bloody heap on the ground. Standing above it was Argonne, eyes ablaze with the thrill of the kill. There was a moment of silence as the three of them surveyed the results of the death blow and then the noise of the conflict on the other side of the chasm reasserted itself. With a bloodthirsty grin, the woodsman began to lope in that direction, eager to continue the fight. With a resigned shrug, Moxadder followed, though with a good deal more circumspection. Considerably slowed by his wounds, Gerard limped to the rear. Realising it would take him too long to reach the fray, he readied his crossbow with the aim of picking off any reinforcements that might appear. Three enemies were visible to the Hydra on the other side of the crevasse. They were working their way forwards through light cover, loosing missiles as they advanced. Morgan and Mortec’s bows twanged close together, but neither found its mark. Stravarius achieved a better outcome. Ignoring his crossbow, he summoned the dark energies wrapped tight around his soul. A guttural word, a violent thrust of a gloved forefinger and a viridian dart leapt into the chest of a heavily bearded attacker. The man cried out in fear and pain but didn’t fall. The Black Elf growled in annoyance. It was becoming easier to draw on his corrupted essence but the effects were not universally deadly. He stepped back behind Morgan and Mortec, the better to give himself time to arm his fearsome bow. The trio’s foes pursued their own strategy. A grizzled man in his forties hung back and began to crank his crossbow while the other two pressed forwards. The bearded man struck by Stravarius’ sorcery hoped to take the easy option by swinging his axe at the gnome. His target’s reduced stature foiled the attack, however, with the blade passing harmlessly above its head. Mortec narrowed his eyes in anger and then beseeched his goddess once more. Morgan, could not decipher his words but felt the menace contained within them. The gnome’s hands grew dark and a spitting line of black energy snaked down his arm and into his open palm. There it curled up into an eldritch ball which emitted a high pitched crackle which contrasted sharply with muted rush of the surf and the laboured breathing of the combatants. Almost casually, the gnome stepped forwards and grasped the man’s out thrust knee. The result was spectacular. The blackness jumped from Mortec’s hand to the victims knee, whereupon it elongated and raced up the length of the man’s body before diving deep into his chest. His skin shrivelled as all the vitality and moisture was stripped from his body. He flung his head back in agony, mouth opened in a scream rendered silent by the necromantic assault. With a resigned whisper, the empty shell of humanity collapsed at the gnome’s feet like a sack of dust. Morgan, who was battling a tangle haired swordswoman, mastered his shock and struck her in the shoulder with his rapier. More because of the horrid demise of her companion than the pain of her wound, she fled, narrowly avoiding Morgan’s follow up thrust at her unprotected back. The bowman who had hung back loosed a panicked bolt at Mortec that missed wildly, before dropping his weapon and joining his companion in flight. They managed to run some hundred feet before the man was caught high in the neck by a dart sped from the other side of the chasm. The woman managed to run a dozen steps further before Stravarius sprawled her dead to the ground with an oversized bolt sunk deep into her back. It took a long moment for Morgan to realise that that pounding he heard was not merely his heart, but the sound of Argonne’s approaching footsteps. Still aghast at what Mortec had done, he glanced vaguely past the woodsman’s shoulder and saw Gerard posed theatrically in the distance, crossbow still braced against his shoulder. He looked back at the gnome and saw he was staring at him, defying him to make comment on the manner of the bearded man’s demise. Knowing that Stravarius would offer him no support, he shrugged resignedly. With deep unease despite the relief of victory, he waited for the others to join them. The Hydra took several minutes to regroup and search the bodies of their foes. They had killed five in all, and a hasty accounting of each other’s actions suggested that none had escaped to raise an alarm. Not entirely reassured by this, they turned their attention once more to the hidden cove. No movement was apparent, though the ruined body of Argonne’s first opponent leaked blood onto the wooden dock. Nearby, the long boat sat nearly motionless in its sheltered mooring. A closer look showed the familiar red canvas of the Blood Sails furled tight to its mast. Exhilaration gripped the company. Finding the secret lair of the Blood Sails was success far beyond their expectations. Surmising that their opponents had come up from the hideout, they began to search the surrounding area for some means of making the descent. They spread out and moved towards the far side of the sink hole, their boots crunching through stubborn tangles of salt stained bushes. Mortec, still vitalised with the strength drawn from his desiccated victim, was the first to notice an entrance concealed by a screen of brush. Stravarius moved quickly and threw the obscuring shield aside. A sturdy reinforced door was revealed, set at an acute angle in the rock of the cliff. Impulsively, the Black Elf grabbed at the large latch securing entry. With a vicious snicker, a length of steel swept down at his wrist. Stravarius snatched back his hand just in time to avoid the trap. “Watch out for the trap”, said Moxadder snidely, “damn near took your hand off”. Stravarius merely glared by way of response. Despite the trap being harmlessly sprung, he gingerly worked the latch with his dagger and shouldered the door open. They all crowded forwards, effectively blocking all light into the passage. The Black Elf’s eyes burned through the darkness with ease, however, and he saw steep, narrow steps carved into the damp limestone. The stair led down in a tight spiral, allowing him to see only a little way down. The stone in the passage way was moist and the cool dampness of the air was pleasant after his exertions in the sun. Looking behind him, Stravarius saw the determination in the faces of his companions. Without need for words, they began their descent into the heart of the Blood Sails lair. [/QUOTE]
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