back to it.

name?

OOC... I don't remember at this point.

The creature squeals and the cord bucks.. seperating as the creature explodes into mist...
Distantly you hear (in archaic elvisH) you will pay....
 

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In the ensuing silence Miklos looked around for a sign of the creature. Sighting nothing, he turned to Tharivol.

"Were that all our foes so easily dispatched."
 

Tharivol rushed over to the child and sought to discern any signs of life in him. He turned to Miklos and in elvish said "do you have any healing magic for the boy?"

He then turned to the boy's parents. "If you wish us to save your boy, you must tell us everything," he said.
 

Miklos nodded at Tharivol and fumbled at his belt for the healing potions he carried. The rage that had fueled him in battle was ebbing. A thick grief was rising to replace it.

It seemed only a few moments ago the little two-legs had been underhoof, pestering him with questions and calling him "horsie". Now Miklos looked down at the boy's motionless form while the lamentations of his mother still rang in his ears.

Miklos knew death. He'd seen famine, disease, and cold take their toll. Whether death was the whims of the gods or just fate, he was never sure but he took peace in that it came for all, regardless of age or rank. Even war's cruelty had a comforting indifference. But this, this was difference. It seemed so palpably evil. The boy's death was as deliberate as it had been unnecessary.

Without much hope, he knelt down, prised the boys mouth open, and poured in the viscous green potion.

[Potion of cure moderate wounds]
 

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