Upgrade your account to a Community Supporter account and remove most of the site ads.
Rocket your D&D 5E and Level Up: Advanced 5E games into space! Alpha Star Magazine Is Launching... Right Now!

Reply to thread

Message: <blockquote data-quote="Funeris" data-source="post: 2813501" data-attributes="member: 22792">Chapter 12: Bloodshed (Continued)The horadrel archer pulled his crawl to an abrupt stop in front of a hoof.  The hoof lifted up and stamped down hard twice, an inch from the elf’s nose.  Shaking with fear, the elf lifted his head to glare into the eyes of the monstrous Rorn centaur, Al’baku.“You are a coward,” his deep voice boomed.“No,” the archer hissed.  “I will live to fight another day.  That is not cowardice.”The centaur snorted, tossing his braided hair about in anger.  The archer cowered.  “Where and who?” the half-man-half-horse demanded.  It reared up onto its hind legs, pawing the air and then the ground as gravity pulled it forward.  The inch between horadrel face and hoof quickly thinned.“Th-th-the Rorn archer and the paladin.  And the mage is around, too.  Near the southern wall,” the horadrel sputtered.“Good.  I will crush them all.”  Al’baku snorted and stomped the ground.  Then he sidestepped his massive bulk to the right of the kneeling archer.  “Your role in this battle is over.”The archer lowered his head in thanks and rapidly snapped it upward in agony as Al’baku brought his considerable weight down into the center of his spinal column.  Blackness filled the horadrel’s vision as a sick sinking feeling expanded within his stomach.  Through the permanent icy grip of death, the archer could hear the centaur chuckling as he trotted away.     *     *     *     Cochly grunted as the Culite’s sword pierced his chain shirt and bit deep into his flesh.  The old dwarf cursed and spit and wrenched back, feeling the warm—still painfully warm from that damned fireball!—metal release a torrent of blood.He stumbled back, gripping his axe more firmly.  A cold tingle erupted across his back and spread to his ample belly, a stomach that had grown fat and ripe with age.  The deep gash was quickly knitted back together, spurred on by the Galafar priest’s wand.Cochly grinned as he stepped back into the fray, swinging.“I was worth every King, wasn’t I?!” the cocksure priest barked as he moved to where he was needed.     *     *     *     Motega growled with rage.  He slung his bow across his shoulder, aggravated that the last archer had escaped.  The Rorn turned to the window and grasped the ledge.  A sudden jolt shot down his body, arching his back.  He tumbled backward, locked in agony as his body stretched and twisted.LET ME OUT! boomed a feral voice in his head.  Motega ran his fingers—no, now claws—across the wooden floor, digging shallow trenches in the oak.The Rorn’s back arched again as several of his rips snapped unnaturally.       *     *     *     Magnus descended into the topmost boughs of a large tree.  Not sixty feet below, a lone orc stomped through the brush.  The mage silently set his scroll in a crook in the tree branch.  His hands began the intricate patterns of summoning one of the many spells he had prepared for the battle.Another fireball would have been overkill for just a single orc, he knew.  A better choice was something classic, something precise that could remove the threat quickly and simply.It was at that moment Magnus realized he was mistaken.Three boar-like beasts charged out of the brush, pounding their oversized tusks into the trunk of the tree.  The mage twisted as the tremors rippled into his branch and then he was airborne.Thankfully his spell for flight had not expired.  Magnus scowled as his scroll was shaken lose and began its fall toward the earth.With a near-growl, the wizard released his spell.  Several bolts of bright energy fled from his extended fingertips, striking the orc squarely in the chest.  Those bolts caused an arrow from the orc to shoot harmlessly into the dense copse of trees.In that same instant, Magnus lurched downward, throwing himself toward his falling scroll and the fenboars[1] that grunted hungrily below.     *     *     *     Tobias bellowed as he charged after one of the charred brigands.  The bastard had danced nimbly around the heavily armored paladin, ignoring the real threat to speed toward the church.At first, Tobias had thought the Culite would move to aid his fellow against Cochly.  He never would have sloughed off the guilt if the honorable dwarf had fallen because he, a paladin, a protector of the weak was too ungodly slow.  But the Culite had shown no desire to help his compatriot.  No, the bastard was charging for the church and possibly his freedom.Tobias would have none of it.His speed increased as Cochly’s foe fell.  The dwarf would be quick to give chase as well.  Tobias had to get there first.And then Timmons stepped into the doorway, his back toward the brigand.  Tobias screamed.But Timmons did not have enough time to spin.  His simple robes gave no protection as the Culite’s rapier drove into his back and exploded out of his chest.  The cleric’s heart was instantly split in twain before the cocksure cleric slumped lifeless to the floor.The dead body did nothing to hinder the Culite’s speed.  He wrenched his blade back as he simultaneously kicked the body out of his path.Tobias and Cochly pushed even harder to close the gap but neither could move quite so fast.A sound of metal on metal suddenly echoed out the open doorway of the church.     *     *     *     Fitz had been standing in the street, the only member of the ragtag bunch waiting at the front of the church.  Timmons had been there, but he had wandered off toward the sound of battle within the courtyard.  Crazy Cargyle was around, too.  But Fitz wasn’t quite sure where exactly he had wandered.And so he stood alone, faith his main bulwark.  An extreme amount of patience kept him rooted to the spot.  The plan had to go through as discussed.  He could not move from his position.  One hand held a torch, the light flickering and dim in the early morning rays.  With his other hand, Fitz rested the scythe, symbol of his goddess, against his body.  He drummed a finger on its blade, trying to take his mind from the sounds of death that filled the air.Timmons shrieked.  Or maybe it was Tobias.  Fitz was not entirely sure.  The bellow had grabbed his attention and he turned toward the church to see the priest of Galar fall.  Instinct pushed him toward the church.  The torch he flung aside, careful to keep it away from the oil-soaked earth.  The scythe almost snaked into his hands as he plodded toward the door.A Culite materialized there in the dark hollow, his rapier danced in a complicated routine.  Ceria protected her followers, though.  The blade missed the priest, instead slamming hard against the curving metal of the scythe.-----[1] – Fenboars - boars caught young within the Dead Fens to the south and trained to be fighting machines.</blockquote>

Verification