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Story Hour
In the Valus - The Heroes of Marchford (Chapter 14 Continues - 12/24/08)
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<blockquote data-quote="Funeris" data-source="post: 4571120" data-attributes="member: 22792"><p><strong>Chapter 14: Gurnag's Head Cont'd.</strong></p><p></p><p>Motega had taken point again, but, Drake had followed quite closely. </p><p></p><p>The staircase wound down beyond the thick foundation of the tower and further still than the tubes that disposed of waste. It crawled downward until the walls became natural and jagged, vicious teeth unable to close on their prey. </p><p></p><p>The darkness did not hamper Motega’s vision the way it would a normal man. He slinked ahead of the rest, on the edge of Fitz’s divine light. Drake moved cautiously, two steps behind, one hand grazing the natural wall.</p><p></p><p>The stairs abruptly ended, opening into a natural cavern. A fiery glow and warmth embraced Motega and Drake. The light, though dim, revealed signs of craftsmanship on the walls. Runes in a jagged hand scarred the rock. Their very sight caused Drake’s flesh to crawl. Demonic visages, frozen in stone, watched greedily from the walls.</p><p></p><p>They had only a moment to absorb the environment as a dagger flashed angrily. Motega and Drake spun away from the small man and his small blade. Dark eyes sunk into his skull just beneath a mop of unkempt, brown hair. Beady eyes raced between the two wearily. His nose twitched; his lip curled into a smirk. The brown rags draped across his wiry body were stained by urine and feces.</p><p></p><p>Motega caught a familiar but rotten scent. The tiny man smelled of power and carrion. The meaning hit him just as the tiny man pivoted and leapt. </p><p></p><p>Drake’s sword snapped out, biting a chunk out of the man’s shoulder. Before he was two steps farther away, Drake could swear the wound had vanished from the man’s hide. “Enemy!” The Gordian roared, to alert those still on the staircase. He charged after the foe.</p><p></p><p>Motega spit, “Lycanthrope!” Drake was already gone, already in pursuit. Possibly, the Gordian was already in the trap. The Rornman shook his head disdainfully as Fitz and Magnus finally descended the stairway.</p><p></p><p>“By the Gods,” Fitz cursed at the décor. </p><p></p><p>“Don’t think they had much to do with this, priest,” Magnus quipped. “Where’s our ignorant fool?”</p><p></p><p>“Hurry,” Motega ordered, already in motion. “He’s chasing a lycanthrope.” Magnus chuckled as he fell into step behind the Rorn. </p><p></p><p>The natural cavern slowed their pursuit while its unnatural features fought to catch their eyes and attentions. As they rounded a bend, narrow fissures pock-marked the walls. Drake’s sword clattered against the stone lips of a crevasse. The Gordian cursed in his native tongue and took two steps back. Lowering his head, he dove into the hole.</p><p></p><p>“Idiot!” Motega cursed. “His weapons will do nothing.” A sharp grunt and more metal against stone clattering emphasized his point. The Rorn looked at Magnus, “Do we have any grease?”</p><p></p><p>Magnus’ lip quirked at a dirty joke, but the Rorn’s shooting up a foot in height wiped the explicit words from his mind. Motega’s eyes yellowed; bones popped inside his body. “I—I believe I’ve got you covered,” the mage confirmed.</p><p></p><p>“Exactly,” Motega grunted. “Grease me. Then count to ten.” A sharp snapping realigned the Rorn’s spine just as a thick covering of hair sprouted on his face. “Then fire it up.” </p><p></p><p>Magnus’ brow knitted. A thin sheen of grease covered the wolf-man hybrid that was Motega. The Rorn slid into the crevasse, his new bulk pressing past the lips of stone only thanks to the grease. </p><p></p><p>“One.”</p><p></p><p>The light was not as good in the small cave for Drake. Thankfully, the man’s eyes seemed to glow like embers. He brought the sickle up just as two vicious teeth snapped at his face. The man’s teeth clamped shut around the metal. His fingers, claws now, opened wounds across Drake’s arms.</p><p></p><p>“Move!” The voice was Motega’s, though different. A rough hand, also clawed, the Gordian noted, pushed him toward the wall. Eyes burning with the fires of hell peered out of a face half belonging to the Rorn.</p><p></p><p>Motega’s arms shot out, raking across the wererat’s chest. The tiny creature backpedalled, unable to avoid the ravaging blows. The scent of blood filled the cramped space. </p><p></p><p>“Five.”</p><p></p><p>Drake smiled to himself, taking the new offensive opportunity. He struck low, sickles biting for tendons near the ankle. If the man-rat-thing would fall, Drake would assure the wounds did not heal. </p><p></p><p>His blades cut too high and he swore.</p><p></p><p>Motega’s right arm spread open the flesh along the wererat’s left thigh. His teeth clamped around its arm, breaking the bones in the forearms. A taste of rot exploded in his mouth. The wererat squealed in pain.</p><p></p><p>“Ten.” Magnus grimaced and tossed a bead of energy into the fissure. </p><p></p><p>Motega’s ear twitched, hearing the count. Drake’s blades flashed out again but did not connect as Motega threw himself bodily into the Gordian.</p><p></p><p>Light and fire filled the chamber.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Funeris, post: 4571120, member: 22792"] [b]Chapter 14: Gurnag's Head Cont'd.[/b] Motega had taken point again, but, Drake had followed quite closely. The staircase wound down beyond the thick foundation of the tower and further still than the tubes that disposed of waste. It crawled downward until the walls became natural and jagged, vicious teeth unable to close on their prey. The darkness did not hamper Motega’s vision the way it would a normal man. He slinked ahead of the rest, on the edge of Fitz’s divine light. Drake moved cautiously, two steps behind, one hand grazing the natural wall. The stairs abruptly ended, opening into a natural cavern. A fiery glow and warmth embraced Motega and Drake. The light, though dim, revealed signs of craftsmanship on the walls. Runes in a jagged hand scarred the rock. Their very sight caused Drake’s flesh to crawl. Demonic visages, frozen in stone, watched greedily from the walls. They had only a moment to absorb the environment as a dagger flashed angrily. Motega and Drake spun away from the small man and his small blade. Dark eyes sunk into his skull just beneath a mop of unkempt, brown hair. Beady eyes raced between the two wearily. His nose twitched; his lip curled into a smirk. The brown rags draped across his wiry body were stained by urine and feces. Motega caught a familiar but rotten scent. The tiny man smelled of power and carrion. The meaning hit him just as the tiny man pivoted and leapt. Drake’s sword snapped out, biting a chunk out of the man’s shoulder. Before he was two steps farther away, Drake could swear the wound had vanished from the man’s hide. “Enemy!” The Gordian roared, to alert those still on the staircase. He charged after the foe. Motega spit, “Lycanthrope!” Drake was already gone, already in pursuit. Possibly, the Gordian was already in the trap. The Rornman shook his head disdainfully as Fitz and Magnus finally descended the stairway. “By the Gods,” Fitz cursed at the décor. “Don’t think they had much to do with this, priest,” Magnus quipped. “Where’s our ignorant fool?” “Hurry,” Motega ordered, already in motion. “He’s chasing a lycanthrope.” Magnus chuckled as he fell into step behind the Rorn. The natural cavern slowed their pursuit while its unnatural features fought to catch their eyes and attentions. As they rounded a bend, narrow fissures pock-marked the walls. Drake’s sword clattered against the stone lips of a crevasse. The Gordian cursed in his native tongue and took two steps back. Lowering his head, he dove into the hole. “Idiot!” Motega cursed. “His weapons will do nothing.” A sharp grunt and more metal against stone clattering emphasized his point. The Rorn looked at Magnus, “Do we have any grease?” Magnus’ lip quirked at a dirty joke, but the Rorn’s shooting up a foot in height wiped the explicit words from his mind. Motega’s eyes yellowed; bones popped inside his body. “I—I believe I’ve got you covered,” the mage confirmed. “Exactly,” Motega grunted. “Grease me. Then count to ten.” A sharp snapping realigned the Rorn’s spine just as a thick covering of hair sprouted on his face. “Then fire it up.” Magnus’ brow knitted. A thin sheen of grease covered the wolf-man hybrid that was Motega. The Rorn slid into the crevasse, his new bulk pressing past the lips of stone only thanks to the grease. “One.” The light was not as good in the small cave for Drake. Thankfully, the man’s eyes seemed to glow like embers. He brought the sickle up just as two vicious teeth snapped at his face. The man’s teeth clamped shut around the metal. His fingers, claws now, opened wounds across Drake’s arms. “Move!” The voice was Motega’s, though different. A rough hand, also clawed, the Gordian noted, pushed him toward the wall. Eyes burning with the fires of hell peered out of a face half belonging to the Rorn. Motega’s arms shot out, raking across the wererat’s chest. The tiny creature backpedalled, unable to avoid the ravaging blows. The scent of blood filled the cramped space. “Five.” Drake smiled to himself, taking the new offensive opportunity. He struck low, sickles biting for tendons near the ankle. If the man-rat-thing would fall, Drake would assure the wounds did not heal. His blades cut too high and he swore. Motega’s right arm spread open the flesh along the wererat’s left thigh. His teeth clamped around its arm, breaking the bones in the forearms. A taste of rot exploded in his mouth. The wererat squealed in pain. “Ten.” Magnus grimaced and tossed a bead of energy into the fissure. Motega’s ear twitched, hearing the count. Drake’s blades flashed out again but did not connect as Motega threw himself bodily into the Gordian. Light and fire filled the chamber. [/QUOTE]
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In the Valus - The Heroes of Marchford (Chapter 14 Continues - 12/24/08)
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