steeldragons
Steeliest of the dragons
'Tis the season to be...oh $#!T!
Happy New Year, fellow Orean adventurer’s! May 2014 be a boon to us all...and may the opportunity for more regular attention to updates be ours as well.
Wishes for all good thigns in the year to come and hopes that everyone has enjoyed the holiday season [respective to whatever holiday that may be or might have been. ]
Now, when we last left the Stormriders...where were we?
Ah! Yes.
-------------------------------
The party descended a narrow and terribly worn staircase down into Gorathgraard’s wine cellar. Time, moisture and ages-old use had worn the stone steps to a near-ice slippery smoothness. More than once one of the companions had to grab one of their fellows to steady their descent.
Pyrnion, of course, flapped his way out into the great open space as soon as he was able, floating effortlessly to the floor below.
When the floor of the cellar was in view, Jovias similarly leapt from the hazardous steps to land with a light “clop” on his caprine haunches.
The rest of the party made their way down and then stood, in awe, at the bottom.
The stairs had been long, for a cellar, but the ceiling disappeared in shadows at heights well above where Duor asserted they should be.
The cellar itself, extended well beyond even Duor and Pyrnion’s exceptional eyesight...in all directions.
Row and row after row of shelving, standing at least 20 feet high, extended into the darkness. Some filled with dust and cobweb-strewn bottles and casks. Some empty. Some shelves of stone, some of wood. Those, that could be seen, of wood had long decayed and collapsed in sections. Large “pool-like" spots of darkened stone dotted with broken shards of age old bottles of long lost vintages were visible from place to place. The entire area reeked of a “heady”, in fact nearly nauseating, combination of what was now vinegar combined with the sickeningly sweet smells of various indeterminable fruits and spices used to flavor the forgotten wines and liquors. Their distillation now seeped well into the stones of the flooring and surrounding wood which remained.
“Ugh.” complained Haelan.
“You kidding?!” Jovias, argued. He took a long deep sniff. “Whew! You can get a high right of fthe air down here. And LOOK at all of the bottles still intact!?! This is any red-blooded satyr’s paradise!”
“All yours, good minstrel.” Braddok scoffed, covering his mouth with his shield arm.
“Indeed. I’m getting a headache already.” Alaria complained. She, and several of the others, wrapped their cloaks around their faces to avoid some acrid air.
“So which way to the vault?!” Duor said, excitedly.
“I can not say, Duor.” Alaria said with some annoyance. It was only for the dwarf’s greif they were there in the first place. She very much wanted to vacate the deadly mountain and regroup. “Gorathiel said only that it was hidden behind a cask.”
Haelan looked off into the darkness, extending beyond his and Alaria’s light sources...and the number of casks and bottles and uncounted rows of shelves. “You’ve got to be joking.” the Hilltender said without humor. “We could be here for the rest of our natural lives!”
“That seems a likely possibility, Hilltender.” Fen responded with a smirk, though no humor in his tone.
“Where do we even begin?” Haelan asked.
“With ye, hairfoot.” Duor said, triumphantly.
“Huh?” said more than a few of the companions.
“Ye had the spell that was s’posed to lead us to the orb. Ye can use it again to lead us to the treasure!” Duor said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“But Duor, I would need to rest and recouperate my strength before trying so advanced an entreaty again. I have no doubt we have neither the time nor the...desire...nor will we be permitted the opportunity to rest here, for long.” Haelan protested. “She is sure to return at some point.”
“Haelan is correct, Duor.” Alaria piped in. “And both Fen and myself are at a sore loss of energy should we be forced into another encounter. I say, we retreat and return some future time.”
“We’ve DONE that! And we’re in spittin’ distance of a dragon’s hoard...Braddok, my boy, talk some sense into these whining magic-users. We can’t abandon this now!”
“Mmmm...that’s a lovely....’mell...” Jovias said, taking a deep breath of a still moist and sticky looking pool on the floor at the periphery of their light. “Mulberry...n’ tones ovvvv...cinnamon?...mmm...”
Pyrnion watched, somewhat disinterested, until the satyr reached out with a long finger and pulled a bit of the sticky reddish substance up toward his nose and lips.
“NO!” Pyrnion cried...too late.
The satyr’s tongue touched the long spilt wine even as a “lump” formed in the middle of the area of stained, moist looking floor. Jovias’ eyes rose, his finger still attached to his tongue, to follow the growing lump turned mound turned giant “hill” as two appendages separated from its sides and a large space opened beneath what seemed to be two large corks stuck near the top of the...thing, like eyes. A gurgling dripping roar escaped the opening that must have been its “mouth.”
”Mudman!” Pyrnion shouted even as he took wing, grasping his enchanted axe in both hands.
“WINE ELEMENTAL!!!!” Haelan shrieked.
Happy New Year, fellow Orean adventurer’s! May 2014 be a boon to us all...and may the opportunity for more regular attention to updates be ours as well.
Wishes for all good thigns in the year to come and hopes that everyone has enjoyed the holiday season [respective to whatever holiday that may be or might have been. ]
Now, when we last left the Stormriders...where were we?
Ah! Yes.
-------------------------------
The party descended a narrow and terribly worn staircase down into Gorathgraard’s wine cellar. Time, moisture and ages-old use had worn the stone steps to a near-ice slippery smoothness. More than once one of the companions had to grab one of their fellows to steady their descent.
Pyrnion, of course, flapped his way out into the great open space as soon as he was able, floating effortlessly to the floor below.
When the floor of the cellar was in view, Jovias similarly leapt from the hazardous steps to land with a light “clop” on his caprine haunches.
The rest of the party made their way down and then stood, in awe, at the bottom.
The stairs had been long, for a cellar, but the ceiling disappeared in shadows at heights well above where Duor asserted they should be.
The cellar itself, extended well beyond even Duor and Pyrnion’s exceptional eyesight...in all directions.
Row and row after row of shelving, standing at least 20 feet high, extended into the darkness. Some filled with dust and cobweb-strewn bottles and casks. Some empty. Some shelves of stone, some of wood. Those, that could be seen, of wood had long decayed and collapsed in sections. Large “pool-like" spots of darkened stone dotted with broken shards of age old bottles of long lost vintages were visible from place to place. The entire area reeked of a “heady”, in fact nearly nauseating, combination of what was now vinegar combined with the sickeningly sweet smells of various indeterminable fruits and spices used to flavor the forgotten wines and liquors. Their distillation now seeped well into the stones of the flooring and surrounding wood which remained.
“Ugh.” complained Haelan.
“You kidding?!” Jovias, argued. He took a long deep sniff. “Whew! You can get a high right of fthe air down here. And LOOK at all of the bottles still intact!?! This is any red-blooded satyr’s paradise!”
“All yours, good minstrel.” Braddok scoffed, covering his mouth with his shield arm.
“Indeed. I’m getting a headache already.” Alaria complained. She, and several of the others, wrapped their cloaks around their faces to avoid some acrid air.
“So which way to the vault?!” Duor said, excitedly.
“I can not say, Duor.” Alaria said with some annoyance. It was only for the dwarf’s greif they were there in the first place. She very much wanted to vacate the deadly mountain and regroup. “Gorathiel said only that it was hidden behind a cask.”
Haelan looked off into the darkness, extending beyond his and Alaria’s light sources...and the number of casks and bottles and uncounted rows of shelves. “You’ve got to be joking.” the Hilltender said without humor. “We could be here for the rest of our natural lives!”
“That seems a likely possibility, Hilltender.” Fen responded with a smirk, though no humor in his tone.
“Where do we even begin?” Haelan asked.
“With ye, hairfoot.” Duor said, triumphantly.
“Huh?” said more than a few of the companions.
“Ye had the spell that was s’posed to lead us to the orb. Ye can use it again to lead us to the treasure!” Duor said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“But Duor, I would need to rest and recouperate my strength before trying so advanced an entreaty again. I have no doubt we have neither the time nor the...desire...nor will we be permitted the opportunity to rest here, for long.” Haelan protested. “She is sure to return at some point.”
“Haelan is correct, Duor.” Alaria piped in. “And both Fen and myself are at a sore loss of energy should we be forced into another encounter. I say, we retreat and return some future time.”
“We’ve DONE that! And we’re in spittin’ distance of a dragon’s hoard...Braddok, my boy, talk some sense into these whining magic-users. We can’t abandon this now!”
“Mmmm...that’s a lovely....’mell...” Jovias said, taking a deep breath of a still moist and sticky looking pool on the floor at the periphery of their light. “Mulberry...n’ tones ovvvv...cinnamon?...mmm...”
Pyrnion watched, somewhat disinterested, until the satyr reached out with a long finger and pulled a bit of the sticky reddish substance up toward his nose and lips.
“NO!” Pyrnion cried...too late.
The satyr’s tongue touched the long spilt wine even as a “lump” formed in the middle of the area of stained, moist looking floor. Jovias’ eyes rose, his finger still attached to his tongue, to follow the growing lump turned mound turned giant “hill” as two appendages separated from its sides and a large space opened beneath what seemed to be two large corks stuck near the top of the...thing, like eyes. A gurgling dripping roar escaped the opening that must have been its “mouth.”
”Mudman!” Pyrnion shouted even as he took wing, grasping his enchanted axe in both hands.
“WINE ELEMENTAL!!!!” Haelan shrieked.