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<blockquote data-quote="BoldItalic" data-source="post: 6759795" data-attributes="member: 6777052"><p>The grue came crashing into the room, the very embodiment of mindless ferocity. BoldItalic reacted quickly and threw a <strong>Slow</strong> spell at it, to try to weaken its defences and give Rylnethaz a better chance of slaying it with his silvered sword.</p><p></p><p>As the spell took effect, the monster's onward rush changed from <em>hurtle</em> to <em>amble</em> and its roaring dropped a whole octave in pitch. BoldItalic focussed all his mental energies on keeping it that way, knowing that even a dim-witted grue might shake off the effect at any moment.</p><p></p><p>"Beware the spines!" he cried out, "Those hideous barbs are deadly!"</p><p></p><p>Sir Rylnethaz, red-shielded and girt in mail, chose his moment and side-stepped the horror at the last second, piercing its flank with the tip of his blade and drawing a long wound in its side as it moved past him, carried along by its own inexorable momentum.</p><p></p><p>Purple ichor spurted from the wound and splashed upon the noble elf's shield, which began to smoulder. And yet his sword, though it had penetrated deeply the foul flesh, was unharmed. For it is that gold and silver, those elements of the sun and moon that shine so brightly in the heavens, are untouched by the woeful blood of creatures that dwell the underworld. Had it not been for its newly-wrought silver coating, his sword would have dissolved into jelly in an instant leaving him defenceless against the onslaught.</p><p></p><p>But there was no time for such reflections. The grue turned upon its plucky adversary and opened a huge maw, wide enough to drive a wagon and horses through, and displayed seven rows of enormous yellow fangs. A red tongue the size of a dozen slavering carpets rolled out and Sir Rylnethaz gagged as the stench from the grue's breath hit him full in the nostrils.</p><p></p><p>"I hope this works," he thought ...</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="BoldItalic, post: 6759795, member: 6777052"] The grue came crashing into the room, the very embodiment of mindless ferocity. BoldItalic reacted quickly and threw a [b]Slow[/b] spell at it, to try to weaken its defences and give Rylnethaz a better chance of slaying it with his silvered sword. As the spell took effect, the monster's onward rush changed from [i]hurtle[/i] to [i]amble[/i] and its roaring dropped a whole octave in pitch. BoldItalic focussed all his mental energies on keeping it that way, knowing that even a dim-witted grue might shake off the effect at any moment. "Beware the spines!" he cried out, "Those hideous barbs are deadly!" Sir Rylnethaz, red-shielded and girt in mail, chose his moment and side-stepped the horror at the last second, piercing its flank with the tip of his blade and drawing a long wound in its side as it moved past him, carried along by its own inexorable momentum. Purple ichor spurted from the wound and splashed upon the noble elf's shield, which began to smoulder. And yet his sword, though it had penetrated deeply the foul flesh, was unharmed. For it is that gold and silver, those elements of the sun and moon that shine so brightly in the heavens, are untouched by the woeful blood of creatures that dwell the underworld. Had it not been for its newly-wrought silver coating, his sword would have dissolved into jelly in an instant leaving him defenceless against the onslaught. But there was no time for such reflections. The grue turned upon its plucky adversary and opened a huge maw, wide enough to drive a wagon and horses through, and displayed seven rows of enormous yellow fangs. A red tongue the size of a dozen slavering carpets rolled out and Sir Rylnethaz gagged as the stench from the grue's breath hit him full in the nostrils. "I hope this works," he thought ... [/QUOTE]
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