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The Friday Knights in Thunderspire Labyrinth (with Pics).
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<blockquote data-quote="Goonalan" data-source="post: 4861100" data-attributes="member: 16069"><p>The Friday Knights in Sellswords of Fallcrest</p><p></p><p>Part 18: This-armed</p><p></p><p>“A what?!” Cathal whispers, with as much vehemence as he can muster- which is a significant amount.</p><p>“I said a nappy...” Kullervo whispers back, repeating himself.</p><p>“A... Oh.” Cathal gets it, and scratches his chin.</p><p>“Well, he wasn't lying then.” Ignaran adds with a shrug.</p><p>“Plan, Sarge?” Astaroth mumbles, and looks hard at the Warrior of Kord.</p><p></p><p>The whispering continues for a while. A little later Cathal will begin gesturing, then pointing, more gesturing, and yet more whispering- three minutes pass.</p><p></p><p>“So we kill the witch?” Ignaran hisses and shakes his head, a lot of chatter for such a simple plan.</p><p>Cathal half-shrugs half-nods.</p><p>“I'm up for it”, the Druid agrees and nods.</p><p></p><p>Moments later.</p><p></p><p>“Let's see..”, Madame Zeb thumbs hard through a musty dusty tome [1], in the other hand is a... odd, it seems to be a miniature person, and very miniature- tiny, perhaps only six inches tall, and dressed in a neat little suit- autumnal colours. Stranger still the tiny humanoid sports a pair of delicate butterfly wings, alas from the way its limbs dance as Madame Zeb flounces and jiggles, the creature must be dead.</p><p></p><p>“Let's see, let's see... F... F... Ah-ha, got it- Fairy Cakes.” Madame Zeb mumbles her way through the recipe, following the words on the page with her calloused index finger.</p><p></p><p>SPLAT </p><p></p><p>The dead fairy is slapped onto the table before her- the witch fumbles with the sleeves of her robe, ostensibly rolling them up, reveals spindly, warty, stick-thin arms. She suddenly clutches the skull-topped rod in both hands, raises it high above her head.</p><p></p><p>Back in the shadows of the archway Kullervo comes to an immediate halt, the Friday Knights concertina. Signalled shushes silence the foursome- the young rogue waits to see what dark deed is about to unfold, momentarily mesmerised.</p><p></p><p>“Oh great Demon Lord.” Madame Zeb squawks, “empower my Rod so that it will crush all before it.” She cackles some more.</p><p></p><p>SLAM</p><p></p><p>Then sets to flattening the deceased fairy, using the skull topped rod as a rolling pin.</p><p></p><p>“I feel like chicken tonight... chicken tonight.” Zeb hollers and sings, while shuffling from foot to foot in time with the tune- she continues to roll out the fairy corpse.</p><p></p><p>“Ready?” Kullervo whispers, and is met by nods - it goes a little like this.</p><p></p><p>Ignaran is first into the room, his hands dance- but to a different tune, a second or so later a thick fug of flying creatures burst from the body of the battered fairy, buzz up and engulf the flailing arms and face of Madame Zeb, they're... gnats.</p><p></p><p>The buzzing fury get to work, Madame Zeb flounders, bumps forward into the table, swatting with the skull topped rod, trying to clear her vision.</p><p></p><p>A second later she suddenly keels forward, thunks her head hard into the table before her- perhaps something to do with the dagger that has leapt from Kullervo's outstretched hand and made its way, tout de suite, into and through the intercostal muscles between her fifth and sixth rib.</p><p></p><p>Madame Zeb bobs back up again, the dagger disappears and reappears in Kullervo's hand. The young Rogue gulps hard and backs away a little, before him Madame Zeb rages amidst her gnatty crown.</p><p></p><p>“Evenin' slim.” Cathal steps into the chamber and faces off against a startled Pinky, his flashing blade bites deep and draws a slick of blood from the Eunuch's [2] copious folds; he sends the fat man skittering back, and then steps up to face his foe.</p><p></p><p>A second later Astaroth arrives before an equally flustered Perky, the remaining Eunuch, his axe dances and slashes hard down, a short stroke but packed with power.</p><p></p><p>CLUMP</p><p></p><p>Perky's right hand and forearm, severed just below the elbow, lands hard on the filthy floor- Astaroth and Perky take a moment to register this.</p><p></p><p>The great fat man uses his other hand to feel the spot- where his right arm should be, he looks... befuddled.</p><p></p><p>Astaroth grins, his brain has just had a...</p><p></p><p>“This-armed.” He states, shaping the word carefully.</p><p></p><p>THUNK</p><p></p><p>Astaroth swings again, his axe buries itself into the plaster of the wall, which spits and flies in an effort to accommodate it.</p><p></p><p>It passes through a good eight inches of fleshy folds en route alas. Alas for Perky that is- who clutches at the fat grey sausages that tumble from his gaping belly.</p><p></p><p>“Disarmed.” Perky squeaks, and I mean squeaks- castrato, correcting Astaroth, and slumps against the wall and then down to the floor, leaving a bloody smear in his wake. There he expires and soon after starts to expand as odd shaped still pulsing organs tumble out of the rent.</p><p></p><p>That's it.</p><p></p><p>That's really it.</p><p></p><p>I mean.</p><p></p><p>That...</p><p></p><p>Does it.</p><p></p><p>Madame Zeb goes nuclear, she chants words of dread power, a dark furze- like a black heat haze, signals her target. Astaroth turns to stare, something in his mind itches- itches bad.</p><p></p><p>He goes to scratch it, and as Mother Zeb watches, through the biting bugs, the huge fighter is engulfed in a towering inferno, a column of scorching, blistering flames.</p><p></p><p>Which causes the other pockets of action to take a moment.</p><p></p><p>The flames subside.</p><p></p><p>And from the furnace emerges Astaroth, smoking a little, but otherwise- seemingly none the worse for it, however a spot a few feet before him is scorched and cindered, ceiling and floor a black charred mess- some of the stone has melted a little.</p><p></p><p>“Missed.” Astaroth declares and grins.</p><p></p><p>Suddenly the gnats buzz off, disappear from sight.</p><p></p><p>“Sick 'em Wolfie.” Ignaran states.</p><p></p><p>Wolfie pops into existence and chomps down on a mouthful of Madame Zeb's robes- then pulls, and down she goes again- fortunately her route to the floor is impeded, the tables in the way, again.</p><p></p><p>CLUNK</p><p></p><p>Face first again into the solid oak, she bobs back up- somewhat dizzier, and blind in one eye.</p><p></p><p>Ten seconds of further punishment and humiliation later Madame Zeb flings her arms into the air, spills the skull topped rod and declares- “sur-wender, sur-wender... I can't see. I'm bwind.”</p><p></p><p>“You've got a fairy in your eye.” Ignaran helps.</p><p></p><p>And sure enough she has, Madame Zeb looks hard left, hard right, nods her head- all to no avail, the flattened remains of the dead fairy cover her left eye, cheek and chin. Gingerly she reaches up and peels off the pancake flat fey.</p><p></p><p>“Sur-wender.”</p><p></p><p>Followed by.</p><p></p><p>“Poor-wa Pwerky. Poor-wa Pwerky.” She mutters and cries.</p><p></p><p></p><p>[1] The tome in question “Caykes & Stuffe” by Jay-Me-Holiver, a Death Slaad of fearsome reputation who, having retired from planar hopping treks of death and destruction, has gone into the catering business. Jay-Me spends much of his time creating exquisite sweets and patisseries for his select clients- devils, demons, venerable liches, and ancient dragons (those still possessing serviceable palettes). Jay-Me's “Death by Chocolate”, according to those that have tasted it, is to die for.</p><p></p><p>[2] Eunuchs, as things go, qualify as luxury items in witch circles- high maintenance, at times incredibly annoying (the high pitch voice, like nails down a blackboard), and they make poor guards; and yet a Eunuch or two in your retinue is certain to elevate a witch's status. They are also incredibly moreish- 'once you have had a Eunuch you'll never go back', or so the saying goes, interestingly all Eunuchs, by rights, are buried... ahem, complete, their Eunuch-Horn re-attached for the occasion</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Goonalan, post: 4861100, member: 16069"] The Friday Knights in Sellswords of Fallcrest Part 18: This-armed “A what?!” Cathal whispers, with as much vehemence as he can muster- which is a significant amount. “I said a nappy...” Kullervo whispers back, repeating himself. “A... Oh.” Cathal gets it, and scratches his chin. “Well, he wasn't lying then.” Ignaran adds with a shrug. “Plan, Sarge?” Astaroth mumbles, and looks hard at the Warrior of Kord. The whispering continues for a while. A little later Cathal will begin gesturing, then pointing, more gesturing, and yet more whispering- three minutes pass. “So we kill the witch?” Ignaran hisses and shakes his head, a lot of chatter for such a simple plan. Cathal half-shrugs half-nods. “I'm up for it”, the Druid agrees and nods. Moments later. “Let's see..”, Madame Zeb thumbs hard through a musty dusty tome [1], in the other hand is a... odd, it seems to be a miniature person, and very miniature- tiny, perhaps only six inches tall, and dressed in a neat little suit- autumnal colours. Stranger still the tiny humanoid sports a pair of delicate butterfly wings, alas from the way its limbs dance as Madame Zeb flounces and jiggles, the creature must be dead. “Let's see, let's see... F... F... Ah-ha, got it- Fairy Cakes.” Madame Zeb mumbles her way through the recipe, following the words on the page with her calloused index finger. SPLAT The dead fairy is slapped onto the table before her- the witch fumbles with the sleeves of her robe, ostensibly rolling them up, reveals spindly, warty, stick-thin arms. She suddenly clutches the skull-topped rod in both hands, raises it high above her head. Back in the shadows of the archway Kullervo comes to an immediate halt, the Friday Knights concertina. Signalled shushes silence the foursome- the young rogue waits to see what dark deed is about to unfold, momentarily mesmerised. “Oh great Demon Lord.” Madame Zeb squawks, “empower my Rod so that it will crush all before it.” She cackles some more. SLAM Then sets to flattening the deceased fairy, using the skull topped rod as a rolling pin. “I feel like chicken tonight... chicken tonight.” Zeb hollers and sings, while shuffling from foot to foot in time with the tune- she continues to roll out the fairy corpse. “Ready?” Kullervo whispers, and is met by nods - it goes a little like this. Ignaran is first into the room, his hands dance- but to a different tune, a second or so later a thick fug of flying creatures burst from the body of the battered fairy, buzz up and engulf the flailing arms and face of Madame Zeb, they're... gnats. The buzzing fury get to work, Madame Zeb flounders, bumps forward into the table, swatting with the skull topped rod, trying to clear her vision. A second later she suddenly keels forward, thunks her head hard into the table before her- perhaps something to do with the dagger that has leapt from Kullervo's outstretched hand and made its way, tout de suite, into and through the intercostal muscles between her fifth and sixth rib. Madame Zeb bobs back up again, the dagger disappears and reappears in Kullervo's hand. The young Rogue gulps hard and backs away a little, before him Madame Zeb rages amidst her gnatty crown. “Evenin' slim.” Cathal steps into the chamber and faces off against a startled Pinky, his flashing blade bites deep and draws a slick of blood from the Eunuch's [2] copious folds; he sends the fat man skittering back, and then steps up to face his foe. A second later Astaroth arrives before an equally flustered Perky, the remaining Eunuch, his axe dances and slashes hard down, a short stroke but packed with power. CLUMP Perky's right hand and forearm, severed just below the elbow, lands hard on the filthy floor- Astaroth and Perky take a moment to register this. The great fat man uses his other hand to feel the spot- where his right arm should be, he looks... befuddled. Astaroth grins, his brain has just had a... “This-armed.” He states, shaping the word carefully. THUNK Astaroth swings again, his axe buries itself into the plaster of the wall, which spits and flies in an effort to accommodate it. It passes through a good eight inches of fleshy folds en route alas. Alas for Perky that is- who clutches at the fat grey sausages that tumble from his gaping belly. “Disarmed.” Perky squeaks, and I mean squeaks- castrato, correcting Astaroth, and slumps against the wall and then down to the floor, leaving a bloody smear in his wake. There he expires and soon after starts to expand as odd shaped still pulsing organs tumble out of the rent. That's it. That's really it. I mean. That... Does it. Madame Zeb goes nuclear, she chants words of dread power, a dark furze- like a black heat haze, signals her target. Astaroth turns to stare, something in his mind itches- itches bad. He goes to scratch it, and as Mother Zeb watches, through the biting bugs, the huge fighter is engulfed in a towering inferno, a column of scorching, blistering flames. Which causes the other pockets of action to take a moment. The flames subside. And from the furnace emerges Astaroth, smoking a little, but otherwise- seemingly none the worse for it, however a spot a few feet before him is scorched and cindered, ceiling and floor a black charred mess- some of the stone has melted a little. “Missed.” Astaroth declares and grins. Suddenly the gnats buzz off, disappear from sight. “Sick 'em Wolfie.” Ignaran states. Wolfie pops into existence and chomps down on a mouthful of Madame Zeb's robes- then pulls, and down she goes again- fortunately her route to the floor is impeded, the tables in the way, again. CLUNK Face first again into the solid oak, she bobs back up- somewhat dizzier, and blind in one eye. Ten seconds of further punishment and humiliation later Madame Zeb flings her arms into the air, spills the skull topped rod and declares- “sur-wender, sur-wender... I can't see. I'm bwind.” “You've got a fairy in your eye.” Ignaran helps. And sure enough she has, Madame Zeb looks hard left, hard right, nods her head- all to no avail, the flattened remains of the dead fairy cover her left eye, cheek and chin. Gingerly she reaches up and peels off the pancake flat fey. “Sur-wender.” Followed by. “Poor-wa Pwerky. Poor-wa Pwerky.” She mutters and cries. [1] The tome in question “Caykes & Stuffe” by Jay-Me-Holiver, a Death Slaad of fearsome reputation who, having retired from planar hopping treks of death and destruction, has gone into the catering business. Jay-Me spends much of his time creating exquisite sweets and patisseries for his select clients- devils, demons, venerable liches, and ancient dragons (those still possessing serviceable palettes). Jay-Me's “Death by Chocolate”, according to those that have tasted it, is to die for. [2] Eunuchs, as things go, qualify as luxury items in witch circles- high maintenance, at times incredibly annoying (the high pitch voice, like nails down a blackboard), and they make poor guards; and yet a Eunuch or two in your retinue is certain to elevate a witch's status. They are also incredibly moreish- 'once you have had a Eunuch you'll never go back', or so the saying goes, interestingly all Eunuchs, by rights, are buried... ahem, complete, their Eunuch-Horn re-attached for the occasion [/QUOTE]
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