97mg
Explorer
Annit & Magaw: Trick or Treat
Annit was barely conscious, shivering with shock, pale and soaked with sweat when the priest had arrived. “Carth… Dain…” she mumbled as half-orcen hands went to work.
The sensation was incredible, the release, the feeling of cool softness that floated up her darkened and flame-touched legs. A large majority of the pain was lifted from her, leaving only minor burns and a light blistering behind. She came around quickly, and was stunned to see the results.
“Thank you!” She said, smiling, “praise Suru!”.
Soon enough, Annit was able to stand, stretch, and work with the team in their efforts to disguise the truth, the fact they were not really... prisoners of a half-breed fiend.
Magaw of course looked on with intense curiosity. It wasn’t every day the old skull got to watch a magical leg massage in progress. A feeling of envy struck. Legs. He almost missed his own, sometimes. Moreso, he missed perhaps the opportunity to stroke a lady’s slender limbs...
Carthum, now here was clearly a man of faith and godliness. Under normal circumstances it would have made one such as Magaw rather uncomfortable, but the group’s survival depended on the priest, and Magaw… he wanted them to survive too. The skull might not have been a fitting example of an honest, law-abiding Kalarian, but he did care, he did know when a debt was to be paid. An undead owing his freedom and “life” to someone? Magaw respected that strange irony.
He hovered around the group as they assembled and prepared their illusionary status as captives.
“Ingenious!”
They were ready for business, and Magaw would offer what useful information he could.
“Friends, few fiendish residents remain, that is true, and now quite a few less I suppose. A long while ago these passages were full of red and furious activity. Imp’s shoving mindless miners about, lesser beasts such as Kravikus keeping order, and higher ranks also, sometimes strutting through these cracks. I would see sacks, obviously heavy and loaded, dropped into an old iron cart upon these tracks, and then trundled off to where we head. What lies there I do not know."
What was once a hive of hellish activity, is now little more than an outpost me thinks. But guarded still, by what might be a skeleton-crew. Kravikus, Botiloth, Grimok, they are names and faces I remember, the only devils of note that I can recall seeing in recent time.”
The skull floats over to Metea then, with a question.
“Fine lady, would you mind if I were to travel in close proximity to your backpack? This face you see, though handsome and memorable, is not one any local inhabitants would respond well to.”
<Will pop in a map and next section soon. Feel free to post if you want while you wait
>
Annit was barely conscious, shivering with shock, pale and soaked with sweat when the priest had arrived. “Carth… Dain…” she mumbled as half-orcen hands went to work.
The sensation was incredible, the release, the feeling of cool softness that floated up her darkened and flame-touched legs. A large majority of the pain was lifted from her, leaving only minor burns and a light blistering behind. She came around quickly, and was stunned to see the results.
“Thank you!” She said, smiling, “praise Suru!”.
Soon enough, Annit was able to stand, stretch, and work with the team in their efforts to disguise the truth, the fact they were not really... prisoners of a half-breed fiend.
Magaw of course looked on with intense curiosity. It wasn’t every day the old skull got to watch a magical leg massage in progress. A feeling of envy struck. Legs. He almost missed his own, sometimes. Moreso, he missed perhaps the opportunity to stroke a lady’s slender limbs...
Carthum, now here was clearly a man of faith and godliness. Under normal circumstances it would have made one such as Magaw rather uncomfortable, but the group’s survival depended on the priest, and Magaw… he wanted them to survive too. The skull might not have been a fitting example of an honest, law-abiding Kalarian, but he did care, he did know when a debt was to be paid. An undead owing his freedom and “life” to someone? Magaw respected that strange irony.
He hovered around the group as they assembled and prepared their illusionary status as captives.
“Ingenious!”
They were ready for business, and Magaw would offer what useful information he could.
“Friends, few fiendish residents remain, that is true, and now quite a few less I suppose. A long while ago these passages were full of red and furious activity. Imp’s shoving mindless miners about, lesser beasts such as Kravikus keeping order, and higher ranks also, sometimes strutting through these cracks. I would see sacks, obviously heavy and loaded, dropped into an old iron cart upon these tracks, and then trundled off to where we head. What lies there I do not know."
What was once a hive of hellish activity, is now little more than an outpost me thinks. But guarded still, by what might be a skeleton-crew. Kravikus, Botiloth, Grimok, they are names and faces I remember, the only devils of note that I can recall seeing in recent time.”
The skull floats over to Metea then, with a question.
“Fine lady, would you mind if I were to travel in close proximity to your backpack? This face you see, though handsome and memorable, is not one any local inhabitants would respond well to.”
<Will pop in a map and next section soon. Feel free to post if you want while you wait
>
