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The Lost Boys vs The Sunless Citadel
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<blockquote data-quote="Goonalan" data-source="post: 3680893" data-attributes="member: 16069"><p>Turn 4.3</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">One, Two…</p><p></p><p>Grand Alf leaps to his feet, and then has no idea where to go or what to do; he rattles his short spear at the oncoming Hobgoblin, he elects for a warcry.</p><p></p><p>“Buuuuuuu-Ggerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”</p><p></p><p>Dartamor thinks, reaches inside his leather jerkin, and finds something soft and tickly- the feather. Why not, what’s to lose- he thinks.</p><p></p><p>It floats out of his hand, slowly heading for the floor. He counts the zig-zag shifts of its descent.</p><p></p><p>The enemies close in.</p><p></p><p>Aleso exchanges blows with a fearsome looking Hobgoblin warrior, no hits.</p><p></p><p>“Pelor, damn your eyes you whelp spawn of the devil- scum.”</p><p></p><p>“ONE.” Dartamor counts hypnotised.</p><p></p><p>Saradomin fends off another.</p><p></p><p>“St Cuthbert, get him, go on… please.”</p><p></p><p>“TWO.” Dartamor continues.</p><p></p><p>Grand Alf hollers.</p><p></p><p>“We’re all going to diiiiiiiiiiiiiiie.”</p><p></p><p>The feather hits the floor, the rough stone flag breaks; a tiny seedling appears from the newly formed crack.</p><p></p><p>It grows… </p><p></p><p>Six inches tall it snakes around the leg of a slightly bemused Hobgoblin, who stares down at this strange phenomenon, my word- not his.</p><p></p><p>And grows…</p><p></p><p>Winding its way around the Hobgoblin, it’s got his full attention now, it snakes past his shoulders.</p><p></p><p>And grows… </p><p></p><p>It’s filling out as it reaches for the ceiling… and touches- spreads.</p><p></p><p>And grows…</p><p></p><p>Branches shoot off in every direction, and yet the thing still courses upwards, the stones overhead buckle, crack and split, sending showers of dirt, dust and pebbles down.</p><p></p><p>And grows…</p><p></p><p>It punches its way through the ceiling, scrapes and scratches its way through the rock above.</p><p></p><p>Larger stones rain down.</p><p></p><p>“Aaaaaarrrrggghhhh.”</p><p></p><p>A Hobgoblin screams as its body is crushed and broken.</p><p></p><p>“Aaaaaarrrrggghhhh.”</p><p></p><p>More screams, other Hobgoblins contend with the falling masonry.</p><p></p><p>Dartamor tumbles back out of the way, eyes wide open- saucers, staring at what he has wrought, he’s out of the hailstorm, as are all of the other Lost Boys, more by luck than judgement.</p><p> </p><p>The Hobgoblins are far less fortunate.</p><p></p><p>Not a sound for a while save the noise of fresh falls of loose dirt, and the sometimes creek of the…</p><p></p><p>“TREE.” Dartamor finishes his count, he grins- feels himself to check he’s alive, and not dreaming.</p><p></p><p>“Well…”, Grand Alf starts, then has nowhere to go with the sentence, for a while. “Well that was unexpected.”</p><p></p><p>“Praise be to Pelor for the light of his… damn, light. He has brought forth…”, Aleso is on his knees, “a… tree.”</p><p></p><p>He gulps, unsure. </p><p></p><p>“Pelor… has… brought… the… tree… into existence as a symbol… of his power… to conjure, no that’s not it… to nurture nature, nope, to bring forth...”</p><p></p><p>He looks up stares at the tree.</p><p></p><p>“To bring forth… a… tree. He moves in mysterious ways.”</p><p></p><p>He crosses himself and gets back to his feet. </p><p></p><p>Saradomin has ago.</p><p></p><p>“Praise be to thee Lord St. Cuthbert who HATH”, he stares at Aleso, “brought forth a tree as a symbol of your MIGHT, POWER and STRENGTH.” The last words are shouted at Aleso, and anyone else that is listening.</p><p></p><p>“A representation of your EEEE-NOR-MUSS CUDGEL, ha ha, didn’t think of that did’ya?” He smirks at Aleso.</p><p></p><p>“In honour of this miracle I shall remove a holy bough, so that I too may smite your sovereign enemies in your name. Beat that.”</p><p></p><p>Saradomin is on his feet, grinning, he wanders over to the tree, while Aleso silently curses.</p><p></p><p>He grabs hold of a sturdy looking bough and wrenches it… no, hang on, the bough doesn’t move, leaving Saradomin, feet in the air, hanging from it- trying desperately to break it off to create a holy cudgel just like his deity.</p><p></p><p>This goes on for some time, Saradomin gets nowhere- he tries several branches, they’re solid, nothing doing. </p><p></p><p>He mooches about beneath the trees canopy looking for a weak spot.</p><p></p><p>THUNK.</p><p></p><p>A rock falls on his head; he goes down like a sack of spuds.</p><p></p><p>A grinning Aleso drags him out of harms way.</p><p></p><p>Religious squabbles over the silence returns, but not for long.</p><p></p><p>“Theur think dis is o'a? It’s onny just begun. T' Ahtcast is waitin for theur .”</p><p></p><p>Durnn’s voice carries from the other side of the tree, which is now blocking the doorway- that and several tons of smashed masonry.</p><p></p><p>“I’ll be waitin for you… bela.”</p><p></p><p>The sound of receding footsteps, two pairs, and a skittering-scratching sound, Durnn, Grenl and ‘Sprout’, the Twig Blight, head off.</p><p></p><p>“Who’s this Outcast?” Grand Alf asks?</p><p>Dartamor shrugs, eyes on the floor, looking for the feather… it couldn’t have… it didn’t create… this… tree.</p><p></p><p>He turns as Meepo and the other Kobold reinforcements arrive on the scene, they begin to scramble through the dirt, rifling the dead bodies strewn about.</p><p></p><p>“A blind bit late”, Dartamor states.</p><p>“Juss in time.” Meepo counters.</p><p></p><p>Next turn: To Koboldly go…</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Goonalan, post: 3680893, member: 16069"] Turn 4.3 [CENTER]One, Two…[/CENTER] Grand Alf leaps to his feet, and then has no idea where to go or what to do; he rattles his short spear at the oncoming Hobgoblin, he elects for a warcry. “Buuuuuuu-Ggerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.” Dartamor thinks, reaches inside his leather jerkin, and finds something soft and tickly- the feather. Why not, what’s to lose- he thinks. It floats out of his hand, slowly heading for the floor. He counts the zig-zag shifts of its descent. The enemies close in. Aleso exchanges blows with a fearsome looking Hobgoblin warrior, no hits. “Pelor, damn your eyes you whelp spawn of the devil- scum.” “ONE.” Dartamor counts hypnotised. Saradomin fends off another. “St Cuthbert, get him, go on… please.” “TWO.” Dartamor continues. Grand Alf hollers. “We’re all going to diiiiiiiiiiiiiiie.” The feather hits the floor, the rough stone flag breaks; a tiny seedling appears from the newly formed crack. It grows… Six inches tall it snakes around the leg of a slightly bemused Hobgoblin, who stares down at this strange phenomenon, my word- not his. And grows… Winding its way around the Hobgoblin, it’s got his full attention now, it snakes past his shoulders. And grows… It’s filling out as it reaches for the ceiling… and touches- spreads. And grows… Branches shoot off in every direction, and yet the thing still courses upwards, the stones overhead buckle, crack and split, sending showers of dirt, dust and pebbles down. And grows… It punches its way through the ceiling, scrapes and scratches its way through the rock above. Larger stones rain down. “Aaaaaarrrrggghhhh.” A Hobgoblin screams as its body is crushed and broken. “Aaaaaarrrrggghhhh.” More screams, other Hobgoblins contend with the falling masonry. Dartamor tumbles back out of the way, eyes wide open- saucers, staring at what he has wrought, he’s out of the hailstorm, as are all of the other Lost Boys, more by luck than judgement. The Hobgoblins are far less fortunate. Not a sound for a while save the noise of fresh falls of loose dirt, and the sometimes creek of the… “TREE.” Dartamor finishes his count, he grins- feels himself to check he’s alive, and not dreaming. “Well…”, Grand Alf starts, then has nowhere to go with the sentence, for a while. “Well that was unexpected.” “Praise be to Pelor for the light of his… damn, light. He has brought forth…”, Aleso is on his knees, “a… tree.” He gulps, unsure. “Pelor… has… brought… the… tree… into existence as a symbol… of his power… to conjure, no that’s not it… to nurture nature, nope, to bring forth...” He looks up stares at the tree. “To bring forth… a… tree. He moves in mysterious ways.” He crosses himself and gets back to his feet. Saradomin has ago. “Praise be to thee Lord St. Cuthbert who HATH”, he stares at Aleso, “brought forth a tree as a symbol of your MIGHT, POWER and STRENGTH.” The last words are shouted at Aleso, and anyone else that is listening. “A representation of your EEEE-NOR-MUSS CUDGEL, ha ha, didn’t think of that did’ya?” He smirks at Aleso. “In honour of this miracle I shall remove a holy bough, so that I too may smite your sovereign enemies in your name. Beat that.” Saradomin is on his feet, grinning, he wanders over to the tree, while Aleso silently curses. He grabs hold of a sturdy looking bough and wrenches it… no, hang on, the bough doesn’t move, leaving Saradomin, feet in the air, hanging from it- trying desperately to break it off to create a holy cudgel just like his deity. This goes on for some time, Saradomin gets nowhere- he tries several branches, they’re solid, nothing doing. He mooches about beneath the trees canopy looking for a weak spot. THUNK. A rock falls on his head; he goes down like a sack of spuds. A grinning Aleso drags him out of harms way. Religious squabbles over the silence returns, but not for long. “Theur think dis is o'a? It’s onny just begun. T' Ahtcast is waitin for theur .” Durnn’s voice carries from the other side of the tree, which is now blocking the doorway- that and several tons of smashed masonry. “I’ll be waitin for you… bela.” The sound of receding footsteps, two pairs, and a skittering-scratching sound, Durnn, Grenl and ‘Sprout’, the Twig Blight, head off. “Who’s this Outcast?” Grand Alf asks? Dartamor shrugs, eyes on the floor, looking for the feather… it couldn’t have… it didn’t create… this… tree. He turns as Meepo and the other Kobold reinforcements arrive on the scene, they begin to scramble through the dirt, rifling the dead bodies strewn about. “A blind bit late”, Dartamor states. “Juss in time.” Meepo counters. Next turn: To Koboldly go… [/QUOTE]
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