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Story Hour
The Red Hand of Doom - Completed 8 February 2008: Against Tiamat and Epilogue
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<blockquote data-quote="Pedestrian" data-source="post: 4028720" data-attributes="member: 40208"><p>It was cold. So cold. His teeth chattered, flesh shivered against the bite of it. But every move sent a stab of agony across his many wounds. He could barely stand from the pain, the blood loss. He tried to focus on something else. Rumbling clouds laughed at him high above. No comfort there. There was a crash of thunder. Stone splitting. It opened up a world of sound. Screams of pain, of the dying crashed into his ears, double the agony of his crushed side. The ground sailed away from his feet as a piggish laugh fell about him, only to reach up and grab his rag-doll form. A shadow fell across him, a giant with stinking feet ready to kick and crush him. Weakly, he struggled to get up, to get his sword. Fingertips brushed on something cold. He couldn’t move. He was too cold. Exhausted. Weak. Another crushing blow folded him. Sardith, crushed deep into the dirt, looked at him with dead eyes. “Sorry” he tried to say, couldn’t even shape his lips.</p><p></p><p>His thoughts scattered away with the clattering of hooves. The death blow never came. Instead, a cool radiance bathed him. It was not warm. If anything, it was colder than the night air, worse than the bludgeoning giant. Yet he grasped it, held on. There was a rider. Man or woman, Andel could not tell, a moon-light figure, hair the eyeless dark between stars, clad in thorns, astride a steed of morning mist. The rider spoke, but the words fell about Andel’s ears more like raindrops than sound.</p><p></p><p>“I don’t understand” he reached out, his fingers grasping at the pregnant moon high above. Sol and Ben, illuminated by the dying embers of the fireplace, looked over at him. Andel feigned sleep and they went back to their discussion, leaving him to wait out the night. This was not the first time the Rider had visited him in dreams, and he had no desire to return to them.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Pedestrian, post: 4028720, member: 40208"] It was cold. So cold. His teeth chattered, flesh shivered against the bite of it. But every move sent a stab of agony across his many wounds. He could barely stand from the pain, the blood loss. He tried to focus on something else. Rumbling clouds laughed at him high above. No comfort there. There was a crash of thunder. Stone splitting. It opened up a world of sound. Screams of pain, of the dying crashed into his ears, double the agony of his crushed side. The ground sailed away from his feet as a piggish laugh fell about him, only to reach up and grab his rag-doll form. A shadow fell across him, a giant with stinking feet ready to kick and crush him. Weakly, he struggled to get up, to get his sword. Fingertips brushed on something cold. He couldn’t move. He was too cold. Exhausted. Weak. Another crushing blow folded him. Sardith, crushed deep into the dirt, looked at him with dead eyes. “Sorry” he tried to say, couldn’t even shape his lips. His thoughts scattered away with the clattering of hooves. The death blow never came. Instead, a cool radiance bathed him. It was not warm. If anything, it was colder than the night air, worse than the bludgeoning giant. Yet he grasped it, held on. There was a rider. Man or woman, Andel could not tell, a moon-light figure, hair the eyeless dark between stars, clad in thorns, astride a steed of morning mist. The rider spoke, but the words fell about Andel’s ears more like raindrops than sound. “I don’t understand” he reached out, his fingers grasping at the pregnant moon high above. Sol and Ben, illuminated by the dying embers of the fireplace, looked over at him. Andel feigned sleep and they went back to their discussion, leaving him to wait out the night. This was not the first time the Rider had visited him in dreams, and he had no desire to return to them. [/QUOTE]
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The Red Hand of Doom - Completed 8 February 2008: Against Tiamat and Epilogue
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