Who Would Join Me?

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*Listens in awe to the sayings of Sir Dargoth and his most mysterious Invoker acquaintence.*

"These wise sayings and great tales of justice and mercy must be recorded, lest it all goes to waste! Others must be able to benefit from these words even when our distinguished leader is not here!"

*Runs out of the Hall and jumps onto his horse*

"I will be back with a scribe!"

 

The Nobleman Hears this as he carries a big wooden bowl to the door. A scribe? hmmm Thats a wonderfull Idea. In this bowl people can donate their tithe. He thinks. The Nobleman approches Sir Dargon, and ask him of advice both to the guestbook and the Tithe.

 

Sir Dargorn rises to his feet as Nobleman shuffles towards him with an array of rather odd items.
"erm...Sir Dargorn would you perchance be happy with these events being recorded and maybe even a.....erm......donation scheme"

"Why my dear jolly fellow you have an excellent idea there. You have barely been with us an hour and already you have proven yourself useful within the order".

Sir Dargorn sits again and begins to talk with his Magi friend seated next to him.
The Nobleman hurrys off with a new sense of pride and acheivement with himself.

 

no, the monk is fine as he is

 

Bedivere bows his head. "My humble thanks, milord," he says, " I will bear your wise counsel in mind, and hope one day to join the Order fully and repay my debt unto it. I am wounded and weary, so now I would beg leave to take advantage of the rest you have offered to myself and my companions."

 

I am glad you understand me Bedivere but before you retire i would have a word with you in private.

 

(just dropping by, people.)

A white-haired figure enters the hall. He is draped in a torn, shapeless black cloak. The hilts of 2 swords are visible at his side but unlike the other warriors present, he does not take a step with the clink and jingle of armor and shield. 2 armoured figures move to stop him.
"Halt! Who are you?" they cry in unison. Onlookers witness twin blurs of motion at the white-haired man's sides and the 2 guards stumble back, their heads split by the katana and wakizashi held in the hands of the swordsman.
The sound of swords, maces and holy weapons being torn from their sheaths fills the hall.
"I am called Shura, and I have come to take my vengeance. Not one of you will leave this hall alive today. " Shura bows as he finishes his speech.
The knights closest to him rush at him, screaming their devotion to their god. Shura adroitly sidesteps their greatswords and dispatches them with a single sweep of his katana, shearing through their shining mail, flesh and bone like butter.
Jamming his katana into the floor and his wakizashi between his teeth, Shura draws twin handbows. The darts have been coated with Oil of Impact and Shura sends them flying repeatedly into the crowd, creating great holes in the throng and causing many bodies to be flung up into the air. Spotting a robed person chanting frantically, Shura reaches into his cloak and withdraws a rod. Pointing it at the mage, he spoke the command word and silenced the area around him. The mage panicks and immediately teleports away from the hall using a contingency spell. Shura frowned at his escape but could only retrieve his swords to meet the next rush of knights. He wove a dance of death through them, his katana slashing through the paladins' considerable defences and his wakizashi repeatedly slamming between the visors and creases of their armor.
"Sir Dargorn! You seem to be the leader here! I claim your life!" Shura shouts at the paladin as he cleaves through his peers. The sound of armoured bodies hitting the blood-slicked floor was alarmingly frequent.
A cleric lifted his mace and brought it down, only to find his hand severed and his guts spilling out. A wakizashi impaled the severed hand which was still holding onto the mace and sent it flying into the face of another knight. Dodging a halberd and a spear thrust at him simultaneously, Shura dispatches their wielders by throwing his 2 swords into their throats and then grabbing their weapons. The halberd drove through 4 paladins on his right and the spear through 3 before snapping, it's magic no match for their enchanted mail. For good measure, he flung the broken spear end into the throat of another cleric who was just begginning to chant. The crowd backed off, leaving Shura knee deep in the bodies of goodly paladins and clerics.
"Magic! Quick! Have the clerics strike him down with their spells!" Sir Dargorn shouts.
Immediately, the dozen or so clerics left began chanting. There were too many to silence with his enchanted rod.
"Kalvairn!!" Shura exclaims. Another robed figure materialises in the air above them all, a frail and skinny mage dressed in red-grey robes and wearing a mask that depicted a leering skull. The mage reversed the gravity where Shura was standing and tossed 3 fireballs down into the crowd. Shura backflipped as he ascended and watched the fireballs decimate the assembly further.
The necromancer Kalvairn then proceeded to weave a terrible spell, re-animating the many corpses and turning them into ghouls.
Howling, the ghastly horde leapt at the few who were left alive.
Shura kicked off from the ceiling and landed in front of Sir Dargorn. Without a further word, the combatants clashed. The shining greatsword was turned time and time again by the 2 blades in Shura's hands which struck repeatedly at the noble knight's armour, tearing it open. Sir Dargorn, with a sudden cold stab of fear, realised that his opponent's blades were alight with a translucent, barely visible flame that alternated from blue-red to black and that his eyes glowed a demonic red. A diagonal sweep of Shura's katana ended the fight, tearing a great gash across Dargorn's chest and sending him flying to the floor, clutching his wound in agony. Shura moved to finish him but his way was blocked by another armoured figure.
"You. Mathetias." Shura glared at the newcomer. "You attempted to heal me once. For this I spare your life this day." He called out to his necromancer companion who was amusing himself by putting lighting bolts into the chests of the surviving paladins. Kalvairn turned and made a gesture. Both Shura and he disappeared in a flash of light, leaving the screams of people being eaten alive by ghouls echoing through the hall.....

 

In the corner By his Tithe bowl The Nobleman Pulls out a scroll granted by the king of Karameikos. The Grad Duchy Of Karameikos. As a 1. Level Mage he utters the scroll. at the end he speaks out a few words and Shuras group is transformed to miniature size. 1 inches tall standing stripped of inventory and fumbled inside a little rodent cage. The cage is forever silenced.
Above all. All the slain knights stands as if nothing had happened. Though scared and confused. The Nobleman has Uttered A "Wish" spell. Never had he thought it should be uded. He was far to frightened to even think of it. "Oh well" He says. Where were I. Oh! my Tithe Bowl he mumbles an continiues his Chores.


[This message has been edited by Nobleman (edited May 27, 2001).]

 

*chuckles to himself in the corner because of the quick and confusing event, "What they have in strength, they lack in intelligence" and glances at the miniature cage.

[This message has been edited by Lokken (edited May 27, 2001).]

 

Sir Dargorn Lies cluthching his wound. His Bright red blood flowing faster than he can stop with his hands. His armor had been shredded like paper.
The gash across his chest is terrible, but not fatal for a man of his enourmous proportions.
He looks around the room. Many of the simple townsfolk were spared by the Evil Kensai. But now they are being attacked by Ghouls from all sides. What is left of the Paladins and clerics are trying to slay the beasts or at least hold them at bay until the spell wears off.
Sir Dargorn surveys the carnage once more. His wound holds the pain of a thousand arrows but his rage overcomes everything. He begins to see red and he lets out a roar which shakes the halls very foundations.

He leaps up and grabs the nearest sword. with a single blow he decapitates two Ghouls and slices another in the chest. They evaporate as illusions do and he finishes the rest off within seconds, slicing them apart as if they were the air itself.

He turns round now and observes the small cage sitting upon a mound of severed flesh.
He picks up his own sword. The blade of the Roses, and smashes it down upon the cage.
The tiny fireballs and screams that are being emmited from the prison are to no avail. He brings his weapon crashing down and the cage with its occupants are destroyed.

He drops his sword and cries:
Clerics and healers! Get me every man in the city to help these soldiers. All those who are still in one piece will be revived!
And where is Aranath!

He kneels on the floor next to one of his squires and begins to weep.

 

*All the fighting and all the death makes something deep inside the cloaked figure stir, it is a feeling that cannot be contained. The person throws away his cloak revealing his dragonscale plate and two swords. Enraged, the half-elf starts slicing through the Ghouls, one of the swords creating lightning as it strikes and the other, a sword of death itself, seems to make the berserker even stronger and more violent.

As the clerics from the nearest temples come rushing through the door, they stand amazed, the wounds and bodies of so many a cleric, they have not seen before. Sir Dargorn yells at them through his tears "Dont just stand there, HEAL THESE PEOPLE!!!"

As the struggle seems to be under control by the many paladins, it is time to revive those that fell in this onslaught. The berserker walks towards Sir Dargorn, and asks in an exhausted voice "Why? What sincere hatred could you have sown in this person? Who was he?"



[This message has been edited by Lokken (edited May 27, 2001).]

 

The Nobleman stands in a delirium. The starts walking around as if nothing had happened.

In his shock-condition he doesn't realize that he had not the wisdom or intelligence to make the ghouls disseapear or heal all the harmed and dead through his wishspell.

"Mathetias have You seen my ink he asks" still caught in his post-chock condition.

 

Shura looks through the portal that Kalvairn has conjured. He sees a few knights smashing a minature version of himself and Kalvairn.
"Heh, let them have their fun, Shura." Kalvairn whispers. " A minor illusion I conjured for them to console themselves."

"Yes, we still have work to do. Come, let us leave." Shura replies. The Necromancer and swordsman walked off into their planar tunnel, forever out of reach of the paladins who were bound to the Prime material plane.
"I WILL have my revenge." Shura whispers under his breath as he steps into the whirl of colours between the planes....

( A Wish spell that can do that? Yeah right.
Anyway, I'm off to hell again so goodbye people.)

[This message has been edited by Shura (edited May 27, 2001).]

 

Why I even bother enlightening Shura on this is beyon me

WISH 9th level Wizard spell

Range: unlimited
Duration: Special
Area of Effect special:
Components: V
Casting time: special
Saving Throws: Special

The wish spell is a more potent version of a limited wish. If it is used to alter reality with respect to damage sustained by a party, to bring a dead creature to life, or escape from a difficult situation by lifting the spellcaster and his party from one place to another it will not cause the wizard any disabilities. Other forms of wishes, however, cause the wizard to weaken (- 3 strenght) and require 2d4 days of bed rest due to stresses the wishs places upon time, space and his body. Regardless of what is wished for, the exact termonology of the wish spell ages the caster 5 years.

I know it was sleasy to kill cage Your characters, but hey You where sleasy too.

Need I say that One fighter killing around
5-10 Paladins and Nearly destroying Sir Dargorn in a few rounds simutainously stalling numerous clerics and mages seems a bit overeager too. No matter how omnipotent You feel You are.


[This message has been edited by Nobleman (edited May 27, 2001).]

 

Sir Dargorn stops his mourning to help heal the sick. Still feeling no pain as the anger rushes through him he begins to think.

"Such a powerful Kensai and his necromancer partner could not be trapped so quickly. They must still be alive, created a diversion by the use of an illusion spell.
But no." He thinks once more "The mage was a necromancer, his magics bind him from such illusionary tricks."

Sir Dargorn continues to puzzle this problem out in his mind. But one thing is for sure, The Kensai is still alive and Sir Dargorn must slay him.

 

In a small alcove, hidden behind a statue of Helm, Bedivere kneels, praying and weeping. He chances to glance up and sees amidst the carnage that Shura has fled. "I must do my part," he mutters, "However humble it may be". He rises from his place and walks among the wounded, distributing healing potions from his small stock, and then on behalf of the priests, freeing them to use their spells of healing and resurrection.

 

The Nobleman feels a sudden blow to his strenght as if a wave hit a boat in rough waters. He cluthes to a table, and falls to his knees. The effects of the spell has set in. The last thing he sees before falling into a slumber of stress and delirium is numerous clerics rushing in through the front door, echoing the mighty stonewalls of the hall with enchantments and prayers.

 

*** Rodenka rudely butts in ***

I forgot to tell you folks...yep, my Mishtar is INDEED a Paladin...and STILL stuck in the D'Arnise castle...

-RODION

*** let the drama continue ***

 

Mathetais roars in anger and frustration as he surveys the carnage. Blue lightning crackles around him as he cries a prayer to the Most High.

He walks to the center of the hall, stepping over the dead and cripple, draws his sword and thrusts it into the air shouting, "Arche, Theos, pnuma!"

With a final peal of thunder Shura's two swords appear, slicing through the air. As the blades fill the air with red and black fire, the wounds they had inflicted quickly heal. As the dead open their eyes, the blades spin faster and faster around Mathetais. Just as the final wound closes, the blades scream through the air and pierce Mathetais. The katana pierces his chest, the wakizashi his right shoulder.

Red and white fire crackle about his body as he topples. Sir Dargorn can hear him whisper one more prayer, "Shura, I would sacrifice even more than this to secure your redemption. Lord, take him in your hand to bless and correct. Regenerate his soul as his ring regenerates his body. Make him whole."