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The Gelbaron Saga; The Original Story
Topic Started: Dec 23 2008, 05:46 AM (6,472 Views)
Mercinus3
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The English Kitty Ninja
"Silly Merc-mercsomething! Nobody's going to beatenbeaten -- 'course not easily but we're playing -playing dance, Meryc calls it dancing on an edge -- first one to fall loses but it's not a a beaten game -- just a game and I want to play. Too serious though - you're farrrrrrr too serious, Merc-mercsomething. Smile."

Mercinus had eyed Jey with suspicion. Although she seemed that, despite the fighting that was happening around them, she just wanted to play a game with him, instead of actually challenging him. Despite all of this, the mercenary kept an eye on her, just in case he offended her in any way. He pretended to smile, but he had to be very careful not to show any signs of faking it. “I would love to play a game with you, miss. However…” Without finishing his sentence, several undead squirrels had jumped onto his back, and started to gnaw into his armour. Cursing for dawdling, he reached around to start grabbing each of the undead vermin, and clenched his hand with each creature. Although he managed to kill off the attacking undead, one of them managed to gnaw into his backpack. Without his knowledge, the compartment was the one that had held Merrano Derrevato in.

Before he decided to go and meet Gerald himself, and dismiss Jey as another person he did not want to harm, unless she provoked him, Mercinus heard singing from the sky. Thinking that it was another person who the lich had brought with him to the fight, he walked near him, and was about to strike, however, something shone into his eyes, and forced him to turn away from his opponent, and look up to the shining figure. He thought that it was Menza again, and that the prophet wanted to help the mercenary out again, but the wings had dismissed the thought, and saw that there was a dragon flying over them.

"Swoop and flip and spin and whirl

loop-de-loop and frenzy-twirl

here I come and down I go

hail to all who fight below!"


Mercinus chuckled to himself, as he noticed the bardic dragon in the sky. Despite the sight of the shining dragon, he noticed that the shape-shifter had sprouted wings on his back, and flew up to meet the small beast. Unable to help out the small dragon against a possible attacker, the mercenary turned around to see Sindra, and noticed that there was a small group of undead that was charging towards her back. Completely forgetting about Gerald, Mercinus turned his entire body, and charged towards the group, swinging his claymore as he went. Both he and the small group had collided, turning the little battlefield into a pile of bones. Emerging victorious from the fight, he turned to see another undead that was about to strike his love with an ancient sword. Grabbing his curled knife, he hurled it at the being’s neck, and severed the skull from the spine, instantly disabling the skeleton from attacking her. Running towards her side, he looked at her. “Are you alright, Sindra?” He had shown concern within his voice, knowing that she was fighting her brother in this battle.

However, unknown to him, his backpack was a little lighter than it was before the two fights had broken out. As he turned and attacked the charging group of undead, he was unaware that the hidden Forsaken Weapon that was in his bag slipped through the hole that had been created by the undead, and landed onto the floor. The rich, blue aura shone out, making it stand out from the green grass that it was resting on. And without Mercinus’ knowledge of the weapon’s disappearance, the battlewand laid there. Waiting for the inevitable.
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Efarilahn
 
Eat babies, don't punt kittens.
This is true. I will go ninja kitty on your asses if you do... *glowers and sharpens claws*
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Latanya
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lawful good intelligent asshole
Syrak looked at the endless masses of water beneath him, a quiet smile on his face. “Beautiful day, eh?”, he asked, turning towards one of the three man behind him. He had been forced to his knees, the only remaining arm brutally twisted behind his back by one of Syrak’s sluggers. “That’s just the time of the year that my feet start to feel itchy.” He waited for a moment, thoughtfully chewing on his nails. “You know”, he started again; “I’m in a pretty good mood today. You have the choice. Tie or water? No? Then how about lead?” When the man remained quiet Syrak suddenly hunkered down, the hands fold to the parody of a prayer. The roguish smile on his face reminded of a Cheshire cat. “C’mon, talk to me”, he begged “I really couldn’t stand the idea of killing you in a way that wouldn’t please you. Please, do me the favor!”

The man stared at him in disbelief, before a harsh punch in the stomach by one of Syrak’s made him convulse with pain. “I won’t… I won’t tell any…”, he squeezed out between gritted teeth.
The young man threw his head back, laughing like a child. “Oh, c’mon”, he giggled again. “I’m not interested in the plans of the Tettira family; you’ve passed up that chance and tomorrow it won’t be my business no more anyway. All I want to know is how you’d rather die. I can also strangle you if you prefer that, or I could chop your head off. Your choice.”

The man stared at him, his eyes shining with pure panic for the first time now. Then he started to scream and to writhe with panic. Syrak jerked back with surprise, landing hard on his buttocks and staring at the man with an expression in between disgust and fascination. After a moment he shrugged, making a slight gesture towards one of the men behind his captive.

Am few seconds later the scream suddenly broke and turned into a choked retching. “That was not nice”, he said sighting and sat up. “This guy just ruined my last day in Chaldon with his bloody stubbornness. And I wanted to do something good today.” The shook his head and took the hand one of his men offered to help him to stand up. “My ship’s going right after sunrise, isn’t it? Typical. That old nickel nurser calling himself my benefactor has to rouse me before you’d awaken any animal. Always the same. You go to risk your fucking life, the only one you have, and what you get is inconvenience and ungratefulness. If I could as I want, I’d take the old man’s dick and…” He continued his tirade against the man who had given him everything he had. Both of his man stared straight ahead, pretending not to hear anything. It had proven to be the healthiest for those working under Syrak.

The young man stopped in his rant for a moment and continued calmer “I guess I’ll just spend the night in the tavern. Hitting the hay isn’t worth it anyway, and I still wanna have some fun before I gotta go to Celbaron.” He shook his head with such an exaggerated annoyed expression that no-one could take it serious. “As if I was the only one who could sort out this thing with that bloody marketer over there. Typical again. Just because some idiot doesn’t pay his allotment I gotta go over paste him. And what do I get from it? Two ruined weeks. At least I can stay there for a couple of days afterwards. Anyway, anyone wanna come along to the tavern? No? Well, your loss.”

He raised his arm to a slight farewell and disappeared somewhere in the labyrinth of alleyways forming the city of Chaldon.
Out of my mind. Back in five minutes.

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The problem is, you can't tell people how to raise their kids - unless they're Austrian, in which case, you're gonna have to.

Ed Byrne.
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Wyrmling
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RP-Crazy @_@
Alyre smashed the pommel of her short sword into the head of one corpse and cut the legs off of another. Hacking, dodging, stabbing and slicing her way through the undead throng, the elf made her way gradually towards the lich. He appeared to be encased in some sort of hard green material. The woman turned and lopped the head off of another body, and thought that the green casing was probably there as a shield. She wondered if he could cast while inside of it, and hoped that he couldn't. It would be hard enough to figure out a way to break in and kill him without having him throwing spells around too.

Stalking up to the encased lich, Alyre slashed apart a marauding undead raccoon and stopped near the skeletal sorcerer, circling slowly. How should she do this? She had to admit that she had no idea what the green material was, what it would do when hit, or how long it would last for. And she had no intentions of finding out that it ate away at flesh or metal, or delivered some kind of painful defensive spell when touched after she had touched it. Flipping a dagger out of her sleeve, the small elf whipped it at the lich, straight at the place where his spine entered his skull.

---

Rhindani swooped lower over the battlefield, taking in the tides of battle with interest. It was not clear at this point which side was going to win, though she hoped it wouldn't be the undead. As far as she knew, undead had the unpleasant tendency of destroying whatever living thing they saw... and as a living thing, the copper dragon viewed that as a bad thing. Gliding around the clearing, Rhindani spotted the giant feather-winged reptilian lift off and begin to flap clumsily towards her. Its poor movements didn't make it appear exactly threatening to her, and she was sure that if it came to a fight that she would be in no danger from such a creature. Curious to see if it was going to attack, she winged curiously around it and listened with interest when it started to speak.

"Arech. Arechiarnaw. Changer. Shifter. You? Copper dragon? Singer?"

"Well!" she said to herself, seemingly not caring that she was speaking loud enough for any to hear. "Here's a creature that speaks even more strangely than I do! Greetings, Arechiarnaw," she chirped gaily, her dragon tongue having no trouble pronouncing what most people would consider a rather complicated name. "I am a copper dragon and a singer. You are a changer? You are not always a feather-winged creature with scales? Because I am always a dragon. I have met other dragons who could shape-shift at will, but I shall never be able to do anything like that." Well, she conceded to herself, I met one dragon who could shape-change. That counts as 'other dragons' though, right? "I'm Rhindani, by the way. And you are Arechiarnaw!

Rhindani and Arechiarnaw, having a chat in the sky.
One is small and one is large, like a man and a fly!
I am quick and you are not, flapping so clumsily high.
Rhindani and Arechiarnaw, having a chat in the sky."

Spinning midair and dropping suddenly, the copper dragon dove down with her last rhyming words and reappeared behind Arechiarnaw, winging about him in energetic arcs like some erratic little moon orbiting a rather large planet. Here she was on her adventure, finally seeing unique and interesting sights! The diminutive creature flapped up above the gigantic flier and pondered the possibility of alighting upon his head. Deciding against it, she simply continued to circle, humming merrily to herself as she went.
Edited by Wyrmling, Mar 19 2009, 04:39 PM.
"From the tiny egg the great wyrm grows." -Kobold Preverb, D&D Draconomicon
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Oracle
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Head of Diplomatic Affairs
Brodin couldn't remember being thrown that far ever. The funny part was it didn't even hurt. As he endeavored to regain his feet he realised that he had been hurled onto an old dead tree limb. It took a bit of a struggle as slowly but surely his frame inched toward the end of the branch. When he finally removed himself from the offending piece of wood he looked stunned to see the gaping hole in his chest beginning to close over and heal. Sword swirling through the air he headed back toward his sister. With the ability to heal 'and' Harrugyo, he would be unstoppable.

Sindra had been recovering from the blast that had just sent Brodin flying. When she saw him collapsed on the tree she almost came undone by what she had caused. She didn't see him regain his senses and struggle off the tree. Her mind was diverted by Mercinus hacking away at the undead things behind her. Then he was rushing to her side. How very much she would like to just flee with him and leave Gerald behind with his horde of morbid creatures. At least her brother was no longer possessed by the lich. He was truly dead. Sadness filled her at Mercinus' concern for her well being,

“Are you alright, Sindra?” She smiled a wan halfhearted twitching of the lips that wanted to turn down and not up. "I'll be fine, Mercinus. Go, destroy Gerald before we are overrun with unholy dead. I will fight where I am needed." Looking around and gathering her strength she had tried to keep her eyes off of her brother. Keeping busy slashing through every cadaverous creature that came her way, her breath caught when she saw the tree. Brodin was no longer there.

"Looking for me Sindra?" She threw Harrugyo up meeting his downward strike just a moment too late to keep it from cutting across her shoulder. This was too difficult. How did you fight someone when you didn't really want to kill them? When you loved them? Knowing there was no other choice, she summoned all the ice magic she could as she kept slashing at his sword. His strength was overpowering her and finally she felt the completion of the spell, "Strendus Freorum!"

The blade froze as it struck Brodin's. The frigid cold ice of it crackled outward from the blade, sending a frozen blue pall over Brodin. His frame froze into the vivid caricature of a madman bent on destruction. The thick encasing ice kept extending asymmetrically away and beyond him freezing every spiritless creature solid in its wake. Knowing there was no further danger from Brodin she rushed to Mercinus' side. Gerald must be stopped.


I Role Play because the people in my head tell me to.


TUESDAY AFTERNOON

It is God who can transform the lowest into the highest, who humbles the proud,
and causes that which is in darkness to become light.~Horace

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Dark Jack
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The Phantom Poster
For once, Gerald relaxed. He was completely serene at this moment as he felt safe inside his Morph-Shell, like a butterfly in its cocoon, only instead of changing into something beautiful, Gerald remained the horrid freak of nature he had become, but instead regenerated his mana. He did not even dare to move, afraid to once again realize that he would find himself unable to move due to the same annoying magic that had saved him from that thrown dagger just before... not that the dagger would have killed him, not at all, but if it had indeed struck in his face, as its aim suggested that it would, his skull would have become most deform, and he would probably have lost the ability to speek. But he was in no danger of that happening now... he was safe inside his cocoon...

Suddenly Gerald felt a blow to the back of his head, not hard enough to penetrate the layer of malachite, but well powerful enough to send his form stumbling a couple of steps forward. Another downside with the Morph-Shell... it made him blind. He had not seen the attacker come at all, and he had really expected his undead minions to keep the ground busy for longer than this. He guessed that it was the same annoying little elf who had thrown the dagger just before, since this attack was, like the dagger, aimed at a place that would be vital if struck on a creature of flesh and blood. And although that strike would not have killed him either, he was still quite glad that his shell protected him, or his head would probably have fallen off, and it was so annoyingly hard to put his head back on. But that did not matter... he could not relax anymore, because although he had not yet regained his strength fully, the malachite could not keep receiving such blows - and neither could he.

With a thought, the malachite armor shrunk again, and within seconds, it had turned into a small gem on a ring again. It did not stay so for long, however, as Gerald now commanded it to change again, and the band around his finger became the hilt, while the malachite became the blade, of his ever-changing artifact with the ever-changing name.
"Insolent creature," Gerald hissed as he turned to face, as he had expected, that blasted elf, "Don't you know that in a puppet-show, you are supposed to watch the puppets, because they are the actors and not the puppeteer?" His magic, red eyeballs flashed black for a second as he sent out a command, and all the closest undead turned away from whatever they were doing to attack the elf. "Once you are dead, I will revive you to fight your former allies!" he chuckled, "What do you think of that, fleshling?"
Gerald was just about to strike the elf when something caught his eyes and his senses. He had not felt it before because he only felt its energy as weak and faded, and that the monstrous amounts of mana that the sorceress released had hidden its presence, but now that he saw it with his own eyes, recognizing its blue glow in the grass, Gerald knew what it was.

"Mine!" he hissed, his eyes flashing black again as he had not just all nearby undead, but every undead on the battlefield change course and head for the Forsaken Weapon on the ground, the quick little woodland animals reaching it almost instantly, but despite the Weapon's relatively small size, they could only carry it slowly towards him.
Gerald glared furiously at the elf, raising the Morph-Blade into a defensive position. He was not much of a fighter, but once he had Merrano Derrevato, he would not need to. Then he would already have the first of the relics he craved.
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Shienvien
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I want, I can, I do
Up. From above. He saw the fight. Overhead. Below. Changer elf. Useless. Impossible. To do impossible. Let her. She has to. She will fail. Fail anyway.
Dragon. Moving. Swirling. Swooping. Everywhere.
"Well! Here's a creature that speaks even more strangely than I do! Greetings, Arechiarnaw,"
He nodded. "Yes. Arechiarnaw. Greetings."
"I am a copper dragon and a singer. You are a changer? You are not always a feather-winged creature with scales? Because I am always a dragon. I have met other dragons who could shape-shift at will, but I shall never be able to do anything like that. I'm Rhindani, by the way. And you are Arechiarnaw!"
A lot to say. Talkative? He thought that was that. "Not always. Changer. Shifter." He agreed. "Changing. Spontaneously. Constantly. Almost. Can be everything. Everything living. And moving." Today had had changes. Many of those. Unknown walker. Quadrupled runner. Winger flier. Nameless. Elf. Scaled humanoid. Then Dustrunner. Now something winged. Possibly to become a bird. Fire.

"Rhindani and Arechiarnaw, having a chat in the sky.
One is small and one is large, like a man and a fly!
I am quick and you are not, flapping so clumsily high.
Rhindani and Arechiarnaw, having a chat in the sky."


The little creature seemed to be everywhere, moving so fast and shift. "Halfway. Halfway clumsy. Later not. Maybe." He didn't look. Not at the dragon. To below. At the fight. The little dragon continued to orbit around his strange-structured carcass, far from perfect for someone in air, but enough. More than enough. To fly. To stay in the air. To glide. To flap. Moving. Raising. Falling. On one spot. Stable. He watched.

Fighting the one who was dead. Cost. Destroy. Unholy? What means? What is? Attacking. Each other. Only each other. Doesn't remember? More than A Something. But doesn't remember. Does he? Does he himself? No. He doesn't. 284. No longer. But there was before. Doesn't matter. No more. Now there was only now. No other times. For him. At least for him. For Arechiarnaw. If not for others. Ice. The magic of ice. Only ice. Fight. remember. At all. But knew. Yes. Knew. Should remember. From where. Didn't. Together. Belonged to. Gone? In other place? On ground. There. Unnoticed.

No green armor. No more. No longer. A sword. His eyes were locked on the lich for a second before those moved on, back to the forsaken weapon lying on the ground not far from others, still unnoticed and unknown to anyone.
"Mine!"
No longer. No longer it was. The risen corpses were moving. Moving towards it. Reaching. Bringing. Closer to the one who commanded. The crowned lich. Got what he wanted? Will get? Must get?
For a moment Arech had a strong surge to fold his wings and drop to the ground, claws closing around the thing and the undead around falling to the pieces as he does that. He could do that. Should be capable of. He would get away. Easily. He has wings. They won't catch. Earthbound. He'll be gone. They can't stop. Can't stop him. Him. Arech. By no means. He'd be free to take. He would.

He had been ready to close his wings and drop, before he decided against, as the more rational part of his mind tried to persuade him how useless such kind of move would be. At first he can't perform any spells having no power to change. Spontaneous. Not controlled. Secondly, any thing would be horribly inconvenient to drag with oneself, when your body could lose all limbs the very next moment, thus making him unable to get a clear hold on anything...

But why? Why he thought he wanted? Without a reason. Should not be. If not. Not remember. He closed his glowing red eyes and continued to float on the spot, an alternate of seeing through, which he, for now, Couldn't? Impossible. Should not be. He will. Not now. Not know... Know. Not remember.


A thought can create a world, but only a word written down can ensure its existence.

-When I am physically capable of doing something it doesn't mean I can do it. When I can, it doesn't mean that I should. When I should, it doesn't mean that I must. When I must, it doesn't mean that I will.
-I might not always know where I currently am, but I am never lost. I know in which direction my destination lies.
-There is no faith in knowing. I prefer to know, as only in this way can I be certain in my decisions.
-The more people you ask a question the higher the chance that at least one of them is right.
-Make me walk on walls, don't force me to dance according to others' will.
-I agree that life can be depressing at times. I just choose to ignore it.
-I don't figure over possibilities. I want, I can, I do.


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Wyrmling
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RP-Crazy @_@
Alyre watched the dagger fly toward the lich... and bounce harmlessly off his shell. It didn't even look damaged, though the creature had stumbled a bit from the impact. Although... was the shield moving? Yes it was, it was retracting from around the undead mage, shrinking to one spot on his hand. But it didn't stay there long, instead lengthening and thickening to become a green crystalline blade. The skeletal sorcerer turned to face her, his fiery undead eyes blazing.

"Insolent creature. Don't you know that in a puppet-show, you are supposed to watch the puppets, because they are the actors and not the puppeteer? Once you are dead, I will revive you to fight your former allies! What do you think of that, fleshling?"

Alyre gripped both of her swords and took a battle-ready stance, facing the lich warily. It did not escape her notice that he had called in minions to help his cause. Then the lich stiffened and shot a glance behind him, his gaze turning greedily obsessive as he saw what was lying on the ground there. "Mine!" he hissed, and suddenly the undead that had been lurching towards Alyre were shambling in a different direction: straight towards the small weapon that was lying alone on the battlefield.

"No!" she cried, casting a frantic glance back at the lich. He looked battle-ready, but the elf suspected he would be less-than excellent at single combat. But she knew it wouldn't matter, for if he got the thing which he was after, the thing that the elf presumed was the forsaken weapon Merrano Derrevato, he wouldn't need to fight with a sword. So all he needed to do now was wait until his undead minions delivered the small wand/dagger back to him. And then she would be dead. "I won't allow it," Alyre stated, and stepped quickly backwards, sliding both swords into their sheaths.

And then she seemed to fall into herself, her clothes crumpling and billowing around her, until they seemed an empty pile on the ground. Then suddenly a small colourful bird popped out of the collar of her discarded shirt, jumping into the air and swerving around the lich, headed straight towards the forsaken weapon. Let's see you get that wand now, she thought as she sped towards it, changing as she went. Because a tiny little songbird was not going to be able to get away with a weapon of that size. She needed something bigger.

---

Rhindani circled Arechiarnaw a few more times before shooting off like a stone from a sling, gliding even lower over the battlefield. It had taken on a quite interesting tone now, and every being there, living or dead, seemed to be making a beeline for one tiny dagger. Or was it a wand? Whatever it was, it was giving off immense amounts of magic, and the copper dragon imagined that it would be quite a prize for any who could get their hands on it. Perhaps even herself?

But no, there were already several undead creatures clinging to it, bringing it slowly towards the lich. And another flying creature seemed to want it as well, because there was a bird of some kind flapping rapidly towards the weapon, growing as it went. Rhindani wondered if the creature would get as large as she herself was, for it had already reached a wingspan of over four feet, and showed no signs of stopping. Rhindani decided that she knew better than to put her life at risk by swooping in during a heated battle. Why do that when you could always steal the weapon later?
"From the tiny egg the great wyrm grows." -Kobold Preverb, D&D Draconomicon
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Dark Jack
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The Phantom Poster
Although Gerald was as ready as he could be for fighting the elf that had dared to face him, it seemed that the elf now, after having so foolishly approached him and even attempted to assassinate him, lose interest in the battle and instead turn towards the same artifact that Gerald had sent his every servant to get him. Of course, Gerald reasoned with a chuckle, he would have little success, since his undead would simply tear the elf apart the moment he get within ten feet of the Forsaken Weapon, and even if the elf managed to fight his way to it, he would be surrounded by enemy soulless minions of Gerald. No, there was nothing the elf could do, unless he suddenly grew wings...
And that was exactly what that annoying little vermin did!
"No!" Gerald cried as he watched the elf turn into some kind of bird and head towards the Forsaken Weapon. At first, Gerald's concern was that his undead would not attack animals unless he specifically told them to do so, but then the elf/bird started to change and grow, until it most certainly was large enough to steal and carry away Merrano Derrevato, without Gerald or any of his puppets could do a thing about it. "I won't let that happen!"

Taking a few running steps forward, Gerald picked up a little speed while he at the same time raised the Morph-Blade, which even during the movement started changing and turned back into its appearance as a staff. But then, with a second command, Gerald had the staff balance out its weight evenly along its shaft, and forced the malachite to once again turn into a blade, although this time significantly smaller and sharper. By the time Gerald took his fourth running step, he was holding a spear with a glowing green tip, and aiming carefully at the now much larger bird, he threw the spear at it, despite the fact that doing so left him unarmed and mostly defenseless. That was something to care about later. For now, he needed to secure Merrano Derrevato! Where is that useless Lord Sacremento when I need him?
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Teslyn
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a fleeting presence
Jey watched Merc-Mercsomething walk away with, her lips downturned into a pout and her nose wrinkled with disappointment. Nobody seemed to want to play today -they were already playing with each other and Meryc was being hush-hush and she wasbored and--- ooohhh. Something shiny and glowy and pretty - almost as pretty as her eyes, or GeraldRiver-whowantedtheworld's so she skipped forward and sat down on the ground and --

She placed Galangdei across her knees as she sat cross-legged, not trailing in the dirt behind her but still glinting so prettily oh so very prettily in the sun but not as prettily as Galangdei could glint, laid across her knees throwing off a distorted reflection of life of- of what it relfected. Tentatively, excited but uncertain, she poked the shinyglowypretty[likeeyes and giggled. It was a Galangdei -

She poked it again. Shinyglowyprettylikeeyes soverypretty a Galangdei in the grass with no owner -- ohbutno it wasn't as shinyprettyglinty as her Galangdei that threw off a distorted reflection, warping the world or maybe revealing it as the warped world it was? No... -- she poked the shinyglowyprettylikeeyes thing and decided that since GeraldRiver-whowantedtheworld's mind screamed out with a possessive, obssessive quality - possessive and obssessive and he wanted it so she would sit there and poke shinyglowyprettylikeeyes 'til he came.

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Wyrmling
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RP-Crazy @_@
She flew. Wings that spanned over six and a half feet beat steadily at the air as the harpy eagle homed in towards her target. Her 5 inch long talons clenched with anticipation as she prepared to swoop down and grab the forsaken weapon. Suddenly the eagle caught a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye. The lich was throwi- Alyre was unable to finish her thought as she was jarred painfully out of the air, hurled violently to the side by the impact of the spear flying directly between her wings, knocking into one and slicing a shallow gash in the other. The bird tucked in her wings just in time to crash violently into the ground, rolling and receiving more bruises from the heavy spear-staff that came with her.

Disentangling herself from the shining weapon, Alyre got unsteadily to her feet and gave her wings a few testing flaps. One was severely bruised and the other was bleeding sluggishly, but she could still fly on them. Shooting a hasty glance at the lich, she saw with relief that he didn't appear to be doing anything else to follow up. She had no intention of waiting until he did though, so flapped laboriously into the air. Battered pinions churning, Alyre saw with dismay that someone else had already reached Merrano Derrevato.

A teen aged girl was sitting nearby, poking curiously at the weapon. At least none of the larger undead had reached it yet, though the presence of the smaller corpses told Alyre that the girl was an ally of the skeletal mage. None of the zombies payed any attention to her. Banking once more with the weapon as her target, Alyre began her approach again... and hoped the girl was as distracted as she looked.
"From the tiny egg the great wyrm grows." -Kobold Preverb, D&D Draconomicon
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