Elgorn - the campaign has started

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Ducking under the swing of an orcish axe Azirath whips up his staff to bash the orc square in the face. Azirath proceeds to fire off volleys of magic missiles in a swinging back and forth motion as he tries to cover a large area.

 

Even though the orcs are cut down in great numbers, they still press forward. This greatly boost' the morale of the remaining elven swordsmen, and they cry praises to their goddess.
As lord Gairon enters the melee, the battle swings in favor of the arkaran and his minions.
Still the mage and the 3 remaining warriors seem nervous about something...as if they were in a hurry.

 

Azirath tenses, sweat dripping from his forehead and fear swimming lazily in his eyes, and for the first time... He fires off a wave of emerald flame engulfing many of the orcs and whipping at the elf mage, he proceeds to bring up a globe of blue light to blind the elf, and any remaining orcs

 

Blue blood ran down Sacrafix's chest from the jagged hole torn by the elf-lord's blade. The blood slowly turned red, then black as it pooled beneath him, causing his feet to slip a little on the stone floor. His mind raced and he knew that his present strategy was doomed to failure.

Opening his mouth to speak for the first time to his new companions, he said in a winded voice, "We'll never defeat this host if we keep fighting seperately. Zey lets use Azirath's flash bolts as a distraction to form up around that mage and the nymph. Perhaps if we can defend them long enough, their magics can help even the odds.

While he fought his way closer to Azirath's position, his multifaceted eyes scanned the room for anything that might be used in his defense .... anything.

 

Having successfully dodged several attacks by the fiends clambouring to rip out the very heart which beats within Julius's chest, the bard looks about for the most convenient place to gather his wits. With his longsword in hand, emblazened with the symbol of fire (for indeed it is a flameblade), Julius gains the altar and leaps upon it. He stabs his sword into the altar itself and rushes to pull out his harp from his satchel. As though by magic, the battle stops momentarily at the sound of the bard's clear voice rising above the clash of metal. His music fills the ears of all present and his music rushes into the battle as though wind. Julius's song is now resonating throughout the halls. The battle resumes more fervently than ever, but there is a sense that the enemy is becoming desperate while the party gains ground.


VICTORY IS OURS
by Julius Skull

"From the vales of Aryador
Where the swords of evil fail,
And the hearts of heroes soar
Where courage billows like a sail,
And the scent of fear airborne
From the enemies of good
Renews the grass where it was shorne,
And the onslaughts all withstood,
Where the orcen blood does run,
Like rivers on the forest floor,
Victory I do summon
From the Vales of Aryador.
Victory is ours
From the vales of Aryador."

 

The arkaran mage easily turns the magic upon the gith himself and his warriors prepare to deliver the killing blow.
But suddenly an arrow strikes one of the warriors in the chest, and another elf falls as an arrow hits him in eye.
Then the orcs are engulfed in a rain of arrows.
" No!" the mage screams.
"This is not over Mithura! Your petty god WILL fall before the might of Arkara!"
Then he lobs a fireball at the ceiling and
his large cloak turns into a pair of wings
and he flies away."
The last warrior desperatly charges his unseen enemy.
Moments later a large group of elves in blue robes enter the cathedral.
" Oh thank the gods! You arrived at the last moment Fandoren!" the nymph-like woman says.
" Fortunely my summoned creatures were very adept at holding him at bay."
An old elf steps forth.
" He is growing powerful. His tactics are brilliant! We might not be so lucky next time."

 

Azirath sighs in weary relief, appauled at the elf's power, and his own weakness. He scant speaks but to say "Well lads, pleasure to make your acquaintance." He smiles thinly as he slumps on to his knees and begins a ceremony to heal his companions' wounds...

 

*Zey looked around for an enemy, but seeing none the blood fury lost hold. The red Pupils of his eyes contracted to normal size and his wounds were flowing freely with black blood. He looked around, then tracing an un-identifiable shape in the air, his wounds closed, but didn't heal. Then, Zey promptly passed out from exhaustion.*

 

Mathetais dropped weary arms to his sides and reviewed the wounds he had garnered in the battle. They were savage, but he would live.

Sheathing his blades he addressed the nymph and the heroic elf who had seemingly saved the day. Clearing his throat to get their attention the wind carried his voice to their ears.

"Your summoned creatures seek an audience with your august personages. Please deign to inform us why you called us hence and what service you will graciously ask us to perform." The sarcasm dripped from his voice like the blood from his wounds, but his clear gray eyes were earnest.

 

Azirath chanted the final holy word and traced a rune in the air and with that healed the wounds of his companions. He stood and asked "Yes, what is it that we are to do?"

(I realize this is not dnd but i would like to give my stats just so that i can better define my character)

STR: 10
CON: 11
DEX: 18
INT: 20
WIS: 18
CHA: 17

Level 18 Mage/Sorcerer/Cleric/Druid/Arcane (yeah it is strange but consider my character a dabbler in various magical/divine magicks, especially those of arcane nature)

[This message has been edited by Azirath (edited September 28, 2001).]

 

The battle now over, Julius surveys the room which is littered with the corpses of the fallen. He checks his own body to make sure the adrenaline of the battle which still courses through him does not obscure any great wound. Satisfied of his state of being, Julius removes his sword from the altar and sheathes it, reloads his crossbows and returns them to his sides, and covers his harp, placing it carefully inside his satchel once again. He speaks cautiously,

"I am Julius Skull, a bard. If my song has helped thee, then thou art friend, if it has hindered thee then may ye be fallen or preparing to pass into the next life. Should ye dislike my words, then thou art mine foe."

With a deliberate, almost practised, look about the room, Julius continues,

"My sword and my harp then is at thy bidding. Whomever the coward was who summoned us in unison to this spot must pay for this insult. I will not rest until I discover his motives and may sing of his death. My qualities are not so much in brute force, but I am quick and evasive, While i may not be the brightest of these lands, I am no fool, and I might need my comforts sooner than most, my wit has need of rest to be effective. In laymen's terms:


Bard, High level

S: 11
D: 19 (read a manual)
CN:12
I: 13
W: 15
Ch:19 (gift from the gods)

"May our story be heralded throughout the ages!"

 

*Zey was sleeping so deeply that, to a casual glance, he appeared to be dead. If one were to watch him while he slept, one would see his wounds mending before their eyes.*

STR: 19
Con: 19 (Raczeranoc regenerate)
Dex: 19
Int: 6
Wis: 3
Cha: 6

 

I'm not sure what Sacrafix's stats are. He's never been a P&P character and I didn't think of him in those terms.

There was a class released in Dragon Magazine years ago called the Duelist (similar to the kensi) and he is loosely based on that.

I don't want him to be a power-player, but he is old and a survivor, so here it goes ....

STR: 17
DEX: 19
CON: 15
WIS: 12
INT: 16
CHA: 9

...don't stick me to that. An overview is that Sacrafix is stronger than average, very fast and mentally sharp. Diplomatic skills can be very high if he wants to, but he normally doesn't care what people think of him.

 

" I apologize that I did not contact you, before I summoned you, but I was desperate.
I am sure you can understand. Very well...
I am Mithura, mistress of the conjurers of the land of Eliacort. An hour ago lord Gairon and a large horde of orcs attacked my citadel.
With king Fandorens elves nearby, he would only have an hour to defeat me, so therefore I needed a diversion.
Be glad that you have served a noble goal.
I serve life and the arkarans death.
When I regain my power I shall send you back...with an aproriate award of course."

 

Azirath smirked irritatingly and added in acidic tones "I am quite displeased with these events, and I cannot help but wonder why me? why us? surely there are greater heroes, please tell me more..."
(Yes I did change my dnd stats above, as it seemed all the rest of the characters were far stronger, and I wanted to better fit the campaign, it seems like it may be quite a high level one)

[This message has been edited by Azirath (edited September 28, 2001).]

 

*Zey stirs and finally gets up, looking up at Mithura, his wounds almost fully closed. He bears his sharp teeth and hisses in anger at being ripped away from his world, where he was busy training. The Raczeranoc is obviously unhappy and looks ready to take on everyone at once if he must.*

 

Startled at the beast's reaction Azirath places his hands up in a "stop" gesture and says calmly and coolly "Hold... it is in all of our best interests if we hear the lady out." With that he places a wall of reflection in front of Zey should he charge and attack

[This message has been edited by Azirath (edited September 29, 2001).]

 

Xal, his mind quite exausted, looks at the other strange creatures that were fighting with him and wonders what they are saying. If his mindwere strong enough he would try to enter theirs and learn the language, but alas he is exausted and sits in ignorance as the others talk amongst themselves.

 

*Zey sense the presence of the wall and turns his gaze on Azirath, his eyes oddly glowing red, as if reflecting an inner fire. He hisses low and menacingly, his hatred at the attempt to keep him from attacking.*

 

Xal begins to feel dizzy, sounds distort, and he passes out.