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Thread: Legacy of Blood (main thread)

  1. #1
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    Default Legacy of Blood (main thread)

    Chapter 1: Into the White

    Klara Drakov

    I saw how the fine form of man was degraded and wasted; I beheld the corruption of death succeed to the blooming cheek of life; I saw how the worm inherited the wonders of the eye and brain. Klara paused, examining and analyzing all the minutia of causation...until from the midst of this darkness a sudden darkness broke in upon her - a realization so brilliant and wondrous, yet so simple...

    She was lost and alone. Far from Schloss Mordenheim, she couldn't tell east from north from west from south. A blinding sea of white surrounded her, blasting her relentlessly for hours now. Klara was hip deep in snow, atop the icy Sleeping Beast Mountains of Lamordia, the winds whistling and howling in a battering, frigid snow blizzard. Sight was impossible, except for a few feet when she was shielded by the robust stands of hardwood pines that mantled the mountains, coated in ice and snow, battered but standing like sentinels of ice at the edge of sheer cliffs. Klara had lost her last companion, Ivan, an hour ago. Others had gotten separated early in the blizzard. Klara had heard Ivan yell as he fell out of sight through a snowdrift that had settled atop a cliff along the Sleeping Beast, the mountain chain named such because it was a long, narrow and jagged spine twisted like the backbone of a great, sleeping, one hundred mile long dragon. It also served as a barrier, separating the realms of Lamordia and Falkovnia. By the time Klara had heard Ivan’s call, he was gone, into the white.

    She was growing cold. Her armor was already iced over. She couldn’t feel her toes or fingers. But her heart beat strong. Its heart beat strong.

    If she stopped moving she would die of hypothermia, she realized, especially once night set in, only a few hours away. She took several more lumbering, slow, steps through the deep snow and blinding ice winds, and came behind a silver fir. The copse of firs she came into shielded her from the worst of the flying sleet relentlessly slung into her face and eyes. The interior of the copse was clear of trees, yet still the snow was deep and the wind roared. She tread there to think and rest for a moment...and heard a deep, low growl coming from behind her...

    OOC
    Endurance check 12. no effect.
    You are in Difficult Terrain inside the copse of trees, from the 3-foot depth of snow.
    Last edited by Bong Bellowsmoke; 07-06-2013 at 08:03 PM.
    The Red Condor shrieked at Sir Darvig in full wrath. Wings flapped storms of fire across the sky. "The Mage-God grows in power swifter than it appears to Paladine. This I know. A warning," Sargonnas told Darvigl, "for you to give to Paladine in your prayers."

    I will, Darvig uttered.

  2. #2
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    Klara kept her head down and marched like a good soldier. She didn't look back only forward, looking back would only slow her down. When she heard her name being called from Ivan she continued to push forward. She liked Ivan, he had been with her from the beginning but if he couldn't make it there was no more use for him. The strong survive and the weak just die. So, with her head down she moved, slowly but she moved because moving meant life.

    All the time she murmered a name under breath, "Mordenhiem. Mordenhiem. Mordenhiem..." as if to remember, because if she forgot she knew she would die. She promised him one thing when she returned and she aimed to keep her promise. As she marched, blood pulsed in her temples. This accursed thing in my chest. She thought. "Mordenhiem. Mordenhiem. Mordenhiem..."

    From the white came a looming darkness, she at first thought giants, but when she neared she saw it to be a copse of silver firs. Maybe refuge from this storm. She entered trees and though it gave some relief the snow was still up to her thighs. She heard a growl and immediately knew this was some creatures home, or something was seeking refuge as well. She turned to face whatever it was equipping her shield as she turned, quickly drawing a bastard sword. She scanned the white for the source of the ominous growl.

    OOC: Move action to equip shield, quick draw masterwork bastard sword.
    Perception check 1d20(13)+8= 21
    Spasseltock Nimblefingers kender CN (with good tendencies) Rogue/13, Handler/ 8
    Shayle Wist'lya Bothan Noble 3/Scoundrel 1/Scout 3/Infiltrator 2 Star Wars: Dawn of Defiance
    Evelyn Morningory Aasimar Warpriest of Sarenrae 2 Wrath of the Righteous
    Virgil Halard Human Ranger 4/Fighter 2/Rogue 2/Knight of the Lily 1 Hourglass in the Sky

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    Klara Drakov

    She squinted through the icy winds across the silver, glittering firs and ivory snow. It was nothing, she realized. Nothing she could see.

    Until she was nearly eye to eye with a pair of hungry red canine eyes twice the size of hers and six inches apart, and the bladed fangs of slavering jaws of a great white wolf near invisible in the blinding white. It was larger than any trained heavy horse she'd ever seen in all the stables or jousts of Levkarest. It was the last thing she saw as ice and wind blasted her blind.

    OOC
    Perception check fails.
    DM turn: Stealth 18. Klara opposed Perception d20+8= 19. sees great white wolf as it tries to sneak 15 feet toward her.
    Klara: cone of cold Ref save 21, success for half: 14 cold damage. You aren't blinded (but for a second) - was just using the word "blind" for effect.
    You are 15' from the large wolf.
    Klara's turn full round action.
    Last edited by Bong Bellowsmoke; 06-27-2013 at 01:16 AM.
    The Red Condor shrieked at Sir Darvig in full wrath. Wings flapped storms of fire across the sky. "The Mage-God grows in power swifter than it appears to Paladine. This I know. A warning," Sargonnas told Darvigl, "for you to give to Paladine in your prayers."

    I will, Darvig uttered.

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    Chapter 2: The Sanctioned Hour

    Caspar

    "Tis soon the moment still and dread," she said,
    "When Wizards use their baleful power;
    When Graves give up their buried dead
    To profit by the sanctioned hour..."



    screen capture tool

    Then severely, Talena looked up from her crystal ball at her son and stared, considering what she had seen in its mists. And as if it had everything to do with him. She looked away, drifting to her goblet of tuika, and took an elegant sip. Her son noticed his mother's legendary beauty despite her age, blessed with unnaturally pale skin and raven tresses bunned under her draped kerchief, like a crown of cloth. Her fanciful wraps and voluminous white cloak was near transparent, seductive, even in her years of middle age. "Strahd's Dagger," most peasant Barovians called her...for the many tyrannical executions to her credit, most often the local burgomasters of Teulfuldorf and Zeidenburg, the Barovian towns closest to her manse.

    "What do you think it means, my son? War, perhaps? An invasion?" She looked at him and strolled through the elegant chamber at the top of the tower that's stone steps winded up from the corner of her mansion. "But from where?" she said to the sight outside the window - the growing night and a sea of beech and cherry trees. Lightning flashed as dusk was early, lighting her ivory skin in contrast to the small cluster of flickering flames which were the only light in the chamber - a gold candelabra of thirteen red tapers. Outside the manse, pens of hounds barked as a wave of dark purple clouds rose into to the night from the shallow caves, blotting out the waning sun, floating and spreading over the dominating, ancient spruces and firs and pine, and the meadows and dales that blanketed southern Barovia in breathtaking beauty. The clouds were thousands upon thousands of bats. Howls from wolves pierced the dusky shadows from the mountain sides of the Balinoks to the east, signaling the coming night.

    "From the south?" she mused. "Unlikely. Harkon Lukas has only one path to Barovia without traversing the haunted Forlorn forest and its ghosts and goblyns. But is he aiding that slanderous gang of fellazad Gundarakites as they harass the road from Teufuldorf to Zeidenburg?" No, she thought. The Kartakans would prefer the road remain open for trade.

    "The southeast?" she continued. "I will send a sending to Eleni of Toyalis. But I know the answer. An invasion from Hazlan and the despot Hazlik and his whip-wielding priests of the Lawgiver would fail." She tipped her glass at her son, a sadistically sad smile slightly slipping from her lips. "They would never make it over the Balinok Mountains. You know the saying, of course. Nothing can kill a man as quickly, or as slowly, as the Balinoks." There wasn't a living Barovian that was stranger to that belief.

    "The east from Nova Vaasa? No. Trade is robust on the Old Svalich Road, and they too must brave the Balinoks, and Nova Vassan steeds sell well in Barovia. Besides. No one would dare attack the village of Barovia nestled in the mountain pass. It is most likely snowed in for the winter, regardless."

    "The north. The Shadow Rift lies to the north. The northwest...perhaps. Ivan Dilisnya would love to take Krezk. It wouldn't surprise me if he's reached out to the fellazad. Speaking of, is that rat dung fellazad Ardonk Szerieza dead yet?"

    "And what of this treaty I keep hearing about? Ahh.." she tapered off. An idea came to her mind and she sipped at her tuika, a local, beloved plum brandy and pride of Barovia, favored by those who could afford it. The non-agreesion pact signed by Borca and some other so-called 'realms', to come to each others defense against Falknovian aggression. ...yes. If Borca invades Krezk then Borca will be too vulnerable from Falkovnia to the north. But Borca could allow Falknovnian soldiers across their borders. She did not share her thought with her son.

    "From the west? Invidia?"

    She almost giggled. "A boy?"

    "From the southwest?" She considered shrewdly. "No. Lord Soth has not moved from his tormented throne at Nedragaard Keep in decades, and the elves of Sithicus are no army of his."

    Many things considered, Talena lifted a sword in its sheath under both arms, and laid it upon the oak table sitting before Caspar with his glass of tuika, as he sat in a chair of the finest oak.

    "As I am Strahd's Dagger, you will be his sword, my son. It is the northwest I fear the most. Have the Gundarakites taken Zeidenburg, or have plans of doing so soon? If the last burgomaster I appointed doesn't know please be so kind as to behead him for me, and appoint a new one. Are the Dilisnya's and Ardonk inventing machinations together? What of the old families of Barovia - the Buchvolds, Ivilskovas, Katskys, Petrovnas, Romuliches, Trikskys, Velikovnas, and Wachters? Will they still rally to the banner of the Von Zarovich name? What of the loyalty of the Red Vardo Traders? What word of castle Misericordia and the Boritsis, and most importantly, what of Ivan Dilisnya to the northwest? And even more importantly than that...what of beyond...what of Falkovnia?"

    She stood straight and stern. Her usual look. Glared at him.

    "Identify the threats. No path leads to the house of gnoles, and it is always dark in that dubious wood. But remembering what he had learned at his mother's knee concerning the odor of gnoles, he will find the house quite easily, with this...". She spread her palms.

    Caspar looked at the sword.

    "The Sheriff should be in Krezk, by now."

    Caspar could see part of its blade as it was half-unsheathed. Its blade was night-black steel, its hilt in the form of a stylized bat and quillion in the form of a bat's outstretched wings.

    "The Sword of the Bat has been handed down for centuries through the family, carried by the best of the elite. Your uncles and great uncles - Victor, Sergei, Holgar, each killed over a hundred Tergs with it. It will serve you well. If you ever need escape into the noapte, with sword in hand say...Mahr!!... and fly as the Veela swims.

    OOC
    Caspar: you receive the Ancestral Legacy feat, which grants you an heirloom gift.
    Last edited by Bong Bellowsmoke; 08-16-2013 at 10:40 PM.
    The Red Condor shrieked at Sir Darvig in full wrath. Wings flapped storms of fire across the sky. "The Mage-God grows in power swifter than it appears to Paladine. This I know. A warning," Sargonnas told Darvigl, "for you to give to Paladine in your prayers."

    I will, Darvig uttered.

  5. #5
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    Klara

    Klara was taken aback for a moment at the size of the beast. It was one of the largest wolves she had ever seen. There were dire wolves in Falcovnia sure, but not sheer white that spewed ice and cold! This was this beasts realm, and she was the outsider. There was no use running, besides, there was no where to run. It was her versus the beast, she just had to hope that it didn't have a mate close by.

    She sucked in the cold air and gave a piercing scream that echoed off the trees around her. It was a battle cry enemies of Falcovnia knew all to well. Many a brave warrior had fled from battle due to the Dracov hawks cry. Klara just recently learned it's secret and hoped it would work on such a creature. She then moved to take cover behind a nearby tree. If the cry didn't work, she at least put the tree between her and it.

    OOC: Using Hawk's cry feat DC 15 will save or become frightened, if makes save is shaken for one round. if it's over 6 HD it is unaffected

    Moving action to move behind a tree for cover bonus to AC.
    Last edited by Spasseltock Nimblefingers; 06-28-2013 at 09:36 AM.
    Spasseltock Nimblefingers kender CN (with good tendencies) Rogue/13, Handler/ 8
    Shayle Wist'lya Bothan Noble 3/Scoundrel 1/Scout 3/Infiltrator 2 Star Wars: Dawn of Defiance
    Evelyn Morningory Aasimar Warpriest of Sarenrae 2 Wrath of the Righteous
    Virgil Halard Human Ranger 4/Fighter 2/Rogue 2/Knight of the Lily 1 Hourglass in the Sky

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    Klara

    The sudden, piercing cry of a hawkish screech startled the wolf. Instead of coming in for the kill, it backed off a step. Klara saw it rear back its horse-sized head. A long, throaty, bloody howl as loud as her cry joined the roaring winds. In the distance, across the Sleeping Beast, one by one, Klara heard distant howls join the blasting blizzard, mixing in a blood-chilling cacophony.

    The white wolf lowered its head and looked back at Klara half-hidden behind the tree, bloodthirsty patience in its red canine eyes.

    OOC
    Wolf Will save 20, shaken 1 round. Takes 5-foot step back and howls. Waits.
    Back to Klara.
    The Red Condor shrieked at Sir Darvig in full wrath. Wings flapped storms of fire across the sky. "The Mage-God grows in power swifter than it appears to Paladine. This I know. A warning," Sargonnas told Darvigl, "for you to give to Paladine in your prayers."

    I will, Darvig uttered.

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    Chapter 3: Bottled Lightning

    Skurn

    "In the future we are now preparing, politics and intrigues may still appear; but the springs by which they work will be so carefully concealed that no one will be able to see aught but flowers and paintings.."
    -Victor Huge, Notre-Dame de Paris

    Life as a fish wasn't so bad, for a caliban like Skurn. It was lonely - but both existences were lonely; but here, in the Office of the Dean of the Univerisity of Dementilieu's Department of Arcane Sciences, Lord Balfour de Casteele, there were always fresh flowers and intriguing paintings to gaze at from his aquarium prison. And a pair of skies hanging on the wall. Daily, Maiden Dapplewort stopped by to feed him fish food - usually dead leeches and worms, and talked to him sweetly, affectionately calling him Fish Eye.

    But this was no ordinary trout. The fish had heard voices, whispering, caressing him. His gaze - there was something there that was captivating, hypnotic. Few who looked at Fish Eye could look away. Once every few nights, Maiden Dapplewort came to change his water while Skurn swam around in a bucket. Other than Maiden Dapplewort, Skurn of Nowhere had no friends.

    But he did overhear quite a few things in the office of Lord Balfour de Castelle, such as the rumor and hint that he was one of the Umbra, the five-highest ranking members of something called the Fraternity of Shadows. Lord Balfour hosted many witch-hunters and champions of light to his office, choosing to "bell the cat" by offering arcane research services at the University of Dementleu for monster hunters. Most often, Lord Balifor occupied himself with reading ecriture, admiring peinturex, and penning letters to his friend, someone named George Weathermay. Currently, Lord Balfour de Castelle had called upon many of Port-a-Lucine's elite for a private meeting in this office. Food, a carefully crafted affair, was brought in by servants. Wild boar with mushroons, venison with peppers and courgettes, mussels and raw oysters, foir gras with tarragon and basil, escargot, strong cheeses accompanied by syrupy sweet yellow wine. Lord Alphonse de Lieux, Lord Dominic d'Honaire and Helene du Suis from the Council of Brilliance, among others, including a dwarf of high repute with a long white-grey beard. Only slightly later the guest of honor arrived, Lord-Governor Marcel Guignol, looking as spry as he had been rumored to have been at his last appearance, when he attended the first opera of the season, an entertaining tragedy entitled Mort de Mon Coeur ("The Death of My Heart"). The Lord-Governor was not agile of mind or body: he required two assistants to help him walk the stairs to Lord Balfour's office. Monsieur Guignol's eyes conveyed the look of a confused man as he entered to polite applause and cheers of syrupy wine. Skurn saw and heard all that happened in Lord Balfour's office.

    Polite pleasantries were made. Some sort of business was about to come to order. The dwarf was the most casual and consumed the most wine as guests fed, telling some story loudly...

    "These brutes made it a good way past Chateaufaux, as I remember. It was the first time any of us had seen a raid getting further than the Musarde River, so we were worried. Early on, our muskets had kept them at bay, but there were just so many of them, row after row. When the front lines began to run out of gunpowder, we had to retreat and resort to ambushes...until something strange began to happen. Trapping the Falkovnians seemed to become too easy. In some cases, the Falkovnian officer would literally turn on his own men at the last minute, helping the rest of us cut them down.
    "I heard tell from other men that one of them Talons actually arrived at a camp in the middle of the night, surrendered, and then gave away the positions of his comrades. Never did understand it, but if you ask me, that's when tide turned against them.
    "And you know what? Not long after the last was defeated, them Talons had to start wearing those bracer things you see on their wrists. Cause unbearable agony if they even
    think of betrayin' Drakov, they d...

    *crash!* *splash*!

    The aquarium exploded in a glitter of shards of glass and splashes of water. Lying in the middle of it, prone on the floor, was a rat-like monster. Lord-Governor Marcel Guignol choked on his wine. Lord Alphonse spit up a half-chewed piece of venison. Josephine Chantreaux of the council of brilliance stood, hand on the hilt of her pistol. Helene duSuis screamed a blood-curdling scream, but it was because she spilled her wine in her lap. Dominic d'Honaire tried to make light of the situation by telling a stale joke. Lord Balfour had a furious look on his face. His voice stayed polite on the surface with malice and hate bubbling underneath.

    "Will. You. Please."

    Madame Dapplewort and another servant girl named Josette were the targets of Lord Balfour's forced and patient handling of the situation.

    "Escort. This. ... Thing. Out."

    ...

    "Now?"

    There was Skurn in his true form. He had counted his days, out of boredom. One hundred and one days had passed since he'd first become a fish, his life saved by Madame Dapplewort. One hundred and one days of hearing Lord Balfour de Casteelle's secrets and machinations. But now Skurn was exposed, half-naked, wet, and vulnerable, shamed, life in jeopardy. He was a monster.

    "To the university dungeons...inform the biology department head..."

    http://
    image upload software

    OOC
    There is a door leading out of this office that is open, 20 feet from Skurn. Skurn is prone.
    Last edited by Bong Bellowsmoke; 07-02-2013 at 12:53 PM.
    The Red Condor shrieked at Sir Darvig in full wrath. Wings flapped storms of fire across the sky. "The Mage-God grows in power swifter than it appears to Paladine. This I know. A warning," Sargonnas told Darvigl, "for you to give to Paladine in your prayers."

    I will, Darvig uttered.

  8. #8
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    Klara

    Klara had made a tactical error. After the cry, she should have rushed the wolf. Such a sudden and violent action may have scared it off, instead it stepped away and seemed to be calling more wolves. The howls that followed were in the distance, but she knew they could close fast. She also knew that once injured, even if she killed this wolf, she could be easily tracked. The scent of blood to a wolf was like a warm pie baking in an oven to her.

    She knew there was one course of action now. She looked up the massive tree she hid behind. Climb like your life depended on it girl. She thought as she stowed her blade and began ascent for salvation.

    OOC: Move action to put sword away. Second move action to climb 15' in the tree.
    Climb 1d20(17)+10- 1 ACP for the shield= 26
    Spasseltock Nimblefingers kender CN (with good tendencies) Rogue/13, Handler/ 8
    Shayle Wist'lya Bothan Noble 3/Scoundrel 1/Scout 3/Infiltrator 2 Star Wars: Dawn of Defiance
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    Virgil Halard Human Ranger 4/Fighter 2/Rogue 2/Knight of the Lily 1 Hourglass in the Sky

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    Klara

    Klara jumped inward and gripped the icy branches of the eighty-foot tall ancient pine tree. Icicles crashed. She held on, and scrambled further up the branches. She looked down to see where to step next at a difficult spot, where the branches weren't like slippery stairs. The white wolf was running toward her. She slipped on the icy branch. The wolf leaped. Klara reached as high as she could and got a firm grip on a higher branch, pulling herself higher with her arm strength. She looked down, yanking her foot away in the nick of time as the wolf's jaws snapped, latching onto the icy branch instead. The weight of the wolf crashing into the pine shook the tree and sent icicles spraying through the roaring winds. The branch broke. The wolf landed on its feet in the snow drift that blew with snow flurries and sleet and broken branches.

    OOC
    Klara succeeds, nice climb.
    Wolf moves and attacks, Klara just out of range.
    Klara's turn!
    Last edited by Bong Bellowsmoke; 07-01-2013 at 02:14 PM.
    The Red Condor shrieked at Sir Darvig in full wrath. Wings flapped storms of fire across the sky. "The Mage-God grows in power swifter than it appears to Paladine. This I know. A warning," Sargonnas told Darvigl, "for you to give to Paladine in your prayers."

    I will, Darvig uttered.

  10. #10
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    Chapter 4: The Mists

    “When the ol’ gypsy crone was angry, one of her eyes became so terrible, that no person could bear to behold it; and the wretch upon who it was fixed instantly fell backward, and sometimes expired.”
    -William Beckford, “Vathek”

    Ryth

    Lightning flashed, and Ryth caught glimpse of the ghast he tracked as night fell. The electrical storm above was low in the sky, illuminating a misty graveyard Ryth’s undead quarry had retreated to. Ryth moved forward, strobed between darkness and light - though he saw well in the dark. He hoped for a clear shot - for he had deadly aim with his bow - at the ghast. But it was too misty, and the right moment never came.

    He tracked the ghast into the lost, misty, ancient graveyard in the plains of Kendrinthalas. The recent rain caused more mists to seep from the earth. A breeze gusted. A thick fog blanket blew over the ranger. Films of vapor seeped along the headstones of the graveyard, concealing hidden dangers. The Mists seemed to have a life of their own, clawing at him with their tendrils, beckoning him.

    Ryth became lost in the churning walls of mist, engulfed in a netherworld of obscuring white fog. He could no longer see the ground beneath his feet. No matter which way he turned, direction and distance became meaningless. Ryth tried to find his way out, and soon time became robbed of all meaning. Ryth had no memory of for how long he wandered the mists. Sound was muffled. Night blended seemlessly into day.

    The mists parted. Ryth was chilly, and wrapped himself tighter in his dark green cloak, hooding his face for more warmth. It was cold, and snow crust layered the ground. It was daylight, but waning. The mists withdrew further. He wasn't in the graveyard, or the plains he was familiar with. He walked an old cobblestone road that winded low through a deep, winding, narrow mountain pass. Along both sides of the road, ancient pines, spruce and firs crowded steep hills to eventually reach breathtakingly high, treacherous mountain sides leading to treeless, jagged, snow-capped peaks of spectacular height. One peak had a mile long ring of fog around its peak. Ryth had never seen such a wonder of nature so magnificent and breathtakingly beautiful in all his life. Suddenly a purple cloud darkened the waning day, before spreading and becoming thinner. Thousands of bats in the distance had taken to the skies over the verdant, wintery forest, the ranger could see. The bats were miles from him, and of no immediate concern. But as the wind gusted, the scent of death lingered from the road just ahead. About four hundred feet down the road, he saw a pair of large, black, wrought iron gates blocking passage - they were closed.

    The faint sound of passionate, blood-chilling music echoed through the snowy-crusted mountain pass from deep in the forest beyond the gates and further down the road, along with the rhythmic stomping feet of boots upon wooden boards...

    OOC
    Listen to Full Blast...this is the music you hear echoing from about a quarter mile away.
    http://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xSh2a3sfm_E
    Last edited by Bong Bellowsmoke; 07-06-2013 at 08:33 PM.
    The Red Condor shrieked at Sir Darvig in full wrath. Wings flapped storms of fire across the sky. "The Mage-God grows in power swifter than it appears to Paladine. This I know. A warning," Sargonnas told Darvigl, "for you to give to Paladine in your prayers."

    I will, Darvig uttered.

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