Action, Adventure, Excitement, Part 9: Middle Earth / High Fantasy Chapter 3 Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London, plus dragon On Wed, 28 Apr 2004 01:19:22 -0400 Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012077 >On Mon, 26 Apr 2004 23:07:10 -0700 >Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012068 > >>On Sat, 24 Apr 2004 19:52:41 -0700 >>Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012059 >> >> */Moonstone!/* Roland races down to catch up with the Ringwraith, >>urging Gryphoenix forward. > > The Ringwraith, sensing victory, dives, sword aimed at Moonstone's >neck. > With a *CLANG,* the blade stops less than a foot from its target. >The wraith looks along the offending weapon up to a grim-faced >Roland, who pushes the blade slowly back. Gryphoenix beats its wings >furiously against the gospog, who lazily slides back to allow >Gryphoenix to do all the work. > Roland grunts as the fiend pushes back, foul energy radiating from >it as it hisses at him. "foooool," it whispers ominously. > The Champion grins, the blade's hilt suddenly growing vastly more >ornate as it locks with the Mordor blade. "Me?" he asks with an >insolent confidence to do Errol Flynn proud. "_You're_ the one who >turned your back on an enemy." > The wraith and the winged warg both shudder with surprise, but >Gryphoenix has a firm grip on the warg's forepaws and Roland has >pinned his foe just as effectively. > (OOC: Okay, _now_ you can finish him. 8^) Moonstone, for her part, had recovered enough to slip to one side while the wraith's attention had been drawn to Roland, carefully lining up her shot to avoid the Freelance Immortal and his steed. From here, she blew the dead-king a kiss, one which accompanied her transformation into her dragon form, the puff of air turning to a blast of flame. /Roland, fall back a pace, this is going to be worthy of a burning oil well or a crematorium./ She keeps the flame on low while they move away, then increases the intensity, turning the dead figure and foul beast into ash. /And to think I'd been doing this the hard way./ > Gryphoenix somehow skids to a halt beside them without turning >both steed and rider into a thin paste. Roland leaps off, flinging >off his gauntlets with a savage gesture. [Damn. Damn. Damn.] > He gently lays his hands on her shoulders. "Rest. Rest easy. >Calm." Though nowhere in the same league with his wife, the scion of >Phoenix has healing powers of his own, capable of sharing his >regenerative capabilities. > [Damn.] Unfortunately, regeneration can only do so much when >organs are in the wrong places. He's helped the situation, but mostly >has just improved her stability. "Here," he says calmly, reaching >into a pouch, crushing some leaves, and easing them into her mouth. >They taste faintly of mint, and ease the pain. "This will help." Something tickles the back of Moonstone's mind at this smell. >> Moonstone glances up, "I can try to help him as well, but I think >>our king can be of more assistance. Boiling water and athelas, >>crushed, also called kingsfoil." >> Moonstone stops, blinking, "Okay, I dunno where that came from. >>But it feels right." > > Roland nods. "I have him. Keep Erindrea stable." He slides >Marivale to the ground, checking to make sure he didn't crack his >head falling over. [Source. His head's harder than mine.] He reaches >into the same pouch he did to help Erindrea, breaks some of the >leaves between his fingers, and both feeds a few to him and applies >some to his brow. "Calad ea och. Cuinach." (OOC: Roughly: "Light be >with you. Live." Translated from Sindarin, though Tolkien is probably >twitching, if not spinning. 8^) Moonstone nods. > "She will live, at least for now. I can create a cradle of light >that will maintain such health as she has, but she needs greater >healing than I can provide." > "Morgan," Roland mutters. His mind reaches out. > "She is...occupied," he tells the others, "but might be able to >come soon. If complications arise, I'll do what I can to expedite >matters." He nods to Harlock. "Either way, I will be back." He clasps >the Bard on the shoulder. "Erin's tough. Hang in there -- she will." >Then he remounts and rides. Moonstone nods, "I'll stay with her and do what I can." Which here means stabilizing until Morgan returns. OOC: Moving along... =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London, plus dragon On Wed, 28 Apr 2004 19:31:24 -0700 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012081 >On Tue, 27 Apr 2004 18:57:19 -0400 >"David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012071 > >>Roland wrote on 4/27/2004, 2:21 AM: >> >> [By the Source.] Roland fires covering stun-bolt fire to help >>clear her field. */Get to the city. Rogias, watch her back./* ^And >>no wisecracks. Erin's not doing well.^ > > */Understood, Father./* Rogias replies crisply. Across a fair >chunk of the battlefield, he wheels his black horse in a tight circle [Huh. I'm _still_ having trouble getting used to him being like...this.] > ^By the way... wisecracks?^ ^Never mind. I was thinking of other yous.^ > Falling into formation near Erin, he begins alternating rapidly >between heavy "road plowing" bolts and keeping up a shield-swarm of >lighter arrows around them both. Orcs fall like wheat before the twin assault. Goblins flee rather than face the deadly double hail. A fair amount later. >On Tue, 27 Apr 2004 21:07:14 -0700 >Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00012075 > >>On Mon, 26 Apr 2004 23:07:10 -0700 >>Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012068 >> >> [Damn.] Unfortunately, regeneration can only do so much when >>organs are in the wrong places. He's helped the situation, but >>mostly has just improved her stability. "Here," he says calmly, >>reaching into a pouch, crushing some leaves, and easing them into >>her mouth. They taste faintly of mint, and ease the pain. "This will >>help." > >"Thanks. Ah nevah did...lahk the taste of...blood in mah mouth." Roland manages a gentle smile. "Then try not to move. I am uncertain as to how much athelas I have." [Or where it came from, but that's for later.] >> *Ardinay?* He sends to that worthy, only to look up to see her >>approaching. He sags in relief, not realizing that he all but walked >>into the role of 'king' that Moonstone set up for him. >> "Here," she replies verbally, looking over the two. At Marivale, >>she smiles in relief, and bathes him in light. "He will be fine. >>Make him rest for a few hours, no matter how much he whines about >>it." > >"Whine?" A faint whisper escapes Marivale's lips. "I am a Saevil of >House Saevil. Whining is beneath me." A hint of a smile appears. >"Now, fretting over enforced inactivity, on the other hand..." Of >course, since he currently has about as much range of motion as >Westley had just after Fezzik fed him the miracle pill, it's obvious >that he's (mostly) kidding. Ardinay smiles and brushes an errant hair from Marivale's brow. "My apologies, sir. I should know that great and noble heroes never 'whine.' Isn't that right, Tolwyn?" she asks, looking over to her champion. Tolwyn suddenly finds Steelmane's saddle utterly fascinating. >>The closest analogy that comes to Morgan's mind as she carefully >>sets Erin's body right is a puzzle, holding this organ in stasis >>while moving that bit, keeping that part working through sheer magic >>while putting it's connecting parts back in their proper places. >>Finally, though, she relaxes, and the Bard will no doubt be relived >>to see his daughter's color return to normal and her breath come >>normally and easily. > >For the first time since Roland and Morgan entered the room, Harlock >takes notice of them. "Morgan? Oh, thank the gods!" The Bard staggers >up out of the chair he had been sitting vigil in and kisses Morgan's >hand with a bow that currently lacks the grace to be truly courtly. >"I am forever in thy debt, gracious lady." Roland grins broadly. "Yeah, she's like that." Morgan smiles graciously. As a healer and something of a diplomat, she gets a lot of this. She understands where it comes from, but for her she's just doing her best to help. "You are most welcome. You can repay me by passing along the favor and protecting another of our extended family. I'm sure there will be chances aplenty before these invasions are vanquished." (OOC-M: I can't help but think of Doonesbury last week: "I'm a surgeon. Your awe is thanks enough." Morgan's not like that, but it still came to mind *g*). =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London, plus dragon On Wed, 28 Apr 2004 19:37:42 -0700 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012082 >On Wed, 28 Apr 2004 01:19:22 -0400 >Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012077 > >>On Mon, 26 Apr 2004 23:07:10 -0700 >>Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012068 >> >> The wraith and the winged warg both shudder with surprise, but >>Gryphoenix has a firm grip on the warg's forepaws and Roland has >>pinned his foe just as effectively. > > Moonstone, for her part, had recovered enough to slip to one side >while the wraith's attention had been drawn to Roland, carefully >lining up her shot to avoid the Freelance Immortal and his steed. >From here, she blew the dead-king a kiss, one which accompanied her >transformation into her dragon form, the puff of air turning to a >blast of flame. > /Roland, fall back a pace, this is going to be worthy of a burning >oil well or a crematorium./ Roland sends back a grin. /My steed and I are both part phoenix. Flame doesn't bother us. Roast him./ >...turning the dead figure and foul beast into ash. > /And to think I'd been doing this the hard way./ OOC: Assuming Moonstone doesn't balk... Roland shakes a scrap of charred cloth, soaked in...something and hardened, off of his blade. Both he and Gryphoenix are enveloped in thin layers of flame briefly. Then the Champion concentrates for a moment, and the flames go out. /At least I can still do _that,_/ he thinks in relief. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London On Tue, 4 May 2004 20:05:37 -0400 "David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012092 >Roland X wrote on 4/24/2004, 11:06 PM: > >> */If I may, Father, I do seem to recall that the Ringwraiths are >>rather vulnerable to fire. Allow me to test that recollection./* >>Suiting action to words, he takes a moment to charge up a (very) >>heavy energy bolt with a strong incendiary slant, and pegs it at the >>nearest Ringwraith. Two more follow at one-second intervals. > > ^I recall the same, but it's possible that Sauron has...refined >their magic. Be careful, son,^ Roland replies. ^As cautious as circumstances permit, Father, as always.^ >> It's a long shot, but the arrows track their targets like >>bloodhounds. >> The 'wraith, seeing its peril, rolls its mount at the last moment >>to serve as a shield, badly wounding the beast. The next two bolts >>split up and arc around to bracket the 'wraith from opposite >>directions as Rogias, no longe firing, takes direct "remote control" >>of them, using the bulk of his concentration. The Ringwraith, in a >>not-totally-uncontrolled dive on its expiring gospog steed, manages >>to block one magically, but the other corkscrews epileptically past >>its defenses and strikes home... > > ...exploding, turning the Ringwraith into a horrifically >screeching bonfire. > "Hnn. */I think that worked,/*" Roland notes dryly. */Folx--/* */I must admit,/* Rogias remarks as he pumps out another wave of anti-crunchy arrows, */that that was rather more effective than I had expected./* =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Enter The Dragon On Tue, 4 May 2004 20:10:31 -0400 "David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012093 >Roland X wrote on 4/25/2004, 4:03 AM: >"/^And this,^/" she runs a finger along the crown on his helm, "/^do >I need to rethink the Rohirrim motif?^/" Rogias wanders by in time to catch this, and leans on his bow, looking contemplative. /^Would now be an appropriate time for a 'wisecrack,' perhaps?^/ OOC: Spock's "Colorful Metaphor" line from ST4. > They look up to see Tolwyn riding hard to catch them up. "Roland! >Ardinay's had a vision! We have a--" > A terrible roar comes from the west, where the setting sun frames >the invaders in the color of blood. > "Damn. */To the tower,/*" Roland sends, spurring Gryphoenix. Soon, >they reach the western gate. /^Or perhaps now?^/ Rogias inquires ingenuously, chasing after. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London, plus dragon On Tue, 4 May 2004 20:16:15 -0400 "David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012094 >Roland X wrote on 4/28/2004, 10:37 PM: >> */Understood, Father./* Rogias replies crisply. Across a fair >>chunk of the battlefield, he wheels his black horse in a tight >>circle > > [Huh. I'm _still_ having trouble getting used to him being >like...this.] OOC: Bwahahahahaha! >> ^By the way... wisecracks?^ > > ^Never mind. I was thinking of other yous.^ ^Ah. I see. Perhaps I should endeavour to act in a way more congruent with my Prime Self?^ =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London, plus dragon On Tue, 04 May 2004 23:26:53 -0700 Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012097 >On Tue, 4 May 2004 20:16:15 -0400 >"David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012094 >>Roland X wrote on 4/28/2004, 10:37 PM: >> >>> ^By the way... wisecracks?^ >> >> ^Never mind. I was thinking of other yous.^ > > ^Ah. I see. Perhaps I should endeavour to act in a way more >congruent with my Prime Self?^ ^NO,^ Roland replies emphatically. ^That will not be necessary,^ he adds with a bit more aplomb. >On Tue, 4 May 2004 20:05:37 -0400 >"David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012092 > >>Roland X wrote on 4/24/2004, 11:06 PM: >> >>>Rogias, no longe firing, takes direct "remote control" of them, >>>using the bulk of his concentration. The Ringwraith, in a >>>not-totally-uncontrolled dive on its expiring gospog steed, manages >>>to block one magically, but the other corkscrews epileptically past >>>its defenses and strikes home... >> >> ...exploding, turning the Ringwraith into a horrifically >>screeching bonfire. >> "Hnn. */I think that worked,/*" Roland notes dryly. */Folx--/* > > */I must admit,/* Rogias remarks as he pumps out another wave of >anti-crunchy arrows, */that that was rather more effective than I had >expected./* */It appears that you were right about fire,/* Roland agrees. >On Tue, 4 May 2004 20:10:31 -0400 >"David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012093 > >>Roland X wrote on 4/25/2004, 4:03 AM: >> >>"/^And this,^/" she runs a finger along the crown on his helm, "/^do >>I need to rethink the Rohirrim motif?^/" > > Rogias wanders by in time to catch this, and leans on his bow, >looking contemplative. /^Would now be an appropriate time for a >'wisecrack,' perhaps?^/ Morgan looks up at the elven bowman. "/Who...oh,/" she grins sheepishly as she finally recognizes her erstwhile son. /That won't be necessary,/ Roland replies simply, after a moment of juggling parsing to avoid temptation. (_Roger's_ temptation. 8^) >> They look up to see Tolwyn riding hard to catch them up. "Roland! >>Ardinay's had a vision! We have a--" >> A terrible roar comes from the west, where the setting sun frames >>the invaders in the color of blood. >> "Damn. */To the tower,/*" Roland sends, spurring Gryphoenix. >>Soon, they reach the western gate. > > /^Or perhaps now?^/ Rogias inquires ingenuously, chasing after. Roland considers. /If you can think of a good one,/ he replies finally. /Though this is probably more of a 'colorful metaphor' occasion than a 'wisecrack' one,/ Morgan adds. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London, plus dragon On Wed, 5 May 2004 16:43:25 -0400 "David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012098 >> ^Ah. I see. Perhaps I should endeavour to act in a way more >>congruent with my Prime Self?^ > > ^NO,^ Roland replies emphatically. ^That will not be necessary,^ >he adds with a bit more aplomb. OOC: Too late. The image of Rogias doing a "Vulcan attempting to do Spiderman" all over the battlefield is now too entrenched in my mind to let go. >> */I must admit,/* Rogias remarks as he pumps out another wave of >>anti-crunchy arrows, */that that was rather more effective than I >>had expected./* > > */It appears that you were right about fire,/* Roland agrees. */It does seem odd, however, that our foe would leave such an easily-exploited vulnerability in his greater warriors./* >> Rogias wanders by in time to catch this, and leans on his bow, >>looking contemplative. /^Would now be an appropriate time for a >>'wisecrack,' perhaps?^/ > >Morgan looks up at the elven bowman. "/Who...oh,/" she grins >sheepishly as she finally recognizes her erstwhile son. Rogias bows to her, with feeling and a quiet but openly pleased smile. "/Mother. It is quite pleasant to see you, especially whole and well./" He Spocks an elegant eyebrow. "/I do rather hope that our absence from your side did not cause you any undue distress?/" OOC: IOW, "I missed you, did you miss us?" > /That won't be necessary,/ Roland replies simply, after a moment >of juggling parsing to avoid temptation. (_Roger's_ temptation. 8^) Rogias nods in Roland's direction, but seems to be still thinking on the matter. >>> "Damn. */To the tower,/*" Roland sends, spurring Gryphoenix. >>>Soon, they reach the western gate. >> >> /^Or perhaps now?^/ Rogias inquires ingenuously, chasing after. > > Roland considers. /If you can think of a good one,/ he replies >finally. /I am forced to admit, I am unsure of the criteria that make a "good" wisecrack,/ Rogias confesses meekly on the run. /This skill seems to come naturally to my Prime Self, but not to me./ >/Though this is probably more of a 'colorful metaphor' occasion than >a 'wisecrack' one,/ Morgan adds. /A 'colorful metaphor?/ Rogias inquires as the reach the top of the tower. /What would be an approp--/ He stops as the source of their new threat suddenly becomes visible. /Oh. If I am correct, I believe my Prime Self's choice of metaphor would be "excrement." With an exclamation point./ He fingers the tip of one pointed ear in what, for an Elf, is probably a major nervous twitch. /This is not a positive development, I fear./ OOC: cue for someone to point out, "son, that's not metaphor, that's UNDERSTATEMENT." =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Minas London, plus dragon On Tue, 11 May 2004 21:56:23 -0700 Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012103 >On Wed, 5 May 2004 16:43:25 -0400 >"David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012098 > >> */It appears that you were right about fire,/* Roland agrees. > > */It does seem odd, however, that our foe would leave such an >easily-exploited vulnerability in his greater warriors./* */Mmm. Then it probably won't work next time. Unless Sauron's found it difficult to alter the Nine Rings in that fashion.../* Roland considers. */We should all be careful regarding that weakness next time, regardless./* > >>Morgan looks up at the elven bowman. "/Who...oh,/" she grins >>sheepishly as she finally recognizes her erstwhile son. > > Rogias bows to her, with feeling and a quiet but openly pleased >smile. "/Mother. It is quite pleasant to see you, especially whole >and well./" He Spocks an elegant eyebrow. "/I do rather hope that our >absence from your side did not cause you any undue distress?/" > OOC: IOW, "I missed you, did you miss us?" "/We were each doing what we needed to do,/" Morgan replies, "/and I learned long ago that letting myself be distressed when those I care about are fighting separate battles from mine does neither me nor them any good. However,/" she smiles, "/that does not mean that I am not also happy to see them whole and well, once the battle has ended./" >>/Though this is probably more of a 'colorful metaphor' occasion than >>a 'wisecrack' one,/ Morgan adds. > > /A 'colorful metaphor?/ Rogias inquires as the reach the top of >the tower. /What would be an approp--/ He stops as the source of >their new threat suddenly becomes visible. /Oh. If I am correct, I >believe my Prime Self's choice of metaphor would be "excrement." With >an exclamation point./ He fingers the tip of one pointed ear in what, >for an Elf, is probably a major nervous twitch. /This is not a >positive development, I fear./ /I believe that would be 'deadpan understatement,' rather than a 'colorful metaphor,' actually,/ Roland replies with more calm than he feels. =========================== Subject: AAE 9m: Riders on the Storm On Sun, 06 Jun 2004 00:39:58 -0700 Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012114 >On Sun, 25 Apr 2004 00:48:49 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012060 > "Uthorion," Tolwyn and Roland gasp as one. > "*/Rally the defenses!/*" the Champion sends. "*/Be ready for wall >breaches, and to protect the soldiers from his powers!/*" Then, his >face a mask of grim determination, he spurs Gryphoenix into the air. > >After a brief pause (to consult mentally with Roland), Morgan leans >over Brightwind's neck. She appears to be whispering in the horse's >ear, though those with the senses for it would know she's >communicating telepathically as well. The beast seems to nod, and >Morgan shifts her seat as feathered wings grow from Brightwind's >sides. Another moment of conversation, and they leap into the air to >follow Roland and Gryphoenix. > > The massive dragon takes to the sky as well, peering with enormous >eyes at the two comparatively tiny objects flying towards it. The >monster laughs. "Roland? Roland _Phoenix?_ Are you really playing >Honor's fool _again,_ risking yourself to save those pathetic witches >Tolwyn and Ardinay?" > "You invaded my _world,_ Uthorion!" Roland shouts back. "I'm here >to kick you off!" > Uthorion laughs again, more mocking than ever. "Then _come,_ >little storm knight! Come, and end your days in my belly!" Sixty seconds later. "Uh-NNN!" Roland and Gryphoenix shoot back, spiraling away through the air. Uthorion laughs cruelly, one claw glowing with a black witchlight. "Is this all you have, Phoenix?" Uthorion asks casually, though his claws gesture in complex motions. "Where are your mighty forces, your vast mental sorceries?" Another wave pulses out, and as creature and rider are just about to right themselves, their movements take on a sickening, lurching cast. "Is this the stormer who all but defeated the great Doctor Mobius single-handedly? Who helped snatch Lady Ardinay from the very grasp of the Gaunt Man?" Another gesture, and a lance of mental force pierces Roland's mind. This time, however, Uthorion has clearly made a mistake; not only can the knight-Champion resist this blast, it helps clear his mind of the equilibrium-disrupting spell. Still, the hero has just as clearly taken quite a beating. "Hmph. Enough playing." Uthorion looks to the west, and grins horribly at the sunset, teeth turning a sickening blood-red in the fading light. He turns back to gaze at the still-recovering warrior with this monstrous expression. "The hour of the Entity is upon us. Let us see whether you can resist my mightiest magics, boy!" The claws begin a particularly intricate weave, the witchlight taking on a particularly deep, empty cast -- which falls apart in his talons. "Eh?" Uthorion looks down at his hands almost stupidly, uncertain as to what just happened. "UTHORION!" Roland roars, racing back into the sky, both he and Gryphoenix once again with their bearings. The Phoenix Claw now looks like Anduril, if Anduril had glowing crystal edges. White light shines around him. "Your foul mockery of shadow is no match for the Light!" The fell beast backs away slightly at this display, then chuckles and slowly flows forward. Each beat of its gigantic wings creates a small storm beneath him. "Is it not?" he asks, eyeing Roland with a grin. "Your ability to disrupt spellcasting has improved, I will grant you that." Uthorion misses Roland's cunning grin as he continues. "Yet you still fear to call upon your full power here. Fear of disconnection, perhaps?" Roland's grin vanishes, which Uthorion does _not_ miss. "Ah. I thought so. Let us see, then, what you do against--" Instead of finishing the sentence, Uthorion unleashes his icy blast of wind, again sending Roland and Gryphoenix flying! "--THAT?" The cruel dragon laughs as the pair plummets. After watching their fall for a second, his mirth vanishes. "Enough. You are a mere distraction. Once I rid myself of you," he growls, his claws gesturing arcanely again, "nothing will stand between me and Aysle's women champi--" Uthorion stares at his claws. This time, his gaze is far more cunning. He glares at Roland, who is still trying to determine which direction 'up' is, then over at Ardinay and Gandalf, who are holding off Ringwraiths and flying wargs, then scans the skies around him. Only Morgan is near. "So," he rumbles, the terrible grin spreading along his lips again. "The phoenix whelp hides behind his woman, does he?" "Hiding, hell," Morgan fires back. "Is it _our_ fault it took ye so damn long tae figure it out?" Uthorion's smile vanishes, and a deep, hateful growl boils forth from the back of his throat. "Have a _care,_ woman..." "Always," Morgan replies matter-of-factly. Uthorion stares at her for a moment, wondering what she's up to. Then he snorts and rears back to blast away again. Then Morgan makes a closing gesture with one hand. At once, the former High Lord's mouth clamps shut, the joints of his jaw throbbing visibly. There's a muffled howl of pain as the mighty Angar Uthorion realizes that he has a terrible case of...lockjaw. Then he glares hatefully at Morgan. *I am BESET by WOMEN!* he fumes psychically. /I suppose it was too much to hope that would shut him up,/ Morgan quips on the lens-link. /Watch out,/ Roland replies, as Uthorion fast-casts a burst of darkness and charges right through it, trying to take Morgan by surprise! Simultaneously, he directs the power of his wings at her, buffeting her with gale-force winds to disorient her as he charges. Morgan is used to aerial combat. Brightwind is not. The sudden gust throws the mare back, and Morgan has to pay more attention to keeping her seat. She knows the dragon is incoming, and his general direction, but still barely has time to dodge as he barrels out of the darkness. Uthorion doesn't connect, but horse and rider are buffeted by the turbulence caused by his passing. The mare whinnies her distress, and Morgan quickly heals the minor damage done. Uthorion manages to rumble a chuckle within his throat, and the lips twist into a mockery of a smile. With horse and rider distracted, he pulses death magic around himself, fouling the flows around him, then prepares for another charge -- -- when a surge of red, blue, and gold flashes past him, and his entire head is engulfed by lightning! The dragon tries to roar, which only agonizes him more. With a savage gesture, he pierces his own cheeks with his claws, casting a quick and brutal spell to free his mouth. The tearing sound is nearly as awful as an attack, but he is free once more. "PHOENIX!" he cries, as much in agony as rage. "YES!" Roland shouts back, the Anduril-Claw held aloft, surrounded by lightning. A swirling field of wind and thunder protects the pair. "I should _thank_ you, monster!" he adds, the power building around him. "You gave me the _idea,_ after all! I can't channel my powers in the usual way -- but the leaders of this world are _often_ gifted with wondrous abilities! Denethor's far-sight, Aragorn's mental prowess and long life...and I, a creature of wind and LIGHTNING!" The power explodes around him, massive sparks bursting to shake the sky with thunder. Uthorion's eyes narrow. He looks back and forth, from Roland to Morgan and back. "Clever, little stormer," he rasps, his voice more terrible than ever for his injuries. Then he dives. Straight at the wall. "No! Morgan, after him --!" Roland cries, matching deeds to words, charging after the monster. The terrible sinking feeling in his heart, however, tells him he is too late. He can protect Ardinay. He can protect Tolwyn. With Uthorion's size and power, however, the wall is another matter entirely. Together, both Roland and Morgan weave their powers as one, creating a powerful updraft capable of throwing tanks into the sky. At the last moment, that pushes Uthorion up enough to keep him from plowing in with his entire gigantic body -- but not enough to keep him from hammering a breach through the wall with a fifty-foot long tail whip slash. /"DEFEND THE BREACH!"/ Roland roars, rocketing down to take point, as the uruk-hai see the opening and charge for it. Uthorion retreats, laughing... =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Riders on the Storm On Mon, 7 Jun 2004 03:35:14 -0400 "David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012115 >L.J. Wolfe wrote on 6/6/2004, 3:53 AM: > >> Uthorion laughs again, more mocking than ever. "Then _come,_ >>little storm knight! Come, and end your days in my belly!" > > Sixty seconds later. > "Uh-NNN!" Roland and Gryphoenix shoot back, spiraling away through >the air. Uthorion laughs cruelly, one claw glowing with a black >witchlight. Rogias, still standing on the battlements, pulls his bowstring back to full draw, beginning to charge up a DragonLance Special. But the several-seconds-long process (an eternity in battlefield time) is interrupted as he gets swarmed by an unusually alert RingWraith and its merry band of WingWargs. With a slight frown bordering on an actual scowl, he torches the Wraith and begins clearing the air, but by the time he finishes... > Uthorion stares at his claws. This time, his gaze is far more >cunning. He glares at Roland, who is still trying to determine which >direction 'up' is, then over at Ardinay and Gandalf, who are holding >off Ringwraiths and flying wargs, then scans the skies around him. > Only Morgan is near. > "So," he rumbles, the terrible grin spreading along his lips >again. "The phoenix whelp hides behind his woman, does he?" Rogias's eyebrows Spock themselves all the way into his hairline. Were this an anime universe, he would likely have facefaulted hard enough to take out a large chunk of the wall. > At once, the former High Lord's mouth clamps shut, the joints of >his jaw throbbing visibly. There's a muffled howl of pain as the >mighty Angar Uthorion realizes that he has a terrible case >of...lockjaw. Then he glares hatefully at Morgan. *I am BESET by >WOMEN!* he fumes psychically. > >/I suppose it was too much to hope that would shut him up,/ Morgan >quips on the lens-link. Rogias, meanwhile, has gone back to machine-gunning... er, -arrowing the masses of Orcs and RingWraiths and Wargs (oh my!), confident that his mother has the situation in hand for the moment. But his energy arrows seem to stutter and jitter just a teeny bit in flight at this exchange, as if he were trying to keep from laughing aloud. > "YES!" Roland shouts back, the Anduril-Claw held aloft, surrounded >by lightning. A swirling field of wind and thunder protects the pair. >"I should _thank_ you, monster!" he adds, the power building around >him. "You gave me the _idea,_ after all! I can't channel my powers in >the usual way -- but the leaders of this world are _often_ gifted >with wondrous abilities! Denethor's far-sight, Aragorn's mental >prowess and long life...and I, a creature of wind and LIGHTNING!" The >power explodes around him, massive sparks bursting to shake the sky >with thunder. /Is that a thunderstorm in your pocket, Father, or are you just glad to see me?/ Rogias deadpans gamely. The reaction from his audience is enough to send him back to fingering the pointed tip of one ear. /Perhaps my timing is in need of improvement?/ OOC: ah, a running... okay, *limping* gag.... > Uthorion's eyes narrow. He looks back and forth, from Roland to >Morgan and back. "Clever, little stormer," he rasps, his voice more >terrible than ever for his injuries. Then he dives. > Straight at the wall. Right where Rogias happens to be standing, in fact. Said part-elf, rather than following the course of wisdom and removing himself from this dangerous position, decides to take advantage of a non-moving target and begins charging up a truly *massive* arrowstrike... > "No! Morgan, after him --!" Roland cries, matching deeds to words, >charging after the monster. The terrible sinking feeling in his >heart, however, tells him he is too late. He can protect Ardinay. He >can protect Tolwyn. > With Uthorion's size and power, however, the wall is another >matter entirely. Together, both Roland and Morgan weave their powers >as one, creating a powerful updraft capable of throwing tanks into >the sky. At the last moment, that pushes Uthorion up enough to keep >him from plowing in with his entire gigantic body At the last possible moment, Rogias releases a bolt that is probably strong enough to seriously rattle the great wyrm's teeth... and misses low as his target's sudden course change. >-- but not enough to keep him from hammering a breach through the >wall with a fifty-foot long tail whip slash. Rogias, attempting to leap clear just a moment too late, has enough time to assay /Indeed, this a truly a revolting develop--/ before being caught in the explosion of masonry and vanishing into the resultant cloud of dust. > /"DEFEND THE BREACH!"/ Roland roars, rocketing down to take point, >as the uruk-hai see the opening and charge for it. Uthorion retreats, >laughing... =========================== Subject: Fwd: Re: AAE 9m: Riders on the Storm On Mon, 07 Jun 2004 13:46:49 -0700 Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012116 >On Sun, 06 Jun 2004 00:39:58 -0700 >Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012114 > > With Uthorion's size and power, however, the wall is another >matter entirely. Together, both Roland and Morgan weave their powers >as one, creating a powerful updraft capable of throwing tanks into >the sky. At the last moment, that pushes Uthorion up enough to keep >him from plowing in with his entire gigantic body -- but not enough >to keep him from hammering a breach through the wall with a >fifty-foot long tail whip slash. > /"DEFEND THE BREACH!"/ Roland roars, rocketing down to take point, >as the uruk-hai see the opening and charge for it. Uthorion retreats, >laughing... Marivale stirs restlessly on his bed. "Geoffery. Go help them." "Help whom, Milord?" "The city's defenders. That crashing rumble just now could only have been a breach in the wall. They'll need all the help they can get." "My place is by your side, Milord, I..." Marivale raises a hand, cutting Geoffery off in mid-speech. "Your loyalty does you credit, Geoffery, but you can best assure my recovery by making sure that the orcs don't start rampaging through here." Geoffery sputters. "But, Milord, I'm nearly out of spells for the day, and my wand is out of charges." Marivale sighs and closes his eyes. "So bespeak Erindrea's father. He seems to have a trinket for all occasions. Now go." Geoffery trudges out of the room with many a backward glance. Meanwhile, in Erindrea's room... "Did you heah that, Daddy?" "Aye. Methinks the wall hath been breached." "So whah ah you still heah?" "Honey, thou'rt yet unwell. What kind of parent would I be, did I not look after my only child's well-being?" Erin smiles bitterly. "All this tahm, and you still value mah lahf over that of thousands? Momma, Ah'll be fahn as long as the orcs cain't get through the walls. Once they fohce the breach, though, the only way to keep me safe will be to plane-shift with me. And then what will happen to yoh friends? What will happen to Marivale and Geoffery, who ah only heah because you asked them along? Ah'll be fahn, dammit. Go!" Harlock doesn't respond, warring emotions plainly visible on his face. Erindrea, seeing this, sighs and levers herself up into a sitting position. After wobbling for a few moments, she swings her legs over the side of the bed. The Bard looks alarmed. "Honey? Why..." Erindrea cuts him off with a stabbing glare, then climbs slowly to her feet. "If you ah so all-fahred determined to defend me and only me, you can damned well defend me at the breach!" She staggers about the room, retrieving her equipment and redonning her armor. Geoffery trudges into the room. "Erindrea? What on Oerth are you doing out of bed?" Erindrea grits her teeth. "Setting a good example, Ah hope." Geoffery follows the line of her glare. His lip twitches ever so slightly upward. "Ah. I see. Do you need any help with your armor, milady?" "Please." Geoffery starts helping Erin armor up as Harlock bursts out, "enough! You win, Erin, I'll go defend the breach. Now get back in bed and recover your strength like you were told!" Erin and Geoffery continue with their work. "Erindrea..." Erin sighs at the warning tone in the Bard's voice. "Ah'm already on mah feet, daddy, and now that Ah think about it, theh's chillen in the city, some o' them o'phans." She smiles sadly. "Didst think me indifferent to their fate? Don't worry, Ah'll stay in back lahk a good little ahcheh, but Ah _will_ defend this city's chillen to mah last breath." Harlock slumps in his chair with his hand over his eyes. *Roland?* Overtones of pride and grief mingle in his mental voice. *Exactly where is the breach? 'Porting is quicker than walking, but I need a target.* =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Riders on the Storm On Wed, 16 Jun 2004 23:43:44 -0700 Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012118 >On Mon, 7 Jun 2004 03:35:14 -0400 >SkyeFire Said As CAoL Message # 00012115 > >>L.J. Wolfe wrote on 6/6/2004, 3:53 AM: > >> "So," he rumbles, the terrible grin spreading along his lips >>again. "The phoenix whelp hides behind his woman, does he?" > > Rogias's eyebrows Spock themselves all the way into his hairline. >Were this an anime universe, he would likely have facefaulted hard >enough to take out a large chunk of the wall. *snicker* >>...I can't channel my powers in the usual way -- but the leaders of >>this world are _often_ gifted with wondrous abilities! Denethor's >>far-sight, Aragorn's mental prowess and long life...and I, a >>creature of wind and LIGHTNING!" The power explodes around him, >>massive sparks bursting to shake the sky with thunder. > > /Is that a thunderstorm in your pocket, Father, or are you just >glad to see me?/ Rogias deadpans gamely. Roland Spocks an eyebrow of his own, even as his power, ah, blazes around him. 8^) > The reaction from his audience is enough to send him back to >fingering the pointed tip of one ear. /Perhaps my timing is in need >of improvement?/ /Maybe you should stick to dry commentary until you're more...er...together,/ Roland replies, trying to be gentle. When _he_ isn't groaning... >> Uthorion's eyes narrow. He looks back and forth, from Roland to >>Morgan and back. "Clever, little stormer," he rasps, his voice more >>terrible than ever for his injuries. Then he dives. >> Straight at the wall. > > Right where Rogias happens to be standing, in fact. Said part-elf, >rather than following the course of wisdom and removing himself from >this dangerous position, decides to take advantage of a non-moving >target and begins charging up a truly *massive* arrowstrike... OOC: Non-moving? Well, I suppose you could say there's little _relative_ motion... ;^) >> "No! Morgan, after him --!" Roland cries, matching deeds to >>words, charging after the monster. The terrible sinking feeling in >>his heart, however, tells him he is too late. He can protect >>Ardinay. He can protect Tolwyn. And he can bloody well try to protect his son, even if he seems intent on standing right in front of the charging beast. >> With Uthorion's size and power, however, the wall is another >>matter entirely. Together, both Roland and Morgan weave their powers >>as one, creating a powerful updraft capable of throwing tanks into >>the sky. At the last moment, that pushes Uthorion up enough to keep >>him from plowing in with his entire gigantic body > > At the last possible moment, Rogias releases a bolt that is >probably strong enough to seriously rattle the great wyrm's teeth... >and misses low as his target's sudden course change. Roland says something rather un-super-hero-like under his breath. In Sindarin. >>-- but not enough to keep him from hammering a breach through the >>wall with a fifty-foot long tail whip slash. > > Rogias, attempting to leap clear just a moment too late, has >enough time to assay /Indeed, this a truly a revolting develop--/ >before being caught in the explosion of masonry and vanishing into >the resultant cloud of dust. /"ROGIAS!"/ Roland cries. [NASS!] He does his best to filter out the larger chunks of masonry, throwing the significantly-sized pieces at Uthorion as he tries to find (and catch) his elven-ized son. The Champion is aided by direction from Morgan, who scans the rubble for familiar life-patterns while scanning the skies for Uthorion's expected return pass. At the same time, whenever she comes across other life-signs that are showing enough distress (trapped or otherwise in time-critical peril), she mentally directs those on the ground to those in need. At first concentrating in several directions at once is a bit of a stretch, but gradually it becomes like listening to a symphony orchestra -- the pieces all being part of a larger whole. Regardless of Roland's success or failure... >> /"DEFEND THE BREACH!"/ Roland roars, rocketing down to take >>point, as the uruk-hai see the opening and charge for it. Uthorion >>retreats, laughing... Then... >On Mon, 07 Jun 2004 13:46:49 -0700 >Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00012116 > >Harlock slumps in his chair with his hand over his eyes. *Roland?* >Overtones of pride and grief mingle in his mental voice. *Exactly >where is the breach? 'Porting is quicker than walking, but I need a >target.* /Here {}, almost halfway between the center gate and the north-most tower,/ Roland sends in relief as he wades through uruk-hai, wind and lightning streaming from his sword. /Is something wrong--/ /"Uthorion!"/ Morgan shouts, pointing at the incoming behemoth. The great dragon has circled for another pass, this time taking aim at the main gate -- and Tolwyn, Ardinay, and Gandalf! /Harlock? Dost thou have anything in thy arsenal that would be effective against yon wyrm?/ (OOC: Don't let's get into _that_ discussion again -- she's using the term poetically *g*). Meanwhile, she starts running through what she might possibly be able to do to affect a being with the size and sorcery of their foe. Roland leaps off Gryphoenix, who lets out a small raptor's cry as he tears through the attackers. Roland himself steps a pace away from the fantastic creature, already working on a 'zone defense' until reinforcements arrive... -- Morgan /|\ (/) Roland "...a day may come when the courage of men fails, when we forsake our friends and break all bonds of fellowship, but it is not this day. ... This day we fight! And for all that is dear to you in this world, stand your ground, men of the West, and fight!" --Aragorn son of Arathorn =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Riders on the Storm On Sun, 20 Jun 2004 19:20:27 -0400 "David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012121 >L.J. Wolfe wrote on 6/17/2004, 2:55 AM: > >> Rogias's eyebrows Spock themselves all the way into his hairline. >>Were this an anime universe, he would likely have facefaulted hard >>enough to take out a large chunk of the wall. > > *snicker* OOC: Well, the idea that any male member of the Phoenix Phamily would be *provoked* by the idea that they're hiding behind *Morgan* is just silly -- Roger hides behind her (or from her) on a regular basis. More than that, though, was the thought of just how Morgan would correct Uthorian's misunderstanding of reality, if she were to have the leisure... >> /Is that a thunderstorm in your pocket, Father, or are you just >>glad to see me?/ Rogias deadpans gamely. > > Roland Spocks an eyebrow of his own, even as his power, ah, blazes >around him. 8^) Spock: Who are you people, and can I have my eyebrows back, please? >> The reaction from his audience is enough to send him back to >>fingering the pointed tip of one ear. /Perhaps my timing is in need >>of improvement?/ > > /Maybe you should stick to dry commentary until you're >more...er...together,/ Roland replies, trying to be gentle. When _he_ >isn't groaning... Rogias doesn't make an answer, but the "flavor" of his link presence carries a whiff of dogged determination, in the "I'll beat this thing yet" mode. >> Right where Rogias happens to be standing, in fact. Said >>part-elf, rather than following the course of wisdom and removing >>himself from this dangerous position, decides to take advantage of a >>non-moving target and begins charging up a truly *massive* >>arrowstrike... > > OOC: Non-moving? Well, I suppose you could say there's little >_relative_ motion... ;^) Well, a target approaching on a head-on trajectory has no *apparent* motion -- it just get bigger. So, if you don't have to worry about drop (which Rogias doesn't), such a target might as well be standing still. Except for that whole getting-outta-da-way part... >>> "No! Morgan, after him --!" Roland cries, matching deeds to >>>words, charging after the monster. The terrible sinking feeling in >>>his heart, however, tells him he is too late. He can protect >>>Ardinay. He can protect Tolwyn. > > And he can bloody well try to protect his son, even if he seems >intent on standing right in front of the charging beast. OOC: Gee, whose example is he following, here? (:) >> At the last possible moment, Rogias releases a bolt that is >>probably strong enough to seriously rattle the great wyrm's teeth... >>and misses low as his target's sudden course change. > > Roland says something rather un-super-hero-like under his breath. >In Sindarin. These things have to happen even to the CAoL, sometimes. >> Rogias, attempting to leap clear just a moment too late, has >>enough time to assay /Indeed, this a truly a revolting develop--/ >>before being caught in the explosion of masonry and vanishing into >>the resultant cloud of dust. > > /"ROGIAS!"/ Roland cries. [NASS!] He does his best to filter out >the larger chunks of masonry, throwing the significantly-sized pieces >at Uthorion as he tries to find (and catch) his elven-ized son. Roland's efforts are enough to keep Rogias from being turned into Elf Paste, but not enough to protect him completely. Rogias's link presence goes from "active" to "comatose"... and then flickers for a moment before dropping out entirely.... OOC: I did mention before that the current five Rogers are *not* immortal, didn't I? =========================== Subject: AAE9M: Conversations with a Pale Lady On Sun, 20 Jun 2004 20:02:48 -0400 "David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012122 Time Index: Immediately after Rogias gets "crunched" at the wall in Minas London... Rogias awoke suddenly, in a locale far different than that which he last recalled occupying. It was not, however, a locale unfamiliar to him, as was borne out by the warm contralto voice that welcomed him back to wakefulness. "Hey, Rog. Long time no see. You're looking... different around the edges." He sat up and looked at his interlocutor, a young looking woman with ancient, heavily khol'd eyes in a pale face, wearing a raggedly cutoff black t-shirt, matching denim shorts and sneakers, and an ankh on a necklace chain. He made a formal bow to her from his seated position. "Lady Teleute. It pleases me to find you well." Her lips quirked as she dropped into a catcher's crouch facing him, hands dangling nonchalantly over her knees. "But not to *see* me again, eh?" He bowed again, in a more apologetic mode. "I cannot deny that the circumstances which brings about our meetings are, more often than not, rather distressing." "Distressing. Yeah. Getting dead an' all would fall in that category." He regained his feet and looked calmly down at her from his height advantage even as he helped her up. "It is unfortunate that one must go through such a pass in order to have the pleasure of your company." "You silver-tongued so-and-so. You just say that because you've got a Get Out Of Death Free card." "Not... free," he disagreed with her politely. "And perhaps not this time." Her expression sharpened from camaraderie to concern. "Not this-- Rog, what have done to yourself? You don't feel right, this time." Rogias sighed. "I am... divided. Into five separate selves, each attuned to a particular cosm alien to my own. The process required a far deeper division than usual, to the extent that my customary immortality is much reduced... possibly to the point of practical nonexistence." He looked into her eyes more closely. "Do you anticipate that I will remain with you, this time?" She bit her lip, looking away. "I... don't know. It's too soon to tell. But, Rog... what happens, if *this* you is dead, when the rest of you re-integrates?" "I am... uncertain. This situation is unprecedented. Theoretically, as long as even one of my selves remains, the whole survives, though somewhat diminished. But the hypothesis remains untested." She stared at him for a moment, then snorted, tucking her small hand into his elbow and leading him off across the black grass towards her house of obsidian and ebony. "Well, I sure *hope* you get back together. 'You' would normally be cracking seven kinds of jokes right now about death being a 'shattering' experience, or some other wiseass crap, and making me laugh while I try to beat your fool head in." He bowed his head in formal acceptance of her complaint. "I apologize for my lack of humor. I have discovered that this self's attempts at making merry are severely... lacking." He was silent for several steps before adding: "My father seems to find the effect... salutary." "Your father," she snapped with some asperity, "is a stiff." He raised one elegant eyebrow in her direction. "Truly? To hear my mother tell it, he is quite satisfactorily flexible." Teleute *stared* up into his face for a long moment, then collapsed against his arm, laughing hard enough to do herself a mischief. She pressed her face into his shoulder, whooping, and let him hold her up. The kohl around her eyes did not run from her tears, nor smear against his tunic, which under other circumstances would have seemed odd. He held his peace until she stood away from him, wiping at her eyes and snickering. "Have I made an inadvertent joke, then?" She snorted again, then blew her nose on his hastily-proffered handkerchief before tugging him back into motion. "Oh, boy. We have *got* to get you back to your old self. There are so few people who can make me laugh, I can't afford to lose any of them." She studied him for a moment. "But in the meantime, we have some time to kill. Have you gotten any better at Dragon Poker?" "I believe I may contrive," he replied austerely. "Good. Maybe you can win back some of that thirty gazillion quatloos you owe me." They walked into her cottage companionably arm-in-arm, but an outside observer could still have heard their voices through the open windows, had there been such a one. "By the way... is that a scythe in your pocket, or are you just glad to see me?" Groan. "Chaos and Order, no *way* am I keeping you here like this." Later: "...a priest, a rabbi, and a cat walk into a bar--" Shriek. "STOP! Please, I already said I'd let you go back!" Still later: "...and Cowboy Bob says, 'I told you to bring a POSSE!'" Whimper. "Morgan... Roland... hurry up and resuscitate him... *please.* I'll even take back that 'stiff' comment. Just HURRY!" =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Riders on the Storm (ret-con) On Wed, 23 Jun 2004 20:36:22 -0700 Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012123 >On Wed, 16 Jun 2004 23:43:44 -0700 >Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012118 > >>Harlock slumps in his chair with his hand over his eyes. *Roland?* >>Overtones of pride and grief mingle in his mental voice. *Exactly >>where is the breach? 'Porting is quicker than walking, but I need a >>target.* > > *Here {}, almost halfway between the center gate and the >north-most tower,* Roland sends in relief as he wades through >uruk-hai, wind and lightning streaming from his sword. *Is something >wrong--* *Just...family issues.* >*"Uthorion!"* Morgan shouts, pointing at the incoming behemoth. *Uthorion? Who's...oh. My. Sorry, Roland, but that looks like the more pressing concern to me. Canst hold the breach for the nonce?* >The great dragon has circled for another pass, this time taking aim >at the main gate -- and Tolwyn, Ardinay, and Gandalf! Not to mention Harlock, Geoffery, and Erindrea, who have just materialized beside the aforementioned trio. >*Harlock? Dost thou have anything in thy arsenal that would be >effective against yon wyrm?* (OOC: Don't let's get into _that_ >discussion again -- she's using the term poetically *g*). Meanwhile, >she starts running through what she might possibly be able to do to >affect a being with the size and sorcery of their foe. Harlock stares at the giant beast, then turns his gaze inward. Without really looking at anything, he fumbles in one of his pouches and draws forth a single arrow. A black arrow. "Something tells me you'll be needing this, Erin." [And where in the _Hells_ did that come from?] Erindrea accepts the arrow gravely, then chants something and waves her arms about and squints. "Weak spot," she mutters, "gotta be a weak spot _somewheh_..." (OOC: Clairvoyance spell. Her vision isn't _nearly_ as sharp as Veren's) > Roland leaps off Gryphoenix, who lets out a small raptor's cry as >he tears through the attackers. Roland himself steps a pace away from >the fantastic creature, already working on a 'zone defense' until >reinforcements arrive... Geoffery turns his head at Gryphoenix's call, then starts running toward the breach, muttering and gesturing as he goes. Just as he skids to a stop about ten feet from the crumbling masonry, he points at the ground just in front of the breach. Several orcs fall prone as a patch of ground ten feet square is suddenly coated with a thick layer of grease. Thrice more the chant rings out, leaving the orcs a 40' strip of ground right in the middle of the breach that is nearly impassible. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Riders on the Storm (ret-con) On Mon, 28 Jun 2004 01:18:03 +0100 Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012126 >On Wed, 23 Jun 2004 20:36:22 -0700 >Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012123 >>On Wed, 16 Jun 2004 23:43:44 -0700 >>Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012118 >> >> *Here {}, almost halfway between the center gate and the >>north-most tower,* Roland sends in relief as he wades through >>uruk-hai, wind and lightning streaming from his sword. *Is something >>wrong--* > >*Just...family issues.* Moonstone had been helping tend the wounded, but pauses at the mention of a breach. She starts to return to the other wounded... >>*"Uthorion!"* Morgan shouts, pointing at the incoming behemoth. > >*Uthorion? Who's...oh. My. Sorry, Roland, but that looks like the >more pressing concern to me. Canst hold the breach for the nonce?* *I'll help defend the breach,* Moonstone replies, striding briskly for the exit. >>The great dragon has circled for another pass, this time taking aim >>at the main gate -- and Tolwyn, Ardinay, and Gandalf! > >Not to mention Harlock, Geoffery, and Erindrea, who have just >materialized beside the aforementioned trio. Now under open skies, Moonstone can clearly see Uthorion for herself. She tsks to herself, *Mom or Dad could mop the floor with him. He's, what? Seven hundred years or so old?* (OOC: If he's younger than that.) *No wonder he's such a bully.* (OOC: If he's older than that.) *Geez, compensating for something?* (OOC: If unknown.) *Well, his size doesn't merit his ego.* (OOC: In any event.) *I'm at the breach,* Moonstone remarks, taking her dragon form. >> Roland leaps off Gryphoenix, who lets out a small raptor's cry as >>he tears through the attackers. Roland himself steps a pace away >>from the fantastic creature, already working on a 'zone defense' >>until reinforcements arrive... > >Geoffery turns his head at Gryphoenix's call, then starts running >toward the breach, muttering and gesturing as he goes. Just as he >skids to a stop about ten feet from the crumbling masonry, he points >at the ground just in front of the breach. Several orcs fall prone as >a patch of ground ten feet square is suddenly coated with a thick >layer of grease. > Thrice more the chant rings out, leaving the orcs a 40' strip of >ground right in the middle of the breach that is nearly impassible. This is fortunate for the orcs, as Moonstone's flame breath spits over their heads into the shields of the ranks still outside. =========================== Subject: AAE 9m: Dragonslayers On Fri, 02 Jul 2004 23:53:42 -0700 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012127 >On Sun, 20 Jun 2004 19:20:27 -0400 >"David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012121 > >>L.J. Wolfe wrote on 6/17/2004, 2:55 AM: >> >> /Maybe you should stick to dry commentary until you're >>more...er...together,/ Roland replies, trying to be gentle. When >>_he_ isn't groaning... > > Rogias doesn't make an answer, but the "flavor" of his link >presence carries a whiff of dogged determination, in the "I'll beat >this thing yet" mode. [Yep, he's still Roger in there,] Roland thinks. Then isn't sure how to feel when he finds himself relieved at the thought. >> And he can bloody well try to protect his son, even if he seems >>intent on standing right in front of the charging beast. > > OOC: Gee, whose example is he following, here? (:) OOC-R: A father's prerogative (as opposed to a pre-Rog-ative), dontcha know. >> /"ROGIAS!"/ Roland cries. [NASS!] He does his best to filter out >>the larger chunks of masonry, throwing the significantly-sized >>pieces at Uthorion as he tries to find (and catch) his elven-ized >>son. > > Roland's efforts are enough to keep Rogias from being turned into >Elf Paste, but not enough to protect him completely. Rogias's link >presence goes from "active" to "comatose"... and then flickers for a >moment before dropping out entirely.... Roland scans the debris for sign of his...well, his relationship with Roger can charitably be called "complex," and he's always had trouble dealing with the idea of progeny that's 300+ years older than him. And yet, whenever Roger has been in real trouble, there has been the undeniable sense of paternal instinct. He's come to recognize that instinct clearly now that he has children who are properly located from a temporal perspective. And that instinct is screaming in primal rage and fear. [I am responsible for the lives of millions right now,] the Champion-royal reminds himself ruthlessly, strangling the impulse aborning. He scans through the rubble with multiple senses, blunt sword sending orcs flying to do Sauron proud (if the Dark Lord were not trying to destroy the hero, that is). Then Roland's heart skips a beat, and seemingly heedless of the consequences, he flings rubble outward with abandon. (None of the defenders, however, are endangered by this.) Rogias lies motionless, his life energy monowire-thin. ^Morgan,^ he thinks, forcing himself not to scream. ^Here. Now.^ It is not a command. It is simply a statement of what she will do next. Morgan is at his side before the thought is even complete, dismounting from Brightwind before her hooves hit the ground. ^Take care of him,^ he adds needlessly. Armor glowing, cosmic Gate Key power surging around him, he soars into the sky, force and lightning lashing down to continue to help hold the breach. [Great Mother,] Morgan thought. She, too, seemed in a permanent state of getting used to having a grown son she didn't remember giving birth to, but nonetheless the maternal instincts were there. Fortunately, so were the Healer's. OOC: Yeah, I know you told us OOC that these kinda-splits are "disposable." But you never told your poor parents _IC_, so they're working on the assumption that these are more-or-less "standard" splits. And since AFAIK a standard split would have winked out by now instead of hovering on Death's doorstep (or popping in for a poker game, but I digress *g*), they're not sure _what_ to make of this development. *G* Rogias' life energies were weak, so weak that a normal healer might assume him already beyond help. Morgan was not, by any stretch, a normal healer. She took a deep breath, concentrating, starting to shut out the din of battle around her, when she felt the nudge of a large, warm nose. *No, there's nothing you can do to help me right now. Thank you,* she sent to the concerned mare. *Perhaps... Yes, go to her {}.* With a nod and a soft whinny, the mare took to the air. [Calm. This is only a part of him. His loss will not be... well, you don't know what the loss of a fifth will do, but let's not find out just yet.] Again Morgan concentrated, connecting to the ambient Life Energy of this magickal realm that both was and was not her home, drawing it into her, and sending it in gentle trickles into the lifeless form of her elven son. (OOC: Tag Rogias :-). Morgan will feed in as much as she thinks his system will handle, being careful to stay in the not-too-little, not-too-much range.) Meanwhile, as Brightwind heads toward the wizard group at the tower above the gate, Roland heads toward Uthorion to teach him exactly _why_ you don't attack a Champion's son. "Uthorion," he hisses, and if he says anything else, it is lost in the din of crackling power around him. The dragon of wind and ice gazes at Roland with slight concern through one swivelling eye, as he keeps the rest of his attention on his hated enemies. >On Wed, 23 Jun 2004 20:36:22 -0700 >Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00012123 > >Harlock stares at the giant beast, then turns his gaze inward. >Without really looking at anything, he fumbles in one of his pouches >and draws forth a single arrow. A black arrow. "Something tells me >you'll be needing this, Erin." [And where in the _Hells_ did that >come from?] > >Erindrea accepts the arrow gravely, then chants something and waves >her arms about and squints. "Weak spot," she mutters, "gotta be a >weak spot _somewheh_..." "So, you gave in to your own reality's siren song, eh?" Uthorion chuckles. "I must make note of this, that I thank you for providing me with such an easy meal, once you disconnect -- and are in my--" Roland says nothing. He does not even use his typical flair. He simply concentrates -- _wills_ -- and power that tears the atoms in the air between them lances out in a blue and gold beam the size of a train, though with rather more force. Uthorion's head and entire neck rock sickeningly. "--kkk--" Uthorion finishes not saying. "You," Roland finally says, firing again. "just." Another blast. "made." Boom. "your." BOOM. "worst." _BOOM._ "mistake." _BOOOOM!_ "Ever." "Corba'al ARAKH!" Uthorion chant-cries, flinging a claw out. Dark energies surge at Roland, who barely dodges. "Not this time, Angar," the Champion says, steel in his voice. He rockets over to the dragon, then grips the neck telekinetically and pulls _up._ "AARGH!" Uthorion roars, lightning exploding into the sky as he dragon-blasts involuntarily. "This will avail you NOTHING!" "Oh?" Roland replies coldly, as a blur of ivory and steel races forth from the tower. Uthorion _screams_ as Tolywn, Battlestar shining in hand, flies forth on Brightwind. The powerful blade flashes as they past, striking the Teutonica squarely on the chest. Tearing scales away, and leaving a tiny patch of bare dragon muscle exposed. No normal archer could hope to hit that spot with mere skill, as the dragon thrashes in Roland's grip. But then, there are hardly any "normal" members of the CAoL, are there?' 8^) >On Mon, 28 Jun 2004 01:18:03 +0100 >Mike Knight Said As CAoL Message # 00012126 > >Now under open skies, Moonstone can clearly see Uthorion for herself. >She tsks to herself, *Mom or Dad could mop the floor with him. He's, >what? Seven hundred years or so old?* *About a thousand,* Roland notes with laser-like focus. >*Geez, compensating for something?* *No doubt.* >*I'm at the breach,* Moonstone remarks, taking her dragon form. >>Geoffery turns his head at Gryphoenix's call, then starts running >>toward the breach, muttering and gesturing as he goes. Just as he >>skids to a stop about ten feet from the crumbling masonry, he points >>at the ground just in front of the breach. Several orcs fall prone >>as a patch of ground ten feet square is suddenly coated with a thick >>layer of grease. >> Thrice more the chant rings out, leaving the orcs a 40' strip of >>ground right in the middle of the breach that is nearly impassible. > >This is fortunate for the orcs, as Moonstone's flame breath spits >over their heads into the shields of the ranks still outside. The breach, between its limited size and formidable defenders, has been rather well stoppered for the moment, especially with the invaders' ace in the hole being so thoroughly trumped above... =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Dragonslayers On Sat, 03 Jul 2004 15:50:58 -0700 Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012128 >On Fri, 02 Jul 2004 23:53:42 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012127 > > "AARGH!" Uthorion roars, lightning exploding into the sky as he >dragon-blasts involuntarily. "This will avail you NOTHING!" > "Oh?" Roland replies coldly, as a blur of ivory and steel races >forth from the tower. Uthorion _screams_ as Tolywn, Battlestar >shining in hand, flies forth on Brightwind. The powerful blade >flashes as they past, striking the Teutonica squarely on the chest. > Tearing scales away, and leaving a tiny patch of bare dragon >muscle exposed. > No normal archer could hope to hit that spot with mere skill, as >the dragon thrashes in Roland's grip. "That'll do," quips Erindrea as she lets fly. The arrow speeds on its way with uncanny accuracy. Even so, it deflects slightly off the scales still around the hole...deflects inward, to be sure, but some of the force is still spent. The arrow would have penetrated to the fletching, but is instead only about half-way in. (OOC: and if Uthorion's _stupid,_ he can lash back at Erin and get _another_ parent pissed off at him... ) =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Dragonslayers On Thu, 8 Jul 2004 20:39:27 -0400 "David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012133 >Roland X wrote on 7/3/2004, 3:03 AM: >> Rogias doesn't make an answer, but the "flavor" of his link >>presence carries a whiff of dogged determination, in the "I'll beat >>this thing yet" mode. > > [Yep, he's still Roger in there,] Roland thinks. Then isn't sure >how to feel when he finds himself relieved at the thought. OOC: WAHAHAHAAAA! Everybody Loves Roger. He should have his own sitcom... >> OOC: Gee, whose example is he following, here? (:) > > OOC-R: A father's prerogative (as opposed to a pre-Rog-ative), >dontcha know. OOC-Rogias: "Is that the pot calling the kettle black, Father, or are you merely glad to see me rolling my eyes?" > [I am responsible for the lives of millions right now,] the >Champion-royal reminds himself ruthlessly, strangling the impulse >aborning. He scans through the rubble with multiple senses, blunt >sword sending orcs flying to do Sauron proud (if the Dark Lord were >not trying to destroy the hero, that is). > Then Roland's heart skips a beat, and seemingly heedless of the >consequences, he flings rubble outward with abandon. (None of the >defenders, however, are endangered by this.) > Rogias lies motionless, his life energy monowire-thin. Meanwhile, at THE HALL-- I mean, at Teleute's place: The Pale Lady herself was watching events unfold in Minas London via a slightly-flangy scrying pool that normally doubled as her garden birdbath (Death being, among the Endless, one of the most practical). "Whoah. For a minute there, Rog, I thought I was going to be getting a shipment of Great Myrm steaks. Still might, if you don't pull through." She glanced at her guest. "Y'know, hon, if you pull on that ear any harder, you're gonna end up looking lopsided. You that worried about my hospitality?" Rogias returned his hand to his side, but his eyes never left the scry. "It is... disturbing... to see him distressed to this degree, especially over myself." She studied him for a moment before reaching out to pat his arm with a gently wry smile. "You *do* have a talent for getting under people's skins. In more ways than one." Rogias tried gamely to return her smile, with less than stellar success. "Is that intended to imply that I am some sort of subcutaneous parasite, or are you just trying to make me laugh?" Teleute stared for a moment, then sagged, letting her head bang against the edge of the scrying bath and making the image jitter. > ^Morgan,^ he thinks, forcing himself not to scream. ^Here. Now.^ >It is not a command. It is simply a statement of what she will do >next. OOC: Self-fulfilling prophecy, much? >[Great Mother,] Morgan thought. She, too, seemed in a permanent state >of getting used to having a grown son she didn't remember giving >birth to, but nonetheless the maternal instincts were there. >Fortunately, so were the Healer's. OOC: >Rogias' life energies were weak, so weak that a normal healer might >assume him already beyond help. Morgan was not, by any stretch, a >normal healer. She took a deep breath, concentrating, starting to >shut out the din of battle around her, when she felt the nudge of a >large, warm nose. *No, there's nothing you can do to help me right >now. Thank you,* she sent to the concerned mare. *Perhaps... Yes, go >to her {}.* With a nod and a soft whinny, the mare took to the air. Teleute gripped the edges of the birdbath with only partially feigned desperation. "C'mon, Morgan, save his ass. *And* my funnybone..." >[Calm. This is only a part of him. His loss will not be... well, you >don't know what the loss of a fifth will do, but let's not find out >just yet.] Again Morgan concentrated, connecting to the ambient Life >Energy of this magickal realm that both was and was not her home, >drawing it into her, and sending it in gentle trickles into the >lifeless form of her elven son. Rogias absorbs the energy feed like a yawning void. Frighteningly, the energy doesn't seem to do anything for his vital signs. It's definitely going into *him,* but it's almost as if his aura is diverting it for some other purpose... Rogias smiled with real cheer as he felt the tug. "My lady, as always it has been a pleasure, but I believe I must be going now." Teleute caught at his hand. "Not yet -- look!" > "So, you gave in to your own reality's siren song, eh?" Uthorion >chuckles. "I must make note of this, that I thank you for providing >me with such an easy meal, once you disconnect -- and are in my--" > Roland says nothing. He does not even use his typical flair. He >simply concentrates -- _wills_ -- and power that tears the atoms in >the air between them lances out in a blue and gold beam the size of a >train, though with rather more force. Uthorion's head and entire neck >rock sickeningly. Rogias's eyes widened. "Perhaps I *should* wait." "I have a hunch your chance for a properly dramatic retrun from Me is in the offing. Keep charging..." > "AARGH!" Uthorion roars, lightning exploding into the sky as he >dragon-blasts involuntarily. "This will avail you NOTHING!" > "Oh?" Roland replies coldly, as a blur of ivory and steel races >forth from the tower. Uthorion _screams_ as Tolywn, Battlestar >shining in hand, flies forth on Brightwind. The powerful blade >flashes as they past, striking the Teutonica squarely on the chest. > Tearing scales away, and leaving a tiny patch of bare dragon >muscle exposed. > No normal archer could hope to hit that spot with mere skill, as >the dragon thrashes in Roland's grip. Teleute shoved Rogias, hard. "That's it, boyo! Go, go, go!" And as the part-elf, part-immortal fell away through the barriers between Realms, she shouted after him. "And next time, bring a cake or something!" "Big jerk," she added in a mutter, dashing away a tear and returning her attention to the scrying pool. As the focus re-settled on Rogias's body, she held a hand over the image and began reciting, softly. "With a host of furious fancies, whereof I am commander, With a burning spear, and a horse of air, the wilderness I wander. By a knight of ghosts and shadows, I summoned am to tourney Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end. Methinks it is no journey...." > But then, there are hardly any "normal" members of the CAoL, are >there?' 8^) OOC: You know what Champions' Island needs? A butler. Like Jarvis, or Alfred. Completely normal, non-powered, stiff-upper-lipped crusty old-school British butler. Whose only "superpower" is putting up with the CAoL, Champions, and Roger without ever losing his aplomb. And always using *just* the right amount of starch in Defender's cape. Morgan is just about to get *really* worried about what's going wrong (or, more precisely, what is failing to go right) with Rogias, when suddenly her one-fifth son sits upright with a snap. This is something of a shock to her, as his vital signs are still saying "revivable corpse" rather than "living being." "Thank you, Mother," Rogias says, pale but still infallibly polite. "Excuse me, but I need to kill something." Several meters away, a rubble pile shifts and his bow suddenly *sproings* out of the debris, bounding to his outsretched hand like some hybrid cross between a leaf spring and a pogo stick. He pulls the bow to full draw in one smooth motion, but this time the charging process is nearly instantaneous, and Morgan realizes where all that extra energy was going. But even that isn't enough to account for the sudden, huge spear of light and fury filling Rogias's bow and extending nearly two arms' lengths further... OOC:Copy&paste from Rick's post: >"That'll do," quips Erindrea as she lets fly. The arrow speeds on its >way with uncanny accuracy. Even so, it deflects slightly off the >scales still around the hole...deflects inward, to be sure, but some >of the force is still spent. The arrow would have penetrated to the >fletching, but is instead only about half-way in. > >(OOC: and if Uthorion's _stupid,_ he can lash back at Erin and get >_another_ parent pissed off at him... ) Rogias releases the virtual Dragonlance, and passes out with a sigh without even watching to see what happens. *Now* his vitals shift from "undead" to "sleeping beauty." The burning spear homes directly on Erin's black arrow like a loyal bloodhound. But as it blazes a path through the air towards the pinioned dragon, the front end widens, and then morphs... Teleute, watching this play out, covered her eyes with a groan. "A *Boxing Glove Arrow?* Roland, you let that boy spend waaay to much time in the DCU." "You interfered, sister," a neutral voice observed from behind her. "Really?" she deadpanned, all innocence. "All I did was give him a push home. If he happened to divert some of that push into a weapon, well, he's good at that. You know none of the Cosmics are ever able to completely pin him down." "I see," Dream replied, still neutral. He stepped up beside her to observe the pool. "I'll admit that he does have a certain... amusement value." "The stuff dreams are made of, huh bro?" Teleute jibed. "Heck, all our siblings like him. Well, except Destiny." "That is probably because Destiny finds his presence actively dangerous, and occasionally lethal." "Yeah, but it's never permanent. Even that time he got turned into Density. You have to admit, that was funny. I thought Delirium would *choke*..." OOC: I'll leave it up to Fearless Leader whether the Burning Boxing Glove Spearrow drives Erin's arrow all the way in, or just puts poor Uthorion down for the count. (:) =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Dragonslayers On Sun, 11 Jul 2004 01:47:07 -0700 Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012139 >On Thu, 8 Jul 2004 20:39:27 -0400 >SkyeFire Said As CAoL Message # 00012133 > >>Roland X wrote on 7/3/2004, 3:03 AM: >> ^Morgan,^ he thinks, forcing himself not to scream. ^Here. Now.^ >>It is not a command. It is simply a statement of what she will do >>next. > > OOC: Self-fulfilling prophecy, much? OOC: Is saying "the sun will rise soon" just before sunrise a self-fulfilling prophecy? ;^) >>[Great Mother,] Morgan thought. She, too, seemed in a permanent >>state of getting used to having a grown son she didn't remember >>giving birth to, but nonetheless the maternal instincts were there. >>Fortunately, so were the Healer's. > > OOC: OOC-R: Oh, yeah, Dad gets all panicky when his son's hanging by a monofilament, and it's an excuse for bad jokes; Mom worries, and you start with the water works. Man, what's a guy gotta do to get some _respect_ around here? ;^) ;^) ;^) >>[Calm. This is only a part of him. His loss will not be... well, you >>don't know what the loss of a fifth will do, but let's not find out >>just yet.] Again Morgan concentrated, connecting to the ambient Life >>Energy of this magickal realm that both was and was not her home, >>drawing it into her, and sending it in gentle trickles into the >>lifeless form of her elven son. > > Rogias absorbs the energy feed like a yawning void. Frighteningly, >the energy doesn't seem to do anything for his vital signs. It's >definitely going into *him,* but it's almost as if his aura is >diverting it for some other purpose... [?!?]. Morgan is tapped into a virtually bottomless energy source, so this chi-sink doesn't deplete her. Still, she continually tweaks the flow, varying the "frequency" slightly in different ways, both trying to figure out what's happening and to find the flavor that will do her son the most good. > OOC: You know what Champions' Island needs? A butler. Like Jarvis, >or Alfred. Completely normal, non-powered, stiff-upper-lipped crusty >old-school British butler. Whose only "superpower" is putting up with >the CAoL, Champions, and Roger without ever losing his aplomb. And >always using *just* the right amount of starch in Defender's cape. OOC: I refer you to the 4th ed. Champions supplement "Normals Unbound," page 64, one Mr. Jefferies, "chief steward" (he detests the term "butler") for those "masked adventures" the Champions. Remember, You Asked For It. Heh heh heh... > Morgan is just about to get *really* worried about what's going >wrong (or, more precisely, what is failing to go right) with Rogias, >when suddenly her one-fifth son sits upright with a snap. This is >something of a shock to her, as his vital signs are still saying >"revivable corpse" rather than "living being." Morgan looks startled, if relieved. But as long as Rogias' vitals read that low, she's going to keep monitoring closely. > Rogias releases the virtual Dragonlance, and passes out with a >sigh without even watching to see what happens. *Now* his vitals >shift from "undead" to "sleeping beauty." Morgan looks relieved, if no longer startled ;-). After a more thorough check to make sure Rogias is sleeping normally, she gets the attention of those helping move the wounded to a safer location. Then, a dangerous gleam in her eye, she turns her attention back to her husband's current playmate. > The burning spear homes directly on Erin's black arrow like a >loyal bloodhound. But as it blazes a path through the air towards the >pinioned dragon, the front end widens, and then morphs... > > Teleute, watching this play out, covered her eyes with a groan. "A >*Boxing Glove Arrow?* Roland, you let that boy spend waaay to much >time in the DCU." Roland blinks, then chuckles, as the arrow slams into Uthorion's chest. The foul wyrm roars, spewing stormwind and lightning uncontrollably, not dead yet but clearly grievously wounded by the twin strike. The Black Arrow is only visible by its fletching, the rest driven into the former High Lord's pale flesh. "I _knew_ there was some Roger in there somewhere," he says, relieved, immediately followed by, "what am I _saying?_" "DIE!" Uthorion, half-dead himself, screams. "You first!" Tolwyn counters, wheeling around on Brightwind. Her great blade Battlestar glints in the light as the clouds part, bathing her in light. Uthorion, at a loss for words (at last), gapes. For enemies whose hatred spans over five centuries, they have little to say to each other. Uthorion struggles in Roland's grip, claws and tail lashing violently. Tolwyn surges forward, guiding Brightwind expertly to dodge and weave, bringing her in. At the last moment, Ardinay releases a spell she has been building for much of this time, bathing Battlestar in light. Tolwyn thrusts the blade into the exposed flesh of Uthorion's underbelly, driving the Black Arrow home. A look of abject terror on his draconic head, Uthorion half-explodes as arctic winds burst out from beneath many scales. Falling, his eyes lock onto one of the uruk-hai who have decided that, with their mighty ace trumped, discretion is the better part of valor. Uthorion had already marked this uruk-hai as a warrior of great physical prowess and little mental strength. Perfect as a spiritual escape hatch. The uruk-hai spends its last moments seeing through a dragon's eyes, the sheer glory of the existence almost worth the horror of knowing that it had mere seconds to live. Uthorion, meanwhile, mounts a warg and rides as what remains of the army runs from the rout. The heroes of Minas London cheer. *[Oh no you don't]*, Morgan thinks, letting her companions know that their adversary was trying to give them the slip. She looks up, and smiles as several large shadows pass over Minas London. Gandalf's old friends the great eagles have arrived. At a whistle that sounds remarkably raptor-like, one swoops down towards Morgan. The Druidess swings onto it's neck as it passes, and the two rapidly overtake the fleeing warg-riders. Uthorion looks up and gapes. While the former High Lord/dragon normally eschews paradoxical effects, when his hide is on the line he is perfectly willing to take "necessary risks." Raising his crude shield to protect himself, he chants quickly to cast a teleportation spell. Crude orcish armor is no match for enchanted blades. Morgan's mount dives, Aramegil flashes, and Uthorion vanishes, leaving the arm attached to the shield behind. Morgan howls in frustration. */He went north-east, that's all I could tell,/* she sends, beheading a couple of slower uruk-hai as the great eagle wheels to return to the city. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Dragonslayers On Fri, 16 Jul 2004 02:37:51 -0400 "David McMillan" Said As CAoL Message # 00012164 >L.J. Wolfe wrote on 7/11/2004, 4:53 AM: > >>> ^Morgan,^ he thinks, forcing himself not to scream. ^Here. Now.^ >>>It is not a command. It is simply a statement of what she will do >>>next. >> >> OOC: Self-fulfilling prophecy, much? > > OOC: Is saying "the sun will rise soon" just before sunrise a >self-fulfilling prophecy? ;^) Given how many times we've seen the sun(s) get mucked with lately.... (:) > OOC-R: Oh, yeah, Dad gets all panicky when his son's hanging by a >monofilament, and it's an excuse for bad jokes; Mom worries, and you >start with the water works. Man, what's a guy gotta do to get some >_respect_ around here? ;^) ;^) ;^) Be Morgan? (:) Seriously, when I stop and think about it, I'm probably drawing subconsciously from my own relationship with my parents. Dad's no less *there* for me than Mom is, but he's the type that does "being there" by working long hours, keeping things fixed, and generally just not saying a whole lot. >> Rogias releases the virtual Dragonlance, and passes out with a >>sigh without even watching to see what happens. *Now* his vitals >>shift from "undead" to "sleeping beauty." > >Morgan looks relieved, if no longer startled ;-). After a more >thorough check to make sure Rogias is sleeping normally, she gets the >attention of those helping move the wounded to a safer location. >Then, a dangerous gleam in her eye, she turns her attention back to >her husband's current playmate. Rogias, for his part, is actually *smiling* in his sleep. >> Teleute, watching this play out, covered her eyes with a groan. >>"A *Boxing Glove Arrow?* Roland, you let that boy spend waaay to >>much time in the DCU." > > Roland blinks, then chuckles, as the arrow slams into Uthorion's >chest. The foul wyrm roars, spewing stormwind and lightning >uncontrollably, not dead yet but clearly grievously wounded by the >twin strike. The Black Arrow is only visible by its fletching, the >rest driven into the former High Lord's pale flesh. "I _knew_ there >was some Roger in there somewhere," he says, relieved, immediately >followed by, "what am I _saying?_" SomeWhere, Teleute falls over holding her ribs. Rogias, meanwhile, smiles a bit more broadly... >Crude orcish armor is no match for enchanted blades. Morgan's mount >dives, Aramegil flashes, and Uthorion vanishes, leaving the arm >attached to the shield behind. Morgan howls in frustration. */He went >north-east, that's all I could tell,/* she sends, beheading a couple >of slower uruk-hai as the great eagle wheels to return to the city. Rogias's horse, meanwhile, has wandered over and started whuffling at him in mild, but not excessive, concern. Its appearance is a bit of a shock -- where once it was a perfectly ordinary-looking brown, now its coat is an almost translucent white. In fact, forget the "almost" -- when someone looks at it directly, it almost seems to vanish into the sun's glare... even though the sun is at entirely the wrong angle for that to happen. It makes a minor nuisance of itself as the local Zia carts him off to the medical tent, but doesn't push the issue when shooed away. > A short woman in saffron-orange robes, although her head is not >shaven, trots over with a team of six humans; teenage girls, younger >boys, and other women doing what they can to aid in the defense. The >Orange Zia unfolds the stretcher, sees that the others handle Rogias >aboard with a professional eye, then she nods to the two teenagers on >each handle near his feet. She takes both nearer the head, as the >torso of any humanoid makes this the heavier end. It also is easier >to recover from bruised feet than broken pate, should the litter slip >from sweaty hands. The platoon's worth of ghosts that seem to have attached themselves to him are a bit more troublesome. Rogias doesn't help things much by waking up just long enough to see them, remark "Look -- a host of furious fancies!" and then pass out again. > Once in the triage area, she makes sure Rogias is installed where >he can recover, out of the way as she shuffles through the wounded >streaming in with wounds from bad to mortal. The ghosts, meanwhile, shuffle off to find someone else to report to. Morgan, probably (Roland's recent fit of paternal rage being enough to intimidate even a dead man...). =========================== Subject: AAE 9m: Aftermath On Wed, 21 Jul 2004 00:21:49 -0700 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012171 Roland looks out to the west, surprisingly grim for a leader watching his forces rout the enemy. The cannon fodder of Sauron flee in disorder as the knights and soldiers of Minas London (and the promised Scottish reinforcements) give pursuit, a hail of arrows and spells falling on them as they flee. Pockets of them surrender, and are astonished to discover that their foes know mercy. The surviving wargs and wolf-dragons are already beyond sight, the rest having been torn to shreds by Great Eagles or undone by heroes. Ringwraiths, likewise, have all vanished. Enough cheers rise from London's many protectors that it almost sounds like a single, endless cry of victory. As the tension fades, however, the knight-Champion slumps, exhausted. Gryphoenix trots up to him, nuzzling the hero with its great beak. Gratefully, the defender rubs the beak affectionately and mounts, letting fatigue claim its due. As he rides back, passing through the gap, soldiers salute, or raise their blades and cheer, or bow, or kneel. performing any number of acknowledgements. To each, Roland nods respectfully in turn, too tired and accepting of the paradigm to ask them not to bow or kneel to him. He does smile at the sight of the Orange Zia. /I think Harlock would be grateful,/ he notes in passing (literally), /if you would help guide his lady daughter back to the Houses of Healing./ After a few minutes of this, Gryphoenix starts to round a corner -- and Roland stops him, looking over his shoulder and back through the gap. "Something troubles you?" Gandalf asks, appearing (as if by magic 8^) around a corner. Roland starts faintly. "Gandalf," he mutters obviously. "I..." he looks away, trying to put words to his thoughts. Gandalf says nothing, simply leaning on his staff and waiting patiently. "...in my world -- my _reality,_ I am also a leader of heroes. There, however, I am sworn never to take life. In our capacity as Champions of freedom, we all share this ideal. Here, however...am I a hypocrite?" "Eh?" Gandalf replies. "I did not take a life myself out there, not personally," Roland notes wearily, "but I certainly aided others in their efforts. And if Rogias _had_ died..." the hero shakes his head. "This is a war. I understand that. Yet what good is a code of honor if it is circumvented when convenient?" "Ah, but is it a code of honor...or an ideal?" Gandalf points out. Taken by surprise, Roland snaps his head up. He has had this discussion/argument many times, but he's never heard it put quite that way. "Is it hypocrisy to strive for perfection, even knowing that perfection is impossible, even when remembering that purity can be the enemy of goodness? Is it hypocrisy to always try one's best? To do what is right and pay the price, always seeking the benefit of others ahead of your own, even if you cannot be perfect?" "Heh. 'We're all aliens to one another...flawed, impure, different'...thanks, Gandalf." Roland salutes sloppily with the Phoenix Claw. "We each serve in our own way," Gandalf replies with a subtle grin. "Incidentally, you sounded as though you were quoting another..." "Commander Jeffrey Sinclair." He shakes his head. "Someone like me, just a little older and a little smarter. Doesn't matter." "There is little that matters more than who we remember," Gandalf quipped back, "but I believe that this will do for now." He looks down the street, his grin quirking up on one side, and withdrawing into the growing shadows. "Hm?" Roland looks in the direction of Gandalf's stare, and the shock of a wonderfully familiar presence hits him at the same time he sees what Gandalf did. Morgan. A wave of recuperative energy washes over him, and he laughs, nudging Gryphoenix forward. The moment their mounts are parallel, he leans over and kisses her with intense intent. "Rogias is resting comfortably," Morgan says when they come up for air ;-), "and I did what I could with the other critical cases." She looks in the direction Gandalf departed. "What was that all about?" While the Freelance Immortals all but lived in each others' minds, they also practiced a somewhat Japanese flavored form of "not noticing" out of respect for each other's privacy. "Perspective," Roland replies, flowing his recent memories to her to provide what he just mentioned. After another quick kiss, Roland sobers quickly. "Come," he continues, reverting to Aragorn-mode so quickly the paradigm shift is almost a whiplash. Faint red and blue sparks flow across his armor and along the Phoenix Claw. "Sauron will not be idle now that his forces have been routed from Minas London. Nor shall we." TBC =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Aftermath On Sat, 24 Jul 2004 13:50:56 -0700 (PDT) Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012172 >On Wed, 21 Jul 2004 00:21:49 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012171 > >To each, Roland nods respectfully in turn, too tired and accepting of >the paradigm to ask them not to bow or kneel to him. He does smile at >the sight of the Orange Zia. Orange Zia calmly nods back, her face relaxed if not quite able to smile after so many hours tending the wounded. > /I think Harlock would be grateful,/ he notes in passing >(literally), /if you would help guide his lady daughter back to the >Houses of Healing./ ^I had not known there was a need; I shall take care of her immediately, Roland.^ Gathering a basket of what few medical supplies this realm provides (and retains after so many injured have been treated), she lifts her bright skirts and trots quickly around a corner, emerging near Harlock and daughter with her picked team bearing the furled stretched at her heels. "Beg your pardon, Lord Harlock, for not arriving sooner - with so many wounded I did not realize my chosen duty of emergency evacuation was required here." The lady says, much chargrinned even with the gentle tones. "If we may, lady?" She asks his daughter, even as the stretched is quickly laid, unrolled, and the children with the Zia in Orange position themselves around her body for the best lifting without jarring as is possible. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Aftermath On Sun, 25 Jul 2004 00:44:41 -0700 Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012173 >On Sat, 24 Jul 2004 13:50:56 -0700 (PDT) >Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012172 > > "Beg your pardon, Lord Harlock, for not arriving sooner - with so >many wounded I did not realize my chosen duty of emergency evacuation >was required here." The lady says, much chargrinned even with the >gentle tones. "If we may, lady?" She asks his daughter, even as the >stretched is quickly laid, unrolled, and the children with the Zia in >Orange position themselves around her body for the best lifting >without jarring as is possible. "Ah'm all raht.." Erindrea begins before a glare from Harlock cuts her off. "Well, Ah don't need a stretchah, anywye. Maybe a shouldah to lean on, though. Mah knees ah still a bit wobbly." So is the smile she bestows impartially on OrangeZia, Harlock, and the children...especially the children. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Aftermath On Thu, 5 Aug 2004 15:16:51 -0700 (PDT) Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012188 (Note: Redo/retcon of previous post.) >On Sun, 25 Jul 2004 00:44:41 -0700 >Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012173 > >"Ah'm all raht.." Erindrea begins before a glare from Harlock cuts >her off. "Well, Ah don't need a stretchah, anywye. Maybe a shouldah >to lean on, though. Mah knees ah still a bit wobbly." So is the smile >she bestows impartially on OrangeZia, Harlock, and the children... >especially the children. "It would be my pleasure." Zia agrees, after checking the field. The first-aid runners have been surprisingly efficient, and some are already removing the bodies of the fallen. Turning to the young adults and children working with her, she dismisses them with a nod. "You've done well, today, in saving those who would otherwise have died without care. Go on and see to organizing supplies for the next time, then please, take some rest so you will be ready as well." Turning back to Erindrea and Harlock, she bows under the girl's arm, standing to her full height. Since she and Erindrea are ofa height, the shoulder-support seems quite feasibly accomplished on the walk back. "How did the battle go, Lord Harlock? I have not had the the leisure to even mark which side might have advantage, now." Orange-Zia asks. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Aftermath On Fri, 06 Aug 2004 03:07:33 -0700 Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012193 >On Thu, 5 Aug 2004 15:16:51 -0700 (PDT) >Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012188 > > "How did the battle go, Lord Harlock? I have not had the the >leisure to even mark which side might have advantage, now." >Orange-Zia asks. Harlock smiles at the orange Amberite. "Rather a new look for you, Milady, is it not? But in answer to your question, I very much fear that we have fought the enemy to little more than a standstill. Granted that we seem to have destroyed most of the Nazgul, I am given to understand that they are fairly easy to re-create. And while Marivale and Erin carved quite a swath through the orcs on this side of the city, the blasted things still seem to number in the hundreds of thousands at the least." "The biggest problem, of course, lies in the fact that they managed to force a breach. Of course, the creature that forced the breach was forced to retreat and, unless he possesses a spare body lying about somewhere, we shan't be seeing him again. Not that I don't half _expect_ him to have a spare body, mind you. Now if you will be so kind as to accompany my daughter back to the Houses of Healing, I have a little something that might help with the breach." So saying, he breaks away, heading for the breach, pulling a lyre out from under his cloak as he does so. (OOC: It's a Lyre of Building, but I don't know how well it'll work in Middle Earth.) =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Aftermath On Fri, 6 Aug 2004 04:44:48 -0700 (PDT) Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012194 >On Fri, 06 Aug 2004 03:07:33 -0700 >Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012193 > >Harlock smiles at the orange Amberite. "Rather a new look for you, >Milady, is it not?" Zia knows how rare smiles are after a pitched battle; she simply smiles back with the slightest of blushes. It isn't a color she would favor under normal conditions, but these are far from normal - and it lets the natives identify her as a healer from far away. >"But in answer to your question, I very much fear that we have fought >the enemy to little more than a standstill. Granted that we seem to >have destroyed most of the Nazgul, I am given to understand that they >are fairly easy to re-create." Zia raises an eyebrow, but it has been a number of decades since she last read Tolkien. If her own run-in with the One Ring was any indication, this realm's magic is of rather extreme power. Harlock has far more experience with that degree of magic than she does, after all. >"The biggest problem, of course, lies in the fact that they managed >to force a breach. Of course, the creature that forced the breach was >forced to retreat and, unless he possesses a spare body lying about >somewhere, we shan't be seeing him again. Not that I don't half >_expect_ him to have a spare body, mind you. Now if you will be so >kind as to accompany my daughter back to the Houses of Healing, I >have a little something that might help with the breach." So saying, >he breaks away, heading for the breach, pulling a lyre out from under >his cloak as he does so. "Of course I shall, Lord Harlock - ", the orange Zia begins, leaving off when she finds she is addressing his retreating back. She smiles this off, knowing that if the wall is breached, Harlock has more momentous things on his mind than small courtesies. "Speaking of Marivale, lady Erindrea, I have not glimpsed him yet. I hope he was either uninjured, or as lightly as you yourself. Do you know of his welfare, or should I check after I have seen you to the brothers within the House?" =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Aftermath On Fri, 06 Aug 2004 13:33:45 -0700 Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012195 >On Fri, 6 Aug 2004 04:44:48 -0700 (PDT) >Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012194 > > Zia knows how rare smiles are after a pitched battle; she simply >smiles back with the slightest of blushes. It isn't a color she would >favor under normal conditions, but these are far from normal - and it >lets the natives identify her as a healer from far away. *I meant not to embarrass thee, Milady. Consider it spinal-reflex gallantry, an thou wouldst: I see a beautiful woman, I compliment her...no real thought involved.* > "Of course I shall, Lord Harlock - ", the orange Zia begins, >leaving off when she finds she is addressing his retreating back. She >smiles this off, knowing that if the wall is breached, Harlock has >more momentous things on his mind than small courtesies. *I do thank thee, Milady. With somebody I trust looking after my daughter, I can devote my full attention to the rebuilding process.* > "Speaking of Marivale, lady Erindrea, I have not glimpsed him yet. >I hope he was either uninjured, or as lightly as you yourself. Do you >know of his welfare, or should I check after I have seen you to the >brothers within the House?" "Ah'm no Lady," says Erin, and continues under her breath, "not that Ah haven't had offahs." She raises her voice once more. "Just call me Erin. As for Marivale, Ah really don't know. Evahbody in mah room was too worried abaht me to tell me how he was doin'...not that Ah asked. Geoffery would be the one to ask, if you see him." =========================== Subject: Re: AAE 9m: Aftermath On Fri, 6 Aug 2004 17:43:24 -0700 (PDT) Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012198 >On Fri, 06 Aug 2004 13:33:45 -0700 >Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012195 > >*I meant not to embarrass thee, Milady. Consider it spinal-reflex >gallantry, an thou wouldst: I see a beautiful woman, I compliment >her...no real thought involved.* *Lord Harlock, there is always thought involved in a compliment, by which I thank thee. But if a man can have his gallantry, cannot a lady have her modesty? But fear not, I found it pleasing to lighten your aspect, even if 'twere but for a moment alone.* >"Ah'm no Lady," says Erin, and continues under her breath, "not that >Ah haven't had offahs." She raises her voice once more. "Just call me >Erin. As for Marivale, Ah really don't know. Evahbody in mah room was >too worried abaht me to tell me how he was doin'...not that Ah asked. >Geoffery would be the one to ask, if you see him." "Well... Erin, I am certain you are not a man, but if you prefer to go without formal titles, I shall strive to follow your wishes in the matter. I shall certainly seek out Geoffery - I would rather not leave another of our party in need unanswered." Just then, a tall man with a staff and long beard emerges from a turn directly in front of them. Erin feels Zia stiffen slightly, but the old man merely looks in her eyes, chuckles once, and passes by without a word. Zia looks strangely nonplussed by this brief event. If Erin makes no further conversation, the orange-clad Ziactrice deposits her, a few streets later, into the care of the Healer's House. Then the Orange Amberite leaves to seek out any others of the original group she can find. ===========================