[High Valor] Reclaiming Revehald IC

edited October 2010 in In-Game
The Reclaimers, a band of adventurers lead by the ancestor-haunted dverg Thorkell Voldhuern, are journeying forth to reclaim the fallen dwarven fortress of Revehald, and rid it of its trollish infestation.

They are halfway there when they are beset by the dragon Tamgar, young but fearsome. Six legs like a bear's, a maw like a wolf's, a crown of antlers on its head, scales everywhere... But the calm eyes of a deer.

It sits atop of the pile of woodland creature carcasses gently, wings still waving every which-when, ready to swoop in or perhaps just fly back into the night at a moment's notice.

The look it gives the commotion around the campfire is a mix of amusement and contempt.


  • Adathur rises, half crouching as his eyes rest on the dragon, his bow already in his hands. An arrow rests on the string lightly, though the bow is pointed down and away from the dragon, the arrow's tip currently just scraping the ground near Adathur's foot. The Fomoradgh is still, his gaze flicking from the dragon to Thorkell momentarily before darting back to the creature. He waits, tensed to move, but unwilling to act until Thorkell shows some indication of how to proceed.
  • A dragon, a dragon, Tamgar the dragon, deranged? Maybe. Think, Tabby, think! Easily amused, that could help, wait! Stories say he's easily distracted, too! Think, think, what to use, what to do. There are tools around: the spoils of the hunt, the leaves on the trees, the wind perhaps, the fire... the fire!If she could, yes, yes, that could work.

    From behind her construct, which alone stood unmoving in the face of the dragon's sudden presence, she began to weave her magic. Her lips moved, voice low but clear:
    "Smoke and soot and firelight, lend me aid in this my plight,
    take the form that I desire, for His Highness to admire:
    Sparks to line the flowing frame, eyes formed out of glowing flame,
    wings of ash and ember snout, smoke to filly the body out;
    Rise, oh flaming dragonstorm, slip 'round mighty Tamgar's form,
    Lead him hence and give him play, that we might see another day."
  • #DiceRoller( 4d10 )
    traits - Sorcerer (greater), Heir to the Silvered (lesser), total +6 to result
  • edited January 2011
    As the warband stood to their feet in an attempt of an unprepared defense, the dragon, Tamgar the king of the forests, as only Tabitha knew him, stood erect and grinned as widely as he he could - in a malicious way, no doubt, if judging only from the size of its maw?

    And yet, as soon as the fireplace erupted, as soon as embers and sooth and smoke twirled into a shape, at first in the shape of nothing but a confusing cloud of dust and glow Tamgar plopped backwards on his behind and opened his maw even wider in an expression that could, even on a dragon, easily be read as one of immense befuddlement.

    And then, as the veil of fire and smoke gained something more akin to the shape of a great winged serpent and enveloped itself around the confused forest-dragon...

    Tamgar poked it with its nose, swatted it with his paw, and eventually began pouncing on and off it in some elaborate, convulted game.

    The Reclaimers were now the last thing on the forest-dragon's mind, at least for now. But with a creature of such size leaping around the campsite in wild abandon, it was not the safest place to be.

    Would the warband retreat into the darkness immediatelly, or risk great injury and try to bring at least some of their supplies with them?
  • Adathur growled softly, pulling the arrow back against the string of his bow as the dragon regarded the warband with a grin that was decidedly unfriendly. Of course, that might have simply been the result of the creature's fang-filled maw. The Fomoradgh had a similar problem really, it was hard to give a friendly smile when you had a mouthful of sharp teeth, people tended to misinterpret such things. Still, the dragon was sitting on top of the fruits of his and the braid's labors, and that, more than anything else, angered Adathur.

    The silver-haired woman spoke, quiet and clear, easily heard by the Fomoradgh's sharp hearing. He waited a moment, slowly relaxing the tension on the string of his bow as he watched ash and flame swirl and coalesce into the form of a winged drake. Adathur laughed softly, though the sound was low and guttural, hard to distinguish from the growl of a few moments before. The forest dragon pounced and swatted at the smoky construct of the woman's magic, and the Fomoradgh watched for a moment, tracking the beast's movements, more than a little unsettled by the shuddering of the ground when it landed, and the divots torn in the sod when the dragon leapt.

    Still, opportunity beckoned, and Adathur took his chance, darting forward quickly to the pile of carcasses. The Fomoradgh had his eyes on the body of a large stag he had brought down before the dragon showed up. The warband needed the supplies, even if only a little of what they had hunted could be recovered.

    #DiceRoller( 3d10 )
    Tactical Mind (Lesser)-Determine the right time to move in and recover the carcass.
    Huntsman (Lesser)-Capitalize on the opportunity, move fast to get the carcass.
  • edited January 2011
    As the dragon landed, Thorkell started backing slowly, hands reaching for the shield and axe, though he doubted their usefulness. He wanted to look at his companions, make sure that they were falling back as well, but he didn't dare lose sight of the creature even for an instant. He thought he could hear their steps through the multiple ancestors cursing his cowardice, but he couldn't be sure it wasn't only his hopes playing tricks on him.

    Thoughts raced through his mind, pushing through the howling of the ghosts around him - of course, the safest course of action right now would be to fall back, but moving on without supplies would mean having to forage enough for all of them every day in the swamps. A thought which was far from comforting. On the other hand... well, he was no expert on dragons, but a nose that big had to be good for something. If they grabbed everything ran, chances were the dragon'd track the bloody carcasses - not that they'd be able to carry everything. A middle point was what they needed, that and a lot of luck.

    His eyebrows rose when he saw a coil of what seemed to be smoke assault the dragon, fortunately distracting it. A spell? Who... nevermind. Let's make the most out of it. Carefully, he knelt, dropping his axe and shield on the grass and gesturing for someone - anyone - to grab them. His eyes were fixed on the dragon and the coils of smoke, following the twisting figures without a blink, until, to his side, someone started running. Thorkell stood still for a fraction of a second before setting off as well, bracing for the impact which was sure to come. There was too much dragon everywhere to avoid it all, but he was confident that he'd be able to take the blows. Behind him, his ancestors insulted his both his cowardice, for not facing the creature head on, and his thoughtlessness, for risking his life for some dead meat.
  • edited January 2011
    #DiceRoller( 4d10 )

    Battlemaster (greater) - Find the right time to avoid the dragon
    Heart of Iron and Bones of Stone (greater) - Ignore any "bumps" with the dragon.
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