The twisted creature falls to the floor, its collapse kicking up swirls of thick dust. Both of its heads stare with eyes milked over in death, and the furrows of rage that once lined its faces now eased. Whatever fate befell Kaylessa and Erestor in this awful place, their condition looks to be at least somewhat better now.
The companions can take but little encouragement for having emerged as the victors of this battle, however. Once more, they feel the weight of the distorted enchantments that lie over The Severed Hand. More than mere webs of magic, the heroes understand that the corrupted mythal has developed its own sense of purpose. Defeating such a powerful foe in this place seems to have drawn its attention.
Even with Fergy's magic hiding his true features, Erevain stands tall, distinguished by his warrior's posture. Blade in hand, he turns to examine the walls of the grand chamber, which continue to ooze with that same black substance that has appeared again and again in this cursed citadel. "I suggest we move on." His eyes flick towards Alalla, making sure that she is alright. "If we are to retrieve this journal of which Kaylessa spoke, better to do it sooner rather than later." His remark is punctuated by a fat splat of black slime onto the floor.
Erevain gestures to one of the five ascending stairways, marked by an engraving of an arrow with intricate fletching. "That one bears the symbol of Solonor Thelandira. If we can believe Kaylessa's words, we will find the journal in a dormitory there."
"A warrior's death for her, too." She watches with concern as Fergy performs healing on Ras, then breathes deeply with relief that her call had been correct. Alalla nods to Erevain. "Up we go then." She retrieves her glaive and leads the way.
"Fergy, my dear," Zenithral asks, looking over himself. "Must we continue to wear these ridiculous disguises?" He shrugs. "I guess it doesn't hurt...I bet there are others who hate me too..."
The twisted creature falls to the floor, its collapse kicking up swirls of thick dust. Both of its heads stare with eyes milked over in death, and the furrows of rage that once lined its faces now eased. Whatever fate befell Kaylessa and Erestor in this awful place, their condition looks to be at least somewhat better now.
The companions can take but little encouragement for having emerged as the victors of this battle, however. Once more, they feel the weight of the distorted enchantments that lie over The Severed Hand. More than mere webs of magic, the heroes understand that the corrupted mythal has developed its own sense of purpose. Defeating such a powerful foe in this place seems to have drawn its attention.
Even with Fergy's magic hiding his true features, Erevain stands tall, distinguished by his warrior's posture. Blade in hand, he turns to examine the walls of the grand chamber, which continue to ooze with that same black substance that has appeared again and again in this cursed citadel. "I suggest we move on." His eyes flick towards Alalla, making sure that she is alright. "If we are to retrieve this journal of which Kaylessa spoke, better to do it sooner rather than later." His remark is punctuated by a fat splat of black slime onto the floor.
Erevain gestures to one of the five ascending stairways, marked by an engraving of an arrow with intricate fletching. "That one bears the symbol of Solonor Thelandira. If we can believe Kaylessa's words, we will find the journal in a dormitory there."
"A warrior's death for her, too." She watches with concern as Fergy performs healing on Ras, then breathes deeply with relief that her call had been correct. Alalla nods to Erevain. "Up we go then." She retrieves her glaive and leads the way.
"Fergy, my dear," Zenithral asks, looking over himself. "Must we continue to wear these ridiculous disguises?" He shrugs. "I guess it doesn't hurt...I bet there are others who hate me too..."
62/86 HP