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Post by john on Jan 12, 2010 1:17:08 GMT -5
John stares at Ghaeldan for a moment, then kneels, collecting his armor, which he'll slowly put back on if it is not in complete shambles, or slide into his pack if it is. If his helmet is still at all intact, he'll lower it back onto his face and drop the visor.
"We must not tarry. Time is valuable." John will look to the rest and say, "Well? We're all alive! Move!"
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Post by Tllith on Jan 13, 2010 11:58:18 GMT -5
Tllith waves one of her useless wings to Ghaeldan. "Hi, chilly white person with a proper and scaly tail! What would you like to do here? Have you met everyone else? What is your name? This is very weird: he came out of a bag!"
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Post by arcanumzero on Jan 14, 2010 11:59:55 GMT -5
"We must not tarry. Time is valuable." John will look to the rest and say, "Well? We're all alive! Move!"
"Keep your face on, basher," Ghaeldan admonishes good humoredly, his grin flashing. With a slight bow, he cedes the right of way to Xianna, preparing to follow close behind.
Tllith waves one of her useless wings to Ghaeldan. "Hi, chilly white person with a proper and scaly tail! What would you like to do here? Have you met everyone else? What is your name? This is very weird: he came out of a bag!"
Ghaeldan acknowledges Tllith with a redirection of his smile toward the diminutive dragon. “Greetings, little wyrmling. Kaxan’ve jyd’qrsav vuz’jagtyrku, xuv’vuz’giyauta.* My name is Ghaeldan Matthias. Most just call me Ghael, and I am not one to take offense.
“I wandered in the wake of the weaving-spear, but I find my curiosity encouraged by its milling in your midst. And you are yet vested with viscera, not pooled in a puddle of gruesome gore. I smell a story… although that may be the malodorous musk of this persistent plant parquet.” He pauses for a moment, looking somewhat disquieted, then glances over his shoulder.
“My tail is not scaly; it is just… dry.”
((*Tanar’ri for, “I sheathe my claws out of respect, not weakness.” A variation of the other traditional Tanar’ri greeting, for when disembowelment might have undesirable consequences.))
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Post by Tllith on Jan 16, 2010 13:01:30 GMT -5
Ghaeldan acknowledges Tllith with a redirection of his smile toward the diminutive dragon. “ Greetings, little wyrmling. Kaxan’ve jyd’qrsav vuz’jagtyrku, xuv’vuz’giyauta.* My name is Ghaeldan Matthias. Most just call me Ghael, and I am not one to take offense. The last bit, for anyone who speaks Draconic, is a fragment of an old draconic poem: "Thou art Esrret, with thine own wings dragging a""What's a weaving-spear?" Tllith asks as the party starts to trundle along. This is weird! What if you try to use the weaving-spear to make a scarf? What if it's a very long scarf and you use six colors of yarn and you give it to a storm giant and he gives you the Dancing Periapt Of The Doomed Ones in exchange? What kind of dancing do you like to do?" |
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Post by john on Jan 17, 2010 4:46:32 GMT -5
John just looks over the group as they move, expression hidden by his helm, paying special attention to Abaia and Hadrian, but just marches without any particular comments, now.
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Post by arcanumzero on Jan 17, 2010 16:49:02 GMT -5
"What's a weaving-spear?" Tllith asks as the party starts to trundle along. This is weird! What if you try to use the weaving-spear to make a scarf? What if it's a very long scarf and you use six colors of yarn and you give it to a storm giant and he gives you the Dancing Periapt Of The Doomed Ones in exchange? What kind of dancing do you like to do?" Ghaeldan regards Tllith in polite silence for a moment before responding, in order to determine whether the dragonet actually expects an answer to any of her questions, or if she is content to blather on. |
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Post by Tllith on Jan 17, 2010 19:49:52 GMT -5
Ghaeldan regards Tllith in polite silence for a moment before responding, in order to determine whether the dragonet actually expects an answer to any of her questions, or if she is content to blather on. she asks again. (Though basic brass dragon lore suggests that she will blather on for thousands of years unless you focus the conversation a bit.) |
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Post by arcanumzero on Jan 17, 2010 20:10:36 GMT -5
"What's a weaving-spear?" she asks again. (Though basic brass dragon lore suggests that she will blather on for thousands of years unless you focus the conversation a bit.) Ghaeldan gestures at Abaia with a hungry grin. " The kinslayer," he explains succinctly. ((I know it.  Council of Wyrms was a great product.)) 10 |
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Post by Tllith on Jan 18, 2010 9:33:55 GMT -5
Ghaeldan gestures at Abaia with a hungry grin. " The kinslayer," he explains succinctly. Tllith cocks her head. "Why is Abaia a spear? Why does she weave? Does she weave back and forth, like a clumsy person who knocks lamps and chairs over with her wings? Does she weave cloth?"((No need to finish this conversation before the next bit of plot or other general-interest stuff, BTW.)) |
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Post by arcanumzero on Jan 18, 2010 10:12:38 GMT -5
Tllith cocks her head. "Why is Abaia a spear? Why does she weave? Does she weave back and forth, like a clumsy person who knocks lamps and chairs over with her wings? Does she weave cloth?"Ghaeldan blinks at Tllith and then directs his gaze over Abaia’s carapace. His eyes dart over the massive spider’s many wicked spikes and blades. “ Uh,” he says, at a rare loss for words. |
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Post by Tllith on Jan 18, 2010 12:03:47 GMT -5
Tllith cocks her head. "Why is Abaia a spear? Why does she weave? Does she weave back and forth, like a clumsy person who knocks lamps and chairs over with her wings? Does she weave cloth?"Ghaeldan blinks at Tllith and then directs his gaze over Abaia’s carapace. His eyes dart over the massive spider’s many wicked spikes and blades. “ Uh,” he says, at a rare loss for words. |
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Post by john on Jan 18, 2010 21:46:04 GMT -5
"Abaia is changing, internally if not externally. I think it would be unwise for us to guess at her nature until she herself has decided it."
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Post by exile on Jan 19, 2010 0:08:33 GMT -5
(I guess no guidance is immediately forthcoming, so Styx may chose to rectify this in the future. John, Nuuko and Hadrian each get 7hp back. Does Abaia's MR apply against healing spells?)
Hadrian cast a sidelong grin at the loquacious wyrming but had no answers forthcoming to any of her inquiries. Instead he picked up his pace to the limits his lame leg would comfortably allow for and pressed on towards the shores of the distant lake knowing that any direction he struck out in would lead him there if Elysium deemed their cause worthy. "Wise words, Taker," he acknowledged. "And pleasantly devoid of profit. We might make an honest basher out of you yet."
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Post by arcanumzero on Jan 19, 2010 10:31:48 GMT -5
"Truly? It seems to me that 'unwise' would be allowing this thresher-of-flesh to draw breath with our backs bared to it, as it is doubtless only a matter of moments before it decides to change us internally." Ghaeldan pauses thoughtfully. Despite his words, he, at least, has not allowed Abaia to leave his field of vision since his arrival.
"But I am starting to tumble to the dark, here. You knights clearly know something I do not. Would anyone care to fill me in?"
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Post by Tllith on Jan 19, 2010 13:23:39 GMT -5
" But I am starting to tumble to the dark, here. You knights clearly know something I do not. Would anyone care to fill me in?" Tllith is, of course, glad to fill him in. Fortunately, as with many few-year-olds, she is an expert on every topic whatsoever. Unfortunately she doesn't know very much more than he does about that topic, and, when she's excited, she loses all her minimal sense of such conversational tactics as 'starting at the beginning' and 'giving the audience suitable context'. "Brother Cedric made Abaia appear in my garden, so we need to fill a cup with water. I think the phoenix is thirsty or something. Then the deva's spark will be safed! I think Abaia feels bad about some things though. But she's been pretty good so far! She's the nicest bebilith I ever met. So we're going to the lake. I'm guarding it! And John's knees, too, though I didn't do very well at that so far, but he says it's OK."At this point, she realizes that other people [presumably] want to explain in more grownup terms, so she keeps talking, but much more quietly. Only a few occasional words are audible: "... summoning ... parrot ... thaumaturgy ... snack ... leather and candles ... melismas ... phoenix ... hymnal ..." |
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Post by john on Jan 20, 2010 14:07:29 GMT -5
John looks coldly at Hadrian, "I strive to keep my dealings honest, be they with devil, demon, or deva. I do not lie, and I do have honor, of a sort. A man who does not honor his contracts and deceives his employers and customers would swiftly become poor indeed. You would do well to remember that."
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Post by john on Jan 20, 2010 14:10:00 GMT -5
"Regarding Abaia, it has fought beside us and shed blood in so doing. I trust all that do so, for in this shedding of blood and battle is the only true test of mettle in this world, or any other. But, as I said, it is... changing. But I do suspect you may trust the Bebilith at your back, at least until this matter is resolved."
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Post by skelterjohn on Jan 20, 2010 17:09:31 GMT -5
(OOC: aha - back in the action)
Once the darkness of Nuuko's spell cleared away and the fight disappated, Jocyl tip-toes over to one of the dead Mezzoloths and spends a few minutes trying to heft the gruesome person-shield. Eventually becoming convinced that there was no reasonable way for him to carry it, let alone use it in battle, he sighs and leaves the would-be trophy on the ground and catches up to the rest of the party.
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Post by exile on Jan 21, 2010 18:57:04 GMT -5
Hadrian chuckled dryly, evidently unmoved by the Taker's rankled words. "Come, we've tarried long enough. You still have a debt to pay."
(OOC: Heads up I'll be out of town for a week starting Saturday, although judging from the last few days of posting I don't think my absence will do much to affect the game's momentum.)
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Post by Stix on Jan 22, 2010 8:55:52 GMT -5
The surviving mezzoloths pick over what's left of the battlefield, claiming much of the spoils as payment for their "services". They're preoccupied for the moment with the reanimated corpses, checking every pouch and claiming every weapon.
As Jocyl rolls over the mangled torso-shield (which he actually finds surprisingly light), it hisses wordlessly at him, having no tongue with which to form words.
(Sorry all, management shuffle, working a much-more-than-full-time schedule until the dust settles. To answer questions, spell slots have to be kept at their respective levels, and MR does not impede beneficial spells unless the creature chooses to resist, or the target is a githzerai, who cannot voluntarily lower their MR.)
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Council of Wyrms was a great product.)) 10
