[Round 5] - Scribe Task

[Silver Emerald]

Thus did they fall...

Spoiler for PC:

The Pyrocloaks arrived first among the groups, alone in possessing a road connection from their capital to Aurdinas.

They scouted the ruins for two full days, the Bard eventually finding an excavation open to the air; the Wizard confirmed that traces and scents of draconic activity were strongest around here, suggesting that the tunnel led to the dragon's lair.

However, they decided to wait one more night in order to have plenty of rest before charging into the depths.

The Queen, however, remained awake, looking out over the ruins, sighing softly. "I wish we didn't have to kill such a majestic creature..."

"That is your choice, my child."

She spun around to see a heavy man barely an arm's reach away, standing over a tripod and sketching the ruins. "Who are you?"

He smiled. "Me? I am but a simple artist and a seer. I may tell you shades of the future, if you would like."

"All right, go."

"If you truly wish it, breathe fumes from below, and your heart's desire will find you before noon."

The Queen opened her mouth, then closed it again, hesitating before replying. "And what says my heart's desire will come true?"

"There are many strange things in the hoard beneath our feet. They may prove receptive."

"Hmm. Thank you, seer." She returned her attention to the ruins, closing eyes, approaching the tunnel to breathe the hot air from below. After an hour, she lay asleep while the seer packed up and moved to a different part of the city for his sketching. He seemed somewhat anxious to be elsewhere.

At dawn, the remainder of the chosen band from Zyarhelm burst from their encampment to search for the Queen. All were relieved to find her a short distance from camp, near the excavation, but less relieved to see her looking quite so... red.

As she woke, roused by her companions, she yawned and revealed far sharper teeth than she should by all rights have... and this only preceded many more changes.

"...there's something...in the dragon's hoard..." She gave up speaking for the moment, grimacing from consistent pain as her body shifted and expanded. Her companions surrounded her warily, weapons out, as skin covered itself with ruby scales, and great, leathery wings unfurled.

In less than an hour, the Queen went from dragon hunter to dragon. Not quite as grand as the one which took residence in Aurdinas, but regal and rather intimidating nonetheless. The Wizard approached cautiously. "My Lady?"

She replied, in a coarser voice, "I'm still here...I'm free..." The team lowered their weapons as she appeared to still have a grasp on herself; the magic-wielders began discussing how to get her back to normal.

Not a good move.

"I'M FREE!" She roared, a great pillar of fire scorching the sky. She then grasped the two nearest in her talons, soaring skywards. Once dropped, the Enchanter and Wizard greeted the ground with sickening crunch.

The Crusader and Bard met similar fates, though at least they had time to prepare and react. The Crusader rushed for the tent, returning with the alexandrite blade brought to slay the dragon - the original dragon. Though this weapon did not immediately subdue the Queen, it remained lodged in her scales, grating against her ribs as she continued to move, slashing the Crusader with her claws before roasting the Bard.

The Scribe hid, watching the midday sun pass as the enraged new dragon flew off southwest. With what little of her humanity remained after the sudden and drastic change, the Queen seemed to be intent on returning to her homeland...but even as she flew, draconic instincts subsumed the rest of her rationality as the sword continued to pain her.

On the return journey, the Scribe made all possible haste with the help of a phoenix servant, but found Zyarhelm in ruins while loud howls and tremors emanated from the palace.

The city was mostly burned or otherwise wrecked...but the tremors suddenly stopped, though some of the fires remained. In the throne room, the Scribe found the Queen-turned-dragon, resting over a pile of shiny objects...but she did not move.

In fact, she appeared to have succumbed to her wound and the internal damage it caused. The Scribe looked for other citizens, trying to piece together information or some scrap of civilization...but all were either fled or burned.

Zyarhelm faded into darkness as the embers burned out, becoming a memory much as Aurdinas.

Thus did the Pyrocloaks fall, ruined by gravity, fire, and a ruler whose wish to be a dragon cost her not just body but also her mind.

-----------------

Spoiler for S7:

The Super Secret Shadow Shielders Simply Standing Still made their final preparations the night preceding their intended strike on the dragon's lair.

Shortly after the meeting began, the Wizard arrived late, exchanging a brief glance with the King. "The flyer arrived. We have the charges. However...there's someone out there. He's...well..."

"He's what?"

"He's drawing." After a few murmurs passed around the appropriately Cloaked tent, the Wizard continued. "He seems to be sketching the city ruins."

The King thought for a few moments, then asked the Scribe, "Do you know of such a man?"

"There was said to live an eccentric prophet in Aurdinas, one who gave potent portents. If he is as able as the legends say, he might have escaped the city's destruction."

After laying out plans for the following day (primarily sabotaging the other groups racing for the treasure, at least one of which was expected to arrive in that time period), the King led the group to go meet this man.

The thinly-clad, thickly-built man still stood at his tripod, making deliberate markings on his parchment. Without turning, he spoke to the approaching band. "Greetings."

"And you are...?"

He chuckled softly. "I am known by many names. You may call me the Oracle. I give advice to those who seek it."

"What are you doing here?"

"Your mage hasn't told you? I am depicting what was once a great city, and may be so again." A few moments passed in silence. "I will advise you as well, if you would like."

The King glanced around to his allies, none of whom gave much indication for or against. Finally, he turned back to the Oracle. "I guess it couldn't hurt."

The Oracle upended his tripod, revealing a ticking wheel set just above the base. After glancing to the stars, he spun the wheel and watched until it stopped. "The dragon is not your greatest foe. Keep a sharp watch, that you do not lose sight of other dangers close at hand."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You have enemies approaching, or even nearby, do you not?"

"They're pathetic. Not a threat."

A resigned issued from the prophet. "If you disbelieve, do what you will. As is customary, I have another token of your visit to bestow upon you before you go." So saying, he reached into his bag and pulled out a dagger and a few electrum pieces. Somewhat reluctantly, the King accepted.

Upon the return to the tent, he threw the knife to the Enchanter. "A shank and some pocket change. See what you can make of this dagger." Yet in their tent, all slept with two eyes open rather than the usual one - what if the enemies were right outside the tent? What if they were within the tent?

The following morning, the King supplied the Enchanter with the package they'd received the prior night, while taking charge of the simple dagger which contained no magical properties according to the brief overnight inspection. "Earthquake charges. Keep a lookout for others heading into the more obvious entrance to the dragon's cave. Make sure they stay in there."

Something in the king's eyes disquieted the Enchanter. Was it... mistrust?

Still, the Enchanter dutifully left to hide in wait near what had once been the entrance to the gold mine. A red dragon passed overhead, greatly puzzling the watcher, but the task returned to hand as the Life group known as F.R.O.G.S. wandered right past the hidden figure into the downward tunnel. Ten minutes... twenty... thirty... after judging that three-quarters of an hour passed, the Enchanter placed the charges just inside the tunnel, leaving a five-minute fuse, then headed back for camp.

The situation upon return looked very, very wrong - the Cloaking device around the camp had dissolved, and a figure lay prone by the watch-post. In fact, rounding the tent showed that another two figures lay sprawled and bloody.

It did not take long for the Enchanter to identify the figures as fallen comrades... the Crusader closest, then the Bard, then the Scribe... the wounds presented a much greater puzzle: each of them lethal stab wounds to the back, and each of them using the deceased's own knife. All he could assume was his comrades had taken to murder, too fearful of betrayal to realize their own poisoned minds.

The Enchanter rushed back to the tent, finding the contents in disarray and finding two other bodies with similar wounds, even the King - the very same dagger he'd taken earlier, sharpened to a fine point, the tip protruding from his chest. Upon realizing that no-one else in the group remained, the Enchanter resolved to return to the kingdom with all possible haste, reaching for the knife in his belt in case the killer had not been the group themselves.

He had never trusted them... had he? Shivers ran down his spine as he raged internally at their folly. He gripped his knife...if he could face those backstabbing fools now he would carve them to pieces...he...

He caught movement in the corner of his eye as he was about to leave the tent. He whirled in anger and paranoid bloodlust, arm whipping around in an arc to catch the target's chest.

Not a sound escaped the Enchanter upon death, falling to the tent floor after being expertly chest-stabbed, by himself. The mirror in which he had seen a glimpse of himself hung motionless on the wall, splattered with blood.

Thus did S7 fall, amid mistrust and deception.

-----------------

Spoiler for FROGS:

The Free Ranged Organized Guerilla Soldiers marched into the city under the noon sky, following the scouts' directions to the entrance of the old gold mine...or at least what was left of it.

The Crusader and King led the way, checking for traps around each corner. What they found around the last corner they checked was not a trap, but the very dragon which had supposedly already flown southwest when they entered the cavern. Both charged in, shields in hand, the King notably wielding the Dragonslayer.

As the Bard sang for support, weaving an arcane song to lend the party the power of Life they so greatly cherished, the three magic-wielders summoned other creatures and magics from their homeland to aid in the fight.

Since they were well-prepared to heal wounds, the front-line fighters sustained little visible injury - though neither did the dragon, its scales taking little more than scratches and its dexterity greater than one might suppose for a beast of its size.

The battle went on this way for the better part of ten minutes...then the dragon let out its terrible flame breath.

The Crusader sidestepped the flame and leaned in, hoping the dragon's mouth would be vulnerable. He worried not about the flame as he reached his weapon into the firey stream - he'd personally helped test the armor prepared for this mission.

However, such a bold tactic served him poorly. As he reached in, the 'breathing' joints in the armor allowed in the heat - and as they closed upon his sudden recoil, the heat diffused across his body, while remaining joints let out very little to the surrounding air. The material let not a single iota of heat through...but if small amounts crept through the joints, they weren't cooling down anything while surrounded in the fire stream!

He was dead in seconds, not crisped by the dragon's breath but cooked nonetheless. The King raised his shield against the fire and protected most of his body, but the non-shield arm soon suffered a similar fate, limp and helpless - and with it fell the sole weapon which was hoped to damage the dragon.

At this point, the Scribe and Wizard glanced back to the entrance, heading backwards slightly to make preparations with scroll and wand to expedite retreat as the battle appeared so unfavorable.

The fire breath relented, but as the King fumbled to remove the shield from his one good arm the dragon snatched the artifact and threw it into its hoard...and then the walls began shaking. The Enchanter sent summoned creatures to go try to retrieve the Dragonslayer while the King took advantage of any cover available, but the Scribe and Wizard returned to the battlefield at a run.

"Rocks are crashing down the tunnel!"

"We can't stay here!"

The King, crouching behind a stalagmite, assessed the situation as a distant rumbling grew louder. "Keep your shields up and stay behind me."

Those were his last words.

With another blast of flame, the remaining team members fell to heat exposure.

Thus did F.R.O.G.S. fall, not because their armor failed to resist high temperature but because it resisted too well.

[Silver Emerald]

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

^ Submission starts above the dotted line! ^

Scribe Task, Week V, Brawl VI

Challenge:
Obviously, in the end it was your team that defeated the Dragon and claimed the hoard of Aurdinas for themselves. But there are a lot of conflicting stories going around - in order to prove your version of events correct, tell us exactly how the other teams failed!
When we win, this becomes canon!

[Silver Emerald]

I'm about to fall asleep, but two out of three are done and I can finish the last one in the morning.

Spoiler for PC:

The Pyrocloaks

(The Queen looks over the ruins and sighs, sad that they have to kill such a majestic creature to advance their quest.)

(She wishes, as she often has, that she could be a dragon...and an artifact in the dragon's posession senses this wish and makes it possible.)

(As she changes <see her profile picture>, both she and her team are confused. At first, she thinks this might help them in the final battle, and the Wizard plans to help her fix it once they discover why.)

(As noon approaches, her behavior becomes more and more erratic...and then humanity slips away, subsumed by draconic instincts. She destroys her own team, taking internal injuries in the process.)

(With vague memories heads she back to her own homeland, having to take it over by force.)

(As the land is going up in flames, and the palace claimed for her hoard, she weakens to her injuries...and eventually succumbs, with the realm damaged beyond repair.)

-----------------

Spoiler for S7:

The Super Secret Shadow Shielders Simply Standing Still made their final preparations the night preceding their intended strike on the dragon's lair.

Shortly after the meeting began, the Wizard arrived late, exchanging a brief glance with the King. "The flyer arrived. We have the charges. However...there's someone out there. He's...well..."

"He's what?"

"He's drawing." After a few murmurs passed around the appropriately Cloaked tent, the Wizard continued. "He seems to be sketching the city ruins."

The King thought for a few moments, then asked the Scribe, "Do you know of such a man?"

"There was said to live an eccentric prophet in Aurdinas, one who gave potent portents. If he is as able as the legends say, he might have escaped the city's destruction."

After laying out plans for the following day (primarily sabotaging the other groups racing for the treasure, at least one of which was expected to arrive in that time period), the King led the group to go meet this man.

The thinly-clad, thickly-built man still stood at his tripod, making deliberate markings on his parchment. Without turning, he spoke to the approaching band. "Greetings."

"And you are...?"

He chuckled softly. "I am known by many names. You may call me the Oracle. I give advice to those who seek it."

"What are you doing here?"

"Your mage hasn't told you? I am depicting what was once a great city, and may be so again." A few moments passed in silence. "I will advise you as well, if you would like."

The King glanced around to his allies, none of whom gave much indication for or against. Finally, he turned back to the Oracle. "I guess it couldn't hurt."

The Oracle upended his tripod, revealing a ticking wheel set just above the base. After glancing to the stars, he spun the wheel and watched until it stopped. "The dragon is not your greatest foe. Keep a sharp watch, that you do not lose sight of other dangers close at hand."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You have enemies approaching, or even nearby, do you not?"

"They're pathetic. Not a threat."

A resigned issued from the prophet. "If you disbelieve, do what you will. As is customary, I have another token of your visit to bestow upon you before you go." So saying, he reached into his bag and pulled out a staff and a few electrum pieces. Somewhat reluctantly, the King accepted.

Upon the return to the tent, he threw the pole to the Enchanter. "A stick and some pocket change. See what you can make of this staff." Yet in their tent, all slept with two eyes open rather than the usual one - what if the enemies were right outside the tent? What if they were within the tent?

The following morning, the King supplied the Enchanter with the package they'd recieved the prior night, while taking charge of the aspen staff which contained no magical properties according to the brief overnight inspection. "Earthquake charges. Keep a lookout for others heading into the more obvious entrance to the dragon's cave. Make sure they stay in there."

This the Enchanter dutifully did, hiding in wait near what had once been the entrance to the gold mine. A red dragon passed overhead, greatly puzzling the watcher, but the task returned to hand as the Life group passed that very way and wandered right past the hidden figure into the downward tunnel. Ten minutes...twenty...thirty...after judging that three-quarters of an hour passed, the Enchanter placed the charges just inside the tunnel, leaving a five-minute fuse, then headed back for camp.


The situation upon return looked very, very wrong - the Cloaking around the tent gone and a figure laying some distance beyond. In fact, rounding the tent showed that another two figures lay in opposite directions.

It did not take long for the Enchanter to identify the figures as fallen comrades...the Crusader closest, then the Bard, then the Scribe...the wounds presented a much greater puzzle: each of them lethal stab wounds to the back, and each of them using the deceased's own knife.

The Enchanter rushed back to the tent, finding the contents in disarray and finding two other bodies with similar wounds, except for the King - the very same staff he'd just taken earlier, sharpened to a fine point and protruding from his chest. Upon realizing that no-one else in the group remained, the Enchanter resolved to return to the kingdom with all possible haste, reaching for knife in belt in case the killer was still hunting.

The knife wasn't there.

Not a sound escaped the Enchanter upon death, falling to the tent floor after being expertly backstabbed.

Thus did S7 fail, distrusting each other at the words of a mysterious prophet and faced with a foe not even their conniving could comprehend.

-----------------

Spoiler for FROGS:

The Free Ranged Organized Guerilla Soldiers marched into the city under the noon sky, following the scouts' directions to the entrance of the old gold mine...or at least what was left of it.

The Crusader and King led the way, checking for traps around each corner. What they found around the last corner they checked was not a trap, but the very dragon which had supposedly already flown southwest when they entered the cavern. Both charged in, shields in hand, the King notably wielding the Dragonslayer.

As the Bard sang for support, weaving an arcane song to lend the party the power of Life they so greatly cherished, the three magic-wielders summoned other creatures and magics from their homeland to aid in the fight.

Since they were well-prepared to heal wounds, the front-line fighters sustained little visible injury - though neither did the dragon, its scales taking little more than scratches and its dexterity greater than one might suppose for a beast of its size.

The battle went on this way for the better part of ten minutes...then the dragon let out its terrible flame breath.

The Crusader sidestepped the flame and leaned in, hoping the dragon's mouth would be vulnerable. He worried not about the flame as he reached his weapon into the firey stream - he'd personally helped test the armor prepared for this mission.

However, such a bold tactic served him poorly. As he reached in, the 'breathing' joints in the armor allowed in the heat - and as they closed upon his sudden recoil, the heat (trapped inside by the very same reflective material) diffused across his body, while remaining joints let out very little to the surrounding air.

He was dead in seconds, not crisped by the dragon's breath but cooked nonetheless. The King raised his shield against the fire and protected most of his body, but the non-shield arm soon suffered a similar fate, limp and helpless - and with it fell the sole weapon which was hoped to damage the dragon.

At this point, the Scribe and Wizard glanced back to the entrance, heading backwards slightly to make preparations with scroll and wand to expedite retreat as the battle appeared so unfavorable.

The fire breath relented, but as the King fumbled to remove the shield from his one good arm the dragon snatched the artifact and threw it into its hoard...and then the walls began shaking. The Enchanter sent summoned creatures to go try to retrieve the Dragonslayer while the King took advantage of any cover available, but the Scribe and Wizard returned to the battlefield at a run.

"Rocks are crashing down the tunnel!"

"We can't stay here!"

The King, crouching behind a stalagmite, assessed the situation as a distant rumbling grew louder. "Keep your shields up and stay behind me."

Those were his last words.

With another blast of flame, the remaining team members fell to heat exposure.

Thus did F.R.O.G.S. fail, not because their armor failed to resist high temperature but because it resisted too well.

[Silver Emerald]

Posting separately.

Spoiler for PC:

The Pyrocloaks arrived first among the groups, alone posessing a road connection from their capital to Aurdinas.

They scouted the ruins for two full days, the Bard eventually finding an excavation open to the air; the Wizard confirmed that traces and scents of draconic activity were strongest around here, suggesting that the tunnel led to the dragon's lair.

However, they determined to wait one more night in order to have plenty of rest before charging into the depths.

The Queen, however, remained awake, looking out over the ruins, sighing softly. "I wish we didn't have to kill such a majestic creature..."

"That is your choice, my child."

She spun around to see a heavy man barely an arm's reach away, standing over a tripod and sketching the ruins. "Who are you?"

He smiled. "Me? I am but a simple artist and a seer. I may tell you shades of the future, if you would like."

"All right, go."

"If you follow your heart's desire, you will find it before noon."

The Queen opened her mouth, then closed it again, hesitating before replying. "And what says my heart's desire will come true?"

"There are many strange things in the hoard beneath our feet. They may prove receptive."

"Hmm. Thank you, seer." She returned her attention to the ruins, closing eyes, willing these artifacts to reach her. After an hour, she lay asleep while the seer pakced up and moved to a different part of the city for his sketching.

At dawn, the remainder of the chosen band from Zyarhelm burst from their encampment to find the Queen. All were relieved to find her a short distance from camp, but less relieved to see her looking quite so red.

As she woke, roused by her companions, she yawned and revealed many more sharp teeth than she should by all rights have...and this only preceded many more changes.

"...there's something...in the dragon's hoard..." She gave up speaking for the moment, grimacing from consistent pain as her body shifted and expanded. Her companions surrounded her warily, weapons out, as skin covered with ruby scales and great wings unfurled.

In less than an hour, the Queen went from dragon hunter to dragon. Not quite as grand as the one which took residence in Aurdinas, but regal and rather intimidating nonetheless. The Wizard approached cautiously. "My Lady?"

She replied, in a coarser voice, "I'm still here...I'm free..." The team lowered their weapons as she appeared to still have a grasp on herself; the magic-wielders began discussing how to get her back to normal.

Not a good move.

"I'M FREE!" She roared, nearly bowling them over, then picked up the two nearest, soaring skywards. The meeting that the Enchanter and Wizard had with the ground after she dropped them did not go well.

The Crusader and Bard met similar fates, though at least they had time to prepare and react. The Crusader rushed for the tent, returning with the alexandrite blade brought to slay the dragon. Though this weapon did not subdue the Queen, it remained stuck in her scales, continuing to harm as she continued to move.

The Scribe hid, watching the midday sun pass as the enraged new dragon flew off southwest. With what little of her humanity remained after the sudden and drastic change, the Queen intended to return to her homeland...but even as she flew, draconic instincts subsumed the rest of her rationality as the sword continued to pain her.

On the return journey, the Scribe made all possible haste, but found Zyarhelm in ruins upon returning while loud sounds and tremors emanated from the palace.

The city was mostly burned or otherwise wrecked...but the tremors suddenly stopped, though some of the fires remained. In the throne room, the Scribe found the Queen-turned-dragon, resting over a pile of shiny objects...but she did not move.

In fact, she appeared to have succumbed to her wound and the internal damage it caused. The Scribe looked for other citizens, trying to piece together information or some scrap of civilization...but all were either fled or burned.

Zyarhelm faded into darkness as the embers burned out, becoming a memory much as Aurdinas.

Thus did the Pyrocloaks fail, ruined by gravity, fire, and a ruler whose wish to be a dragon cost her not just body but also mind.

[JonathanCrazyJ]

COMPLETE