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[semi-locked] Event Post: In the barrow den.
Who: The four accused Dragonsworn, and anyone they ask to come along.
Where: A barrow den just outside Silverglen Retreat.
When: Variably between May 16th-23rd.
What: A barrow den. Eight foot tall killer bear-men. Dragonsworn on a mission.
Warnings: Inevitably violence. Will update as needed.
[ 1 ]
Nestled away in a shadowy part of the night elven forests is the barrow den Ysiel spoke of. You've been asked to clear it of a horde of furbolgs, and the evidence of their encroachment is obvious even before you set foot past the threshold of the den into its black depths -- pottery is smashed, the trees around it are scored by huge claw marks, the masonry is splattered with mud and blood from what looks like a fresh hunt. Whatever got these creatures into such a rage must be serious, but there's not much time to worry about that now. If the furbolg are allowed to stay in the den so close to the Retreat, it's only a matter of time before they spread to the village. Ysiel and her few warriors are good enough to handle most anything that comes their way, but a furbolg invasion would be pushing it.
Just beyond the ornately-carved doorway the stone path curves down and around, lit only by sporadically-placed lanterns. Only one way to go: deeper.
[ 2 3 ]
Once you reach the den proper, it's clear that the little house above was only the tip of the iceberg. Cavernous is the only way to describe the place; the ceilings are so high that the little lanterns that illuminated the walkway so well before only shine small rings of light below them here, leaving most of the den in darkness. Over the years, the roots of ancient trees have burst through the ceiling and they cast twisted shadows all around the earthen walls. If it isn't for the delicate scrollwork on a supporting arch here or there, it'd be impossible to tell that this place wasn't simply grown straight from the earth. Such is the night elven style.
It's a few hundred yards in before you find your first furbolg. Even dwarfed as it is by the tall ceilings and grand scale of the den, it's clear from afar that this thing is huge: eight feet tall on its hind legs with broad, furred shoulders and massive paws bigger than a man's head. With its paws at its side its claws extend nearly to the ground, practically sharpening themselves on the stone path as they trudge around aimlessly. A dozen or more of the things prowl the hallways leading further underground. Some even have crude weapons: a cleaver, a rusty sword, a gnarled staff. Ysiel had said that these bear-men were reasonable (if reclusive) neighbors before, implying intelligence-- but there's no trace of intelligence in these creatures. They seem to do nothing but stand around, occasionally swiping at the air in a sudden rage or gorging on one of the stag corpses from their recent hunt.
[ 4 5 6 ]
The hallways get steadily more twisted and confusing to navigate as you make your way further down into the den. Dark, cramped passages branch off the main run -- these are empty and practically untouched by the furbolg, and the supplies the elves had kept here are still intact in chests built into little alcoves in the stone walls. It's relatively safe to rest here.
The main passageway eventually opens up into a large, two-storied chamber. A central pillar connected to the main pathway by two staircases overlooks a bottom floor occupied by half a dozen more furbolg-- and what might just be their leader. The bear-man is easily over ten feet tall, eyes like green coals and back and shoulders riddled with elven arrows that look like toothpicks on his hulking mass. He wields a battleaxe in both paws, like the ones the Burning Legion's felguards use.
With the death of this last, monstrous furbolg, the threat to the Retreat is removed. There's nothing left for it but to return to Ysiel with the grisly proof of the beasts' demise.
[ Plotting Post/Questions | Silverglen Retreat Log | Wrap-up Post ]
Where: A barrow den just outside Silverglen Retreat.
When: Variably between May 16th-23rd.
What: A barrow den. Eight foot tall killer bear-men. Dragonsworn on a mission.
Warnings: Inevitably violence. Will update as needed.
[ 1 ]
Nestled away in a shadowy part of the night elven forests is the barrow den Ysiel spoke of. You've been asked to clear it of a horde of furbolgs, and the evidence of their encroachment is obvious even before you set foot past the threshold of the den into its black depths -- pottery is smashed, the trees around it are scored by huge claw marks, the masonry is splattered with mud and blood from what looks like a fresh hunt. Whatever got these creatures into such a rage must be serious, but there's not much time to worry about that now. If the furbolg are allowed to stay in the den so close to the Retreat, it's only a matter of time before they spread to the village. Ysiel and her few warriors are good enough to handle most anything that comes their way, but a furbolg invasion would be pushing it.
Just beyond the ornately-carved doorway the stone path curves down and around, lit only by sporadically-placed lanterns. Only one way to go: deeper.
[ 2 3 ]
Once you reach the den proper, it's clear that the little house above was only the tip of the iceberg. Cavernous is the only way to describe the place; the ceilings are so high that the little lanterns that illuminated the walkway so well before only shine small rings of light below them here, leaving most of the den in darkness. Over the years, the roots of ancient trees have burst through the ceiling and they cast twisted shadows all around the earthen walls. If it isn't for the delicate scrollwork on a supporting arch here or there, it'd be impossible to tell that this place wasn't simply grown straight from the earth. Such is the night elven style.
It's a few hundred yards in before you find your first furbolg. Even dwarfed as it is by the tall ceilings and grand scale of the den, it's clear from afar that this thing is huge: eight feet tall on its hind legs with broad, furred shoulders and massive paws bigger than a man's head. With its paws at its side its claws extend nearly to the ground, practically sharpening themselves on the stone path as they trudge around aimlessly. A dozen or more of the things prowl the hallways leading further underground. Some even have crude weapons: a cleaver, a rusty sword, a gnarled staff. Ysiel had said that these bear-men were reasonable (if reclusive) neighbors before, implying intelligence-- but there's no trace of intelligence in these creatures. They seem to do nothing but stand around, occasionally swiping at the air in a sudden rage or gorging on one of the stag corpses from their recent hunt.
[ 4 5 6 ]
The hallways get steadily more twisted and confusing to navigate as you make your way further down into the den. Dark, cramped passages branch off the main run -- these are empty and practically untouched by the furbolg, and the supplies the elves had kept here are still intact in chests built into little alcoves in the stone walls. It's relatively safe to rest here.
The main passageway eventually opens up into a large, two-storied chamber. A central pillar connected to the main pathway by two staircases overlooks a bottom floor occupied by half a dozen more furbolg-- and what might just be their leader. The bear-man is easily over ten feet tall, eyes like green coals and back and shoulders riddled with elven arrows that look like toothpicks on his hulking mass. He wields a battleaxe in both paws, like the ones the Burning Legion's felguards use.
With the death of this last, monstrous furbolg, the threat to the Retreat is removed. There's nothing left for it but to return to Ysiel with the grisly proof of the beasts' demise.
no subject
[he doesn't really make a remark about their strange behavior beyond what he already said. He was one that preferred keeping his emotions and thoughts to himself, when he could]
[So instead he makes sure he's ready for another raid, and glances over at Yugo and Zelda for the signal to go]
no subject
[He meets Zelos' eyes, and nods.]
I'm ready to freeze these guys.
no subject
no subject
[ Zelda comments idly, while staring off into the distance. Her vision in the dark isn't remarkable, but she's used to it enough. Nothing yet, but she hopes if she continues to strain her vision just enough. ]
Let's go.
sorry for the late!
Take your best shot.