OOC- since there arnt that many people posting im just going to kill more than one baddie.

one, yo. oh, romuloo. drask says " next time you see Roman, tell him that I really want him to write a character history for Romulus prior even to meeting/hearing of the Goddess... perhaps even pre-vAldiCi"

okay here goes.

IC- He was relieved to find that the new warrior within their ranks had begun to blossom in the heat of full battle. But he had no time to think about such levels of brikar-ness for he had a large man-warrior advancing on his position. He had to break his hold on the ogre mage if his attacked got within sword range.
Hands unseen, he prepared himself.
But his attacker's face that was a war-cry turned into one of shock and pain. A moment later there was a sharp shredding sound and then vAL saw a flawless point of steel poking out of the man's chest, where his heart was.

"Romulus." vAl said.
"briki no dice." said romu, who swirled around just in time to parry a downward slice.

He focused all his mental capacity onto the ogre mage, who managed to get out of range for a little while and put up a defensive barrier.
Unfortunately for the ogre, it was a hasty barrier- a barrier which was easy to break unless you were an apprentice psionicist.

..

the ogre opened his mouth in a silent, then dull shriek as he died the death of brain implosion. He was still standing up.

"Lets go, brikari." muttered vAl as he noticed that Romu and Tam had cut down another man-warrior.
He prepared himself for another spell.


OOC- wahaha

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For Altair~

OOC--Des cracks his knuckles and settles down to business.
no avatar.
IC-- Drask raised his head, helping launch young Xandim into the fray. He regretted it soon after, as he watched the impetuous young one--though Drask was hardly one to speak--land in the middle of a group of bloodthirsty imps. Xcarthan had done huge amounts of damage with his frostfire attack, but it was not ennough. The two remaining ogre-magi cast bloodlust, and the fight was on. Suddenly, Lywen was by his side, spraying ice all around. Blue-tinged imps fought to move their joints, with little success all around. Drask swung Thornfire in a broad arc, and fire popped the joints still encased in frozen air.

Drask's breath rose in gouts of steam. It was morning. There had been no sleep, either for the weary or the wicked.

The imps were short on numbers now, cut down in great swaths by alternating sheets of fire and ice. A horn sounded, and they stopped short, their charge halted--as if they themselves had suddenly been put into stasis. Slowly at first, then more and more hastily, they began to pull back. Xandim scrambled up, looking mildly charred about the hairline. He glared at the dragon. Drask shrugged as if to say 'Would you have liked me better if I had let them wound you further?' He snorted, and smoke billowed from his nostrils.

There was an explosion.

An iron ball flew past Drask's face, and he could see it in slow-motion as it inched its way by. He could almost see the shockwave as it spread out, instant by instant, inch by inch. He felt that he could have reached out and plucked it from the sky as it slowly arced pased him. Then the shockwave engulfed his face and he was thrown back against the building. Time resumed its normal flow, and the dragon was--for perhaps the fist time in his life--intimidated by an invention of science. The eight things that Drask had seen being carted off the ships were ringed in a quarter circle around the three WarAngels. They were cannon. Drask and Lywen and Xandim were staring down the barrels of them.

They would not miss a second time.

Drask, when he recovered--blessing Amiadus the whole time that they were so difficult and time-consuming to reload--leapt up and snagged a humanoid under each enormous arm and took to the air. Xandim struggled and yelled at first, seemingly thinking that the gigantic beast had finally lost his patience or what little comeraderie he felt for the shapeshifter and intended to drop him to his death on the pointy sticks of the imps below. As they circled higher, towards the roof of the House of Inaduir, he paled and got quiet. Lywen was just content to experience an entirely new view of the world. She sighed in regret as she was deposited on the roof of the Second House. Xandim just trembled in relief and fear of the imagined scenes he'd dreamt up.

Drask circled again, and a few bolts clattered off his scales. As he rose out of range, he saw Lywen and Xandim talking, making a plan. They finished, and combined their magik--channeling it through Xandim's sword much the same way as had Drask--and froze the cannon by shooting thick and dark beams of ice in each of eight different directions. This had no effect. On the edge of his hearing, Drask heard shouting: 'Shatter the cannon! Frozen metal is brittle! Use physical force!'

Drask flew towards the shipwrecks, aiming to pick up stones. Explosions made him hurry: they were firing on the walls of the Houses themselves. Divine magik, however strong, can only stand up to so much force. Pits were beginning to develop on the walls of Ina's House. Drask picked up seven boulders--that was all he could carry--and flew back over each cannon, dropping a rock on it.

Metal and rock shrapnel killed the majority of the cannon crews, and seven cannon were annihilated in a matter of seconds. One survived, still frozen. Still in the air, Drask sent down a tendril of magik to leech out whatever heat remained in the cannon--the frost on its surface wouldn't even allow it to light--and surrounded himself in a flickering wreath of flames. Thus armored, he dove from the air, closing his eyes as he slammed headlong into the cannon.

The explosion left a crater filled with a dragon. The dragon had a very, very bad headache, which helped his already short temper absolutely none.

Drask roared in defiant challenge to the Dark Lord of the trapped army. The earth shuddered with the noise. If Drask had looked around, he would have seen his home a shambles: the walls of the Houses were pitted and scarred with dark magik and cannon-fire. The training ground were churned into mud by blood and sweat and piss of fifteen thousand imp conscripts. Those forests that hadn't been cut down to build up the defenses of this place for Dimindium's army were burning the slow burn of a forest fire just this side of death on a windless day. Corpses were strewn all over spaces once considered so holy that no one impure was allowed in those spaces. The Garden had fallen from grace.

This was why the Dragon roared.

OOC--I think the minotaur will have noticed this by now, and should be approaching--anyone wanna put that in their post?

******************
'And so she wrote, and wept; and when the weeping
was done, the writing went on... Her voice would
raise him from the dead, make him live again in memory.'
--Orson Scott Card

OOC- Hard to follow such a dramatic and wonderful post...

IC- Lywen was quite enjoying working with Drask and Xandim. she especially enjoyed flying...It reminded her of her Elven mother. But there was no time now to think of it. She had frozen the cannons with Coldfire and Drask had shattered them. She heard him as he emmitted a loud roar and prayed he was alright. Now, she sheathed Ice. Quickly, she looked around to find the Minotaur. Then she noticed him. Right off her right side with those horns and thick, rippling muscles. All around him were bodyguards...they were as tall as she was...only half his superhuman size. she needed Drask! now, she and Xandim were in direct danger! "Another!" she yelled. "I need help!" Drask nodded in her direction. All she could do now was use Coldfire and pray that it worked until someone came to help her.
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When I close my eyes I can see forever...