White Stag
There's a murmur in the streets. That something unusual is in the forest. Strange lights seen by those entering the city. By the guards whom everyone knows are a good source of information. It's the talk of Alexandria, mostly in curious whispers, and more than one person has wandered outside the city to see what's going on.
Which means that there's a crowd of people just outside the gate. Watching the forest with wide child-like wonder and curiosity as _something_ moves through the forest. A glow of blue, pink, green, and silver light. It pulses and it shifts like a mist in the distance. Moving through the forest like a giant snake. Where it begins, and where it ends is unknown. Its source... also unknown. Several people have already started drifting toward the strange lights. Drawn by their own curiosity.
Distantly, if one listens carefully, you might hear the call of something. Voices just beyond listening. Music just beyond hearing. A tune and voices familiar but so distant...
Randolf has, like so many others, heard the strange rumors. And so he's come to investigate. He stands behind the crowd of gawkers, idly cleaning the bowl of his pipe with a pocket-knife as he hops up onto tiptoes, craning his neck. "Och, piss an' blood, sodding -tallfolk-," he grumbles. He lumbers up and down the line of folk, hunkering down to perhaps get a glimpse around or through. "I cannae see a -gods- damned thing!" Finally, he just does what dwarves do best, and pushes forward. "'scuse me. Pardon me. 'scuse me. Can I get through--aye, thank ye -verra- much." Finally he breaks out into the front, and he squints into the gloom of the forest. "Now what d'ye suppose -those- are?" he mutters, tugging thoughtfully at his beard. His ears perk up as he hears that call, and he leans in to try and get a better listen.
Verna happened upon some unusual activity outside of the city only a few days past. Now, talk of strange lights pulls her in this direction once more. As well, the changes in the city, and in the Mourner's own lift, have encouraged her to broaden her casual ventures. She is not of any great stature, though the fact that her conveyance hovers over the heads of the crowds affords her a more unobstructed view of the lights. Possibly an easier time to hear the odd .. voices in the air. "Intriguing..."
A little Red Knight upon an Ivory Steed is on a seasonal mission, to spread holiday cheer. She has a small stove, that is carefully and precariously attached to the weapon rack behind her saddle. It is perched high enough that her mount, the brave Ramirez, will not be burned by the metal struts or stray coal.
On it, she roasts chestnuts, packages them into a small bag once they are toasted, and tosses it to bystanders. "Hola! Merry season to you! Hola! It is the happy times, have the warm snacks! Hola, be of good cheer!"
'Ruaaaah!' Ramirez wants some too, yes.
"Ramirez, you get the last when we are done." Her wanderings have led her to the gate. A large gathering of people is a good place to share the snacks. From her high perch, she can see the wandering lights, "Hmm, what this is?"
Sitting atop Neighsayers, Jinks is ALMOST as tall as your average human but easily twice as glorious. The gnome wears an overcoat that appears cut for Khazad's build, all oversized cowl and bunched folds of excess cloth to swallow his slight frame and keep him warm. It's a reddish-purple wine color of velvet lined with a black fur. To complete the ensemble he braces a wine bottle against his lap, holding it loosely at the neck.
The dandy minstrel looks like a little duke out on parade for all his gems and jewels but his pony hosts equally-fancy implements of war. He tries a tune and then another, pausing before a third as he tries to sort through the distant ambient noise and identify its source. He's feline curious and the possibility of danger only occasionally gives him paws.
"Maybe the fey are enjoying the Yule Season, paladina," he posits easily as he trots on ahead. "or the ley lines are overpowered and bleeding into a visible spectrum. I must say it sounds like fun either way." He flashes a grin and winks an onyx-black eye, waving at Randolf. "If you've stones giving you blood when you make water I know a Tsura witch who can sort that out for you." Then a nod at Verna when he notices her. "Good evening, mourner."
A lot of rumors and other curious news went through pubs quickly, traded and shared by those who enjoyed gossip, or simply to make conversation when necessary.
Strange occurrences such as this were worth investigating. So Seyardu had her armor on and supplies packed to investigate the curious lights that seemed to have captured the attention of many in the area.
She does catch several faces she recognizes, and waves happily to those present.
The music, no matter how hard you listen, always remains a distant tune. Familiar, like a song caught in the back of your mind, but the lyrics to which you can not remember. It's a horribly frustrating endeavor to try and place it.
One of the kids that crowds after Paenitia's gryphon tugs gently on her sleeve as they're handed a bag of cooked chestnuts. "Miss Knight... My friend's dad just wandered off into the woods... can he have some too?" The child looks at her hopefully and points to their friend. A boy who looks utterly lost. He's just sort of staring off into the forest with one hand outstretched.
"Daddy?"
"Hola there, friend of the friend!" Paenitia calls out to attract the boys attention. She wants to draw him back, and reassure him, "Come, I have the roasted chestnuts for you. I will find the papa."
Her words are cheerful enough, though a little worried sounding for those who know her. While she waits, she tosses a bag of chestnuts at the gnome on Neighsayers, the delightful duke in gems and jewels. Hard, so it hits his chest and bounces off his finery. "For the other papa." There's something challenging in her tone, but her mask as always, hides her true expression with a wide grin.
Handing off the offered bag to the child in a much more gentle way, she sounds reassuring, "I go to check. I leave the chestnut cooker here. Share. Use the tongs so you will not be burned."
A moment is taken to set the warm device down, then Knight and Steed progress towards the lights.
Randolf perks a bit as his nose catches the scent of roasting chestnuts. He makes his way over to where Pae is set up, leaning in. "Oy, Dame. Ramirez. All right. Could I get some o' those?" Jinks' appearance has him looking and boggling owly-eyed, as one does. But the bard's commentary has him harrumphing, beard all a-bristle. "Yer a bard an' ye dinnae ken what a -colloquialism- is?" he grumbles. "An' don't be absurd. Leyline supersaturation dinnae produce anything like -that-. More like tae make the woods turn tae glass, or make the beasties piss purple." As Pae makes her offer to go and aid in the father-location service, he puffs up his burly chest. "Here, I'll come wi' ye." He snags himself a bag of chestnuts--just in case--and goes to lumber along after her.
Jinks flinches back when the festive nuts are lobbed his way, lifting the hand holding his pony's reins to catch them when they bounce off his chest. His own good-humor tempered momentarily by the Lucht's curious actions. "Ah," a pause "thank you?" He offers, clearly puzzled as he looks across the way and tosses the treat to someone else in the crowd.
"Sorry," he answers Randolf. Whatever flippant, joking remark he had queued smothered by Paenitia's tone. His own progression towards the mystery stalls as he tries to remember what he might've done to draw the paladina's ire.
"Oh, ah, peace on your nest, Paenitia." Seyardu greets before she tosses the chestnuts at Jinks, and she walks over to where the cooking is being started. She sighs, looks to the small gathering. "It is a long story. But Jinks, there is much to talk about another time." She states.
"Peace on your nest Randolf, are you free from your studies to investigate here? Last I saw, you were exhausted trying to keep up with them."
"We talk later, when there is not the crowd." Paenitia tells Jinks, and there is no mirth in her voice, only a wafting of mist from the eye-holes of her mask. Ramirez takes a step forward, and the little knight nods to Randolf, "Enjoy, they chestnuts are free for all."
Several others at the gate have already advanced, a guard, a local merchant, an assistant. A few halting steps which turn into a run. Paenitia clucks at Ramirez, he follows, and then his head tilts to the side as if listening to something. The Dark Lucht's head angles also.
"Oh no." There is a sinking sound to her words, "Do not follow! Keep the others back." They surge into the air, gliding low and calling to the runners, "Turn back!"
They do not. Neither does the Paladina. She vanishes into the woods, heading towards the light.
"Right." Jinks accepts the half-explanations and postponements with the same trepidatious puzzlement as he glances between sith and lucht. He lifts the wine bottle with a glance down at it, tilting it with a deep slosh before deciding to lift it and take a long swig. He's licking his lips when folks begin to break from the curious crowd and opt to take their evening constitutionals carelessly careening off into the peculiar scene.
"Coyote laughs," he laments with a sigh, slapping his pony's reins and breaking out before the group. The gnome finds his breath as he goes, sucking in the chill air and humming a few notes before he offers a counter-melody; something else for the crowd to consider instead of whatever siren's call draws them into the forest.
GAME: Jinks rolls Perform/Sing: (3)+22: 25
Randolf glances between Jinks and Paenitia, reaching up to rub the back of his head with a curious tilt to his head. "There summat goin' on here?" he mutters. They're both friends, though, and so he doesn't pry into their business. Certainly not in front of a crowd that may or may not be getting ensorcelled by some eldtritch entity with a fetish for pretty blinky lights and ethereal just-audible music. He pops a chestnut into his bearded maw, crunching it as he lumbers along. But as people start breaking into a run towards the woods, his eyes bug out. "Oy! Wait a tick, are ye -mazed-?" he grunts. It's lucky that Jinks is there. He'll take gnomish songs over eldridge blinky-light-entity songs any day of the week.
Seyardu nods, but before she can say more, the villagers in question are running off into the forests in the direction of the strange noise.
"Please, halt your investigation!" She shouts over to them, trying to gesture to get them back to the city. "If you are compelled to find the source, look to yourself and think why you are. There may be magic compelling you to do so!"
With little recourse, she jogs after them, trying not to trip over herself in the process.
The bard's song wafts out into the wintery air. It is as if the very weave fights against him, and the world. A gust of wind, a sudden noise from within the walls, a shout from a fellow traveller.
All seek to undo his tune.
Yet, it reaches those three in pursuit. Their run slows to a trot, then to a standstill. They look confused, at the forest where there are lights distantly twinkling between the trees, and back at the city, where the warm glow of torches and the cold light of mana-lamps make it stand out as a stark haven, an island in the dark.
A few steps closer, Randolf and Seyardu can hear it. A distant hue and cry. A horn that causes a stirring in the blood. A calling.
Jinks can feel it, interwoven in his song.
GAME: Jinks rolls Perform/Sing: (2)+22: 24 GAME: Jinks rolls Perform/Sing: (13)+22: 35
It was a stab in the dark-- but a stab in the dark isn't so bad when the lights in the forest glow with alien malice. Wine-stained lips sing out a tune to drown the call, the word's meaning lost for any who aren't People-- but it's a good melody whether or gnot you're a gnome.
Mid-verse the song finds a hitch and the word's choke in Jinks' throat. The fog lingers in the air around his hair for a only a moment before their heat is smothered.
"The bargain is accepted." He announces, the air clear and crisp as the voice issues without breath. "You will come."
The wine falls out of his hands and sloshes down to the ground, glugging lazily as its contents spill. The gnome begins to sing again, a new and alien melody as he turns stiff-backed and steers Neighsayers into the woods.
GAME: Jinks rolls Will: (11)+6: 17 GAME: Seyardu rolls will: (14)+12: 26
Seyardu blinks and sighs when Jinks is taking off and switches tunes. But before she can react to it, the cleric sighs, and continues running after him, but there is no more shouting to get people to stop.
The air is chill and crips. The moon is full, and large, Eluna's light shining down with otherworldly grace. All things become white and silver. The lights of the city fade behind.
Was there ever even a city?
The lights in the forest continue to flicker and fade. Voices on the edge of hearing and understanding. A rhythm, a call. The pounding of feet. The heart races.
As they slip within the trees, they each begin to glow. Jinks, Seyardu, Randolf, are engulfed in a flicking halo that pulses through the spectrum of colours but never fully vanishes. he lights ahead stop flickering, they resolve. Into figures eerie and unsettling. The tallest is limber and regal humanoid, robed in white. Stopped in stature but still towering, he has the head of a skeletal horse and an elks antlers. Long pointed ears hold up a garland of white flowers, matching the white flowing white hair that flies wildly about him. Deep in the dark sockets of the skull are luminescent green eyes.
He points at Jinks, then at his side.
Trailing in a triangle behind him, are three riders and three horses. The archers are lithe, androgynous humanoids, clothed in red with pointed ears. Their faces seem permanently in shadow beneath their winter caps, with glowing green eyes peering out. They each hold bows, with six fingers on each slender hand. Their horses are powerful steeds, each standing upon wispy puffs of air, with a grassy mane and tail swishing majestically in the wind, also twinkling with lights.
GAME: Randolf rolls Will: (5)+6: 11
The words spilling-- lyrically and breathlessly-- from Jinks' purple lips are a part of the music from the clearing. They've resolved into a singular, complete thing before the small procession has made it through the trees and joined the strange, ethereal host.
Neighsayers is disgruntled and whickering as they draw nearer the peculiar group but obeys his rider's commands. A pause and a shake of the head is all the pony manages before the gnome kicks in his heels and the trembling animal continues on. A few last steps and it turns, taking up a space next to the horse-headed creature.
Silver-limned and glowing, Jinks has lifted the hood of his coat en route. Turned now, face cloaked in shadow, the twin balefire flames burn beneath the cowl where his solid black eyes would normally be.
The song continues to be sung.
GAME: Aryia rolls will: (17)+8: 25
Randolf's eyes get wide as Jinks begins to exhibit that eldritch display. "Jinks? JINKS!" He steps forward, pulling his wand with a dark scowl. "Whoever's doin' this, ye'd better stop, afore I--" He cuts off, then, as he himself starts glowing. With a grunt, his feet start trundling him forward. He looks down at himself, then around, then back forward. "Oh, piss up my -arse-!"
Something unusual is in the forest. Strange lights flickering between the trees. Something moves, glowing blue, pink, green, and silver. it pulses and shifts like a mist, like a giant snake. There are voices, distant, on the edge of comprehension that tickle the back of the mind. Music, a tune familiar yet forgotten. Something of great longing.
Closer, those pulled by curiosity and then an otherworldly call see a group of figures. Some mounted, some running. All with a halo of faerie fire. Too close, and the observers acquire it themselves, feel an urge to join.
In addition to the skeletal horned horse, and the three riders, there is a lone figure gamboling about ahead of the group. Like the others, this wirey humanoid has pointed ears, a wintery suit of blue and glowing green eyes. Also, a rams horns curl about their head, encompassing their ears.
Jinks rides beside the tall horse, and at the back of the party is Paenitia on Ramirez. Like the others, knight and mount are surrounded by a glow. It's red in her case and matches that coming from her eye holes. Ramirez also seems to be covered in twinkling lights.
Closer inspecting reveals them to be... worms? And small butterflies.
Seyardu continued her jog until they reached the clearing area, and she stopped to look at herself and the glow that was flickering around her. She looks up, and sees several figures, who she moves to look up at.
"Very well, we are here. Now what is it?" She asks, not hiding her curiosity and slight anger that she could not entirely place.
Aryia is there, somehow. Her too-perceptive hearing catching the muse. And she stays because these damn horses are no way faster than Aryia the shooting star. The mul'neissa slows, her panting with her hands on her knees as she looks around, the mute woman in a silver glow.
There is another figure, not surrounded by the glow, but trailing behind the others. Seldan had spotted the glow, and the figures encompassed in it, and now follows, narrowing his eyes. This could be trouble. Pulling up his hood over his bright hair and his cloak around him, the bow over his back over his knapsack and a sword on his hip, he turns his steps to follow the group. Although he makes some effort to be unobtrusive, trailing them through the forest off the edge of the road, the fact is that armor is not silent, and neither is he.
GAME: Randolf rolls knowledge/the planes: (20)+12: 32 GAME: Seldan rolls knowledge/the planes: (8)+12: 20 GAME: Seldan rolls will: (19)+32: 51
The tall figure in white, with the skeletal horse-head and elk antlers points at Jinks. The gnome is the voice. The finger moves from him, to point ahead.
In the distance, there is the white flag of a hind, a deer tail bounding. The hounds surge ahead, the horses bound after. Even the ram-headed little figure grins at Aryia and leaps into the distance. The mul'niessa has to struggle to keep up. The hounds are faster, the horses, all of them.
Faster in the shadow, faster in the light. All around, the trees flicker, the sky changes. Those in the party see them solid.
The Silverguard, trailing, sees them flickering in and out of existence. Crossing distance.
Crossing planes.
Balefire eyes beneath a wine-colored cowl pivot mechanically to consider the silver sith-makar. The almost-tangible silver light pulling around Jinks' form twists and writhes, breaking free and sliding up into the air as if pulled towards Eluna in Her heavens. The gnome may no longer be under the hood, so obscured are his features in the darkness, and there is no breath fogging the air below.
The song continues, echoing out from nothing and carrying the ghastly-but-seasonal processional forward.
The cowl tilts as if considering Seyardu at length. Then, the tiniest puff of fog bears the simple command to her: "Hunt."
Randolf can only gape as they're brought into that clearing, surrounded by otherworldly entities and things Not Of This World. He only needs to take one look at the spectral entourage to make his shaggy brows furrow into a dark scowl. "Faeries. -Faeries-. Reos' bloody blue bollocks, why's it got tae be -faeries-? An' the Wild Hunt? Here? Beards o' me sweet tapdancin' fathers." He raises his wand-clutching fist and shakes it towards the Monarch. "I'm absolute shit in the wood! I can barely hunt a squirrel, leave alone..." He gestures towards the leaping hind. "... that! Ye -see- these legs o' mine? Why don't ye leave off me friends an' let us go back tae town, an' you lot can go do yer huntin' in peace, right?"
The call of the fae does not pull Seldan like it pulls others, but - the group is being pulled to another plane, he realizes in an instant of watching the flickering shapes travel in and out. Probably the fae realms. In an instant, he bursts from the cover of the trees and joins the group, ice-blue eyes clear and focused. He does not bother to explain himself, merely stays with the group, among them.
Aryia is one that doesn't like to be bested when she knows she can do better, so she breaks into faded after-images, speeding up and ripping across the ground without notice of anything else. None of the shifting lights, none of the sky opening up. None of it. Just that damn deer was hers.
Seyardu nods, and shrugs to Randolf, before she chases off into the distance, in the general direction of the deer where Aryia had disappeared to.
The cowl turns from Seyardu as they speed on. A gust from the wind between worlds blows through the gnome and his pony and pushes aside reality for a moment. The coat flaps, violent and empty, and Enness is made massive, carved from layered muscle with a mane of grasses as it trots just above the ground. The winds blow back from whence they came and Jinks' oversized, wine-colored coat rests.
The little green flames serving as eyes for the ensorceled gnome bob when he nods, accepting a silent command. Still, the song is gun, and again a small puff of steam from beneath the hood.
"Run," it tells Randolf.
The hunt moves, a nimbus of flickering lights. The skeletal horse-headed man nods as Jinks speaks for him.
The ram-horned individual follows Aryia through her flickering shadow steps. She senses him on her heels, and the he bursts past, gamboling in front of her. The two are closest to the prey.
The White Stag bounds with smooth efficiency, over trees, under branches, across gaps. Each time his hooves strike the environment changes. Rocky, wintery, sand, surf, wetlands then steppes. The fiery depths of hell, the endless green of the hunting grounds.
Behind the scouts run the hounds, spread out in a fan, arching up almost parallel to keep the Stag running straight.
Neighsayers, Ramirez, are able to keep pace with the horses. Randolf and the Silverguard might be surprised to find they do also. Once enveloped by the silvery light of the hunt, all stay together.
Paenitia looks across to Seldan, a red glow from behind her ever grinning mask. "I fulfill the vow to the Thorn King that I make in his maze, to carry his subjects on the hunt." She gestures to the spots of light surrounding Ramirez and the silverguard can see, they are witchlight wormfey and small butterfly pixies. The little Red Knight brings up her bow, the other mounted archers do the same.
GAME: Randolf rolls 1d20+6: (7)+6: 13
Randolf is told to run. And he cannot resist it. His stumpy legs start churning, his robe flowing behind him and his kilt billowing in the wind. If the gods are good, there won't be any blow-up action. There may be some folk out there who might be interested in what dwarves wear under their kilts, but it's probably not this crowd. But the command never stated 'do not cast spells'. Even as he finds himself keeping pace with the hunt, Randolf moves his wand through a complex pattern. "Re ex raya dunor ahneg negatos!" he incants. He snaps his wand out with a mighty "HAH!" A gauzy-thin crystalline sphere shimmers around the group--but it does not shatter, instead vanishing a moment later with an ominous chime. "Oh fuck -you-!" he snarls furiously. The dwarf has had just about enough of this nonsense. It was shaping up to be such a nice evening, too. There were roasted chestnuts.
GAME: Randolf rolls knowledge/the planes: (4)+12: 16 GAME: Seldan rolls knowledge/the planes: (13)+12: 25
Seldan runs right along with the others, and makes no move to resist, something of the maiden's joy of the hunt beneath the moon, running with her brother Gilead, seeps into his mind and suffuses him as the terrains pass by one by one, in rapid succession. The thrill of it takes over, and he looks up at Paenitia as she speaks, his own answer coming between hard breaths. "I run with you." Why, he does not explains, merely keeps up the pace. "Fear not!" he shouts to Randolf as the spell fizzles. "Run with it, and do not break it, lest you be stranded in an unknown plane! I have the means to take us all home, when it is done!"
"Well, we will hunt this creature, for whatever reason that may be." Seyardu nods to Paenitia as she somehow manages to not trip over herself keeping up with the others. "Just relax Randolf, save your magic for when we reach the thing." She suggests to the wizard.
GAME: Seyardu rolls knowledge/religion: (18)+9: 27
GAME: Randolf rolls knowledge/religion: (7)+6: 13
The horse-headed figure makes two sweeping gestures at the hounds, out in front of the group. The gnome beside him is ignored, he speaks, he obeys. Others will obey him.
It's an eerie chase, with the shifting environment, the teasing tail of the stag bouncing just out of sight, just out of range. White puffs of his breath are left hanging in the air, the only suggestion it lives. The goat-scout vanishes to lay a trap ahead.
GAME: Seyardu rolls survival: (10)+5: 15 GAME: Seyardu rolls knowledge/military Theory: Trained Use Only: 0 GAME: Seldan rolls survival: (1)+25: 26 (EPIC FAIL)
Jinks remains the larger thing's shadow, riding along on its flank and all-but swallowed in his role. Enness' flank has taken on a sheen of sweat made entirely otherworldly by the silver glow. Still, the song.
Always the song.
Both hands come up, fingers too-long as they stretch out from generous sleeves. They twist, glittering rings and gnormal, gnomish-sized digits pulling free of the planar illusion with some effort. "Play along. As hounds. Be fine."
A jerking, pulling shudder and the signal is made simple; a forward-sweeping indication of the field ahead. 'Hunters make ready!'
Both arms make a sweeping arc, six-fingers splayed and closing palms closer towards eachother. 'Hounds surround!'
A pause and those commanded make to obey. Then an upward thrust hand snaps closed in a fist. 'Fire!' <handspeech>
Seyardu squints, and chuffs as she gets a good view of their quarry. "We should be honored, if this is a manifestation of Gilead. All we have to do is hunt a god of hunting, and we will be on our way."
Jinks seemed to be guiding them, so, she would listen to the instructions. She could not catch them most likely, so she would be large and imposing, and perhaps block off one of the potential exits. She takes out her polearm, and brandishes it in front of her in case she needed to trip the stag as it bounded past them.
Seldan nods up at the order and moves to obey, spreading out with the others and eyeing the stag's movements, a swift, magical whisper in his mind offering suggestions as to which way the stag is likely to break and moving to intercept, pulling his own bow from his back and preparing to stop it should it try to break at him.
Randolf looks over at Seyardu with a harrumph. "Oh, is -that- all? -I- was on me way tae get supper. Instead, I get tae deal wi' -this- bullshit, on an empty stomach tae boot! Bah!" Muttering and grumbling, he turns and skims out in an arc, looping around to get ahead of the stag. Trotting backwards without any seeming effort. If he were in a better mood, he'd probably be delighted by how easily he seems to manage it. "All right, I'm in place," he calls. "An' I'm -nae- a bloody hound!"
The hounds move in. The short stubby-legged one, the silvery-scaled hound, and the one enveloped in Eluna's shining light. The other four hounds close also, large, muscular mastifs whose breath is green smoke, billowing between bared teeth and the flared nostrils.
Ahead, escape is cut off, the ram-horned scout and his shadowy assistant cutting it off.
The circle closes.
The White Stag is surrounded. A perfect specimen, twelve points and prime health, hide steaming from exertion.
There is no escape. The circle is perfect.
The archers fire, arrows arcing to land within the hounds. Their first shots missing; they pull again.
The Stag rears, twists and lunges! Antlers stab into Seldan's shoulder as it blows past him.
"Agh!" Seldan's hand goes to his shoulder as the point stabs in, then tears out, and the crimson flowing from beneath the plates of his armor vanishes instantly. An enchantment appears to take hold on it, although its effect appears to be only to make the blood vanish. He whirls on the thing as it blows past him, and swiftly nocks an arrow to the bow in the beginnings of an attempt to stop it, grimacing as he does so.
Seyardu brandishes their polearm, only for the beast to decide on another course of exit, and it spears Seldan's shoulder for good measure. She turns to begin chasing after it again. "I will heal your wound after we are done here." She states, not breaking stride as she continues after it. "Next time, we should fire while leaving it an escape route."
GAME: Seldan rolls weapon2: (4)+22: 26 GAME: Seldan rolls weapon2: (3)+22: 25 GAME: Seldan rolls weapon2: (9)+22: 31 GAME: Seldan rolls 1d8+5: (3)+5: 8 GAME: Seldan rolls 1d8+5: (1)+5: 6 GAME: Seldan rolls 1d8+5: (5)+5: 10 GAME: Seyardu rolls 1d20+8: (19)+8: 27 GAME: Seyardu rolls 1d20+8: (1)+8: 9 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Seyardu rolls 1d20+8: (7)+8: 15 GAME: Seyardu rolls 1d8+2: (3)+2: 5 GAME: Paenitia rolls weapon1+3: (2)+13+3: 18 GAME: Paenitia rolls weapon1+3: (13)+13+3: 29 GAME: Paenitia rolls weapon1+3: (16)+13+3: 32 GAME: Paenitia rolls damage1: aliased to 1d6+1: (6)+1: 7 GAME: Paenitia rolls damage 1: aliased to +1: (11)++1: 12 GAME: Paenitia rolls damage1: aliased to 1d6+1: (5)+1: 6 GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+20: (18)+20: 38 GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+20: (12)+20: 32 GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+20: (20)+20: 40 GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+20: (11)+20: 31 GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+20: (17)+20: 37 GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+20: (16)+20: 36 GAME: Seyardu casts Angelic Aspect. Caster Level: 11 DC: 20 GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+20-5: (1)+20+-5: 16 (EPIC FAIL)
The horned horse-headed man raises a horn to his lips. He blows, an echoing peal that sounds across dimensions. The hunt is still on, the hunt is on again. The White Stag bounds off into the distance as riders and hounds re-orient to give chase.
Seyardu sighs and reaches into her bag for anything she could use to strike at the fleeing beast. She pulls out a long trident, and taking a running start, she hurls it at the stag.
It goes wide, and sticks into a nearby tree. The cleric yanks it out as she runs by it, and with another toss it goes sailing through the air, only to bounce harmlessly off of the hide of the stag. When she reaches for it again from the ground, she stops, and glares at the creature. One hand is held up, and the stag, charging the dwarven hound, is shoved, violently out of the way of Randolf.
Gilead would have his hunt, but his mother would not have him hurting her other children needlessly. Restraint needed to be shown, even by force if need be.
The song is as much a member of the hunt as the beings (mortal and otherwise) participating. Jinks made the mistake of opening his mouth and volunteering for a job he didn't know existed and so here he is. Lost in the most fantastic of costumes, his awareness backstage to look on in amazement.
An arm sweeps across, flapping in the dark purple coat. It shudders, a layered ghost image of six long fingers stuttering in and out of step with the gnome's actual hand. The delicate, impossibly-long digits curl into a fist. All save the first two left to point after the retreating animal.
"The Hunt continues," the voice announces, crawling out from the black void between the two burning, green points of light. "Pursue," it commands.
He is the voice. He is the song. He does not draw his bow.
He fills the air with music instead of arrows.
Despite the momentary failure to contain the creature, having been caught by surprise so, Seldan seems undeterred and unbowed, instead giving chase and loosing multiple arrows on the run. His aim is true, but the arrows more skitter along its side than do any real damage, falling harmlessly to the ground. Still, there is a fierce joy in this hunt, the knowing that he hunts Gilead himself making this a holy act into which he has stepped, and he will see it to its end.
With hue and cry the unearthly pack rise to the chase again. Hounds bound barking through the trees. The scouts once more vanish into the distance, to lay traps and cut off escape. The archers pursue, loosing arrows.
One little Red Knight follows, her horse half bird and covered in twinkling glow-worms, and cheering butter-fae. She looses arrow after arrow, many strike the rump bouncing in the distance, none penetrate.
Imperiously, the hunt leader lets the others progress with him, always directing his mouthpiece with light gestures of his hand.
Several times throughout the night, the White Stag is cornered, and miraculously escapes. Until finally, it is trapped against an impossibly high cliff, a violent sea breaking to the south and the north. Pinned on a peninsula with the tide rising and the Hunt following up the beach. Overhead, the sky churns as angry as the sea. The Stag cannot bound up the wall, it can't face the surf. The hounds surround, arrows fly.
Darkness comes in waves and the White Stag is taken down. It's last defiance and furious defense which shatters its antlers. All are pierced, all are injured.
It dies.
Glorious in death, the aftermath is a great feast that all participate in. Able to eat until they are stuffed.
Morning comes.
The memory of the hunt is faint, fading, like a dream. The full stomach, the exhaustion and the antler injuries remain.
-End