The Realm of Joroin

Thoughts of Battle
The thoughts of Kerrin...

Dagger to the chest…
Change to the garrote…
Why don’t I hit harder…
Where is Black Paws…
Damn Drow and his darkness…
Ah an opening…
Hold on to this guy, pull tighter…
Who’s next…
Fuck me, the Dwarf and the Elf are down…
Pain…
Shit…
Wait, where did he go…
Bane…
Am I free…
Why do I feel hollow…
Can’t worry now…
Who can I stab…
Where is Black Paws…

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Death at the River's Edge

If anyone (cough, Jess, cough) wants to chime in on this, please do.

Noooooo!!!

The impotence of Blackpaws’ command collided with the length of rope that rained upon him as his back crashed into the muck of the trench he had rolled partially into. The fall didn’t harm him, but the implications of his short journey froze his heart in his chest. Scarcely had the coils settled before Paws was digging his fingers into the side of the rift and hauling himself to it’s upper edge. His vision in the dark was keen, but not sufficient to spot his companions on the shore. Without hesitation, the druid flung himself into headlong flight parallel to the raging current.

100 yards? 200? Blackpaws could not tell how far he had ran before he found the first of his companions. The Drow. Blackpaws saw Zebith floating face-down, swirling in a small circle in an eddy near the bank. Paws slid to the edge of the water on his chest, black-wrapped hands digging their fingers into the folds of his ally’s cloak. Paws hauled back on the cloak, and it slipped free of the dark elf’s neck and Zebith began to drift into the violent stream of the river once more. Desperately, Paws grasped out one last time and caught the string of Zebith’s bow which was strung across his neck and shoulder. The taught line held, and Blackpaws was able to beach his friend. The druid rolled Zebith over and quickly held one hand out to the grass and foliage peeking through the sparse snow. The steam of Paws’ breath roiled in the crisp air as words of ancient power coaxed the healing life of the plants into first himself, then into Zebith. The Drow’s breath did not mix in the air with his own.

“Lia!”

The thought that she might still be struggling against the power of the river brought his sense of triage to the fore, and his black boots became a blur of motion propelling him further along the river’s course. Vaulting stumps and stones that littered the bank in the murky night, a glint of something golden reflecting in the pale light of the waxing moon caught eyes Blackpaws inherited from his elven mother. It was the crystal sun centered in the holy symbol Lia wore about her neck. Nearly falling to where the spark of light came from, Paws stopped at the rise of a set of breakers in the river. Lia’s spear was across her back, and the thong had been caught in the limbs of a tree that had fallen partially across the river. It held her body like a marionette in the rapids, bobbing above and below the water’s surface like a rag doll swinging in the hand of a running child. She was close enough to the shore that he could reach out and touch her shoulder. The rushing water covered her face, pulling her autumn-brown hair down it in sheets. Her mouth hung open, filling with water that instantly spilled over her unmoving lips. Gold-flecked brown eyes stared wide and aimlessly into the night despite the force of the river’s current dragging at their lids.

“She might have made it…” Blackpaws wept inwardly. “…she got tangled by her spear in the rapids and the current held her under.”

Grasping the end of the fallen tree, he dug heels into the soft ground and pulled the wooden detritus as far into the shore as he could. Reaching for the Dawnspear, Paws grasped it tightly and drew Lia’s body onto the shore. The rope that was tied to her waist trailed away from her and into the water still, where it wavered to and fro like a snake. Blackpaws retrieved the length from the waters, and cast it aside close to Lia. Bending down, he untied the end from her mid-section and dropped it next to her.

Dropping to his knees at her side, Blackpaws stared at her for a long moment before placing his leather-wrapped hands on either side of her face, cradling her head gently. Tenderly, he lifted his thumbs to her eyelids, and pulled them shut, nodding his forehead till it rested lightly on hers.

“How could I have been so careless, so blind?” The Druid spoke aloud. “Lia, you have selflessly supported every oath, vendetta, and crusade that we have all laid before your feet. Not once did you ever question or doubt the validity of a cause, the surety of another’s purpose. I was so convinced that I knew better, that nothing mattered beyond putting my own ghosts to rest that I have added two more to that haunting.”

Blackpaws raised his head from hers, a deep sorrow flecked with new understanding apparent in his emerald eyes. Slowly, The Wolf Warrior raised those eyes into the night sky towards the moon.

“Perhaps…perhaps there is a way, one I have had the strength to use but never understood the path.”

Blackpaws kneeled at Lia’s head, cradling it gently in his lap, shoulders and back resting on his thighs. Closing his eyes, a deep growl built in his chest, building to a howl as his head craned back to release it’s energy. His chest heaving, Ghostdancer stood at his side. The great spirit, created from the druid’s own soul, laid down next to the fallen eladrin and touched its muzzle to her side. Gathering himself, Blackpaws howled to the moon a second time, and again a great wolfen spirit identical to Ghostdancer stood to his other side, and laid down at Lia’s side with its muzzle touching her arm. A third howl, then a fourth cut the night and four wolf-spirits in total lay at the shoulders and legs of Lia. Blackpaws gathered breath for a final howl, the four spirits joining in chorus till at the end of their crescendo the glittering forms of the wolves faded. As they did, Lia’s back suddenly arched with arms and legs flailing. A cry gurgled in her throat as the sound pushed the water from her lungs. She rolled to her side, vomiting water and shedding tears from eyes wide with confusion. Blackpaws slumped to her side, wracked with exhaustion, a comforting hand lightly touching her shoulder. When she had settled herself, she rose to one elbow, and turned to look at the druid. Blackpaws lay upon the ground, looking into the sky. In the faint starlight, Lia thought she saw streaks of silver in his hair at the temples that she had not thought she had seen before.

“You…you brought me back…” Lia whispered.

“I wasn’t going to let you go. Not like Sarah.”

“Who was Sarah, Blackpaws?”

“She was my wife. She died because of me. Just like you did.”

“Paws, don’t…”

Blackpaws sat up, raising a hand to stop her words.

‘No, Lia. Don’t. Don’t make excuses for me. My feud…my blind bloodlust for my family’s killers…that is why you died. Why Zebith died. Why the others may be dead for all we know, and are certainly weaker without us.”

“You are a good man, Blackpaws. I don’t know the details of what happened to you, you’ve never told anyone. I don’t even know your real name, just what the locals call you. What I do know is that you have a good heart, otherwise I would never have followed you at all.”

Blackpaws rose and began to gather himself, keeping his silence. Walking to the water’s edge, he picked up the end of the rope that had tied Lia and Zebith together and began coiling it around his elbow and arm.

“My name is Sarlane. Sarlane Dersenara.”

As he spoke his name aloud for the first time in nearly two years, Blackpaws drew up the last of the rope. As he secured the coil, something odd caught his eye. The last of the length, the one that had been closest to Zebith, was not frayed. It had been cut.

“Blackp…Sarlane? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing Lia. Let’s head back upriver. Zebith’s body is waiting.”

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Garulth the Politician

The day before the group returns to town…

“Garulth Undermountian” the deep draconic voice bellows “Speak now on your matters and the council will listen”

The gruff dwarf clears his throat, still not comfortable with this new found part of his responsibilities, “I am here before you great council members on multiple points of business” shuffling his feet and a few papers in hand “First off is the matter of my missing clansmen… it has been almost half of a half-month now and still the only signs lead to the former lord Grummstein and his Orc” Garulth spits loudly onto the pristine marble floor “army. Second is the matter of wilds between the walls and our family forges – moreover the lack of patrols in the area. Third and last is matter of the abandoned lot that is adjacent to ours in the Nobel district – once owned by an Eladrian family that has not been seen or heard from in neigh a year, prior to that it was owned by a human merchant family turned dragon slayers that were themselves destroyed by the dark lady of dragons, Tiamat herself.” Bowing his head ever so slightly, Garulth backs away from the podium and looks at the eleven council members wearily.
Three dragonborn, an elf, a dwarf, and six humans stare back at the prince of Undermountian with varied expressions… after a few moments of silence the man in the center seat – a thin man with dark hair and beard trimmed to perfection – stands to answer Garulth.
“We have made decisions on your matters prince” said with a condescending smirk “Garulth of Clan Undermountian. The land that is adjacent to yours has an heir, and cannot be granted to you. Find this heir and discuss the matters with her. As for the patrols outside of the walls… once your taxes start to roll in from the profits you earn on those forges we will be able to afford to keep the wilds patrols, until then we are better served protecting inside the walls. Lastly is the missing clansmen, and it pains me to see your loss” Garulth picks up on the fact that the sole dwarf on the council cringes at this mans’ insincerity “but you have at your disposal the man who is best suited to bring back news on them… contact your outlaw ally that goes by the name ‘Black Paws’ and convince him of your troubles”.

The council stands and files out the door at the rear of the chamber, leaving Garulth 0 for 3 on requests… again.

Slowly the disappointed dwarf makes his way out of the councils keep and down out of the justice district, down a few side streets, and finally down a well-used ladder to the road below. Garulth hates using the streets above, finding the roads below to be much less full of shit, even if not literally.

Passing a dark alleyway the sound of an anvil being struck catches his attention, turning quickly to follow the sound into darkness and reaching for his hammer out of habit, knowing that it is back at the keep, Garulth rounds a corner to see the dwarf from the council tapping his own hammer against the ground. “You move slower now that you are becoming a politician… the Anvils of Light recruited you for your other skills, but know that we are happy with how you are progressing in your new roll. You did however have a task set to your before you set out on this path… did you find the one we seek? Is he of pure of heart and mind? Is he an Anvil?”

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Moonlight and Ashes

Blackpaws sat on his knees before the turned earth that once held all that remained of his former life. No tears stained his cheeks, the capacity for such softer emotions long since burned away by the white-hot fires of Rage and Hatred. Absently, he picked up a handful of dirt from the violated grave of his daughter, Rebecca, the rich loam falling through his fingers into his lap.

It was not possible for Blackpaws to hate his long-fought foes Grizzlebane and the former Baron Grummstein more than he already did. He had hit bottom in that regard. However, the depths to which Blackpaws would go to vent his fury had found a new well to draw from. The sword, Scarblade, nearly singed the leathers of his leggings as it rested against his thigh, a low growl coming from it, or perhaps some farmer’s cur nearby in the night.

Turning his eyes into the night sky, Blackpaws prayed to a dead god that neither heard nor cared for the impassioned words falling from the lips of her last devoted follower…

“Sehanine, your grace shines down on me in full from on high…why? Why has this been allowed to happen?!”

Sarlane grabbed double handfuls of earth from the ground before his wife and child’s resting places and held them up to the light of the full moon, his voice rising in pitch and deepening in fury.

“I was spared their fate, and for what? To tirelesly pursue the ravagers of my family and home in YOUR NAME!”

Sarlane flung the dirt to the ground and brought his black-wrapped arms to his chest, fingers curled into claws of rage.

“I…I was spared while Sarah and Rebecca were ravaged by that filth! And all I asked for in return for executing your wrath upon orcish trash was to keep what remained safe, sacred.”

Now at last the tears did come, for the dead man Sarlane Dersenara had risen up to push Blackpaws into the shadows.

“I suppose it was too much to ask, Sehanine, for in the end you could not even keep yourself inviolate…and now…now my love and my child have paid a second time for the curse of my weakness.”

Sarlane fell to his knees, the impact stirring the ashes of the once mighty tree that guarded the graves nesteld in it’s roots. body wracked with sobs, Sarlane ran his hands through the black ashes and placed his fingers to his cheeks, drawing down them, leaving black lines that ran to his jaw.

“I beg you, Lady of the Moon…I BEG YOU…if there is anything left of your light in the sky, give it to me. Give me the strength to avenge my family…”

After a long silence, Sarlane lay back down in his resting place. The settled, grim features of Blackpaws once again asserted themselves.

Blackpaws looked at the undisturbed grave marked by a simple wodden plaque that read only “Sarlane Dersenara”. The grave of a weak man who died nailed to a tree.

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The 4th of Autumn’s Night

The Night of Autumn is a cold time of year. Small fountains freezing over, the trees are naked now, and most travelers are bundled up against the snow that falls lightly most every day. This however has not distracted black paws from his ritual. Every day for the last week, since returning to the farm belt from the dark reaches of the Shadowfell, he has made his way to the river side graveyard. The now known place of rest of his once family.

Only this day, the 4th of Autumn’s Night, he see smoke from off in the distance… he sees a crowd as he gets closer… and the he sees the large tree that overhangs his normal place of prayer burning fast and wickedly… unnaturally.

Ducking away and scanning the crowd Paws is unable to determine what might have caused it, crouching low and watching as the fire burns the tree to ashes the crowd dissipates leaving only a handful of Blue robed Dragon Core investigate what might have happened.
As they move around and out of the way Paws sees what they are looking at… the two graves directly under the tree have been violated, dug up and emptied out. Paws releases a desperate scream (or howl?) as he sprints towards the holes in the freezing dirt. Two dragon core steps to slow him down but he leaps over them as if they were a park bench, and turns to the rest, growling “leave. Now. I will deal with this.”

Recognizing the one time outlaw turned farm belt hero the Dragon Core nods and backs away, not leaving, but waiting for him to do what he must before they continue with the investigation.
At the base of the smoldering tree, at the foot of his wife’s grave, Paws finds what he is looking for. A small piece of parchment, hidden under some of the dug up soil… bears the seal of Grummstein.

“Sarlane, you first took my son then our warrior, now we take from you. If you continue your futile quest to slay Grizzlebane and Myself we will continue to take from you and destroy forever that which we take”

Gripping the message tight, Paws runs toward the manor house… where he knows the majority of his pack are staying… hoping they will once again join him on this quest… so that he will have someone to share his blood thirst with.

We will pick up the session with the group heading out of town toward the hills that lay between the Twin Forges (as they are now called), you are working off of a bit of information that Aria picked up from her Dragon Core contact that Orc activity has increased in that area lately.

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Responsibility…

So much to do and so little time seems to be the message of the day should anyone speak to Garulth since his return to the Undermountian Manor House. His new liege’s passing on of more responsibility to the ‘famous dragon slayer’ has eaten up any time he might have had to enjoy life.

Garulth had more to live for now. More than just himself and his friends that is.
Rumors were spreading at social gatherings of the new clan, and its honor being that of the old dwarves. The possibility of the southern and northern clans being united though marriage has even been whispered.

During the last month the upstart clan has gained almost 20 inductees. Dwarves from now defunct clans, from the north and the south, from existing clans that have too think of bloodlines, and others who have not said where they are from. All of these dwarves in need of jobs, purpose, and places to stay, and all that is now Garulth’s job to take care of.

So it came as no surprise to the group that once the coins were counted and spent, and all were well rested and fed, and each had wants to get back out in search for adventure; Garulth declined to come with them. The sadness in his eyes was evident, but his dedication to his adopted family is that that will become legend.

Despite their pleas and requests the dwarf is sitting this quest out, so he can take care of his responsibilities.

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Conversion…

After the others leave the keep on their way to oversee the silver transport Korgul wanders out to his favorite spot in the courtyard. A small stone bench that has a good view of both the Undermountian forge and the side street that runs along the back of the property. He has spent a lot of time here the last few weeks as the others have been worrying about where to be and what to do. He has almost gone unseen in his mind… his mother dead, his father dead, those that took him as a slave dead, and his hatred for the world in general fading into a want to protect it from itself.

Sitting and thinking, that is not what most thing of when they see him and his prowess with the axe, but it is what he has become. His thoughts weighing heavier and heavier every day…
Could he give up his identity? Could he become one of them?

They do what he wants to do. They protect the innocent. They are respected. They are never overlooked. They have a family. They have a FATHER.

Like clockwork three Dragonborn, obvious members of the Red Core, walk around the bend and start up the side street Korgul has watched for weeks. Not always the same three men, but always three and always at this time.

He struggles to stand, forcing his legs to move. Fear holding them in place.
It is harder than he would have thought, to give up what he is.

Just as they get to the side gate to the courtyard he snaps free, walking briskly – looking eager for sure but not quite running. “Um… um excuse me sirs” mumbles out the hulking half-orc as he closes on the three.

Stopping and turning the largest of the three speaks “Yes, what is it?”

“Well you see, I met this one Black Core Guard a while back, and, well, um he told me that if I felt the call I could ask any of you and you could show me the way”

“The way to what lad, spit it out.”

“The way to become one of you…” mumbles Korgul, his voice trailing off and his eyes dropping to see his own feet.

“Oh. I see.” The dragonborn pauses, looking Korgul up and down “Are you sure you wish to give up what you are? This is no easy life, and no easy transformation. The Platinum Dragon only accepts those true of heart, mind, and soul.”

“I, I am ready, I think”

Raising his voice “You think? You think boy? This is not a dance with maiden or a meal at the tavern! This is the rest of your life!”

“I am ready. Lest go now. NOW!”

And without another word the three dragonborn escort Korgul to the grand temple… where all who wish to become dragonborn must go.

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Emergence…

A few days after ‘the sorting of the Hoard’; Lia, Lorgrimm, Black Paws, and Aria are heading back into the dragons lair to oversee the transport of the silver coins. Aria enters the now brightly lit chamber (thanks to a few ever burning torches they installed) and immediately notices blood drops across the floor of the entrance. Silently gesturing to her emerging companions she points out her discovery and the four draw weapons and slide to the gap in the cavern wall that leads to the main chamber.

Sitting atop a small pile of rocks is a dark elf, as suddenly as you see him he jumps to his feet attempting to draw his bow but instead crumbles to one knee in obvious pain. The blood trail leads directly to him and you see he was in the middle of attempting to stitch himself up when you walked in on him. Behind him you see a dozen fresh lizard folk corpses, riddled with arrows and one spear covered in drow blood.

As Paws and Lorgrimm move in closer, warning the dark elf to stay down, they both feel the hands of Lia on their shoulders as she leans in between them. “Zebith… is that you?” Lia quietly and questioningly whispers.

Looking up with a glow of joy in his eyes that most do now see in a drow “By the dragons themselves, what are the chances of this… Lia! It has been far too long!” Pulling himself up, using his bow as a crutch, Zebith attempts a bow to the Lady of Pelor and smiles at his other one time companions.

Quickly Paws summons the healing power of the moss in the cavern and mends the spear wound in the side of Zebith, and then he and the others listen to his tale of where he went when he had ‘died’ and how he came to be here.

It seems that his mother has placed an enchantment on him as a babe to summon his corpse, should he die, back to her so that she might be able to bring him back to life – she was able to this time. Zebith then spent the last 6 months or so training and working with his mother in a small drow community that has been established in the Shadowfell – he makes sure to mention that not everything down there is horrible, just most things. He was out on a scouting trip with a few others and were ambushed by a black dragon that they forced to take flight, his fellow scouts went back to town after Zebith drew the short straw and had to track the beast. And track it he did… to an area of the Shadowfell known as ‘Black Ice’ an arctic-like section of the realm, and was then able to further track it to the portal that led him here. Thank god it was already dead…

Zebtih mentions that he could use some time out of the Shadowfell and the group easily takes him into their ranks once again.

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The Dragons Hoard

Victory… no Epic Victory! That is the only way to describe the battle most recently won. The black dragon lay dead at the feet of our heroes, its lizard folk army decimated, and its treasures piled in a once hidden section of the massive underground lair of the beast. The piles of coins, gems, and items file the majority of the cave, leaving little room for the party to investigate, let alone the dragon herself the ability to gaze upon her once hoard.

After much deliberation the group decides to rest and heal their many wounds in the lair of the dragon, while sorting out the loot to see what they can claim as their own. During this evening a few strange events also take place.

Coins and plenty of them fell to the hands of the dwarves to sort and count… and after a short discussion on if they should sort by mint/denomination or denomination/mint was settled (not going to mention who won) the totals fell out as follows:

1,531 platinum coins
9,497 gold coins
30,013 silver coins
81,265 copper coins

Gems and jewelry was sorted out and given to Lia and Aria to evaluate… being women the group figured they would know best… and after that comment the two decided they got 1st dibs on the jewels. Each claiming one of the pair of sapphires cut in the shape of an eye (the set is worth 2000 GP). The rest of the valuables break down like this:

Silver and Amber Bracelet (100 GP)
Hand full of polished Garnets (100 GP)
Turquoise statue of the Lizard folk Chieftain (100 GP)
Platinum and Aquamarine Pendant – Insignia of the gnomish merchants in Dauos (500 GP)
Black Pearl (not the ship!) (500 GP)
Gold and Topaz earring set (500 GP) (matches necklace below)
Gold and Topaz necklace (500 GP) (matches earrings above)
Emerald cut into a sphere the size of a gnomish fist (1000 GP)
Sapphires (2) cut in the shape of eyes (1000 GP each) (taken by Lia and Aria to spite the group)

A handful of other oddities are also found as Paws and his ‘best’ friend Korgul sorted out the mundane items in the hoard. This handful of items either looked to be better quality than normal or had something that caught one of their discriminating eyes.

Black Leather Boots: look to be sized for a small child but upon further inspection it is determined that they will magically resize to fit any small to large biped’s feet.
Bone Chest Plate: once removed from the corpse of the chief it is obviously of much better quality than originally guessed. The plate seems to be harder than steel but weighs next to nothing.

Small Wooden Box: roughly 4” square this wooden cube has a detailed carving of a dense forest, full of life, covering the four outside walls, while the bottom is smooth and the top only shows a single leaf thinly carved in its surface. The lid slides out from the walls easily but is currently empty.

Heavy Brown Leather Boots: the sole worn flat and the undetermined brown fur that lines the cuffs is a disgrace… but there is something odd noticed when they are lifted up from the ground… almost no print is left behind.

Platinum Bracers: about 6” long and sized for a human or dwarf, these bracers are decorated with semi-precious stones of various colors that make a pattern of a kite shield across their face.

Black Leather Gloves: unadorned and well worn, each has a faint brand in the palm that shows an arrow in flight… off target.

Heavy Square Shield: this heavy shield was covered in filth and graffiti, but after an hour or so of cleaning it face shows a mural that depicts a huge red dragon bound with chains to a cavern floor, it maw pried open, and a giant anvil resting inside.

Wooden Canteen: this wooden canteen with a cork stopper is adorned with a painted scene of a waterfall pouring into a small oasis, when opened up Korgul dumped almost a gallon of water out of the small device before Paws grabbed it and set it aside with the other treasures.
Purple Liquid in Glass Vial: the small glass vial is marked in common with the words “helps the dead stand again”

Gray Robes: a set of thing robes appear to be covered in a fine layer of spider webbing. When inspected more closely it is determined that the webbing is in fact a very detailed silk stitch work in the pattern of a giant spider web.

Now that that is out of the way we must go back to the end of the fight, as the dragon dies.

Garulth’s craghammer comes crashing down into the chest of the dragon, crushing the last bits of breath out of it, the hammer screams… a deep long scream… causing even the dying dragon so show fear as its last emotion as it falls limp. (Garulth’s craghammer gains the ‘Terror’ property)

As Lia pulls The Dawn Spear out of the dead dragon it glows a bright light that can only be described as holy. The light spreads out to fill the room for only a moment, and when it fades Aria jumps to her feet. (Lia’s Dawn Spear gains the ‘Rousing’ property and her Pelor’s Pendant moves up to +2)

Aria jumps to her feet almost uncontrollably and she grabs her left hand with her right, pain visibly shoots across her face and the smell of a burning corpse fills the air. A few seconds that seem like minutes, pass and she releases her hand to show that her family ring had grown red hot burning her while morphing in shape and size. The ring now wraps around her ring finger and middle finger (like a figure 8) and appears to be carved in a dragon like scale pattern, while almost undetectable black flames now dance across its surface. (Aria’s Ki-Focus now is +2 Embers of Black Flame Ki Focus with the added ‘Scalebane’ property)

Lorgrimm stumbles back a bit from the smell of burning flesh and instinctly reaches down to the small hole in his chain armor, feeling the warm slick blood that runs out the puncture wound a spear had left earlier in the fight… to his obvious shock he feels the wound start to heal up and close. (Lorgrimm’s Blood Moon Armor gains the ‘Enduring Beast’ property)

(feel free to discuss who gets what, how to get coins back to town, RP, etc over the next week and dont forget to level up to 7th also)

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Interlude
The Rage...

Blackpaws felt his hand run slick with sweat along the grip of Scarblade. His eyes blurred, shifting perspectives between color and greys timed to the flash of the lightning as it flickered menacingly. He tried to wrench up his grasp on the blade and nearly fumbled it. His hands, his fingers, felt…wrong. Longer? Sharp…er? Fire charged through Blackpaws veins against the flow till it careened into his temples like nails driven into his skull with dwarven hammers. The pain came so fast and with such horrific intensity that Blackpaws could not even utter the scream his mouth soundlessly worked. The pain brought with it an anger such as he had known only once before, and since unmatched. The searing heat of his blood felt as if it would burst from his body and Paws clenched his teeth against it, unexpected length in them drawing blood from his lip.

…and then it was gone. The pain, the boiling of his blood, the anger…The Rage.

Gone, as if it never happened.

Blackpaws glanced to Ghostdancer. The spirit had transfixed it’s gaze on him, lips retreating from the corners of it’s jaws to cover fangs that had been bared moments earlier. Those ghostly eyes now held him with an all too human emotion swimming in thier depths.

Pity.

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