Rhenn
08-02-2006, 03:55 AM
Rhenn flexed her fingers inside her gloves, rubbed her thumb across her palm in anticipation. She closed her eyes and prayed humble, silent words to the Light, and listened.
She heard Zetor exhale, the soft clicking of his armor as he stretched his back, and the clattering scratch of metal on metal as the plates slid back into place and he paced forward into the grass. She counted his footfalls in her head, listening to the heavy crunching steps of the warrior she was to protect.
Her robes stirred, brushed not touched by an unseen elbow. She barely heard the hushed creak of leather, and she knew Cylvia was moving in on thier prey as well, daggers drawn, a wraith about to frenzy.
Bones snapped behind her, a groan, a moan, a feral roar, and she felt the rush of air by her legs that druids always kicked up when they shifted.
A turtle gruntted and clacked its bottom jaw imptiently, and Brennach chided her like a mother scolds a child. In her minds' eye, Rhenn could see the stout dwarf lovingly stroking the beasts' leathery pink neck. The thing could have well been his child the way he doted on her.
One of the humans was praying; Hana, if Rhenn was not mistaken, somewhere just ahead of her in the party, bringing the last few blessings of Light and Virtues abounding onto the gathered company. She listened for the sharp intakes of breath at the sudden, instant verification in the belief in your god, and the sudden increase in ones own power. She felt the words ripple across the air. The warmth inside that caused a shiver to run up her spine. Her lips parted just slightly, and a breath escaped. Rhenn touched her own pouch of candles and flint at her side, cool now, after almost half an hour of disuse, and allowed a half smile to quirk her lips, remembering the sensation; her muscles rising, cording, as if waking from some deep sleep with in her when she spoke her own words of power.
She heard a creak of wood and strained sinew, the soft ringing brush of mail, and a mutter of dwarven behind her to the left as Haemnik pulled his bowstring taught, drawing a bead.
"Rhenn." Haemnik's words were a rough slur of the dwarvish accent, but they brought Rhenn back to the moment. She opened her eyes, and looked up, toward's Zetor's back. The plate gleamed dully, raindrops still beading on the surface. Rhenn grinned down at the grizzled dwarf.
"Here we go." She replied, and spoke Shield around Her Warrior. Rhenn inhaled, a sharp, deep breath.
Haemnik's arrow wass away, and Zetor was in motion. Time stops. The troll lurches off of his dias with a warcry that falls on deaf ears. Rhenn's world is silence, thought. The white-gold light of a flash heal fills her hands as soon as she completes the first. She hears Cylvia scream, and hears nothing. A tiger roars defiance and pain and fury. Something thick and hot and viscous spatters across her robes, and Rhenn looses a greater heal, another, a flash heal, a shield. Something heavy falls against her back, and claws sink into her shoulders. Rhenn flinches and the spell wavers, the light flickering around her, until she can focus on it, forget the pain for just long enough....the cast is off, she fades, and the Heavy thing, the Tiger bigger than she is falls through where she was. A pyroblast sears the fur off it's face and forelegs, and it howls in terrefied agony. A gnome cackles somewhere, and Zetor shouts in rage, burying his blade in the troll's armor, again and again. Flesh hangs off his body, peeking out of the armor like tattered useless rags sloughed off in summer heat. Beneath it red, then purple, then white emerge. Rhenn releases the heal she has been nursing to full power, and a new layer of fresh supple skin appears. Zetor screams. Rhenn heals, and heals, creating chains of white-gold, and staggering in the grass, wet hot liquid clinging her robes to her legs, boots slipping in the slick. Her friends scream in agony - she prolongs it. Makes them last, keeps them surviving. She swims in the abyss of white noise and death. There is nothing, there is only what must be done. What she will do. She pants for breath, the resivour of mentail agility fading to nothing...the words of the spells slippery now, wet, heavy...she's slow, too slow...Zetor is going to die...An animal...a troll? wait, a tiger...howls. Screams? Gives thanks? And suddenly...there is nothing left to kill.
Zetor slumped to his knees, leaning heavily on his weapon. Rhenn doubled over, leaning her hands on her knees and sucking in air, trying to think, clear her head, focus. She blinked vaguely at the red-green grass, the crimson splatterd across her white robes dripping dully down her legs. Her shoulders throbbed - a new scar, that one, maybe. A moment more to collect herself, and Rhenn straightened up, adjsuting the black stole of her robes, one end trailing in the gore undignified as it was. She turned to her gathering of friends, all grinning at one another covered in pieces of tiger and troll and dwarf anf gnome and elf bloody, battered...and victorious, and threw back her arms to cheer. Her guild echoed in a raucus cacaphony, and she bent over Thekal's corpse to divvy up their plunder.
She heard Zetor exhale, the soft clicking of his armor as he stretched his back, and the clattering scratch of metal on metal as the plates slid back into place and he paced forward into the grass. She counted his footfalls in her head, listening to the heavy crunching steps of the warrior she was to protect.
Her robes stirred, brushed not touched by an unseen elbow. She barely heard the hushed creak of leather, and she knew Cylvia was moving in on thier prey as well, daggers drawn, a wraith about to frenzy.
Bones snapped behind her, a groan, a moan, a feral roar, and she felt the rush of air by her legs that druids always kicked up when they shifted.
A turtle gruntted and clacked its bottom jaw imptiently, and Brennach chided her like a mother scolds a child. In her minds' eye, Rhenn could see the stout dwarf lovingly stroking the beasts' leathery pink neck. The thing could have well been his child the way he doted on her.
One of the humans was praying; Hana, if Rhenn was not mistaken, somewhere just ahead of her in the party, bringing the last few blessings of Light and Virtues abounding onto the gathered company. She listened for the sharp intakes of breath at the sudden, instant verification in the belief in your god, and the sudden increase in ones own power. She felt the words ripple across the air. The warmth inside that caused a shiver to run up her spine. Her lips parted just slightly, and a breath escaped. Rhenn touched her own pouch of candles and flint at her side, cool now, after almost half an hour of disuse, and allowed a half smile to quirk her lips, remembering the sensation; her muscles rising, cording, as if waking from some deep sleep with in her when she spoke her own words of power.
She heard a creak of wood and strained sinew, the soft ringing brush of mail, and a mutter of dwarven behind her to the left as Haemnik pulled his bowstring taught, drawing a bead.
"Rhenn." Haemnik's words were a rough slur of the dwarvish accent, but they brought Rhenn back to the moment. She opened her eyes, and looked up, toward's Zetor's back. The plate gleamed dully, raindrops still beading on the surface. Rhenn grinned down at the grizzled dwarf.
"Here we go." She replied, and spoke Shield around Her Warrior. Rhenn inhaled, a sharp, deep breath.
Haemnik's arrow wass away, and Zetor was in motion. Time stops. The troll lurches off of his dias with a warcry that falls on deaf ears. Rhenn's world is silence, thought. The white-gold light of a flash heal fills her hands as soon as she completes the first. She hears Cylvia scream, and hears nothing. A tiger roars defiance and pain and fury. Something thick and hot and viscous spatters across her robes, and Rhenn looses a greater heal, another, a flash heal, a shield. Something heavy falls against her back, and claws sink into her shoulders. Rhenn flinches and the spell wavers, the light flickering around her, until she can focus on it, forget the pain for just long enough....the cast is off, she fades, and the Heavy thing, the Tiger bigger than she is falls through where she was. A pyroblast sears the fur off it's face and forelegs, and it howls in terrefied agony. A gnome cackles somewhere, and Zetor shouts in rage, burying his blade in the troll's armor, again and again. Flesh hangs off his body, peeking out of the armor like tattered useless rags sloughed off in summer heat. Beneath it red, then purple, then white emerge. Rhenn releases the heal she has been nursing to full power, and a new layer of fresh supple skin appears. Zetor screams. Rhenn heals, and heals, creating chains of white-gold, and staggering in the grass, wet hot liquid clinging her robes to her legs, boots slipping in the slick. Her friends scream in agony - she prolongs it. Makes them last, keeps them surviving. She swims in the abyss of white noise and death. There is nothing, there is only what must be done. What she will do. She pants for breath, the resivour of mentail agility fading to nothing...the words of the spells slippery now, wet, heavy...she's slow, too slow...Zetor is going to die...An animal...a troll? wait, a tiger...howls. Screams? Gives thanks? And suddenly...there is nothing left to kill.
Zetor slumped to his knees, leaning heavily on his weapon. Rhenn doubled over, leaning her hands on her knees and sucking in air, trying to think, clear her head, focus. She blinked vaguely at the red-green grass, the crimson splatterd across her white robes dripping dully down her legs. Her shoulders throbbed - a new scar, that one, maybe. A moment more to collect herself, and Rhenn straightened up, adjsuting the black stole of her robes, one end trailing in the gore undignified as it was. She turned to her gathering of friends, all grinning at one another covered in pieces of tiger and troll and dwarf anf gnome and elf bloody, battered...and victorious, and threw back her arms to cheer. Her guild echoed in a raucus cacaphony, and she bent over Thekal's corpse to divvy up their plunder.