Sorry for the wait, people, but the site was weird for me for a while.
Maybe they announced something I did'nt see, or maybe it was just my
computer, but it was out for a while or so, so, here is the newest edition,
and once again, to the E-mailers concerned about the future editions, sorry
and please enjoy. . .
Damathodor stalked slowly, cautiously, ever downward along the pitch black stairwell. His sword out in front of him, sweat began to pour unchecked down his forehead ad he had to constantly wipe it from his eyes through stinging pain. It was searing hot. The very air the Knight breathed was tainted it seemed, with pure hellish heat and dry fire. The Knight choked more than once as the unatural ounslaught of heat increased gradually with each step.
Finally, after an hour of smply walking downward into the unbearable, firey air, Damathodor came suddenly upon a gigantic crack in the narrow stairway. Looking hesitantly into the even darker casm before him, the knight glanced confusedly down the continuing stairway. Feeling the hotter air emitting from the large cavern in front of him; the knight quickly deduced that, seeing as his destinaton was hell, he should follow the hottest route to the underworld. He stepped heavily over the scattered bricks and into the dense, thick, horrible heat.
Little did he know, Damathodor was right about the correct route, and he was heading directly for the unimaginable Horror that lurked thousands of miles beneath his feet. . .
Hours later, after many leaps and bounds over unending pits earth casms filled to the capacity with liquid magma. Only through constant and feverent prayer could the unbeatable Paladin fight off the heat and murderous fires. He reached a mighty pit falling off into incalculable blackness. He looked about, the heat setting in during his lapse in concentration. He lingered by the edge of this vast and unending casm and felt the gentle searing fires blasting up into his reddened face.
"What is this?" He asked himself, his question sounding off the high walls above. There were no edges around the entrance into the 'room' in which the Knight stood. He heard a clicking-scratching sound echooing above him, almost in reply to his question. He had just turned to go back the way he had come when the demon creature flipped lightly from it's perch on the ceiling ten feet above his head and landed on his chest heavily.
"Aaarg!" Damathodor cried in suprise and fury, swiping with his sword, but the furry little bat-thing had it's claws wrapped deep in the fabric of the Knight's protruding undercloak. Losing his balance, he waved his limbs rapidly in the thick, hot air, feeling his foot slip quickly from the smooth rock beneath him. Gasping once in the heavy atmosphere, he tumbled silently backwards into the gaping pit he had just circumvented. The demonic creature's twisted gleaming eyes were the last beacons of light the falling and twisting Paladin saw before complete darkness covered his vision, and he fell.
Meanwhile, the Necromancer and the anxious preist climbed ever higher along the stairwell, the Sorcerer's growing sense of impending doom multiplying with every step. The only sound, eerily enough was the echooing scrape and clank of the two men's boots on the cold stone stairs. Despite the cold and rain outside, Bometh was sweating profusely in his exertions, and puffed along some distance behind the nimble Necromancer, who stopped every ten steps to urge him on, impatient to met the new threat he felt before it could amply prepare itself.
"Come, noble preist, get moving! The Barbarian can help us not in this growing doom over our heads!" He whispered harshly at one point, turning in the dim way to watch the unfit man waddle his way comically up the stairs. He would have laughed if he had not resolved to show no emotion unless in the prescence of Marie. His face was set and grim, but even he was beggining to feel the weight of his excersice.
"I don't do much running along the aisles of the prayer room in the church!" sputtered the preist, his face red and his hands bracing his knees as he came up to Durag.
"Yet run we must, for an evil above all that I have known lies in wait above!" came the reply, and on they ran. Soon they came to an evening of the pass; a short wood door barred the path, and, peeking from beyond it seeped some evidence of a large, well-lit room.
"Be careful, my preist, the enemy we pursue may well be found beyond this very door!" said Durag, putting his hand upon the rotten wood. Seeing Bometh braced, he flung his weight upon it and the barrier caved easily, the two tumbled inside, weapons at the ready.
Indeed a large, torch-lit room lay before them, but it was barren of all objects of furniture and holsterings, only five torches bolted to the walls of either side and a large burning central pyre in the center of the rectangular space. Upon their entrance, the emense central blaze flared up, forcing dancing torchlight into the up-most corners of the tall chamber.
"Magic!" whispered Bometh, crossing himself and looking for some foe to spring upon them at any moment. The Necromancer gazed about skeptically, then, his eyes catching upon some hidden object in the mass of burning wood and oils in the center fire, he started, bringing out his hand to shade his searching glare. His cursory investigation confirmed his suspicion.
"Take care near it's lowest limbs, for they hold the most poison, although all of them carry some degree, the uppermost will not kill you with any luck," he began to instruct the preist, who stared at his companion in terror and anxiety. "It's flames will not harm you unless you touch the skin itself, and try not to look into the eyes; they are hypnotic, I am told, and the thing uses them to instill stupidity into it's victims before it strikes."
"What are you talking about!?!" shouted Bometh in bewilderment, but the Necromancer spoke on, the flames growing still.
"The weak spot is under the center eye, in the things stomach, above it's waist. Stab, pound or gouge the area as best you can, I shall try my hand at counterpoisoning the beast, but you must assist me in fending it off, whatever you do, do NOT let it get to the wall, or we will surely perish." Durag concluded, seconds before an enormous flaming claw erupted by magic from the midst of the pit of fire at the center of the room. A hideous head of some sort pulled itself snarling from the blazing mass of burning.
"Dear lord!" cried Bometh as Durag started forward, pacing with his weapon up. He turned quickly as he prepared for the battle.
"Don't do that praying stuff, either. It just pisses them off."
The creature, a massive human form, enveloped by fire and waving four clawed arms, each dripping deadly poison, roared defiantly as Durag's blade gleamed in challenge to it's grotesque visage. Crossing himself again, Bometh carefully started forward, possibly to his death, as Durag cried some vile sounding ancient curse and threw himself headlong at the gigantic spider-human.
Damathodor stalked slowly, cautiously, ever downward along the pitch black stairwell. His sword out in front of him, sweat began to pour unchecked down his forehead ad he had to constantly wipe it from his eyes through stinging pain. It was searing hot. The very air the Knight breathed was tainted it seemed, with pure hellish heat and dry fire. The Knight choked more than once as the unatural ounslaught of heat increased gradually with each step.
Finally, after an hour of smply walking downward into the unbearable, firey air, Damathodor came suddenly upon a gigantic crack in the narrow stairway. Looking hesitantly into the even darker casm before him, the knight glanced confusedly down the continuing stairway. Feeling the hotter air emitting from the large cavern in front of him; the knight quickly deduced that, seeing as his destinaton was hell, he should follow the hottest route to the underworld. He stepped heavily over the scattered bricks and into the dense, thick, horrible heat.
Little did he know, Damathodor was right about the correct route, and he was heading directly for the unimaginable Horror that lurked thousands of miles beneath his feet. . .
Hours later, after many leaps and bounds over unending pits earth casms filled to the capacity with liquid magma. Only through constant and feverent prayer could the unbeatable Paladin fight off the heat and murderous fires. He reached a mighty pit falling off into incalculable blackness. He looked about, the heat setting in during his lapse in concentration. He lingered by the edge of this vast and unending casm and felt the gentle searing fires blasting up into his reddened face.
"What is this?" He asked himself, his question sounding off the high walls above. There were no edges around the entrance into the 'room' in which the Knight stood. He heard a clicking-scratching sound echooing above him, almost in reply to his question. He had just turned to go back the way he had come when the demon creature flipped lightly from it's perch on the ceiling ten feet above his head and landed on his chest heavily.
"Aaarg!" Damathodor cried in suprise and fury, swiping with his sword, but the furry little bat-thing had it's claws wrapped deep in the fabric of the Knight's protruding undercloak. Losing his balance, he waved his limbs rapidly in the thick, hot air, feeling his foot slip quickly from the smooth rock beneath him. Gasping once in the heavy atmosphere, he tumbled silently backwards into the gaping pit he had just circumvented. The demonic creature's twisted gleaming eyes were the last beacons of light the falling and twisting Paladin saw before complete darkness covered his vision, and he fell.
Meanwhile, the Necromancer and the anxious preist climbed ever higher along the stairwell, the Sorcerer's growing sense of impending doom multiplying with every step. The only sound, eerily enough was the echooing scrape and clank of the two men's boots on the cold stone stairs. Despite the cold and rain outside, Bometh was sweating profusely in his exertions, and puffed along some distance behind the nimble Necromancer, who stopped every ten steps to urge him on, impatient to met the new threat he felt before it could amply prepare itself.
"Come, noble preist, get moving! The Barbarian can help us not in this growing doom over our heads!" He whispered harshly at one point, turning in the dim way to watch the unfit man waddle his way comically up the stairs. He would have laughed if he had not resolved to show no emotion unless in the prescence of Marie. His face was set and grim, but even he was beggining to feel the weight of his excersice.
"I don't do much running along the aisles of the prayer room in the church!" sputtered the preist, his face red and his hands bracing his knees as he came up to Durag.
"Yet run we must, for an evil above all that I have known lies in wait above!" came the reply, and on they ran. Soon they came to an evening of the pass; a short wood door barred the path, and, peeking from beyond it seeped some evidence of a large, well-lit room.
"Be careful, my preist, the enemy we pursue may well be found beyond this very door!" said Durag, putting his hand upon the rotten wood. Seeing Bometh braced, he flung his weight upon it and the barrier caved easily, the two tumbled inside, weapons at the ready.
Indeed a large, torch-lit room lay before them, but it was barren of all objects of furniture and holsterings, only five torches bolted to the walls of either side and a large burning central pyre in the center of the rectangular space. Upon their entrance, the emense central blaze flared up, forcing dancing torchlight into the up-most corners of the tall chamber.
"Magic!" whispered Bometh, crossing himself and looking for some foe to spring upon them at any moment. The Necromancer gazed about skeptically, then, his eyes catching upon some hidden object in the mass of burning wood and oils in the center fire, he started, bringing out his hand to shade his searching glare. His cursory investigation confirmed his suspicion.
"Take care near it's lowest limbs, for they hold the most poison, although all of them carry some degree, the uppermost will not kill you with any luck," he began to instruct the preist, who stared at his companion in terror and anxiety. "It's flames will not harm you unless you touch the skin itself, and try not to look into the eyes; they are hypnotic, I am told, and the thing uses them to instill stupidity into it's victims before it strikes."
"What are you talking about!?!" shouted Bometh in bewilderment, but the Necromancer spoke on, the flames growing still.
"The weak spot is under the center eye, in the things stomach, above it's waist. Stab, pound or gouge the area as best you can, I shall try my hand at counterpoisoning the beast, but you must assist me in fending it off, whatever you do, do NOT let it get to the wall, or we will surely perish." Durag concluded, seconds before an enormous flaming claw erupted by magic from the midst of the pit of fire at the center of the room. A hideous head of some sort pulled itself snarling from the blazing mass of burning.
"Dear lord!" cried Bometh as Durag started forward, pacing with his weapon up. He turned quickly as he prepared for the battle.
"Don't do that praying stuff, either. It just pisses them off."
The creature, a massive human form, enveloped by fire and waving four clawed arms, each dripping deadly poison, roared defiantly as Durag's blade gleamed in challenge to it's grotesque visage. Crossing himself again, Bometh carefully started forward, possibly to his death, as Durag cried some vile sounding ancient curse and threw himself headlong at the gigantic spider-human.