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Escaping his bonds, Foerde works up a plan to draw the guards in. Grabbing the pee bucket he smacks against the ground. While it does draw the attention of the guards, the only tell him to quiet down. He makes his way slowly to the doors and presses his back flat against the wall hiding from the door. He hurls the pee bucket across the room, it hits the far wall with a clang and clatters is it hits and rolls on the ground.
Foerde waits...
A slot on the door opens and the Elf guard peeps inside. In Elvish the guard says "I do not see the prisoner. Go fetch ten more warriors and we will enter cell in force. He may have broken his chains."
Foerde's plan isn't working as well as he hoped. Apparently he has a smart guard. Thinking on his feet, Foerde begins chanting, at the end of his chant a bolt of frozen lightning appears in the palm of his hand. It extends four feet out from the palm and is thick as sword. Foerde strikes blows with the Lightning blade, but the heavy door holds firm.
It must be enchanted, for the Lightning does little more than scuff the hardboard panel. Pulling the crackling power into a fist sized ball, Foerde unleashes the full force of the magic against the stubborn portal.
Boom!
The door cracks open amid a spray of burning splinters.
Foerde sees two elf guards in the hall just beyond his dungeon cell.
They stand with their hair literally on end, long locks waving up from under the rims of their bronze helmets. Saint Elmo's fire dances on their unsheathed swords.
Both elves stare at Foerde, mouth hanging open.
Taking advantage of their shock, Foerde engages his enemies in melee combat with nothing but his fists and tattered vestments on his back. The melee goes on for a few minutes with Foerde coming out victorious but wounded.
The chase is on, Foerde is pursued by another group of guards. Eventually the catch up to him and is almost kicked senseless. He gets back up and fights off his attackers like a feral cat until an opening for escape appears and he takes it. Finding a small window he squeezes through...
Foerde climbs round the tower, moving away from all windows.
He passes under an bronze cage chained to stone post that sticks out from the wall. Looking up, he sees what look like a human skeleton in the cage.
Moving around further, he reaches a high extension of the great thorn vine. It is as thick as his arm, and thicker still further down.
Testing the vine, he finds it will bear his weight, barely. (Reduced now that he is no longer at full growth).
It sways and creaks as he shimmers down it. Thorns catch his skin and what remains of his clothes.
His fingers and toes go numb from the cold.
He slides a few feet, catching himself on a thorn as big as a spearhead, dangles with his feet in midair for a few precarious seconds before he drags himself inside the tangle of briar.
Pushing himself deeper into the cold jungle of thorn, Foerde descends more slowly but with less risk of falling. The plants provide some protection from the wind, but not much, as the breeze seeps through the gaps and pulls away his body heat.
Agony overtakes him and he moves on by pure animal instinct.The wounded cat seeks a hole to hide in and lick its wounds.
When his mind returns to full human level, he looks about and sees that he is tucked into the hollow under a stone arch. The arch appears seamless but rough. With the light so poor just twinkling a of stars through breaks in the thorns above him, he must feel the arch to discover the truth: no mason made this. It is the root of a gigantic tree, turned to stone by long ages before the elves built the tower. Probably long before men even came to Cerilia, unless some strange elfin magic sped the tree's petrification.
He has little time to contemplate the mysteries of nature or history, though. Cold. Killing cold.
His fingers and toes have blistered. When he stops shivering, he will die soon afterward. His thin coat of fur, which in the past has earned him derision and stares among normal humans, may have kept with from freezing to death for now.
Exhausted but knowing that to stay still too long means a frosty death in the briar, Foerde pushes further down.
He touches down on earth at last.
The animal part of his brain takes over again. From someplace far away, he sees his body digging in the soil and dead leaves under the tangle of briars...
... Foerde wakes in a shallow grave; cold, stiff, but alive.
His whole body aches.
A layer of dirt and decayed plant matter three inches deep covers him from chin to toes. Hazy light shines through the thick growth of blackthorn that surrounds him.
Foerde has just finished his prayers when he hears the briar cracking and shaking. The light increases. Elves appear in a widening gap near him, their thin faces contorted with bloodlust. He counts six, but the briar not yet cut away may hide more. Long knives glitter in their fists. The sky over their heads and shoulders glows pink with dawn.
One of the fair folk screams at him in Elvish,
"Out, abomination, or we will burn you alive!"
"Wont be the first time I've been burned." Foerde says defiantly.
He begins chanting, at the end of his his holy symbol turns into a metal rod. At the top of the rod a spectral chain forms with a spectral spiked ball attached to the end of the chain.
The elves retreat from the gap, but Foerde can still hear them moving about just on the other side of the dense, tree-thick briars vines.
Foerde moves out of briars and into the open, attacking the nearest Elf with his Holy Flail...
Foerde waits...
A slot on the door opens and the Elf guard peeps inside. In Elvish the guard says "I do not see the prisoner. Go fetch ten more warriors and we will enter cell in force. He may have broken his chains."
Foerde's plan isn't working as well as he hoped. Apparently he has a smart guard. Thinking on his feet, Foerde begins chanting, at the end of his chant a bolt of frozen lightning appears in the palm of his hand. It extends four feet out from the palm and is thick as sword. Foerde strikes blows with the Lightning blade, but the heavy door holds firm.
It must be enchanted, for the Lightning does little more than scuff the hardboard panel. Pulling the crackling power into a fist sized ball, Foerde unleashes the full force of the magic against the stubborn portal.
Boom!
The door cracks open amid a spray of burning splinters.
Foerde sees two elf guards in the hall just beyond his dungeon cell.
They stand with their hair literally on end, long locks waving up from under the rims of their bronze helmets. Saint Elmo's fire dances on their unsheathed swords.
Both elves stare at Foerde, mouth hanging open.
Taking advantage of their shock, Foerde engages his enemies in melee combat with nothing but his fists and tattered vestments on his back. The melee goes on for a few minutes with Foerde coming out victorious but wounded.
The chase is on, Foerde is pursued by another group of guards. Eventually the catch up to him and is almost kicked senseless. He gets back up and fights off his attackers like a feral cat until an opening for escape appears and he takes it. Finding a small window he squeezes through...
Foerde climbs round the tower, moving away from all windows.
He passes under an bronze cage chained to stone post that sticks out from the wall. Looking up, he sees what look like a human skeleton in the cage.
Moving around further, he reaches a high extension of the great thorn vine. It is as thick as his arm, and thicker still further down.
Testing the vine, he finds it will bear his weight, barely. (Reduced now that he is no longer at full growth).
It sways and creaks as he shimmers down it. Thorns catch his skin and what remains of his clothes.
His fingers and toes go numb from the cold.
He slides a few feet, catching himself on a thorn as big as a spearhead, dangles with his feet in midair for a few precarious seconds before he drags himself inside the tangle of briar.
Pushing himself deeper into the cold jungle of thorn, Foerde descends more slowly but with less risk of falling. The plants provide some protection from the wind, but not much, as the breeze seeps through the gaps and pulls away his body heat.
Agony overtakes him and he moves on by pure animal instinct.The wounded cat seeks a hole to hide in and lick its wounds.
When his mind returns to full human level, he looks about and sees that he is tucked into the hollow under a stone arch. The arch appears seamless but rough. With the light so poor just twinkling a of stars through breaks in the thorns above him, he must feel the arch to discover the truth: no mason made this. It is the root of a gigantic tree, turned to stone by long ages before the elves built the tower. Probably long before men even came to Cerilia, unless some strange elfin magic sped the tree's petrification.
He has little time to contemplate the mysteries of nature or history, though. Cold. Killing cold.
His fingers and toes have blistered. When he stops shivering, he will die soon afterward. His thin coat of fur, which in the past has earned him derision and stares among normal humans, may have kept with from freezing to death for now.
Exhausted but knowing that to stay still too long means a frosty death in the briar, Foerde pushes further down.
He touches down on earth at last.
The animal part of his brain takes over again. From someplace far away, he sees his body digging in the soil and dead leaves under the tangle of briars...
... Foerde wakes in a shallow grave; cold, stiff, but alive.
His whole body aches.
A layer of dirt and decayed plant matter three inches deep covers him from chin to toes. Hazy light shines through the thick growth of blackthorn that surrounds him.
Foerde has just finished his prayers when he hears the briar cracking and shaking. The light increases. Elves appear in a widening gap near him, their thin faces contorted with bloodlust. He counts six, but the briar not yet cut away may hide more. Long knives glitter in their fists. The sky over their heads and shoulders glows pink with dawn.
One of the fair folk screams at him in Elvish,
"Out, abomination, or we will burn you alive!"
"Wont be the first time I've been burned." Foerde says defiantly.
He begins chanting, at the end of his his holy symbol turns into a metal rod. At the top of the rod a spectral chain forms with a spectral spiked ball attached to the end of the chain.
The elves retreat from the gap, but Foerde can still hear them moving about just on the other side of the dense, tree-thick briars vines.
Foerde moves out of briars and into the open, attacking the nearest Elf with his Holy Flail...