Magus
The Fiendlord
Dance
Lox saw Rand leave just as the Knight charged into the circle of eldritch chanting and emancipated what was left of the Leader's soul from the wretch's body.
The Baros and Asana came into the frey. It was getting very heated, very quickly. For some reason, Lox didn't follow the thief, instead holding his ground and pressing himself against the side of that broken pillar.
His mind registered the chattering of many maddening voices, and a few cultured patterns belonging to his party. Oddly, he caught a strange sensation - a reflection of his own thoughts, muffled and strange, and the sound of wind. He was no psychic, and he couldn't understand what caused this.
He didn't have time to ponder, either. Things were getting bad, and for him as well. The Undead Knight by now was merely a pile of armor and dust, but the cultists were massing and in frenzy. Lox's odd eyes narrowed, and his hands tensed against the smooth marble of the pillar - a drooling, lurched form stared at him for a moment from beneath a hood - they saw him! It charged and hissed a sound that might once have been a terrible curse, hefting a large rock in its hands and meaning to kill.
Lox slid around the pillar, launching himself into his semi-float and immediately slipping his cards into his hand. A moment of concentration, not broken as the cultists came at him. He had only a second to spare.
His wrist moved, and his fingers held a card. Which one!?
There was a glow, and a flash. his hands was radiating with a strange light, and the card was wrapped in it. An evocation of forces unknown. Lox felt a shock run up his spine and into his bones, not entirely unpleasant, but disorienting. His eyes blurred.
The cultists screamed in surprise and rage, and thrashed at this Thing with his rock to little avail. A terrible sword sliced the arm that held the rock completely off, but the wretch had little tijme to enjoy that pain before two strokes had splayed his stomach apart, spilled his innards, and then loped his head off. The cultists fell, and two others that had been approaching stepped back and fled.
The image of a great figure, androgynous in features and wrapped in queer, luxurious cloths and armor, stood for a moment. Lox was holding his head and shaking it, a bit disoriented. The figure was immense, with very long blonde hair and blue-tined white eyes. The image of a triangle with a line through it, just below the center flashed on its chestplate. A few odd symbols were inscribed across it in different places, of lanugages unknown to those present. It held two swords, one of an oriental design and one a monstrous Gladius, both inscribed with symbols or letters and glowing faintly of fire, but fire wrapped in an invisible wind. Around this figure, a fierce gale sounded, but little moved in breeze.
then it was gone, and Lox Regardie was recovering himself.
Where was everyone? His sight was evening out.
Lox saw Rand leave just as the Knight charged into the circle of eldritch chanting and emancipated what was left of the Leader's soul from the wretch's body.
The Baros and Asana came into the frey. It was getting very heated, very quickly. For some reason, Lox didn't follow the thief, instead holding his ground and pressing himself against the side of that broken pillar.
His mind registered the chattering of many maddening voices, and a few cultured patterns belonging to his party. Oddly, he caught a strange sensation - a reflection of his own thoughts, muffled and strange, and the sound of wind. He was no psychic, and he couldn't understand what caused this.
He didn't have time to ponder, either. Things were getting bad, and for him as well. The Undead Knight by now was merely a pile of armor and dust, but the cultists were massing and in frenzy. Lox's odd eyes narrowed, and his hands tensed against the smooth marble of the pillar - a drooling, lurched form stared at him for a moment from beneath a hood - they saw him! It charged and hissed a sound that might once have been a terrible curse, hefting a large rock in its hands and meaning to kill.
Lox slid around the pillar, launching himself into his semi-float and immediately slipping his cards into his hand. A moment of concentration, not broken as the cultists came at him. He had only a second to spare.
His wrist moved, and his fingers held a card. Which one!?
There was a glow, and a flash. his hands was radiating with a strange light, and the card was wrapped in it. An evocation of forces unknown. Lox felt a shock run up his spine and into his bones, not entirely unpleasant, but disorienting. His eyes blurred.
The cultists screamed in surprise and rage, and thrashed at this Thing with his rock to little avail. A terrible sword sliced the arm that held the rock completely off, but the wretch had little tijme to enjoy that pain before two strokes had splayed his stomach apart, spilled his innards, and then loped his head off. The cultists fell, and two others that had been approaching stepped back and fled.
The image of a great figure, androgynous in features and wrapped in queer, luxurious cloths and armor, stood for a moment. Lox was holding his head and shaking it, a bit disoriented. The figure was immense, with very long blonde hair and blue-tined white eyes. The image of a triangle with a line through it, just below the center flashed on its chestplate. A few odd symbols were inscribed across it in different places, of lanugages unknown to those present. It held two swords, one of an oriental design and one a monstrous Gladius, both inscribed with symbols or letters and glowing faintly of fire, but fire wrapped in an invisible wind. Around this figure, a fierce gale sounded, but little moved in breeze.
then it was gone, and Lox Regardie was recovering himself.
Where was everyone? His sight was evening out.