DM-Nastics #38: The Final Countdown!

This fits great for lore in my world so here I go:

Torren Evenstarr the half-elven warrior was all that stood between them and eternal destruction. With the rest of her party lying dead around her and the demon general wounded she climbed to her feet, swearing with the last of her life force. "You shall not harm another soul, I will see to it. Even if it means forfeiting my own life." She clenched her Darksteel sword and charged the demon lord with all she had left. The demon bellowed out a roar in protest, over confident in itself and its infernal powers. But the demon had not felt the sting of Darksteel before. With a side-swipe of its enormous talons the demon strode forward but Torren saw the attack for what it was, an attempt to steal more ground and a better portion of the battlefield. Not willing to give up her advantage she threw her hips back as the talons scrapped over her armor, immediately slashing down and out to the side the Darksteel blade drank deeply. Through skin, muscle, sinew, and bone the dark metal carved. Xorenthule let out a devilish scream with such force that it nearly knocked over Torren. Now clutching the stump of its newly severed limb infernal fire flared from his eyes and with a guttural voice it spoke to the half-elf. "You will pay with your life she-elf, you will die a thousand deaths before I give you reprieve." Arcane energies began pooling in the creatures right hand, Torren's eyes shifted calculating her next move. With a roar that seemed to come from hell itself Xorenthule threw his only hand at Torren, forcing him to shift his weight to avoid being thrown off balance. Torren stood there motionless as the flare of burning fire rushed at her. A blinding flash erupted and all that remained was scorched earth. There were no flames. The demon chuckled to itself. "You thought you could beat the greatest general of the infernal armies. Petty mortal, you die like the rest of your kin. Too easily -" A gurgling sound quickly replaced the demons voice. A single dark blade pierced the hard exterior armor of the demon, through its spine, its airway, and out the front of its neck. Now glowing with vibrant red energy, Torren released the "Witchblade's" hidden potential. Bright fire erupted in the demons throat and traveled both out of its mouth and deeper into its body. Xorenthule's body spasmed as tiny fissures formed in his skin. The spell that the 'Witchblade' stole held too much energy for something like this, but it was the only way Torren could be sure of its death. Rays of light burst from within the cracks in the demons skin and hungry searing fire detonated outward. The blast wave from the explosion shook the ash loose from nearby trees. Torren was thrown a good thirty feet through the air before landing shoulder and head first. Rolling end over end the 'Witchblade' was flung from her grip. Covered in her own blood Torren laid there staring up into the night sky as a single star shot across the sky and winked out. "Mother" She managed to get out through a cough full of her own life-force. "I'm coming home. I hope you kept the hearth warm." With a deep inhale her eyes grew heavy and for the first time in her life she was ready to rest for a long while. Slowly the air escaped her lungs and her limbs fell to her side. The smoldering husk of Xorenthule's corpse withered and turned to dust. The Darksteel blade enacted its last punishment upon the demon, banishing him to his home for another thousand years. The battlefield was silent. Torren's body laid next to those of her friends. As her spirit traveled from this life to the afterlife she looked down upon herself and the others. "Today will be remembered not because we died, but because we few stood against the wave of many. Today. The will and heart of good won the day." Torren was no more. Thrown off to the side the 'Witchblade' began to glow a radiant blue. A single mountainous figure materialized, made of pure energy and resembling a bulky seven foot tall dwarf. He held out his hand, palm up. The blade levitated from the ground to his hand where it too would vanish. With a single flash and small gust of wind the battlefield settled.

- The day Xorenthule was banished and the forces of good won the 'Sin War'

Failure. Kalren's quest had come to this. Failure of the highest order.

His twin sister dead. Everyone he knew and fought with dead not long after. The Order of the Red Shadows butchered them all, and did their best to keep Kalren at bay. He did not stop to mourn them. He did not let their tragic deaths slow him for even a moment. He kept his sword in hand and cut down every Red Shadow he laid eyes on. For every one of his allies they killed, he killed a dozen. For his sister alone, he killed a hundred.

But in the end, he was just one man. In the end, the Red Shadows were too much. They succeeded, opening the gates, letting their demon masters flood forth into the world. Kalren was there, fighting them even then. He was pulled through the gates, cutting the demons and devils down as he had cut down the Red Shadows.

If he had to go to hell, he would do so with a sword in his hand. The only true failure would be to lower his blade.

Wow! Really really loving what's coming out of this one! Great stories from the pictures.

Their swords rang out loudly in the smokey battlefield. For a war zone, it was eerily quiet save for the repeated clash of metal on metal. Around the paladin, fallen and bloodied on the ground, lay her comrades. Before her stood Dorzarul, the Shadow Knight of Nerul. Behind him, the smaller sun shone starkly through the clouds, creating a glare through the tears streaming heavily down her cheeks. Her weak and weary arms barely managed to fend of his blows, parrying endlessly.

"Give up," he boomed, his voice sending shivers through her, "You're tiring. I will slay you soon."

"I can't give up!" she said bravely, her throat tight, "someone has to stop you!"

"Then I am not responsible for your death!" He swung again, beating her helmet from her head and pushing her to one knee. Dazed, the warrior barely had time to defect his next blow. Quickly, she jumped to her feet and swung to the side. As he moved to block, her leg struck out, knocking him onto his back. She leaped forward raising her sword above her head. Then she froze.

"I... I can't kill you," she sobbed, blade slowly lowering.

"You're weak, Moira," he hissed. He kicked her legs out from under her and she fell roughly, her sword skidding across the blood soaked ground. He rose to his feet as she lay there, sobbing softly. He loomed above her, placing a foot on her chest and gripping his sword in both hands to run her through. Moira closed her eyes and tilted her face up to the suns.
Pelor, forgive me, she prayed silently, I tried, I really tried, but I just can't kill him. It hurts too much.
Be still, my child, his voice echoed in her mind, You will never hurt again.
A sudden thrust sent the great sword through her heart. Despite the uncomfortably disturbing feeling of having a large piece of metal protruding from her chest, she felt no pain. Breathing heavily, she smiled. Blood pooled in the back of her throat. Peace filled her being. Her body began to glow, becoming a divine golden light. 
"What-?!" Dorzarul attempted to remove his sword, but the light wrapped around his leg and swirled up his sword to grasp his wrists. Her body melted away, becoming a swirling golden light that wrapped around his arms and legs, forcing him to his knees and binding his hands to the ground. 
"What have you done?!" he cried, glaring at her through the slits in his helmet. His eyes were wide and blazing with rage and fear. 
I can't kill you, she spoke to his mind, But I can't let you bring darkness to this world either.
"You're imprisoning me?!" he spat, "You can't!"
I'm sorry, Kaylock. I will always love you.
"NO! YOU CAN'T DO THIS!!!" The bodies of the fallen began to glow as well, turning into radiant, thorn covered vines. They wove together, shooting into the sky to form a huge dome of glowing briers.
I will always love you, Kay...
 The shadowed knight bellowed in rage before the dome hardened into a solid, thorny thicket, closing his dark power off from the world in a reality outside of time. 

The End

(Thought this would be a good set up for a campaign. This is a legend and some people don't even think it's real. This thicket is hidden far in the wastelands or something and someone is trying to free Dorzarul. If you manage to get inside the thicket there's a pocket dimension filled with divine trials to prevent evil people from freeing the Shadow Knight of Nerul. Your PCs could have to stop the person from freeing him or defeat them both once he's free. What do you think?)

(Thought I'd do another cause I love these and I want this forum to be more active!)




Aela laughed, releasing another blast of flame from her staff. The dragon let out a thunderous roar in response, the wave of force shooting at the ground near the young wizard. Aela laughed again. This was magnificent fun. She rolled to the side, thumping behind a column as she quickly searched her brain or the words for her magic missile spell. Finding them, she twisted around the side of the pillar and fired again. Her eyes widened as she realize the dragon was no where to be seen. Everything was quiet. Aela stood and stepped forward, walking out into the middle of the open space before the beast's cave. 

"Dragon?" She called in a sing song voice, "Where did you go? I wasn't aware we were playing hide and seek!" She readied her staff and spun slowly around in a small circle, looking for any sign of the scaly beast. "One... Two... Three..." she peeked around the columns but was met with only a soft breeze that fluttered her cape. "fifteen... sixteen... seventeen..." She looked up at the sky, still spinning. It had to be around here somewhere. Dropping her gaze from the cloudy sky, Aela set her staff against the ground and shifted into a frustrated stance, one hand on her hip. "twenty-eight... twenty-nine..." Suddenly all noise ceased. Aela found the word "thirty" wasn't reaching her ears no matter how many times she said it. Not even her clothing or staff made noise. As she puzzled over this, a heavy shaking of the earth, made eerie by the silence that persisted, threw her off balance. She tumbled forward and rolled dazedly to her side. The dragon reared up ahead of her, its wings beating silently as it landed. It's mouth moved and the silence faded, replaced with a loud rumbling. 

"Thirty," it said, slamming its claw down upon her. Her staff snapped and she cried out in pain.
"Wh-What? How- I have so much power, how did-"
"Ah," the dragon purred, leaning down as it dug its claws into her shoulders, "the delicious taste of hubris." Aela screamed in anger. This had to be a dream. Wake up, Aela, wake up! 

Here's an inside look at the on the spot lifting from the upcoming episode!

11.

*As last stands go it wasn't bad*, he thought. *Although there comes a point when you have to ask yourself, is there such a thing as too many teeth?*
Glaring up at the creature facing him, through the strands of hair matted with his own blood and the blood of his companions, Omdar the Scarred had to agree with himself. Sometimes there *was* such a thing as too many teeth. After a point it stops making sense... although perhaps it was the bloodloss talking.
For instance, there was no sense in this. If he'd been even half-way sane he'd have ran long ago, like the rest of his kin. He certainly wouldn't be standing here, left calf trembling as the remaining muscles spasmed, in the ruins of his homeland. What fools they had been, to think it could be re-taken. The whole land! And here he was, the last of this heroic invading army, unable to take back this border city, this Caliamar.
*Is it invading if you're taking it back? Like, it's not stealing if it was yours to begin with and it got stolen, right? There should be a different word for that. REvading, or... retakingback in the name of our fathers? FOCUS!*
He shook his head, drops of blood flying from the few hairs not plastered by sweat and blood to his body, his distinctly-lacking-in-armor body. Although, what use was armor when facing this... thing? The lower part of his mail was still intact, for the most part, and he had the trusty shield. Plus he still gripped that spear he'd borrowed from a stone statue of a guy with constipated looking face. He chuckled. So did Mister Shadow Rags, sitting atop the tooth-and-claw thing, with all its spines and sinew.
*I'm distracted again.* He thought.
*I'd blame the blood loss if I were you.* He answered.
*Well, you are me, so good enough!* He answered them both.
He stopped making noise and shifted his feet ever so slightly, rolled his shield arm forward and locked eyes on the creatures... well, where he'd imagine a throat would be on a human, which in this case was the middle of the mouth, to better see the whole of the creature, to spot the subtle shift of limb and claw that would broadcast an attack…
He'd made a promise. It didn't matter to who at this point, merely that it had been made. They needed time. Time to escape, to get the word back so next time they would be prepared.. next time…
His death would probably not buy that time. But he'd make his few seconds count.