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That was definitely a voice!!
Struggling to his feet, he limps slowly towards where he thinks the voice had come from, and tripped over again. Not even bothering to rise, he crawls onwards, towards a hand that had just broke the surface of the snow. Frantically, he starts trying to dig it's owner out.
"Don't worry! I'll get you out of there! Can you hear me?"
Against even the most bitter cold, Khazrael never bundled up. He never suffered from frostbite. The bitter storms made him uncomfortable, but even then he seemed cheery, alert, and ever sleeveless. He shrugged off the odd looks, and ate snow rather than depleting the supply of unfrozen water. If only they knew...
Now, however, with snow packed in all around him, freezing against every inch of exposed skin, he wishes only that his old jacket hadn't been burned up.
Damn it, I don't know a SINGLE fire spell?!
He struggles against the caked, freezing snow, calling back to the voice that he heard and working with every ounce of his energy to get free.
((OOC: If I can work my arms free, I'm firing a lightning bolt straight upward. If not, HEEEEEEEEEELLLLP!!!))
Tiriel plunges a hand down into the snow. Clasping Katrin's forearm, she wrenches her friend free. Katrin falls to her knees, coughing and blinking in the sunlight.
Seeing strangers rise from the snow, both Tiriel and Katrin smooth their hair back, tying on headbands ...
Voices begin to break the unnatural stillness that followed the avalanche. Muffled voices pierce the snow here and there. A few survivors manage to dig themselves out without help. They in turn start trying to dig out the others.
A blond armored woman digs out a dark-haired rogue. The two women seem to know each other.
A lightning blast explodes out of the snow, causing everyone to flinch. Some snow shifts up above, and for a moment some of you think that the loud noise is going to trigger another avalanche. But fortunately the snow holds ... for now at least. A thin, pale man with what appears to be feathers sticking out of his hair pokes his head up out of the steaming crater he just created in the snow.
Staggering upright, he looks around at the caravan members digging each other out. He tries to walk towards them, and falls flat on his face again. Deciding this is the best way to spend the next while until everybody is dug out, he shirks and responsability and lies on the cold, lumpy ground.
Her limbs are beginning to ache as the cold settles deep into her core. Her forced immobility is triggering a small bout of claustrophobia. She continues to cry out for help as she struggles to free herself.
Grabbing the hand of his rescuer, he pulls himself upwards burrows out of the snow. Well now, that wasn't so bad.
"Thanks. I don't think I could've gotten out of there myself."
He quickly brushes the snow out of his jet-black hair, and stretches, his dark black outfit a stark contrast against the white snow. With the "crack!" of the lightning bolt, his eyes immediately dart over to its source.
Spellcaster. Time to make an introduction.
Gathering himself once more, he quickly strides over to the source of the arcane bolt. "Ho there! Are you all right? You might want to hold off on those until we get everyone free and clear of the area."
Katrin kneels on top of the snow, gasping for breath. She runs a finger across the scar on her cheek and reties her headband, making sure it is secure, then checks her pack and weapons to make sure nothing had been torn away in the avalanche. When she gets her breath back and calms down, she says, "Thank you, Tiriel."
Katrin jumps in surprise at the lightning bolt and glares in the general direction of the melted crater. "Stupid... he's going to set off the snow slide again. I've heard that even shouting can set them off..." Muttering about sorcerers and shivering, she takes her sheathed shortsword off her belt and goes in the direction of the nearest buried voice to help free the trapped person underneath the snow.
(OOC: To newcomers: Katrin is a tall, lithe human woman with short black hair, green eyes, and a scar across one cheekbone. She is wearing a dark headband.)
Turning from the arcane crater forged in the snow, as its creator hurries off to help the others, he notices several of the other caravan members have survived as well. "Seems a few of us survived that, I see. Do you remember how many of us there were?"
One of these days, I'm going to have to learn to pay more attention. Just because I don't think it's important, doesn't mean it isn't.
"I don't think I've introduced myself properly. Sorry about that - I hate snow. Even more now. My name's Damian."
Hmm. There could be people still buried in the snow. I wonder if I could see them better if... and if not, there could be things they've dropped.
His forehead tenses, and his grey, colorless eyes flare bright blue for a moment, settling down to a more normal blue afterwards, as he starts scanning the surroundings for anything buried near enough to the surface to see.
Detect Magic, first time. (3 per day) Search - (1d20+7)
She pant heavily as she latches onto the arm of her rescuer, pulling herself out from her confines. Thank the gods she was out of the snow.
She was a woman in her late twenties, with shapely flexible limbs underneath a thick woolen tunic and breeches. Brushing the snow from herself she stood up in her breastplate armor, a pattern of feathers inked in black decorating her protection. She brushed her bushy brown hair from hersimilarly colored eyes, feeling relaxed now that she knew that her hair tie hadn't come undone from the high ponytail she put it up in. It was her last remaining hair-tie, and she'd like to not lose it in the snow.
After making certain her pack, the spiked chain she had wrapped around her waist, and all of the other essentials were not lost in the deep snow, she turned towards her savior.
"Thanks. I hope I didn't contract frostbite...oh, damn! My horse!" She flew into a flurry of curses in Common, Elven and Dwarven, none of them generally pleasant.
Calming down, she sighed. "Great. Caravan's pretty much gone...thank goodness for those of us who survived."
His first reaction had been a shout, which was rewarded by a mouthful of snow. Coughing it back out, he had time to take a breath before the crest of the avalanche overtook him.
Slowly coming back to his senses, he tries to remember the advice given by his Rashemi colleagues. First, orient oneself. He digs a bit around himself, consolidating some walls as he goes, and grabbing handfuls of snow, let them fall until he has a better sense of up and down.
He seems to be in a bad spot : he can hear voices, but very muffled. Which means there is a fairly thick layer of snow above him.
And he starts digging his way to freedom. Slowly at first, then frantically.
__________________ My old characters (I don't game on this board anymore) --- Avatar by Castaras
"Even gods must learn to control their tempers, lest they set a bad example."
The Malazan Book of the Fallen, Steven Erikson
Lissa just has time to register the coming avalanche and think Oh crap! before the roaring white engulfs her. She struggles valiantly to "swim" upward through the churning snow, but then something strikes the back of her head and everything goes dark...
A muffled thunderclap welcomes Lissa back to the land of the living. That, and a godsawful headache, and the fact that there's snow down every bit of her clothing and armor. "Unnnnh..." Well. At least I cast endure elements this morning, so I'll probably suffocate before I freeze. She struggles to think through the throbbing of her head. What else did she prepare the previous evening?
We were talking about ice monsters, what we might encounter, and... yeah, I got scared enough to ask Baravar for something a little louder than the usual. Not like I can sneak up on anything in this accursed snow anyway! Hmm. This just might work, especially if that thunderclap earlier was Achkby or Khazrael blasting their way free. Of course, this particular spell is guaranteed to give even a healthy caster a headache. Lissa clenches her fists. No help for it. The air is starting to grow stale. She wiggles her arms free, grasps her holy symbol in one hand, points upward with the other, and shouts a phrase in Celestial at the top of her lungs.
OOC: Cast sound burst straight up (and probably pass out shortly thereafter).
Sounds from above her strengthen her resolve that she will escape this frigid prison, and as the snow cover becomes thinner, the glow of daylight becomes brighter and tears of joy run slowly down her cheek.
A short woman with dark red hair and glittering blue eyes beams up at her liberator.
[Rashemi]By the havens! Thank you, thank you! Are the others hurt? Are they still buried?"[/Rashemi]
Looking around, not waiting to see if her words were understood she begins counting forms, but soon realises there are many standing around, or emerging from the snows that she does not recognise.
Fearful there may still be others trapped below the snow, she begins chanting in a lilting voice, her hands moving in concise motions,
Spellcraft DC 16
Casting Deathwatch to scan for people beneath the snow. If the spell cannot penetrate the snow layer, she will look around at those who have been exhumed thus far, and tend to those in most need of healing.
Traveling among the caravan is something Tanner has become all to familiar. With familiarity, he has let his guard down as he dozes idly to the movement of the sleigh. He feels no numbness of cold, for his endure elements protects him. Because he is not focusing on his surroundings, he fails to act when the snow cascades down upon him. It is only when the snowfall has him in his grasp does he combat the crushing weight.
Fighting to press his thumbs together, Tanner manages to speak the words of magic. A fan of flames bursts forth from his fingertips, instantly melting the snow in its path. With enough of a swath in front of him, Tanner wriggles himself up and free of his icy tomb.
"By Gond, what happened!?!" he exclaims. Seeing others working their way up and out, he responds to the Rashemi woman first, [Rashemi]"I know not, sister, but I will lend my meager talents as well."[/Rashemi]
A cloak with a snowcat pelt rests upon his shoulders, covering the fine breastplate of this short bearded human. He wears his dark brown hair short and he may be considered ruggedly handsome. One may mistake him for a Rashemi if not for the accent in his voice, his quick smile, and the carved wheel cog holy symbol around his neck.
He moves to stand near the Wychlaran, but finds it difficult to traverse in the deep snow. He grasps the wheel cog around his neck and incants a phrase in the words of magic. The snow no longer binds the man - in fact, it seems to even help as the armored form glides easily across the top of the snow.
Tanner had cast snowshoes upon himself - a first level spell open to clerics, druids, and rangers
Khazrael's hands scrabble at the snow until his fingers start to bleed. A hand goes to his knife, but he decides against using it--it'd be a shame to find a hidden person and stab them at the same time.
Between periods of intense digging, he stops to rest, taking the time to clamber halfway out of his snow-pit and casually observe the caravan team.
To them, he's an odd sight--a thin, attractive human man wearing only a sleeveless faded black shirt and a pair of slim black pants held up with a heavy belt. Large silver bangles weigh down his slender arms. A silver stud is pierced through each earlobe, while a silver ring runs through his left eyebrow.
A small nose, full lips, elegant eyebrows, and an angular face without a hint of facial hair give him a delicate, almost feminine air that isn't made any more masculine by the fact that he's wearing black kohl eyeliner. Strangest of all, however, are the black feathers emerging from his hair. It's a wonder they've stayed put, considering the heavy winds and recent avalanche.
Achkby snaps awake, but his eyelids open far more slowly. He is greeted with nothing but black, though, and lets them fall shut. He feels his hands near his head, but they won't move. His legs are folded into his stomach. He thinks back, wondering where he is.
That huge wall of snow came down...it hit the wagons... it kept coming... that funny man yelled something... "Avansh?"
Everyone started running... I was running too... but the snow came too fast... it hit us... I curled up... am I in the snow?!! AM I BURIED IN THE SNOW?!!!
Achkby is breathing hard, and while his extremities are still freezing, it begins to feel warm about his head.
Hot? The air. There's no air...
He starts wiggling his fingers, reaching to bring his hands together as his mind grasps at the web of energy encircling him. But the snow seems to impede both, holding down his fingers and walling him off from his magic.
Hlal, Kereska... Tamara? No... I, I need... Yondalla, in the name of all halflings, help me!
Achkby's thumbs touch, and something sparks. He can feel the energy flowing through him. He coughs out a few words, and a hemisphere of flame explodes before him, blasting away the snow and bringing feeling back into his hands.
"Thank you, mother," he whispers.
He casts another spell, simpler, and concentrates, slowly warming himself back up. He begins at his toes and moves up his legs, then to hos torso and finally out his arms to his fingers, still tingling with magical energy. He then turns the spell on the snow, moving it about his head until he feels water drip down on to the back of his neck.
That way up.
Slowly wriggling around until he lies on his back, Achkby casts a third spell, sending two rays of pure heat up through the snow. They leave behind them columns of light, and down rushes fresh air. Blessed air, clean and cold. He relishes the feeling of the frost biting into his lungs. And a moment later he hear sound. The crunching of something moving through the snow, and then voices... unfamiliar, but unmistakably sentient.
"Help," he whispers. And then, louder, "Help! Who's there?!"
And with that, he begins scrabbling away at the snow, carving out a diagonal tunnel to the surface.
__________________ DON'T PANIC
(Arthur Avatar by the Losar.)
The biggest problem with the alignment system is that it encourages us to choose.
Attempting to stand, he surveyed the remains of the caravan. Damnit! There goes my horse. I suppose I should be thankful for still being alive, but most of my stuff was on him...
Staggering upright, he noticed a strange human with feathers sticking out of their head. Am I hallucinating? A chicken-man? What will these damn humans do next?? What was I thinking, traveling with such company. No good comes of it...Damnit, I'm freezing...
Limping slowly and carefully to avoid any more falling-related pain, he walks a short distance away from all the humans and sits down, desperately trying to keep himself warm. Now would've be a good time to be traveling with friends, he thinks mournfully. Have I got to be nice to these humans? Urgh.
Tiriel had instinctively jumped out of the way of the avalanche as it crashed down the mountain. It was only afterwards that she'd realized that by saving herself, she may have condemned her friends. Returning to where she'd last seen them, she spends a few frantic moments looking for some sign of life.
It is with an immense sense of relief that she pulls Katrine out of the snow. With a quick, almost silent, mutual agreement, the two of them start working their way up the mountainside looking for other survivors.
The first they find is an unfamiliar woman. Looking around Tiriel realizes that she doesn't recognize most of the people pulling themselves out of the snow. "They must be members of the caravan." She remarks to Katrine. "I'm worried about Lissa and Ackhby, it'll be harder to locate them and they'll have a hard time getting out on their own without help..." She falls silent as Khazrael's lightning bolt sears the sky, melting the snow between him and the surface.
"Well, then again maybe not. They are both casters of some sort."
Tiriel shrugs and continues her search.
[ooc: I just realized that our new pc's and players will not be familiar with Tiriel's appearance. I'll write more in the ooc thread, but she's a tall blond woman in a tarnished chain shirt. She carries a longsword at her hip and a pack or her sholder... And it's immediately apparent that she's very strong.]
Damian scans the area, apparently looking through the surface of the snow. Suddenly he drops to his knees scrabbling in the snow. Hands reach up to meet his. He pulls and frees another survivor from the snow, a short man with piercing blue eyes.
A cacophanous sound blast erupts from the snow farther down the slope. Once again, the snow holds, though there is still the risk of a second avalanche. The man with the spiked chain trudges in that direction, and helps to dig out what appears to be a child.
She is unconscious at first, but she is still breathing. Fortunately, he is able to quickly revive her. When the "little girl" opens her mouth, however, the stream of gnomish curses quickly disabuses him of his initial misconception. This gnome is no innocent child.
A heavily armored man walks lightly on the surface of the snow. He moves to the side of the red-haired Rashemi woman. He seems unusually deferential towards her.
More survivors are pulled from the snow, including a ranger (Adalmar) and a halfling (Achkby).
Well I guess that means she is alright. I hope she speaks a language I can understand though. I really want to know what she just said. Even my old man might have been put to shame by that rant! A quick snort left his mouth at the sheer incongruity of this childlike being throwing out rapid fire gibberish, which he could gather was anything but polite. He immediately felt horrible as he remembered where he was and how many fellow travelers must be dead or still buried. Right, back to work.
"Do you speak common?
Can you understand me?
Do you speak elven?"