Editing Midnight RPG - Chapter 10.01

'''This begins a situation occurs after the trees had seemed to overtake Eranon... Concerning what happened to Eranon and the trees of the Dead Marshes.''' [[Image:The-Dead-Marshes.gif|The Dead Marshes|thumb]] <br> When last we left the heroes of Eredane, it seemed as though the great trees of the Dead Marshes enveloped Eranon.  Quickly advancing some 20'-30', overtaking the young Elven wildlander...  But what seemed to be is not the same as what has come to pass...  The great swamp trees had not advanced.  Eranon stood firmly in the muck and mire on the outskirts of the Dead Marsh lands.  He looked up into the black dense swamp-tree foliage.  The wind began to rush.  Cracking of bark and timber mixed with slurping splooshes and soon the wind carried a creaking moan on the foul smell of the putrid swamp beyond.  <br>  Holding aloft the necklace given to him by Ossion, he let loose the silver acorn held tight in his palm.  Speaking into the slight wind Eranon heard the slump of you and your human companions all caught in mid-fall...  Vines and black tree limbs reached out from around and above the wildlander pulling your and his friends from their feet as they dangled, drifting into unconciousness.  <br> <br>  the wind whisps and Eranon's ears perk as if listening...  <br>  Meanwhile, your joints begin cracking as the forest begins to rip the human and your bodies from limb to limb.  <br> <br>  '''a deep voice'''  this one not of the whispering wind, this one built with the gravel of tension and tiresome grinding of wood and muck raking... <br>  '''''"THEY DO NOT HEAR... THEY DO NOT KNOW... THEY...'''''  <br> '''''DO''''' <br> '''''NOT''''' <br> '''''PASS!''''' <br> '''''THEY SHALL BECOME AS SOIL, FOR OUR OLD BONES..."''''' <br>  the voice of the black barked swamp cypress cracked as his timbers ground with a turn of what could appear to be the torso of this elder of the swamp.  Its face, not that of a man, yet strange and alien.  As it bellowed out, as if in pain, the swamp replied...  Two... Three... Four... and a Fifth moaned in a song of death murmurs, lumber snapping and breaking as the body of one of the humans was tossed into the vines of black elm.  <br> These trees... were not of the living whispering woods familiar to any Caransil or other woodland folk.  These were the trees of the Dead Marsh, these were the trees remaining from the once proud cypress, the beautiful ash, the elm, the cottonwood and the sycamore... And as they stand allowing the one with the silver acron to pass, the ones without will not be so lucky.  These fatal few are the last tree herders, now pushed to the outskirts of their lands.  Able to go no further.  For they would die if they traveled beyond the pale and foul energy of the sickening swamps.  But perhaps "die" is a poor term.  Can that which is already dead, truly die?  <br> Eranon stands at the forefront of the black trees, perhaps he can ask these trees how they yet move when they are already DEAD?!!...  <br> <br>  '''ROLL:'''  Durgaz (Intelligence +1)  ROLLED:  9+1 =  10 ''  <br> ''The moaning heard coming from the trees could have resembled the breaking of the wood, the deep moans seemed to have taken the minds of your body as well as Kyuad, Zal'Kazzir and the Cobra, driving you into unconciousness.  Is it Eranon's heritage of elven-kind that protects him now or Ossion's amulet?  Whatever it is - your body, Kyuad and Zal'Kazzir will be ripped in multiple parts if Eranon doesn't have something to say about it quickly!!''

'''This begins a situation occurs after the trees had seemed to overtake Eranon... Concerning what happened to Eranon and the trees of the Dead Marshes.''' [[Image:The-Dead-Marshes.gif|The Dead Marshes|thumb]] <br> When last we left the heroes of Eredane, it seemed as though the great trees of the Dead Marshes enveloped Eranon.  Quickly advancing some 20'-30', overtaking the young Elven wildlander...  But what seemed to be is not the same as what has come to pass...  The great swamp trees had not advanced.  Eranon stood firmly in the muck and mire on the outskirts of the Dead Marsh lands.  He looked up into the black dense swamp-tree foliage.  The wind began to rush.  Cracking of bark and timber mixed with slurping splooshes and soon the wind carried a creaking moan on the foul smell of the putrid swamp beyond.  <br>  Holding aloft the necklace given to him by Ossion, he let loose the silver acorn held tight in his palm.  Speaking into the slight wind Eranon heard the slump of you and your human companions all caught in mid-fall...  Vines and black tree limbs reached out from around and above the wildlander pulling your and his friends from their feet as they dangled, drifting into unconciousness.  <br> <br>  the wind whisps and Eranon's ears perk as if listening...  <br>  Meanwhile, your joints begin cracking as the forest begins to rip the human and your bodies from limb to limb.  <br> <br>  '''a deep voice'''  this one not of the whispering wind, this one built with the gravel of tension and tiresome grinding of wood and muck raking... <br>  '''''"THEY DO NOT HEAR... THEY DO NOT KNOW... THEY...'''''  <br> '''''DO''''' <br> '''''NOT''''' <br> '''''PASS!''''' <br> '''''THEY SHALL BECOME AS SOIL, FOR OUR OLD BONES..."''''' <br>  the voice of the black barked swamp cypress cracked as his timbers ground with a turn of what could appear to be the torso of this elder of the swamp.  Its face, not that of a man, yet strange and alien.  As it bellowed out, as if in pain, the swamp replied...  Two... Three... Four... and a Fifth moaned in a song of death murmurs, lumber snapping and breaking as the body of one of the humans was tossed into the vines of black elm.  <br> These trees... were not of the living whispering woods familiar to any Caransil or other woodland folk.  These were the trees of the Dead Marsh, these were the trees remaining from the once proud cypress, the beautiful ash, the elm, the cottonwood and the sycamore... And as they stand allowing the one with the silver acron to pass, the ones without will not be so lucky.  These fatal few are the last tree herders, now pushed to the outskirts of their lands.  Able to go no further.  For they would die if they traveled beyond the pale and foul energy of the sickening swamps.  But perhaps "die" is a poor term.  Can that which is already dead, truly die?  <br> Eranon stands at the forefront of the black trees, perhaps he can ask these trees how they yet move when they are already DEAD?!!...  <br> <br>  '''ROLL:'''  Durgaz (Intelligence +1)  ROLLED:  9+1 =  10 ''  <br> ''The moaning heard coming from the trees could have resembled the breaking of the wood, the deep moans seemed to have taken the minds of your body as well as Kyuad, Zal'Kazzir and the Cobra, driving you into unconciousness.  Is it Eranon's heritage of elven-kind that protects him now or Ossion's amulet?  Whatever it is - your body, Kyuad and Zal'Kazzir will be ripped in multiple parts if Eranon doesn't have something to say about it quickly!!''