Methadox swung his staff and, more by luck than by design, hit one of the flying creatures squarely in the face. The beast shrieked in pain and retreated momentarily, only to be replaced by another larger one. He was aware of sharp talons digging into his shoulder and lashed out reflexively with his dagger, only barely managing to free himself in time. These creatures - he hadn't a name for them yet, as he'd never seen anything remotely similar to them before - seemed innumerable. It was as if for every one he struck down, another two appeared, all the more enraged and raring to fight.

Suddenly, a ball of white lightning shot up from below the nearby cliff, intercepting one of the monsters and killing it on impact. Methadox frowned. That wasn't right. None of them had their powers currently, so how....Fending off another flying creature with a sweep of his staff, he ran to the edge of the cliff and looked down. There, at the base of the cliff, the half-elf - Adellis - was hurling lightning at the creatures with surprising alacrity. And a short distance behind her was...

A shrine. White and shining like a beacon of hope, were Methadox one to apply such descriptions to objects. He wasn't. But, nonetheless, he had to admit that he'd seen few more welcome sights, though it would have been far more welcome on the other side of the cliff.

"Shrine!" he shouted tersely to the others, gauging the distance. He immediately determined that it was much further than he would care to jump, even with magic and without an injured leg. He'd simply have to find his own way down.

Adellis could hardly see past a haze of white flame, blinded by the explosion of her own power. The frantic grasping she'd done in order to regain it had resulted in a nearly uncontrollable burst once she actually did. This had its good points, one of them being that several charred carcasses of winged monsters plummeted to the rocks upon chancing to stray too close to the suddenly empowered half-elf. But Adellis could see white blurring before her eyes, and hear sound fading to a distant roar, and it required all her concentration to remain halfway conscious under the immense amount of power she was channeling.

"The crystal," she panted, without breath to shout, and whirled as wings beat behind her. She could catch a glimpse, faintly, of Illaria's face through a white haze, but not comprehend what she was saying. "Touch the crystal!" Adellis shrieked, to nobody in particular, and grasped at that thread of consciousness.

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((Wow! I missed a lot. Can some one fill me in please?))

Let's see--I'm not sure where you left off, so basically, everyone got out of their cells, but were then pinned down by several fire and water elementalists. A good mage named Gorm then showed up and took them out, everyone escaped with him leading them, meeting up with Valera's character on the way, then they lost Gorm to a Fire elementalist, though he told them to reach the shrine. Then they escaped the fortress/prison thing, were running along a mountain path, and were attacked by weird humanoid flying beasties. Basically everyone's been clawed by them, and some are currently in the air with them, and Melda's character has reached the shrine and gotten her powers back, so she's blasting flying beasties, and everyone else is trying to reach the shrine (it's a good ways below them, and they can't exactly recreate the tumble that took Melda's character there in safety). And Ellie's character has also reached the shrine in his last post.

I think that's about it right now.

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Carlina heard someone cry out, "I found it! It's down here!" and raced towards the source of the voice, wondering what he had found. She scanned for the source of the voice and then had to dive out of the way of a raging white fireball. At first she thought the mages from the fortress had pursued them but closer examination revealed that it was one of her accomplices. She also saw Illaria touch a shrine that was lodged in the cliff face. Putting two and two together, she realised that by touching the shrine, you could regain your magical powers.

Eagerly she climbed down the cliff face, hoping that the dragonmen wouldn't take notice of her. Her hopes were in vain. One of them, who had been eying her carefully, dove down towards her unprotected back. She tried to unsheathed her knife but that became impossible when you were climbing down a cliff. Instead she tried to dodge its claws and nearly did. But the claws raked her quiver that contained all of her bolts, sending them down to oblivion. She swore and personally made sure she was the one who killed that particular beast. Then a small pain at her back told her that the claws also ripped a small part of her skin. She grumbled more as she descended down as fast as she could. Finally she found the altar just as the beast wheeled around for another attack. She leaped over a crippled dragonman that Illaria had struggled with and with her eyes bursting with glee, touched the crystal. Her magic, that had before only returned in small amounts, flooded her mind and she quickly finished off the crippled dragonman by freezing his blood.

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I was cured all right.

Threng groaned much to sarcastically for the dire situation. "Flying beast men again?" He wondered out loud, still letting his sarcasm take the edge off his fear. A flying, winged...beasty...flying thing came diving at him again. Threng held his knife at the ready, but the beast twirled away before Threng could strike. The earth elementalist growled. He had been slashed, bitten, clubbed, and taunted. The most damage he had inflicted was a nick to the beast's hide, and even that almost jerked him off the cliff. There was just so much stone here! If only he had his magic. The shrine below seemed to have the power to give it back, but there was no way to get to it. He glanced to the side, alarmed to see one of his cell mates hurtleing towards the ground, while fighting a dragonman. He noted, however, that she had gotten the upper hand and had ridden him somewhat safely to the terra below. That inspired a daring, insane, and all around Threng-ish idea. He picked up a large stone by his side. Even without his magic it felt natural, like an extention of his arm. As a dragonman flew past, he threw the stone, hard enough to get the thing's attention, but not so hard as to kill it. In a typical reaction to being hit with a stone on the head, the dragon-man gained altitude, then dove. Threng barely missed being clawed, but wasted no time in leaping off the cliff. He caught the dragon-man as it pulled up, hitting the best square in the back. The noise it made was anyhting but pleasant. The beast tried to roll and dislodge his rider, but Threng held on knowing his life depended on it. Of course, he was quite a bit larger than Illaria, and her dragon-man did appear to be quite a bit larger.....Threng realized the ground approaching at a very fast velocity, even though the dragon-man had given up his attemp to throw Threng, and was now flapping vainly. They both hit the ground with a thud, though Threng noted that the dragon-man made more of a splat. He was shaken, but not broken, not dead. He lurched to the shrine, grasping the fisrt part he could reach. He felt the magic flood back into him. This was good. This was very good.

Adellis was vaguely aware of shapes plummeting to the ground around her, though how they escaped the uncontrollable surges of magic that seemed to be exploding out of her, she didn't know. There wasn't much space for thinking in the white haze that obscured her vision and somehow also obscured much coherent thinking. She was no longer hurling spheres of lightning, just trying to stay conscious under a staggering surge of power. Her diamond-tipped staff was hot to the touch, but she couldn't persuade herself to let go of it, only clench her fingers tighter and tighter.

Through the veil of white surrounding her, Adellis could sense other bursts of power regained. She fell forward onto her knees, now trying to stem the flow of lighting crackling from her fingertips rather than reach for it. It disappeared all at once, leaving the air hot and crackling, and her staff fell from her fingers to clatter on rock. Even with the magic gone she felt dizzy...and the white haze wasn't gone, it was coming back...

The thread of consciousness grew thinner...and thinner...and thinner...until it was barely there, just an imagined connection to a world where Adellis didn't feel lightheaded and dizzy. It dissolved entirely and she toppled, crumpling to the ground with one hand outstretched toward the fallen staff. There was a faint burst of lightning into her mind before it all went black in a roll of imagined thunder.

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OOC: Sorry for not posting recently, I've been sick. I'll post tomorow, I'm just letting you know I'm still here.

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.

Methadox finally came to a part of the mountainside that wasn't a straight drop. It was still a fairly sharp incline, but anything was better than the sheer cliff. Still using his staff and his dagger to fend off their relentless attackers, he braced himself and slid down the slope, the wound on his leg protesting the entire way. Finally he came to a stop - if a bit less gracefully than he would have liked - and whirled around, ramming the end of his staff into the stomach of one of the creatures. If he could just get to...

Methadox ducked, only barely missing the sharp talons that had been aiming for his head. Shrine. Right. Slicing at the wing of yet another airborne opponent, he ran as quickly as he could over to where several of the others had already gathered. One sweeping glance over the situation told him all he needed to know, and he hurriedly placed a hand on the crystal. The immediate impact of it sent him reeling, his vision blacking out for a moment, then slowly clearing even as his head continued to spin.

Above them, one of the creatures spotted Adellis's limp form on the ground and immediately recognized easy prey. Letting out a piercing cry, it dove in for the kill, closer and closer until it came to an abrupt halt, ricocheting off of some unseen barrier and falling stunned to the ground.

Smiling grimly, Methadox flexed his hand experimentally, then whirled around to meet his next opponent.

May I direct your attention to the dire situation that Valera's character is in?

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(k, here goes...)

The dragonman preying upon Dyr'a reacted badly to the storm of lightning and magic roaring up the cliffside. Very badly. Wheeling panicked in the sky, it sought to shake off the shvat as its cohorts were picked off, one by one. But its talons were buried deep, enmeshed in her ribs, and she screamed again and again as the brutal claws disentangled themselves from her anatomy.

Then finally she was free of it, but still entrapped in a tide of agony and nausea as she fell - and fell - and fell -

There was a sick crunch, and she heard things snap, not unlike proverbial twigs. But she heard them only; suddenly, she was blissfully, gloriously pain-free. She couldn't see anything - it was all grey - couldn't hear anything either. Couldn't move, but there was no pain; her thoughts were the only things present, sharp as the forged edge on a blade.

Was this what it was like to be dead? Did one exist as the sole being in a nothingness? Dyr'a floated there, just a thought in an absence of the concrete. Things were getting muddier and muddier now - when the creature had her, its claws must have penetrated far into her body; it had probably punctured one lung or both. That would explain the cloudiness - she was suffocating, drowning in the blood pooling in her lungs. And the fall - her spine must be broken, so she could feel nothing. But that didn't matter, did it?

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<center>Nothing but the Rain</center>

((*hint* If someone would like to somehow jolt our resident healer (aka Adellis) out of unconsciousness, she could be of much assistance to Dyr'a))

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The return of the mages' powers was a crippling blow to the dragonmen, both mentally and physically. The sudden surge of magic could be felt in the air, thrumming with energy. They shrieked their dismay and gained altitude in retreat. That is, before they caught sight of a single druid separated from the others, still battling for dear life on the mountain path.

Cirron had heard Adellis's cry and had looked up, hopeful, eyes scanning the rocks below for the shrine, when - oof. He'd hesitated a second long enough for two dragonmen to jump him from behind. They took their pick of appendages, and two pairs of talons dug into both shoulders in effort to carry him away. A hunting knife in one's chest and a staff strike across the other's talons dissuaded the notion. Their claws loosened. The result? A fall of ten feet, scraping against the side of the cliff, and a lost hunting knife and one bleeding shoulder and another previously injured shoulder ground to pulp.

The positive side was that he did make it to the bottom of the palisades. The negative side was that the rocks were a bit sharp. And the fall hurt. A lot. His cloak had snagged on the side of the cliff, somewhat cushioning his descent, but not enough that it didn't leave a wake of bloody scores down his back. However one glance at Dy'ra and Adellis told him that he could have suffered far worse.

He staggered to his feet and warily scanned the skies, but the dragonmen were gone. The shining crystal atop the shrine burned in his vision. Right hand groping forward - he couldn't force the other one to obey him, arm and shoulder in the state they were - he started forth, tripped over a few dead dragonmen, picked himself up, and started again. His hand tingled, as though brushing a haze of bubbles, and closed over the crystal, warm and pulsating to the touch.

It was like waking up.

Power flooded into him, filling that empty void in his chest, streaming into his fingers with a small explosion of white sparks. And suddenly he knew nothing but the joyous hum in the very fiber of his being, as though united at last with a beating heart. The throbs of pain seemed muted now, and he could even imagine feeling the wounds stitching themselves, the flesh closing in.

A fresh burst of blood poured down his arm, and his grin dissipated. Optimism didn't serve him well. His druidic magic offered some healing, but not rivaling those of the currently unconscious cleric. It was the cleric in question all of them needed if they hoped to continue their journey. Recalling their savior's dying wish, he dropped a hand to his pocket and fingered the emerald ring. Ammarindar. The prosperous port city was halfway across the continent. What did it have to do with anything?

He shook the thought off for a later time. There were members in their party who needed attention.

First he knelt beside Adellis and gently turned her over. His fingers where they contacted her forearms came away slick with blood. He cleaned them on his ripped green cloak and placed them on her forehead, fanning them across her temples. He dove into his reserves of power. A light touch first that sent ripples across the cool pond of magic. He gradually stroked it into a wave and brought that wave surging through his fingers to spread like cool spring water through Adellis's temples and soak into her mind....

He withdrew with a sigh. The simple act of reviving had drained him more than he'd anticipated.

_________________

The return to consciousness was quite different from losing it. Where Adellis had clung to the barest thread of coherence, now she was gently coaxed back into a sea of blurring colors where there was no disorienting white haze. They melded slowly - ever so slowly - into images.

Adellis only had to blink once to bring the scene into view - overcast sky directly above her framed by jagged rocks. Shouldn't there be something else? Something in the sky...

She shot bolt upright, eyes already spinning around the scene. Cirron beside her - likely he'd woken her - but no monsters, winged or otherwise, though reaching to push herself upright brought twin stabs of pain in her forearms. She hadn't even noticed the wounds. An involuntary sigh of relief made her realize just how taut with anxiety - and fear, to be sure - she was, but a mere glance at Cirron revealed that Adellis would have work to do. Unsteadily she got to her feet. "I thank you - but you look in need of healing. I -"

And she caught sight of Illaria kneeling over Dyr'a, who was ominously still. Thought of anything else flew. Adellis could feel the familiar rush of urgency welling up in her and, forgetting Cirron altogether, fairly flew to Dyr'a's limp form. Even the memory of the frightening rush of magic she'd experienced earlier was nowhere near enough to keep her from dropping to her knees, fingertips already glowing faintly. She felt it every time - a stoic determination that if she had to utilize every drop of magic in her, no one would die. No one could. The thought of death scared and confused elf-raised Adellis far more than anything else she could name.

Closing her eyes, she let the magic flow from her. Without moving a muscle she cringed inwardly at the extent of damage here, but there was little time for cringing - only time to try and decide with all haste what needed to be fixed first. Magic targeted the base of Dyr'a's neck, where Adellis could feel the spine snapped in two, and then rebuilt the awful mess of broken ribs before restoring her collapsed lungs. Adellis could feel herself panting for breath, as disturbed by the damage as she was concentrated on the magic. There were myriad other injuries, most of which the magic targeted quickly and efficiently with minimal direction from Adellis.

She opened her eyes to find the shvat's limp form just coming to rest on stone again, seemingly having been suspended in air due to the sheer amount of magic Adellis needed to use. Her next breath was a gulp for air, and only then did she realize how long she'd been holding it.

_________________

Threng grinned as his earthly power returned. It felt like rain after a long drought, or bread and cheese after nearly starving. He clentched his hand tightly, commanding palm length shards of earth to rise. He sent them hurtling at a dragonman, dropping it instantly. A dragon man above him was flattened under a slab of rock: Threng likened it to a fly swatter, only much larger. With all imminent threats desroyed, he looked around anxiously. There were still people on the cliff trying to get down.

"Hold on!" He shouted, hoping that he was heard LIke all his ideas, past, present, and future, this one involved daring and the very possible chance for someone getting hurt. He slammed his power into the cliff face, dragging a ledge (and its occupant) to the ground. It was a small ledge, and only one person occupied it at the moment, but the sheer strength needed to accomplish the task stunned Threng. The moment the ledge was a safe jumping distance from the ground he let go of the magic. He would be able to that again. The earth elementalist wobbled slightly, showing the fatigue the magic caused him. To his right he saw two mages tending to a fallen one. He made his way over. "Can I help?" He asked. The woman on the ground looked pale and ill, but he saw no injuries.

OOC: Sorry for not posting earlier for today, but now I've come up with a reason for my absence in the fight in the RP.

IC: Vos groaned slightly as as consciousness decided to worm its way back into his head. How the heck did he end up down here? The elf thought back...


Someone had just shouted 'Run!,' and Vos looked wearily up at the sky. Winged, scaled men-thingys, just perfect, he thought. Which was exactly when one of them decided that he would be a good candidate to pick up and drop onto the hard rocks below. The beast's talons went straight into his back tearing skin, muscle, and a possibly little bone in the process of lifting him up into the air.

Elexorien was of little use in fighting a creature behind him, so he dropped it to the rocks below, knowing it would survive the fall and he could retrieve it later. If, that was, he was still in the realm of the living. He lashed blindly out with his dagger behind his head, at the legs that were connected to the talons digging into his back. But...it was getting harder and harder to move his arms, the blows comming weaker and slower.

Now, the dragonman decided to drop Vos, but liuckly had too swoop lower to avoid a lightning ball that subsequently killed one of its fellows. Then the ground rushed up to meet him and the darkness envelped him

That ball of lightning probably saved my life, Vos mused, keeping the fall from being far enough to shatter his spine. However, it did break my arm and did something to my leg. To pull himself up, Vos grabbed onto the altar and managed to almost fully rise before his hand actually touched the crystal; sending his magic flooding back through him and causing him to fall back to the ground.

Darkness came with the waves of pain from his arm, but the return of his magic too his breath away so he couldn't scream from the pain. Then, so slowly, ever so slowly, the darkness crept back from his vision. Vos then pulled himself up on the altar once again, but this time using a bit of the wind to steady himself. He looked at his right leg, it twinged when he put weight on it, but it could hold it. The useless appendage that used to be his right arm had a compound fracture in the forearm, nearly a 90 degree angle towards his body.

Vos saw people crowed around someone's body, but he couldn't tell whose it was. His eyesight wasn't so good at the moment, the world was swaying back and forth, almost like he had just stopped spinning in circles for an hour. The elf would have walked over to them if he was not so weak from blood loss and just regaining consciousness that it was all he could do not to fall over onto the ground once again. "Who're you all around?" he tried to ask, but all that came out was an incoherent mumble. He tried to speak once more, and failed a second time. The third time was the charm, as this time the question came out lound enough for someone to hear it.

_________________
Four Gods wait on the windowsill,
Where once eight Gods did war and will,
And if the Gods themselves may die,
What does that say for you and I?

Now, three Gods wait on the windowsill
Where one God's blood was lately spilled
While black tongues lap at the spreading pool
And build the strength they need to rule.