[hr][hr][h1][b][i][color=6ecff6][center]Updates[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1]
[b][color=6ecff6]Season:[/color][/b] Late Fall/Early Winter
[b][color=6ecff6]Time Of Day:[/color][/b] Night, middle of
[b][color=6ecff6]Weather:[/color][/b] Cool and damp, with a clear, open sky
[b][color=6ecff6]General Ambiance:[/color][/b] Desperate  
[b][color=6ecff6]Location:[/color][/b] Front lines, defending the Orc Cave
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[u]Specific Resolutions:[/u]

[i]Cyneburg:[/i] An amazing display of Druid Fu brings Cyneburg to Sana, wherein she is harmlessly acquired and the two of you begin to roll harmlessly out of the way of the approaching baddie. Go Cyn. At the very moment she begins to realize that she was insanely successful, a strange white blur careens toward the both of them, seemingly unable to steer itself.  

[i]Sana:[/i] The amazing Tuck and Roll maneuver aside, Sana's hypothermia is advancing, now to the point that her skin is turning white and cold. Sana's taking cold damage. It's slow, glacial even. But as soon as Sana can feel her extremities, thusly begins the OW. But FIRST, you also notice the same uncontrolled, partially cartwheeling pale blur nearing your position.

[i]Keystone:[/i] Spouts off a slew of interesting yet confusing profanities, all while nigh-suicidally advancing to intercept the malevolent, reddish mist-monster. Beyond the concept of rational thinking, he's actually somewhat effective - Keystone's flurry of dedicated barehanded attacks seem to cause the creature a measure of hurt - in places its misty form seems disrupted. Hey, it's just as surprised as we are. 

[i]Lerraina:[/i] Your first shot was impeccably aimed and finds its mark. Unfortunately, the arrow passes right through it, without so much as ruffling up a breeze. But wait! There's good news! Kyra manages to grab a handful of beltstrap that prevents your untimely fall onto the unforgiving ground below. (I know this throws off the second half of your intended actions for the round, but think of it an an opportunity!) Lerraina/Gretchin is pulled back up, with full action for the following round.

[i]Calanon:[/i] The song is met with mixed success. That is to say, the creature doesn't seem to be affected, nor anyone who is attacking/has attacked this round. Everybody else though - Mixed effects of feeling calmer, for good or ill. 

[i]Ntaj:[/i] Somehow, Ntaj finds a way to scramble up a vertical pane of ice to get to his hanging tent. (The damaged section at the front is a likely point of egress) He arrives at his tent without issue. Go be a hitter. 

[i]Thomas:[/i] Ok, Thomas's background knowledge of many things mystical bears some fruit on the nature of your opponent. Maybe (if you can get this info to your teammates fast enough) this knowledge can turn the tide in what looks to be a painfully depressing outcome. So: Everyone who is RPing a sorcerer named Thomas in this storyline may click on the hider below. 

[hider=The Grey Dust's eyes ONLY]
What, are you kidding? Clicked on it anyway, didn't you? You must think I'm stupid. [u]Grey:[/u] I'm PMing you the results. 

The rest of you guys are asses. 
[/hider] 

[i]Kyra:[/i] Good roll to catch your fellow bowgirl. It was precarious, at first - and oddly not the only lady hanging in a tree this week in my RPs - but you've got her. Hauling her back up without dropping your bow is interesting, but manageable. Mazel Tov. 

[i]Satilla:[/i] This ...was the most fun to resolve, I think. It resulted in a chain of reactions that led to some interesting results. First off, your dash over to an almost downed Sana is waylaid by that damned, random orange peel that keeps popping up. We're still not sure why, by all rights there really shouldn't be one in this climate. But here it is, conveniently explaining the slapstick that is to follow. 

Satilla skids forward, arms waving, scream not quite escaping from her lips, t-boning Cyneburg's bard-saving tuck & roll. The three of them change direction and morph into a huge ball of feminine limbs and utter shock, pinballing off of the ice wall and rolling back toward the cave entrance. This day will live on in the stories of the northern Orc tribes for generations to come. Seriously, someone should start a slow clap, right about [i]now[/i]. 

[hr][hr][h1][b][i][color=6ecff6][center]New Round[/center][/color][/i][/b][/h1][hr][hr]

	The mist-like creature, at first moving with a sense of slow certainty that only two of these miserable feebs put before it could possibly pose a threat is quickly taken aback at the fact that it just got hurt. You can even see it playing out on its face, insomuch that it has something resembling a physical face that expresses. But there it is, flashing from arrogance to surprise, surprise to shock, shock to uncertainty, and then to rage. This big, vulgar, seemingly mundane brute punched it. [i]Punched it[/i], and it hurt. 

	Forget the spellcaster. Misty has a new target. 

	A sound, ethereal but horrifying, baritoned out of the creature. As it yelled, a halitosis reeking of old blood filled the semi-enclosed space between the cave and the wall of ice, where most of the group now stands. A sort of wind buffets up, only inside of the confines of the monster. Varying colors of red and pink swirl faster, and its features take on a more sinister tint. Its tendril-like appendages lash out at the insufferable fool that dared hurt it, wrapping around and lifting him a foot or so from the ground.

	As Keystone rises, one can hear a suppressed groan issue from the large man. Resistance to unseen pain gives way to the massive sensory overload, and he involuntarily shouts in agony, trying to squeeze his eyes tight against it. Otherwise struggling against the semi-corporeal nature of his aggressor, Keystone is temporarily at the mercy of the creature. 

	His shout is cut off by a wet coughing sound. Gleaming sickly in the low light of the evening, blood sprays from the Pugilist's face; eyes, nose, and mouth raining their own rivulets of the crimson fluid; additionally the wound on his arm adds to the occasion. Instead of striking the ground, however, it is taken in by the monster attacking him. The beast's color darkens and it becomes less transparent as Keystone's blood energizes it. The disrupted part of its form from the earlier attack remains, but it is still active and vital. 

	Keystone is dropped unceremoniously to the ground. He raises a hand to his face weakly; he's not dead, but he's not happy. The beast turns to the rest of the group, apparently picking out his next course in the meal set before it.