Round 3
...Nosa
...Drogan
...Jak
Nosatrub's strike is true, drawing blood from the madman on front of him.
Karl's combination of artful sword attacks fells his opponent.
The remaining enemies continue their attack, but their tactics suddenly shift as the one wounded by Nosa spins to lash out at Drogan, the palm of his hand connecting with the dwarf's forearm. A menacing snarl crosses his face as he unleashes black energies onto the bard's body, generating waves of pain.
But even as the dwarf reels from the painful strike, he slashes out with his ax and delivers a rending attack in return.
■■■■■■■
The last man grins wickedly and shouts an insane howl, right hand stabbing forward until it connects with Nosa's throat. The knight expects a similar result from, but he is surprised when the vile magics of his attacker courses through his body.
■■■■■■■
Kheegan grabs Jak and comes down with the flat of his acquire blade. The strike clangs off the crown of Jak's head, rendering him unconscious.
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
➢ 25 Nosatrub (HP 11/11 | 7 pts nonlethal) ➢➢ WILL SAVE
➢ 21 Karl (HP 5/9)
➢ 20 Enemies (DEAD / DEAD / 19 / ??)
➢ 17 Kheegan (19/56 | 0/12)
➢ 17 Drogan (HP 9/9) ➢➢ Up / WILL SAVE
➢ 12 Lavios (HP 13/13) ➢➢ Up
➢ 11 Hal’dorel (HP 32/32)
➢ 6 Legate (HP 34/34)
Staggered and Unconscious: When your nonlethal damage equals your current hit points, you're staggered. You can only take a standard action or a move action in each round (in addition to free, immediate, and swift actions). You cease being staggered when your current hit points once again exceed your nonlethal damage.
When your nonlethal damage exceeds your current hit points, you fall unconscious. While unconscious, you are helpless.
Nosa cannot believe what is happening.How can they negate my armor?
Once again the doubts swirl in his mind...
Then the blow to his throat causes dizzying pain to radiate throughout his body. Stars dance across his eyes and everything begins to go black...
The big man stumbles forward, trying to keep himself upright. A tiny sliver of light dances before his eyes, the Lady standing in it.
forgive me Lady. I have failed you
With his last words, he falls to the ground, and darkness takes him.
Drogan spits out a stream of dark blood. "That was unkind!"
If I try to cast, he'll be on me like a hangover after the feast days.
He quickly wipes the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, "You'll have to do better than that, you twisted pile of pig filth."
Can't back off. Can't surrender.
"I ain't even BEGUN to show you the kind of pain you'll feel. They'll be readin' this story for generations and still feel it!"
Get them out of here, Karl. They don't make legends out of guys who die just being out-classed. They have to live.
Drogan's scream is filled with blood and bile as his ax comes down into his enemy's shoulder.
When they record my death in the annals, will he even shed a tear?
Round 3
Drogan is hit with the full force of the enemy's spell, but he returns in kind, drawing more blood and sending the maniac reeling. The fire of lunacy that had kindled at the inset of the fight still burns bright in his eyes, but Drogan is encouraged to see that he is wounded and near finished.
Nosatrub summons up his will, drawing on the faith that had sustained him since the loss of his family in Ustalav and resists the brunt of the madman's spell. Righteous anger burns in his heart, a flame to match the villain's zealous commitment to the fight. Nosa's shining blade cleaves a fresh wound into the madman, eliciting a grimace of pain.
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
➢ 25 Nosatrub (HP 8/11 | 7 pts nonlethal)
➢ 21 Karl (HP 5/9)
➢ 20 Enemies (DEAD / DEAD / 24 / 12)
➢ 17 Kheegan (19/56 | 0/12)
➢ 17 Drogan (HP 4/9)
➢ 12 Lavios (HP 13/13) ➢➢ Up ➢➢
➢ 6 Legate (HP 34/34)
➢ 1 Hal’dorel (HP 32/32)
Round 1
Beckett's steps into his swing, looking add though he might miss his target only to see that the other had been severely hampered by the exposure to fire and smoke. The Lucerne Hammer connects and nearly tosses the victim to the side.
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
➢ Phedron (HP 32/32)
➢ Beckett (HP 9/9) ➢➢ Up ➢➢
➢ Baddies (Dazed / 12 / ??)
"Great work Kheegan!"
Karl watches the boy crusader and the dwarf nearly fall, but continue to battle on.
"Damned fools!"
Karl recalculates the odds against them.
"F~%! all!---Lavios get to those people and use the holy fire granted you by your patron!"
Karl then charges to the beleaguered duo's aid.
"Rally squad! To me noble Legate, Kheegan, and Hal! Storm the enemy! Together we might all live to fight another day, I won't leave these two behind as bullheaded as they may be!"
End Round 3
...Ranged Touch
...C3
...C3
...C4
Karl's voice roars above the battle as he halts his move to aid Kheegan and readies himself to launch an attack on one of the two remaining enemies.
The Gozrehn Inquisitor seizes on the opening created and signals the Southridge villagers to move towards the exit. They bravely comply, Tarvus even going so far as to give a shoulder to Helios as the half-elf continues to struggle under a debilitating fear.
Lavios shifts his stance to cover their exit and unleashes a gout of holy fire from now outstretched hand. But the flames miss their target as he ducks under the blast.
The Legate launches her own attack, heavy pick coming down hard on the opponent facing Drogan. Blood pours for the free wound as she brutally extracts the weapon. The madman staggers under the combined attacks of Drogan and the Legate and collapses to the ground, alive but unconscious and dying for the onslaught.
Hal'dorel slips right in order to place his body between the combat and the villagers making their escape. But he manages to graze the opponent in front of Nosa with with a snap shot from his bow.
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
➢ 25 Nosatrub (HP 8/11 | 7 pts nonlethal) ➢➢ Up ➢➢
➢ 21 Karl (HP 5/9)
➢ 20 Enemies (DEAD / DEAD / AT ZERO / 15)
➢ 17 Kheegan (19/56 | 0/12)
➢ 17 Drogan (HP 4/9)
➢ 12 Lavios (HP 13/13)
➢ 6 Legate (HP 34/34)
➢ 1 Hal’dorel (HP 32/32)
Round 1
...C1
...Beckett
...Beckett
Drawing his elven cavalry blade, Phedron slashes across the middle of the Dazed enemy in front of him. The elegant weapon carves a deep furrow straight across the horizontal, tearing open the man's robes to reveal scarrification beneath. For the briefest of moments Phedron is transfixed by horrific etchings on the man's skin. How the straight line of blood is anathema to the curving assymetry of the designs...
... but the wizard is brought around as the other two robed figures turn to attack Beckett.
"Fm'latgh hlirgh!!" They shout, voices hoarse and movements a chaotic blend of savagery and fighting form. They lash out with fist and foot but are unable to get passed Beckett's formidable defenses.
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
➢ Phedron (HP 32/32) ➢➢ Up ➢➢
➢ Beckett (HP 9/9) ➢➢ Up ➢➢
➢ Baddies (7 / 12 / ??)
I am not yet finished?
I have been spared then. My service is clearly not over.
My thanks Lady. I will continue to fight on with the strength you grant me.
Though he be still shaken from the strangers assault, he continues his barrage with the longsword.
|
Beckett's smile turns nearly maniacal as he rebuffs the cultists' attacks.
"Was it worth it, devil spawn?! To sell your soul to a demon? Only to be abandoned and die here?!"
Bracing himself, the Inquisitor raises the massive pole arm high, and brings it down upon the head of the foe in front of him.
"Go to the abyss and claim the fate you deserve!!"
End of Combat
...C3
Charge with sword: 1d20+4 +2 ⇒ (19)+4+2 = 25 Threat!
Confirm: 1d20+4+2 ⇒ (16)+4+2 = 22
Vandamage: 2d8+1+1+1d6 ⇒ (7, 1) +1+(4) = 13
Karl pivots on his heel and launches forward, his right arm bringing the edge of his blade down on the last opponent. Although Nosa's strike misses, the ferocity of his attempt forces the madman back a step. Karl's blade ends the man's life, slicing cleanly through the neck and drawing through the spine, severing the head.
With a final, meaty thump as the headless body hits the ground, the battle ends. There is a collective sigh on the room, but there are other concerns. Helios is slowly coming out of the sickness that had gripped him. Mayhap and Fipps, however, are still collapsed in fetal position as they rock back and forth sobbing.
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
- You've saved the Southridge villagers, but a few a still missing. Four named Elora, Mahl, Remy and a child Wendell all left willingly with the elf Drogan knows as Althanis
- Nosa has brought the woman's body up from the ritual room, she may be the missing daughter of Lord Ralios. (You still have some of her personal effects on hand, found in your first visit to the ritual room)
- Marcum is preparing a horse and wagon for egress
- Beckett and Phedron are investigating the warehouse
- You have Mayhap and Fipps, Ardo's scouts lent by the local crime lord. Both have been manacled.
- Nosa and Drogan and Karl are wounded
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
➢ Nosatrub (HP 8/11 | 7 pts nonlethal)
➢ Karl (HP 5/9)
➢ Enemies (At Zero)
➢ Kheegan (19/56 | 0/12)
➢ Drogan (HP 4/9)
➢ Lavios (HP 13/13)
➢ Legate (HP 34/34)
➢ Hal’dorel (HP 32/32)
Drogan spits another drop of dark liquid to the ground before kicking one of the dead men in the teeth. There is a satisfying crunch that makes him smile a wet, crimson smile.
His accent drops its theatrical clarity, taking on more of the dwarven brogue than usual "Tha's Drogan Anvilsong. Son a' Draevon Anvilsong. 75th Anvilsong of the Archives. I am the line breaker, an' a'm not te be trifled wit ye wee daemon. Remember te tell what'er beast a' what'er pit yoo bastards crawled out frum that a'm the one tha' bloody sent ye home cryin' wit yer tails 'tween yer legs."
He stumbles a bit from the loss of blood, but is quick to right himself. His normally deft fingers paw at the flap of his pouch. He produces his spool of woolen thread, carefully biting off a decent sized thread.
He collects himself, his common becoming clearer to those unfamiliar with his dialect. "Karl, it seems there's more work to do, but I'm not sure I'll be fit for it in my current state. No reason you shouldn' go and collect a few skulls for me, eh?"
His whisper is hoarse and full of gravel, as his hands begin to glow."Son of Iron, forged in flame, Wounds be healed in Torag's name.
His energy spent, he drops to his knees. Anyone trying to come to his aid is brushed off with a flap of arm and a heavy growl, "I'll be fine, I'll be fine." He tries to stand again before finding a bit of wall to lean on. He points to the unconscious man on the ground. "All I know is that I want te be the last thing this fiend sees if Death'll let his eyes open before she comes te claim him. I'll be with you shortly."
Round 2
...Phedron
Phedron dies forward and brings his blade across the middle, but the enemy bows his midsection, causing the strike to miss.
The bald man opposite the wizard grins maniacally, right arm gripping the strange, lacquered wood punch dagger while his left darts out in a failed attempt to punch the half-elf. "Fm'latgh gebgokka ftaghu!" He roars in response to Phedron's question, still speaking in the stomach rolling language.
The Inquisitor burns with righteous anger and slams his hammer down, bringing low his opponent in a sickening crunch of bone and flesh.
"Mnahn hlirgh!!" The other one shrieks in rage and leaps over his fallen comrade to face Beckett. He clasps soot covered hands over his own eyes and shouts in his unintelligible language. "Chel'bumna ep ee hai!!"
Beckett feels a wave of cold slam into him, a gossamer veil of chill night passing through him. In the space between seconds, Beckett is adrift in the void, cold and alone, the black empty all around him...his eyes strain for light, thirst for it...he reaches out and finds nothing to grasp... He blinks several tome and the vision vanishes, leaving him to face his opponent.
■■■■■
■■■■■
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
➢ Phedron (HP 32/32) ➢➢ Up ➢➢
➢ Beckett (HP 9/9) ➢➢ Up ➢➢
➢ Baddies (7 / DEAD / ??)
Round 2
...Phedron
...Beckett
...C1
...C1 (crit)
...C1 (no confirm)
...C1 (no confirm)
Phedron lashes out once more with his cavalry sword but the man opposite him is too focused and ducks under the attack.
"Almgh ftaghu!" He shouts and spins low, using the momentum of his dodge to kick out and strike Phedron hard in the knee. The wizard hears the cracking just before the love of pain.
Beckett, keen to replicate his success with the prior enemy, over commits to his attack. The enemy sidesteps the strike and pivots on his heel to kick out. "Chel'bumna ep ee hai!!" But like Beckett, he too misses the mark.
The hawk's ear-piercing screech is all the warning Phedron's opponent has before Caster slams bodily into the madman's face. Talons rip and shred, leaving behind ribbons of red.
"Now, now, wizard," Agidor's gravelly baritone chides. "I just met you and you're already stealing all the fun for yourself!" The bard runs into view and throws a dagger at the enemy opposite Phedron, grinning when he sees it lodge into the bald man's side. "A little birdy mentioned you might need some assistance."
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
➢ Phedron (HP 2/7) ➢➢ Up ➢➢
➢ Beckett (HP 4/9) ➢➢ Up ➢➢
➢ Baddies (12 / DEAD / ??)
➢ Agidor (9/9)
➢ Caster (4/4)
|
|
The Inquisitor does not remove his gaze from the cultist, Agidor's arrival only faintly registering in his mind.
You should flee. Allow the others to finish the fight...
"Never!"
You are in danger. You could die... Just give in... Flee... Just this once...
A brutish snarl escapes Beckett but it soon descends to a sob.
"I am already dead... I am already dead..."
His shoulders slumped, he swings at his foe with ebbing strength.
|
"I just met you and you're already stealing all the fun for yourself!"
Agidor and Caster's arrival are the wings of hope in a quickly deteriorating combat.
"I must say that the entertainment here keeps you on your toes!
Once again Phedron reaches out to touch the cultist, channeling a force of will to daze his enemy.
Dazing Touch (Sp)
Round 2
C1 Dazed
...Beckett
...C1
...C1
...C1
...Healers Kit
...Marcum
Phedron calls forth his innate magical energies and dazes his opponent once again, causing the man to stumble and growl to himself as he fights to regain his wits.
Beckett, a darkness gripping at his fighting-spirit, drains his strength and he misses with his hammer swing. The enemy rushes forward and stabs out with rigid fingers to hit the Inquisitor in the throat. Beckett coughs and gags, his left hand going to his neck where his crushed windpipe refuses to admit air. Blood seeps from his lips and the Inquisitor collapses to the muddy earth.
Caster arcs his flight and uses his regained height to dove at the other enemy who's just fell Beckett. Talons rake across the man's left eye, ripping it out and leaving the robed villain cursing in his alien tongue.
"Beckett!," Agidor side steps the dazed enemy and hurls another dagger, this one aimed for Beckett prosecutor. "Lucky Drunk, guide my throw!" The bard's prayer is answered as his dagger punctures its target just below the hip.
For more the direction of the stables a stumbling figure, short and hunched, races to Beckett' s side. Reaching into the pouch at his side, Marcum pulls a salve and clothe and begins administering aid to the fallen Inquisitor. As he seeks to treat the throat wound first to clear Beckett's airway, the nearby enemy sweeps a kick towards Marcum. But the sudden appearance of the diminutive human causes his kick to come up short.
"If one of you boys could get this wild man away from me?" Marcum calls out, shifting his position and continuing his work.
Light...if there was only light!
"Fth'galn mh'nglui mglw'nafh..."
A voice, low and rumbling from the deep...Beckett strains to see its source. He sees nothing but the ocean of night.
"Fth'galn mh'nglui mglw'nafh..."
He tries to cry out, a call to Sarenrae to join him...but there is no sound...
His body shudders. Water fills his nose and threatens to choke him. Beckett coughs so hard he sees stars...then light...rain...rain is falling...
"Come on, boy, back to the light. No time to fit you on Pharasma's appointment list."
Beckett's eyes open and he stares up at the bald and bespeckled visage of Marcum. The malformed man is reaching into his pouch, withdrawing a vile of familiar liquid.
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
➢ Phedron (HP 2/7) ➢➢ Up ➢➢
➢ Beckett (HP 0/9) ➢➢ Up ➢➢
➢ Baddies (12DAZED / DEAD / 6)
➢ Agidor (9/9)
➢ Caster (4/4)
➢ Marcum
|
|
Beckett lies on the cold earth, his sightless eyes staring upward.
Only vaguely does he become aware of Marcum's ministrations. Weakly, he tries to push away the man's hands. He struggles, his arms having no strength remaining.
"gg... ggoo... go... letmego..."
As Marcum continues, despite his protests, his mind begins to clear slightly.
Where... Where am I? What happened to the temple?
Then he sees the cultist, still engaged with Agidor.
Agidor? When did you come to the temple?
Then he remembers.
With a wide eyed howl, he claws at the pouch containing the magical potion, the pain of the motion almost making him lose his faint hold on consciousness.
The sound of breaking glass follows as he smashes the top of the bottle on a nearly stone. Beckett jabs the jagged broken edges into his mouth and he downs the contents in one gulp, grimacing as the glass repeatedly cuts new wounds into the soft flesh of his mouth, and taking satisfaction as those wounds close instantly, the sharp pain restoring his clarity.
Karl wipes his blade clean as he watches Drogan care for himself.
"Outmatched, but lucky. Lucky to be alive, now if only we can remain that way."
Karl picks up the discarded waraxe and lines up on the necks of the fallen two-handed.
"Can't have these ones come back to life yet again. We have time to look over the tart a little more closely once we get clear of here. I think she may be the vessel or catalyst for something. These people---"
"---obviously had plans for her . . ."
"---and I----"
"---intend to find out what----"
"---and why. . . . Hummmm, Looks like I helped that one along a bit, meh, no matter."
Karl goes over and grabs the rope attached to the two whimpering weasels.
"Well, the legate has seen down stairs right? Lets grab the girl and be off. I have a mind to burn this place to the ground and have the oil to do it too. Any objections?"
Nosa stands and surveys the scene. The bodies of the strange men strewn about on the floor of the tannery. Still confused by the whole situation.
Then, without warning, the adrenaline of battle wears off and he is suddenly weary. He slumps down to one knee and catches himself by planting the point of his longsword in the ground.
He waits there a moment while his breath returns, watching Marsh at his grissly business.
Slowly he stands. He uses the clothing of one of the downed strangers to wipe his blade clean before sheathing it. He then refits his shield.
He walks over to where he had laid the girl down, stoops and gently takes her in his arms once more.
Indeed. Lets be off
"Very dramatic and worthy of a bard's telling Mr. Nosatrub, but if my blade is to be dulled I would rather it be on my enemies armor not the dirt on the ground. Get up, get on your feet, you can die some other time."
As the boy crusader rises Karl thinks of something that something that causes him to chuckle.
"However heh heh heh, we are rife with bards so hopefully one of them was watching and saw it. Maybe one of them can even make being b*$$& slapped to death sound like an epic triumph."
"Glad to see you are still on your feet boy. . . You made sure that girl is completely dead dead and not emanating evil right? I don't want to assume anything, because she still has her head."
Karl begins sizing the place up.
"A few well placed pieces of fuel and a few flasks of oil should see to this place. . . Tarik is going to be pissed. He's about to be down a couple of prime commercial cultist ready properties. Heh heh heh."
I hope he is not already leaving a trail of bodies behind him . . . I need to get moving I am letting myself get too stuck in."
"Hal, how about you use those elven peepers of yours and take a look around outside, before we set this place ablaze I want to make sure we don't have a new host at our gates."
Not wanting to leave anything to chance, Nosa takes Karl's advice and uses detect evil to be sure.
Drogan grumbles quietly to himself, "By the Drunk's flask, I'd shove my ax so far up your hind parts you wouldn't sit proper for a week, but it wouldn't be worth soiling fine dwarven craftsmanship you son of a goat-herding goblin."
He stands, dusting himself off, the spell's effect taking hold. "Well, since you've done such a fine job of robbing me the my glorious one-liner, I 'spose we should be about the business of helping the others then, shouldn't we?"
Drogan throws his shoulder into the soldier for a shove before making his way to the door. The flames are intense, but he waits to hear if Nosa senses anything. Wouldn't want these beasties coming up from the rear.
Perception Checks
➢ Nosatrub (HP 8/11 | 7 pts nonlethal)
➢ Karl (HP 5/9)
➢ Kheegan (19/56 | Rage 0/12)
➢ Drogan (HP 7/9)
➢ Lavios (HP 13/13)
➢ Legate (HP 34/34)
➢ Hal’dorel (HP 32/32)
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
As Karl makes his grizzly intent apparent, Hal'dorel works with Lavios to get the Southridgers and the recovering Helios outside. The elf motions for Kheegan to bring the unconscious Jak. Swinging the man's body over his shoulder, Kheegan follows along.
At Karl's request Hal'dorel scans beyond the doors of the tannery. "Rain is falling again, a mist shrouds much, but I see the fire at the warehouse has grown." He narrows his eyes, seeing something else. "There is movement at the entrance of the warehouse."
The villagers are eager to exit the building, even if it means stepping into the deluge. Tarvus, the eldest of the four, tries to avert the other's attentions as Karl goes about his grim work.
Aureleum storms forward and pulls the rope to Mayhap and Fipps from Karl's hand. "These are my prisoners, Marsh. Before you get any ideas for their heads, I'll assume custody." She begins working with the two brothers, coaxing them out of their stupor and getting them to move towards the door. "I've not been downstairs, but I'll take the account of the paladin for my evidence and records. You said there is a wagon of some sorts waiting for us, let's see to it." But like the dwarf, she waits to see Nosa's result.
Nosa rests the girl on the tannery floor and opens his senses...
As Nosa studies the girl a memory comes unbidden to his mind. A time nearly 2 years removed when he had been training in Lastwall...his adoptive father had recounted a mission into Ustalav as part of Nosa's education.
Veras and his men had followed a band of circus performers. But everywhere they went, they left rumors of missing people and other strange occurrences. The Knights had caught up with them and fought the band to a surrender. But the last of the performers had escaped into the nearby woods. A harrow card reader and two of her assistants, the leaders of the traveling menagerie.
Something Veras had said of the encounter rings now in Nosatrub's ears. "They protected her, these scoundrels. But truth be told, Nosatrub, she didn't need the protection. She was touched. Liam wanted to go so far as to call her possessed, but I didn't think so."
"What do you mean by touched, sir?" Nosa had asked.
Veras had rested his hands on his hips and shook his head. "You and I, we were called to service. The Lady shined a light on our path because she saw into our hearts, because we called out to Her. But sometimes, there are those who are touched...directed...controlled. Like this Harrower...we found out later that her life had been a festering sore of evil. From the cradle to the grave. One of the men we'd managed to capture, he'd said there was a point when the woman had been able to do things...the kind of magic only in the realm of priests and clerics. But she'd never set foot in a temple. Never bent knee to a dark master..."
Nosa sees the headless bodies of their vanquished foes and wonders. Were they possessed? Or were they touched, called to a darker purpose? Or were they reanimated dead...resurrected to do the bidding of some larger evil like Karl had indicated?
As Karl provides his own style of encouragement, Nosatrub wonders...
Drogan grumbles again, feeling his remaining wounds pulse with his anger. He sees the dead grave-diggers and wonders at their part in the tale.
Why the story of Latrim Oled the Seer comes to mind, he doesn't know. Perhaps the exhaustion sapping at his dwarven frame has something to do with it. He'd read it some time ago, a cautionary tale for those who sought to fight their fate. Latrim had been a philosopher from Rahadoum, prone to fits of rage whenever he ran across someone espousing loyalty to one god or another. An avowed antagonist of any who served a godly faith, Latrim soon found himself in alien territory.
Latrim was a well traveled fellow, and despite his aversion to the gods, still lived out a model existence in service to others. From town to town he roamed, helping helping a farmer here, solving a riddle there, even negotiating the release of prisoners from a nasty ship captain from Varisia.
On his 30th summer, he was spoken to buy none other than Cayden Cailean. The god of luck and travelers had a mission for Latrim, whether he believed in the gods or not. But the philosopher spent the next 10 years avoiding the call. He took up arms as a ranger in Brevoy, all the while finding the unwanted, divine protections of the Lucky Drunk there to aid him. No matter how hard he'd tried, Latrim could not be rid of the god's influence. And so it'd continued until Latrim's passing, his refusal of Cayden Cailean's existence and the Lucky Drunk's amused reciprocity of divine aid.
As anger still boils and mixes with his exhaustion, Drogan wonders why such a story would come to mind. He sees Karl finish his grim work and wonders...
As Lavios watches Karl go about the grim work of decapitation the fallen fiends, he is reminded of a time long ago in Southridge. He'd been no more than 9 years old when he'd gone with his father into the forest. Locals had reported a spat of dead animals in and around one of the great trees. A squirrel here, a badger there... Not so strange in the death, but it was the fact that the carrion creatures of the forest had left their bodies alone. A dead creature meant food, why would they leave the bodies to rot?
Eventually it was discovered that the great tree had been poisoned. And all the creatures who dwelt near it had found themselves poisoned as well. Worse still, he and his father had found that those animals exposed to the great tree who had not died, they were twisted and violent.
Emerging from his memory, Lavios moves towards the door along with his villagers. But he looks back and wonders at the dead enemies and wonders. Had they been poisoned with evil to make them act in this way?
On the tannery floor, the dead remain. Their blood leaks slowly, nothing to move it along now that their hearts no longer beat. Nearby, the four's bags lay in a neat pile where they'd left them before the fight.
As you discuss the fate of the tannery, you three hear from outside the now familiar voice of Agidor call out in distress, "Beckett!!".
Nosa's body shivers visibly at the pervasive evil he feels in the room.
There was evil in her at one time, but it fades. Whether the evil was her own or someone or something elses I cannot tell. There is a strange darkness at work here.
Nosa looks at the Legate. I will tell you what I saw, but first we should be gone from here. The evil of this place should be burned to the ground. Let Marsh do his work.
Nosa stoops down again and picks up the girl. He still does not understand at all her part in this play, but he made a commitment to find the daughter of the noble. He believes without doubt that this is indeed her.
Without another word or look he heads toward the door.
"Please, feel free to make your one liners Mr. Anvilsong. They help make this work so much more pleasant. Here take a flask and find something to burn."
Karl leans in close to the angry dwarf
"Don't think I missed that crimson smile upon your face. Beware of joy that comes from killing Drogan. Your fantasy component in the murder and can never be completely fulfilled. The lust to fulfill that fantasy continues to evolve over time and it becomes increasingly violent as you struggle to fulfil it. Maybe I stole your satisfaction today, but hopefully I saved you from something more. Either way . . . He's deader than s&!@ now."
Karl lets the legate take the rope from his hands without resistance.
"No need to fear mam, I respect your claim to them, but I believe you need to at least look downstairs yourself. The boy's word is as golden as his god, but he doesn't see the things your veteran eyes do. Go down without fearing for these two. I won't kill them . . . They are too valuable and don't pose the threat that these four did."
Hearing Nosa's report Karl nods.
"Good work son. Maybe a cleric can do more to get answers, but at least she's not going to leap up a zombie. The cart's outside. Eh . . . maybe say a quick prayer or something these men were good once, may some god be merciful on their tainted souls."
Karl catches something over the sound of falling rain.
"Becketts in trouble."
"Please take a quick look Aureleum, humor me. I am glad you stayed to see what the captured villagerS were transformed into . . . It happened downstairs."
With a heavy sigh Karl draws his blades and rushes out to see what trouble Mr. Beckett now found himself in.
"But make it quick, If there are more of these bastards outside we are probably going to need your help."
Drogan runs besides Karl, waraxe in hand. The rain feels good, but fleeting, as the heat from the warehouse blaze cooks his skin.
"Don't worry about old Drogan, Marhsy. Tha' whistler was a special case. Ain't no shame in taken a bit of recompense from a pit demon such as he. The youngling said it himself - pure evil and all that. And besides," he says in between breaths, "Those boys nearly wrote my last chapter. Don't tell me a soldier boy such as yerself hasn't felt the joy of just being alive after a fight like that.
Ahead of them, the flames lick at the clouds as the air is thick with screaming. Their speed increases.
Nosa, lost in thought, hears Marsh say that Beckett is in trouble.
Quickly, he lets the girl down. Look after her for me he says to the Legate, I must help my friend. I will be back for her.
With that he draws his sword, fits his shield, and takes off at full run toward the warehouse to help Beckett.
"I suppose I have sometime in the past, but now it all seems to run together."
"Be careful everyone, our spells and special abilities are running low. We need everyone on their feet. Getting out of the teeth may be difficult."
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"If one of you boys could get this wild man away from me?"
"I'll be happy to oblige as soon as I cure this maniac's desire to decorate my neck."
With his opponent stunned, he rakes his blade downward.
"Hang in there Beckett! We've got them right where we want them!" he says with a smile that is fed by the darkness of the situation.
"This is getting serious.." Phedron considers. Still, he emanates thankful to the adept Caster. "Nice shot! Let's hope I can match you!"
End Round 4
C1 Dazed
...Beckett
...C3
...C3
...C3
...
Phedron's attack slices through the villain's chest and empties what life is left to him. His opponent collapses before him. Above, Caster cries in triumph to see his master's success.
Beckett grasps the broken jar in his hand, feeling the magics inside him work their healing.
"Fth'galn mh'nglui mglw'nafh..." Beckett shudders at the alien words, but his finely honed combat skills take over. His hammer comes up to block the incoming enemy, stopping the flying kick aimed at his head.
Another dagger in his hand, Agidor lets it fly and once again hits his target. But the throw only grazes the man attacking Beckett.
Caster plunges in for another graze of his talons, but the robed figure dodges to get side.
"Can't have this fellow putting you on your back again..." Marcum states with frustration and pulls a nearly spherical looking clay jar from his satchel, a cork stopper sticking out of the top with a thin slip of green ribbon. The malformed human swings his spindly arm and hurls the clay jar at the enemy. When it contacts, the clay breaks open and a burst of green fire erupts. The enemy stumbles backwards, clutching the smoking ruin that is his middle. He gasps his last and falls to the muddy ground.
Caster flies to Phedron's shoulder and chitters his greeting. The wizard catches himself limping where his dead opponent had caught him in the knee. But he readies his blade once more, shaking off the pain of his wounds. From the direction of the tannery, Beckett and Phedron can hear the pounding of boots splashing across the waterlogged yard.
The rain and mist soon reveal the forms of Nosatrub, Karl, Drogan and Lavios. The four arrivals see the or comrades victorious. Three robed men lay dead in the mud, and a smashed wooden effigy is nearby.
The group gathers in the pouring rain, the burning warehouse a glowing backdrop. Timber and stone collapses on the southern corner of the building as the flames begin to take their toll.
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
➢ Phedron (HP 2/7)
➢ Beckett (HP 8/9)
➢ Agidor (9/9)
➢ Caster (4/4)
➢ Marcum
➢ Nosatrub (HP 8/11 | 7 pts nonlethal)
➢ Karl (HP 5/9)
➢ Lavios (HP 13/13)
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Turning to those just now arriving, he huffs out,
"Found some statues just inside the doors. he says, pointing to the now smashed fragments. "Went in further and found these three in some sort of makeshift temple. They were huddled in a circle around a hole, chanting while the place burned down around them. I pulled them out, hoping to save a clue. I haven't looked into the northern reaches yet."
Phedron weighs the risk of going back into the blazing structure. With his knee now injured, he frowns in frustration. Countering some of his frustration is the relief of Caster safe after such an encounter.
"Marcum, have you been working out? Heh, heh, heh."
Karl surveys the damage.
"There are four holes in the tannery if you want to inspect any of those. Maybe they leave the victims heart of pour the blood down the hole or something. Unless you've got resistance to fire I wouldn't go back in there. The fire will spread more quickly now that there's a vent."
". . . But there are still four missing people."
Karl tries to judge if there is time to risk one last run into the building.
"Ehh, I don't know, we've got seven to care for, we're in Tarik's territory, Stumpy is running around here somewhere, we're banged up and we still have to find a safe place outside the Teeth to hole up. Probably should just set fire to the tannery and head out."
"Beckett if your done taking a dirt nap down there, let's get up and get moving."
"Good job everyone, we survived for the next battle."
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"Four missing?"
Phedron looks back into the flames within the structure, vainly wishing he knew magic to help in this situation. His heart urges him to move, but his body is unwilling.
"I've got to make sure. I can't let innocents burn to death if I'm right here."
He makes sure his hankerchief is wet and dives back in, letting Caster take flight. Heading for the north portions he stays low. When he reaches the doorway/opening to the northern portion, he takes a breath through the handkerchief and removes it before yelling "Is anyone in here?!" and recovers his face. If the doorway reveals no captives there, he will turn and make his way back out. If there is someone, he will attempt to reach them.
Warehouse
➢ Phedron (HP 1/7)➢➢➢
➢ Beckett (HP 8/9)➢➢➢
➢ Agidor (9/9)
➢ Caster (4/4)
➢ Marcum
➢ Nosatrub (HP 8/11 | 7 pts nonlethal)
➢ Karl (HP 5/9) ➢➢➢
➢ Lavios (HP 13/13)
➢ Drogan (HP 7/9)
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
The warehouse looks unstable at best. The first corner collapsing is triggering all manner of creaks and groans as the fire consumes more and more fuel.
From the doorway, Karl sees two shadowed figures backlit by the fire, wooden totems of peculiar plane and sweep. From the doorway the pattern of each totem possesses that disconcerting feeling of the alien. There are 2 of them in sight, standing along the interior at roughly three feet in height. Each is carved and assembled of varying pieces of wood, their primary theme appears as a vaguely humanoid shape save for the odd assortment of legs and tentacles with no symmetry to give the minds reference. A labyrinth of greenwood branches woven together to give shape and definition. The effigies are devoid of symmetry, with a vaguely humanoid shape but its lower appendages number three with clawed feet. The center most leg roots higher along the trunk than the other two and impresses the image of two arms that had been mutated to form together.
Along the middle of one is a vertical line extending from trunk up over a bulbous head carved from the knotted section of a poplar stretches the seem of a mouth. From various points along the body and even from the half opened 'mouth' extend tentacles of such cunning craftsmanship as to summon the horrific - but false - certainty of it actually moving.
This second one is oddly simple for three quarters the height, dark wood carved with the strange mixture of fur and scales along the surface. But near the top, the shape diverges into two heads. The maws of both calls to mind the grins of timber wolves but the remainder of their heads are asymmetrical trapezoidal shapes that are given to a bone-like transcription.
Phedron dives into the inferno, intent upon saving lives. But as he gets closer to the north side of the entryway and catches sight of the doorway there, he quickly realized he cannot push further into the interior. In fact, the heat radiating is so intense his lungs spike as though they're breathing shards of glass. Even with the cloth over his face Phedron can barely breathe. The wizard calls out for survivors but the only reply are the death throes of the burning building. The flames force him to retreat to the open air and the cooling downpour.
But on his way out, a scrap of parchment, perhaps a page from a book, catches his eye and Phedron stoops to grab it up as he escapes. Although he is nearly spent and the world's edges are darkening in his vision, he has the presence of mind to keep the page shielded from the rain. He focuses his mind passed the pain and catches a glimpse of the parchment. The material is thick but pliable, also oiled in some way. In fact, the drops of water that had impacted the page are only glistening on its surface and not absorbing.
Strange glyphs crawl across the page and remind Phedron of squirming creature instead of lettering. Worse still is the depiction in the center, drawn with a painstaking passion and matching the effigy Beckett had smashed and one of the two that remain inside the warehouse.
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
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Stumbling back out with the page tucked into his component pouch, he makes his way past the others and crouches down, hands on his knees, coughing out the smoke. Breathing slowly from his blistered airways, he stands.
"Couldn't get in deeper, but found something...need some place dry." he pants out hoarsely, silently cursing the maniacs that may have prevented him helping anyone in need. "Please, please don't let them be in there. I don't want to know."
"That was stupid . . . , but brave son. You don't have to worry about anyone here questioning the size of your balls. If they are inside there's not much you can do. They would be overcome by smoke right now, better than burning at least. People die, s~~$ breaks and you can't save em all or stop it. You did all you could and a little more than you should have. Maybe they weren't even in there."
Karl offers.
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"Yes, people die. But there are many times people could be saved if only another would risk a chance. I pray they aren't in there when we've been so close." are the words that leave Phedron's mouth, untailored and honest. In his daze from wounds and smoke inhalation, he's not entirely sure if Karl's words were not his own mind laying out the practical and obvious to soothe his fears.
Looking to Beckett he doesn't entirely disagree. "Perhaps true enough, but I'd rather see the root dug out rather than chopping this deadly vine off at the ground."
Looking around he sees the others through the downpour.
"So what is your tale? I don't see the four. I'm guessing they turned? Did you search the bags?"
--------------------------
Phedron will carefully search the bodies of the cultists while a plan of action is laid out.
Nosa walks over to Beckett and claps him hard on the shoulder.
"I am glad to see you standing my friend" he says, a broad smile crossing his lips.
He then turns and heads back toward where he left the girl lying on the ground.