"Anton!" Janos points to the necromancer, drawing the attention of the powerful archer. "Take her down!" He rushes towards the undead, hoping to draw some of them off of Drosil while also cutting of the necromancer.
"Dros! Watch yourself, don't let them cut you off from us!"
Rapid shot= -2
Negative levels= -3
Attack 1 MS: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (9) + 10 = 19
Damage: 1d8 + 9 ⇒ (7) + 9 = 16 and Damage: 1d8 + 9 ⇒ (1) + 9 = 10
Attack 2, RS: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (7) + 10 = 17
Damage: 1d8 + 9 ⇒ (8) + 9 = 17
Attack 3 iterative: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (17) + 5 = 22
Damage: 1d8 + 9 ⇒ (2) + 9 = 11
With the battle joined in earnest Anton can do nothing more than simply pump arrows into the fray, turning his attention now from the stricken werewolf to the necromancer pulling the strings. The distance is against him and throws off his aim but he looks to redouble his efforts with his next volley
|1 person marked this as a favorite.|
The festrogs and two clans of wolves clash in a titanic mass of struggling flesh as Feral thunders towards them over the broken ground. The demon wolves are clearly the strongest of the melee and though wounded they begin to prevail as the struggle continues.
Meanwhile Drosil begins his deadly dance with the bevy of wights, his silvery rapier flashing in the low light. He cuts them down one after another, but does not manage to completely avoid their draining slams.
Anton levels his bow at the undead monk rushing towards him, feathering her with a few arrows as she closes the distance. He begins to sweat as he sees the hate in her dead gaze clear as day.
B'yelka stands behind the paladin, one hand resting lightly on his back, her voice still raised in song. She fights the fear in her belly, seeing how ragged her team is, and feeling her own voice crack from the strain of channeling so much magic.
Janos rushes into the group of wights from behind just as Drosil gets surrounded. His powerful hews send dessicated limbs flying, and within moments the two boys have cut down the lesser undead.
Feral finally arrives at the melee, to find only wounded demon wolves still standing. With a wordless growl, the giant grey were launches himself into the fiendish lycanthropes. Their falchions seek his flesh, but Dantrian's concoctions make Feral night invincible. His claws and metal fangs shred flesh and fur like paper as he rends the demon pups.
Anton, steadied by B'yelka, takes a deep breath and grabs another handful of arrows from his dwindling quivers. As the monk runs the final paces towards him, she leaps into the air in a flying kick. Anton unleashes his arrows with the speed that only he can manage. TH-THunk! Thunk! Thunk! All four shafts bury themselves in the monk's face. Anton dives aside, shoving B'yelka back as the wights corpse crashes down where they were just standing.
The squeaks and whines of beaten dogs draw the eyes of the heroes back to Feral, who is just finishing twisting the head off the last Demon Wolf. It is over. The field is suddenly very quiet, filled with only the soft gusting of the breeze and the sounds of their own rushing blood. B'yelka and Anton were the only ones to escape unscathed. Feral bleeds from several cuts on his legs and hands. Drosil and Janos support each other, sore from the crushing, life-draining blows of the wights.
They have victory, but at what price? Peace, but at what cost?
The field is littered with corpses. Wolves, different undead, cultists, shattered skeletons and mass graves dug by the Whispering Way during the creation of their fell army. Stinking puddles of necrotic puss and blood already draw flies. The croaking of ravens soon joins their buzzing as the black winged servants of Pharasma come to survey the charnel town, following the trail of blood and death from where the Five had entered to the grand feast now laid out for them in the ruined town square. As the Five gather together, looking into each others' faces they find themselves right back where they started. Drawn together by fate in the land of the dead. Knit together by need and fear in the dark hallows of Ustalav.
That's it folks! Hope you had a horrific time! :P No, in all seriousness, thanks for doing this game with me guys. It's been a lot of fun, and I hope that you guys will continue to roleplay in the thread for as long as you like. The Way has been defeated for now, Petros has been avenged, and the items they stole are in the tower. I will respond to any questions and such, and keep monitoring the thread. I'd love to know what the Five go on to next, now that they've 'saved' Ustalav. Great job in keeping the most awful place in Golarion from becoming a true land of the dead.
Janos breathes heavily and kicks the corpse of one of the undead. "We did it! We finished off the Way and crushed their evil plans. And I suppose restored some order to his forest too." He glances around at the empty village. "It's a pity it cost people this much."
He stretches. "Well, what now? I think we should head back to the Lodge. I'll send Kendra a note from there, but I'll be heading back to Lepidstadt."
Feral looks up at Janos as he speaks, the towering wolf bent over Adimarus' still corpse. He holds Admimarus' heart, slick and oily and black, in one stained claw. "Yes we did, Janos. Heh heh haaaah." As if to punctuate the point, Feral crushes the heart in his palm with a low growl. "Yes we did."
He stalks back over to the fallen form of the necromancer Vrood and recovers the last half of Sain's heart. With a wicked smile, he devours it.
"There." Feral's tone carries an air of finality, of accomplishment. He looks back to Janos and the others, his eyes shining silver, "Ascanor will do nicely. Though I believe I now have business at the Stairs. When the remaining packs are brought to heel, Ascanor can begin to recover without worry."
Anton falls to his knees; hands trembling, blood coursing and a light-headedness overcoming him to the point where he nearly passes out.
It's over... it's finally over.
When eventually he has the strength to stand he surveys the scene of devastation, bodies and blood strewn and splattered everywhere. It is a grim scene and yet he feels elation like rarely before in his life.
We won! Haha!
He rushes to embrace Drosil, lifting the fetchling off his feet.
Ah but by Desna it feels good. Nothing will bring Petros back but to have removed their taint from the world... I think he would be proud.
He turns to B'yelka then, cupping her face his his hand and touching his forehead to hers.
You never stopped believing, my lady, and the strength and grace you showed carried us through.
As the adrenaline leaves her body B'yelka's legs shake and her breath becomes ragged. Without even being aware of them bright tears begin streaming from her eyes. She listens to Janos and his desire to get to Kendra.
Then her stomach turns as she listens to that monster, Feral, gloat.
And finally, her heart skips a beat at Anton's gentle touch. His words wash over her, and she smiles, despite her tears. "No, I did not always beleive", she turns her head up to meet Anton's silvered eyes with her own, "but I think your Lady had a plan for some of us that has yet to be fulfilled..."
|Drosil the Grey|
Drosil smiles at Janos, happy that the ranger will have the chance to be with Kendra once more. He casts an uneasy glance at Feral's words, just in time to see the last of the heart devoured. He even returns Anton's embrace good-naturedly, grinning momentarily from ear to ear, and watches B'yelka's reaction to Anton with interest.
Through all of it, however, he remains silent, slowly coming to terms with the enormity of what the small group has accomplished.
His smile falters briefly as he considers that these few - though, honestly, perhaps more Dantrian than Feral - have become as much a part of his family as his adoptive parents. He has been through all of this at their sides; leaving them now will be...painful, especially when he tries to consider what he could possibly do now after living through the events of the past several months. Can I just go back to my old life?