Míril decides to give the fakakta wand another chance. She moves close enough to get a line-of-sight on the minotaur, and tries again to activate her wand.
And when that fails again, she puts the wand away and readies again her short sword.
*+8 for spell, +9 for scythe
Roshan
masterwork: +1
Point Blank: +1/+1
Flurry of Blows: -1
Deadly Aim: -2/+4
Roshan double moves to enter the room and set up flanking for his allies.
Chancre moves into the room, as he moves through the arch of the door a huge greataxe swings down but it just barely skitters down the armor with a painful screech, and Chancre is able to continue to move - all the way up to the spellcaster.
He triggers his blinding shield. A second eyelid, translucent, blinks down in the half-elf's inhuman face, shielding the more sensitive portions of her eyes. The minotaur manages to raise a human arm to block the flash of light, just in time.
...and then attacks the spellcaster directly with his cold iron short sword. Unsurprised, the woman brings up her left arm, blocking swing with the chitinous armor.
"My name is Chancre Cailean," he says. "My sword has no name.
Míril decides to give the fakakta wand another chance. She moves close enough to get a line-of-sight on the minotaur, and tries again to activate her wand.
And when that fails again, she puts the wand away and readies again her short sword.
Samirah picks up speed as she reaches the threshold of the next room, turning to swing her weapon at the minotaur drawing blood as she steps through the door, and immediately moving away again to avoid his attack.
With Chancre right there, the bestial half-elf woman supports her heavy scythe with her claw, then swings at Chancre. Who doesn't even seem to notice she did so.
Deradnu on the other hand is not so easily ignored. Seeing someone attack the small half-elf, he swings his greataxe at Chancre again this time with deadly accuracy. Luckily the damage causes the second swing to go high.
Irabeth moves just far enough into the room to attack the minotaur, signaling that she plans to move around the monster tactically. However her first swing doesn't have quite enough oomph to damage the monster.
Roshan double moves () to enter the room and set up flanking for his allies. And he does so while dodging attacks from both the minotaur and the spellcaster.
Konstantin's right hand and forearm frost over, and the resulting ball of ice gets hurled at the minotaur. Aimed high to avoid Irabeth, the snowball slams into the minotaur, freezing flesh. But the beast manages to shrug off the freezing numbness.
Chancre -4,-29
Kon -3
Miril -23,-14
Roshan -7
Samirah -7
Irabeth -11
Roshan
magic: +1/+1
Roshan glares at the half-girl, then rotates swiftly and puts his weight into a straight right, golden blade punching through the minotaurs thick hide.
"No jibes? No japes? No jests? Lady, fighting you won't be any fun if you're not going to talk with me."
Chancre's cold iron sword shimmies for the briefest of moments. He attacks the spellcaster again.
Save DC18
"Maybe she's worried you'll distract her into making a mistake," Samirah says as she dances around the minotaur.
After darting away from the minotaur's heavy weapon, Samirah moves in behind the elf-insect to attack her, then moves out of range once more.
Míril dances and twirls into the room, twisting past the minotaur to end up flanking him with Irabeth.
"That's kinda the point," Chancre says. "Maybe she really isn't stupid."
"Flash her again, then! Sometimes a woman needs action, not words."
"I don't think Roshan wants to risk going blind."
Chancre's cold iron sword shimmies for the briefest of moments. He attacks the spellcaster again, his newly blessed sword just barely ecking through the woman's surprisingly good defenses.
Míril dances and twirls into the room, twisting past the minotaur to end up flanking him with Irabeth. And she doesn't take a swing due solely to the fact that Roshan distracted the pair.
After darting away from the minotaur's heavy weapon, Samirah moves in behind the elf-insect to attack her, scoring a hit, then moves out of range once more.
Samirah ends up right behind a low stone pedestal sitting on the floor. On the pedestal, trapped by an iron, barbed cage, there is a chunk of white stone which glows slightly with a clean pure light.
With mad intelligence in her eyes, Jeslyn considers Chancre's wounds, then swings her scythe again, this time easily powering through the inquisitor's defenses. Chancre does continue to stand. She then takes a step towards the wall to maximize her own defenses.
The woman's voice, high girlish tones now perfectly balanced with the insectiod buzz, "Jests and jibes are for fun and play. This is deadly serious." With that she gives a nod to the minotaur - since the two have Chancre flanked. "Die healer."
The minotaur's greataxe swings down on Chancre again, and the man is unable to dodge, his armor not enough to stop the blow. Chancre's broken body falls to the floor, split.
With this the woman turns to Samirah, "Who would you like to lose next?"
In line with Jeslyn's words, the minotaur's greataxe backswings from Chancre's body targeting ( ) Roshan, who barely manages to dodge the blow.
With the flanking from Miril, Irabeth manages to bury her longsword in the minotaur's gut. Solely because of the damage done to the creature by Samirah and Konstantin, it is just enough to drop the creature to the ground.
Roshan glares at the half-girl, then rotates swiftly and puts his weight into a straight right, golden blade aimed for the minotaur until he sees the beast falling. A quick step brings him in reach of the half-elf, but she manages to deflect the blow with an arm.
With the minotaur fallen, Konstantion is able to move safely into the room. Another snowball flies from Konstantin to smack into the half-elf, this one leaving a nasty welt and open wound. She, however, proves to be tougher than even the fallen Chancre.
... that was a threatened crit - but he didn't confirm to begin with
Jeslyn -12,-23,-58
Chancre -4,-29,-39,-62
Kon -3
Miril -23,-14
Roshan -7
Samirah -7
Irabeth -11
As Chancre falls, the temperature around Konstantin does as well. Literally.
Save DC18
"" screams Míril as her friend falls to the ground.
Míril dashes across the room to help Roshan flank the Chancre-slayer. Viciously she thrusts her sword into the hated half-elf.
The expression has disappeared from Samirah's face. There is fury in her tone, but it's controlled. "With your protection slain, let's see how long you live to ask foolish questions."
Samirah pulls the Rod of Cancellation out and presses it against the beautiful white stone on the pedestal before her.
Roshan
magic: +1/+1
Roshan repositions himself to best aid his comrades, next round if not this, and throws an uppercut aimed at what would normally be soft underbelly...but his golden blade skitters off hard insectoid armor instead.
Míril dashes across the room to help Roshan flank the Chancre-slayer. Viciously she thrusts her sword into the hated half-elf. Except the woman moves in a manner than Miril can't easily predict, and the blow is deflected by unnatural natural armor.
Samirah pulls the Rod of Cancellation out and presses it against the beautiful white stone on the pedestal before her. The half-elf's eyes, slitted in concentration widen. The rod remains magical - but so does the fragment of the wardstone the demons plan to use to corrupt the line of protection along the border of the Worldwound.
Thrown off by Samirah's actions, Jeslyn swings vaguely at Miril, but the blade actually ends up closer to Roshan. "Now, you do not want to do that flame-hair."
Irabeth steps up, and her blow manages to hit. But the wound is minor, still deflected by the heavy armor.
Roshan repositions himself to best aid his comrades, next round if not this, and throws an uppercut aimed at what would normally be soft underbelly...but his golden blade skitters off hard insectoid armor instead.
Konstantin's arm frosts over, and once again, he hurls a snowball at the half-elf, although this time his aim is off, and the ice shatters on the wall behind.
Jeslyn -12,-23,-32
Chancre -4,-29,-39,-62
Kon -3
Miril -23,-14
Roshan -7
Samirah -7
Irabeth -11
Samirah's grin is mirthless and fierce. "I very much want to do this, Jeslyn."
Samirah presses the Rod once more against the stone.
"For Chancre. For my friends. For Kenabres. And for the entire realm." Her voice becomes more emotional as she speaks.
Míril grimly redoubles her effort to thrust her sword into the hated half-elf.
Save DC 18
Confirm
Roshan
magic: +1/+1
Roshan stays in close, golden blade continuing to slide off the chitinous armor. His eyes narrow. It may be time for a change in strategy.
The snort turns into laughter, not at Chancre but at the situation the ugly man has found himself in, "So..." curiosity growing in the voice, "Is this it for you?"
Míril grimly redoubles her effort to thrust her sword into the hated half-elf. This time, with Roshan's flank, she manages to get past the woman's defenses to stick adamantine deep into flesh.
Samirah presses the Rod once more against the stone.
"For Chancre. For my friends. For Kenabres. And for the entire realm." Her voice becomes more emotional as she speaks.
This time, in response to Samirah's words as much as the touch of the rod, golden light - fire - cracks through the surface of the white stone. The stone bursts with a musical mesh of notes, exploding in a fireball followed by hundreds of razor-sharp shards of stone. Each of you feel the shards hit your skin, only to sink in without pain. And your wounds heal.
Jeslyn too is bombarded by the same shards, but they burn and tear at her flesh - as well as the dead flesh of her minotaur bodyguard.
Both the minotaur body and Jeslyn are ripped to pieces, leaving only the mist of blood to represent where they once where.
Jeslyn -12,-23,-32,-49
Chancre -4,-29,-39,-62
Kon -3
Miril -23,-14
Roshan -7
Samirah -7
Irabeth -11
"Of course, it isn't in either of our hands." And offering you a hand up is a handsome man with a carefree smile blossomed on his face. Then...
Even as the group starts to take a breath from the explosion and the sudden gruesome destruction of their foes, the golden light goes from fire to pure golden energy. Which pours out of the fragments and slams into each of you, filling your bodies with the energy until each of you starts to glow.
The energy is as familiar as an old glove, recharging all of your abilities. But the pulse of energy is overwhelming, stunning you, leaving all of you on the floor just like Chancre.
Chancre, whose eyes are open and whose spirit is once again behind them.
In the room, Irabeth - untouched by the golden light - frantically moves from body to body, relief coming only when she realizes you are stunned, not dead.
Even as you see what is happening in the room with your bodies, you feel your consciousness pulled up and out, without eyes, you see all the miles of the wardstone border as each of the protective stones overcharges with energy, releasing a blast that destroys, rips apart demons for miles around.
Roshan grunts, sits up and shakes his head. He gives Irabeth a small smile, looks around at the others and blinks, but remains seated.
"That was a poor life choice," Chancre moves as little as possible. "Think I messed up there."
Index fingers go from crossed to goal posts. His right hand pushes down towards the floor, then points at Chancre then turns palm up with a minor flourish.
Samirah remains prone, and her eyes are wide. "Have I killed us all?"
Roshan chuckles silently.
She flexes her fingers. "I admit, I feel better than I have all day. But..." she sounds slightly confused, "I am also seeing... Other places? A dream?"
"That was a poor life choice," Chancre moves as little as possible. "Think I messed up there."
"I am unclear on what you were trying to do. Nonetheless, it is good to have you back. Assuming Samirah has not killed us all..."
Roshan looks. ..contemplative.
"I am unclear on what you were trying to do. Nonetheless, it is good to have you back. Assuming Samirah has not killed us all..."
She turns her head just enough to find where Konstantin is laying, and sticks her tongue out at him.
"At least if we are dead, we took a lot of demons with us. It's not such a bad trade."
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Another thought seems to occur to her, and she turns to Roshan. "Can you speak aloud?"
"At least if we are dead, we took a lot of demons with us. It's not such a bad trade."
"It is a good death," he concedes, though there is a touch of longing in his voice.
"It is a good death," he concedes, though there is a touch of longing in his voice.
She makes a little 'mm' noise of agreement. "Maybe we can challenge someone to a fight to reclaim our lives. We have, after all, things left undone and words left unspoken."
It's hard to tell from her tone whether or not she actually believes they might all have died when she broke the ward stone.
Another thought seems to occur to her, and she turns to Roshan. "Can you speak aloud?"
Roshan's head turns to Samirah. He blinks, looks at her with a somewhat bemused expression. His fist raises to about shoulder height, knuckles tip downwards three times in quick succession.
Roshan's head turns to Samirah. He blinks, looks at her with a somewhat bemused expression. His fist raises to about shoulder height, knuckles tip downwards three times in quick succession.
From her spot on the ground, she shrugs her shoulders. "I guess we're probably not dead, then. It seems an unearned punishment to kill you and not at least return your voice." She smiles.
"That was a poor life choice," Chancre moves as little as possible. "Think I messed up there."
"Well, try not to do it again, please," deadpans Míril.
From her spot on the ground, she shrugs her shoulders. "I guess we're probably not dead, then. It seems an unearned punishment to kill you and not at least return your voice." She smiles.
"I was under the impression it was a Monk thing, where they inconvenience themselves or their allies in exchange for power."
"That was a poor life choice," Chancre moves as little as possible. "Think I messed up there.""Well, try not to do it again, please," deadpans Míril.
"So noted. I wonder how many pieces I am in. Can anyone see?"
Samirah sits up and looks at Chancre. "You appear to be in fewer pieces than just minutes ago."
It's obvious that, despite her light hearted comments, she's still pretty rattled, especially talking to the man she just saw cut down in battle.
From her spot on the ground, she shrugs her shoulders. "I guess we're probably not dead, then. It seems an unearned punishment to kill you and not at least return your voice." She smiles.
A raised eyebrow and a shrug in reply.
"Well, try not to do it again, please," deadpans Míril.
A finger to the side of the nose and point to the half-elf.
"I was under the impression it was a Monk thing, where they inconvenience themselves or their allies in exchange for power."
and a wry smile and nod.
"So noted. I wonder how many pieces I am in. Can anyone see?"
Samirah sits up and looks at Chancre. "You appear to be in fewer pieces than just minutes ago."
The smile grows a bit broader. He nods once, looks to Chancre and holds up one finger.
Chancre nods, and slowly rolls to a sitting position.
Your 'other' vision goes snow-blind for a moment, where you can still see the room where your newly healed bodies are still disoriented, stunned, and glowing but the majority of your mind is pulled through the whiteness. Slowly the whiteness dissipates and you see Kenabres - not the destroyed city that you've been fighting to save, not the huge crusader city that you first saw when you came to the frontier city - but a small city, shield walls newly constructed against the blistering land to the west. In the courtyard - much larger without the homes and stalls clustered - you see the white wardstone being raised into place in defiance of the demon blight. An angel of pure gold, a halo of small swords encircling his head, leads a large group of men and women in armor etched with Iomeadae's longsword in a complicated ritual, energy flowing not just from the mortal believers, but from the herald of the goddess.
The first wardstone. The first of the line of defense to hold the demons in the blighted land in which the rift to the abyss had opened.
And power.
An incline of his head, respect in the otherwise blank face.
You feel a wash of fire and the whole scene goes just the slightest bit red fire in addition to the golden glow.
You know this feeling, it is the start of the nightmares that have branded you all your life. The ones that you know you have that you can never remember.
It should be a beautiful day, the sun is setting over a field of heather. And there is a lovely woman who has her arms open to embrace you and whisk you into the small stone hut.
It should all be right.
You should be normal. Never leaving this small patch of the world.
You hear the discordant noise first, then the flap of wings which bring the lightning which tears the woman apart and knocks your small body to the ground, smoldering and lost to consciousness.
You wake to the pain of your body - the burns and the breaks. A demon stands above you, dripping its own blood into your broken skin.
Off in the distance you hear the bay of a hound, a flash of light so pure it burns the demon, but not you. But the world is lost again.
The next thing you are truly conscious of is your bandaged form being handed over to your first master, "I'm his father and we need the money."
For the first time you realize, "No. That is not my father."
It is very hard to hear but as you let yourself be submerged into the scene you start to hear the words - all in Celestial - which you understand perfectly. Prayers to the fallen emypereal lord, pulled to the abyss by her brother.
True faith that they only seek the path for her exultation to godhood. For her to be able to break with her brother and all forces of evil and instead be that which she had been and could be again - the goddess of outcasts, artists, and the glories of midnight.
Samirah's first instinct is to crack wise; but she finds she just can't treat this being with anything other than respect. She reaches a hand out toward him... it... then pulls it back and places it against her heart.
"You see me?"
"You presence blesses this even just as much as my mistresses does."
It is only then that you feel more than see the strong line of power which reaches from the angel into another dimension.
You feel your attention expand, the horror of the blighted twisted land. "It is only a shield, a stalemate."
The angel's voice is supplanted by a woman's. Her alto voice is strong, "Someday, instead, the war will have to be won."
Another white-out.
This time the city is closer to the way you first saw it. The bonfire in the courtyard, burning the man and woman there alive is all too real.
A man in his twenties, fervor burning in his eyes and frame as he denounces the pair as witches and those who give succor to demons.
Just a shift, and you see his witch hunters - men and woman with a mission. And all of the dead that follow that choice.
The same man, aged more, and now recognizable as the Prelate of the city, Hulrun, still in charge of the inquisition. The woman this time with long black hair and a face that is almost familiar. Held by one of the Hulrun's witch hunters is a young girl, her face cold rage as she sees her mother burned at the stake.
And Hulrun, old, the man that you saw as Kenbres fell. Looking at the history of his work. Regret etching the old face.
The second is the same man, next to a waterfall that glitters under the night sky. High at the top of the fall, a boat bursts into flames just before it tips over the top of the falls. Nothing moves on the deck, but his - and your - keen eyes make out the dead, now-burning body on the deck. On the shores of the lake into which the burning boat will crash, there is a lovely temple dusted with snow. You see the man smile as a tall, slender woman steps out of the temple.
Another blink of time. Far to the south, dark light burst forth, changing the landscape. The lake and the waterfall again, but this time demons creeping up on the peaceful location. They start vile, necromantic rituals targeting the dead who lie broken in the bottom of the holy lake.
In a burst of ice and fury, the man runs out of the temple, his body morphing into a large silver dragon. The necromantic energy still raises the dead of the water, but they move about confused, without purpose.
Another blink. A beautiful elven woman with green hair looks at the scene, her face twisted with rage and anger. She heads north, a number of demons flanking her with fear and respect.
They fight with steel and magic and both demons and humans wielding dark fire fall quietly to both. The building looks unfinished, many of the rooms empty. Their progress is not without price, as a number of the woman's companions fall.
Finally, they make it to their objective - a man in a dark sheeted bed. With purpose the woman stabs a sword into the form - only for horror to suffuse her features as the form moves away, an appendage of worms grabbing her by the throat.
"But how do we win the war?" Samirah's voice is nearly a whisper, but it's firm. "I am strong, but... I am one woman. And even with the others... my friends, those still left in the city, we are still so few in the face of the Abyss."
She admits to this much more easily in the presence of the herald than she ever would to a mere mortal. There is no trace of her usual arrogance.
The same man, aged more, and now recognizable as the Prelate of the city, Hulrun, still in charge of the inquisition. The woman this time with long black hair and a face that is almost familiar. Held by one of the Hulrun's witch hunters is a young girl, her face cold rage as she sees her mother burned at the stake.
"That girl... Kyle?" Samirah asks, brow furrowing as the visions shift before her.