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The final gem shatters, the glimmering fragments surrounding Jh's head. He suddenly experiences a feeling of the Jack's Clubhouse. He has just shattered the infamous 2,000th post gem the peasant once stole from his brothers. Its power enters him, filling him with Jack energy NOOO ... The Tsar staggers, his riven armor buckling further. One buzzsaw hand jams.
Mirathan assails the Tsar with his daggers, oblivious to the fact that they have no affect. There are no wood elves alive in the Tsar's sword reach. The Steel Tsar riposes, jarring the Bard. The energy of the sword is immensly powerful. The three gems on The Steel Tsar's helm glow like small stars. His flaming red eyes bore into the Bard
The Steel Tsar hews at the Bard, then jinks his sword at Mirathan at the last moment
The Steel Tsar cleaves at the Board Warden, attempting to cut his foe(s) down
Innocent Blood laughs, a girlish ringing sound "No fool, we come to bring you to your doom. Tsar?" The black armor approaches, unsheathing his massive green greatsword and slashing at the Board Warden
The ancient chicken sits alone atop the windswept crag. He grasps feedcorn in his grizzled claw, tosing the yellow grains again and again. Dire, dire, dire ... He mutters. He gazes at the last pattern he threw and sighs. It is now. Brwaaaktor looks up as a slit in the fabric of the thread opens before him. A large black-armored figure stands before him. A sinister music begins to play.
The wizened fowl nods I know, the corn has told me. The black-armored fiend swings his translucent greatsword in a glittering arc. The bird sighs The corn tells me many things Herald. The large green blade falls. The large construct looks up and slices a hole in the thread, stepping through. This hole doesn't close, but begins to unravel the very fabric of the Place of the Winds. The thread swiftly fades towards oblivion.
The abomination laughs, a sound like a cat in a Cuisinart with a hundred rusty nails
The Tsar spins his blade and cuts a hole in the fabric of the thread, walking through to somewhere else in a pulse of green energy. The hole seals behind him. The music fades away.
Suddenly a strange music floats in the air A large form comes crashing through the forest. The group can hear the branches snapping and the cries of small woodland animals as the thing appears. A massive suit of black armor comes into view. Red flame burns from its closed visor eye slits. An enormous greatsword is held in its mailed fist, its blade glowing green energy with runes cycling endlessly within its pellucid depths.
Those in the Grove can see three large gemstones affixed to his spiky helm.
JH's hammer strikes the Tsar straight on, its glowing runes caving in his chest
The construct paws at the embedded hammer, then screeches, a rusty tearing sound
The armored behemoth is suddenly enveloped in vines, then the entire throbbing green mass explodes, shards of black adamantine flying all over the battlefield. The Tsar's helmet rolls to JH's feet
To the rear of the immense Defective encampment, hammers ring out in a cacophonous choir. Dozens of kobolds, duergar and fiendish warforged labor over the Steel Tsar. The damage he sustained from the Jacks was massive, and the armorwrights are sorley pressed to repair his many injuries. The black-armored behemoth stands unnaturally still, the only sign of life the red flames issuing from his hollow eye sockets. The fiercely grimacing mustachioed face his faceplace was impressed with seems to sneer in the flickering forge flames.
The Steel Tsar rises to his feet. His armor hangs in dented ruin. His buzzsaws still whirr fast, but there is a squeal of metal scraping metal. He pauses to look at the Jacks and turns to leave the field. The Defectives swarm around his lumbering form, advancing to protect their general. JH's fire wraps him as he retreats, but the Tsar doesn't slow
The Defectives part like an ugly ocean revealing the black armored form of the Steel Tsar. The previous night's damage has been repaired, and the red hammer and sickle embossed on his breastplate shines with a well-rubbed gleam. He clashes his buzzsaw hands together and lumbers forward,every step shaking the torn earth.
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