Karl calls out as he heads to the tannery.
"Eh, cutting the pie on that door I see. Tactics,I like it. Use em, like em and live as they say. Keep your head on a swivel and be ready to escape and evade."
"And keep safe because so am tired of burying kids, telling their families some empty b++&!+&% and then handing out flags like the nobles they sacrificed for really ever gave a s~@& about them or their family's loss. Meh, crabby old man you are now aren't ya."
♜ ♜ ♜ ♜
Marcum waves off the rogue and looks at the reins then the horse with somber resolution. As Karl turns away he glimpses the information broker reach a hand into his bag and retrieve what looks to be a flask of some sort. With a sigh Marcum thumbs the cap and proceeds to drink.
"Let's see if the old muscles remember their job, eh fleabag?" Marcum mutters up at the horse.
Karl logs the sight away and races back towards the tannery. The rain slams down upon him as he clears the stable, boots slipping then sinking into the muddy ground. But the years of experience and plain stubbornness keeps the old warrior plowing forward.
Out of the rain ahead of him Agidor appears. After a brief explanation of his goals, the troubadour turns about and gives the all clear to the Legate to bring up the prisoners. With that, Agidor and Aureleum and her charges move off to aid Marcum in hitching up the wagon.
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Drogan waves his ax towards the first of the four grave-diggers before he can descend the ladder to the basement. The stranger glances down, shifting his wares to his other shoulder to do so. As the dwarf looks on with the aid of his darkvision, he spots a twitch of anger in the stranger's face. The first such indicator of emotion since he'd seen them.
"We have a task before us, Master Anvilsong..." the man on the ladder calls down. But without further comment he climbs up and out.
The four strangers gather outside the storeroom with the trapdoor and wait for Nosatrub and Drogan to emerge.
Nosa, his grim responsibility carefully held over his shoulder, climbs the ladder next.
As Drogan readies himself to make the climb he glances back to the corner where the grating leads down to the tunnels from whence they'd arrived. Now they are flooded. The dull thump of the dead Blackhammer's body as it floats up against the grate is a reminder.
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Lavios gives comfort to Tarvus who nods in acceptance of the Inquisitor's pronouncement. From over by the storeroom the four strangers return, Nosatrub and Drogan behind them. The squire bears the burden of the dead woman's body from the ritual room beneath their feet.
It's at that moment that Karl Marsh returns from his venture to the stables. But Beckett and Phedron are not with him.
It's the four strangers that speak up, all of them are watching the paladin closely. "We've a duty to perform, gov."
The second adds. "We don't needs the assistance, we can manage..."
"...but if it means we've ta wait for the girl's father to do our duty..."
"...we can wait." the fourth finishes, his whistled tune lay to rest.
The four tear their attention from Nosa and then focus on Drogan. "Our goods have little value..."
"...outside our village."
The last two angle the heads to the side and study the dwarf.
Smoke Inhalation:
Fires generally produce a great deal of smoke. A character who breathes heavy smoke must make a Fortitude save each round (+1 per previous check) or spend that round choking and coughing. A character who chokes for 2 consecutive rounds takes 1d6 points of nonlethal damage. Smoke also provides concealment to characters within it.
------- ------ ------ ------
Phedron and Beckett approach the warehouse. The deluge from the deep gray skies veils their progress but the glow of the growing fire keeps them in course. Out beyond their vision they wonder at running across any if the departing peoples who'd departed minutes ago. Each shadow, every squelch of mud from their boots draws a wary eye. Perhaps it is the threat Phedron had proclaimed... "They're dead..."...or kept the two on edge. But they arrive at the doors to the warehouse unmolested.
Caster is none too pleased to be forced to fly in such inclimate conditions and voices that petulance as he leaves the safety of the stables eaves and flaps furiously towards the warehouse. All the upper windows are now expelling significant smoke. The dark feathered hawk hand no perch or egress so instead circles for a time. He sends along the bond he shares with Phedron feelings of discomfort and annoyance. But despite those feelings he remains flying to keep an eye on things.
Beckett moves along easily enough, but the soaking ground is birthing mud holes that could pull a man to the ground floor he is not careful. The warehouse looms large and glowing from within as the fire continued to burn. Phedron cracks the door...
...and barely manages to duck as a blast of fire as it hungrily feasts upon the fresh air admitted by the open door!! As soon it lashes out, it subsides to the interior to return to its meal of wood and other material.
Both Beckett and Phedron draw from their respective wells of caution and opt to look inside before the building is consumed. Just inside the doorway, they trade the low visibility of a torrential downpour for the choking cloud of smoke swirling about the vaulted interior.
From their vantage point, the vaulted boredom normal to a warehouse interior is replaced with the rampancy of flames. Through the smoke the can make out strange shapes. As their eyes adjust the shapes resolve into wooden totems of peculiar plane and sweep. From the doorway the pattern of each totem gives both men a turn of the stomach and the disconcerting feeling of the alien. There are 3 of them in range of their vision, standing along the interior at roughly the 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.
Their eyes slip along the wood carvings placed upon their roughly hewn wooden pedestals and then veer towards other shapes further in the smoke-filled interior that lurk just out sight.
♜ ♜ ♜ ♜
Tannery
➢ Lavios Daleborn
➢ Karl Marsh
➢ Nosatrub Shieldarm
➢ Drogan Anvilsong
The Warehouse
➢ Phedron Rushing
➢ Beckett Foxglove
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+3 vs Enchantment
Phedron takes a deep breath and runs in to grab the closest totem without so much as a word to Beckett.
Unaware of how much smoke there was with all the rain, he urges Caster to find clear air.
Once he grabs the totem, he runs back out.
((from your description it sounded like they weren't huge at three feet, but if they are obviously not moveable he instead runs in to have a quick look keeping low and then retreats back outside, still holding his breath))
|
Beckett presses the thick hide of his sleeve to his nose in an attempt to keep the smoke at bay...
But his eyes dart to the wooden figures, his heart filling with dread... and excitement.
"Burn! Burn! Yes! Burn! Won't that fancified wizard be surprised when I run in and..."
"Ooof!"
Beckett grunts as Phedron shoves him aside and dashes into the burning structure.
The Inquisitor plants the haft of his hammer into the ground to regain his balance, as he stares at the back the magician fading into the deep plumes of smoke.
A wide grin fills his face as he follows to aid the wizard in his efforts.
"Hold up a second if you would esteemed Legate."
"So, the four of you are interested in the girl . . . I don't suppose you'd know what that fancy wood straw device most recently in her neck was for now would you? Or who our friends down below are? Or mind telling us what was going on over in the now burning warehouse?"
Karl keeps his blades sheathed, but is ever vigilant. His eyes search over the four possibly dead villagers.
He said he could see a red circle . . .
The four strangers turn their attention to Karl as he lists out his questions. Without conversation they each take hold of their tunics and pull down, exposing their necks. Each man gives lurid testimony to their own circular markings that match in diameter and location the instrument currently lodged in the dead woman's neck.
"This opens our eyes..."
"Gives our souls the strength to endure..."
As they speak, their voices become heady and thick with lust. "...some can takes it, yes they can..."
The fourth glances towards the dead woman on Nosa's care. "...oh, but some cannot....no..."
Up until this point, they had been devoid of emotion, but they are seeming slightly agitated. Then the first one continues. "What's beneath ol' Cassomir has been there for thousands of years..."
"...and they'll be there long after..."
"Mad and deerranged....they are..."
"...searching n' craving for the light of day...."
The first stranger shakes his head... "They are the Derro..."
You recall a story told or perhaps read in which the term 'Derro' was applied to a pale blue humanoid that has bulging white eyes, wild hair, four-fingered hands. Derros often abduct surface dwellers for reasons not given by the source of your knowledge.
The fourth man sighs. "You should be going now, yes?"
"Takes the girl..."
"...or let us sees to her propers...see her wrapped and buried."
"As for yon building on fire..."
"...tis bit the affair of the likes of you..."
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Phedron darts inside the warehouse, breath held as he aims for the first totem on the left. His eyes narrowed against the smoke, they open wide at the appearance of the creation up close. The dancing light cast by the flames did little to remove the quell the discomfort of its unnatural aspect. But the wizard's resolve is firm, forcing the claws of a chilling fear to subside by sheer will.
His hands close around the totem, gripping down and pulling. The alien object nearly comes free of the crude pedestal on which it sits, but something binds it down. Phedron is prepared to give up the cause as his need for air increases, but Beckett appears from the entrance and lays his hands on the item. Together they're able to wrench it free and make their way back outside.
Beckett has a chance to glance at the totem opposite the one they are carrying. This 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 his mind the grins of timber wolves but the remainder of their heads had asymmetrical trapezoidal shapes that are given to a bone-like transcription.
As Beckett tears his attention away, the flames roll and burst and cause the two-headed monstrosity's eyes to reflect an orange glow.
Outside, the rain draws grey lines of soot along their forms and draws smoke from the totem in their possession as it quenches the embers that had been forming within. Looking at the thing now, in the brighter light outdoors, the creation is that much more disturbing. It's construction is a labyrinth of greenwood branches woven together to give shape and definition. As they'd noted at the doorway, the thing Is devoid of symmetry, a vaguely humanoid shape but its lower appendages number three with clawed feet. The third leg to roots higher along the trunk than the other two and impresses the image of two arms that had been mutated to form together.
Along its middle in 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 horrific impression of them actually moving.
All instincts direct them to leave the terrible creation in the flames, see it turned to ash. But curiosity spawns from the object like the smoke coiling from the burning building. Just what had been the use of the warehouse? And what is it this totem represents?
Derro?The name means nothing to Nosa.
These 4 men are so strange to him. He focus' his paladin energies to see if they are indeed evil or imbued with evil energy.
He stares intently at the marks in their necks and glances at the device sticking from the young woman's.
What part do you have in this? Are you truly the nobles daughter? Is this your own doing? Is he wrapped in this? Am I some pawn, played with for the amusement of others?
Nosa shakes his head. He can sense forces at play here that are far outside his ability to completely comprehend. Just days ago, he was on his way to Cassomir to find passage to Absalom and fulfill his destiny that the Lady had set before him. Now he finds himself caught in a strange story that he cannot seem to read. Veras had told him that the world was riddled with darkness and despair and that he would be tested time and again.
What test is this? What shall I learn?
He keeps his eyes on the 4 strange men and resolutely continues his mission. Whether or not this is important to any but himself, if this is indeed the nobles daughter, he will see her returned to him.
I had given my word.
The paladin calls upon Iomedae and let's her divine wisdom wash over him, steadying his doubts and reassuring him that he is exactly where he needs to be...for there is evil afoot.
It's the fourth man, the whistler, that draws his focus first. And yes, beyond the strangeness of speech and the unerring way the four strangers move as one...there is the flavor of darkest evil. A chill aura of desolation...empty cold devoid of hope...
Nosatrub blinks and looks to the other three. All in the strange quartet share the same cold desolation. Unbound dedication to evil, an antithesis to the same dedication Nosa feels towards Iomedae. These men have given themselves body and soul to her opposite.
Nosa begins to shake, fury beginning to take hold as he senses the evil that is lurking in the strangers.
It is all he can do to keep from pulling his sword and ending their miserable existence that very moment.
But he also remembers his word.
He looks down at the young woman in his arms and wonders what became of her.
What happened to you?
He looks up from her, eyes narrow and focused completely on the evil near him.
Slowly he leans close to Drogan and whispers...
Be wary. You may know this or not, but they are wholly evil.
Drogan grips his ax tighter. "Well you don't have te work too hard to convince me of that."
His eyes never leave the four as he calls out to Karl, "Wha'dya say, Mr. Marsh? Shall we step in to smite this vile evil since our friend the paladin is busy with other matters?" He says with an air of pomp and flair that belies the fierce expression on his face.
"Derro huh, I will have to look them back up, but I guess that would explain the spiders and their ability to flood or dry out the tunnels."
Marsh tries to ignore the dwarf and continue getting information from the four. As long as they were taliking so would he. He noted that the girl still had her head and he was glad the a Legate had been stopped to overhear the statements made by the ghouls.
"When your blood runs out doesn't your soul follow soon after? Or did they return the blood to you? Explain the process, perhaps we could have our eyes opened too. Who would we seek out that could bring us this . . . Transformation? Are the others going to Absalom to spread what you have been given?"
Karl remained still, but was prepared to go for his blades if this went poorly.
The fourth one, the whistler, grins and chuckles. "Oh tis a merciful thing..."
"...for a chap not being able...
"...to put together the pieces of his mind..."
One of them begins to unwind the strings holding his tunic at the front. "You mistake the use of the lw'nafh..."
The others follow suit, unraveling the drawstrings of their tunics. "...it's not for outsies..."
"...it's for innsies..." Whistler is the first to bare his chest. Upon his sun-stricken skin what is at first thought as tattooing is something else entirely. Symbols of awful and lurid origin crawl upon him, an etymology familiar to those who'd been in the tunnels and had seen the ritual room in the tannery basement.
"None of you lot know loyalty..." the second man bares his next. His skin is the same, a ruddy complexion from working in the sun. Upon it the same symbols, sickening in form and nigh beastial in its implied function.
"...none would pay the price..."
They still rest their gaze on Karl, but their arms all raise and they point at Nosatrub and say as one, "...except him."
"...he will know...yes indeed..." the first one says.
They all are now bare the waist, the symbols on their skin like a macabre testimony of their devotion. Their arms return to their sides and they bask in the attention of those in the converted tannery.
"While the young tart was out o' her depth..." Whistler nits to the dead girl.
"...we knew and accepted..." the second man, the one who'd called himself Jezzah, begins to rake his fingernails along his forearm until fresh crimson beads.
"...there's freedom in the empty...freedom in the cold..."
The whistler shakes his head at Karl, pity in his tone. "We offers to be about the business of burying the girl, then we offers to be on our way..."
"I told you it's none of your affair, govnah...we warns ya..." He also speaks with pity, but there is inevitability in his voice.
The third one grips his fists until blood seeps between his fingers "Ya got the impression we've been pushin' daisies at some point..."
"...oh no, mate, we're very much alive...
One of the Southridge villagers stifles a cry of fear as one of their number, the one named Tarvus, doubles over and vomits. The other villagers huddle in on themselves like cornered prey. Helios takes a knee and likewise empties his stomach. Hal'dorel holds his bow at the ready, but for the first time since meeting him, the elf's resolve is a fragile thing.
Across the way, Legate Aureleum pulls her heavy pick and brings up her shield, dropping the rope connected to Mayhap and Fipps. It's not needed for they both are on the ground collapsed in muttering fear. Aureleum stands resolute and grits her teeth.
"...you wants your eyes ta be wide open, ol' son?" one of the strangers asks Karl.
"...you wants to know who can open them?"
The one who'd been gripping his fists now opens his hands where his blood is now bright and smeared across his palms. He holds them out to Karl like a butcher offering the freshest cut of meat. "...then step forward...such sights we have, ol' son..."
"...no, no more...I can't bear it... " It's the first time anyone has heard Jak speak common since returning with Helios. Kheegan, who'd managed to hold his ground turns quickly, ax at the ready, only to find Jak actively tearing at his own eyes one at a time with his bound hands.
Whistler chuckles again. "...oh the sights we have to show you..."
Your will has given your mind the strength it needs to reconcile what you see The tattoos are something more. They are carvings into their skin that have scarred over and been discolored. As the quartet had been speaking and as they'd revealed the markings on their torsos, you could have sworn the symbols were moving. But perhaps that had been your imagination.
The tattoos are something more. They are carvings into their skin that have scarred over and been discolored. As the quartet had been speaking and as they'd revealed the markings on their torsos, you see the symbols moving. Deep within you a fear takes shape that sets your hands to tremor. A cold touch drifts through your body, but you hold onto reason and fight the fear.
Result
》-1 to Will Based Skill Checks
》 Minutes
The tattoos are something more. They are carvings into their skin that have scarred over and been discolored. As the quartet had been speaking and as they'd revealed the markings on their torsos, you see the symbols moving along their skin with unnatural life. Deep within you a fear takes shape that sets your hands to tremor.
A cold touch drifts through your body and lingers in your mind. There is a vast emptiness that stretches before you, an endless ocean of night that threatens to unravel the very grip you hold on reality.
Result
》-2 to Will Based Skill Checks
》-2 to Attacks vs. the four strangers
》 Minutes
The tattoos are something more. They are carvings into their skin that have scarred over and been discolored. As the quartet had been speaking and as they'd revealed the markings on their torsos, you see the symbols moving along their skin with unnatural life. Deep within you a fear takes shape that sets your hands to tremor.
A cold touch drifts through your body and lingers in your mind. There is a vast emptiness that stretches before you, an endless ocean of night that threatens to unravel the very grip you hold on reality. Placed upon the precipice of such a horrific vista, your mind shuts down and your instincts take over. You must flee!!
Result
》You have gained the Frightened condition
》 Minutes
Frightened: Characters who are frightened are shaken, and in addition they flee from the source of their fear as quickly as they can. They can choose the paths of their flight. Other than that stipulation, once they are out of sight (or hearing) of the source of their fear, they can act as they want. If the duration of their fear continues, however, characters can be forced to flee if the source of their fear presents itself again. Characters unable to flee can fight (though they are still shaken).
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Beckett looks upon the wood effigy and wonders at its origin, but he knows not the design, nor the hideous creature it may depict.
Nosa can't help but look as the evil before him reveals the tattoos on their bodies.
What he sees there overwhelms him and fills his heart and mind with dread.
What am I doing here? This is beyond me. How can I deal with such evil?
The questions wrack his mind and come faster than he can reject them. He sees over and over again the tattoos and their grotesque images. These then begin to flow and change and he sees the people of his town slaughtered in the images. He sees his parents fall under the weight of countless undead and his mind begins to break.
He closes his eyes tight against the images, but still he sees them.
He begins to shake, his hands still clutching the girl, sweat pouring down his face.
Just as all seems lost and the images take over his mind, a small sliver of light appears.
He focuses his attention on the light, which changes from a sliver and steadily grows, driving away the darkness. A form appears in the light, and walks toward him.
It is the Lady.
Do not despair. Fear is natural. It is part of us. It can drive us mad, or drive us to be strong.
You will be strong. You are my Shieldarm. Evil cannot stand against you.
As quickly as she came she is gone.
I will be your Shieldarm Lady.
Nosa opens his eyes and stares at the 4 strangers, no longer looking at the tattoos.
You are right filth. I know. I know what it means to sacrifice. I know what it means to serve. I know what loyalty is. But you need to know something. I know what true loyalty is. I serve and am loyal because I have chosen to, because it is what is right. You serve and are loyal because someone has taken your evil heart and corrupted it for it's own gain.
Nosa walks to the nearest wall and gently sets the girl down, never taking his eyes of the strangers.
He faces the 4, draws his sword and readies his shield.
There is one more thing that you need to know.
He stares...eyes burning...
I am going to end your miserable existence.
|
|
Phedron drops the carving on the ground, the taint ever present on his hands. His mind burns with curiosity about other things that might still worth seeing inside.
"I'm going back in Beckett. You don't have to follow. I just want one more look before it all goes up."
He pulls out his handkerchief and soaks it in a puddle if it's not soaked already from the rain, and holds it over his mouth and nose. Running back in, he stays low and goes right, immediately in the door. He will move past the dividing wall and look around.
"The tattoos are! . . . like . . . the . . .ones in . . . the tunnels! All . . . wrong, twisted, don't look on them if you can, but . . . you all must . . .
Karl breaks free from the pressure seeking to pop his mind like a grape, yanks a dagger from his chest rig and hucks it at Whistler.
He draws his blades and prepares for the close quarters battle.
"Well, if you are very much alive, we can make you very much dead cause you all have traded your immortal souls to some unknown evil and I would just as soon speed you on to your final reward. I am sure it will be suitably awful and tortured eternity, for evil never truly gifts anything, other than ruin!"
"Now you're talkin' a bit more reasonable Karl."
Drogan stomps the ground, letting out a series of low war-whoops, before straightening as tall as he can make himself. "Dead, alive, it doesn't matter much te me. We aim te make the lot of you suffer for what you were plannin' te do with this girl. Oh, and you, ye musically challenged little ponce," Drogan points his ax at the whistler, "That whistle is wasted on you. I think I'll take it!
Phedron darts inside the warehouse heedless of the smoke bleeding from the upper and lower windows. His makeshift mask protects him from the initial onslaught of lung choking fume as he pivots right and keeps low along the wall. To his left, the stand from which they'd removed the effigy sends a finger of smoke upwards like a wagging finger of warning...or does it beckon the wizard?
He pulls his eyes away from the pedestal and focuses on the interior beyond the dividing wall. Smoke and more smoke, but through the curtain of gray is the faint glow of orange that speaks of the comfort of home's hearth. But Phedron is aware that there are growing flames on the otherside. He treads carefully, aware that his watery mask is already beginning to admit the smell of burning materials.
There, low along the stones of the floor, he can make out long rectangular shapes...the glow of the fire reveals them to be wood...the wizard is reminded of a visit to a Sarenrae temple back home...the congregants seated in...
Pews. That's what he's seeing. As if in reward to his conclusion a wave of heat brushes aside a blanket of smoke to reveal more of them speckled with glowing motes as they acquiesce to the fire's command to burn. The rafters above grown their death song, causing Phedron to brace for a run...but they hold.
Then he sees it, just beyond the collapsed pews, a shadowed shape like an earthen kiln rising up...Phedron chances another step to get a clearer view. What was one shape resolves into three... A canopy of fire sends revelation...three humanoids...people, yes people...standing facing each other with arms interlocked over shoulders like close friends sharing a secret. They're garb is a swirl of browns and greens, breeches poking out beneath cloaks with hoods drawn up as they lean their heads close.
Something isn't right. The Andoran wizard is no stranger to heroics, an instinct to protect and usher these hooded strangers would normally drive him forward into the flames. But his instincts now are telling him to turn the other way.
"...mglw'nafh fhthagn-ngah cf'ayak 'vulgtmm vugtlag'n..."
Phedron feels a chill once more in his stomach akin to that felt when the first he gazed upon the effigy. It's a speech his ears had never touched, and a part of his animal core snarls to never hear it again. But the wizard stands unmoving, watching the trio almost certain the strange and sickening language he's hearing is coming from them.
"...mglw'nafh fhthagn-ngah cf'ayak 'vulgtmm vugtlag'n..." Yes, they are the ones speaking. Phedron is made certain of this fact when they as one turn their hooded gazes upon him. Their whispering voices, made raw from the smoke all around, continue their horrible and alien phrase. "...mglw'nafh fhthagn-ngah cf'ayak 'vulgtmm vugtlag'n..."
Beckett's eyes burn with a fire hotter than the inferno building behind him. And it's through that fervor he sees beyond the wooden carving at his feet. The green saplings woven together take on new form and function....the darkwood sculpted along the central seam that looks so like a vertical mouth flows and becomes a cold and swirling landscape of black obsidian, a darkness deeper than any night...deeper than any pit...an ocean of night..the cold emptiness opens before him, beckoning to his heart...offering a peace he's never known...
...but there is something in the deep watching him...Beckett is alone and adrift on the black... no control... no way to escape the eyes upon him...
Yet the Inquisitor burns with a fire...and the prompting of his goddess dwells within the pyre...
...abomination...
Initiative
Round 1
...Karl
Withdraws dagger and throws...
...Karl
...Nosa
...Nosa
The tension in the tannery breaks and blood is spilled for no the first time in that place. Karl's hand flashes with the glint of steel as he deftly draws a dagger and let's it fly. The blade sails true and punctures one of the four strangers squarely in the chest.
But the four are just as fast, leaving behind all traces of their rural facade and casting themselves into the fray. They flow like dark blood from a gaping wound, sinuous and horrifying. As they attack they continue their discourse but the language has fallen to a gutteral and unholy tone.
"...ebumna'ai...n'gft cha n'gha!"
The first clears the distance between himself and Karl, kicking out but missing the rogue.
The second, the one struck by Karl's dagger smiles down at the hilt and withdraws it from his chest. In the same motion he throws the weapon back at Karl, but it sails high and right and out of the door.
The third and fourth move as one, sprinting across the distance to charge at Nosatrub. One cartwheels and lands a kick against the paladin's shield. The second leaps high and comes down with his fist upon Nosa's helm. Both attacks do not break through the paladin's defenses.
Kheegan, aware of the battle going on, still turns his attention to Jak and attempts to stop the man from taking out his own eyes.
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
➢ 21 Karl (HP 9/9)
➢ 20 Enemies (9 / ?? / ??/ ??)
➢ 17 Kheegan (19/56 | 0/12)
➢ 17 Drogan (HP 9/9)
➢ 12 Lavios (HP 13/13)
➢ 11 Hal’dorel (HP 32/32)
➢ 6 Legate (HP 34/34)
"Aaaaooooooooh!" Drogan howls again, "You slithering sons of snakes. You leave that boy be. Your lot is shadow and fire, and so why don't you come an' play with a dwarf honed by them both, eh? Come 'ere, and I'll be happy to send you back to whatever pit you crawled out of."
Drogan hefts his ax and attempts draws it down to bite the back of the closest fiend's neck.
Nosa looks at the two who have charged in.
Foul nightmares. You are no match for a servant of the Lady of Valor.
He brings his longsword in a sweeping arc at the first, then reverses it at the second.
|
|
Utterly stunned by the revelation that three people still standing within this burning structure, his mind begins to turn.
"Are these the puppet masters?" he wonders, sure that something must be pulling the strings."Why are they in here and what are they doing? I've got to get them outside. I can't stay in here long."
Painfully aware that his time is limited, he opts for magical reinforcement to his words. Looking at the one who is now looking at him, he Speaks unknown syllables in a soft pleasant tone and moves his hand almost in a greeting.
((casts Charm, DC 15))
"Come outside, we need you." he says, moves the handkerchief from his face and smiling. He urges the man to follow with both word and body language. Fully employing every trick he has ever learned in manipulation, he conveys trustworthiness and friendship.
The hooded trio continues to stare at the beckoning figure of Phedron. One of them dips his head for a moment and he stops his chanting as the other two continue. He steps away from the group as they look on and raises a hand up to bring back the hood of his cloak.
"... chtenff uaaah'uln..." he rasps. His head is bald, tanned and ruddy and his face is clean shaven but covered in a thin layer of soot. It makes his eyes stand out like to glowing crystals and does nothing to subdue the mania that is clearly filling them.
The other two stop their chanting and turn slowly to face Phedron as well. Briefly, he can see a dug out hole in the floor that had been hidden by their robes.
"I'm thinking the others are not bringing the trollop, no?" The bald man with the manic eyes observes in Common. "But you'll do nicely, oh yes..." He crooks a finger towards the others with one hand and withdraws a foot long implement from within his robes.
"Mglw'nafh fhthagn-ngah cf'ayak 'vulgtmm vugtlag'n..." They take up the chant once more and look ready to approach Phedron.
His sharp eyes pick out the cylindrical object in the bald man's hand. A lacquered wood tube ending in a sharp point, almost like a punch-dagger.
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"Well not exactly what I had hoped, but close enough."
"No, sorry gentlemen. I believe the plans have changed." says Phedron, retreating outside into fresh, damp air leaving them with a smile.
On his way back out, he calls to Beckett "Look sharp, three are coming"
Upon clearing the doorway (as far as 30ft will get me), Phedron turns to face his pursuers. As the close in, he reaches out to touch the maniac.
Alertness, aggression and caution radiates through the link to Caster as he faces off against the cultists. "I'll need your help on this. I'm nearly spent. Just be careful."
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Beckett closes his eyes and smiles.
Thank you Everlight.
With a fluid motions he raises the massive hammer and brings it down on the totem with all his strength.
"Look sharp, three are coming"
Three coming?
The Inquisitor looks around.
From where?
Then he hears the sound of Phedron approaching from inside the burning building.
"Oh."
That's weird.
Beckett takes a step back and assumes a defensive stance.
Finish Round 1
Allies +1 Att/Dam (Drogan)
...C2 (on Karl)
...C2 (on Karl)
...C1 (crit)
...C1 (confirm)
The battle unfolds with blinding speed. While the adventurers are worn weary by the day's events, they show no sign of quitting.
Hal'dorel draws back on his bow string and looses on the stranger attacking Karl. But his arrow flies high and away.
Lavios, emboldened by the dwarf's bravado and the need to protect his people, let's out a mighty bellow and charges the very same one. The Inquisitor's trident finds a target, cutting a vicious mangle of flesh from the enemy's back.
The legate see the rogue and dedicated of Gozreh holding their own against their opponent and elects to charge the one who'd been wounded by Karl's thrown dagger. "For the empire!!" Aurelum shouts and charges her foe, heavy pick a murderous glint of steel as it comes crashing down on the strange man's shoulder, puncturing and rending. Blood gouts from the wound but the man who'd been prone to whistling still stood and shouted in that strange and alien tongue.
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
➢ 25 Nosatrub (HP 11/11)
➢ 21 Karl (HP 9/9)
➢ 20 Enemies (27 / 6 / ??/ ??)
➢ 17 Kheegan (19/56 | 0/12)
➢ 17 Drogan (HP 9/9)
➢ 12 Lavios (HP 13/13)
➢ 11 Hal’dorel (HP 32/32)
➢ 6 Legate (HP 34/34)
For the Lady! Nosa cries out. Willing his blow on the stranger in front of him to be true.
Kral grins at the husk of a man that conveniently has placed himself in perfect flanking position. His sword an man gauche work together in unison.
"Be aware, if these four act and speak in unison, then perhaps---
---they are perceptually linked as well. In other words, expect company, possibly whatever is commanding or controlling them to arrive."
Karl glances up to get a overview of how the battle is unfolding about them.
"Good gods Nosa, quit flailing about like this is your first engagement! Concentrate, and fight as you were trained. Calculated, precise, efficient sword strokes! Be an artist painting a deadly canvas, not a boy hacking the heads off cat tails wildly with a stick!"
"Keep up the banter Drogan, but split some heads as well."
"We need to cover Kheegan should the battle flow towards him."
"Hal, Helios! Give me arrows on targets!"
"Don't you two get any ideas of running. As soon as we drop these four, you're coming with us."
Drogan gives a grunt as his swing goes wide,
"Oh, ya mean it, Karl? A'm supposed to hit 'im am I? WHAT ON TORAG'S BLOODY ANVIL DO YA THINK I'M TRYIN' TA DO!"
Drogan picks his axe up and readies his next blow.
"Awfully quick for a dead man that hasn't got it through his head he should stop breathin' and accept it. I'll be sure te see each of ya stuffed and mounted, as yer culture demands. Now kindly stand still. I've got an axe tha's just dying to meet ya."
Round 2
...Legate
... Karl
...Nosa
...Nosa
The four grave-diggers continue their mania-fueled assault. They continue to shout to one another in their wicked, alien tongue as their fists and feet are a blur.
Aureleum is forced back a step as her bleeding opponent, unable to use the ruin of his arm, spins a pair of flying kicks that only reverberate off her armor.
On Karl, however, the unarmed man leaps forward and brushes a hand across the rogue's cheek...then he feels it. In his line of work, he knows the feeling of magical healing...the filthy energies coursing from the point on his cheek are the opposite. Pain blossoms and claws and tears.
■■■■■■■
■■■■■■■
Nosatrub regains position, nearly over extending himself. The first of the pair kicks out and plants his foot on the squire's shield, knocking it aside long enough to send a hand straight at Nosa's throat. The strike sends painful stars across his eyes and causes the tannery to waver slightly in his vision. But he recovers in time to block the second maniac from landing two more attacks.
■■■■■■■
■■■■■■■
Drogan spins his weapon around and attempts to cut open the nearest of the two attacking Nosa. But his target proves too elusive and slips under the swing.
In the background, near the Southridge villagers, Helios presses the heels of his hands to his eyes trying to clear his head.
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
➢ 25 Nosatrub (HP 11/11 | 7 pts nonlethal)
➢ 21 Karl (HP 9/9) ➢ Saving Throw ➢
➢ 20 Enemies (27 / 18 / ??/ ??)
➢ 17 Kheegan (19/56 | 0/12)
➢ 17 Drogan (HP 9/9)
➢ 12 Lavios (HP 13/13)
➢ 11 Hal’dorel (HP 32/32)
➢ 6 Legate (HP 34/34)
No dammit! Not like this. Not now. I should have been able to take his hand before he was able to touch my face! The others can't seem to draw blood on these fiends . . .
"We are over matched. Dammit! We are overmatched!"
Karl continues to keep his blades tracking and darting, trying desperately to weave a defense.
"Nosa! Keep that shield up but rotate and withdraw to the doorway. I will try to hold it for you, but I am in poor shape, be ready to hold it on your own."
"Kheegan! Knock Jaks out if you have too, but you Hal and Helios need to lead the villagers out of here. We should have felled this one several times over by now, but we face dark magic. . . Get set up for a tactical withdrawal. Our deaths would serve no purpose here. We need to get the Legate clear so she can report back."
". . . I am old, but I'm lightly armored . . . You boys pull out. I'll hold the line here and bring up the rear."
"Unless someone has a fireball up their arse, I don't see any other choice."
"Overmatched my hairy aunt. A few lucky shots won't sway me. They'll die same as anythin' else. They just need a bit of encouraging's all."
Drogan takes another swing, bring his ax in up in an arching swing to finish his previous attempt.
Round 1
Phedron and Beckett face the open doorway to the warehouse, the glow of fire like an angry eye staring back at them.
Above them, Caster cries in response to Phedron's summons. The images and sensations flying across the wizard's mind conjure a definitive message. "I'm already helping..."
"Mglw'nafh fhthagn-ngah!!"
The first of the robed figures emerge from the burning warehouse, but Phedron is there waiting. He tries to avoid the attack but the wizard is able to connect and deliver a debilitating lash of magical energy.
The second and third spill into the downpour and as Beckett and Phedron look on, the rain causes the markings on their faces to run. The seam they have drawn from chin, over the nose, and over their bald heads smears and looks like bleeding wounds of black paint.
While the men in front of them do not look healthy and hale, the fanatical fire burning in their eyes is all too familiar to Beckett.
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
➢ Phedron (HP 32/32)
➢ Beckett (HP 9/9)
➢ Baddies (Dazed / ?? / ??)
End of Round 2
Allies +1 Att/Dam (Drogan)
...C2 (on Karl)
...C2 (on Karl)
...C1
...C1
Hal'dorel snaps to quick shots from his elven longbow, but the flow of the battle and the writhing pain of his friend Helios distracts his aim at the worst possible moment. Who his bowstring doesn't break, it does slice into his fingers.
Aureleum presses her attack, countering the resounding kicks of her opponent. Her heavy pick slams into his face, she steps into the attack and spins to bury the weapon into his midsection. The light and mania in his eyes goes out and the first of the quartet falls. "Uno modo ut ferrum sanguine!!" she booms in triumph. But as the rogue calls out his words of advisement, the Legate wonders at her next move. Her attention goes to the Squire of Ozem and watches...
■■■■■■■
■■■■■■■
♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗ ♗
➢ 25 Nosatrub (HP 11/11 | 7 pts nonlethal) ➢➢ Up
➢ 21 Karl (HP 5/9) ➢➢ Up
➢ 20 Enemies (DEAD / 18 / ??/ ??)
➢ 17 Kheegan (19/56 | 0/12)
➢ 17 Drogan (HP 9/9)
➢ 12 Lavios (HP 13/13)
➢ 11 Hal’dorel (HP 32/32)
➢ 6 Legate (HP 34/34)
My steel has failed me so far. Nosa thinks, Is Karl right, are we overmatched? For a moment his resolve wavers, he considers withdrawing. Then he hears Drogan's response and sees the Legate end one of the strangers. His moment of doubt vanishes.
Withdraw? No! We are not overmatched Master Marsh! Whatever end is at store for us, I do not believe that it will be at the hands of these fiends! Fight on!
"You are an armored hulk Nosa, but these men don't have to defeat your armor, only touch it. If bravado alone was need to best them this fight would be long over."
"Suit yourselves."
Karl make a single powerful lunge then runs to Kheegan's side.
"Hold him fast! I'll knock him out!"
"Lavios! Get your mom and the others out of here, this may be your only chance to get them clear! Marcum should be outside, hitch a wagon if you can, but get them out of here!"
"Nosa and Drogan are buying us time at risk of their very lives."