Seeing both Ambrose and Harek standing their ground, I quickly survey the battle and realize that Aleste is in trouble.
Immediately switching targets, I send my arrows speeding towards the monster trying to pull the alchemist towards its hungry mouth.
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Harek lays into the creature nearest him, axe flashing and swinging as he curses the monsters.
Attack 1: to hit, power attack, haste; for magical slashing damage
Attack 2: to hit, power attack, haste; for magical slashing damage
Haste Attack: to hit, power attack, haste; for magical slashing damage
"Yeh daft tent'cle monstahs picked da wrong team a' strong an' tough 'venturers! Now ye're gon' be dead-dead fer real!"
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"Yeh daft tent'cle monstahs picked da wrong team a' strong an' tough 'venturers! Now ye're gon' be dead-dead fer real!"
Ambrose is jubilant in cutting his way through the tentacled undead before him, offering up an agreement with Harek's assessment of the good work. Then the grotesque appendage wallops him upside the head and he staggers momentarily, his skull and brain throbbing from the sudden strength behind the blow. Ears ringing, his shakes off his momentary disorientation and steels his resolve, tightening his gauntleted grip on his bastard sword.
"Heironeous does not abide by such evil walking amongst the living," he says as he readies his blade for another flourish of blows. "I shall honor his wishes!"
plus
plus
plus
Round 3 continued
Leonar holds back, observing the unfolding fight, weighing where he can tip the balance in the party's favor.
Helaku slings two burning rays at the nearest bonedrinker. They inflict two glancing blows, but both only appear to singe the pallid flesh and don't deal any real damage.
Harek lays into the nearest bonedrinker within reach with lightning speed, letting it feel the sting of his axe. With a crunch the dwarf carves hunks from the undead and it quails visibly.
Round 4
Shaylar grips his bow and grasps several arrows. He pivots to put the bonedrinker in the middle in his sights. The arrow takes the bonedrinker right through the forehead, and the creature collapses. Shaylar turns and put his next arrow into the bonedrinker pressing Ambrose. A shot through its black heart, and that creature goes down too. Two more arrows into the remaining drinker pierce it in the brain and heart, knocking it off its feet and nearly pinning it to the stone wall behind. With a flourish he sweeps his bow to the side, making it look as if it had been as simple as target practice.
You pause, tense, poised, ready for any further adversaries. When none appear, you lower your guard and have a closer look around the chamber. It seems like some sort of sanctum, clearly the site of unspeakable rituals. The center seems to be the pool, which fairly stinks of necromantic magic. Peering in, the pool seems to be about twenty feet deep. An enormous lion, almost certainly dead but very well preserved, lies at the bottom.
The great statue behind you, of a rotting lion, appears to embody a theme of corruption of nature.
Initiative
28 - Shaylar and Fang
21 - Aleste
14 - Ambrose
11 - The Bonedrinkers
10 - Leonar
9 - Helaku
4 - Harek
=========
Helaku ray
Helaku ray
"So, he likes lions then."
Trying not to show too much pain, Aleste knocks back a healing extract.
And another one
"Dis he, he be de undead boss 'round here? Any chance we kin just yell real loud and say 'Hey! Skullface, we don' wanna hafta keep choppin' yer boys, but we will! How's abou' ye come an' talk real nice, an' we kin be on our ways?'"
Harek cleans off his axe blade, and searches around for any valuables to gather.
"De big lion cats, dey're a nice touch. Course, I prefer dem as rugs er cloaks, but meh."
perception, if appropriate
"Remember, we might be able to talk our way out of this. We have his phylactery. All we need is for him to stay out of the fight. If he agrees to that, I don't see the need to fight him."
"Well, yeah. But if de boss don' poke 'is head out an' say 'Hi' we ain't got much choice in de matter. We just gon' keep choppin' away at dese monsters and plowin' through de rooms. Mebbe he wants us te have all his treasure, eh? Mebbe he's tired a all de shiny magic bits an' coins an' what. Oh well, me axe is still plenty sharp, and I'm fit fer lots more swingin' it."
Ambrose regards the pool with disgust, shaking his head. "I don't like this place, not at all." He paces around, tightening his grip on his sword. His muscles ache as he does so, having taken a beating in the three successive battles with behir, hobgoblins, and bonedrinkers. He beseeches the lion shaman for a few more charges of the wand, listening to the others speak as he is restored.
"The thought of leaving this undead mage here to do as it wills unsettles me, but it is true that it may not be prudent at the moment for us to cross swords with him...if he is as powerful as the legends would say. The Vale will need all of us in good health to aid in the defense against the Red Hand." He lowers his voice and adds, "we can always return to deal with the lich after the Red Hand is defeated."
HP: 43/71
Aleste closely inspects the pool. It appears to be a unique, necromantic magic item. Odorless, on touch it feels warm but strangely numbing. After several minutes' examination, you reckon that anything placed in the pool would be kept perfectly preserved. The dead dire lion, almost certainly is being kept intact for a later ritual.
During this time, Harek discovers a cleverly concealed door hidden in the stonework of the southern (left) wall. The artistry appeals to his dwarven love of stonework. It looks like it could be opened fairly easily, though you sense an unsettling cold rising from the other side.
With keen elven senses Shaylar discovers another secret door, at the western (bottom) end of the chamber. It opens onto a small T-junction, with a door at one end and a blank wall at the other.
What really captures your attention, however, is the chamber that opens up behind you at the eastern (top) end of the chamber. A short, narrow passageway opens into an oval chamber empty except for a single massive sphere of polished black stone that floats over a low dais. The stony sphere is about four feet in diameter, and whirling streaks of pale orange vapor orbit the stone in a frenzy of activity. Closer observation reveals that there are seven different orbiting shapes...each of which almost resembles a distorted ghostly lion.
This four-foot thick sphere of obsidian appears to be another powerful magical piece with necromantic powers. It must weigh several tons, and could only with great difficulty be moved out from here. You would wager that this item's dark heart could be used to enhance the casting of a create undead spell, if incorporated into the spell's casting as an additional focus. In particular, you sense it could have led to the creation of the many ghostly lions you have encountered round about the Ghostlord's lair.
"Well, this is like an undead booster. This is why we keep meeting undead Lions and suchlike."
Aleste gives a low whistle and keeps well away.
"I din' think ye should touch dat t'ing. 'Specially if'n its da power source fer da undead monsters we been choppin' down aroun' here. Dat's jus' me opinion, 'course, do wha' ye wan'."
Harek looks over the room and listens to the alchemist before adding, "Dis secret door kin be open'd easy 'nuff, but dere's some unnatural pow'ful cold comin' off it. Mebbe we keep it closed fer now, check de others first?"
As the rest of the group investigates secret doors and passages and objects of necromancy, Ambrose paces the perimeter, sword and shield in hand, sternly looking down each corridor as he passes it, on guard. This place obviously unsettles the knight, easily seen by the way he regards the pool and the floating orb with absolute disgust. He narrows his eyes at it at one point, but cannot seem to make anything of its purpose, so he continues his patrol.
He also takes stock of his potions and oils, wondering if a battle with the Ghostlord is inevitable. If so, he reasons that an oil of bless weapon would be handy to have readied. He also comes across his potions of shield of faith, and after taking them out of his pack he walks over to Aleste.
"I do not think that these potions will do me good anymore now that I wear this magical ring. Take them." He offers the two potions to the Alchemist.
After the revelations are made about the orb, Ambrose frowns.
"It should rightly be destroyed. But I would imagine that doing so would draw the ire of the lich. If we are deciding it would be better not to cross swords with him...then perhaps we must leave this alone. For now."
HP: 65/71
The orb is unnerving, and you keep away. It seems to be the dark heart of the Ghostlord's complex, and tampering with it could well bring down the lich's wrath.
You are left debating - do you continue your explorations with the risk of making contact with the Ghostlord? Or, do you withdraw now that the agents of the Red Hand have been defeated?
"There could be more agents sent at any time. I say we talk to the undead and try to convince him to stay out of the battle. That's my vote, at least."
"Aye, so how do we fin' dis boss skeleton guy? Kin we knock real loud an' holler fer him? He don' seem too concern' 'bout us smashin' up de place. Mebbe we go through dis door an' sees whas' on de side wit' all da cold."
"The sooner we find him and leave this place the better. The Red Hand marches as we speak," Ambrose offers, readying his sword and shield as he strides up to Harek. "Choose a door, Harek. In a citadel of stone, I would follow the dwarf." A slight grin cracks the knight's face as he looks over to Leonar. "Granted, this citadel is a giant lion, so maybe Leonar would have a better idea."
"When he's holding that axe, I too prefer to be behind Harek."
Aleste grins grimly, Let's go parley with a lich... where did my life go wrong?
"A'ight den. We all ready? Les' go down dis col' door, den!"
Weapon and shield at the ready Harek opens the door which felt cold.
With your expert knowledge of alchemical agents and magical dweomers, you reckon you could concoct a formula that at least temporarily nullifies the necromantic power of the orb. It might not destroy the artifact, but would render it unusable for influencing necromancy spells for a time.
You could probably do something similar with the pool, mixing some of your reagents to counter the liquid's preserving qualities.
After conferring, you gather behind Harek as he puts his dwarven senses to the test. Where would an ancient undead lord be lurking? Harek slowly turns towards the discovered secret door radiating cold, and raises his axe towards it.
The door opens surprisingly easily. Looking beyond the doorway, the floor of this chamber has been polished to a mirrorlike sheen. Intricate carvings of lions in their natural habitat adorn the walls, but unlike with the carvings elsewhere in the complex, the great cats depicted here are healthy and alive. The grandeur of nature is apparent in every aspect of the masterful carving, except for one lone figure in the southern wall. The lions on this wall recoil in horror and disgust from this human figure, whose face is downcast and whose arms, held palms out, hang limply at his side. At the figure's feet is a single dead lion cub.
A gaunt figure stands motionless, gazing at the carvings. Slowly the figure turns towards you. The face, dark leathered skin pulled so tight so as to appear skeletal, framing amber eyes that glitter with a cold, unnatural light. Ragged, mouldering tawny robes hang off the emaciated body, bedecked with tufts of lion mane. Weirdly from his back a rack of animal ribs - perhaps from a great cat? - claw at the air.
The figure's eyes shimmer coldly as they regard your intrusion. It speaks with a sombre, grating voice. "You dare to trespass in my domain? Explain yourselves."
Ambrose tightens his grip on his blade and steps forward, doing his best to maintain his composure while at the same time hiding the sheer look of disgust his feels trying to surface. He approaches the lich with great wariness, eyeing the undead mage intensely to watch for any tricks or sudden movements. He swallows hard and strands straight. "I am Ambrose Harrowfield, of Brindol," he says, thinking it better to not refer to himself as a Lion of the city, what with this lich's propensity for dead cats. "We...have no quarrel with you. We are against the goblins of the Red Hand Horde and those they call their allies. The hobgoblin and her forces here were our enemy, and they we have slain. As I and my compatriots have come to understand...the Red Hand has your allegiance as well, though it would seem that the alliance is not one you are keen on, judging from the words in a letter we found. They have coerced you into their campaign against Elsir Vale, have they not? What if we were to ask you to break that alliance? Surely these goblin schemes mean nothing to you." Ambrose finds his voice as he speaks, bolstering himself in the weight of his own words, much as he had when speaking to the elves in the woods before. His heart isn't so much in this speech, however, but he knows that it must be done.
"We have acquired what the Red Hand took from you," he says, narrowing his eyes and preparing himself in the subsequent second in case the lich turns hostile, but he elaborates quickly. "But we are willing to return it to you, should you be willing to sever your ties with this Red Hand and agree not to assist in the offense against the Vale and its inhabitants."
He studies the lich for any read on its reaction, then galcnes back to his allies in preparation for the response.
"Like my friend said, we just want you to stay out of the fray. That's all."
Aid another diplomacy
Harek remains quiet and keeps his hands on the grips of his axe and shield.
Aleste nods along, "Yeah, everybody wins"
Pushing down my aversion to all things undead, I stand beside Ambrose, nodding in agreement with the knight's words. "Indeed, we do not need to be adversaries."
The Ghostlord studies you with a cold, piercing gaze. His hand drifts towards a wand which fairly crackles with energy. However the moment Ambrose mentions having the Ghostlord's most precious possession, his brow furrows slightly. Hand drops away from the wand. "You have it with you?" he queries with rasping voice. Quicker than you can react his other hand moves in an arcane gesture and he speaks a terse word of magic.
The Ghostlord cast Detect Magic.
"You have my attention. If you have what I seek in your possession, return it to me now and I may let you live." Bones grind as he cocks his head and studies your reply.
Unsure what spell has been cast, Aleste is careful not to lie:
"We have control of the phylactery, but it is not with us in this room. If one of those hobgoblins had stolen it from us, we would have nothing to parlay with."
"We can describe it to you in some detail. And if you are happy to exchange your pledge for the item's return, we can arrange an exchange quite quickly.
What, like we're just going to take his word for it and then get eaten by lions when we've handed it over? We're not schmucks!
On edge and not trusting the lich for one bit, I pay close attention when he speaks a word of power and a slight smile touches the corners of my mouth. Speaking in a friendly tone, but at the same time letting my friends know as well what spell the lich cast: "I know you are a very powerful spell-caster, but you might want to shield your eyes from the glow of all our magical items."
"Tell him what the item looks like, Aleste. We want him to know we aren't here under false pretenses. This is a good faith negotiation."
Aleste described the phylactery in as much detail as he can "... so, as you can see, we have rescued your treasure from those horrible hobgoblins that stole it."
Helakuu looks at Aleste when he says 'and everyone wins', "well I wouldn't say everyone wins..." he glances at the abomination of magic "...but it is certainly in all of our interests to work something out. I'm sure you can see that as well."
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Eyes blazing with unholy fire, the Ghostlord stands utterly still for several long, drawn-out seconds which seem to stretch painfully thin.
When he addresses you, only his jaw moves, ever-so slightly, but his voice booms around the room.
"Very well. The dragon-sworn stole to force my alliance.
If you return my phylactery I will withdraw from their war and take pains to ensure such theft cannot be repeated. I will also reward you.
However, you are not welcome in my manse. Leave now.
We will exchange gifts at dawn, before the lion's maw."