Shaking his head slightly, seeing that his companions intend to risk destroying their weapons despite only being in the entrance of the hag's lair, Akiros is nevertheless impressed by Nikolai's destruction of the statue before him.
Not wishing to damage his own weapon however, the Oracle drops his bastard sword and draws his masterwork cold iron mace as he moves into a flanking position, then attacks.
Attack+flank+haste:
Damage:
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Frowning in confusion, Elsir waves his hand in a dismissive gesture causing the rolling ball of fire to implode upon itself in a puff of steam and flash of searing light. Wasting no time, the mage retrieves from his satchel another of his carefully created scrolls. He holds the paper in his hand but does not read from in. Eyes scanning the ongoing combat, the detached, logical portion of his brain catalogues the furious strikes unleashed by the dragon scion. As the adage went, knowledge was power and despite the months since his recovery from the darked future, Elsir felt a shiver of dread as he watched the man unleash furious anger upon his foes. Clutching the scroll, the elf heard the paper begin to crinkle in his hand. Glancing down, the archivist frowned. His knuckles had turned white.. Shaking his head, he grimaced. And turned back to focus on the combat. The creatures would be immune to his magic. He could not afford to waste resources. Instead however, he could act in defense of those who fought, ready to provide protection should they need it.
The attacks from Jemini and Akiros manage not to greatly damage their respective weapons, though they do little but crack the caryatid columns themselves.
The pair of surviving columns silently continue their defense of the entrance, even as one of their number is shattered on the floor. To Jemini, the construct's attacks are utterly predictable; even without her momentary precognition, the downward chopping angle of the sword provides her an easy dodge. Akiros, on the other hand, glances over momentarily and lets himself take a crushing blow on his right shoulder. His armor holds, but the impact is jarring and likely will spread into an ugly bruise.
Grunting with the impact and gritting his teeth and the pain, the former Ronin hunkers down and concentrates on destroying the obstacle before him. Focusing his concentration, he makes it a personal challange to himself to crumble the Column to dust.
Hasted Flanking Power Attack
Damage:
Extra Hasted Flanking Power Attack
Damage:
Borodin picks the column on Jemini and lets loose with his arrows. The first barely misses the column's head but the second strikes home. The arrow shatters leaving Borodin unsure if the construct took damage.
She momentarily feels guilt over destroying what could, in good light, be considered art - but the thought is fleeting. Jemini swings again, the rhythm of the combat starts washing over her more and more.
With the golden crossbow loading and firing to pointless effect, Verik watches both Akiros and Jemini deliver stone-shattering blows to the guardian constructs, heartened that their skill and power - like Nikolai - were proving the better match to these defenders of the ruined keep. Verik keeps up his own tactic to provide whatever aid he can to Jemini, hoping that he can at least perform his own small part satisfactorily. With a flourish he thrusts his handaxe near the side of the column's sculpted face, followed by a screech of his heavy shield as its edge sweeps across its lower torso.
Smirking he gestures towards Borodin with his axe and then down to the floor where both hammer and arrow lay. "I daresay your arrows fare no better than my poor hammer there Master Borodin. Is the mighty blademaster so flummoxed by stone that his usual boisterous bravado has faded to a whimper?"
Borodin fires two more arrows to little effect. He knocks another arrow and looks annoyingly at Verik. "This blade holds more value to me than anything else I possess and I will not risk it when we have this combat well in hand. You may have nursed on your mother's teat in the land of milk and honey, banker, but I grew up with nothing and had to fight for every meal."
Nikolai steps further in between the remaining statues and raises Dragonsbreath high. As he watches the maneuvering of the stony elves, he brings his weapon down on the closest one.
With the flaming blade swinging behind him, it is an easy thing for Nikolai to step backwards again and carry the blade through into the last statue, its elven features marred by chips from Jemini's holy sword.
The final statue shatters as Dragonsbreath cleaves through. Small bits of flaming stone litter the ground, with larger chunks of the statues laid open.
Nikolai heaves, steadying the magic blade and lowering to his haunches to catch his breath. He looks along the length of his sword, inspecting it for damage.
"A moment, Jemini. Those things require a hard swing."
With the concerted attacks of the group, the elven statues crumble and shatter. Their weapons seem unharmed, except for Akiros's mace. He looks at the head of it, eyeing the spiderweb cracks that repeated strikes created. Better that than his sword, he supposes. At least Verik can use his magic to restore it to whole.
Looking up from his mace, as he puts it away, Akiros brushes some of the marble dust off of himself and moves to retrieve his sword.
Looking towards the others, despite his injuries he says calmly, "Let us search the rest of this room and move on."
"Indeed Akiros. I believe I can repair both your mace and my own warhammer, but it will take time. Time that we may not have while hunting for this wretched keeper of the ruins." Verik picks up his own warhammer from the dusty floor, tsking and shaking his head as he does so as he examines the sorry state of what was up till then his finest weapon.
With a wave of his hand he dismisses his summoned golden crossbow, still firing uselessly at a chunk of stone that was recently the construct attacking Jemini. He peers closer at the three weapons that now lie amidst the rubble, doubly curious as to their quality and in how the elven fashioners worked them into the constructs themselves. Verik breaks off his search though as he critically surveys the purplish bruising upon Nikolai from the vine that attacked him, as well as the way Akiros favors his shoulder with the dented plates.
"Nikolai, are the vines beyond revival do you think? I would channel healing for both you and Akiros before we continue on."
Akiros nods absently at Verik's offer to repair is weapon. Weapons were merely tools, and, yes, some tools performed their function better than other, yet he was not emotionally attached to any of them. If a tool broke, you either fixed it or got a new one. Simple.
A little later, Verik's healing energy washes over him before he has a chance to stop him. Flexing his shoulder, he says "Not to appear ungrateful, priest, but next time save your healing for when more of us need it . we've just begun this fight, and I feel sure there is much more to come."
"Oh I can assure you I have both the means and the measure to carry us through, directly as well as through divine craftsmanship. I am well-enough equipped still for what lies ahead."
Verik turns back to examining the rubble of the statues, though adds offhandedly, "My concern lies more with my powers proving ineffective versus the monsters of these ruins, as in the case of these constructs."
Verik's examination of the weaponry proves fruitless - insofar as finding a new weapon goes. The swords are stone, not steel, and prohibitively heavy. They are fine quality blades, with elven runes about honor and steadfastedness carved into the curve of each blade. Whoever carved the statues was a master craftsman, and whoever enchanted them must have had great power. It is a tragedy that they fell to ruin, but their implacable defense of the threshold made that the only possible course of events. Fortunately, only three of the six statues were animated - leaving three of the fine stone statues in pristine condition.
The wooden door at the end of the now-cluttered entryway looms before them. The passageway slopes slightly downwards, enough to send the more circular chunks of stone rolling a few feet in that direction. Time seems to have shifted the chamber slightly, leaving the door almost two full feet suspended in the air. Once it gets open, the jump through the threshold would be trivial. That is no guarantee that Verik would not fall to the ground in his heavy armor, though.
RPG Superstar 2013
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With a few seconds to catch his breath, Nikolai holds out his thick arms to examine his hands. Still red, but steady. He nods to Jemini and Akiros. "We can handle it together. Nothing has killed us yet. But, if those things were left to guard the temple's entry, whatever lies down that hallway could be worse. Elves, or no, something is here."
Verik peers down the slanted and sloping hallway with a look of concern on his face, envisioning his descent. "Ahhh...perhaps we need to secure our passage with rope? I brought a full coil and a grappling hook besides, but...well it is out with Giles packed in the saddlebags."
Jemini still marvels at the craftsmanship of the statues; realizing that there were some still in their "natural statue" state made it all the easier to appreciate the nuances. Although they were all similar, ultimately each was crafted not to specification but to its own perfection - causing them to differ and be alike much like siblings. Jemini absentmindedly responds to Nikolai with a, "Up to now, we have been the only ones who have been able to kill each other; but these... they look ancient. I wonder if they reacted in some automatic wa - or whether the blight that has infested this place has somehow twisted them against their nature." She traces the contours of one of the whole statues appreciatively. "Perhaps that means that we can conquer this place and have these statues guard it for us."
As the others gaze at the statues, Nikolai catches his breath and confidently strides towards the heavy wooden door. For any of the others, the door's height would awkwardly force them to stretch to reach it. Nikolai has to reach up, but it's only slightly higher than the top of his head. He turns the long handle down, pushing the door inward. It smoothly opens, sounding not a hint of rust or age. A glimmer of magical runes from a bygone age of magic shimmer as the door opens. Nikolai reaches out and pulls himself through the threshold with both hands. He turns to help the others through, one by one, until they all stand in the corridor.
Half a dozen paces in front of the group, the corridor opens into a wide chamber with an impressive vaulted ceiling. Though obscured in places by earth and undergrowth, the hall's floor is crafted of smooth stone tiles in multicolored pastel hues. The walls of the chamber are decorated with faded frescoes of sylvan life, showing scenes of beautiful elves engaged in hunting, feasting, dancing, singing and a bewildering variety of other idyllic pursuits. A graceful, filigreed stone staircase garlanded with flowering vines climbs to the level above. Most amazingly, the night sky moves above them. It is clearly illusion magic to give the elven inhabitants some semblance of openness, as the fortresses of this era were enclosed. Three more elegantly carved doors, symmetrically positioned at equal intervals around the circular chamber, lead to places unknown in the fortress.
Borodin walks to the foot of the staircase, sword in hand, attempting to get a better look at the level above.
"Should we stay on this level or see what is upstairs? Did Demitir say where he was held?"
Steadying himself in all of his armor after being brought up from the slanted hallway by Nikolai, Verik takes a few steps forward to view the ceiling in appreciation. "Magnificent..." is all he can put forth as he takes in the elegant craftsmanship of Elsir's people.
Regarding Borodin's question, Verik orders his mind to return to the labors at hand. "Yes, quite right. A decision. Well Borodin...Demitir did tell us he and his oath-brothers were held in a dungeon as I recall, but did not say precisely where. However, I would surmise any sort of dungeon was on this level, or below it. In any event, it would seem prudent to me that we should clear these doors of potential enemies before moving upwards, so as to not be cut off from our entrance point."
With that, Verik withdraws a stick of chalk and marks a rudimentary symbol on the lower part of the door they just entered, as well as the nearby wall.
"Agreed. Shall we pick the middle door? That way if we need to leave in a hurry, all we have to do is run straight out."
Borodin walks around the room while trying to discern if there are any traps in this chamber or around the three doors.
"Sound thinking and logical, though I would like to think we will not need to test that theory out." Verik nods and readies his shield, moving over to the far door with a hand free to either cast or draw weapon as is needed.
Borodin scans the room cautiously. His time under the Dragon Lord's rule makes careful examination second nature. It was one of the Cog's many rules: develop a plan and follow it precisely. With his caution satisfied about mundane traps or threats, Borodin switches his sight to a magical one. He spots a telltale hidden aura and sets his gaze upon it. He unravels its parts, rapidly working out its function with his sharply-edged intellect. Cloudkill, he recognizes. Standing just a few steps from the trigger - likely a hidden pressure plate, but just as likely to be proximity-based magic - is Nikolai Rogarvia, the tyrant who defined his life in a now-disappeared future. Nikolai's path will take him across the trigger location in mere moments - enough time for Borodin to warn him or decide against it.
"If our hosts are traditional-minded, then we'll find the quarters of the queen upstairs, and her victims downstairs. But..." Jemini ponders a bit, then turns to Elsir, "Unfortunately I'm not familiar: do Elven constructions even build into the underground?"
Borodin is so intent on scanning for traps he fails to notice Nikolai's movement at first. "Cloudkill trap."he remarks.
He moves to intercept Nikolai and puts his arm up to block his passage. "The trigger is right here."he points. "I'm not sure if I can disarm it but Elsir may be able to dispell it."
Hearing Borodin's warnings to Nikolai and to the group in general, Verik instantly freezes in place, as he realizes he could have triggered a trap to wipe out the entire group as he moved across the floor.
"Cogs!" With a desperate look around he realizes he has no chance of discerning whatever Borodin had puzzled together with the clever magical trap. "What does Cloudkill mean...well besides the obvious reference that the words imply that is? Like a cloud of obscuring fog, but in this case deadly?" Instinctively, he takes a deep breath and tries to hold it, even as he stands on the floor, looking around him as if surrounded by adders.
Nikolai narrows his eyes for a second at the man from the future. Supposedly the future where Nikolai himself enslaves and murders the companions around him now. He searches for the right response in a flutter of emotions. Grateful the young man thought to warn someone he views as adversary, but conflicted. After all, Nikolai has committed none of the crimes he is accused of.
Wordless, he nods and sidesteps the area Borodin points to. Looking over the floor for similar markings, the accusing thoughts return again. You've never seen a "cloudkill", but it probably affects everyone. He's not saving you, he's saving everyone but you.
Nikolai exerts enough will to push the thoughts back. Distracted and on dangerous ground. How many enemies have you killed because they were unprepared for you? Keep your mind right, Stag.
He hefts his blade and moves down the corridor.
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What? Hrm.. no.. Elsir announces in his academic "tone". Glancing up from several ancient elven inscriptions carved into the wall, the elf frowns pensively taking the room into a full account. Well generally not. There are several sub-sects that cleave to Desna that have been known to worship within caves that have minute openings in the ceiling allowing starlight to fall into beams on holy nights.. Glancing around at the room again, the elf shakes his head. But I don't believe that is the case here. More likely this fortress was build pre-starfall and following the turbulent events and geological shifting that affected much of the River Kingdoms shifting water patterns, the foundation became unstable. Moving to reach for his leather satchel and then thinking otherwise, the scholarly elf shrugs. There were also some who chose not to escape during that time and I have records that indicate they fled below the surface. But, The elf holds up his finger as if educating an eager student. That would not account for the partially submerged walls. No, I think the level of gradient here is more an indication of the age of the structure.
Glancing back towards the uneven door that the group had to climb through, Elsir points backwards. I might make note.. this fortress is a significant find. I hope once we clear this place, you would not might if I collected some of the statues and historical relics for display. I have been working with Verik's man, Laviil and he has plans drawn up for an eventual expansion of the city library and lodge to include a museum dedicated to this region.
Breaking away from his thoughtfulness about the future of New Haven, Elsir's focus returns to the present. A cloudkill trap? Elsir states, waving his hand in a series of gestures that cause his already blue eyes to flicker with a pale purple sheen. Ah yes, well deduced Borodin. Turning back to the others, Elsir nods in agreement. I believe I could dispel the trap, however we may need my magic later. Best for now to simply avoid it.
"Alright. I'll mark it out then." He motions for Verik to throw him some chalk and outlines the perimeter of the triggering area. He hands the chalk back to Verik and looks at his comrades. "Shall we see what is behind the middle door?"
Nikolai grunts and opens the middle door, using dragonsbreath as a torch to see beyond.
"WAIT! What if that too is trapped!" Verik desperately throws out a hand to wave off Nikolai, but it is too late as he opens the opposite door. He hoists his shield above the level of his eyes as if expecting a great blast of fire to erupt from the doorway or corridor beyond it.
The door opens easily as Nikolai pushes through. Fortunately, Verik's warning proves unnecessary. The doorway opens into a long arched corridor. Nikolai peers down its length, using his flaming sword for light. Great webs - possibly spun by the arachnoid deadfall dwellers outside - hang from the walls and ceiling of the corridor. Nikolai steps in, burning away the webs with his blade. The others step in behind the warrior. The corridor is fairly wide, capable of letting three walk comfortably together. Like the previous room, the walls contain carved reliefs of elven life that still glow dimly with magic. Despite being as contained as any dwarven structure, the elven fortress manages to feel open.
Halfway across the corridor, the group hears a chittering, skittering sound. With about twenty feet in front and twenty feet behind in the corridor, a wall of moving insects spills out from the open archway into the corridor. Each of the spiders in the swarm is the size of a fist, and there are too many to possibly count. The black arachnids skitter out towards them. Fortunately enough, the noise that they make - a combination of scuttling legs and snapping mandibles - gives the group ample time to prepare.
Akiros Reroll
Borodin
Elsir
Jemini
Nikolai
Spider Swarms
Verik
Standing at the front, Nikolai angles his body to intercept two of the swarms. He nods in anticipation, rolling up his lips to curl tightly between his teeth, and heaving in gulps of air to hold his breath should he be covered. Halfway through, he nods to Akiros.
"There'll be no refusing the priest's help after this one."
He winks, sucks in his breath, and steps up to the swarms sword-in-hand.
Borodin pulls a small flask from his belt pouch and throws it at the oncoming swarm from the rear flank, scoring a direct hit.
Akiros steps next to Nikolai and sweeps his sword at the upcoming swarm of spiders. Hundreds of the spiders screech and curl as Nikolai's flaming sword and Borodin's pot of flame scorch them. Dozens and dozens more die under Akiros's attack, but so many hundreds more scuttle over the dead and swarm over the feet of the pair.
+50% Damage 4
Total Damage 12
With a look of extreme distaste Jemini cautiously approaches the swarms. Although her faith leaves her fearless, there was something unsettling about the scuttle and chitter of the horde of arachnids - more than enough to shake her sensibilities. With an is this really necessary inflection she swings at the far edge of one of the swarms.
Muttering something about not having his flasks prepared sufficiently for this kind of situation, Verik hesitates with his free hand on the straps to his backpack. Instead he moves forward to where Jemini stands, and with no weapon in hand he simply lowers his knees and slams his heavy shield on the ground before him, smashing several approaching spiders with a distinctive crunching sound.
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There is a sound that cannot be described. It must be heard first hand to truly comprehend. Skittering... the sound of a thousand, thousand tiny legs upon stone, moving in a single unstoppable mass. Elsir had heard this sound before during the long nights in the Expanse. During the hours from when the sun would set to when it would rise, it would begin with a hum. The ground would begin to crawl and an underlying buzz would fill the air. Those unlucky enough to have to do without insect nets would face a hell unlike anything they had known before. Malaria, Red Expanse Fever, Bone-shiver. Those were only the most common of contagions carried by the ravenous swarms. For two long years, Elsir had spent nights, falling asleep to the sound of such beasts and even now it still set his teeth on edge.
What he did next was not rational nor was entirely appropriate. With the rumors of the troll king rising in the south, Elsir had decided before this expedition to take no chances. Such a massive channeling of raw power into an explosive spell was not, what the scholar considered refined. But he knew that such creatures hated fire, and the wizard had made the decision to carefully craft several contingencies for such a moment. This moment, however was not the one that the spell had been intended for.
Regardless, even now, he could see the wall of spiders approaching, and the elf gave an involuntary shudder of revulsion. Reaching into his leather haversack, Elsir withdrew a scroll upon which sulphur and ash had been scrolled in the fiery tongue of Ignan. Elsir chanted in the words of power and fueled the spell with his own revulsion at the swarm. The sound of his voice rose in a crescendo and a bead of pure, undiluted primal fire blossomed into life atop his finger.
Some scholars that he had worked with had previously postulated that such spells of the elemental subtype were less of an evocation and more of a conjugation. One did not create raw energy. There was at all times a balance of such things. The theory suggested that when one willed into power such a spell, one was for just a moment creating a link between the primal planes of ice, fire wind or earth. It was in an scholarly sort of way intriguing though it did not matter at this moment. What mattered was the ball dancing atop the elf's finger currently radiated at a fluctuating temperature between eight hundred and a thousand degrees celsius. Then with a point of his finger the orb flew towards the three approaching swarms in a wake of distorted air.
The big brute, so often responsible for the killing blow against his friends' adversaries, stops awkwardly in mid swing. He suffers no burns from Elsir's spell, but is still completely surprised by the explosive force. He blinks and looks around for several seconds, surveying the damage and looking for the mass of spiders to surge forward again.
When it does not, he looks at the hallway, then his companions in silence. Slowly, his gaze turns to lock onto Elsir. In the wake of the flaming destruction, Dragonsbreath's flame cools to a dull orange and the tongues of fire gutter in the smoke and gloom.
Jemini breathes an audible sigh of relief. She surreptitiously checks herself to see if any of the crawling vermin had gotten onto her; satisfied she takes another deep breath. "I applaud the swift resolution of this menace, but I think we are now well and truly disarmed of the possibility of a stealthy entry. Everybody: be prepared for engagements to be brought to us."
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As the sound of thousands of tiny legs skittering across the floor was suddenly quelled in a whoush of back blasted heat. Elsir leaned on his staff. The backdraft rocked the scholarly mage and fluttered his robe around him in the gust of superheated air. The scroll that he had held in his hand faded to ash and then fine flakes of dust before streaming behind him. The elf glanced at the giant man whom he had once seen before as the Dragon Tyrant, studying him with deep eyes backlight from the fire of his crackling blade. Elsir said nothing. In the split second that the man had raised his blade and begun to cleave the swarms apart with fury and anger, Elsir had already calculated the blast radius and had known there was less than a three percent chance that the man would have been caught in the perimeter of the blast. Three percent had been acceptable.
Still Elsir said nothing. Let him wonder what powers Elsir had at his disposal. The future with that one was still in the balance and the wizard knew that knowledge was the most dangerous of treasures to have. Turning away, seemingly unconcerned for the eyes that continued to study him, Elsir felt the faint hint of a smile want to form across his face. He ignored it. People saw him and thought of a dusty library and aged relics. It was a conclusion he allowed to cultivate and in truth was very much part of him. But it was not all that he was. Even a stone would break under the power of water or a tree if subjected to the strongest of winds. Elsir was and always would be.. adaptive.
Moving towards Queen Jemini with the quiet tapping of his darkwood cane, Elsir inclined his head at her wisdom before glancing onward, eyes alert with a fierce intelligence behind it.
The delvers step forward through the corridor with their boots crunching the still-smoldering spiders that now form a carpet of carapaces. The webs that coated the tunnel were swept away by the ball of fire from the elven wizard. Nikolai leads the way, with Akiros beside him. As they approach the end of the tunnel, they can hear a dripping sound with an echo. At the threshold of the corridor, they can see that the sinking of the fortress has created a pool of stagnant water five or more feet deep in what was once a war room - if the reliefs of elven warriors on the walls are any indication.
Jemini's prophetic words come back as they step into the room. Drawn by the fire and the death of its spawn, a great spider the size of an elephant emerges from the far side of the circular room. Its mandibles clack loudly as it seemingly skates across the pool of water from an earthen mound on the other side. It pauses to scan them with its gleaming eight eyes and eight legs - legs which are thicker than them, as the monstrous spider is at least the size of an elephant - seemingly floating atop the water without piercing the surface. It is just enough of a pause to give a few of the group an opportunity to react before the spider is upon them.
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Standing on the fringe of the room, Elsir's feet crunched upon the scorched corpses of hundreds of tiny spiders beneath his leather boots. The hallways had descended into the dusty and waterlogged circular expanse that Elsir could tell with a single glance must have been a war-room. The statues with their leaf inscribed armor and long curved blades gave the elf a sense of peace. At least for a moment. The room was quiet except for the sound of a perpetual drip from somewhere in the distance. But still, the diviner could not shake the feeling that danger still lurked near by.
Closing his eyes for a moment, Elsir looked at the thin streams of white fate threads that created shadowy representations of the past, present and future. For the briefest of moments he could see several white haired elfs standing in the center of the room. One shook his head in dismissal. Something important had been decided here. Elsir thought, before dismissing the thread. While a curiosity, it was not important. In another, second thread, the elf saw a white sack.
::Gossamer threads spun together. Tightly wrapped in a parody of Desna's cocoon. A thousand ravenous mouths lurked below the surface. The strongest survived and the weak became food for the others. In the shadows, a hunger, balanced, waiting patiently.::
Eyes fluttering open, Elsir opened his mouth to shout a warning, but the creature had already begun to approach. Careful, it is the mother! The elf stated studiously. Gigas argyroneta aquatica, to be exact should anyone care. It carries with it a poisonous bite. Frowning in thought, Elsir gave a small, clever smile. But it can't swim and any movement on the water's surface will bring its attention
Hands whirling together in a series of complex motions, the elf called upon the cold that was ingrained deep within the waterlogged stone. He touched upon the terrible winters that blanked this norther land. Kneeling, scooped up a bit of sand mixed with water and cast it towards the beast as his voice rose in a commanding crescendo. The dust flew towards the air and as it did so it transformed. Each mote became a single droplet of icy rain, thousands and thousands of drops falling around the lakes center and the spider in its nexus in a howling gust of arctic wind.
Completing the spell, Elsir nodded before stepping back. It should be quite vulnerable now.
[b]"Stand back," intones Akiros. His eyes begin to glow with the holy power of Iomedae. "I give myself to the Inheritor to act as the instrument of her will." He grimaces and lets out a pained grunt as he begins to enlarge in front of the others. He - along with his weapons and armor - grow quickly, doubling in height in a few seconds. He sets his sword at the ready to engage the spider, which still towers over him as it begins to thrash on the water.
Elsir's wizardly disorients the massive spider as it debilitates its aquatic tremorsense. It thrashes continually, nearly slipping into the water. Several of its oily legs do pierce the surface tension, but it scrambles across the water. The ice storm sweeps over the water behind it, cutting off an exit route to deeper parts of the spider's lair. It ends with half of its body submerged in water, but four of its legs and its hideous maw rest on the ground. It lunges forward at where Nikolai was standing. Its great teeth snap shut on empty air, missing the warrior by nearly a foot.
It had to be spiders... and it has to be the mother of all spiders... Irori hold my peace! Jemini grimly readies her blade as she approaches the monster. She hears words of magic behind her and shortly afterward sees Elsir's spell take effect. "That's good! Are you sure you're not an elementalist at heart?" Jemini feels buoyed by the sight, her misgivings about arachnids falling away in favor of quickly dispatching this new threat.
”Yes Jemini, I too wonder much at the origins of this war-mage magic displayed, though I would not call it “good” without much more scrutiny of it.” Despite the obvious benefits to their band in both the drowned war-room and the hallway of sizzled spiders behind them, Verik does not seem to be making a jest or light-hearted comment, his voice stern and serious.
Yet with the massive spider lurching forward and the others either growing larger or closing the gap, the Abadarian moves to support the others in combat as best he can. He draws forth one of his brace of hammers and hefts it at the beast in a practiced throwing motion, taking careful aim so as to not strike Jemini, Borodin or Nikolai before him. The throw is high and probably would have been easily brushed aside by the hideous arachnid, but with its eyes clouded by sleet and wind it failed to see it coming. Struck with a small but audible thunk the throwing hammer then careens up into the air and is lost in the swirling howl of the storm behind it.