Janos looks at the others and then shrugs and follows feral down the steps. He glances back at Cybrissa. "You want to kill some Primals too?"
When they get down to the base, Janos readies his sword again, looking into the darkness for any sign of the werewolves.
All the discussion may have made going to find the primals a moot point. Janos and Anton hear the scraping of swiftly moving paws on the stone of the tower's spiral stair beneath them.
The druidess says, "Forgive me, but this is not my fight. I will stay out of it." She steps to the edge of the plat form, and stands out of the way.
Janos hides in one of the niches around the edge, near the stairs. He draws his sword and prepares for the Primals to appear.
and
Drosil readies an attack.
When a primal reaches the top of the stairs, Drosil will attack with his rapier.
Feral downs an extract as he lets Mathus' body fall to the stone. He draws his borrowed dagger and his face breaks into a wide, savage grin. He shoots a look at Cybrisa, "Go and hide then. But don't run too far, you should bear witness!" Grinning darkly, he turns back toward the stair and laughs, "Ha haa haaah. Oh yes. Come! Come, you lumbering brutes, and meet the Silverhide's new lord and alpha!"
HP: 61/67
AC: 26 (11 T / 25 FF) (17 vs incorporeal touch attacks)
CMD: 22
F/R/W: +10/+10/+6
Mutate used: 1/2
Spontaneous Healing used: 20/35hp
Enhanced Potions used: 1/3
Hero Points used: 1/3
Prepared 1st Level Extracts (3+1): cure light wounds [ ], shield [X] [X] [X], open [ ]
Prepared 2nd Level Extracts (3+1): ablative barrier [X], alchemical allocation [X], barkskin [X], false life [X]
Prepared 3rd Level Extracts (1+1): displacement [X], thorn body [ ]
-Ongoing Effects-
false life (7 hrs)
ablative barrier (7 hrs): 14/40 hp converted, +2 armor (force)
barkskin (70 minutes): +4 natural armor
heroism (70 minutes): +2 morale bonus on attack rolls, saves, and skill checks
shield (7 minutes): +4 shield bonus
The Act ends on a high note, then." B'yelka strides to center stage and faces the stairs, "Celeritas." Her single word coalesces into a sheet of energy that blankets all of her friends endowing them with supernatural speed. Then she begins singing, an old hymn to Desna herself she was taught during her youth, How apropos!
"We are the stars which sing
We sing with our light
We are the birds of fire
We fly over the sky
Our light is a voice
We make a road for the spirit to pass over"
The druidess says, "Forgive me, but this is not my fight. I will stay out of it." She steps to the edge of the platform, and stands out of the way.
Janos hides in one of the niches around the edge, near the stairs. He draws his sword and prepares for the Primals to appear.
Anton readies his bow.
Drosil readies an attack.
Feral downs an extract as he lets Mathus' body fall to the stone. He draws his borrowed dagger and his face breaks into a wide, savage grin. He shoots a look at Cybrisa, "Go and hide then. But don't run too far, you should bear witness!" Grinning darkly, he turns back toward the stair and laughs, "Ha haa haaah. Oh yes. Come! Come, you lumbering brutes, and meet the Silverhide's new lord and alpha!"
The Act ends on a high note, then." B'yelka strides to center stage and faces the stairs, "Celeritas." Her single word coalesces into a sheet of energy that blankets all of her friends endowing them with supernatural speed. Then she begins singing, an old hymn to Desna herself she was taught during her youth, How apropos!
"We are the stars which sing
We sing with our light
We are the birds of fire
We fly over the sky
Our light is a voice
We make a road for the spirit to pass over"
Two of the huge Primal stalkers burst onto the platform, and one of them is immediately feathered by Anton's arrow and pierced through by Drosil's gleaming blade.
The wolves roar and growl as they attack. The wounded one slams into Drosil, attempting to force him backward, but the nimble rogue rolls away from the assault. Drosil responds by sliding his rapier into the opening left by the reckless wolf, piercing its heart and killing it.
The second wolf slams into feral as well. He is unable to move the Packlord, and exposes himself to attack as well.
A third vollensang comes up the steps onto the platform.
================================
__________________________________________
Feral doesn't flinch as the towering vollensag charges up the stairs and bears down on him. With a gleeful growl, he simply plants his feet and stops the primal wolf in its tracks before swiping the dagger across its midsection.
As blood pours from his opponent's wound, Feral grins hungrily and grabs the other wolf by the throat to bring its face closer to his own. "So eager to join Mathus in death, are you? Heh heh haaaah. Who am I to deny you?" He shoves his foe's head back, then works the dagger in three flashing arcs.
HP: 61/67
AC: 27 (12 T / 25 FF) (17 vs incorporeal touch attacks)
CMD: 22
F/R/W: +10/+11/+6
Mutate used: 1/2
Spontaneous Healing used: 20/35hp
Enhanced Potions used: 1/3
Hero Points used: 1/3
Prepared 1st Level Extracts (3+1): cure light wounds [ ], shield [X] [X] [X], open [ ]
Prepared 2nd Level Extracts (3+1): ablative barrier [X], alchemical allocation [X], barkskin [X], false life [X]
Prepared 3rd Level Extracts (1+1): displacement [X], thorn body [ ]
-Ongoing Effects-
false life (7 hrs)
ablative barrier (7 hrs): 14/40 hp converted, +2 armor (force)
barkskin (70 minutes): +4 natural armor
heroism (70 minutes): +2 morale bonus on attack rolls, saves, and skill checks
shield (7 minutes): +4 shield bonus
haste (1/9 rounds): +1 to hit, +1 dodge, +1 ref
inspire courage: +2/+2
power attack: -2/+4
Janos steps out of the niche where he's hiding. Buoyed by B'yelka's magic, he covers the distance to the werewolf nearly in the blink of an eye, slashing at the Primal before he's even aware of the Ranger's presence.
Drosil steps toward the werewolf on his right and thrusts with his blade - once, twice, three times, his aim improving incrementally.
Anton moves to a better position where he doesn't need to try and pick his shots through the gaps left by his comrades. He takes only a single shot on the wolf at the top of the stairs but it is unerring, punching straight into the beast's chest.
Feral slaughters one wolf, while Drosil and Janos finish off the last one.
Janos sheathes his sword, looking down at the bodies of the werewolves. Will you be like them soon?
"We can stay, Anton. A bit of a divine grace might be good for all of us right now. And it would give us time to talk to Dantrian too." He looks pointedly at Feral. "He might have some ideas."
We need to treat those bites before anything. We have one dose of Wolfsbane. Drosil, take it. Estovian must have had some more if he was dealing with that Spirit.
Anton rushes back down into the depths of the temple, rummaging around in the assorted equipment left by Estovian.
Feral – he calls upstairs. - come and help me, I don’t know what I’m looking for!
Feral heads down to rummage about, but puts one heavy claw on Anton's shoulder as he catches up to the Desnan. "Go tend to the Stairs, Anton. If Estovion had any wolfsbane here I will find it. You see to your goddess and I will see to our friends." The hungry yellow light has faded from his eyes by this point, but his face, arms, and chest still bear the disconcerting hallmarks of bloody violence.
The burly wolf then lopes deeper into the structure and to the room Estovion had been hiding within. Without wolves or wizards bearing down on him this time, Feral goes through the room methodically, sorting and mentally cataloging anything of use he might find. He even clambers down the pit in the room to see if anything of value might be concealed at the bottom.
Drosil eyes the root warily, but nods at Anton. "So, eating this will either cure me or kill me, right?" His mouth turns up in a wry grin, "Either way, it's got to be better than becoming one of them."
He sighs, then places the root in his mouth, chews, then swallows. "Interesting flavor; sweet, with a nut..." The rest of his comment is lost as he doubles over, then collapses to the floor, clutching at his stomach and writhing in pain. Sweat beads on his forehead, and his breaths come in gulps. After several minutes, he is exhausted; his movements come slower, less frequent. His skin turns pale - as pale as you have ever seen it. Two minutes more, and he stops moving altogether.
It is only after close examination that you can see that his heart still beats, and his breaths still come, but they are shallow. After another minute, his eyes flutter open and his grin returns, though weakly. "I obviously forgot another option; that it would nearly kill me and it wouldn't work. I can vouch for the first. When Anton returns, he can hopefully deny the second."
Janos helps the others clean and remove all the bodies from the temple. He will also help Feral examine the area Estovian was in.
-Posted with Wayfinder
Dantrian finds three bottles contain a magical wolfsbane-based tonic that functions as normal wolfsbane. The contents of the remaining jars and bottles have long ago dried and lost their effect.
simply cast a consecrate spell from atop Highthrone.
With the grim work of cleaning the bodies dealt with, Anton turns his attention back to the ancient scroll found in Estovian's hiding place.
He opens the case carefully, with trembling hands, only too aware of how his rough hands could crumble the parchment that he delicately removes. Despite it's clear age, the ink is as stark and black as if it were written yesterday.
He reads the words several times, understanding the meaning but not the process. In truth he was not studious and the tradition of Desnan religion was passed by storytelling and fable rather than the bookish lecturing of the followers of Abadar or Iomedae.
He turns his attention to the parts he understands best, cleaning and restoring the temple and works feverishly into the night to do just that, cleaning away as much trace of the foulness the wolves brought with them.
The night after Anton's cleaning of the temple he ascends to the Dusk Moth inside the menhir atop Highthrone. With the temple reconsecrated the stones of the mosaic that make up the moth are glowing faintly. A faint radiance also emanates from the menhirs atop the temple, almost like a refractive fog. The ritual on the scrolls is difficult and complex, the paladin is not sure he can manage it.
I understand what must be done but I've no idea how to do it. B'yelka, can you help me?
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Janos helps Anton clear the bodies and debris from the temple. He cuts through the overgrown foliage with practiced ease. He examines the ritual scroll, but it's beyond the teaching he received from Alicia.
As B'yelka and Anton work together to decipher the power of the scroll, Janos retreats down to the base of the temple to sit among the grasses. He allows the flood of voices from the nature spirits to wash over him -- small, sharp voices from the grasses; deep rumblings of the oaks nearby; faint whispers from seeds and leaves taken by the wind. He even tries to listen to the slow, slurring words of the mosses and lichens on the nearby rocks.
The Ranger tries to ask a simple question, though he knows the myriad of voices will likely not give him a simple answer. "What will happen if we activate the scroll and the temple?" Some of the nature spirits might be flighty and young, but others were old and watchful, they may know what power the temple holds.
The mosses whisper a confusing susurrus of advice, but the general theme seems to be good.
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During the day B'yelka is contemplative, maybe a bit pensive. She doesn't have much to say (unusual that...), and when Anton asks for her help she nods, and only says, "Of course, Dear Anton." She spends the next several hours trying to puzzle out how the ritual is supposed to work, and not sure that it entirely makes sense. But I had less to work with and still tried at Schloss Caromarc... She comes to a particular oddly phrased passage, "Anton, does this make sense to you? It says something about Dreams made flesh and breath of one hand clapping." She asks the paladin for interpretations of faith several more times, not sure if she can really do this, "You know, you're the first Desnan I really ever talked to. So many Thrune-esque Diabolists at home. It's simple, though right? Follow your dreams and let other follow theirs? Not nearly so complex as Saranrae." She changes her voice to a mocking Kelish accent, "Heal everyone, unless they are right blasted buggers. Oh, and Rovagug, put the flame to him everytime." Seeing Anton's slight frown at her flippant attitude she merely shrugs, And here we were having so much fun... "Well, let's try this thing, then."
Setting the wards and calling the sky is strange, the Diva feels like she is under a microscope exposed on the needle-like pinnacle of the ancient temple. Wind whips her short hair but she ignores it. Is it dear Anton watching me that makes me so nervous, or something, someone, else? Still, she recites the prayers, summoning more and more aether into the circle. With each verse the wind calms, the candles are lit, and not a gust disturbs them. A chilling cold settles into her as the gently glowing cloud seems to take on life of it's own. She finishes the words and the candles move of their own accord, rearranging themselves into a wholly new pattern, as if they were telling her of her destiny not just satisfying some silly godling's Naming. Suddenly she draws in a sharp breath and...
As Anton sets his time to cleaning the temple, Feral sets up Dantrian's alchemist station in the chamber at the foot of the topmost flight of stairs leading to the Duskmoth. His hulking form looms over the fragile equipment as he delicately tends to several bubbling vials. To one vial, he sprinkles in a crumbled up dose of the recovered wolfsbane.
As he works and the others pass by with their various tasks and errands and chores, they can see that something clearly bothers the wolf as his shoulders are tight and bunched with frustration. Still, regardless of whatever might be bothering Feral, he distills the potential cure diligently and prepares it for Janos.
When Janos comes in from his ritual communion though, Feral is gone and Dantrian once more stands in his company. The stoic alchemist nods wearily to the ranger and extends him a steaming cup with little fanfare.
"Janos. Fer- when my curse loosened its hold at last, I found this had been prepared. It is not unlike the tea I so often drink, though there is nothing I could add to it to diminish the bitterness. Additionally, this contains a potentially lethal dose of wolfsbane. You should know that before going any further." His eyes are steely and set as his gaze holds Janos', tongues of steam curling up into the air between them from the cup in the alchemist's hand.
Janos is startled to see Dantrian back in his human skin, but he smiles a big grin. "You, you old fox, are a sight for sore eyes!" He laughs. "I never thought I would say that! But you have to tell us what it was like, what you were aware of...and hell, what you think of the situation now. We need to know what you believe about Feral's plans and intentions."
He looks down at the steaming cup. He reaches over and takes it from him gingerly. The Ranger gazes down at the green liquid. Tea, but with power not unlike one of Alicia's potions. And he hated her foul potions. I takes a deep breath. "I suppose I especially need to know what you experienced. Just in case this doesn't work. Come, the others will want to see you too." He cradles the cup in his hands and begins walking to the stairs.
Dantrian's words echo in his mind. A lethal dose. Not a foul potion, but a poison.
Dantrian shakes his head at the unpleasant thought of having to verbalize his experience. "It was- it was worse than I had anticipated, Janos." His words falter as he shakes his head. "The only positive thing worth mentioning is that I remain myself. In all my other studies of lycanthropy, once the curse fully manifests the person afflicted is fundamentally changed. I cannot yet explain it, but that appears to not have happened in my case." He shakes his head unhelpfully and offers a slight shrug before gesturing for the ranger to walk onward. As the ranger goes, the alchemist falls into step behind.
As the Five watch their Diva complete the complex ritual they too feel the aether gathering around them.
As the ritual is completed, their bodies relax. They unwillingly slip slowly to the floor and into cross legged positions around the mosaic of the Dusk Moth. A heavy dream like trance slips over them and the world slips away.
They find themselves in an indescribable place, floating somewhere in the Great Beyond surrounded by the billion burning pinpricks of distant stars and galaxies. There before them is a beautiful elven woman, standing three meters tall. Her butterfly wings contain all the beauty of a clear night sky, a microcosmic reflection of the grandeur they see surrounding them. She has dark hair, silvery eyes, and a coy but distant smile, and is wearing a diaphanous gown. A swarm of multihued pearlescent butterflies flutters around her in the void.
"Thank you for cleaning and restoring my temple, children. It has too long been the domain of stinking canines. As a reward for your loyal service, I offer you a glimpse of what is yet to come..." With one last divine smile Desna claps her hands and the scenery changes yet again.
The Five begin to experience memories of things that haven't happened yet. Suddenly they are facing a black-robed necromancer wearing a bone breastplate as he stands before a ruined tower. Then another flash, and they are fighting a terrifying, tentacled monster deep beneath the sea. Flash! They are underground in some kind of dark chamber, facing a milk-pale fanged woman chanting a spell. Another blink, and they find themselves in the most ominous vision yet. They balance precariously atop a high and ancient spire amidst a storm of swirling unnatural clouds. A desiccated undead mage faces them, blazing with extreme arcane power. Its mad cackle cracks the sky as it raises its arms to send necromatic death speeding towards the heroes. Just before death finds them, the vision ends.
The five find themselves back atop Highthrone, sweating and momentarily disoriented. The radiant stones fade back to dull gray, as the last of the Dust Moth's magic peters out. All who took part in the trance find that the irises of their eyes have turned a pale silvery color, a visible and permanent sign of their experience. They also feel better for the experience, either more confident or more ready to process what is to come.
Janos blinks back awake. His head still swam with the visions he saw and for several moments, he just sat there, confused, but also in awe. The Ranger realizes his mouth has been hanging open and wipes the drool away. He looks at his companions. "What just happened? Was that Desna herself, Anton?" He find 4 pairs of silvery eyes staring back at him.
"That was...like speaking to the nature spirits, but so much more intense. And vivid. And...amazing."
Drosil comes to after the ritual and, despite the horrors he now remembers, feels a lingering peace. "I can see why you've chosen the path you have; that was quite the experience."
Dantrian's eyes open with a start and come sharply into focus, though he remains seated and cross-legged. His posture stiff and back rigid, he bounces his eyes from left to right as he processes the experience he just had without emoting any kind of emotional reaction.
As the others gasp and speak of the vision, Dantrian ventures cautiously, "You all saw the same vision then? Curious."
For a long time Anton is silent after he receives the vision. Never in his life or in any of his wildest dreams had he anticipated he would ever encounter the Divine.
Every morning he prayed to the Song of Spheres and he felt her walking beside him, infusing him with power, but this... this was different.
He felt himself wheeling among the stars, soaring impossibly high and though a feeling of great vertigo threatened to overwhelm him it was as if a steadying hand were at his back simply guiding him through the visions.
He is overwhelmed, full of divine reverence and as the others reel from the visions, his eyes cloud over and tears of joy flow freely.
B'yelka drifts back out of the trance sodden with the sweats of great exertion, yet her muscles have a languid feel, as if she has just finished the longest hot bath she has ever had. As she becomes more aware of her surroundings she notes that Dantrian is back amongst them. She smiles, and nods.
Janos breaks the silence with questions. As calm, truly at peace, as she has ever been, B'yelka whispers, "True, Drosil. A vision of what comes next?" B'yelka says to Dantrian, "It would seem as if we have. Some form of thanks?" Though I am just thankful that you are back and that awful beast is gone again. [b]"And it seems as if we have been marked by our experience, are all of our eyes changed? The Diva pulls out a small mirror and looks at herself in starlight, Striking! I like this! Still examining her self she turns her head and catches a whiff of her own odor after the sweating, This, though, is not ok!
Dantrian rises once his senses return to him, the motion tight and controlled. "Presuming the visions afforded to us were given in chronological order, then it seems possible that the figure with the skeletal breastplate is the Way's agent who took Sain's heart." He stiffly brushes some unseen dust from one shoulder as he turns to the stairs. "I should prepare for our imminent pursuit."
Despite the cold stone and the wind whistling through the ancient temple, Anton sleeps more soundly that night than he can remember. As the group begins to gather their gear for the next stage of the chase, he asks Dantrian for a moment.
My friend, it.... it's good to have you back. the paladin is clearly uncomfortable and shifts his weight from one foot to another. I don't know what the relationship is like, whether you can see what Feral sees. When he first... when he first took you I raised my bow, but I couldn't fire. I feel like I failed you Dantrian. she says, shame-faced.
Dantrian turns to regard Anton with his typical stone-faced stoicism and nods once in acknowledgment of the Desnan's confession. "I remained," he hesitates for a long moment, searching for the best word, "aware, yes. Though it is perhaps just as well that your hesitation won the day. The premise that the curse would consume me wholly was, it seems, a faulty one." He spreads his hands out, as if presenting himself as a piece of evidence on display. "If you bear guilt for not loosing your arrow, you need not, Anton."