Voyla will close up, moving towards them on the reeds (crossing the path), trying to remain undetected.
(+1 for each 10' distance and I guess they are REALLY distracted)
x2 = 20 dmg
Even as the trilling sound continues to bore into the eardrums of the investigators, the grotesque mutation that was once a simple pig finds itself facing a fearsome rebuttal.
Before anyone can react, Dramin, forewarned of the danger, moves toward the doorway and fires off an arrow at the creature, which sinks into its spongy flesh with seemingly little effect. Marsh, spitting curses, fires off an arrow of his own at the creature, striking the meaty mass in the pig-thing's open back; however, it does not fall. Dramin follows suit with yet another arrow, but this one goes wide, thunking against the back of the barn wall. Bacarov moves in as well, even as Dalton slips out of the doorway and back out into the open. The inspector's borrowed wand flashes and a wave of fire pours out over the pig-thing, but the flames do not even appear to singe the creature; its oily skin does not even blister.
You're fairly certain that this creature is a type of abyss-dwelling parasite known as a cythnigot... a subspecies of the primordial chaos-dwelling nightmares known as Qlippoths. It is a parasitic creature more akin to plant than beast, in spite of its... meaty appearance. It infects host organisms in the form of spores, then alters their biological makeup as it grows within them. They are known to be highly resistant to damage, aside from cold iron or Lawfully-aligned weaponry, and have many immunities. This particular cythnigot seems even more powerful than the norm.
It seems to have cast an empowered version of soften earth and stone to turn the ground below into a quagmire.
Outside, Voyla sneaks forth, still trying to keep her presence unknown. Up ahead, she can see that clearly there is some sort of battle going on in the barn, and catches a glimpse of some fleshy tentacle whipping about through the open barn doors.
Calwen hops down from Windmane and moves to the barn door, preparing to shut and brace it as Bacarov suggested. "Everyone, out!" she cries. "We shall trap the beast inside!"
Dio, meanwhile, squeals in panic and shakes his head, as if trying to shake the constant high-pitched squealing from his mind.
Inside the barn, the creature floats forward with shocking speed, closing on Marsh. Its pig-jaws distend, a secondary mouth lashing forth from within, lined with tusks. Marsh is caught completely off-guard as the tusked mouth tears into his chest, sending blood flying across the barn. Some of that blood splashes onto Bacarov.
As the cythnigot passes by you, its writing entrails-turned-sensory-organs and gnashing bone-teeth tear deep into your mind, awakening some primal fear within you that brings to mind the visions you experienced earlier- the undulating, shapless things beyond the stars, for instance... revulsion overcomes you, and your head begins to spin as your stomach turns.
- - - -
Also, the fire from Bacarov's wand does ignite the oil. The whole barn should be ablaze within a few rounds.
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The undulating limbs and stench of entrails is just too much. The cold hands of his nightmares grasp his neck, squeezing the air out of his lungs. His knees threaten to buckle, his eyes wide with fear. But it's his stomach that gives way first. Bacarov vomits bile onto the straw and dirt floor of the barn.
"C-c-cythnigot. A parasite..." Abadar...great master...Phedron...he rose like this...the blood and the worms in his mouth...gods above and below...shield me from the emptiness... He wipes his mouth, noticing the other wand in his hands. Vinnie...he'll end up the same as Phedron...those worms...the cold... Bacarov tries to move and starts spouting what he knows of the abomination. "Cold iron...it hates cold iron...masher, use masher...get out of the barn...we have to let it burn...don't let it infect you..." He's stumbling to the exit, still wiping at his mouth as though he can feel the creature's touch upon him. "Get out, Vinnie hurry!"
Bacarov moves slowly, angling to the exit. As he passes his stricken companion, he sweeps the wand outward and activates it... "Sanabit!" The healing energies pour forth upon the big man.
"C'mon, Vinnie. Outta the barn!" Bacarov shambles out, burning bile at his lips and throat.
-- Surprise Round --
Voyla sees how the monster is about to hit one of the people inside the barn. She doesn't know who they are, or what intentions they keep in their hearts, but she is quite certain that tentacled creature is an abomination, and she will throw her lot on the strangers.
She stands out of the reeds and screams at Marsh!
"Duck!"
-- First Round --
Voyla will make sure that abomination from darkness will plague the dreams of anyone never again.
Within herself she declares a Destruction Judgment against it. She will make sure to vanquish it.
She let's a couple arrows fly towards the creature, letting Desna's power accompany each of them.
Voyla advances towards the barn, in plain sight, her slender figure brave and bold approaching the battle. She asks for Desna's favor in the incoming battle.
Dalton moves back inside in an attempt to yank Vinnie back out of the doorway so Calwen can slam it shut behind him.
The monk will expose himself to an attack of opportunity if needed.
A moment ago-
Inside the barn, the creature floats forward with shocking speed, closing on Marsh. Its pig-jaws distend, a secondary mouth lashing forth from within, lined with tusks. Marsh is caught completely off-guard as the tusked mouth tears into his chest, sending blood flying across the barn. Some of that blood splashes onto Bacarov...
"Duck!"
No blood splashes onto Bacarov's face. The warning seems to come from nowhere, a voice that neither Marsh nor Bacarov recognizes- but it is just enough, as Marsh flinches backwards just in time to avoid the pair of jaws that juts forth from within the pig's face, its tusks clattering in the space Marsh's torso occupied only an instant before.
So what had happened...? A vision, a phantom, a figment of Bacarov's imagination...? A hallucination caused by whatever terrible aura has sickened Bacarov? In any case, Marsh is in one piece, so perhaps all is for the best...
Yes, that is the idea. If they turn they will see a young Varisian girl with dark clothes and a longbow standing in the reeds some distance away from them.
As Bacarov stumbles from the barn, fear for Vinnie and from whatever lurks within...he spies a hazy shape in the reads. A woman who's commanding voice slips within the horrific memories clawing at the Inspector's mind...
He squints, hands pressed against his knees as Dalton and Camwen prepare to shut the barn doors. "Warshawski?" There is a hope within Bacarov even as his mind is yelling at him that it's not his fellow officer. He looks down at his hands, the curing wand in one and the harming wand in the other. Then back in the direction of the barn as he prepares to close the doors. No. The Void plays tricks on me. Dark magics want me to believe it's her...
Dramin hears the voice shout out and sees Marsh move, his flesh nearly rent by the cythnigot. He thinks he loses a breath knowing full well that the spores from this creature can lead to fates far worse than death.
"Cold Iron! Get as much of it as you can in case it beats down that door!" He remembers back to the boar and the small cottage, and divines that they were lucky. The monster will not be as weak.
I still have this old bow of mine...
"I have a bow if required just take it from my back!"
He doesn't have time to toss the weapon as his eyes glow with arcane magic going through him. He knows full well that this could be the end for them and he pulls no stops, readying the spell in case it does go sour.
Dramin then moves as fast as he can before the door closes behind.
"Oh you gonna step to me?! You got it piggy---pucker up!"
Masher whips around, leering faced flail growling for a strike.
"Booo-yah, how you like that apple in yer mouth?!"
[ooc]yes, because no AoO that's right
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》Cloak of Darkness (+4 ac)
》CON Drain (-1)
Bacarov steps aside as the newcomer bursts onto the scene. He gives himself beat before turning aside the wand of burning hands when he realizes his instinct had been to point it at her.
"Dalton, help brace the door with that pole. Then you and Vinnie drag Calwen out of there! Here...this may aid in protecting you..." Bacarov reaches out and grips Dalton's shoulder, begging Abadar to protect the monk as he'd done for Sebastian earlier. A dark blue nimbus surrounds Dalton. "So long as to do not strike the creature, it will have difficulty attacking you."
Bacarov draws his cold iron short sword and prepares in case the beast escapes.
Dramin takes a moment to think.
He saw the new woman join up, but all he could hear was the voice echoing in his head.
What if she's a faceless stalker? One of those mockeries? A doppelganger? A glamer? Don't give her an inch, keep an eye on her.
He casts the spell that was on his mind, the words already on his lips; hoping that the arcane energy will calm his nerves.
Standard Action: Cast Gravity Bow
Move Action: Pick up the Scythe and throw it back on his back
Free: Quickdraw Bow
As Voyla reveals herself to the investigators by providing a tool with which to bar the door, Marsh strikes at the tendril that had scored a hit on Calwen before it can slink back through the break in the boards; Masher crushes the tendril, causing the tip of it to fall to the ground and begin flailing about uselessly as black blood spurts from the wound.
Empowered by Bacarov's sanctuary spell, Dalton moves in to aid Calwen in slipping Voyla's ten-foot pole through the handles of the barn doors, then gestures for the elf to retreat as he uses his own considerable strength to hold the door closed. As the flames continue to consume the barn, the cythnigot squeals in anger and desperation and throws its weight against the doors, but Dalton holds it fast. Calwen drops to her hands and knees and tears at the vine-like tendrils coming from her wound, finally managing to tear the spore from her neck and hurling it to the ground; it quivers and reaches for her, but she bats it away before pressing a hand to her wound to stem the bleeding.
After a moment, the cythnigot's squealing stops... but the silence lasts only a moment, as suddenly there is a curious warping sound as some spell goes off within the barn, and a portion of the barn roof explodes into splinters! Smoke rushes out of this new opening, and the cythnigot floats up out of the hole, perching its deformed, grotesque body atop the burning barn, ignoring the flames that lick at its oily viscera. It hisses down at the party from several mouths, some of which are attached to its remaining tendrils. Its body continues to shift and mutate with every passing second.
Voyla gasps, draws her new magic starknife and lets our a small prayer.
"Desna bless us!"
She throws the starknife at the creature.
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》Cloak of Darkness (+4 ac)
》CON Drain (-1)
》Bless (+1 att / +1 vs Fear)
"It's magicks! It's warping the wood around it! Stand back from the barn before it collapses it on u..." He steps back, then sees the monster fully. "Gods preserve us..." Bacarov leans down to scoop up 2 of the cold iron arrows given by Dramin and hands them to Marsh. "Your bow, Vinnie...we picked a helluva time to leave Magnimar, eh mate?"
One last case...to see evil brought to justice...to see the Golden Scales balanced... Bacarov closes his eyes, visions of the horror on top of the barn wreathed in flame burned into his mind to join with his dark memories. The Inspector's hands glow, dark blue energies spiraling outward to mix with the ethereal cloak of darkness protecting him. His eyes open and their sky blue color aglow with the same energies in his hands. "Abadar, help us see...aid us in confronting fear..."
"Shit Sebastian, what was it you were talkin about? When pigs fly or some shit?! Do us a favah and stop makin euphemisms or mutant monkeys are gonna start flyin outta your ass! Flame resistant pigs would mean no bacon, right?! Now that's messed up right there. Here piggy piggy!"
Marsh launches a cold iron arrow.
"Come on down here so I can smack ya proper."
Voyla finches at the litany of curses Vincent pours out.
"Its time for you to go!"
Dramin didn't understand why most of the party was freaking out, sure the creature was a planar abomination, but in reality it was a creature as any other.
They can all die. It just takes more ingenuity than the common beast. Thats all this is.
He moves in closer before he readies the heavy bow. With the blessing of Abadar upon him he looses a focused shot with a cold iron arrow.
Bacarov's bless spell washes over the group, sharpening their focus and steadying their aim. Voyla's starknife whirls through the air like a shooting star, and the cythnigot visibly recoils at the sight of Desna's holy weapon spinning toward it. Moments later, a trio of impacts rocks the creature, the cold iron arrowheads from Marsh and Dramin's shots cutting straight through the creature's unholy defenses. It reels, its multitude of limbs flailing helplessly, and tumbles back through the weakening rooftop, shrieking as it falls back into the burning barn. A beat later, there is another banging at the barn's front door, but the ten-foot pole coupled with Dalton's strength keeps the wood from giving until finally the banging dies down.
After a moment, the high-pitched trilling sound lowers to a soft hum, then vanishes entirely.
- - - -
Behind the party, the Chenowitz house finally gives in to the raging inferno, its structure collapsing in a plume of fire and smoke that brings a wave of heat crashing forth.
Calwen drags herself to her feet, weary and seemingly still dazed from the events of the last several minutes. She moves to Windmane and leans against the warhorse for comfort, stroking its mane quietly with one hand while the other remains pressed against her neck wound. "I see no one," she observes quietly, her eyes scanning the nearby fields. "Surely, someone in the village would have seen the smoke..."
Her eyes turn to the newcomer with a hint of both gratitude and suspicion.
The girl smiles at you all. A second after her starknife flies back towards her, and she catches it.
"Thank you for destroying that abomination. What was it, anyway?"
Dalton lowers his hands with an exhausted whoosh of air - holding the wood of the front door of the barn from shattering asunder took all of his strength. Turning to Voyla, he recognizes nothing about her, but takes her to be a local. Thinking it best to remain diplomatic for as long as possible, the monk bows before her. Ignoring the aches running throughout his body as best he can, he keeps his voice level.
"I don't know what it was, exactly," the young man glances to Bacarov. "But we do know who was responsible for its creation. We're here to make sure those people can't continue on creating abominations like those. I'm sure you agree that one was enough."
He studies her face carefully, remembering that a cultist can wear everyday clothing as easily as black robes. He watches her face carefully as he asks his question...
"Have you any knowledge of...Ghlaunder?"
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"Ghoulander? Ghouls? No, I am sorry I do not. That thing was a ghoulander? Who made it?"
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Bacarov returns his sword to its sheathe, taking a deep breath as the nimbus of blue fades from his hands. He gives Dalton an appreciative look and looks to the others to ascertain their condition. When his sky-blue eyes rest upon Vinnie, images of the wounds he'd received flash across his mind. But when he looks at the big bruiser, there are none to speak of. He gives Vinnie a long look and simply bows his head once, glad to see he's unharmed.
Stooping down he scoops up the short spear from Markham's cabin and finally faces the newcomer. "Ghlaunder is the deity worshipped by whomever ran this place. What we just fought? That was a cythnigot. A plant creature, a parasite...I think this is related to the ancient qlippoths...but it's stronger than what I saw in..."
Say it...say it...stronger than what you saw in the lake shore...
"...it was stronger than normal. But it's spores are infectious, it's how it goes from host to host. When it does, it changes the host for the worse."
Bacarov studies the newcomer more closely, noting her accouterments and her facial features. Calwen's reminder that they'd have company soon brings his hackles up.
(insight)
"I'm City Watch Inspector Bacarov, you've already met Dalton...this is Calwen, knight of the White Rose...this big chunk of deadly is Officer Vincent Marsh...over here is Dramin..." Already writing off Warshawski? Where is she? Is she dead? Will she come back as one of these mutants? He clears his throat and stands a bit straighter and plants the butt of the spear in the ground to support his knee. The cloak of shadows on his shoulders swirls as he focuses on Dalton and inclines his head once. Then he shifts attention back to the newcomer. "As Dalton says, we're here to put down the corruption that's plagued Ravenmoor."
"Who are you? We've been in town for a day but not seen you around."
"City? What city? My name is Voyla Sloboda, and I was born here, but I travel a lot. If you didn't saw me, is because... well, I don't attract many glances. My pleasure meeting you."
"But I pray you tell me: Who made the creature? We must stop him!"
When Dramin hears the shriek coming from the creature on the roof, his heart nearly skips a beat. It wasn't that he was unsure of the cold iron working, but he had never seen it actually pierce as it just did.
He almost didn't notice the woman's returning dagger.
Lets solve this next mystery then.
"Dramin. Don't come any closer."
She may be one of them, she may be any number of wretched shapeshifters.
He holds his bow, a cold iron arrow drawn at her.
"Bacarov, do me a favour and give her a quick once over. She may be any number of things, the vast majority unpleasant."
Dramin's voice comes out tired, wary and a little scolding. "And we shouldn't tell her anything, even less the name of that god we are hunting. You know the power of names and we should really start using it less; especially near this accursed domain. All we need is to draw more attention."
Warshawski is gone and she magically shows up.
Voyla drops her starknife.
"Will you kill me first? Or will you hear me before?"
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Why did I offer so much do quickly? Dramin is right, I've got to be more careful... Bacarov pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and sighs. Power in names...
Phedron...
Nosatrub...
He looks towards the distance, beyond the fire, his vision blurs. It gives him the sinking feeling of an unseen darkness beyond what he can see. Like swimming in a darkened lake, the water impossibly deep, dangers lurking out in the black...
Warshawski...she swims in the black...
"Our intentions are as obvious as these flames now. But you've a good point, mate." He closes his eyes and tries reaching out with the his magicks as he's done so many times before. But it's like a person for getting his native tongue. The energies so close to him seem alien. Sebastian opens his eyes and exhales a breath he'd not known he was holding. So many changes...what did Markham awaken in me?"
But he's unwilling to reveal the loss of his ability. So he summons up the words and passes along as much confidence as he can muster.
"Lower your weapon. She tells the truth..." Bacarov gestures calmly towards the wizard. He gives the man a look as if recommending he keep an eye out just in case.
Then he addresses Voyla, "We are not certain who created the monsters here, but we will find them. For now, we must depart the area..."
"Vinnie, can you find us a path out of here? We need a moment to discuss things...in private."
"Thank you. Can I pick up my weapons?"
Dramin lowers the bow, but when he notices Bacarov's glance he does so with trepidation.
If she isn't what she is, I'll know about it before anything happens. His hand rubs the side of his neck, and surprisingly it doesn't react or cause the familiar sensual burn when he looks at her.
I can always trust in magic it seems; whether good or evil.
Dramin feels the heat on his back and recalls an old saying, one about moths and flames. The question is are we the flames that will cleanse or the moths being led on?
His pondering only lasts for a mere second as his mental exhaustion begins to kick in again. The fatigue from running out of spells was akin to a piece of his head being locked in a vacuum, pulling and pulsing every which way with the feeling of something missing. It was a loss like no other.
"Go ahead. Return your knife to you."
The mental fatigue hurts him again, and he avoids showing his wincing face by scavenging for any cold iron arrows Marsh may have left behind. When his face rises up again, its replaced by its neutral serenity.
"He says you're fine, so here we are." His voice returns its masked indifference. "And now you know us and our intentions; its only fair to know yours."
Voyla picks up her Starknife, and moves to get her bow.
Halfway there she turns and tells you all.
"And you are welcome about saving your friend there."
She signals Marsh with her head.
She gets her bow and answers Dramin.
"I don't know anything about you or your intentions, your lordship. I am only a Varisian wanderer. A peasant girl. Not a fancy Chelaxian city dweller. About my intentions, it was to save your friend there, even if that means to be threatened and questioned by you afterwards. But I would do it again, as luck is on my side, and if dead is the price I pay for do the right thing, it is a price I will gladly pay. But then again, I am a worthless Varisian girl only, right my lords?"
Sensing the tension in the air, and perhaps reminded of her own first encounter with the Magnimaran investigators, Calwen steps forward to diffuse the situation. "Please," she says, her voice still strained from the pain of her injuries, "Young Voyla, you must forgive these men their suspicions; this day has already uncovered more bloody secrets and hidden abominations than I have seen in the whole of my long life. I see that you wield the weapon of a Desnan priestess; I believe you might be the only resident of Ravenmoor true to the faith. If you are true in your desire to destroy the abominations hiding in the shadows of this village as well, then you will find an ally in this Knight of the White Rose." Calwen sighs, and withdraws the hand from her neck and stares a moment at the blood staining her gauntlet. "By Shelyn, I have seen enough ugliness in this one day to undo a lifetime of beauties in Irrisen. At least there is one bright spot in the gloom of these last minutes..." Her eyes linger on Voyla a moment before turning back to the fields.
"Do you still intend to go to Mayor Kriegler's manor, Bacarov? I pray that Inspector Warshawski is safe, but I would be lying if I said I feel safe making another excursion into those fields in search of her..." She strokes Windmane and sighs again as Dio, the young river drake, circles around and lands near the party. The little dragon-kin hesitantly steps toward Voyla and sniffs at her.
Dio turns to Dramin and speaks:
Voyla approaches Calwen.
"An I would be glad to have one like you as a friend and Ally. I am sorry for not paying attention to your wounds before. Let me use Desna's power to close your wounds, as much as I am able."
"I am afraid I am not a resident of town, as I follow Desna's path of travel and discovery, and I fear I have seen the seeds of evil in some of the practices of the town. But most of the people here is good, and maybe they seem strange because, we, as strangers, see them that way. So, even if I will want to eradicate any evil in my town as you, I won't let you harm any innocent inhabitants of town."
She fixes her eyes on the others...
"Heh, I think we woulda noticed this one if she was there when we arrived."
Marsh elbows Dalton win a chuckle.
"Thanks for the assist Hun, good timin."
"Now that we're done riskin gettin killed by levitatin flamin demon pigs what the f!+$ makes you think we're gonna start killin good people? Heh, not only that, you aren't stopping us from doin whatever it is we need to sweetheart. Join up, Sebastian here is in charge, or get outta the way.
"I'm afraid Warshawski's a goner. If Calwen couldn't catch up with a horse, we aren't gonna either. These abominations aren't gonna offer her up for ransom. If we've decided that this new chick is a friend, and looks like she is on account of that knife, maybe we need to go hit up the mayor."
"You in or out babe?"
Voyla's face harden at Marsh words. She turns to Calwen.
"Are you with them? Really?"
She faces Marsh.
"Spoken like a true Chelaxian. I will get out of your way. For now. But if you threaten any innocent person in town, maybe I won't be able to stop you, but I will try. And with a little bit of luck maybe I'll be able to do more than that, babe."
Calwen smiles weakly at Voyla's doubt, and nods understandingly. "Thank you for tending my wounds. Marsh puts on a good show, but do not let his... unfortunate choice of words affect you. You would be a strong ally, no doubt- I would be happy to have you along in our investigation. You might offer some unique insight into Ravenmoor that we outsiders may find useful."
She shoots Marsh and Dramin both a glare, then looks to Dalton and Bacarov in hopes of finding support. She then leans close to Marsh and scowls at the big man.
"Marsh, mind your tongue. Your flippant attitude and brash words do us no favors. There is no need to spit such venom at someone who would risk their life to aid us. I do not mean to sow strife, but I think we would all benefit from you keeping tighter reins on those lips of yours. Presume not to speak for us all."
Voyla looks at the others, waiting for their "opinions" on her joining them.
"Thanks moral compass."
Marsh gestures to Calwen.
"Heh, the elf isn't exactly with us. She's a Knight of the rose or somethin like that, but our paths have crossed. The rest of us are here from Magnimar. I'm not Chelaxian. I do speak things direct an truthful. If you don't like the nature of how I speak, meh, whatever."
He folds his burly arms and relaxes, obviously not threatened by Voyla.
"We aren't enemies of Desna, hun, an we are tryin to protect the people of town cause it's Sebastian's jurisdiction. I admire your spunk kid, but don't seek to cross blades with me, you'd be needin more than luck to take me down."
He looks towards Bacarov.
"Well boss, mayor's or you wanna pick a place out in the woods to fight this out with who's comin?"
"You are welcome," Calwen says to Marsh unironically.
Voyla lets a chuckle out. She tells Calwen.
"Quite the Prince Charming! I heard that happens to men when they have... shortcomings."
She turns to Marsh, and tells him in a very ironical tone.
"Don't worry, I wouldn't dare to cross swords with you, big bastion of masculinity and truth. So you can rest at ease, you have impressed me enough."
Her laughter sound light on the afternoon air.
"Heh, short comin's, yeah that's it. I'll show ya sometime if your game, I ain't embarrassed of what I'm swingin downstairs."
"The girl's a scrappy little thing. I like her better than Warshawski already. She'll fit right in."
Dramin just stares. At this point it isn't about mistrust, it is the way she speaks towards Marsh and the tension is only compounded by the inferno behind him. The exchange is fascinating, and he silently waits until laughter breaks out or Masher comes out.
It was the former.
Would you have shot her for that transgression? The same way you almost shot that old man?
He stifles the voice in his head by laughing along, though the sound coming out is shallow and disingenuous.
"If you are who you say you are then come along; though it seems you're inclined to anyway. I have no delusions that this may be dangerous and you could very well be a liar, but we all have been at some point or another." His statement, while attempting to be diffusing comes off as venomous.
Like how you didn't tell them about abandoning Warshawski?
His eyes go over to the elf, then to the fields.
Stop sulking. Master Nethys would consider failure a learning experience. You may as well begin tying your own noose if every little problem was analyzed as you have done so with the woman. The other voice came out, You consider her nothing but a little problem? You should have let loose that arrow on that old man, it would have fit you.
The fractured conversation in his head is enough and he lets out a silent shout; walking out to Voyla...
And extending his hand.