Voyla casts Divine Favor on herself and keeps looking at the pole, hidden as much as possible.
"Yes yes Duroj yes." pushing hard upon the ursine head to quieten his beast "Of course Mayor I would be honored... but first my bear and I must do the bear's business upon the woods..." raising an eyebrow to see if the delicacy of the meaning has been taken.
♤
♤
♤
》Cloak of Darkness (+4 ac | +2 Stealth)
》CON Drain (-1)
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Other item of note is the Cloak of Darkness Bacarov has been using the past 45 minutes or so in game. It’s something new you’ve not seen since the party formed up in Magnimar.
Bacarov listens over his shoulder for anything untoward. They'd been at this for too long. The fire was probably large enough now that the rats would be scurrying.
listening for Voyla/trouble
Hearing nothing, he turns the new find over in his hand, brows furrowed as he tosses the evidence and possible outcomes over and over in his head. ”Could be our erstwhile mayor is a practical cult of personality… Stirges are natural carriers of disease, he needs to keep up appearances should someone take ill in town…” The Inspector absently touches at the stirge wound on his neck, the puckered puncture point oddly close to the phantom pain born of his nightmare earlier. His subconscious prods his active thoughts to a memory from two summers passed. ”I recall a case an alchemist friend and I worked. A woman and her son setting up a street scam that unfortunately left several people maimed or worse. She fooled others into believing her son was some sort of rune prophet.” Bacarov holds up the wand and looks to Dramin. ”But she had stolen a set of wands from a senile wizard. Killed him for the items in fact. Neither she nor her son had much in the way of talent, but she knew enough to activate wands on the occasion. Makes me wonder if our mayor Kreigler is a charlatan of sorts. Bolstering his skills as a leader, his pedigree, with magics such as this wand.”
A moment of silence and he gives himself a shake. ”We need evidence. But this little twig may give us an edge. Let’s give it a turn, shall we?” He points the wand at his neck and considers the make up of the implement, then exerts his will to activate it. Best to give it a go on me first...can’t afford someone getting hurt…
Bacarov feels the energies infuse his body…
ascertain effect(s)
.
.
.
Bacarov feels the magic run thru his flesh, reinvigorating the draining wound left by the stirge attack. After a moment, he nods to Dramin. "It works. Were you injured by the stirges?"
At his soonest opportunity, Bacarov will attempt to hit up Dalton and Vinnie.
"Damn it! Fine. Time ta crack this coconut."
Marsh takes the blade of the crowbar and tries to pry the hinges off the coffer.
"Gods bless it! This damn thing is made outta Adamantium or somethin!"
"Well enough fartin around! Sebastian, I can't get this damn box open. Can I hit it with my flail or you wanna give it a go?"
"Pack it away, Vinnie, it comes with us. I'll put it in my pack and take a turn later." He signals for him to come over before heading upstairs. "Let's deal with that stirge gift, shall we?" Bacarov waves the wand towards Marsh and attempts to heal the weakening lay upon the big warrior by the stirge bite.
just needed 2
Bacarov mods to the stairs. "Dalton headed up already. Let's finish the search and get out if here."
"Hey. Alright now I'm feelin stroppy. Heh heh heh. Did we already toss Leonard's room?"
"Its definitely a possibility, though I would err on the side of caution and assume he has magical powers of his own." He remembers stories of pipers who were able to fascinate entire towns, kidnap children and move away rats.
"I don't want to jump to conclusions though, if I am able to see him again perhaps I can judge some magical auras on him and make a determination."
Hopefully seeing it won't be too late...
When he hears Bacarov's story he starts to think on the magic in the world. The way it corrupts and twists those who are weaker. That woman was only a small piece of a bigger issue in the world here.
"Its amazing that such little items can cause so much grief. A tool to improve the lives of the world and it only just removes them. The things some people do for magic." The last sentence lingers and comes off melancholy, perhaps a testament to the choices he had made in his own life.
He hears Bacarov ask him about the wounds.
"No actually. In fact I didn't encounter any..." His hand goes to his neck as he says that, thinking that perhaps there was a portent buried within it.
"I'll keep watch from inside. If there is something coming, hopefully I can sense it beforehand with the woman's assistance."
"I'll hit Lenny'boy's room then while you start upstairs. I got the box all snugged away."
In Ravenmoor...
As soon as you are out of eyeshot, you begin moving in the direction Doriv's lynch mob went. They seem to be traveling Southeast, and eventually start to pass by the largest house in town- probably the Mayor's place- situated atop a small hill, looming above the rest of Ravenmoor like some kind of sentinel. It stands out not only for its size- it's the only building higher than one story in town- but because of how well-maintained it is. At first it seems as if they are going to pass it by, but as you watch from your vantage point, Doriv steps away from the rest of the group and moves to the foot of the hill. She shouts something up at the house, and appears to be lingering around for some kind of answer.
- - - -
At the Kriegler house...
She does not appear to have noticed you, but after a moment, it looks like she might approach the house.
Inside, as Dramin watches through the windows and Vincent heads to the door of what is assumed to be Leonard's bedroom, Dalton appears at the top of the stairs, holding something in his hand.
"Nothing suspicious in the guest rooms," the monk says, but a serious look is upon his face. He holds up a folded sheet of paper. "Other than this. It was shoved behind the headboard of one of the beds. You might want to read this."
I hope this letter reaches you. I have a lot of explaining to do, and I don't love the idea of having to do it in person; can't bear to see that disapproving look in your eye. Always made me feel like a complete waste of flesh. Guess I am, in some ways. What I've been thinking of doing over the last week only confirms that.
I have to be honest with you. When I set out for Ravenmoor, I had no intention of coming back. There's nothing left for me there, I thought. Just debtors and the ghost of my dead wife, your dead sister. And you- a living reminder of how pathetic I really am. You've sacrificed so much just to keep me from drinking and gambling my way into an early grave. I just couldn't stand to come home and see you try to hurry and hide the paperwork from my debtors before I could see 'em, see you try to hide your constant disappointment in me. I know that you know that I haven't been faithful to Rumelda's memory. There have been other women since she died. It kills me to admit it, but I've looked at you some nights with thoughts dancing around in my head that I ain't proud of. I couldn't do it anymore. I had to leave. So I thought- I'll collect that 500 GP, all right. I'll collect it and just keep going. I'll head off to Riddleport, start over. Change my name, maybe. Never see you and those sad eyes of yours again.
I kept going back and forth on that the whole way there, to be honest. I wasn't completely committed to it. But then again, that's never been one of my strengths, has it?
But what I hadn't counted on was Ravenmoor itself. This village isn't what either of us thought. There's a sickness here, some kind of darkness that hangs over the people here. It lives in those fields, I think- those sick fields, the locals call 'em. I got here and saw people who didn't realize they had the wool pulled over their eyes, good, decent people at heart, with wolves walkin' among them. I didn't try to hide my suspicions. That might've been a mistake.
You remember how strong I used to be, Jem? A "hero of Sandpoint," I was. We all were, in our idiot youths, running around fighting goblins and thinking we were something special. Gods, you were just a kid then- not even old enough to drink, but you and Rumelda were right there with me, swatting greenskins and swimming in loot. I felt real, back then. Stong. Like a hero. I got here to Ravenmoor and that damn fool part of me came bubbling back up to the surface. I could've just kept my head down, collected the money, and headed back to Magnimar- or up to Riddleport. But I saw things here, things in the fields, things in people's eyes, and I thought about the man I used to be... the man Rumelda married, the man you used to admire and respect.
If what I'm about to do gets me killed, and it might just, please know this- that I love you, and that I've gone out on my own terms, trying to be some tiny little bit the man I was back when I had my pride.
-Elias Kyle
Below this is another note, in shakier handwriting, that seems to have been added later.
Found one of them snooping around outside my door. Bashed its head in with my mace. Killed the bastard cold. Don't know what it was, but it wasn't human. No face. Just tongues. "Old Man Wrinkles?"
Dalton turns the paper over. "There's more on the back. Notes, it looks like." There is a badly-drawn rough map of Ravenmoor there, with several buildings circled in red ink- The Chenowitz House, the Lupescu Trading Company, the ferry, some small house on the south side of town, and the Kriegler house itself. Below are a number of written notes, as follows:
-The Weaver - human??? This note is circled, with a line connecting it to the unfamiliar building on the south side of town.
who is leonard kriegler- real?
andretti - does he even know? cries a lot, weakling, not a threat
desna?
old man wrinkles followed by two slash marks, one of which seems to have been scribbled out.
That seems to be all of it.
The room is not exactly what you expected.
Flies buzz around the room, and a wretched stink assaults your nostrils. There are two beds in here, and nothing in the way of personal effects- unless you count the weird stains on the sunken, messy beds and splattered across the walls as personal effects. The stains are a weird black-brown, and despite your first impression, do not appear to be feces- but there is a horrid aura about the liquid, an otherworldliness that suggests that it simply should not be. Looking at the inside of the door itself, a number of strange, arcane symbols seem to have been etched into it, though they do not seem to possess any actual magical power. There is a toolbox hidden under one of the beds, and an unusual item is tucked behind it- a heavy mace that seems a bit too fancy for the room it is in. Wiping some of the muck off of it, you see the official Seal of Magnimar sculpted into the mace's head.
Meanwhile, some activity outside the house draws Dramin's attention.
"We have a problem."
Dramin waves off the letter, knowing full well that compounding the issues will do no good.
"There seems to be a mob coming, and frankly they look like they're ready for a lynching and I don't want to see another."
He ducks down not bothering to catch details. "Its Doriv, and they're asking for Leonard. I don't think she knows if we're here or not, but they may very well come to the door if fortune isn't on our side. So the question is do we attempt to stalk the mob or do we just hide out? Its clear they are coming but I would hate to be holed up and burnt down like an animal."
The scythe glints slightly, or at least it does something to draw his eyes.
"And well... There is always the most brutal solution."
Voyla asks for Desna to bless her.
She stands from the top of the house and screams to the town people.
"Hello! Voyla Sloboda here! Leonard is not home! The house is empty. If there is a crime in progress, can I join you?"
"I was seeing all of the town, and praying to our goddess, the night butterfly. I like climbing to the highest place when I do so."
"I saw the farm burn, and I think they were there a minute ago! I can't see them right now."
Vinnie takes in the room.
"<<<whistle>>> Wheww! Livin in here like a leafer. You don't present like a leafhead though Leonard. . . "
"Somethin ain't right here. This isn't man made and I've lived in enough ghettos to know that for 100."
"Hey! Sebastian! There is some gyro-glyphic s%$~ written in here. Don't think it's magic though cause it hasn't messed with my head yet."
"An ol' Lenny'boy has the fancy mace Elias was makin a show of the whole way north. An uh . . . That's not all. Somethin's been livin in here and s!~&tin its fluids around. Something tells me Leonard isn't really Leonard. Not sure that's enough for a murder writ in your book."
"But it is in mine."
Vinnie touches the oil vial in his pocket that's been tucked in there since leaving Magnimar.
"Still, one of you language and learnin types should come in an see if ya can read this s&@$."
He does not yet draw a weapon, though his bearish friend is ever armed... instead he seeks to draw nearer... near enough to listen.
♤
♤
♤
》Cloak of Darkness (+4 ac | +2 Stealth)
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Bacarov grinds his teeth. There is too much happening at once, opening the door for mistakes when it came to an investigation. He pinches the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, eyes opening in time to see Dramin's gesture to the scythe.
Outside, they can hear Voyla's intercession as she speaks to the mob. What he says next to the group is in low tones. "Let's give the new girl a chance to work. It might send them in their way. If it doesn't, I need you in the roof with her. You're more tactical, I'll need your eyes above to take in the situation. Plus I'll need your bow."
"Calwen, Dalton, you'll need to be the muscle on the ground. Vinnie too." Bacarov nods to an end table. "That should do for a shield to make your exit. Then charge the lot of them. Leafers, peasantry, they know about as much of a crossbow as I know about farming. They see you charging, they'll break."
Bacarov nods once. "Yeah, three on the ground...Dramin and Voyla up top...at the least I can depend on Dramin's bow...I'll support as best I can." He pauses and then heads for the stairs, staying as quiet as possible and staying away from the windows.
upstairs
He gets to the room identified as Leonard's, joining Vinnie and seeing the grotesque smears on the walls...then the writing.
"There's only one Kreigler..." Markham had said. In his right hand he holds the letter and notes supposedly hidden by Elias. Looking to Vinnie he says, "It seems we've underestimated the fortitude of our wayward tax collector, Vinnie. He had concerns over Leonard, didn't think he was human...he even killed one of the muties. But we have more evidence now. Both Kreiglers will need to be held to an account." He holds up the letter. "Looks like we'll need to pay a visit to the weaver too. May be she's connected to this thing."
He nods back downstairs. "There's a crowd outside. Seven leafers with Doriv whipping them up into a frenzy. They think themselves able to gather myself and this team together for a hanging party. Under multiple witness that makes her and those with her guilty of incitement, threatening of death to dutifully appointed representatives of Magnimaran law. Add to that the growth and distribution of a controlled substance, I've no problem seeing them put down." As Bacarov lists off the crimes, there is a darkening tone in his voice that Marsh has never heard in all their years together.
"Our new compatriot is looking to bluff them away. There's 7 total, armed with crossbows. I've instructed Dramin to get to the roof to provide covering fire. Then you, Calwen and Dalton charge the mob. Idiot leafheads like these, they'll break at the sight. They're expecting us to cower..." Bacarov's fists grip down on the haft of the spear. "...maybe you were right, Vinnie. Even in your jest. Perhaps this town does need an Inquisition."
Marsh snatches the letter and gives it a quick once over before handing it back to Sebastian.
"Heh, romantic sap got himself killed. But this guy isn't ready to check out. Nope. Especially not now the new hottie in the cat suit is climbin up an' down buildin's an's@&&. Life just got a little more worth livin."
Marsh ribs his pal a little.
"I'm gonna crack a window. Let's see how that b@~$$, Doriv, gettin sniped. Heh heh heh heh. Callin for my head on'ah platter eh, heh heh."
"I don't think we should move at all." Dramin looks down at himself, "You know what they say about objects at rest..."
He was wondering if it was an excuse or a valid concern, "If things go bad I'll head up but even just moving right now could upset her balance."
Dramin sees the old detective skulk upstairs, and he just watches. He doesn't attempt to move and sits down by the sill.
Something has gotten into him. Does he not trust this Voyla?
When the man starts talking of inquisitions, using the law as a cudgel and the threat of executions...
No. Its not just you. Its the town. This whole place is warping everything it seems. If he can barely keep his sanity, what chance do you ha---
Marsh's foul language and gruff laugh thankfully pulls him out of the thoughts.
With a Message he speaks under his breath.
"I'll be on the bottom floor. I can't afford a starknife in my back if she decides to turn on me and join her cult."
And then one of the men raises a crossbow and takes a pot shot at the girl on the roof. Looks like Doriv's little posse is starting their vigilante crusade sooner than expected...
- - - -
Bacarov recognizes the language of the strange symbols in Leonard's room to be Aklo, but it's all gibberish- like the ramblings of a child who has seen what writing looks like but does not understand how to read it, only blindly mimicking the shapes. The foul stains all over the room are neither blood nor feces; they seem to be some sort of biological secretion, but there is a vileness to them that feels very much like the writing itself. There is something markedly unnatural about this room.
From the window, the party sees Doriv's posse talking with Voyla, and for a moment, it seems the young Varisian has convinced Doriv to move on... but they all pause suddenly, and after a moment, one of the men raises a crossbow and takes a shot at Voyla!
- - - -
One of the men points up at her. "She's the girl that won that starknife-throwin' contest. She got good aim, better'n any of us. She'll be useful, Doriv."
The owner of the mill nods. "Sounds good. Get down from up there, kitty-cat, an' let's..."
Something cuts her off. She pauses in place, as does every member of her group, as if something has struck them all at once.
She signals one of the men next to her. He raises his crossbow, levels it at you, and pulls the trigger.
The shot goes horribly wide, however, clinking off the roof tiles next to you.
ROLL INITIATIVE!
Round One:
The Kriegler House, as a quick reminder (link)
Doriv's party surrounds the house, Doriv herself skirting the outside wall and pressing her back to the wall next to the door. The way she moves suggests more training than one might have expected from her appearance. "We know you're in there, Magnimar!" she shouts. "This is normally the part where we establish terms of your surrender, except- oh, wait! You don't get to surrender, because you [i]murdered my boyfriend![i]" Her six men begin strafing the sides of the house, one taking up position in front of each of the front windows while the others move around the sides of the house.
The two men at the living room windows bash the windows with the butts of their crossbows, shattering the windows.
Outside, in the field, something moves. From the nearby bushes, where Windmane and Dio were hiding, a horrific squeal sounds.
Voyla appeals to the town people.
"Friends, don't do this, run and save your lives. Desna is a god of goodness, of travelers! To attack the Magnimar people is a mistake!"
She tries to look where Wildmane and Dio where hiding, searching for that enemy, also using her Detect Magic ability.
♤
♤
♤
》Cloak of Darkness (+4 ac | +2 Stealth)
listening for Voyla
Bacarov slams a fist against the wall and curses, his anger blocking out the mob's response to Voyla. Neither Marsh nor Dramin were listening. But at the least he'd have an archer overlooking the situation. "I need your brute force downstairs, Vinnie, in case they decide to..."
The crash of broken glass from downstairs interrupts his thought process. Bacarov grits his teeth. "Fine, if you get a shot on Doriv, put her down. Without a leader to whip them up, maybe the leafheads will scatter."
Bacarov heads downstairs, spine flaring in pain as he goes. He sees the glass from the front window broken in, the gathered party ahead. He looks behind him and up the stairs where Marsh is posting up on the window. The scales rest upon a knife's edge, great Abadar. We need to tip them in our favor and brush this scum away from Ravenmoor once and for all...
The Inspector's sky-blue eyes glow brightly, and he shudders as a wave of energy pulses outward from him to wash over Marsh, Dramin, Dalton and Calwen.
Filled with the energies of his spell, Bacarov shouts into the din of birthing violence, rage filling his heart.
School: enchantment (compulsion) [mind-affecting]
Level: Adept: 1; Cleric: 1; Inquisitor: 1; Oracle: 1; Paladin: 1; Shaman: 1; Warpriest: 1
Casting Time: 1 standard action
Components: V, S, DF
Range: 50 ft.
Area: The caster and all allies within a 50-ft. burst, centered on the caster
Duration: 1 min./level
Saving Throw: none
Spell Resistance: yes (harmless)
Mythic: Has Mythic version
Source: Core Rulebook
Summary: Allies gain +1 on attack rolls and saves against fear.
Bless fills your allies with courage. Each ally gains a +1 morale bonus on attack rolls and on saving throws against fear effects.
Bless counters and dispels bane.
Active Effects: Mage Armor
Dramin sees a flash. Its only a brief image, and its one of a statue and a javelin being tossed; yet the statue remains steadfast and the javelin bounces off uselessly.
When he hears the screaming outside and the loosed arrow hitting the roof, it immediately makes sense.
He clutches the scroll in his hands and unfurls it, speaking the words that empower his bow.
Free Action - Quickdraw Bow
Standard - Cast Gravity Bow from the Scroll (CL1)
"It was foolish of me to think better of you all."
Dramin stands out of the cover and faces the window.
He sees the lynch leader, and he feels something amiss. The conversation seemed jarring. Almost as if he was missing a voice.
No need to hesitate. Its as easy as breathing.
Standard Action - Focused Shot on Doriv
After the arrow looses he drops back to the floor, taking cover from the incoming assault.
Free Action - Drop Prone
Marsh takes time to line up his shot . . .
"Well come on Dramin, how else did you see this goin down? I mean, it's frickin weird to have someone sittin on the roof of your friends house right? Do-tee-do-tee-doo---Hey there guys! Just comin over to visit my buddy Dramin---oh look there's a strange hot chick on his roof, hummm, seems legit.", said no one ever. Right?!"
He looses a blackened steel barbed arrow . . .
It streaks towards its target and finds flesh.
"Ohhhh! You shoulda seen the look on that b&#&~es face! See ya downstairs buddy for the real fight. --- Oh, hey we still have an alchemist fire. It's gonna be a real house warmin party tonight boy."
From Vinnies perspective and your description:
Varisian girl at the top of her beauty and physical condition , lithe but not overtly athletic , dressed in dark clothes . Her hair, somehow, looks grey instead of black, and with the correct light you can notice her big dark eyes are dark grey too . If you ask her, and you have win her confidence, she will tell you their are the color of the night. Normally silent, her voice has a deep raspy tone. She has long legs, big mouth, and a beautiful figure .
Age: 21; Height: 5'6"; Weight: 140 lbs
"To be honest Marsh I expected them to be country bumpkins and easily fall prey to a few sweet words! But alas, I clearly know nothing about that!"
He sees and arrow fly from the house.
"Well at least I can count of you to hit something in the mob out there!"
During the Surprise Round...
Dramin, sensing danger, casts gravity bow, empowering his arrows.
Round One Summary:
Voyla's impassioned attempt at calming down Doriv's lynch mob fails, the villagers far too riled up by now to be affected. As she hears the cries of Dio and Windmane from their hiding place in the bushes behind the house, she looks down and sees Windmane rearing up, whinnying in fear. Though she sees nothing attacking the warhorse, nonetheless several deep, red gashes tear their way across Windmane's flanks. Dio, terrified, spreads its wings and flicks away into the air, squawking in fear.
A moment later, Bacarov descends the stairs and performs his bless spell. The wave of divine energy sweeps through the Kriegler house, filling everyone inside with a bit of holy strength. At his declaration of judgment, several of the villagers laugh.
That laughter is quickly cut short as both Dramin and Marsh unleash arrows, each targeting Doriv and each finding their mark. Neither strikes a fatal blow, but Doriv reels back from her hiding place, cursing loudly as one bolt pierces her shoulder and another hits her in the calf. She reels from the damage, but does not fall. It seems the owner of the mill is a bit tougher than she appears...
Outside, the halfling Niklos and his bear, Duroj, sneak closer to the melee, lining themselves up to charge at Doriv or the man at her side as soon as they see an opening.
Calwen, hearing Windmane's pained cries, peers out the back window and cries out in fear. "Dalton, hold the door!" she shouts, then hefts her bastard sword and steps through, moving as quickly as her armored legs can carry her toward the brush. Dalton has no chance to object, and simply follows her order, slamming the backdoor shut and bracing himself against the door, his keen eyes on the windows in search of the next incoming attack.
- - - -
Round Two - Enemy Phase
Cursing angrily and snatching one of the bolts from her body, Doriv shouts to her posse: "Hold 'em here! Looks like we're movin' to Plan B! I'll be back with the stirges!" With that, she breaks into a run, moving with impressive speed considering her wounds.
Two crashes sound from Leonard's room, as the two men who had moved around to that side of the manor smash through the windows and begin climbing in. The terrible stench and eerie sight of the room seems to give them pause, however.
The two at the front windows, however, have no such distraction, and take aim at Bacarov and, with Dramin's cover too strong, Dalton.
Neither, however, finds its mark; Bacarov's shadowy cloak and Dalton's evasive abilities defy both projectiles, leaving them both unharmed.
On the east side of the house, one continues circling around, looking for the back door; the last of the men, the same one who fired upon Voyla before, backs up and takes another shot at the young Desnan priestess.
Voyla ducks her head out of the way as the shot streaks overhead.
In the brush outside, Windmane rears back, kicking at his invisible attacker, but cannot seem to find his target. Something else, mostly-hidden by the reeds, lashes out at the horse a moment later.
hits, for dmg plus poison
hits, for + dmg
fail, for strength damage.
.
Sweeney Todd!?
Type poison (injury); Save Fortitude DC 14
Frequency 1/round for 2 rounds
Initial Effect 1 Con damage; Secondary Effect unconsciousness for 1d3 hours; Cure 1 save
Marsh quickdraws a container from his belt pouch and dabs it on his arrows. He draws a head on the fleeing Doriv.
"How abouts . . . Plan C. . . "
<<<TWANG>>> --- <<<Thwack!>>>
"I shoot you and you die instead."
"Enjoy my little suprise! Heh heh heh."
Seeing the leader of the mob break away with claims to further depravity, Niklos is stirred to action. Urging speed from his ursine companion he bids the bear "Duroj, omorî!" pointing towards the rapidly departing woman. The bear complies with a susurrant growl, legs loping and eating up the earth between the two of them. Niklos draws steel and trots along in his companion's wake.
Voyla look in horror how Windmane is attacked.
"There is something, invisible, attacking the horse!"
She sees Doriv running away and decides she don't have other choice than to stop him.
♤
♤
♤
Bacarov arrives at the bottom of the stairs and sees the villager climbing thru the window. The wand of burning hands comes up as he says, "If I were a priest of Desna, I might offer mercy..." He levels the wand at the man and shakes his head. "But I am not. I'm a seeker of balance. A seeker of truth."
Ranged Touch
15 ft cone
As the flames engulf the man, he adds, "...sometimes truth comes from a purging fire." To the doorway to Leonard's room, shouting above the screams of the Burning man, Bacarov warns.
Bacarov upends his pouch of caltrops in front of the doorway to Leonard's room.
Round Two Summary (Player Phase)
As Doriv flees back toward Ravenmoor, Marsh's poisoned arrow strikes her, just barely, but it is enough to send her stumbling to the ground; moments later, Voyla's volley strikes true as well. However, Doriv doggedly continues to crawl forward... at least until a BEAR comes charging across the field, intercepting her. Doriv shrieks in surprise and fear as the creature hungrily looms over her, and she is too wounded to escape. A figure, short of stature, runs along in the wake of the bear's charge- perhaps a halfling? In any case, he seems more interested in fighting off this raving lynch mob than attacking the investigators from Magnimar...
Back inside Kriegler manor, the chaos continues. Bacarov draws Nettleby Brackenweld's old wand as one of the men from Doriv's posse opens the door from Leonard's room. Flames wash over the man, and he drops to the floor, shrieking in pain. The flames threaten to spread, but at the moment, there is a battle to fight; the spread of fire can be addressed later.
Dramin pops up from the floor and takes aim at one of the men at the window he had shot Doriv through earlier. He lines up his shot as the man prepares to climb in through the broken window.
It is a fine shot, and with the spell's effect magnifying the arrow's weight, the man is thrown backwards, rolling end over end as the arrow pierces him between the eyes. Dramin repeats his earlier strategy, dropping to a prone position as soon as the shot makes contact.
As Windmane's cries grow more desperate and agonized, Calwen runs from the back door toward the brush where the warhorse was hidden, desperate to save her beloved mount. She makes it to the brush, and after taking a moment to analyze the movements of the reeds, chances a swing of her bastard sword at the space next to Windmane, hoping to strike something.
Unfortunately, fighting an invisible foe is a nigh-impossible task, one that Calwen is not quite up to on this occasion. She cries out in frustration as her sword finds no purchase.
Dalton does not seem willing to abandon his station, but takes a step back from the door and prepares himself for action should one of the posse make their way to the door.
- - - -
Round Three - Enemy Phase
The last remaining man at the front windows seems shaken at the demise of Doriv and his other comrades, but nonetheless levels his crossbow through the window and takes a shot at Bacarov, whose countenance has become even darker and more terrifying as his shadowy cloak expands and flames lick from his wand.
The bolt's aim is true, but instead of piercing Bacarov, the shadow cloak seems to absorb the projectile and deflect it away, leaving the investigator unharmed.
The man in Leonard's room looks down at his barbecued friend and growls in anger, dropping his crossbow and pulling a very large hunting knife from his belt as he runs at Bacarov, the nearest target.
No crit.
Bacarov dodges backward, but the man's furious swipe gouges his arm.
Outside, the two remaining members of the mob continue to circle around. The one who had been firing at Voyla, frustrated at his inability to land a shot, instead changes targets. Seeing Calwen swinging away at something in the reeds, he aims his crossbow at the elf.
The shot glances off of one of the knightess' pauldrons, however. The other man circles around to the back of the house and steps into the doorway... only to face a flurry of strikes from the waiting Dalton.
and Both hit, for + damage.
Dalton is a whirlwind of steel, his temple sword striking low and then high before the man can so much as gasp in surprise. He slumps to the floor, dead before he hits the ground.
In the brush, it seems that Windmane is attack from not one, but two assailants, one from either side. The one Calwen attacked, however, seems to change targets.
hits, for damage.
Calwen takes a hit from something, red marks tearing themselves across her forearm, but the damage is minimal; however, she seems momentarily weakened.
hits, for damage.
From the other side of Windmane, the failing light glances off some razor-sharp metal object as it rises and falls. Blood spurts into the air, and the mighty warhorse whinnies weakly and sinks to the ground, shuddering once before going still.
With the horse fallen, the grinning figure that had been hiding behind him is momentarily visible- but only to Calwen, who screams in anguish as her longtime companion is struck down.
- - - -
You are not sure how long you've been out.
The sickly-moist, oppressively hot air of Ravenmoor fills your lungs as you breathe, the task labored by the severe pain wracking your body. Your head is spinning- the room rotates around you, not making the task of gathering your thoughts and clearing your mind any easier. At least you know that you're in a room of some kind- that's a start. You also know that your wrists and ankles have been bound with rope.
You feel exposed. Your things have been taken from you- most of them, anyway, as you realize that thankfully your holy symbol of Ashava remains, and your captors at least had the decency to leave you clothed. Your leather cuirass is still strapped on, and it seems some of your mundane possessions have not been stolen. That said, quite a few things are missing- your bladed scarf, your silver dagger, and most of your magical items: the ioun torch, the hand of the mage, even your boots of the cat have been removed. The sleeves of many garments, you recall suddenly, you had lent out to Marleyna Bartley to help her win the Queen of the Festival contest. Right- the contest. The festival. It all starts coming back to you...
Ravenmoor. Elias Kyle, the missing tax collector. Mayor Kriegler. Robb Bartley. Markham Dagwood. The sick fields.
You hear the floorboards creaking from somewhere nearby, and as you blink blood from your eyes, you roll toward the source of the sound and find yourself looking through a doorway without a door- out onto a porch of some kind. A figure sits facing away from you, staring out into the moor. It is human in shape, but parts of it are all wrong- one grossly malformed shoulder sprouts bits of chitinous armor, and quill-like hairs spring from one side of the thing's otherwise bald head. It rocks back and forth, whistling a delicate tune as it stares out into the bog.
Past it, you can see the familiar pale expanse of the sickly Chenowitz fields. Smoke billows up in two distinct pillars from where you expect the Chenowitz farm and barnhouse should have been. You've been taken out past the field, to some sort of little cabin or hut; the place seems to be in poor shape, with rotted floors and a simple, weak-looking table in the corner. Patches of moss dot the walls, and what looks like vines poke up through the floorboards in places. One particular floorboard seems to just up a bit, a sharp point poking up into the air.
You remember not being alone in this room not so long ago. Two people were here, talking over you in a language you did not understand; but one of them, you were sure, was Leonard Kriegler. The other... well, she sounded like an old woman, but it was not a voice you recognized.
Having caught up with the now cowering figure Duroj growls with bared teeth and nascent intent. Niklos hustles to draw alongside his companion and with sword bared checks upon the woman's condition...
...finding her fortitude insufficient to match the wounds sustained. With solemn look upon his face Niklos assesses if the woman is likely to live...