The magus falls as if in slow motion, his limbs cold and stiff. Images pass through his eyes in rapid succession. The cave floor breaks the eternal fall.
Bloodied and bruised, he hears one of the snarling humanoids next to him but cannot see him as his eyes are flooded with the image of the Lady.
Before he knows what he's doing, a prayer rises to his lips but it dies there as the poison barely allows him to breathe.
Suddenly his eyes are flooded with light and Iomedae's words soothe his limbs. "Rise warrior. Your time has not yet come... The light slowly recedes from his eyes and thaws out his entire body.
Then it all happens too fast. The ghouls rising up the rope and the one ready to sink his teeth and claws in him. Pellius knows he's only been given one shot and that he must end this fight quickly.
The magus instinctively reaches for his spell pouch and his fingers pull up colored sand.
Carefully to avoid any attacks before his spell is completed, Pellius rolls slightly on the ground so that he faces both his attacker and the ghouls careening up the rope.
He thanks the Lady proper and utters the arcane words that transform the sand in a multi-color spray...
With no other weapons to hand, Pyotr grabs the heaviest object close-by, heaves it over his head and drops it on the two ghouls hanging from the rope. The bundled armor and glaive make an unholy racket in the close confines of the cave as they collapse to the floor in a heap with the ghouls.
Bonegrit curses silently and peers over the ledge to unleash a quick arrow into the neck of the ghoul that succeeded in dragging Pellius to the bottom of the tunnel. Much to the ranger's dismay, the creature shows no signs of stopping despite the shaft protruding from its throat.
>
>>
Following half-orc's lead, Alagor is quick to retrieve his weapon. Delkaneth's unconventional descent adding to the already existing chaos in the room bellow, Alagor is more than aware that he can not attack with a ranged weapon without the possibility of hitting one of his own friends. At the same time, the speed which these creatures demonstrated in scaling the rope foretells bad things to come. After both Bonegrit and Pyotr released their projectiles, Alagor nudges his way in front of them, with his large sword ready to decapitate any monster appearing from bellow.
With a herculean effort, Pellius wills his body into obedience; rolling across the floor and casting his spell. Rainbow colours explode into life and briefly banish the gloom from the bottom of the pit, but they wash over the ghouls with no effect.
Above him, Pyotr embarks on a much cruder tactic. Taking his bundled armour, he hauls it over the lip of the pit at the foes below. The falling object crunches into one of the ghouls, nearly knocking it from the rope, then past to crash to the floor with an unholy clatter of plate and the sweet chime of Tanerit’s glaive.
Delkaneth releases the rope, hoping to drop directly onto the other ghoul. However, as the Chelaxian falls towards it swings swiftly to the other side of the rope, leaving Del plunging hopelessly past it to the floor below. He tries his best to land with some grace, but turns his ankle as he falls, landing in flat on his arse before the ghoul that bit Pellius.
Agtharda steps into the place vacated by Delkaneth and pulls a battered old knife from one baggy sleeve, which she hurls at the ghoul already wounded by Pyotr’s falling armour. The blade scratches past the monster’s sternum, though the ghoul doesn’t pause climbing up.
Meanwhile, Bonegrit’s arrow finds its mark in a ghoul’s throat but fails to stop the creature as it looks from one prone man to the other, trying to decide which to feast on first. It finally opts for the freshest prey, and tears into Delkaneth.
Delkaneth flails back and forth, trying to keep the savage ghoul at bay, but one of its claws punches through the studded leather at his shoulder and finds flesh. Like Pellius, Delkaneth is paralyzed by the monster’s vicious caress.
Behind Alagor can be heard Khozin’s excited yipping; “Hey, what’s happening you big oaf, I can’t see!”
“Yikes!” cries Khozin as a ghoul scrambles over the edge, only to be immediately sliced in twain by Alagor. The separate halves tumble back into the pit, narrowly avoiding those battling below. The third ghoul has yet to reach the top, but is close enough for those gathered there to strike.
A map of the bottom of the pit can be found here.
Cursing himself for wasting the spell, the magus manages to get up from the floor. Not wanting to get close to the claws or bite of the foul undead, the magus utters another arcane phrase. This time, his hand starts to glow a bright yellow, almost golden. Pellius opens his hand and wills the light into a beam that strikes the undead square in its chest. Where the light strikes, it leaves burnt, withered flesh behind.
Trying to make some sense of the bedlam happening bellow, Alagor tries to somehow explain the situation to Khozin: "Pellius was attacked by some undead creatures and pulled bellow. Del jumped in to help him. A mess."
Spotting that the next creature is just within arms reach, Alagor pulls even closer as he tries to strike the climbing ghoul, only to fumble in the most foul way.
Pyotr hefts his shield into the most defensible position he can manage, while his armor lays strewn across the cave floor. He removes a flask from his belt, hurling it at the ghoul savaging Delkaneth.
The flask explodes against the creature's dessicated skin, just as a golden beam from Pellius strikes it from the other side.
Pyotr's flask explodes against the ghoul's dessicated skin, just as the golden beam from Pellius strikes it from the other side. The creature is blasted into dust.
It would help me quite a bit if you were to give us an idea of the opponents health whenever you wrap up a round. Thanks.
Bonegrit retrieves another arrow from his quiver and draws it back quickly, releasing it at the only remaining creature. Given the cluttered nature of the confines below, the shot flies errant. He snarls in frustration momentarily before dropping his bow and retrieving the axe that is strapped to his back..
Emboldened by his spell, the magus first makes sure that no one else is around the bottom of the pit. Hoping Del will be fine, he tightens his fist once a again and loosens another concentrated beam of light at the ghoul up the slope. He virtually screams, "By the Lady's light, you shall burn!"
The ray hits, once again leaving burnt, darkened flesh in its wake.
Bonegrit’s arrow flies errant, ricocheting off the walls of the pit. The last ghoul, having seen its companion so easily dismembered, concludes descent a better option, and mirrors Delkaneth’s move, releasing its grip on the rope and plunging down on those below.
Although the fall would have hurt a mortal man, the ghoul’s supernatural agility and already dead flesh allow it to shrug off the drop. It lands heavily beside the prone Delkaneth, swiping wildly at him with his claw. The talon goes through Del’s throat, and his heartsblood begins jetting into the air.
Initiatives:
Ghoul already acted
Pellius
Khozin & Pyotr
Agtharda
Bonegrit
Delkaneth
Alagor
Missing the ghoul with his attack, Alagor understands that it was probably the number of the defenders on the ledge that made the ghoul to simply give up and turn to "softer" target. Not realizing that Delkaneth was paralyzed, he shouts in frustration: "Del, get up! as he drops his sword nearby and reaches for his newly acquired bow. Remembering what Bonegrit has shown him, he steadies his breath, tries to focus his mind only at the target and releases an arrow. Strange as it may be, fact that Del was not moving was actually helping him at this moment, since Alagor was not a very good shot with a bow.
Seeing fresh, arterial blood from Del was the last thing the magus wanted to see. Another monster had jumped down. Not wanting to waste another spell, Pellius imbues his sword with part of his arcane might.
The magus grips his longsword in two hands and strikes a vicious cut at the ghoul's head.
Pyotr can only watch in horror as the creature drops back to the cavern floor tearing Del's throat with its disease-ridden claws.
"Help him, priest!" he shouts at Khozin.
He pulls another vial of holy water from his pouch, throwing it at the undead monstrosity.
"Get down there," he urges the cleric. "I will be right behind you."
Bonegrit quickly replaces an arrow and lets loose against the rotting terror below. Delkaneth's situation looks dire, and he hopes he can fell the beast before it continues its onslaught. His aim proves truer than his previous shot, the arrow streaking unerringly into the ranger's prey. "Hang on, Delk!"
With Delkaneth down () and bleeding, Pellius grips his longsword with two hands and strikes a vicious cut at the ghoul’s head. His blade smashes through the monstrosity’s temple, cutting all the way down to the jawbone, yet incredibly it still does not fall.
Then Pyotr’s ceramic vial bursts over it, and mercifully the final ghoul dissolves into dust. The desperate fight is over.
"Get down there. I will be right behind you."
Galvanised by the paladin’s words, Khozin squeezes past the warriors, grabs hold of the rope and shimmies down in short order. He darts to Delkaneth’s side, laying his slender hands on the dying Chelaxian’s throat and praying ”Alseta, these doors into this man’s frail flesh have been opened too soon. Contain the life that boldly seeks exit and seal them once more.” The blood ceases to leap from Delkaneth's savaged throat.
Unlike the natural walls, the floor of the pit is worked stone, carefully levelled. A great portcullis bars the way deeper into Taxathar’s Bane. Each bar of the gate is barbed and ridged sharply, so that any hands gripping them would be flayed.
Worked stone though the floor of the pit might be, you see no evidence of the hand which so worked it. There’re no marks of tools, no laying of flagstones. Perhaps magic levelled the floor so precisely.
Something seems odd here. Ghouls are notoriously ravenous, craving rotting flesh, and as such their lairs are filthy places littered with the detritus of the corpses they devour (no doubt ideal places for a rotcrown fungi to take hold). Yet the bottom of pit is clean, with not even the smallest scrap of bone evidence of the ghoul’s hunger.
Pyotr dives for the rope after Khozin. The last ghoul collapsed under the barrage even as Pyotr repelled to the cavern floor. Khozin's power reduces Delkaneth's hemorrhage to a bloody gash. Pyotr claps the cleric on the back as it becomes clear that Del will survive the attack.
Pyotr begins piecing together the scattered suit of mail, grimacing as he discovers several new dings from the impromptu fall. After several minutes work, he manages to tie down all the straps, and stands once again armored head to toe, the missing right gauntlet conspicuous by its absence. He straps the heavy shield across his back, and retrieves his glaive and a dagger.
"A fine throw at that distance," he says as he returns the dagger to Agtharda. "Does it strike you as odd... this place, as a ghoul lair? There are no bones. No remnants of clothing or armor. I can not imagine a pack of ghouls that do not feed."
Agtharda slides nimbly down the rope like a rigging monkey on a ship at full sail.
The half-orc speaks to her, but she waves away his question, taking back her dagger and plucking up the wand from her belt. She looks at Pyotr, points at the wand and then at fallen Delkaneth, apparently asking for permission to make use of it.
Panting at the close call, Pellius is happy that Del is out of danger. He nods towards Agtharda, "Aye, please do use it. Both Del and I could use some healing."
[oov]later[/ooc]
He then takes a closer look at his bitten leg. The wound looked foul and the magus thought it was already smelling bad. He grabbed water and bandages and tried his best to clean the bite area.
"I wouldn't mind if someone more savvy would take a look at our wounds." He chuckled to interrupt his own worried train of thought, "I don't think these undead brush their teeth often, you know?"
Seeing that Pellius and Pyotr were able to put down last of the ravenous creatures, Alagor casts a glance overhis shoulder, towards Bonegrit who also held his bow nocked with an arrow waiting to released. While Khozin squezees past them, Alagor lets a small sigh of relief before he puts his arrow away. Placing the bow on his back, he picks up his sword, checks up all his equipment and slowly, but carefully descends bellow.
Once down, he notices with satisfaction that Khozin was able to heal Delkaneth on time. With so many of thm around, and not having almost any knowledge on how to mend people (unlike how to hurt them, he knew that very well), Alagor pays attention to his surrounding, taking great deal of time and care studying the portcullis and hoping to find some way to open it.
"Aye, please do use it. Both Del and I could use some healing."
At Pellius’ words, Agtharda shuffles over to Delkaneth as the battered man drags himself to his feet. She raises the wand and touches it to his throat, the bloody gash still apparent as a grave wound. The wand’s an arrow-straight shaft of black hickory, shod neatly in silver, tipped with a pale stone of quartz bound in electrum mesh. Much impeded by her missing tongue, Agtharda pronounces the command word.
“Gooo-gurn-threee.”
“Goo-gam-tee.”
“Guuugant-tun-tee.” The stone at the wand’s tip flickers softly.
“Gooougan-friiie.” The light at the end of the stone dies, and Agtharda’s shoulders slump in defeat and sigh passes her warty lips. She waves her hand in a helpless gesture, and returns the wand to its place beside the scroll case dangling from her belt.
Meanwhile, Alagor, Pellius and Khozin press their attention to the matter of the portcullis. The struts run both vertically and horizontally, each one wrought of twisted, barbed iron as thick as a pikeshaft. The square spaces between the bars are barely wide enough for a man to thrust his hand through. The whole portcullis is a full twelve feet wide and rises in an arc fifteen feet high.
Pellius’ glimmering feather illuminates little of what lies beyond. However, there’s a sense the gate enters into a cavern or room or some size by the cool, freshness of the air and echoing dripping of water plopping steadily. They can see a wide, paved walkway - or could it be a bridge? - extending away into the gloom.
As to a way of opening the portcullis, nothing reveals itself, but on this matter, Khozin is able to offer some counsel.
“My mentor Ohrim spoke a little of such fell entrances as these,” he says, stroking his wispy, blonde goatee “And many such barred entry to the dark bastions of Tar-Baphon. He named them as Fanggates, imbued with wicked sorcery and devilishly strong. With no key it will difficult to bypass, but though I’m sure you’ll all be very disapproving, I do have some skill in managing without. But first the lock must be revealed, and for a Fanggate, there is only one means. Blood smeared upon the bars. And not just any blood. The blood of a man yet to lay with a woman, or of course, the reverse. Does anyone qualify?”
In the dim light, it is hard to see the deeper shade of green on Pyotr's cheeks. It is hidden even more effectively as he dons his helm, leaving only eyes exposed... eyes that do not seem to meet any others, even neglecting to scowl at the thief as he steps next to him.
"Anywhere?" he queries the cleric as he reaches out his gauntlet-less hand. At Khozin's indication, he grasps one of the bars and watches as a small trail of blood leaks down the ridged surface.
At Khozin’s direction, Pyotr grasps the first of the bars. The razor-sharp ridges crease, then cut his palm. A small trail of blood leaks down the surface and Khozin watches carefully. After a couple of moments he shakes his head and points to the adjacent strut, bidding Pyotr repeat the process, but still to no avail.
“Again,” instructs Khozin, tapping the next bar and making little effort to conceal some small amusement as the half-orc’s discomfort.
“There!” adds the half-elf. On the third strut anointed with Pyotr’s innocent blood, a keyhole can suddenly be seen. Quite invisible but moments before, now the narrow slot is quite plain to all.
“Okay. My turn. Alseta guide my hand. Bring the feather closer.” Suddenly, a pair of lock picks rest between Khozin’s fingers. His eyes narrow with concentration as he slides them into the keyhole. It only takes a couple of deft turns, then with a might , a greater and a long, drawn-out grinding of gears, the portcullis rises up into the ceiling.
"Hope the guardians beyond are a bit more accommodatin' than this lot," Bonegrit mutters, kicking one of the felled ghouls as he steps past. This place frightened him, not that he'd let the others catch on to that. Mountains he preferred, but this bunch's propensity for tangling with rot-and-death that still moved is starting to get the better of him. They are not something he is terribly familiar with, even in spite of his many caravan trips into and out of Ustalav. Now, he has to tread directly into the domain of the Whispering Tyrant and the shadow of his unholy tower. Bonegrit shivers a bit.
"And let's hope the next door ain't locked any tighter."
"Hope the guardians beyond are a bit more accommodatin' than this lot, and let's hope the next door ain't locked any tighter."
"I agree." Pyotr presses the wound on his hand. Flashes of the day he was captured and dragged to Lastwall pass through his mind. He sucks the wound, the same as he did as a child, and momentarily feels the same flash of fear. "At least there are no dogs..." he mutters to himself.
Pyotr draws the wand and hands it to Delkaneth. "I had nearly forgotten this. Let us find out if the price we paid was worthwhile."
It took a few moments before Alagor was able to comprehend what Khozin was saying (asking for). Just about when he was to react, Pyotr steps forward and provides the group with a solution, which furthers Alagor's bewilderment. Well, this is good, very good, if a bit unexpected. I was already fearing that we'll have to go back to Freedom Town in order to scour the orphanages...
Noticing once again Khozin's deftness with the lock, he advances towards the head of the column. In a low voice he addresses Pyotr "Do you want us armored types to go ahead, or would you like stealthier breed to go first?"
Pyotr quickly waves off Delkaneth's offer of healing, pointing to the wounded Pellius. "I am fine," he says, though he continues to apply pressure to his hand. "See to Pellius. The ghouls were nearly as deadly to him as to you."
Pyotr stares into the darkness as far as his vision will allow. "Bonegrit and I can see in this darkness. But, he is much more skilled at sniffing out dangers than am I. And I would much prefer taking them unawares, rather than the reverse. Would you like the vanguard?" he asks the ranger. "Alagor and I will be close upon your heels should you find trouble."
Bonegrit nods sedately. "It's why I'm here, yeah? You hear a cry or a gurgle, light a fire under yer rears."
Sparing no more words, Bonegrit slinks forward at a half crouch, following along the wall of the passage ahead and keeping a wary eye forward. The hairs on the back of his neck remain standing at attention.
Pyotr waits several moments for Bonegrit to get a sizable lead before following at a measured pace.
Feeling better but still well-bloodied by the ghouls, the magus pulls out his longsword and follows along.
His gaze goes to his calf and the teeth marks left by the undead. The magus remembers hearing about an unfortunate scout who had to be put down while on duty when his bite wound festered and his head burned with fever.
Trying to shake the unfortunate vision from his mind, the magus concentrates on the feel of sword. one step at a time
Bonegrit nods sedately. "It's why I'm here, yeah? You hear a cry or a gurgle, light a fire under yer rears."
Chuckling slightly under his breath at half-orc liberal choice of words, Alagor nods giving a signal to Pyotr that he is ready and then falls in step next to the paladin. Mimicking Pellius, he draws he great sword finding some strange solace in the soft sound of blade leaving it's sheath. The soothing touch of cold tempered metal brings some distant images into his mind, if only for a briefest of moments, and Alagor feels that his senses are heightened, and that he and the sword are one, as always.
The sudden appearance of the flying source of light behind their back surprises him for a second, but also precludes the question that he was about to ask. Elated, Alagor sludge's forward illuminated by the dim light of Del's magical trinket.
Marching order
Bonegrit
Pellius
Delkaneth
Khozin
Alagor
Agtharda
Pyotr
Bonegrit slips off into the darkness, then the rest of the party ventures after him, encircled by the flickering glow of Del’s ioun torch and the cool light of the feather touched behind Pel’s ear. Passing under the fanggate, it swiftly becomes apparent that it is indeed a bridge beyond.
As they pass beneath the portcullis, Khozin nudges Alagor and whispers “Of course, in truth, the blood needn’t really be from a virgin.” The half-elf winks.
The bridge is a level, flat span, carefully paved with flags of stone. Twenty foot wide, thick parapets of stone flank each side to knee height. Massive pylons of black basalt support the structure, which stands in a subterranean lake of considerable size. The exact dimensions are hard for the band to judge; their lights cannot encompass its full extent. The surface is only a few feet below the bridge. Concentric ripples continually drift across the water and collide with each other as dozens of stalactites drip into the lake. The plopping sound is continuous and echoes eerily.
The roof of the cavern is low; the tallest among the group easily able to reach up and touch the lowest hanging stalactites.
Like the bottom of the pit, the bridge is unusually clean, without the dust, mould and detritus one would expect to build up over the passing of centuries.
Outside the bounds of the magical torchlight cast by his companions, Bonegrit creeps the gloom alone. The hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention as the wall of the passageway gives way to the open cavern beyond. Exposed upon the bridge, he nonetheless presses on in a half crouch, his darkvision seeing his subterranean surroundings in colourless shades.
He hasn’t gone far when his eyes pick out a pair of motionless figures ahead of him, and he shivers once more on realising they are too gaunt and still to be living men. The skeletal figures are clad in scraps of armour, bear small round shields without emblem and battle axes of crude, likely orcish, design. At this range Bonegrit cannot be sure, but he thinks there might be more standing behind the pair.
However, a stranger sight bears more of his attention than the skeletons standing sentinel. Before the two undead guards hops a tiny, vaguely humanoid creature that looks to be an animated accumulation of tomb litter, as if all the detritus of the Garrison of Arith-Zind has coagulated and taken form as a pixie-like incarnation of bone shards, desiccated shreds of skin, fragments of decaying cloth, stone dust, dirt and fungi. It’s the last feature that alerts Bonegrit’s senses even more than the bizarre monster they sprout from, for they are small, dark to his eyes, with two caps on a single stalk . . .
Initiatives
Even as Bonegrit watches, the little thing rolls a cartwheel and then tumbles between the legs of one of the skeletons and out of sight, moving with supernatural quickness.
Pyotr moves through the menacing overhang of the portcullis wary of his surroundings. He glances along the walls and ceilings for the telltale signs of murderholes and other menaces to the keeps invaders, ignoring the murmurings between Khozin and Alagor.
Bonegrit moves in his loping crouch across the bridge without hesitation. Pyotr places his hand over the bell hanging from the glaive's hilt, and follows less certainly. At the edge of the bridge, he hesitates. "This keep is well designed to repel invaders." He gestures towards the drop-off where they were ambushed. He keeps his voice in a low growl to avoid spoiling Bonegrit's position. "We should not all expose ourselves on this bridge simultaneously. Shall we cross by pairs?"