Pulling a vial out of his bandoleer and drinking it while walking over at Jetta's request. Wincing as he pushes his shoulder into the door then biting back a sigh when his efforts are unneeded.
Amund moves into the room and stares at the tapestry, "Are you sure we should be splitting up while we are in this building?"
"We need a light-footed scout to find the foe for us and avoid any traps the wizard might have placed," said Percival, turning to Balthus, and giving him a platinum ring. "I have a couple of spells that might help."
Not seeing any other way, the ranger accepts his impromptu role with a grunt, "I'm no trap expert but I can usually see them. We'll figure what to do once if I find any. I will probably trigger them on purpose because I have no skill in disarming traps."
He put on the ring and looked at Slasher. With a firm voice, he said, "Stay with the girl. You understand?"
------------
Jetta assumes a defensive posture, staying alert to danger as Balthus makes his way across the room.
Anthuria had had no idea what to expect, although in truth this was just as she would have imagined the mountainous castle stronghold of a powerful wizard. Of course there would be a self-portrait.
She rubs Slasher's neck nervously as she takes in the extravagance.
"Oh yes, we remember the thorns. But it was by being together that we were able to succeed. I remember that, too. Let's not stray far from one another."
"Wait!" she calls as Balthus prepares to scout ahead. She hurries up to his side, looking impossibly awkward before giving him a little hug. "Be..be careful, do you understand?" she hisses. Her cheeks burning, she turns back to the others and reclaims Slasher. On the way she passes Lord Arizian. "Take good care of him, won't you?"
Nodding, "Be careful then Balthus." With that said is mimics Jetta's behavior and tensely waits for the next problem to arrive.
Moving carefully forward, Balthus steps onto the burning-rose carpet, but it turns out an important detail is lost in the busy print - a fine silver wire, strung between two of the columns. As he crosses between them, he feels a tiny tug on his foot. The tapestry drops to the ground, just in time for Percival's crossbow bolt to skitter off the stones behind - and off the arcane sigil that suddenly flares into appearance beneath it.
Suddenly everyone begins to contort madly as a wracking pain explodes into being in each body, a torture like being simultaneously scourged, beaten, and set aflame. The agony is so great that it clouds the mind, rendering everyone nearly senseless for a few moments before it passes...though it refuses to go quietly, leaving an ache that cuts bone-deep and cramps that twist muscles into knots.
Doubling over and dropping his blade as he lets out a groan as pain wracks his already abused frame. The left over wound from the drakes bite flares back to life and seems to crawl all over his body.
Once able to suck air in again Amund reaches down to collect his weapon. Looking about, [b]"Is everyone alright after that?"[/i]
Even his hairs hurt and Balthus' movement reflected that. He became clumsy trying to do his task with the least amount of movement, the least amount of pain.
Still he trudged on.
Jetta slouches slightly, leaning heavily on her polearm. Physical torment was not unknown to her: in addition to their already grueling training regimen, each member of her order was trained to resist torture. This, however, pushed even her to her limits. Focusing in on the pain, she bites her lip and looks past it at their goal. The sensation is pushed back, relegated to a large list of inconviniences that will be solved by the capture or elimination of their target—a source of motivation, rather than a hindrance. Once she regains clarity, the Hellknight straightens up and rushes to help Perry with his task.
Anthuria's vision explodes in an orchestra of blinding colors whose notes and melodies seem to burn themselves into her very flesh. Although the colors subside, the pain does not, and she clutches her sides in anguish, vaguely aware that she has fallen to the floor. Slasher's yelps bring her back to reality. Taking a few deep breaths, she forces herself to stand through the pain, reaching to offer the dog what little comfort she can.
As Percival stumbles forward, covering the symbol with his blanket and slumping down, his hand falls onto the tapestry, and he notices the fine weave of the textile. While the subject matter is strange, especially to those who'd seen the wizard first in the sky, it's not aesthetically unappealing - it might be worth something to a collector who didn't have such personal feelings on the theme. The rug is well made, too, and the interplay of color in its fibers is truly fascinating, almost as if the fire crackles beneath the feet walking across it.
As everyone gathers their bearings, the mission comes back into focus - a wizard dwells within, and it's time to track him down. The doors stand unmoving and unyielding to each side of the pillars; the choice remains.
Anthuria clutches her side as she hobbles up beside Lord Arizian. "The tapestry and rug are works of art. The Acadamae itself would pay hundreds of gold for them, I'm sure. Perhaps after, if we survive this place..."
After the torment of the fire magic, the idea of pillaging the castle doesn't seem so unspeakable to her...
Balthus moved and winced as pain laced up his leg again.
He nodded, "I have no way of telling which way to go so going right, as Jetta suggests, is fine."
He inspected the door for traps and moved to try and open it....
-----------
Grimacing and waving a hand froward, "Lead on."
Wincing in pain, Balthus limps to the door and begins to search it over carefully, hoping to avoid any other painful surprises. It seems, at least for now, the wizard is relying on his entry-hall surprise for defence - the door bears no sign of tampering, and it opens on well-oiled hinges to reveal a hallway beyond. Just past where you now stand, the hallway splits into two; as you enter you can see a pair of double doors to the right, and another door opens at the end of the left-hand fork.
Continuing under the premise that right is, indeed, as good a direction as any, Balthus leads the way to the double doors, searching them carefully and pushing them open as slowly as possible when no traps seem evident. The door opens onto a large square room dominated by a sizeable, solidly built table, with the start of a spiral staircase beyond that looks to climb up into the keep's tallest tower. Sprawled over the table is a gigantic parchment map; it's easy to tell at a glance that the map is of the Bloodsworn Vale and the lands to either side.
But a glance is all there is time for - as the door swings open, a sudden growl comes from inside, and you see a small figure standing on one of the chairs surrounding the table, poring over the map. But something is not quite right about this apparent goblin. As you look more closely, you see that its hands are not long-fingered and nimble, but short and stubby, almost like paws. The hunch to its shoulders is eerily reminiscent of Slasher sitting at attention, and a strange fire burns in its gimlet eyes...
Balthus growled much like Slasher at the sight of the overgrown goblin, "Never seen the likes of you before but it doesn't matter. You gonna die."
He then shot two arrows at the goblinoid beasts but his arm twitched in pain as he drew the bowstring making him miss.
----------
Balthus
HP 67/67
AC 19, touch 14, flat-footed 16
Conditions: in pain (-4 to hit and ability checks)
Melee (battleaxe +1 keen, 2H grip): +11/+6 = +7 (base) +3 (STR) +1 (magic)
Melee Damage (battleaxe +1 keen, 2H grip): 1d8+5, 19-20, x3
Melee Damage (battleaxe +1 keen, 2H grip, power attack): 1d8+11, 19-20, x3 (-2 to hit)
Melee (hunting knife): +11/+6 = +7 (base) +3 (STR) +1 (MW)
Melee Damage (hunting knife): 1d4+3, 19-20, x2
Ranged (MW shortbow composite +3): +10/+5 = +7 (base) +2 (DEX) +1 (MW)
Ranged Damage (MW shortbow composite +3): 1d6+3, x3, 70'
Ranged (MW shortbow composite +3, deadly aim): +8/+3 = +7 (base) +2 (DEX) +1 (MW) -2 feat
Ranged Damage (MW shortbow composite +3, deadly aim): 1d6+7, x3, 70'
Spells used:
-----
Slasher
HP 51/51
AC 19, touch 13, flat-footed 16
Conditions:n/a
Attacks: power attack bite +6 (1d6+12)
Both of Balthus's shots go wide, skittering across the table and the giant map. As the arrows whoosh past, the goblin scrambles backward, putting the table between itself and the archer - and to Balthus's surprise, suddenly changes. The tiny figure suddenly begins to grow, erupting in a mass of hair and teeth. Its shoulders hunch forward, driving its hands to the ground; the hands themselves grow even shorter and rounder, with wicked claws emerging in place of nails. Soon, the creature is something out of a child's nightmare - and the screech it lets out is something not of this world.
So as to not clutter the thread...
The soldiers were restive. The cries of the burned arose about her, and it pained Mairen almost as much as the flames had to not ease their injuries. Yet though the power of Erastil coursed through her frame, she did not crouch by the wounded to salve their burns. She had to save her energies, had to be ready to help her friends within. Who knew what dangers they ran, what perils they faced?
Then what by Erastil's knotted staff are you doing out here, girl?
The voice of her old mentor caused her to startle. She bit her lower lip. She'd stayed back to defend the soldiers in case of the third drake's return. Yet doing so wouldn't mean a lick of difference if the wizard wasn't killed.
Her decision made, she relaxed. She looked to her second in command. "I'm going in. Erastil bids me aid our heroes. Hold fast, and have faith."
She drew her longsword, and its length flashed in the afternoon sunlight. Not waiting to hear argument, she strode up to the wrecked double doors, listening intently, gaze flicking from side to side as she sought sign of where her friends had gone.
The sound of battle was immediate.
"... doesn't matter. You gonna die."
Balthus.
Mairen burst into a run, not sparing a second glance for the pitoned blanket, turning down the hall, heavy armor clinking as she moved toward the sound of violence.
Turning right into the hallway, she sees Jetta and the others crowded into a hallway, Balthus clearly having just fired off a series of arrows into the room beyond.
Large double doors. I could slip through.
"Incoming," says Mairen quietly so as to not startle Jetta. She slips by the Hellknight and the others, the back of her cuirass scraping against the wall, and when she's behind Balthus she steps into the chamber, her pulse pounding in her ears.
There's one heart's beat of pause as she sizes up their monstrous - nay - nightmarish opponent, and then she raises her blade, summons Erastil's wrath and steps forward to smite their enemy.
|
Percival Arizian | hp 53/53; AC 17/10T/16FF; +8F/+4R/+12W
Perry gives Amund a Touch of Law to use 11 on his attacks (go power attack!)
Perry identifies the creature to be...
And in the span of six seconds says the following.
"This is a barghest, rumored to be a fiendish relation or forebear to the goblins that plague civilized society to this day. Little is known about the creatures, as they are not natives to the Material Plane - they come to this plane simply to devour, fueling their own growth with the essence of those they consume. This one looks to be no mere whelp, but a full-grown member of its kind, capable of changing its form to that of a goblin or a fearsome wolf and protected by eldritch energies that only weapons steeped in magic themselves can disrupt. So, Balthus, use your battle-axe.
"The magic running through a barghest's blood also expresses itself as almost sorcerous ability; they can make themselves float above the ground, cloak themselves in a mantle of invisibility, call extra strength into their limbs, and all manner of other feats. So yeah."
Jetta makes way for Mairen's righteous charge, instead adopting a more conservative approach. As the paladin engages their enemy, she raises her shield and moves cautiously around the table to flank the creature. A terrifying beast, certainly, but the Hellknight was already familiar with worse horrors...
Sheathing his sword once he sees the size of the creature and visibly twitching when Perry touches him. Taking a steadying breath Amund grabs his guisarme before slides out of the hall. Keeping himself pressed to the wall as he does so.
Anthuria jumps, startled, as the barghest grows to twice its size. Glancing down, she notices that her skin has transformed into cracked, rigid bark , as though her body were seeking to protect itself from the immediate danger.
As the others rush bravely into battle, her mind reels as it tries to bind together some comprehension of the beast before them. Her imagination leafs through page after page of the Rose King's menagerie, each illustration more dreadful than the last. Was this creature torn from those very pages, drawn to life from ink siphoned from children's worst nightmares? She flexes her arm, watching the bark bend and, for a fleeting moment, wonders if she, too, was born from that book.
Quickly discarding his bow, the ranger hefts his powerful axe, the feel of the wood making him feel bolder than he perhaps should against this other wordly creature.
He swung with enough force to split the thing in two.
"Anthuria girl, keep Slasher away!"
----------
critical?
Balthus
HP 67/67
AC 19, touch 14, flat-footed 16
Conditions: in pain (-4 to hit and ability checks)
Melee (battleaxe +1 keen, 2H grip): +11/+6 = +7 (base) +3 (STR) +1 (magic)
Melee Damage (battleaxe +1 keen, 2H grip): 1d8+5, 19-20, x3
Melee Damage (battleaxe +1 keen, 2H grip, power attack): 1d8+11, 19-20, x3 (-2 to hit)
Melee (hunting knife): +11/+6 = +7 (base) +3 (STR) +1 (MW)
Melee Damage (hunting knife): 1d4+3, 19-20, x2
Ranged (MW shortbow composite +3): +10/+5 = +7 (base) +2 (DEX) +1 (MW)
Ranged Damage (MW shortbow composite +3): 1d6+3, x3, 70'
Ranged (MW shortbow composite +3, deadly aim): +8/+3 = +7 (base) +2 (DEX) +1 (MW) -2 feat
Ranged Damage (MW shortbow composite +3, deadly aim): 1d6+7, x3, 70'
Spells used:
-----
Slasher
HP 51/51
AC 19, touch 13, flat-footed 16
Conditions:n/a
Attacks: power attack bite +6 (1d6+12)
Barghest: 85/85, -14, -7, -17, -36 = 11/85
Mairen's sword glows with a warm green light that flares to fill the room as it strikes the barghest, filling everyone with a sense of warmth and comfort. Amund trusts to Percival's blessing of calm, but his even-handed strike proves unable to pierce the creature's thick hide. While Anthuria protects herself in the rear, Jetta makes her way in to provide aid to Balthus and Jetta from behind the barghest; unfortunately, her movement leaves her open to the creature's gnashing teeth, and the bite, enhanced by the creature's inherent magic, tears through Jetta's heavy armor like paper.
But Balthus meets with more success than anyone - bolstered by the feel of the axe in his hand, he swings a massive blow that opens a huge gash in the creatures's side. As the wound begins to drip with a sickly orange ichor, the barghest lets out a savage snarl, its burning eyes fixed on the old hunter. Teeth and claws lash out at Balthus in retribution, and all three blows strike the ranger hard, tearing deep into his chest and arm.
Unflinching in her advance, Jetta slams her shield against the barghest's teeth to separate them from her side, quickly putting the table between herself and her adversary. She lunges forward, chopping and stabbing the creature's flank in retribution as soon as it turns its attention to Balthus.
As the others filter into the room, Mairen feels a rush of quiet pleasure; it had been too long since she joined them in combat against a worthy foe.
Her attention never wavers from the barghest, however; blade flickering, she gauges the opportune moment and then slips around their enemy, up onto the first few steps so as to flank it.
Anthuria has seen more than enough blood since coming to the Vale, and yet it never fails to rattle her. An abrupt spray of something warm strikes her face. She finds that her hands are now coated in shimmering, ruby droplets of the stuff. She doesn't know whose it is.
"You, you brute!" she screams, rallying herself to focus a magical attack on the beast. A frenzied, sparking cluster of green fireworks erupts from her hands. They crackle and whirr as they fly around her companions before finally slamming into the barghest.
Stinging from the pain and wound, the ranger once more swung his axe.
-------------
critical?
Balthus
HP 40/67
AC 19, touch 14, flat-footed 16
Conditions: in pain (-4 to hit and ability checks)
Melee (battleaxe +1 keen, 2H grip): +11/+6 = +7 (base) +3 (STR) +1 (magic)
Melee Damage (battleaxe +1 keen, 2H grip): 1d8+5, 19-20, x3
Melee Damage (battleaxe +1 keen, 2H grip, power attack): 1d8+11, 19-20, x3 (-2 to hit)
Melee (hunting knife): +11/+6 = +7 (base) +3 (STR) +1 (MW)
Melee Damage (hunting knife): 1d4+3, 19-20, x2
Ranged (MW shortbow composite +3): +10/+5 = +7 (base) +2 (DEX) +1 (MW)
Ranged Damage (MW shortbow composite +3): 1d6+3, x3, 70'
Ranged (MW shortbow composite +3, deadly aim): +8/+3 = +7 (base) +2 (DEX) +1 (MW) -2 feat
Ranged Damage (MW shortbow composite +3, deadly aim): 1d6+7, x3, 70'
Spells used:
-----
Slasher
HP 51/51
AC 19, touch 13, flat-footed 16
Conditions:n/a
Attacks: power attack bite +6 (1d6+12)
Between the onslaught of attacks, the barghest stands little chance - it falls to the combined might of blades and magic, stirring once feebly before going still. The fight is over near as quick as it began, and you hear no movement from beyond that indicates anyone stirs at the disturbance. With a moment to look closer, you realize the map on the table is of the Bloodsworn Vale and its surrounds...and the cartography is surprisingly detailed.
Over the intricate representations of river, forest and fledgling road, there are several notes in different colored inks, detailing plans for further thoroughfares, grand walls, and a large city carved into the hills marked "capital". It looks as if the wizard's plan is to bring the Bloodsworn Vale, as well as some of the towns in the west of Nirmathas and the east of Varisia, into one large unified nation under his control - and it's plain he sees Korvosa's new fort as a thorn in his side. Over the fort's location is a single note in a crimson red: THEY MUST BE DESTROYED!
From here, there are two clear ways to proceed - a spiral staircase leading up, possibly into the castle's tower, and a narrow hallway turning away from the planning room's door to end in a door to the left.
Balthus cleaned up his axe, picked up his bow, and nodded to Meiren, "About time you got here!"
Still moving little and slowly on account of the pain, he asked, "Can anyone do something about this? I'm afraid I'm not as efficient a scout or fighter with this cursed magical pain coursing through my body."
tag?
He then added, "I suggest we investigate the lower floor before heading upstairs. The wizard already knows we're here and I rather not get caught by something nasty from behind."
|
|
Percival considered the ranger's request, and looked at his wand of lesser restoration.
"I suggest we investigate the lower floor before heading upstairs. The wizard already knows we're here and I rather not get caught by something nasty from behind."
"Good call," Percival said, agreeing. He then removed two nails from his pouch, and pinned them on the tower door to prevent entry.
Nodding along, "That seems reasonable."
Jetta nods in agreaance. She notes the map with some curiosity, reminding herself to take it when they leave. The wizard might be insane, but his plans could be of some use... at the very least, the map seemed more detailed than what they had had available previously.
Anthuria promptly casts a round of prestidigitations to cleanse traces of the blood from herself and her companions. Then she approaches the table.
Her fingers hover over the map of the Vale as she tries to identify features with which she might be familiar. She locates Mist Lake, then traces a route back to the location of Fort Thorn, across the Vale Road, out toward the Mindspin Mountains and, though it is not on the map, the city-nation of Korvosa.
"Would he be content with the wilderness? If he conquers the Vale, what's to stop him from turning his destructive tendencies westward toward the city?"
The wizards of the Acadamae and Theumanexus, for one thing, she reminds herself. The Guard, the Hellknights, and the Sable Marines, for others.
Still, the notion of a free-wheeling wizard running rampart through the forest, killing anyone and anything in his path is...is downright infuriating.
She clenches her teeth and nods silently as Balthus lays out a plan.
The white flames that sheathe her blade extinguish themselves as Mairen straightens, and with a grin she nods to Balthus, wiping at her brow with the back of her wrist. "Indeed! Couldn't stand the thought of your hogging all the fun to yourself."
That said she joins the others by the table but spares it no more than a glance; instead she nods her sober agreement to Balthus' assessment, and when Perry locks the door to the tower she seems to relax but a fraction.
"A rhetorical question, Anthuria." The paladin's expression is just this side of grim. "We'll never know, will we?"
Keeping against the wall and waiting for the group to be ready to go. Mairen is certainly optimistic about this, good. Waving a hand forward, "Well than lets get to it, shall we."
Electing to leave the tower and its possible denizens for later, Percival secures the door of the planning room, and everyone collects at the left-hand doorway. Balthus searches it carefully for any cleverly-lain traps, goes to give it a gentle tug open...and the door doesn't give. It seems to be locked securely from the inside - but locks make little difference to the stout Jetta and Amund. The two look to each other, turn, and rush the door in unison, ducking their shoulders low; unable to withstand the blow, the doors crash inward, revealing the room beyond.
A large chamber opens up past the doors, its pale stone walls covered in rich tapestries and ostentatious paintings. Red, elaborately woven Jalmerayan rugs cover the smooth stone floor at the far end, drawing the eye to the raised alcove beyond. And atop the alcove's dais is a remarkable sight - a black stone throne carved in the likeness of a host of humans, elves, dwarves, and all the other civilized races of the world. Some stoop or sit on all fours, their backs supporting the throne's plush velvet seat; others stand to form the throne's back and arms, all seeming to fawn over the throne's occupant.
And the throne is indeed occupied: atop the velvet seat and its appalling supports beneath, an aged half-elf man sits. The figure, hairless except for a black goatee shot through with grey, is all too familiar - from the painting and from the apparition in the sky. Now, instead of posing loftily or screaming angrily, he lounges idly, admiring a levitating two-foot-tall ebony statuette of two succubi entwined in a pleasing-to-behold embrace. At the noise of the door's destruction, he looks up, and instantly his face splits in an indolent grin. Red robes billow around him as he rises to his feet, grabbing an angry black staff to hand. Ah, so the fools have come to dance for me! Pity for you, though - don't you know? To challenge Vardak, Lord of this Vale and more to come, means death!
For Anthuria, there isn't even a question. Even before the doors were crushed inward, before this Vardak made his threats, and even now as he reaches for his black, twisted staff, a story began to tell itself.
It begins with a foundling discovered at the door of a second rate college. She is raised in a humble, loving home, but the reality outside those walls soon becomes her prison. And so she retreats inside herself and, all the better to squirrel away, constructs an imaginary world in which men were good. And there she lives for many years, too afraid to venture outside and sieze her potential. But then she is lured out by false promises from false people. But the joke is on them, for naked and vulnerable as she is out in this world all alone, she finds strength in those she befriends and, more important, within herself.
And it is for those friends as well as herself that she does not hesitate to come face to face with the most dangerous thing she has ever encountered. It is, she realizes, the thing her entire life has been building toward.
"No," she whispers, extending her hand before her, reaching through time and space to find the girl she was, the woman she wants to be, and the man who now stands in her way.
Fully healed and no longer in pain was a great feeling. Seeing your enemy gloat in front of you when you have a magical axe and trusty hound by your side was even better.
Imbued with Anthuria's speed, the ranger sprinted to the wizard, axe raised high. He urged Slasher to join him, "C'mon boy. You can come too." The dog was already past him.
-------------
Balthus
HP 67/67
AC 19, touch 14, flat-footed 16
Conditions: haste
Melee (battleaxe +1 keen, 2H grip): +11/+6 = +7 (base) +3 (STR) +1 (magic)
Melee Damage (battleaxe +1 keen, 2H grip): 1d8+5, 19-20, x3
Melee Damage (battleaxe +1 keen, 2H grip, power attack): 1d8+11, 19-20, x3 (-2 to hit)
Melee (hunting knife): +11/+6 = +7 (base) +3 (STR) +1 (MW)
Melee Damage (hunting knife): 1d4+3, 19-20, x2
Ranged (MW shortbow composite +3): +10/+5 = +7 (base) +2 (DEX) +1 (MW)
Ranged Damage (MW shortbow composite +3): 1d6+3, x3, 70'
Ranged (MW shortbow composite +3, deadly aim): +8/+3 = +7 (base) +2 (DEX) +1 (MW) -2 feat
Ranged Damage (MW shortbow composite +3, deadly aim): 1d6+7, x3, 70'
Spells used:
-----
Slasher
HP 51/51
AC 19, touch 13, flat-footed 16
Conditions: haste
Attacks: power attack bite +6 (1d6+12)
Jetta takes a few solid steps towards the wizard, readying her halberd. Finding her quarry so soon after entering the structure came as a surprise, which immediately made her suspicious. She had fought enough spellcasters to know that the situation was probably not quite what it seemed, but she had a certain protocol to follow.
"Vardak," she proclaims. "You are seen to be guilty of arson, conspiracy to commit mass murder, extortion, impersonation of a landed noble, poaching, squatting, and various other crimes. With the powers granted to me by the Hellknight Order of the Nail and the Crimson Throne of Korvosa, I hereby sentence you to death."
With that, she lunges forward to strike...