As Anthuria and Percival bolster their allies, Balthus, quick-thinking even caught off-guard, realizes that the creatures are too high above him for his axe to make contact. Firmly, he sends Slasher out of reach of the slashing claws, and the hound listens, withdrawing carefully to the room's corner and standing down. Grimly, he stands with axe in hand, waiting for the beasts to get close enough to strike.
Looking pleased with the advantage their position gives them, but unwilling to cross over the wall of warriors in front, the barghests settle for lashing out at Jetta and Mairen. But attacking in the air looks to be frighteningly unstable for the monsters; finally, with a disgusted look, they thud back to the ground, landing on the oak table. Balthus takes his chance, swinging his axe with both hands on the handle, and is rewarded with the crunch of bone.
Barghest #1: 85/85, -18: 67/85
Barghest #2: full
Oh please let there be no more damn magic Grinning at the thrum of energy that rushes though his veins from Anthuria's magic and the righteous fury from Perry's magics combine. The only magics that do not screw my whole damn day up!
Now far more familiar with the burst of energy and its benefits. Amund rushes around the table. Pulling out his sword as he moves. Gripping it in both hands and slamming the blade forward. His grin takes on a more feral appearance when his blade slices in to the beast.
Once again in control of her actions, Jetta sets to work with her usual ruthless efficiency. She ignores the obvious grievousness of her wounds, trusting that Mairen and Perry will keep her standing.
she growls as she lays into the goblin-like fiends.
Now that the creature's were within reach, the ranger went to work.
He chopped down with his axe and magic infused speed on whatever monsters was still standing.
"Anthuria, keep the mutt away from them!"
----------
iteriative
haste
Balthus
HP 45/67
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)
Anthuria summons Slasher to her side, then turns her attention back to the creatures. She focuses the latent dust and dirt particles in the air into a swirling vortex before her. Her glowing hands surround it, infusing it with arcane energy and stretching and shaping it like dough. She launches it as a miniature javelin and strikes one of the barghests directly on its brow.
"Take that!" she practically squeals in excitement.
Mairen weathers the blows, grunting as she shrugs deep into her armor, turning to present the barghests with her profile and rocking back onto her heels before their force. However, as her friends surge alongside her, dealing wicked amounts of damage to their foes, she grins a dangerous smile and wades forth herself, attacking the one between Amund and herself.
Barghest #1: 67/85, -13, -20, -17, -13: 4/85
Barghest #2: 85/85, -38, -5, -13, -16, -8, -5: dead
Furiously, everyone bands together to take down the barghests. Jetta and Balthus team up against one, while Mairen, Percival, and Amund arrange themselves around the other to distract the creature and force it to split its attention. Seeing the northern-most of the pair well-surrounded by her allies, Anthuria elects to aim her magical attentions at Jetta and Balthus's foe to give them assistance. Together, it represents a herculean effort - Mairen, Percival, and Amund together manage to send their target toppling to the floor before it even musters up the energy for another swing, and it's clear that the other is on death's door as well. It's not out yet, though; angrily, it lashes out at Jetta again, trying to take down the stolid Hellknight with it. But the damage is done - Anthuria's glob of acid continues to work its way into the brute's flesh, and soon it topples to the floor as well, breathing raggedly.
The dining room falls silent, and the search for the fire gem rises back to the top of everyone's mind. Beyond the fallen barghests' bulk is a set of double doors; a quick search by Balthus reveals that they are not trapped or locked, and they open onto a short, narrow hallway and another set of double doors on the opposite wall. At the hall's end is a life-size statue of Vardak, carved in a pale red marble. At its base is an inscription - Al mia metilernanto. Eble niaj konkeroj ambaŭ portas fruktojn ni sercxas. - Ilkanir
The doors on the opposite wall are not trapped, but they are locked fast - a few moments of struggle by Amund, Jetta, and Balthus force it open, however. This room is ringed with paintings of cityscapes from around the Inner Sea, painted in such exacting detail that you can see the balconies of individual houses and the carts of vendors on the more open streets. Easily the room's most distinctive feature, however, is two odd statues. One depicts a flame drake carved in black marble, raised up on hind legs with its mouth frozen as if in the midst of an exhalation of flame. The other is made of white marble, and depicts Vardak standing proudly with his staff raised high. Both face each other across the center of the room.
Sucking in a breath and then cleaning off his sword before resuming the search. Glaring up at the presumptuous statue, "Anybody able to read that?"
Anthuria falls to her knees, patting the riled dog until his growling ceases, then follows Amund into the hallway.
"Finely crafted, an expert hand," she comments on the marble statute of the Vardak. "Comparable to the best sculptures in the city, really." Her eyes travel across the inscription, her mouth working silently as she struggles to decipher the elusive alphabet.
"To my...student? No, hmmmm, apprentice. Our...victories shall produce fruit. Wait. Shall bear! Our victories shall bear the fruit we seek."
"It reads as though Vardak was not working alone. At least, he has some sort of mentor. Another wizard??"
She gazes apprehensively before them into the museum. "Careful, the statues may be rigged."
Frowning at the idea Why is it always mages? Wondering to the next room and beginning to look about.
Crouching down at a statue and ghosting his fingers over it without touching, "Not a language I know."
Stepping away from the statue to let some else hopefully be able to translate the words. More than content to let himself drift to the studding art that hangs on the wall. Moving to a closer painting and spotting a crack.
"Balthus will you come make sure nothing explodes before I take this painting down?"
Mairen shakes her head as she enters the room alongside the others, sword held in her right hand, left resting gently on Jetta's shoulder so that it can glow with gold light as she casts Erastil's blessing over her wounds.
"The sheer vanity of the man is nauseating," she says quietly to the group. "To exult in his foul ways... perhaps it makes me a limited person, but I simply can't understand how a human could do so."
Peering closer at the dragon statue, she frowns and then steps back, pointing at its base. "There's something written here as well, though I can't make it out."
Anthuria shakes her head. "Sorry. That one's beyond me. Perhaps Lord Arizian...?"
|
"I can speak Draconic," Percival said helpfully. "Roar."
He then took a more serious expression and released a burst of healing to restore some of Jetta and Balthus's hit points, and tore out his Comprehend Languages scroll, speaking the words out loud.
hit points healed to all
Cast Comprehend Languages.
The words are incomprehensible to Percival - until he draws upon Abadar's power to enhance his mental clarity. The words on the statue face him - Cast the living flame into me.
Amund sees no sign of anything ready to explode at the fake wall; further searching by Balthus confirms Amund's instinct. But neither search reveals any way to open the door - no keyhole, handle, or even apparent latch. Unless a new idea surfaces, it looks as if bashing down the wall is the only other recourse to see what may lie beyond.
"I have an idea." Percival said, sitting down in preparation to fill his 3rd level slot with summon monster 3.
"We summon an elemental, or get a fire drake's heart. Both are living flames."
Balthus grunted, "Worth a try. Give it a go and let's see what happens."
He then turned to the others, "Get ready for the worst. I suppose that thing could come alive and try to kill us."
"Why do as it asks?" says Mairen. "What good can come from executing its command?"
Nodding along with Mairen, "That is a fair question."
Jetta looks back and forth between the statues and the fake wall, pursing her lips in consideration. "The statues might be the key to opening the secret passage. I don't see any other way, save for breaking down the wall. We don't have the time or the tools for that."
The Hellknight motions for everyone to retreat into the hallway, taking position in the front and raising her shield. "There's no reason not to be careful about this, though. Stand back..."
|
|
"Because we cannot find the paired crystal. If the time runs out, Fort Thorn is gone!" Percival exclaimed. "Or did we forget why we came here?"
"Jetta, please wait," said Percival, before going out himself to find a flame drake's heart.
"Fire in their hearts," he murmured, remembering the prophecy. "If it isn't the thing we need, it might just work. Curses take half-answers...don't they?"
Percival takes on the grim job of hacking away at the chest of one of the fallen drakes; soon, its heart rests in his bloodied hand, still warm from the beast's inner fire. Bringing it back inside, he contemplates the flesh in his hand for a moment before pulling his arm back and slamming the heart into the statue. Everyone watches from the hallway behind Jetta's shield, tense with anticipation...
...and Percival's only reward is a soft squelch and a torrent of blood, as the heart's chambers empty the last of their contents all over his gleaming armor and raiment. The secret door stands still as stone.
With that idea failing, Percival sits and begins to pray; after what seems an eternity to everyone else looking on, he rises again, massaging a bit of stiffness from his thighs. Tracing a serpentine form in the air, he intones an incantation, and a pair of fiery forms coalesce around his hand. Playfully, they twist in an intertwining dance for a few moments around Percival's arms and head before darting into the broad chest of the drake.
And this time, things don't stay nearly so calm. As the pair of elementals meld with the stone, the stone drake's eyes begin to glow with a red light, and a tendril of smoke rises from the nostrils. The toothy maw opens wide, and a stone tongue dances forward from between wicked fangs; from deep inside, a gout of flame rushes through the long neck, immolating the statue of Vardak and flaring so bright that Jetta is forced to close her eyes. The heat is intense - but as the flames subside, the statue of the erstwhile Lord of the Vale is unharmed, and its staff glows with a pulsating red light. A hissing noise arises, and the wall Amund had pointed out seems to disappear into a haze of smoke, revealing a passage beyond; while you can still make out an illusory outline of the wall, its substance seems to have temporarily vanished into the aether.
Balthus clapped Percival's back, "Good going there. You seem to have opened a passage beyond."
Taking a closer look at the glowing staff of the statue, the ranger asked, "Anthuria girl, check out that staff and its glow. Make sure it's not something that we can take with us or something."
The ranger then inspected the passage for traps and interned himself within.
The statue's glowing staff reflects in the pools of Anthuria's eyes as she extends a hand around it trying to determine its properties.
"I will never understand the wizardly obsession with fire," she remarks. "Or with the size of their staves."
Jetta moves in with Balthus, alert for danger.
Closing his eyes to the apparently unnecessary carnage. Keeping out of Balthus's way but following after Jetta.
Mairen follows, sword drawn and burning with holy white fire.
The narrow passageway turns a corner several feet from the ersatz "museum". Balthus peers warily around, searching for anything that might surprise him and his allies, but nothing emerges. The passageway continues for a few more feet before opening into a room crudely carved from the stone of the mountain the castle rests against. Sounds of dripping and trickling water echo faintly from hidden caverns within the mountain's heart.
The dank, unpleasant room seems to have been pressed into service as an alchemical workshop by its most recent resident. A table on one side is covered in blood and grime; a maze of glass tubes, flasks, and retorts takes up nearly the entire top of the table, with tools wandering lost in the labyrinth. Standing next to the table is a towering monstrosity of mismatched flesh - bits of myriad humanoids, including even bugbears and ogres, are crudely sewn together to approximate a humanoid form, although the incongruous parts combine to make it a clumsy-looking figure indeed.
As Jetta and Balthus carefully enter the room, the tower of flesh suddenly begins to twitch - it appears as if it's been enchanted to move in response to someone entering the room!
Mairen ignores the environs and its details at the sight of the towering beast, and flaming blade held aloft, leads the charge against the monstrosity.
"May Erastil cleanse your filth from the face of the earth!"
Not knowing what this thing was but knowing it had to be killed, Balthus moved up on the sturdy table and chopped down with his axe.
----------
"Monstrous," Anthuria whispers as the abomination advances. Is it man or beast, something in between, or some thing far removed from either? Not wasting the time to ponder further, she conjures another acidic projectile, hoping to burn the creature back into oblivion.
Jetta joins Mairen's charge, seeking to jam the point of her halberd into the gruesome thing's neck.
Forgoing his sword and grabbing his guisarme to avoid overcrowding. Stepping up behind Mairen and slamming the blade into the monstrous creature.
Surprised by the creature's monstrous form, Mairen and Balthus find that their swings go wide; Amund and Jetta have better luck after taking a moment to take stock of the situation. Both, however, find their blades hampered by the thing's magically reinforced construction. Anthuria finds the situation well suited to her talents - while the wires holding the monstrosity together act almost as a thick hide to protect it, it provides no protection against her magic, and its movement is far too ponderous to let it duck out of the way.
Whatever it it, the amalgamation doesn't seem to be particularly intelligent. The moment it is struck by Jetta's halberd, its attention shifts entirely to her, and it focuses almost programatically on this first threat. It doesn't even seem to notice that its heavy arms can do little through Jetta's armor; both its fists slam against her fearsome Hellknight plate, but do little more than rattle her teeth together.
Flesh golem: 79/79, -9, -10, -5: 55/79
Balthus acted like a mindless automaton himself and raised and lowered his axe in strong chopping motions
----------
critical?
Balthus' powerful attacks prove too much for the tenuous stitching holding the bits of flesh together; the arcane spark in its grotesque eyes fades, and it falls motionless to the floor.
With time at hand now, you begin to examine the dank workshop. The alchemical equipment on the table is finely made, but heavy and very fragile; it'd take careful transport to get it back to the fort, but the quality could make it well worth the hassle. A large, long-cold stone cauldron stands in the south-east corner of the room, ashes from the fire that had heated it still heaped beneath. Two doors open from this room - one to the north, deeper into the mountain's heart, and one to the east, back toward the castle.
The door to the east opens onto a single hallway that dead-ends several feet on. The hall contains only a single, simple chair, facing the wall to the east. From your guess, the dining room is on the other side of this wall. The door leading into this hallway is locked from this side, but a heavy iron key on the ring Vardak had carried opens it with ease.
The door to the north is locked, but another key, this one inlaid with gold at the top, opens it. Beyond is a simple room, also carved out of the mountain's stone, with a plain shelf on the far wall and an iron-bound chest in the corner. The chest contains several heavy sacks of coin, as well as four scrolls in a scroll case made of bone and inlaid with resin. The shelf contains a variety of different items: a book, a small round shield, a candle made of gold wax, an unadorned wand - and a crystal case holding a ruby that coruscates with flame inside. It seems likely, then, that your search is at an end.
-four scrolls of identify
-a golem manual (flesh)
-a +2 buckler
-a candle of invocation
-a wand of cure moderate wounds (48 charges)
-the master gem to the seed of flame
Balthus took a position of guard while he let the others inspect their surroundings.
With so many illusory walls, he was expecting something to start moving and attacking them at any moment.
Unsure as to what they should do next, Jetta turns expectantly to Anthuria and Perry. "There it is—the ruby. How do we use it? Or should we just... break it?"
Anthuria kneels and gently, ever so gently, lifts the crystalline housing within which glows the fireling. Its light reflects off of her chocolate skin, casting her in its ember gleam and granting her cheeks a fleeting blush of enhanced vitality.
"Such a small thing, to cause so much trouble, aren't you?" she seems to ask the seed directly, whispering intimately toward it. "Oh, the great wizards, they love their fire. The very antithesis of life, it represents greed, anger, hate, all the things they use to subjugate those who crawl beneath them, as they lock themselves away to hide within their towers. Their castles."
She stands, frowning and holding the gem aloft. Her voice cracks slightly. "But you aren't made of fire at all, are you? You've tricked us, even now, into believing you are. I see through you. I know what you are. You are forged from something far more powerful, something that no gentle rain could ever extinguish, and something that could destroy an entire fort, or a city, or a civilization."
"Or, or a family."
The fireglow of the gem now illuminates the glistening tears that fill her eyes.
"Fear," she says, wiping her eye with the back of her hand. "It's fear. That's its power. But I'm...we're not afraid anymore. No we're not."
She coughs, realizing she's making a scene, to clear her throat, before offering the gem to Lord Arizian. "Here. We must hurry now. Sir Tolgrith spoke of a command to disable it. What would it be?"
Mairen's voice is grave and respectful of Anthuria's words. She lowers her chin, eyes narrowed, staring at the fireseed.
"Whatever it is, we must disable it as quickly as possible."
Keeping his distance from the chest filled with mage crafts. This is not his area. If something heavy need to me moved or something need killing then he sure he is useful.
Clinching his jaw at Anthuria's words and mostly mumbling to himself, "Fire is not the antithesis of life. If it is natural fire then it is a symbol of rebirth."
Running a tired hand though his hair and staring at Lord Arizian since the seed is now to go to him. Shifting back and forth on his feet waiting.
|
|
"Shut down," Percival said at the gem.
"Stop counting down. Is there a button here?" Percival asked, flipping the gem in his palm.
"Perhaps a Dispel Magic would..." he began, before he paused. "Or I could ask the man himself."
His expression was inscrutable, as he headed to the corpse of the fallen self-proclaimed Lord of the Vale.
The gem does not seem to respond to Percival's hopeful command...although what's happening miles away in Fort Thorn is anyone's guess. His hopes dashed and his expression enigmatic, Percival makes his way back to the throne room, clutching the gem in hand. As he holds it tight, it begins to heat the palm of his hand - slowly at first, but inexorably, until he feels as though his skin might slough off, though a quick glance reveals that the palm isn't even red.
Setting the crimson gem on Vardak's breast, Percival scatters a handful of coins over the body and begins to pray, his voice a low, sonorous chant. Minutes pass as Percival prays over the still, stiffening body; as he offers his devotion to the Master of the First Vault, a warmth seems to spread from where the gem sits to the corpse's chest and limbs, the coins vanishing as the warm glow reaches them. Finally, the semblance of life reaches Vardak's lips, and he begins to speak - or rather to curse. The litany of foul malediction is unceasing, even as Percival attempts to force questions through the barrage; it turns out that, not needing to breathe any longer, there are few pauses during which Percival can even attempt to make himself heard.
|
|
Sitting cross-legged before the excessively talkative corpse, Percival sighed as he was barraged with insults. Perhaps one of Enrico's sugarless cookies could shut him up.
Percival almost tested the idea, reaching for his pouch to pull out the hated stale excuses for dietary excess--before his hand brushed the scroll he almost forgot about.
Early Judgment. His eyes lingered on it for a while, drowning out the curses and insults of the defeated Lord of the Vale.
When the moment of crisis comes, you will find that something will point the way; you need only to follow it.
"Your soul has a long journey, Vardak," said Percival, standing up. "See what awaits you in the Dark Beyond."
"Your misdeeds are already accounted for by the Lady of the Graves, but you may avail yourself of harming the people of the Vale," Percival said, as the scroll burnt up. Subconsciously, he felt Abadar's hand behind his word, granting him serenity and conviction.
"Tell us how to break this curse, please. There is no victory otherwise."
As Percival calls forth the incantation on the scroll, a roil of thick, pale smoke begins to seep from the parchment, coalescing in front of Vardak's glassy, unmoving eyes into a horrifying hellscape. Impossibly jagged mountains jut from a stark, lifeless plain, tearing a blank sky asunder as gouts of flame spurt from rents in the stones. In a pass between the mountains runs a single road, its surface seeming almost to heave in a stomach-churning rhythm. A cavalcade of horrendous beasts rush headlong through the pass, driven along into a frenzy by a cornugon wielding a colossal whip barbed with shards of a strange, glowing metal that drip with poison. As the monsters run, their claws dig into the road bed beneath - and the gashes begin to weep with blood, the deep crimson of it the only color in the smoky scene. Thin tendrils creep upward from the road, grabbing at the feet of the runners...and it becomes clear that the road is not paved with stone or packed into the soil, but teems with souls bound in place by their sins to eternal torment...
And at the grisly scene, Vardak laughs, and the sound echoes eerily off the room's stone walls. As it should be. The strong trample the weak, and in turn the strongest drives all. Fearsome for the pathetic...but to become a cobblestone, you must first lie in the road. And I have no intention of such - much like yourselves, it would seem. I wonder...are you saints and I truly so different as you think? Again he lets out a derisive laugh, and its sharp, unsettling timbre burrows deep within the souls of those looking on. Command the stone with the tongue of fire, and it will listen. "Dayandırmaq" to stop it...and "Başlamaq" to set it to life again. Take control of this Vale, and of the seed's power. With your newfound glory, you will be the absolute rulers of all you see...and absolute power corrupts absolutely.
A foul green miasma rises from the corpse's last false exhalation, cutting through the smoky hellscape in the form of a cloaked and hooded figure. As the figure crushes the ethereal cornugon beneath one clawed foot, a whisper resounds throughout the throne room. I'll see you again, when you join me.
Balthus was timidly optimistic, "Did he just give us the key to 'turn off' the fiery gem?"
He looked at Anthuria and Perry for confirmation...