Running over, Kraygan spills beer all over Wren and Jorgan as he crashes into them.
"Torgan, what?" He tries to look into the bag. "Oy! Someone get a rope, I'm going in!"
Whipping out his waraxe, Kraygan prepares to leap into the void.
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Torgan cleaves through Skirkatla's armor, though most of his attacks miss cause just as he is about to land the finishing blow the bag jostles as Wren heaves it end of end, dumping out each and every content. Several sets of armor and weapons batter Torgan as he falls with a thud onto the ground, the single chainmail link rolls from his grasp as he feels a small pinch. Looking down the chainmail link seems to have quickly come alive as it joins next to Skirkatla, who also falls loose from the bag, much to everyone's surprise. She let's out a defiant roar as the tendrils from the ring begin to form a new body that attaches to Skirkatla's own form, healing vast amount of her wounds.
Both Skirkatla and Torgan quickly rise to their feet as she releases a defiant roar at all of those around. "You have released me upon this world. I will tear you limb from limb for my own creations!"
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Skirkatla 2.0 (-73)
Tentacle Monster
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Torgan (58/121)
Jorgan
Kraygan
Rogzul
Wren
"Holy s%$+!" Jorgan says as Torgan comes tumbling out with Skirkatla and some other beast. In a base reaction, he has little time to do more than retrieve his spear and stab wildly but with little effect.
"AAAaarghgh!" Kraygan flinches as the crazy monster (and Skirkatla) spill from the bag. "Quick, everyone hack it t' pieces!!"
Taking his axe in two hands he chops wildly at the tentacles and giant.
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From what Wren knows and what he is piecing together is that Skirkatla's armor acts as phylactery of sorts which is keeping her alive. A Graveknights force lingers on within their armor and by removing a link it created a loophole to hide and keep Skirkatla alive longer, possibly allowing her to rejoin and reform her body anew from only a single link.
Undying tyrants and eternal champions of the undead, graveknights arise from the corpses of the most nefarious warlords and disgraced heroes—villains too merciless to submit to the shackles of death. They bear the same weapons and regalia they did in life, though warped or empowered by their profane resurrection. The legions they once held also flock to them in death, ready to serve their wicked ambitions once more. A graveknight’s essence is fundamentally tied to its armor, the bloodstained trappings of its battle lust. This armor becomes an icon of its perverse natures, transforming into a monstrous second skin over the husk of desiccated flesh and scarred bone locked within.
From whet Wren can tell the single link looks to be reforming a new Skirkatla, though it is still in a weakened and unwhole state as it will likely take several days to fully form. Though it could prove to be just as deadly.
In death, the graveknight’s life force lingers on in its armor, not its corpse, in much the same way that a lich’s essence is bound within a phylactery. Unless every part of a graveknight’s armor is ruined along with its body, a graveknight can rejuvenate after it is destroyed. A typical suit of full plate graveknight armor has hardness 10 and 45 hit points, though armor with enhancements or made of special materials proves more difficult to destroy. Merely breaking a graveknight’s armor does not destroy it; it must be ruined, such as by being disintegrated, taken to the Positive Energy Plane, or thrown into the heart of a volcano.
Jorgan fumbles around with Heartspit as he nearly drops the weapon from shock and surprise.
Taking his axe in his hand Kraygan begins to hack at the tentacle link in hopes of destroying it but doesn't seem to be able to get through it's incredibly thick skin.
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Skirkatla 2.0 (-73)
Tentacle Monster
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Torgan (58/121)
Jorgan
Kraygan
Rogzul
Wren
"Are we destined to repeat every battle in that giants tomb?" Rogzul questions as he pours his ancestors undead hate into his spear and strikes a couple times at Skirkatla, hoping to keep her occupied while the others hack at the armor.
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Wren drops the bag in place and scurries back as fast as his old elven legs will carry him.
Skirkatla's flame wreathed axe snaps into Wren's back as he withdraws. The blow hurtles Wren forward into one of the stone pews, where his unconscious form quickly bleeds out. The elf's skin grows pale and cold as Wren looks closer to death than he ever has before. Wren's mangled spine hangs loosely in two halves as he gurgles in his own blood.
Rogzul is able to land a single blow with his axe. The surrounding guards, not nearly as quick on their feet all grab at their bows as they surround SKirkatla. Vanderhoff grimaces.
"Some things never change. As he rushes around the far side of the forge. Take care of whatever that is. I'll check on the elf!"
Skirkatla spins back to Torgan. Time to finish what I started." She rears her axeblade back and slams it at Torgan.
Torgan raises Brinya's Love up to block the blow. The dagger does it's intended job as it deflects the axe, but it's weakened metal shatters into several pieces that fly like shrapnel all over the room. the blackened blade turns cold as a scream and cry of pain is heard above all others. With a flash of light the soul of Rodrick Grath releases from the blade in small wisps of sparks and magic as the dagger is destroyed.
Skirkatla's wounds heal a small bit over time from the tentacled creation. As the tentacles heal her wounds one of the hands begins to glow as if holding fiery embers. White hot flames wash over Jorgan and Rogzul.
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Skirkatla 2.0 (-91)
Tentacle Monster
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Torgan (58/121)
Jorgan (108/135)
Kraygan
Rogzul (79/106)
Wren (-10/79; prone; bleeding;)
"Dammit, elf!" Jorgan shouts but, unable to reach Wren to heal him, he just tries to bring Skirkatla down. "Rog, Kray, anything you can do for him? He's even paler than usual!"
Torgan tosses the hilt of the dagger aside as he scowls a bit. "Well, it lasted long enough..." he grumbles as he grabs one of his worn maulaxes. With a whistle, Malt charges through the pews of the forge, ended up in a group of soldiers as Torgan launches into an attack on Skirkatla.
"Only I get to beat on the elf, giantess!" Torgan chides as he swings the hammers.
Rog ducks under the the brunt of the embers, glad for once that he hadn't grown twice his size for this battle.
Kashag on his shoulder offers to deliver some healing to the elf, but Rogzul isn't willing to risk his companion falling to Skirkatla. Unsure about Vanderhoofs abilities and seeing only Jorgan and Kraygan at full strength, Rogzul takes a step back and casts a healing spell he's yet to see occasion to use.
"That should bring some color to the elf."
"Wrrrennnn!" Kraygan cries out in shock when the elf takes a giant axe in the back. Determined to end the graveknight again, he taps the buckle on his baldric, activating the bane effect of his belt, and takes a few more accurate swings with his own axe.
"Why don't..."
"...you..."
"DIE!!!"
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Torgan draws his maulaxe and continues to relentlessly batter at the Graveknight, not letting his destroyed dagger hinder him in the least.
Skirkatla is looking a bit worse for wear as Torgan's hammer and axe crush into frozen flesh and break several already shattered bones from their sockets.
With Skirkatla weakened Jorgan jams Heartspit into her chest and quickly removes the barbed spear, jamming it through the middle of her face. Skirkatla's tongue rolls out of her mouth as she gurgles a threat that simply can't be understood as her face is split in two halves. She falls to the ground leaving the tentacled version to be dealt with.
Kraygan flies into a sobering? rage and sinks his axe into the writhing mass. The acid coated blade seems to help dig into the thick natural armor.
Rogzul ducks behind one of the pews and sends out a wave of healing. The orc sighs a small breath of relief as he sees Wren's eyes slowly open as the elf's spine slowly re-attaches itself.
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Tentacle Monster (-66)
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Torgan (79/121)
Jorgan (135/135)
Kraygan
Rogzul (93/106)
Wren (4/79; prone)
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Wren's body displaces itself and quickly reappears a short distance away as Wren moves to his knees spitting up bile and blood.
The tentacle increases in intensity as the flames continue to wash out of the small fist at Jorgan and Rogzul.
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Tentacle Monster (-66)
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Torgan (79/121)
Jorgan (99/135)
Kraygan
Rogzul (57/106)
Wren (4/79; prone)
Jorgan is burned badly and shouts out in pain. Nonetheless, he keeps pressing forward with his spear, emboldened by the defeat of Skirklata.
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Round 4
Wren stands up and limps away, both wishing for and against his own death that was so very close.
HP: 4/73
AC: 18 (+4 w/mage armor)
[ dice]1d20+11+1[/dice] touch to hit;
[ dice]1d6+6[/dice] acid damage.
Effects: mage armor, overland flight
Right: bow
Left:
Iron Ring 1/1 used
Rod Lsr Extend 0/3 used
Rod Lsr Quicken 2/3 used
Firestorm 1/3 used
Staff of Ice: 0/10 used
Acid 2/10 used
Blip: 0 of 72 5' steps
12th Level: The bow counts as a +2 Adaptive Flaming Composite Longbow. Scorching Ray now only costs 1 charge and replaces the arcane bolt. The fireball spell is now under the effects of the quickened metamagic feat though only for the use of a full attack with the bow itself with the fireball itself counting as one of the attacks.
[ dice]1d20+13-2+1[/dice] to hit; (PBS,rapid)
[ dice]1d8+3+1d6[/dice] magic fire damage.
Rog is less lucky with the second gout of flame and takes the full force of it, but instead of healing more he steps forward with his spear and strikes alongside Jorgan, hoping to kill the strange tentacle beast.
Now that Skirkatla has died once more, Torgan turns his attention to the fire-breathing abomination. "Are you why we have this recurring giant problem?" he asks as he sees a bit of giant in the writhing mass.
Understanding how it will move with the aid of his connection to nature, Torgan launches into his normal whirlwind of strikes, though he misses his beloved dagger.
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"ARRGHGH!" Kraygan steps to flank with Korgan and slaps the buckle on his baldric again, focusing on the tendrils and hacking away with his axe.
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Torgan seems to be the only one to find enough strength to get through the tentacled giants thick exterior.
Aggrimosh does quite a number as it batters into the abomination. After several key strokes the tentacles twitch and fall limply to the ground. The flames that once held a light in the small fist burn out once again.
Vanderhoff looks all around for Wren as the elf disappears, not quite seeing the elf on the far end of the room. "That what happens to elves when they die?" He pokes at the spot where Wren once was.
Torgan (79/121)
Jorgan (99/135)
Kraygan
Rogzul (57/106)
Wren (4/79)
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"That what happens to elves when they die?"
"I'm right here, Krayhoff. I'm right piddlespotting here," Wren grouses as he explores the huge seeping wound in his back. "Now, will one of you piddlespotters bring over a spot of healing?" Wren sits down in one of the pews, watching his life's blood stain downwards.
"I'm guessing that's about the nicest request we can hope for," Jorgan comments as he puts away his spear and takes out one of the party's wands to heal the elf.
Jorgan then says, "Ok, so are we sure we've killed all the giants now? No more coming back? We thought we were done once...."
"Not all of the giants, but all the ones in that compound." Rog grunts. "If we're done fighting bits of armor, maybe we should follow that map and keep moving."
Once the giantess and her tentacle monster are hacked and smashed into inanimate pieces again Kraygan takes a minute to kick them and all their armor and weapons into Minderhal's Forge.
"Let's see 'em come back from this!" He laughs and starts pulling at the bellows to stoke the dragonfire. "Anyone want a magical codpiece or chamber pot? Har!"
***
When the subject of where to go next comes up.
"As soon as we kin upgrade some armor n' weapons I'm game fer followin th' map. Question is, do we need ta stomp 'round the mountains fer days or kin Wren port us there?"
Finding the tentacle monster destroyed and Skirkatla's corpse laying on the ground, Torgan thinks for a second before turning large with Agrimmosh's power and hefts the giant corpse into the giant forge fire. "The holy power from the giant's flame should cleanse any regenerative power she has." he reasons as he starts stripping down into his dwarven underclothes and pulls on a blacksmith's smock.
"Now, I think we can melt down our loot and bolster the treasures we already have..." he says as he begins to melt down a few giant weapons, releasing their magical essence into the air. Taking Agrimmosh to the essence, he hammers it down into his scale mail, shoving more and more power into the steel armor.
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"I'm right here, Krayhoff. I'm right piddlespotting here," Wren grouses as he explores the huge seeping wound in his back. "Now, will one of you piddlespotters bring over a spot of healing?"
Vanderhoff leaps out of his skin as Wren speaks from the other side of the room. "Gahh! You're a lot faster than ye used to be Wren!"
Vanderhoff rushes over and sends out small pulses of healing from his amulet while Calrianne holds her fist up. The nearby knights look about nervously as they lower their bows, half expecting more giants to storm through from the magical bag.
"Angraad's blessing will seal your injuries Wren."
Meanwhile Torgan and Kraygan work on hurling Skirkatla's prone forms into the forge. Torgan uses Agrimmosh's innate power while Kraygan kicks the smaller scraps in with his foot. As the armor enters the mythical forge it begins to glow a white hot as it slowly begins to melt into slag with the assistance of the slag oozes circling the forge. Little by little the armor cracks and falls apart as it pools into a liquid metal at the bottom of the forge.
The smoke from the forge turns from a clean white smoke to a darker brown for several moments as the curses and dark powers within the armor are drawn out. A thin storm of lightning is seen within the smoke. Violet, red, and white sparks arc out of the smoke as it grinds violently and yet silent. Suddenly a booming voice is heard from within the storm as the lightning creates what appears to be a pair of eyes within. The voice cracks as if thunder within the unabating storm.
"So, this is the meager force you send to chip away at the army I have built." The voice sounds amused.
"You merely swat at the clouds before the storm. The smaller clouds help to intensify the rage and power but are not necessary. You should be worshipping what you seek as a god." The voice
varies from a cavernous rumble to a powerful, blaring yell.
The lightning intensifies as it arcs out from the smoke through each in the room.
The lightning draws to several of the knights in their full plate armor. Their bodies quickly smoke and turn black as several crumple to the ground in glowing husks from the blow.
As the single chain lightning finishes arcing across the room the group looks back to the smoke which is calmed once more and back to a clean white color. Seems that spark was not a directed spell but more of a spark out of pure emotion, not directed at stopping anything in particular or a show of force.
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Reflex
Wren ducks behind the bench just before the lightning sends him reeling again.
"Ah piddlespot!" Wren cries, looking to see if there is a way he can help the knights, some of which might yet still live.
"Men, these giants are really starting to piss me off. They can't even kill me properly!" Wren grouses, somewhat hoping that one of them would do the job, but also hoping for time to earn redemption.
Wren the danger is passed, he will trot over to ensure that Skirtlava's armor no long holds any of undead's remains and cannot reconstitute.
Know (Religion)
* * *
"As soon as we kin upgrade some armor n' weapons I'm game fer followin th' map. Question is, do we need ta stomp 'round the mountains fer days or kin Wren port us there?"
Wren finally replies to this, now over his near death experience(s).
"You might be ready, but I am not. Nor do I think it should be our next course of action. Though I hate to admit it, we might need more help than either the forge our human friends can offer us. We need to warn nearby kingdoms about the danger. Also, I need to do some research that is just not possible here. I suggest that we go the dwarven Sky-Citadel . There, we might find support and aid ...or at least provide warning should we fail."
Wren looks around, eventually focusing on Calienne and Vanderhoff.
"Unless there is another major city that is nearby? Please? "
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The half orc narrowly avoids the brunt of the lightning, and heals himself as he joins the rest in deliberating their next move.
As Wren speaks, Kashag screeches loudly and takes off from Rogzul's shoulder.
...more dwarves?...
Rogzul only groans, wishing the elf had been killed before he could make the suggestion.
He takes his mind off the idea by telling Torgan and Kraygan what he would like from the forge, hoping against hope that his companions will choose death by Stormlord.
Torgan seem immune to the arcing lightning as he looks oddly at the forge. "I would have sworn that Minderhal wouldn't stand for some lesser giant defiling his forge..." he says, disappointed in the holiness of this smithy.
As for Wren's suggestion, Torgan seems non-plussed. "We've been more than enough to deal with this so far, plus I don't think there are many dwarves even at a Citadel that are as strong as us. There might not even be a single dwarf..." he says as he thinks back to his time with the Steelkeg clan and remembers his kin. "We should just reinforce our gear with the forge and blast our way into the mountain base."
Kraygan doesn't so much dodge the lightning but rather grits his teeth and power through the shocking strike.
"Hmph. Hurt m'self worse n' that tryin t' pass a crap after a week o' road rations."
Still, his steps are a bit jerky and stilted for a while.
***
Joining the discussion of visiting civilization, Kraygan is excited by the possibility of riding into the dwarven Citadel fully armored like a living legend. Having left the Janderhoff Cavalry in disgrace he would love to show them all what a real giantslayer drinks looks like.
"We gotta go warn 'em." He says loudly, then mutters to himself...
"I dare 'em t' call me a drunken sissy now..."
"Damn!" Jorgan yells as he barely leaps away from the lightning, still seared by the nearness of the heat.
"I'm with Torg," he says, patting out his charred clothing. "I've had about enough of this and I'm ready to kick some giant ass."
Feeling enthusiasm wane for the likelihood of a trip to the Citadel, Kraygan makes another argument for it.
"We've done pretty good against th' giants we've fought so far, but it sounds like they're gonna be expectin us now. We should make sure we're fully equipped with our brawn n' Wren's brains. And if we die, I want t' drink one last time with our people, tell our tales of glory, n' be remembered fer the battles we've won!"
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Wren looks at Jorgan then Torgan. He sets his jaw in irritation. "Yeah, I get that you all think we can keep getting lucky against these giants, but I think it's going to get much harder from this point going forward. We gotta prepare better...this ain't going to be a cake walk like Fort Yakkenblubber."
Wren gets his butt off the bench, walking over to the forge.
"I think we have a few days of work to do here. Maybe I take a few of you over to the Sky Citadel. Y'all can at least explain what's happen to the Head BeardLong or whatever your chiefs are called, and maybe I'll have a few minutes of piddlespotting quiet to myself where I can do some studying and thinkifying on what's going on and what we might need."
Wren, having said his peace, looks around for at least minimal comprehension, but also even agreement.
"Whatever. I leave tomorrow. Let me know if you'll be joining me and if you need any particular supplies from town."
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With quite a bit more discussion the group stays the night near the forge as they take turns forging and creating new and improved equipment to better survive the giant hordes.
As Wren studies throughout the night and Rogzul communes with his ancestors the dwarves of Clan Steelkeg spend most of the night reminiscing and catching up with Vanderhoff over a keg or two.
As dawn approaches Wren and Rogzul have to spend several hours rousing the dwarves from a drunken stupor. Clan Steelkeg begrudgingly stands, vomits, eat breakfasts, vomit agains and half-heartidly put on their packs as they soon realize that they will be seeing Janderhoff!
Bidding farewell to Vanderhoff and Calrianne the group sets out for Janderhoff at once. The journey ends up taking several days southeast further into the Mindspin Mountains, just north of Korvosa and the Cinderlands.
The journey does not come without it's own trials of course as the group fends off raging earth elementals, flame drakes that are disturbed on the trail, and a failed ambush by a group of hill giants looking for easy prey.
As the journey comes to a close the group catches a somewhat familiar sight of the fabled city of Janderhoff. Massive iron curtain walls are attached to the side of the mountain. Proud reminders of the glories of dwarven architecture and engineering at their peak. The tunnel provides the only access to the cities inner depths.
A dwarven patrol at the entrance warily eyes Wren and blocks Rogzul from entering as they raise their spears to block the entrance. The dwarves look to Clan Steelkeg with shock and disdain. Anger on their faces.
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Wren floats and waits with his arms crossed. He's clearly pissed.
"I've been saying for the past 3 days that I could teleport us here! Why you all *insisted* on walking here, I don't know. But I'm *mostly* somewhat very sure that I would have gotten us here." Wren grumbles.
"Not sure why we had to walk at all," Wren says, who didn't actually walk all that much, but flew most of the way. "I could have days of study. Harrumph."
Wren waits for the dwarvenkin to get the group entry.
"It builds character, elf. And maybe we thought you could use it."
Jorgan then turns to the dwarves guarding the entrance and answers.
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"Bah." Kraygan dismisses the guard's concern. City dwarves always were a bunch of judgmental jerks - Kraygan himself was well aware of it from personal experience. Despite personal feelings though, he does his best to smooth things over.
Chuckling at his not-really-a-joke joke, Kraygan gives the guard a friendly elbow nudge. "Oy! Ye got some muscle thar!" He grabs the dwarf's arm and gives it a squeeze. "Bet ye could arm-wrestle ogres! Har!"
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The dwarven guard steps in close and places a hand on Kraygan's shoulder as he come eye to eye with the blond haired Giantslayer.
The dwarves eyes flit to Rogzul as he steps back to his post. "Damned right I could take on an Ogre. Torag himself saw to that!" The dwarf's smile beams through his beard as he snaps the haft of his spear against the rock. "And not that Bloody Torag up in Castle Firrine mind you. His folks musta hated him or been drunk when they named the fool."
"Hey Wren! How'd you and Rog like to dwarves for a bit? Who knows, maybe you'll decide to change over permanently? Har har! But really now, do you have any magics to disguise yourselves as dwarves? It'd make things a lot easier-and safer-when we go inside."
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The dwarf jabs a finger into his chest as he holds his hands out for some sort of compensation to keep his mouth shut.
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Wren lasers his focus on Jorgan.
"You want *me* to pretend to be a dwarf? HA!" Wren's eyes sparkle with amused ire. "I'm not sure there is enough magic in the kingdoms to low my standards that low dwarf, but 'keen' dwarven drinking standards maybe I don't need to go too low...might be all I need is a scroll of insanity, a belt of boulders, and a moppet to wear on my chin. Then, I'll shove a few rocks in my mouth to prevent coherent speech. Yes, it will be perfect." Wren deadpans dryly.
"Nah, I'm not changing myself to enter here. I'll be glad to find a glamer for the half-human, but I'll not lower myself to enter these walls. I'll just blampf myself to someplace less repellent."
Wren crosses his arms, having said his piece. He looks over at Rogzul and offers an apology of sorts.
"Sorry, Squats. You've saved my life and I appreciate it. You've earned my trust and respect. You don't deserve this. At the same time, I'll do what I have to do to disguise you if you want to go in."
Wren lowers his voice and floats closer to Rogzul.
Wren lasers his focus on Jorgan.
"You want *me* to pretend to be a dwarf? HA!" Wren's eyes sparkle with amused ire. "I'm not sure there is enough magic in the kingdoms to low my standards that low dwarf, but 'keen' dwarven drinking standards maybe I don't need to go too low...might be all I need is a scroll of insanity, a belt of boulders, and a moppet to wear on my chin. Then, I'll shove a few rocks in my mouth to prevent coherent speech. Yes, it will be perfect." Wren deadpans dryly.
"Good, yeah! So you've got a plan!" Jorgan responds enthusiastically.
"Nah, I'm not changing myself to enter here. I'll be glad to find a glamer for the half-human, but I'll not lower myself to enter these walls. I'll just blampf myself to someplace less repellent."
Jorgan frowns and crosses his arms. "Have it your way. Was just trying to include ya, you pointy-eared twig-legged dandy."
Turning to Rog he says, "Rog: I'm sorry all those other dwarves in there won't see past your skin and tusks to know the help you've been to us. But it'd be an honor if you joined us in the greatest city on Golarion."
Looking toward the group of dwarves he shrugs. "I am curious about your city, but I am an Orc, and I am proud of that. I will not disguise myself. Thank you for trying. I guess I will wait here with the elf." He frowns and pats his hawk on the head.