Falling upon Tarker in a flurry of dagger thrusts and longsword strikes, Barnabas and Kaynen’s efforts manage to bring the enspelled guardsman down before he is able to shout a warning or attempt to flee. As the rest of the Forsaken Crowd into the Great Hall Kitchen they manage to see Kaynen deliver the final blow to Tarker, cutting the man down with the man’s own sword. Striking a heroic pose, Kaynen gives the others a salute with the captured sword before calmly wiping the blade across the man’s tabard, leaving a crimson slash across the snow white and azure blue cloth.
As Drisella screams over and over at the creature to free her it cocks its head up towards the opening in the ceiling. Without saying a word the shadowy abomination made flesh seems to sink into the darkness. High above from the entrance of Drisella’s cell comes the sound of wood scraping on stone. Hearing the distinctive sound of hobnailed boots clicking in movement Drisella’s frantically scans the small cell trying to locate the creature that her hate made real. Seconds later the silhouette of a man appears twenty feet above her, shining a bright light from a bull’s eye lantern down into her stone pit. Panning the light back and forth it elicits tears from Drisella, her eyes unaccustomed to the brightness. After several passes from the cursed light the man closes a small latch on the lantern bringing darkness back into the room.
Hearing the sound of metal on stone, Drisella looks up again to see the guardsman holding a bucket infront of the pit. Tipping over the bucket, cold water cascades down the entrance of the pit, falling onto the frail woman and sending her into another set of shivers. Putting the bucket down the man picks up the lantern again and shines it down into the pit, exposing the water soaked young woman. Shut up Forsaken! The man rumbles while turning away from the oubliette entrance and out of view.
As the man leaves you can hear him grumbling under his breath. I don’t know why we didn’t burn this one along with the last lot. Wardens orders! Bah… he’s a dammed fool.
Plodding forward, Grumblejack scratches at his black greasy hair with a dirt encrusted nail. Prodding at Tarker with one large dirty foot to confirm he is dead the orge looks at Kaynen and Barnabus. Ya did good fur humies. Where to now? While waiting for a response Grumblejack walks over to the open hearth and rips a leg off of the pig and begins to devour it. Looking from the pig haunch to Tarker’s dead body and then back up to the pig, Grumblejack points at the corpse. Grumblejack eat? He asks questioningly, a toothy smile forming on his face.
Dragging Tarker's body into the kitchen, Kaynen lays the man's arms across his chest and closes his eyes.
"Well, that's the last guard on the wall. There's still a barracks in the northwestern corner of the courtyard and the good warden for us to pay a visit to."
Kaynen attempts to sheathe Tarker's longsword in his already-full sheath before he realizes such a task would be exceedingly difficult. He finally sets the blade on the kitchen counter next to an assortment of pots and pans.
"What do you think? Is it time to visit the dear warden?"
Barnabas turns a little green around the gills at Grumblejack's question. Though in the end he decides that the guard couldn't be any deader and it might be best to keep the hulking ogre happy.
"I'm not sure there is time to cook it Grumblejack, but if you want it, I'm not going to stop you. We'll be in the main hallway and we're going to go outside to find more guards to kill. So you have about 5 minutes, you do what you have to do."
Feeling more than a little disgusted with himself, Barnabas leaves the room, not wanting to see the ogre's butchery.
"I agree, the warden's tower should be our next target. In fast and hit him hard."
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When the ice cold water hits her, Drisella lets out a piercing shriek as her arms and hands flail wildly at her side. Her hair is matted down against her face, tattered rags soaked through and bare feet prickling with numbness. It was the final breaking point for Drisella, the final humiliation, the final beating, the final time another person would abuse her. All that pent up anger, rage and frustration at her past life comes rushing forth like a beast at the door of her mind, crashing it down and charging in from subconscious to conscious thinking.
"Kill!" Drisella commands of the walker in darkness, "Kill them all! Kill everything!" At this command, where there was once incompetence and hesitation from the creature there is instead effortless prowess and brutal grace. Still concealed within the shadows, the creature -- the Walker -- leaps into the air and digs its iron claws into the stone. Its weight hangs for a moment before it begins to move upward, scraping and clawing its way towards the opening at the top of the oubliette.
Like a Savannah lion climbing a tree, the Walker ascends, its barbed tail lashing back and forth before it bounds across the gap, passing into Drisella's view when it eclipses the oubliette opening before clinging to the other side of the wall. It swings its body around, latches hooked claws on stone and soon fills the opening, a dark and tarry mass of flesh and steel dragging itself up into the hole like a parasite invading a host body through an open orifice. Soon all that can be seen is its lashing tail wriggling through the hole, then it is gone.
Drisella's trembling body stares wide-eyed up at the entrance, and then a smile crosses her face as her eyes dart back and forth...
...and she waits for the screams.
________________
"Guards may come out of barracks. But Warden has girl. Should get him dead for Ossie."
Kergh drags the guard over to Grumblejack and shrugs at Barnabas. "Big dog, big food." He pats the dead man once on the face, "sorry."
Oswald watches the guard die with some satisfaction plastered upon his face. The mentioning of the warden's tower, however, gains his full attention as his wild-maned head snaps toward Barnabas. He scampers over in a rush, his face screwed up into an intense mask of warring emotions, "Did you say you have found the tower? The tower where my sweet, poor Rosaline is being held? We must assail this horrible spire of torments and suffering to rescue her! At once! Yes, the warden will pay for his crimes against my beloved ones! At once!"
Despite all the killing, Ethaniel finds that he is rather content with their progress so far. After all, there were bound to be deaths once the decision to escape had been made. Still, that feeling of contentment quickly gives way to one of disgust as the hulking ogre starts moving towards the guard's body. Unwilling to be part of such savagery, even as a spectator, he follows Barnabas out of the room, nodding at the rogue's remark about going after the warden next.
"Let us take care of the one in charge as quickly as possible," he adds his voice to the rest, "and then we can worry about whatever guards may remain in the barracks or elsewhere."
Still, despite his apparent determination, there is a very particular doubt gnawing at him. 'Perhaps it is in the tower, in the warden's chambers? Or perhaps... perhaps it is not in Branderscar...'
Mikhail grist his teeth silently. The Warden, according to their captives, is a wizard - and wizards are not to be trifled with. Still, they outnumber him greatly, and he remains just a man. "I agree. All of the guards outside are dead, leaving just the Warden and the others playing cards with the corrupt sergeant. Let us kill the Warden now and secure our release."
Greasy black claws dig into stone, corded muscles of fibrous metal flex and construct, hauling a tarry mass of flesh and steel up through the opening in the oubliette. The long, tapered muzzle of the creature emerges first, steel teeth bared and drooling a thick line of black saliva. Its lashing tail rises up with bladed tip flicking back and forth as its hindquarters pull up from the opening, allowing the monstrosity to stretch to its full length like some nightmarish cat.
Six beady eyes stare out from its tar-dappled, iron-carapaced head. A low, metallic rattling sound like barbed wire in a tin can echoes down its throat. With one lash of its tail from left to right, the abomination starts to stalk with oiled silence.
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Walker in Darkness Closely resembles this, but with a tarry slime irregularly coating its body.
Grimly nodding to each other the group of Forsaken make their way across the courtyard and toward the Wardens Tower. As each of them cross the southern courtyard their buffeted by gusts of wind and drizzling rain. In the distance rumbles of thunder give way to a bolt of lightning that strikes near the prison walls. As the flash of light fades it brings darkness back to the prison courtyard and for a moment everything it quiet and still. It is an ominous quiet. It is the quiet before a blade is drawn and death is dealt. Each of the Forsaken has known this silence before and each of them will know it again.
Quietly crossing the courtyard the Forsaken of Mitra make their way to the tower entrance. Carefully examining the heavy wooden door and finding it unlocked Barnabas scans the handle with a well trained eye. Finding nothing of significance the slaver eases the door open into the large room beyond. As each of you step into the large thirty five by thirty five foot room you take note of the large circular stone staircase that occupies the center of the room. Hanging at each of the rooms four slanted corners is a large embroidered silken banner. The first and newest banner is made of white and blue silk. Embroidered across the center is a castle over set across a radiant sun. Stitched across the bottom of the banner is embroidered scroll work that reads: BRANDERSCAR, REAP WHAT YOU SOW. The second banner, which is much older in appearance, is a cross section of black and red silk. Embroidered across the banner is a branding iron and torch crossed. Stitched across the bottom of the banner in faded white silk lettering are the words: IN PAIN YOU WILL FIND TRUTH. The third banner much older than the others with most of its dye starting to fade is a checkerboard of green and red with a rampant griffon overset across a castle. The fourth and oldest is largely tatters but upon close appearance you can make out the faded remnants of an eagle stitched into the center.
Equidistant from each of the banners placed on either pedestals or mounted to the walls are three objects of interest as well. Mounted on the wall between the blue and white banner and the red and black banner is a beautiful axe, clearly the work of a skilled and dedicated master craftsman. Mounted on a four foot long polished ash haft the head of the axe looks razor sharp and gleams in the torchlight of the tower entrance. On one face of the axehead is inscribed the holy symbol of Mitra the Lord of Light is etched with the words HIS JUSTICE COMES AND THAT RIGHT QUICK. On the other face of the axe the royal seal of Talingarde has been inlayed along with the words TERMINUS EST .
The second object of note has been placed between the black and red banner and the green and red banner and lies on a stone pedestal atop a black pillow. Cruelly hooked and made of cold wrought iron is a blackened branding rod who's branding head is shaped into an inverted Asmodean star. A placard set into the stone pedestal reads ”The last remaining implement from the Order of the Brand. Let us never forget our history, else we be doomed to repeat it”
The third and final object of note lies on another stone pedestal between the green and red banner and the remains of the eagle banner. Placed atop a white velvet pillow is a silver bowl four inches in diameter. A placard set into the stone pedestal reads. ”The drinking vessel of King Markadian I following the destruction of the Order of the Brand.”
Exiting the Great Hall you take a deep sigh of relief as the invisible buzzing and ever present nausea fade. As your head momentarily clears you can hear over the crashing of the waves and howling of the wind your daughter’s voice calling to you. Like fog, the voice scatters when you try to grasp at what she is saying, but as you near the Wardens tower you can feel yourself growing closer. You can sense that you are close… and what’s troubling is that you sense she is hurt.
Breathing deeply as you exit the Great Hall, the sense of claustrophobia and the slowly building headache fades away moments after you cross the threshold into the courtyard. Following the others towards the looming tower you tighten your grip on the captured dagger. As a bolt of lightning falls in the distance and thunder rolls across the courtyard you look down in shock. For just a moment as the bolt of lightning struck you thought you were holding Marvius’s sword and not that pitiful excuse for a blade. As the light fades and the courtyard is returned to the darkness you look down at the dagger gripped in your hand and frown. Was it a trick of the light, or something more?
Exiting the Kitchen you look to your left and see that there is a small recently pruned bush separated from the others garden vegetation by a circle of bricks. Taking a second glance you realize that this bush is in fact Atropa belladonna or in layman’s terms a deadly nightshade. You know that distilled and consumed the plant can kill a grown man by sapping away his energy and strength.
Passing from the kitchen courtyard and toward the Wardens tower you see the window at the top of the tower that was previously closed, now open. From the tower window you see a shadowy figure release something from his hands before it streaks out if the tower and into the night. It looked like an owl, but it’s hard to be certain between the wind, rain and darkness. It looked to be heading towards the north before it disappeared behind the Great Hall.
It sounds like there is some sort of struggle coming from below you. You can faintly make out the sound of something being knocked over and an odd cackling-purr like metal ratteling around a can. An initial search of the 1st floor reveals no ladders, trap doors or secret passages downward.
There is a false wall that has been inset into the back of the circular stone column staircase. After a quick examination your able to open the false door that leads downward into the tower basement.
The first two banners are likely less than one hundred years old. The blue and white banner was likely made following King Markadian the First’s overthrow of the Hellknight order of the Brand in 4632AR. The second banner and probably the only remaining one in existence was the sigil of the Cheliaxian Hellknight order of the Brand. During 4608 AR the Barcan regency granted the prison you know as Branderscar to the order following the upheaval caused by the death of Aroden.
The third banner bearing the green and gold checkerboard and t he rampant griffon over a castle must have been the banner of whatever garrison occupied Branderscar prior to occupation by the Cheliaxian Hellknight order of the Brand. Banners and Pennants are still occasionally seen bearing the Barcan coat of arms, but none bearing the rampant griffon have been made since the Steward Jaraad was overthrown by Markadian I. As for the fourth banner is quite difficult to determine however the eagle was a sigil of the Iraen tribes as well as one of the earliest icons of the Knights of Alerion. What significance it may have played in the history of Branderscar however is beyond you.
Based on the materials of the banners it’s likely that at least the white and blue and red and black ones would be worth one or two hundred gold. To the right collector they would likely be worth far more but the trick would be selling historical relics like this. The headsman’s axe was clearly made by a masterwork smith and the balance appears to be perfect. The branding iron’s historical significance is also clearly apparent and could be worth several hundred gold to the right collector. Then again, being found with a relic such as this would at the minimum land you in a prison again.
Like oil over water Walker in Darkness pulls himself out of the opening of the oubliette. Claws’ clicking on the stone the tarry creature writhes in the shadows as if his internal mass seems drawn towards darkness rather than the earth. As the shadowy creature rises out of the hole and emerges into the room beyond, its six beady eyes take in the room around him. Twenty feet long and thirty feet wide, the hole to the oubliette is on the western side of the room and coiled next to it is a rope whose end is tied off to a bucket. On the far right side of the room is a spiral staircase that seems to lead up and set against one wall is a small table and a dimly flickering lantern. Sitting at the table reading a book by the lantern light is a younger man who wears the livery of a Branderscar Guard. Seemingly engrossed in his novel the man never notices the cackle-burr of the shadow creature before it is upon him.
Branderscar Guard: 19
Walker in Darkness: 5
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Kaynen struts through the courtyard not unlike a noble touring his own gardens, stopping momentarily to examine the flutter of a creature in the night sky.
"Mmm. Perhaps the warden sees he is receiving company. I believe his owl just took flight to the north."
Kaynen shrugs as he appraises the old banners, yet feels strangely drawn to the green checkered pattern with the griffon, as if it holds a familiar significance.
As he stands about the entry of the warden's tower, the half-elf sneaks a peek up the stairs, and then looks back out across the courtyard to the north.
"Perhaps we should wait here for a few moments, in case we are to expect company from the remaining guards stationed in the barracks?"
"Yes, he sent it from that window. Mage getting ready. I would."
Kherg looks at the banners and such like briefly then starts up the stairs. He hurries upwards.
Lowering itself down into a crouch, the Walker in Darkness raises its hind-quarters and opens its jaws slowly, letting a trickle of acrid fluid dribble down to the floor. A heartbeat later and the creature springs into movement, leaping up off of the ground, bounding off of the wall adjacent to the table before crashing down atop the guard seated there with his book.
The creature's jaws latch on to the guard's arm and squeeze down, tearing into flesh as its head jerks from side to side in a rending motion before finally flinging the guard aside, sending him crashing into the table, toppling it and the lamp over onto the ground with a crash. Blood rolling down its jaws, the Walker turns to the guard, letting out a rattling growl from deep within its six eyes blinking asynchronously.
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+
Oswald huddles up as the door to the exterior yard is opened and the chill wind hits him. He notices a familiar bush nearby the kitchen's vegetable garden as he snickers to himself. The fools grow nightshade with their food stuffs! Truly, they have a death wish. He shuffles over to pluck a few bits of the bush as you never know when you needed a good poison to stop a man's heart. His shivering is soon forgotten though as the Warden's tower comes into sight in front of him. His daughter's voice grows clearer if still hard to track down, her distress though sends Oswald into a manic rush forward into the tower, "We must find her! She is in here somewhere and in great pain. Curse you, Warden! Why do you make my poor child suffer so?!" The decor of the first floor of the tower is lost on Oswald as he instead scampers about, tilting his head this way and that as if listening for something.
Mikhail spots the owl and curses silently under his breath. If the bird was carrying a message, his identity as Mikhail Halancoun is all but lost. He hopes to himself that the Warden was simply letting the owl out to hunt, but he knows that only a fool relies on hope. "He most likely has consigned himself to his death and sent the owl out as a warning to others. We must assume that our escape will be known to the others - Sir Balin included - by sunrise."
He smirks as he enters the room. He recalls quite well when his brother began purging the last vestiges of Cheliax by destroying the Order of the Brand. Likewise, he remembers his own father granting Branderscar to them just a generation before. He muses on how quickly the populace changed their minds, like malleable sheep. Once he seizes power, it will take a mere generation to turn their minds to following him.
He strides over to the collection of items in the room. He picks up the Asmodean brand and looks at it for a moment, then turns and hands it to Kergh before he gets up the stairs. "For you. A more fitting weapon than that," he says while gesturing to the simple club he wields. He picks up the battleaxe and hands it to the beastly ogre. "Grumblejack, perhaps this is a better choice than the sword." As for the bowl, he decides that he will take it on his way out. Such an item would be most fitting to collect Markadian V's blood in.
"This way, Ossie." Kherg waves from up the staircase.
Ethaniel seems to freeze for a moment as a bolt of lightning illuminates the sky for an instant. His eyes grow wide with shock as his gaze becomes fixed on the dagger held in his hand. "What...?" The single word is muttered under his breath, the look of surprise fading as he once again turns his attention to the matter at hand.
Regardless, his focus is shaken for a while longer, failing to notice anything out of the ordinary as they make their way to the tower and relying on the others' more perceptive senses.
"Ah, to the warden with haste, it is?"
Kaynen gives an assenting nod to the others who begin to climb the stairs upward ahead of him, keeping his keen half-elven eyes trained at the entrance behind them.
"I really feel like I should've brought the warden a gift for our unannounced visit."
Kaynen glances down at the bow in his hand.
Oh, I *have* brought him a *gift*!
As the other Forsaken enter the 1st floor of the Wardens Tower, they briefly examine the banners and other items on display. Mikhail, striding over to the collection of items picks up the Asmodean brand. Grasping the curved and barbed instrument of pain, the Dhampir is surprised when suddenly the rampant griffon that was stitched into the checkerboard green and red banner animates. With a loud *SQUAWK!* the beak crows before opening its beak again. With the sound equivalent of a loud rooster the griffon stately announces in common. STOP THIEF! REPLACE THE ITEM AND REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE AT.. As the stitched griffon returns to and inanimate object a hushed silence fills the room. Then, a few seconds later the griffon crows again before stating that you are to return the item and remain in place.
From somewhere below this floor of the Wardens Tower, you’re able to make out the sounds of combat. Suddenly there a shriek pain and then the sound of a males voice yelling for the Warden.
Ascending to the second floor of the tower, the Forsaken come to a spacious library, a room dedicated to learning and logic. Placed against each of the eight walls of the octagonal tower are bookshelf’s that run the length of each wall and stretch up to the top of the ceiling a full fifteen feet high. Set against the top of bookshelves and running in a circle around the thirty five foot wide tower is a brass bar that in turn is connected to a wheeled step ladder allowing easy access to any of the bookshelves regardless of height. A perusal of the libraries contents show that half of the libraries shelves are dedicated to files for each prisoner of Branderscar Prison. A quick glance shows the each of the files has been alphabetize and due to the sheer volume, the entire collection must stretch back at least twenty years.
The remaining halves of the bookshelves are dedicated to more scholarly pursuits, and while not grand cover a wide range of topics. There are a total of one hundred and fifty five books in the library that deal with subjects ranging from magical theory, history and astronomy to horticulture, law and religion and geography.
Searching through the tomes dealing with astronomy your eye catches on a black leather bound book about five inches tall and two inches wide. Inscribed on the cover in silver is the title “Astra Mysterii”. Perusing the book, you realize that what you old in your hands is a rare treatise on astrology and prophecy. It was written by the insane monk Clivarus, one of the few known oracles of Groetus. The book itself was written around 4500AR and is a discourse concerning star movement, astral phenomena and divination. The book itself is quite rare and could fetch a fine price in the right hands.
Stacked neatly on a bottom shelf among the other books dealing with geography and travel you find a brown leather bound travelogue. Titled “My Life and Travels” by Artus Vellor A popular and common book, this however is a original first edition written before Vellor went onto explore the Crown of the World and Tian Xia. Published before Vellor was well known as an explorer and then later disappeared in the Mwangi Expanse, it’s quite valuable.
Mixed in among the tomes and treatise dealing with horticulture and the natural world you find a dyed green leather tome nearly eight inches wide. Embossed into the cover of the tome is the title “The Floralegium” by Branthus Hart. Opening the imposing tome you see hundreds of beautifully illustrated flowers and herbs gracing the pages along with handwritten notation for their location, blooming season and medicinal use.
Nearly tackled to the ground from the shadowy creature’s first strike, the guardsman screams out in pain as greasy black claws rip through armor and flesh. Taking a half step back in shock and fear the man looks around the room, his face pale from blood loss. Its.. it’s a deamon The young guard stammers while drawing his longsword. The guardsman yells before realizing that he is all by himself and he has only seconds to act. Steeling his courage the man gulps before raising his blade and bringing it forward towards the shadow spawn of evil.
As the blade swings in, shadows seem to part around the blade. Driving the longsword downward the guardsman cleaves through the iron, tar and shadow-mist of the eidolons carapace, spraying drops of inky spirit residue onto the walls of the dim room. Eyes wide in shock, the young guardsman looks at his blade as if wondering where the sudden power and skill came from. Clutching at his side and suddenly feeling weak, the man stares at the demonic creature who is nearly dead. Watching as shadow spawn's body gushes blood the color of ink, the guard shakes his head in fear and disgust. Crossing his hands in a warding gesture against evil, the guard steps up with his sword preparing to finish the grim task at hand.
From somewhere above your able to make out what sounds like a rooster crowing before in a loud clear voice you hear. STOP THIEF! REPLACE THE ITEM AND REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE AT. A few seconds later the crow is repeated and you hear the same voice again.
Seconds into your exam of the library and search for your records, your inspection is cut short as a gust of wind rushes through the room knocking books off shelves and pushing the roll away ladder several feet along the brass bar. A hairs breath after the gust of wind whips through the room and settles near Kaynen, Warden Mathias Richter appears. Or rather six exact duplicates of Warden Richter appear. As the six sets of the warden raise their hand towards the gathered group of Forsaken, the duplicate images of the elderly warden frowns pensively. Completing his spell, six cones of swirling crimson, azure blue and verdant green light streak out of the identical wardens hand only to collided a moment later with Grumblejack, Ariana and Barnabas. Overcome with the swirling psychedelic light Barnabas and Ariana tumble to the ground while Grumblejack paws at his eyes while ropes of drool fall from his mouth.
No need to bring a gift Kaynen Catesby! The duplicate warden’s announces while pointing at the virtuoso with the scroll clutched in their boney hands. As guests of the prison, I would be a poor host indeed if I did not welcome your properly! Six images frowning together identically, the warden sweeps six identical hands at each of you. I saw what you did to Tarker. There will be no mercy for any of you. Six sets of eyes narrowing, they settle on the half-elf. Especially you, you miserable excuse for a revolutionary.
21
17
17
3
9
23
16
15
22
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With one, feral shriek the Walker's jaws open and it lashes out at the guard, teeth sinking into his leg this time and ripping through soft flesh. As the guard collapses onto his knee from the pain, the Walker swings with one clawed paw, swiping across his head and merely buffeting him aside. As the guard recoils and tries to get back up, a second claw comes in and rakes across his face, splitting his cheek and mouth open before sending him collapsing to the ground.
The walker lets out another, monstrous howl and then begins savaging the unconscious guard, raking with claws, tugging at limbs with powerful jaws and ferociously rending the man limb from limb, flinging bodyparts away before finally tearing at the guard's belly and devouring the soft meat inside.
Only when it has finished with this grim task does it begin to move away from the body.
Down in the oubliette, Drisella stares up with wide eyes, her fingers twitching and an ache in her side sympathetic to the injury that the walker suffered. Pressing one hand against the aching spot, the girl rises up onto her toes and watches as the Walker's blood-soaked muzzle eclipses the opening, followed by a scrape and a clatter as the bucket and rope come crashing down into the cell.
Drisella hops out of the way as the empty bucket rings against the floor. Then, hesitantly easing over, she wraps her trembling hands around the length of rope and starts to pull herself up ever so slowly. The walker brings its mouth down to the rope and begins to tug, trying to help drag the girl up.
Kaynen watches as the warden materializes amid a series of parlor tricks, his smug expression ever unchanging.
"Really? A monocle *and* an eyepatch? Warden, I must speak with your haberdasher at once.. "
The half-elf's quip is cut short as something windy lashes out at him.
Hmm, perhaps we should've brought up that elven relic - the good warden is more adept that I expected...
Kergh shakes his head at the way the others fell, especially his friend Grumblejack. Then the priest's eyes narrow as he takes in the threat, a feral look of cunning appears across the face of the disguise guard.
"Your guards weak. Bad leader's fault. Ha ha ha."
Oswald should cast cause fear. I'd recommend using a Villain Point if he has one, but I don't think it's right to take that particular decision away from him in DMPC.
When the Warden makes his grand appearance amongst them, disabling three in moments, Oswald yells as he charges toward the man and his duplicates. The mad doctor is practically foaming at the mouth as he swings the length of his borrowed club into one of the Wardens' stomaches. His club meets resistance, the sweet sound of wood pummeling flesh, as he snarls out his pleasure, his spittle spraying into the Warden's face, "Where is she, fiend?! You have secreted her away in this place, laid torment after torment upon my innocent child, and now you strut out upon your high horse and look down upon us when we come for retribution? I'll ask but once more, where is MY DAUGHTER?! Tell me and I promise a swifter end than what is planned for you." Oswald weaves his club back and forth at the Warden's bodies, appearing to ready for another strike before he suddenly points the club at the swirl of air assaulting Kaynen, "And as for your pet, dear Warden, may it experience a taste of the sorrowful fate of misfortune that we have prepared for you. Not even Mitra the Deceiver can save you from it."
Dammed! Warden Richter cries out clutching at his stomach and frantically backing away. You are all dammed! He screams while pointing at the clustered group of Forsaken. Reaching into a small pouch at his side, Warden Richter flings out a scattering of waxy tallow, red powered sulfur and filings of iron into the face of Oswald Turrill. Especially you Oswald! The warden cries as he begins to draw together his power. Do the others know what you did to your family? Do they know of your delusions and how you consorted with dark powers? Sneering the elderly warden completes his spell calling forth a roiling ball of fire. When the knights found you, when they found the desiccated remains of your family seated around your hovel, they.. were.. horrified! To think you still call yourself a father! You want to know where your daughter is? She’s DEAD! Now taste the flames that you so rightly deserve Forsaken! As the ball of flame materialize next to Oswald, bits of liquid flame sputter and hiss, cascading off of the magical orb. Sizzling and sputtering the bits of ash and flaming embers fall upon several of the books but the hardened leather covers prevent the age worn tomes from catching aflame.
Meanwhile the swirling cascade of tumultuous air flows around Kaynen, whipping up smoke from the flaming orb, causing it resembling something akin to miniature dust devil given sentience. Buffeting the half-elf with gusts of wind, Oswalds curse manages to protect Kaynen from the worse of the blasts. Then as quickly as the amorphous creature was upon Kaynen, it rises up like a looming thundercloud above the maestro, its form crackling with barely contained elemental power.
As everything goes quiet above, Dirsella watches as the privy bucket is tossed down into her cell. With a loud clatter, the young woman looks up to the top of the hole where the shadow creature snuffle-snorts, raising his fanged maw into the air. Tentatively grabbing at the rope Drisella begins pulling herself hand over hand out along the rope as she feels a tugging sensation as the creature bites at the other end, tugging and pulling from above.
Reaching the top of the gaol, the young, mentally scarred woman is greeted by a bloody and terrible sight. On the floor, four feet away from her is a ruined body, half-devoured and surrounded by a slowly spreading pool of crimson blood. Lying next to the body is a bullseye lantern, now on its side, with its spilt oil mixing with the man’s crimson ichor creating a hellish tableau of blood and oil alight with flames.
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What should elicit a scream instead draws a series of hyperventilating breaths from Drisella. She shudders, exhales a sharp, whining breath and runs both hands up through her hair where they curl with tangled, wet locks. She stares, motionlessly, at the dismembered corpse at the slick, black creature with leonine physique standing between her and the body. The young girl's gut wrenches for a few moments, memories of another such dismembered body flashing back to the forefront of memory but are rapidly swallowed up by the growing immediacy of the situation.
Having heard what Drisella is too distracted to, the Walker in Darkness takes a few scraping steps towards her, its low, rattling growl getting her attention. Dark eyes focus squarely on the approaching creature, an extension of her. "," it rumbles, and Drisella misinterprets that simple phrase on many levels. She looks down at her feet, then over to the corpse, then back to the Walker.
"How?" Is asked by the young woman, instead of the obvious, 'where?' The Walker waits a moment, considering how she has perceived its suggestion, then without correcting her it turns towards the doorway and begins walking ahead of her, trailing both its own blood and that of the guard's in its wake.
"" it rumbles as it walks from her towards the door. After a moment the Walker pauses, looking back to Drisella expectantly. The girl glances at the guard's corpse, his fallen sword, the armor -- things a rational person may arm themselves with. Drisella is not, at the moment, rational. Instead, she walks over to the Walker's side, approaching it in the way someone may an unfamiliar dog.
Reaching out with one hand, she touches its cold, greasy flank. Her fingers glide over tarry flesh with little resistance, and she feels a chill run down her spine at the connection between the two. "મને રક્ષણ આપે છે.," Drisella utters softly as her eyes lid partway and roll up into the back of her head. As she utters this mantra, a shimmering heat-mirage of force ripples around the Walker in Darkness. "મને રક્ષણ આપે છે." Drisella reiterates, and this time that same heat-ripple distortion shimmers around her body.
Recoiling her touch from the Walker as if only then realizing she was in contact with it, Drisella's eyes open and her moment of transcendence ends. Unaware, fully, of what she just involved, the girl nods once in affirmation to the beast.
"I will follow," she whispers, "I will follow."
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Walker: "We must ascend."
Drisella (twice): "Protect me."
Warden Richter spits out a mouthful of blood from the hammer blow from the mad - and apparently delusional as well - doctor. Mikhail, moving with unearthly speed that he has never felt before, leaps forward to attack their captor. With his sword and shield still stowed from the wizard's surprise attack, he relies on his natural strength and abilities. Richter looks a weak man, Mikhail reasons, one dependent on his magic instead of his body. As he nears the wizard, Mikhail's keener senses can smell the blood, feel it pumping out of the wizard who appears six times in front of him. On instinct, he lunges towards one of the images with the strongest scent of blood. Colliding with solid flesh, he wraps his arms around the slight wizard and tightens until he hears the man's brittle bones begin to break.
Round 1, Init 16
Kaynen touches the wound inflicted by the abrasive wind of the elemental a shocked look as he hands comes away with blood - his own blood.
"Oh! Bloodied a hero have we! That reminds me of a song..."
Clearing his throat, the half-elf backs away from his aerial adversary and quickly finds his voice and begins to sing of an Ustalavian war ballad, substituting the warden's name for Tar-Baphon's.
Taking a moment before pressing the advantage Mikhail has offered him, Ethaniel concentrates as he passes his open palm over the small blade in his hand. As he does so, there is a brief glow emanating from his hand and then from the dagger before it vanishes, the weapon's edge looking now sharper somehow.
As soon as the brief ritual is over, the magus moves with purpose closing the distance to the elderly mage, the real one grappled by his vampiric fellow Forsaken, and plunges the dagger in the man's stomach. Thw wound, however, is far from deadly, owing probably to the man's magical protections.
"Now, concentrate on the wizard while we have the advantage," he calls out to the rest of them, urging them to ignore the pet and focus on its master.
As Kherg advances he slips on a scattered volume of The Fates of Pharasmans and his mace nearly splits Mikhail's head open.
"Sorry"
When the Warden makes his grand appearance amongst them, disabling three in moments, Oswald yells as he charges toward the man and his duplicates. The mad doctor is practically foaming at the mouth as he swings the length of his borrowed club into one of the Wardens' stomachs. His club meets resistance, the sweet sound of wood pummeling flesh, as he snarls out his pleasure, his spittle spraying into the Warden's face, "Where is she, fiend?! You have secreted her away in this place, laid torment after torment upon my innocent child, and now you strut out upon your high horse and look down upon us when we come for retribution? I'll ask but once more, where is MY DAUGHTER?! Tell me and I promise a swifter end than what is planned for you." Oswald weaves his club back and forth at the Warden's bodies, appearing to ready for another strike before he suddenly points the club at the swirl of air assaulting Kaynen, "And as for your pet, dear Warden, may it experience a taste of the sorrowful fate of misfortune that we have prepared for you. Not even Mitra the Deceiver can save you from it."
Dammed! Warden Richter cries out clutching at his stomach and frantically backing away. You are all dammed! He screams while pointing at the clustered group of Forsaken. Reaching into a small pouch at his side, Warden Richter flings out a scattering of waxy tallow, red powered sulfur and filings of iron into the face of Oswald Turrill. Especially you Oswald! The warden cries as he begins to draw together his power. Do the others know what you did to your family? Do they know of your delusions and how you consorted with dark powers? Sneering the elderly warden completes his spell calling forth a roiling ball of fire. When the knights found you, when they found the desiccated remains of your family seated around your hovel, they.. were.. horrified! To think you still call yourself a father! You want to know where your daughter is? She’s DEAD! Now taste the flames that you so rightly deserve Forsaken! As the ball of flame materialize next to Oswald, bits of liquid flame sputter and hiss, cascading off of the magical orb. Sizzling and sputtering the bits of ash and flaming embers fall upon several of the books but the hardened leather covers prevent the age worn tomes from catching aflame.
Meanwhile the swirling cascade of tumultuous air flows around Kaynen, whipping up smoke from the flaming orb, causing it resembling something akin to miniature dust devil given sentience. Buffeting the half-elf with gusts of wind, Oswalds curse manages to protect Kaynen from the worse of the blasts. Then as quickly as the amorphous creature was upon Kaynen, it rises up like a looming thundercloud above the maestro, its form crackling with barely contained elemental power.
Warden Richter spits out a mouthful of blood from the hammer blow from the mad - and apparently delusional as well - doctor. Mikhail, moving with unearthly speed that he has never felt before, leaps forward to attack their captor. With his sword and shield still stowed from the wizard's surprise attack, he relies on his natural strength and abilities. Richter looks a weak man, Mikhail reasons, one dependent on his magic instead of his body. As he nears the wizard, Mikhail's keener senses can smell the blood, feel it pumping out of the wizard who appears six times in front of him. On instinct, he lunges towards one of the images with the strongest scent of blood. Colliding with solid flesh, he wraps his arms around the slight wizard and tightens until he hears the man's brittle bones begin to break.
Taking a moment before pressing the advantage Mikhail has offered him, Ethaniel concentrates as he passes his open palm over the small blade in his hand. As he does so, there is a brief glow emanating from his hand and then from the dagger before it vanishes, the weapon's edge looking now sharper somehow.
As soon as the brief ritual is over, the magus moves with purpose closing the distance to the elderly mage, the real one grappled by his vampiric fellow Forsaken, and plunges the dagger in the man's stomach. The wound, however, is far from deadly, owing probably to the man's magical protections.
"Now, concentrate on the wizard while we have the advantage," he calls out to the rest of them, urging them to ignore the pet and focus on its master.
Kaynen touches the wound inflicted by the abrasive wind of the elemental a shocked look as he hands comes away with blood - his own blood.
"Oh! Bloodied a hero have we! That reminds me of a song..."
Clearing his throat, the half-elf backs away from his aerial adversary and quickly finds his voice and begins to sing of an Ustalavian war ballad, substituting the warden's name for Tar-Baphon's.
As Kherg advances he slips on a scattered volume of The Fates of Pharasmans and his mace nearly splits Mikhail's head open.
"Sorry"
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Oswald cackles loudly as Mikhail grabs a hold of the real Warden out of all his images even as he dances to the side of the large rolling ball of flames. As everyone takes a turn giving the vile man his justified comeuppance, the mad doctor raises his free hand to the ceiling. His voice grows cold as the grave while his tongue nimbly slides over complex arcane syllables. The air crackles and pops around his outstretched hand as a blue aura of chilling death forms like a thin layer of ice over it.
His spell complete, Oswald looks the Warden full in the eyes, "Even in the face of death, you spout your kinds' lies. LIES! My family was happy and together before you cursed Mitra-lovers destroyed our home and consigned my sweet, little ones to torture and inquiry! Where are they now, Warden? You have but a few moments to clear your soul of its burdens before the void takes you, so tell me where to find them?" As the last of his accusations slip forth from his mouth like venom from a spitting cobra, Oswald reaches forward and places his crackling fingertips against the Warden's chest, perfectly around where his heart should be. The doctor wears a malicious smile as he presses as hard as he can with his fingers into the Warden's chest while negative energy courses from flesh to flesh.
Badly wounded from a club to the chest, a dagger to the stomach and the chilling touch of Oswald spell, Warden Richter thrashes in Mikhail’s ironfisted grip to no avail. Eyes wide as Mikhail continues to crush his arms around the elderly man, he knows that what time he has remaining is short. Wheezing between the fingers locked around his throat, Richter manages to point at Oswald and will the flaming sphere of liquid fire towards the cackling man. You.. may.. kill.. me.. he grunts. But.. I’m not going alone! He whispers as the fiery orb envelops Oswald.
Suddenly Oswald’s mad cackling and venomous accusations become worthless as the lanky, greasy haired gravedigger becomes lit of fire. Now a human torch, Oswald begins to scream as his dirty rags and grease laden hair catch aflame. Flailing about, Oswald takes a single step before falling to the ground, still quivering as the fat of his body begins to sizzle and hiss filling the room with the rancid stench of burned hair and meat.
Meanwhile above the group near the ceiling of the library, the thunderous cloud of roiling air that had attacked Kaynen once before descends again gusting and whooshing. Swirling around Kaynen, the elemental crackles with small bits of lightning that echo the larger blasts from outside of the tower. Pummeling the half-elf with bits of hail and shocks of electricity, the air elemental drives Kaynen to one knee. Woozily, Kaynen’s song falters for a moment before the bard manages to catch himself. Barely hanging on to consciousness, Kaynen pushes himself off the ground and wipes a bit of blood from his mouth while trying to clear his head.
Disabled (0 Hit Points)
When your current hit point total drops to exactly 0, you are disabled.
You gain the staggered condition and can only take a single move or standard action each turn (but not both, nor can you take full-round actions). You can take move actions without further injuring yourself, but if you perform any standard action (or any other strenuous action) you take 1 point of damage after completing the act. Unless your activity increased your hit points, you are now at –1 hit points and dying.
Healing that raises your hit points above 0 makes you fully functional again, just as if you'd never been reduced to 0 or fewer hit points.
You can also become disabled when recovering from dying. In this case, it's a step toward recovery, and you can have fewer than 0 hit points.
Dying (Negative Hit Points)
If your hit point total is negative, but not equal to or greater than your Constitution score, you're dying.
A dying character immediately falls unconscious and can take no actions.
A dying character loses 1 hit point every round. This continues until the character dies or becomes stable.
Stable Characters and Recovery
On the character's next turn, after being reduced to negative hit points (but not dead), and on all subsequent turns, the character must make a DC 10 Constitution check to become stable. The character takes a penalty on this roll equal to his negative hit point total. A character that is stable does not need to make this check. A natural 20 on this check is an automatic success. If the character fails this check, he loses 1 hit point. An unconscious or dying character cannot use any special action that changes the initiative count on which his action occurs.
Characters taking continuous damage, such as from an acid arrow or a bleed effect, automatically fail all Constitution checks made to stabilize. Such characters lose 1 hit point per round in addition to the continuous damage.
You can keep a dying character from losing any more hit points and make him stable with a DC 15 Heal check.
If any sort of healing cures the dying character of even 1 point of damage, he becomes stable and stops losing hit points.
Healing that raises the dying character's hit points to 0 makes him conscious and disabled. Healing that raises his hit points to 1 or more makes him fully functional again, just as if he'd never been reduced to 0 or lower. A spellcaster retains the spellcasting capability she had before dropping below 0 hit points.
A stable character who has been tended by a healer or who has been magically healed eventually regains consciousness and recovers hit points naturally. If the character has no one to tend him, however, his life is still in danger, and he may yet slip away.
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Mikhail sinks his fangs into Warden Richter's neck, letting the blood pump out from his terror-filled heart. He drinks heavily of it, swallowing the hot, pumping blood in gulps like a man lost at sea. It tingles on his fangs and tongue. Magic flows through the man's blood like nothing Mikhail has ever tasted. He closes his eyes and drinks faster and faster, gripping him so tightly that the man's tendons pop and bones break as Mikhail savagely rips through him. Lost in bloodlust, Mikhail continues until not a drop remains.
Kherg drags the gravedigger free,peeling flesh and cloth with his strong grip. The priest of Darkness calls on his Master to help this poor unfortunate soul. He murmurs the fierce words of a healing promise, the holy symbol flares red briefly and his hand presses into the dying body. Kherg's palm feels the crispy skin slide over the bubbling layers of fat then start to knit and calm thankfully.
"Master keeps his heart alive."
As the Warden's eyes close and the old man looks as if being held up by Mikhail's strong grip alone, Ethaniel takes his dagger out of the mage's body and his eyes turn to the vampiric Forsaken.
"Do not let him die yet," he says in a level tone, no actual compassion behind the words. "He may know where my sword is."
Round 2, Init 16
Kaynen, unphased by the elemental's assault and realizing the Forsaken have quickly subdued the warden before he's even had a chance to reach the chorus, chooses to continue his song for the benefit of all in the audience.
for
Having said his piece, Ethaniel turns around and moves to engage the wizard's pet, bringing his now enchanted dagger to bear against the seemingly intangible elemental creature.
Oswald cackles loudly as Mikhail grabs a hold of the real Warden out of all his images even as he dances to the side of the large rolling ball of flames. As everyone takes a turn giving the vile man his justified comeuppance, the mad doctor raises his free hand to the ceiling. His voice grows cold as the grave while his tongue nimbly slides over complex arcane syllables. The air crackles and pops around his outstretched hand as a blue aura of chilling death forms like a thin layer of ice over it.
His spell complete, Oswald looks the Warden full in the eyes, "Even in the face of death, you spout your kinds' lies. LIES! My family was happy and together before you cursed Mitra-lovers destroyed our home and consigned my sweet, little ones to torture and inquiry! Where are they now, Warden? You have but a few moments to clear your soul of its burdens before the void takes you, so tell me where to find them?" As the last of his accusations slip forth from his mouth like venom from a spitting cobra, Oswald reaches forward and places his crackling fingertips against the Warden's chest, perfectly around where his heart should be. The doctor wears a malicious smile as he presses as hard as he can with his fingers into the Warden's chest while negative energy courses from flesh to flesh.
Badly wounded from a club to the chest, a dagger to the stomach and the chilling touch of Oswald spell, Warden Richter thrashes in Mikhail’s ironfisted grip to no avail. Eyes wide as Mikhail continues to crush his arms around the elderly man, he knows that what time he has remaining is short. Wheezing between the fingers locked around his throat, Richter manages to point at Oswald and will the flaming sphere of liquid fire towards the cackling man. You.. may.. kill.. me.. he grunts. But.. I’m not going alone! He whispers as the fiery orb envelops Oswald.
Suddenly Oswald’s mad cackling and venomous accusations become worthless as the lanky, greasy haired gravedigger becomes lit of fire. Now a human torch, Oswald begins to scream as his dirty rags and grease laden hair catch aflame. Flailing about, Oswald takes a single step before falling to the ground, still quivering as the fat of his body begins to sizzle and hiss filling the room with the rancid stench of burned hair and meat.
Meanwhile above the group near the ceiling of the library, the thunderous cloud of roiling air that had attacked Kaynen once before descends again gusting and whooshing. Swirling around Kaynen, the elemental crackles with small bits of lightning that echo the larger blasts from outside of the tower. Pummeling the half-elf with bits of hail and shocks of electricity, the air elemental drives Kaynen to one knee. Woozily, Kaynen’s song falters for a moment before the bard manages to catch himself. Pushing himself off the ground Kaynen wipes a bit of blood from his mouth while giving a fierce grin. It would take more than that to finish him.
Mikhail sinks his fangs into Warden Richter's neck, letting the blood pump out from his terror-filled heart. He drinks heavily of it, swallowing the hot, pumping blood in gulps like a man lost at sea. It tingles on his fangs and tongue. Magic flows through the man's blood like nothing Mikhail has ever tasted. He closes his eyes and drinks faster and faster, gripping him so tightly that the man's tendons pop and bones break as Mikhail savagely rips through him. Lost in bloodlust, Mikhail continues until not a drop remains.
As the Warden's eyes close and the old man looks as if being held up by Mikhail's strong grip alone, Ethaniel takes his dagger out of the mage's body and his eyes turn to the vampiric Forsaken. "Do not let him die yet," he says in a level tone, no actual compassion behind the words. "He may know where my sword is." Having said his piece, Ethaniel turns around and moves to engage the wizard's pet, bringing his now enchanted dagger to bear against the seemingly intangible elemental creature. Flipping the blade over in his hand so that he is holding the blade, the swordsman waits for the right moment. Suddenly as the amorphous creature coalesces he hurls that dagger with all of his strength and somehow the dagger manages to connect for a moment causing the elemental to howl like wind rushing through a mountain pass.
Kaynen, unphased by the elemental's assault and realizing the Forsaken have quickly subdued the warden before he's even had a chance to reach the chorus, chooses to continue his song for the benefit of all in the audience.
Kherg drags the gravedigger free, peeling flesh and cloth with his strong grip. The priest of Darkness calls on his Master to help this poor unfortunate soul. He murmurs the fierce words of a healing promise, the holy symbol flares red briefly and his hand presses into the dying body. Kherg's palm feels the crispy skin slide over the bubbling layers of fat then start to knit and calm thankfully. "Master keeps his heart alive."
Swirling around the room and kicking up flaming cinders and burning ash the elemental pauses momentarily as if confused. Then, reasserting control over itself it dives down towards Kaynen, its wake blowing more bits of flaming sphere onto the library shelves causing the carefully penned documents to catch aflame. Following the last command of its controller the elemental falls like a thunderbolt onto Kaynen, rocking the bard back on his feet and mercilessly pummeling the half-elf with bit of hail. Gusting back around the library shelf that is now on fire, the Elemental rises into the air hovering above the wounded elf before it disappears sight with a quiet *pop*
21
17
17
3
9
23
16
15
22
18
8
This spell causes confusion in the targets, making them unable to determine their actions. Roll on the following table at the start of each subject's turn each round to see what it does in that round.
d% Behavior
01–25 Act normally
26–50 Do nothing but babble incoherently
51–75 Deal 1d8 points of damage + Str modifier to self with item in hand
76–100 Attack nearest creature (for this purpose, a familiar counts as part of the subject's self)
A confused character who can't carry out the indicated action does nothing but babble incoherently. Attackers are not at any special advantage when attacking a confused character. Any confused character who is attacked automatically attacks its attackers on its next turn, as long as it is still confused when its turn comes. Note that a confused character will not make attacks of opportunity against any creature that it is not already devoted to attacking (either because of its most recent action or because it has just been attacked).
Unchecked, fire tends to spread both rapidly and unpredictably. Minor factors, such as the dryness of the burning material, the presence of wind or breeze, flammable finish on flooring, dry vegetation in an area, and countless other factors can all contribute to the spread of a fire. Once a fire has burned an area, it will not return to that area. Likewise, once an area has been doused with water or covered with a non-flammable substance, such as dirt, that area is safe from further effects of the blaze for the immediate future.
Progress of Spreading Fire 1d20
Fire Reaction
1 The fire does not grow this round.
2 The fire grows 1 square to the north.
3 The fire grows 1 square to the east.
4 The fire grows 1 square to the south.
5 The fire grows 1 square to the west.
6 The fire grows 1 square in all directions.
7-8 The fire does not grow this round.
9 The fire grows 2 squares to the north.
10 The fire grows 2 squares to the east.
11 The fire grows 2 squares to the south.
12 The fire grows 2 squares to the west.
13 The fire grows 2 squares in all directions.
14-18 The fire does not grow this round.
19 The fire grows 3 squares in all directions.
20 The fire grows 4 squares in all directions
Every round that a fire burns, regardless of whether characters are attempting to control it, roll 1d20 and consult the following table to determine the activity of the fire for that round and how many (if any) 5-foot squares the fire spreads to. The GM chooses which squares a fire spreads into if multiple possibilities exist. Fire cannot spread into areas where it has already been extinguished (unless noted otherwise), nor can it spread into squares where flammable materials are not present. Characters who are inside of a square when it catches fire are subject to damage, as per the rules for catching on fire.
Burning Buildings
Buildings that catch fire are quickly engulfed and are often a complete loss. If there are no characters or NPCs attempting to put a fire out, a building becomes unsalvageable in a space of time dependent on the size of the building. Ultimately how fast a building burns is left up to the GM to decide and depends on a variety of factors, but a rough guideline is as follows: small one-floor buildings (as occupied by many commoners) are consumed in 6d8 minutes; larger homes (like town houses and the homes of merchants) are totally consumed 4d20 minutes after catching fire; and major structures (like villas, castles, or cathedrals) are consumed in 2d4 hours. Buildings built entirely of flammable materials burn in half the time, while structures consisting mainly of non-flammable materials take half again as much time to burn. While burning, most structures begin collapsing.
Dousing a Fire
Dousing a fire requires a large amount of water or other non-flammable material, such as dirt, to be deposited on the burning area. One effective strategy for extinguishing a fire quickly is to surround the burning area with nonflammable material. PCs doing this must make a ranged touch attack against an AC of 10 to deliver their payload to the intended square. The following indicates how many 5-foot squares of fire a number of the listed containers can extinguish with successful delivery.
Waterskin
Twenty waterskins full of water extinguish one square.
Bucket
Four buckets full of non-flammable material extinguish one square.
Gallon Container
Twelve gallon containers of nonflammable material extinguish one square.
Cauldron
One cauldron of non-flammable material extinguishes one square.
Portable Hole
A portable hole filled with non-flammable material extinguishes a 12-square-by-12-square area.
Bag of Holding
A bag of holding, type I filled with nonflammable material extinguishes a 3-square-by-3-square area, type II extinguishes a 5-square-by-5-square area, type III extinguishes a 7-square-by-7-square area, and type IV extinguishes a 10-square-by-10-square area.
Backdrafts
Fuel-starved flames bursting into freshly opened chambers pose a lethal threat to fire fighters. Such hazards typically arise from rooms no larger than 40 square feet and sealed from ample airflows. When these rooms catch fire, they deplete the supply of oxygen in 2d6 x 5 minutes. After such a point, the fire continues to burn, but the combustion is a slow smolder. When a door or obstruction is opened or removed, the air from outside the room rushes in and instantly restarts the flames, resulting in a fiery eruption. Any characters that are either already in the room or are within 15 feet of the newly opened entryway take 5d6 points of fire damage (DC 15 Reflex save for half ). The area opened to must be oxygen-rich for a backdraft to happen, and does not occur if one oxygen-starved room opens into another.
Firefighting Magic
A number of spells have the potential to affect areas that have caught fire and can serve to reduce the seriousness of a blaze. While these are by no means all the spells that might aid a fire-fighting spellcaster, these account for the majority of the magical effects that can be brought to bear against flames. Other obvious spells, such as control water, rely on the specifics of a situation and are left to the GM to determine the effects.
Control Weather
In general, weather conjured by this spell has a 40% chance to extinguish an uncovered square full of flame every round. This does not prevent flames from spreading, but those left exposed are quenched with relative swiftness. Fires burning within a structure are unaffected by this spell unless it has some obvious point of entry (such as through an open roof or large window).
Gust of Wind
This powerful wind blows out 10 feet of fire in its path. Flames blown out can be reignited by nearby flames.
Ice Storm
An ice storm extinguishes fire in the area it affects. The hail from the spell melts and leaves an area soaked, preventing it from catching fire again.
Polar Ray
This spell extinguishes the fire along the ray's path. The ice from the spell melts due to the heat and leaves an area soaked, preventing it from catching fire again.
Pyrotechnics
Upon affecting a fire, a pyrotechnics spell extinguishes up to four squares of fire. A#ecting flames with this spell can backfire upon a caster, though, potentially hindering those nearby with even more light and smoke.
Summon Monster
Several summoned creatures might possess qualities allowing them to aid in putting out fires, whether special abilities or the power to cast any of the spells noted here. Water elementals especially can put out flames in any square they cross, though burning squares count a diffcult terrain for them while purposefully trying to extinguish flames. Even water elementals take damage from fire, and can be destroyed by entering a blaze.
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Round 3, Init 16
Finally stopping his song, Kaynen glares up at the rafters for a few moments before bringing his attention back to bear at the room around him.
Stumbling forward, the half-elf moves to the warden and kneels, searching the old fool's body.
"He has to have some potions tucked away on him, if he was going into battle. No doubt they may be able to heal Oswald and myself."
Kaynen glances back at the others.
"And put out those damned fires! We're not ready to burned the whole place down... yet!"
As Mikhail continues to hold the dying warden with his sharp incisors locked around the warden’s throat drips of crimson fall like rain from the pale aristocrat’s mouth on to the wardens stained and shredded robe. Weakly stumbling over to the warden, Kaynen begins to search the man’s remains even as the elderly man’s body twitches and shutters. Patting down the robes, Kaynen finds several items secreted within the voluminous robes deep pockets.
Seeing the same seal on the potion as the ones recovered from the armory and the barracks, Kaynen gives a sigh of relief. Popping the wax seal off with a flick of his thumb the half-elf drinks to potion in one quick swallow. No more than a few seconds later the potion takes effect. His bruises, fractured bones and severe lacerations from the pummeling by hailstone and battering by the elemental immediately start to fade leaving only a smattering of the smaller cuts and bruises behind. Mostly hale and feeling much better than a moment before, the half-elf gives a cock-sure smile before frowning at slowly growing fire.
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Fire, smoke, ashes and chaos mix with screams and the smell of blood heavy in the air. The twisted wreckage of men lay across the ground, blood too in shallow pools. It is a scene unfit for most, let alone a young woman not quite yet an adult. Yet that is exactly what wanders in to the warden's tower, dressed in the tattered gown of a prisoner, bare legged and bare-footed, covered in blood up to her ankles with spots dappling her water-soaked rags in blurry stains.
The dark-haired girl looks like she dragged herself out of a lake, tangled and wet hair the color of ink is plastered to her cheeks in ringlets and strings. Dark brown eyes stare half-lidded into the room, fixed on the aristocrat drinking the lifeblood of the warden himself. She wobbles there for a moment, as if about to lose her balance, then looks to the sphere of flame burning across the room.
"The fire burned across the tower hall," the young woman muses in a lilting tone of voice, "with screams of men and beast consumed by rage." Brows pinching together in an expression of confusion, Drisella stares vacantly at the flame before looking over her shoulder.
"The Walker came to feed on all the blood," comes whispered out as she stares at the doorway, lips parted as if to add another sentence of rhythmic prose, but instead only a horse whisper escapes her lips as they twitch, and a hiccuped sob burbles forth for a moment, tears rolling down her cheeks.
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