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Archer's snarky response to the elvish Woman's response dies in his throat when he see's Malkaer get slammed into by a lance of sonic energy, dropping the elf like a puppet who's strings got cut. The STEEL in his soul hardens quickly forcing his attention to the one who did it. Malkaer's shriveled form superimposes itself with the wounded great beast and his STEEL can't hold back the surge of mythic power rushing out. Sand blows away from his feet and his energy bow grow's larger, turning into the same great-bow that let him strike down the bombards he faced in the volcano. But now instead of a group of 5 monster's, The Red Archer's attention is fully on the Champion creature.
He failed to protect his companion, but he will not let the beast take another.
"I am, The bone of my sword" he whispers with intensity, the energy arrows growing into full fledged blades, notch into his bowstring, his mythic power rolling off of him wastefully as his STEEL cracks under the pressure of his rage.
He let's his arrow's fly
Attack Action with rapid Shot
Attack Action with rapid Shot
Attack Action with rapid Shot
Attack action with Amazing Initiative
Damage
.
On seeing Malkaer's body fall to the ground, Rokan begins gracefully gliding forward to close the gap with this ominous threat. He stops at a seemingly arbitrary point and raises his hand with two fingers pointed towards Celabadon and the same two fingers of his other hand touching his temple.
On seeing Malkaer's body fall to the ground, Rokan begins gracefully gliding forward to close the gap with this ominous threat. He stops at a seemingly arbitrary point and raises his hand with two fingers pointed towards Celabadon and the same two fingers of his other hand touching his temple.
[dice=Energy ray attack vs. Celabadon touch AC, mythic surge]1d20+7+1d6
[dice=Energy ray cold damage]4d6+4
Jimbli warps underneath the monstrosity still standing. He cuts into the back of the creature's leg where he assumes vital tendons lie.
You can move through the space of any creature two or more size categories larger than you without provoking attacks of opportunity, and you can share such a creature’s space. When sharing a larger opponent’s space, you gain cover against all melee and ranged attacks it makes, and it is considered flat-footed for the purposes of any melee or ranged attacks you make against it.
Jimbli warps underneath the monstrosity still standing. He cuts into the back of the creature's leg where he assumes vital tendons lie.
[dice=sword vs flat-footed AC+surge]1d20+1d6+10
[dice=damage]1d4+2d6+7** spoiler omitted **
The hideous un-sighted beast shrieks with an ear-splitting death knell as the dexterous halfing lands the killing shot, slicing its engorged tendon, and letting the unnatural thing's vital ichors spew into the crimson-tinted heavens of Athas.
Jimbli feels a surge of provocative energy rush through his overstimulated veins as the halfling attempts to steady his breathing upon the realization that his great foe has fallen.
.
Jimbli warps underneath the monstrosity still standing. He cuts into the back of the creature's leg where he assumes vital tendons lie.
[dice=sword vs flat-footed AC+surge]1d20+1d6+10
[dice=damage]1d4+2d6+7** spoiler omitted **
The imperious elf maiden sniffs contemptuously,
"Well, that was some kind of a performance, wasn't it? I suppose little brother-runner had the wrong shake of the lots, I suppose?"
She turns to regard Slavathras as he re-materializes from the shadows cast by the rocky bluff which surrounds the tomb's entrance,
"And you weren't much help, were you Silan Tilak? I suppose this lot realize they have attached themselves to a rather capricious guide by this stage?"
Jimbli warps underneath the monstrosity still standing. He cuts into the back of the creature's leg where he assumes vital tendons lie.
[dice=sword vs flat-footed AC+surge]1d20+1d6+10
[dice=damage]1d4+2d6+7** spoiler omitted **
The imperious elf maiden sniffs contemptuously,
"Well, that was some kind of a performance, wasn't it? I suppose little brother-runner had the wrong shake of the lots, I suppose?"
She turns to regard Slavathras as he re-materializes from the shadows cast by the rocky bluff which surrounds the tomb's entrance,
"And you weren't much help, were you Silan Tilak? I suppose this lot realize they have attached themselves to a rather capricious guide by this stage?"
"I never agreed to risk my life or limb in this enterprise -- I have an assignment here that must necessarily be carried out to prevent the forces unleashed by the Great Orrery from destroying Athas, and in first place in this directive is to avoid being myself dispatched in the course of fulfilling the design."
After instinctively blinking out from underneath the hulking foe, It takes Jimbli moment to process what has happened. He looks down at his silver sword -trembling in his grip. It seems to absorb the force coming out of the dying massive creature.
Jimbli takes a deep breath and nods. “Hope no one was close to the elf... To be honest, we were lucky to lose only one.”
He then goes back to looking at his sword again as if he no longer recognizes it.
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<Seconds Ago>
Malkaer charged forward. There was so much ground to cover, but he was fast. Fast enough. With his enchanted boots and natural speed he would make it! The elemental in his hand whispered/screamed warnings to him, but it was too late. He was running. To stop running was to die. He was fast...but not fast enough. He was running straight into a wall of sonic energy. A force so strong that it would liquify his organs before destroying his body. He was running into death. But he could not stop. He had only seconds to live, and that in itself was only because of the elemental he held and the bond between them. No mortal elf should have lived that long.
He looked at the creature and felt a wave of sadness. There was so much yet to see. So much to do. So much to live. And he only had time for one. One last act. His magic used the life force of the planet, but he always did it responsibly. Defiler magic went against everything he believed in. But in that last second, where he had the chance to make a single blow...he became a defiler. Because he used himself to fuel the spell. He was already dead, there was no denying it.
His blade hit home, and as it did it shattered. Shattered within the creature. Electricity shot throughout it’s body. The elemental was gone. Was it dead? Did it return to what was left of it’s plane? He did not know. His final thought was a question. Now that his life was over, would he finally stop running?
He came apart. And was no more.
The somehow at once serene and threateningly predatory visage of the elven mystic again curls in a kind of rictus,
"Well, that is a certainly a pity, but were you still planning on entering the tombs, or were you planning on milling about until the sun sets? At some soon moment, my entourage will depart for our main camp, and will return here in a day to receive your company... if you are successful."
She smirks,
The august Dreadseer again communicates in the signs of the Serpent Singer Tribe, her dexterous digits speedily tracing the complex configurations of the hand language,
These lot appear to be exceptionally thick-headed in their action. Do take care, daughter of our People, that you do not fall prey to their unfortunate predilections in melee. Take care to stay towards the back of this company, and do not court risk unnecessarily for your own person.
The somehow at once serene and threateningly predatory visage of the elven mystic again curls in a kind of rictus,
"Well, that is a certainly a pity, but were you still planning on entering the tombs, or were you planning on milling about until the sun sets? At some soon moment, my entourage will depart for our main camp, and will return here in a day to receive your company... if you are successful."
She smirks,
** spoiler omitted **
The mysterious bard regards the shadows that spill from the now-opened mouth of the tomb.
"I am, as always, ready for all and sundry."
Rokan considers Malkaer's ceased existence and reflects momentarily on the fragility of experience and the groups current proximity to danger and death. It causes him to further analyze his actions in the previous battle and how he might better ensure his continued existence.
I, as well, am ready to enter.
Rokan considers Malkaer's ceased existence and reflects momentarily on the fragility of experience and the groups current proximity to danger and death. It causes him to further analyze his actions in the previous battle and how he might better ensure his continued existence.
I, as well, am ready to enter.
The Tyrian druid inclines her head solemnly to the company as she descends from the steps that connect the sandy valley with the upper reaches of the Serpent Singer temple. Indeed, she makes barely a sound as Misra completes her path down the ramp that ascends behind the two immense towers that stand at the front of the ancient structure. The cliff-like cowl of her dark green traveling cloak, made up of long sheets that appear vaguely chitinous, overshadows the druid's fine features as she begins to speak.
It is a strange sound to hear the cool, clear, steady tones of her voice for once not in the spaces of the mind,
"It is here, for now, that we must part paths, for my companion Dalman and I must return to Destiny's Chariot to prepare a report for our confederates in the Free City, and embassy which we will dispatch by carrier-bee to the Gardens of the High Templar this very afternoon."
"We shall also take into our protection this brother druid of Raam,"
she gestures at the halfling Taalik.
"I pray by the wisdom of the naturemasters that guide us that we shall meet again in peace."
Travel well, Misra. I appreciated your wisdom while you accompanied us.
"We will hold in esteem those woken from the Dream,
Ensuring another survives by giving up their own lives."
Cae solemnly says the prayer over the site of Malkaer's death as he pours a small amount of water into the sand.
"Shall we resume to chase our doom,
And enter the gloom lurking in this tomb?"
The young man seems eager to continue.
"We will hold in esteem those woken from the Dream,
Ensuring another survives by giving up their own lives."Cae solemnly says the prayer over the site of Malkaer's death as he pours a small amount of water into the sand.
"Shall we resume to chase our doom,
And enter the gloom lurking in this tomb?"The young man seems eager to continue.
[dice=Per]1d20+13
A strange glint catches Cae's eyes as he approaches the tomb entrance, still strewn with the recently-felled corpses of the mysterious reptilian assailants.
It flickers as if a beam of light has caught one edge of an etched diadem.
The sensation irresistibly reminds him of the temporary blindness that would take hold of him when he beheld his mistress Arsinoe's diamond signet ring... exactly the same...
He realizes with a violent shock that one of the deceased creatures bears his mistress' ring around its enlongated, scaled neck.
Cae rushes to the body of the downed creature. Ripping at its neck, he retrieves something that catches the light of Athas' oppressive sun when he holds it up. Still on his knees, he lets out a cry of despair that echoes off the walls of the tomb.
"Are the three only one, service over and done?
Or do two still walk the Dream, things not as they seem?"
Cae rushes to the body of the downed creature. Ripping at its neck, he retrieves something that catches the light of Athas' oppressive sun when he holds it up. Still on his knees, he lets out a cry of despair that echoes off the walls of the tomb.
"Are the three only one, service over and done?
Or do two still walk the Dream, things not as they seem?"
[dice=Per(Take 10)]10+13
Each of the creatures' corpse bears curious markings of some sort -- streaks of yellow pigment, like war paint perhaps.
If anyone is close and paying attention, Cae will point out the curious markings on the creatures, streaks of yellow pigment like war paint.
"Not simply beasts of the wild,
Set here, provoked and riled."
He places the rope around his neck and holds up the ring in front of himself.
"I know not whether it be trap or lure,
But of the fate of two, one must be sure."
He takes a long drink of water and, if no one intervenes, heads toward the entrance of the tomb.
Amunet-Ra listens to the dreadseers words and then nods gravely, herding the group towards the entrance after the druid took off, untill Cae runs forward.
Amunet answers in the sign language: Yes mother, i will take care and shy away from uneccesary risk. I have no intentions to end like this other elf.
(+2 vs traps/+1 vs surprise round)
What are you talking about there weird poet? Amunet-Ra asks as she walks over, followed by an Oh..
She looks from the gory debris to Cae, mustering him deeply.
Do you recognize the remains of anyone you have known here? You seem shocked?
She looks from the gory debris to Cae, mustering him deeply.
Do you recognize the remains of anyone you have known here? You seem shocked?
Cae holds up the ring.
"One searches for the lady of the House and her daughter,
The ring causes one to wonder, alive, or led to slaughter?"
Amunet-Ra listens to the dreadseers words and then nods gravely, herding the group towards the entrance after the druid took off, untill Cae runs forward.
** spoiler omitted **
[Dice=Perception]1d20+14 (+2 vs traps/+1 vs surprise round)
What are you talking about there weird poet? Amunet-Ra asks as she walks over, followed by an Oh..
[Dice=Sense Motive]1d20+14
She looks from the gory debris to Cae, mustering him deeply.
Do you recognize the remains of anyone you have known here? You seem shocked?
The highly-attuned senses of the Serpent Singer elf detect a pit trap at the entrance of the tomb. It was avoided by the recently-felled beasts by means of their winged locomotion, but the pressure plate installed under a large stela set into the floor will assuredly be triggered by the steps of one of the present company of would-be interlopers.
The unexpected death of the elf Malkaer unleashes a roiling torrent of necromantic energies, a powerful aura which gradually becomes physically-perceptible to the naked eye. It churns in tumultuous currents of aquamarine light, laced with the inky web of a shadowed matrix. Churning within its storm-like interior is a flickering energy that pulses with a veritably organic rhythm.
Even more unexpectedly, the tumult detaches in a high-vaulting arc to graze Amunet-Ra with one of its flailing tendrils.
The spasmodic touch of the electric tentacle stirs something primal within the elven maiden... an unquenchable thirst for life, and a brooding darkness.
Upon witnessing this scene, the Dreadseer speaks again in the tribe's tongue of hands,
"Daughter of our people, you know well the strange climes of these ruins. I see your aura, and you have assuredly been blessed among our number, and been reborn by the passing of this brother elf as one of the holy half-dead. Assuredly, the Sisters of the Gloamingtide will welcome you amongst them when you return again to your people from this quest for knowledge," the Dreadseer refers to the small retinue of the half-dead Serpent Singers who occupy a place of unique prominence among their people.
Rokan watches as the strange, sudden eruption of activity touches Amunet-Ra.
Amunet! Are you... okay? What was that?
After she answers he turns to enter the darkness, looking out for more threats as lethal as the last.
As the tendrils graze her, Amunet-Ra startles and becomes pale, instinctively searching her skin for some breach or injury.
It seems so Rokan. Thank you for asking. That was a strange sensation, it seemed to go right through me. I'm not sure actually.
You mean i'm a Sisters of the Gloamingtide now? Then i should probably praise this day. I fell weird though.
Amunet-Ra's face for once shows some emotions. She blushes, looks pride but reluctantly so and also worried at the same time.
As Rokan strides off to the entrance she calls after him.
Rokan, beware that stone there, it is a pressure plate most likely from a pit trap!
She then follows, drawing a chalk circle around the trigger plate so nobody steps on it by accident.
Rokan watches as Amunet outlines a potential trap. When she finishes he nods and thanks her, continuing his own search for additional traps.
Whatever that was that touched you, it concerned me at first, but for a moment after you seemed to almost glow with delight. So it was... beneficial?
Rokan watches as the strange, sudden eruption of activity touches Amunet-Ra.
Amunet! Are you... okay? What was that?
After she answers he turns to enter the darkness, looking out for more threats as lethal as the last.
[dice=Perception]1d20+10
Rokan perceives at the entrance of the tomb a strange sort of space -- the area that his new companion elfess Amunet-Ra of the Serpent Singers has identified as a trap sits in the middle of an elaborate stela that stretches across most of the entrance corridor, and depicts what seems to be some kind of sacrifice performed by mantis like beings. The victims are elves.
The center of the complex instillation, where the ascetic's companion has identified a trap, is covered by a frightening depiction of a large red insectoid. Clearly, the pressure plate is coterminous with its maw, and is intended somehow to mechanically represent its irresistible hunger for life. This figure would seem to be the locus of veneration.
Three mantis like beings, each in some kind of attitude of prayer, are positioned on each side of the crimson monstrosity that dominates the center of the floor stela.
The far side of the instillation is marked by a small altar, the sides of which are carved in gruesome insectile profiles. It still bears manacles of some bizarre procrustean, organic design, as if they were tendrils as much as chains.
It would seem as if this trap were originally some kind of site of sacrifice.
Narrow rivulets in the floor seem designed to channel blood and other vital ichors. These channels, long dry, are now filling with the pooling black excrescence of the three felled beasts, as well as the blood of Rokan's fallen companion Malkaer, who has departed this life as quickly as he ran...
Then... a mysterious cowled figure is revealed in the shadows beyond the sacrificial instillation and the machine which binds the helpless dwarf.
Just beyond the entrance floor-stela, a strange contraption thrums with hideous life. Something like a giant alchemists' beaker overgrown with sickly organic matter, a pained dwarf is strapped to the bizarre device.
Rilkus wakes up suddenly, amnesiac, not certain where or why he is... here, and in pain. In a moment, it becomes clear that his limbs are bound to a device positioned in the entrance of some sort of corridor, beyond whose compass lie the desert sands. A small company of unfamiliar beings throngs the entrance-way.
The ichor-laden coffin of Ri'Kli'Klek, once a faithful servant of the Red God Dargulin, stirs with life for the first time in millennia, shivering with new vitality from its precipitous position attached to the ceiling of the cavernous vault which divides the tombs of the Six Fingers of the Red God, his most faithful priests.
Far below, a recent commotion has apparently plied the channels of the sacrificial ducts with blood, awakening the tomb of the sleeping kreen.
Memories of the great tumult that marked his premature ceiling within the vault, the rebellion against the Six Fingers, troubles Ri'Kli'Klek's mind as he awakes to some kind of new life.
How long has he been asleep?
Rokan steps forward, taking care to avoid the marked trap space and step over and between the many rivulets in the floor. He calls out to the cowled figure.
You there. What is the the meaning of the dwarf constrained on your... contraption. Why should he not be freed?
But he had known it would never be. As he stirs, he first focuses his mind, finding within him the state of tranquility from which he drew his strength. First he would need defenses... he calls up the energies of his mind to protect himself . There, he had not lost that.
Now, to see what had happened. Carefully he reaches out with one of his weapons and slits the cocoon, letting light in for the first time in he knows not how long. Who was foolish enough to awaken this place?
I can't really say Rokan. I feel a bit strange, different than from before. I'm not sure if this is beneficial or not, but it seems to have affected me in some ways.
Amunet-Ra, driven forward by her curiosity, follows Rokan, but sticks to the right wall, taking in the scene, her eyes quickly adapting to the dark. Surprisingly to her, she sees things even sharper and more intense as before, her vision in the darkness extended.
+2 vs traps
The dwarf is bound to the machine. He is unable to move his arms or legs and he is gagged. The dwarf’s skin is gray, though upon closer inspection it can be seen that it is turning into stone. The transformation seems to be quite advanced, as shards of stone haven’t been forced into his body, but rather, are growing out of it.
The machine hummed and the dwarf began to spasm, though restrained as he was there was little movement that he could do. He made eye contact with Rokan, looking at the man pleadingly.
The machine hummed again, causing the spasms to increase. The dwarf was strong, but this was a cage of the mind. And he could not escape.
Having finally seen real people, the dwarf attempted to break free. As he did so the machine blared to life, assaulting him. A stiffled groan escaped from his lips as the dwarf spasmed and then went limp.
He tried to fight it, he did his best. But the machine overwhelmed him, again. With his waking eyes he saw it, the silt sea. He saw it as it once was, filled with water. With life. With great ships that sailed over it, and of the innumerable creatures that swam within. And, once more, he saw it all die. He saw the water boil and the creatures die. All done in the name of genocide. Power needed to break the resistance of...
...he tried to shake the visions away, but they were only replaced. He saw the gnomes. The last few survivors hiding beneath the ground. Toasting their success in living in the face of all adversity. He felt the defiler magic in his soul, despoiling the ground. Ending any chance for life to flourish. Just for the power to break open the ground, so as to end them. He used to scream warnings to them. Now he just had to watch as they burned. The nightmare machine would not let him look away.
But there were people here! People had come! He had to break free. But how?
Jimbli Blinked up to the machine to take a closer look .. fascinated.
“He appears to be suffering.”
Jimbli tsks and without taking time to consult with the group,looks to see what can be done for the dwarf.
I can't really say Rokan. I feel a bit strange, different than from before. I'm not sure if this is beneficial or not, but it seems to have affected me in some ways.
Amunet-Ra, driven forward by her curiosity, follows Rokan, but sticks to the right wall, taking in the scene, her eyes quickly adapting to the dark. Surprisingly to her, she sees things even sharper and more intense as before, her vision in the darkness extended.
[dice=Perception]1d20+ 18 +2 vs traps
The entire tunnel seems to be a series of recurrent pit traps, a series of instillations of a similar design as that at the entrance of the tombs. It would seem as if the long hall was a kind of abattoir, designed to collect the vital liquids of sacrificed elves, if the designs on the floor panels are any indication of the activities that once transpires in this dreadful mausoleum.
The is a sort of raised walkway on each side of the hall, reached by a narrow ramp, and clearly intended to permit navigation around the sacrificial pits.
These raised walkways also connect with six large closed doors, three on each side of the hall, their appearance not dissimilar to that of the entrance portal.
The dwarf is bound to the machine. He is unable to move his arms or legs and he is gagged. The dwarf’s skin is gray, though upon closer inspection it can be seen that it is turning into stone. The transformation seems to be quite advanced, as shards of stone haven’t been forced into his body, but rather, are growing out of it.
[dice=Fort]1d20+9
[dice=Ref]1d20+9
[dice=Will]1d20+13The machine hummed and the dwarf began to spasm, though restrained as he was there was little movement that he could do. He made eye contact with Rokan, looking at the man pleadingly.
[dice=Fort]1d20+9
[dice=Ref]1d20+9
[dice=Will]1d20+13The machine hummed again, causing the spasms to increase. The dwarf was strong, but this was a cage of the mind. And he could not escape.
[dice=Fort]1d20+9
[dice=Ref]1d20+9
[dice=Will]1d20+13Having finally seen real people, the dwarf attempted to break free. As he did so the machine blared to life, assaulting him. A stiffled groan escaped from his lips as the dwarf spasmed and then went limp.
** spoiler omitted **...
As he struggles, a nightmare that is a memory seizes his fear addled mind. Gazing upon his own person as if through rippled glass,
Rilkus witnesses his introduction to the Domes of the Serpent Lords. The three massive arcologies, each the equal in dimensions of a terrestrial city, fill the immense cavern vault beneath Kalidnay's ruins. Here, the enigmatic creatures who call themselves the Slassans have choked the underworld trade, interspersing their domain within a major trade artery of the underground world.
The Green Society representative, a strange moniker whose significance the dwarf's recollection now fails to grasp, the solicitous helot named Charbydarsaurusan welcomed ushered him politely within the vast reaches of the Vermillion Dome, a hospitality on behalf of the Red Society...
They claimed they were a race of travelers and benefactors, that they bore freedom and cherished love...
It dissolves again...
** spoiler omitted **
Amunet-Ra tries to take in the enormous sight and the many different things happening at once.
The weird ancient reliefs depicting insectoids sacrificing elves to a larger red insectoid, the mantis like statues, the trap as part of the red insectoids jaw, the crevesses slowly filling with the spilled blood and ichor, the strange device with the spasming dwarf bound to it, and the hooded figure in the shadows behind the device.
And all of that including the traps stretching on in the darkness.
I begin to understand why this place is seen as cursed, at least by us elves. Seems like this sacrifice places stretch on in the tunnel. How many must have been sacrificed here in the past? There are more traps every so often i guess, they are part of this. We can safely walk over those walkways there.
She points at sort of raised walkway on each side of the hall, reached by a narrow ramp, and clearly intended to permit navigation around the sacrificial pits.
The kreen have long been something like a natural enemy to my people, a plague of the desert if you will, hunting on us and devouring us like prey. This though has a different dimension to it. It seems complete tribes have been slain here, judging by the size of it.
Then she raises a hand as a signal for the others to stop, despite Jimbli already fiddling with the device.
You there in the shadows! Who and what are you? Do you belong to this place? She points at the figure.
He searches his memory for how exactly he had ended up sleeping above and, more importantly, how he was to get down, but found nothing. And so he carefully turns himself and makes a larger slit in his cocoon with two of his chatkchas, looking for handholds on the wall he is attached to.
After getting no immediate response Rokan walks over to join Jimbli, aiding him in the inspection and attempt to disable the restraints, and the device's effects on the dwarf.
He is clearly suffering. We need to undo this.
Cae waits, hoping to ask the dwarf about the people he seeks.
Amunet-Ra, willing to support her party, tries to help as well, but keeps an eye on the hooded figure and the surroundings.
maybe for aid another?