1st: use SHIFT as a swift action to move 5' NW of Abelard
2nd: as part of move action; activate dimensional slide to move 30 feet NORTH to either be next to Theran or 1 square NE of Theran.
3rd: launch snowball at the badguy north of Abelard
He needs to make a Fort save DC 16 or be staggered for 1 round.
Yridhrennor flickers out of existence to reappear next to Abelard. He takes a small step forward and disappears completely only to reappear next to Theran. His hands move in intricate gesutres as he speaks arcane words in a forgotten tongue. His breath mists in the air and frost spreads out from his feet and glistens on his robes. Grymoedd gwynt a awyr, yn dod i mi dy gynddaredd! Gadewch fy ngelynion yn crynu ar y pŵer i chi a minnau yn meddu!
He opens his hands and a large ball of snow flies from his cupped hands and strikes the cultist blocking the door in the face.
Galin feathered a cultist with a smooth shot from the top of the wall.
Hearing the cultist's pained shout, Abelard kicked the door and declared, "I'm the one who knocks."
Theran rushed down the rubble a moment later, coming up behind the cultists and proclaiming, He knocks, I smash" as he slew the cultist. Steave came in his wake, choosing a second cultist for a swift punch.
Yridhrennor blinked out of existence, blinking back in next to Abelard before vanishing again to appear next to Theran. He spoke the words of a spell, breath fogging and frost spiderwebbing out from his feet and across his robes, "Grymoedd gwynt a awyr, yn dod i mi dy gynddaredd! Gadewch fy ngelynion yn crynu ar y pŵer i chi a minnau yn meddu!"
The cultist caught the worst of the snowball on an armored shoulder, but flinched as the cold reached to his bones. Snarling, he vented his fury against Steave's shield in an assault that momentarily distracted the crusader enough for the other cultist to slip by his guard and stab into his thigh. The third cultist launched himself at Theran, but the spirits guided the crusader's arm in blocking the blow.
The door is locked. Break DC 20 on that, which Abelard makes. He is the one who knocks.
made
And now the opposition.
miss
miss
hit
Steave follows up his punch with a knee and a sidekick.
Galin fires again from the wall,
He chuckles as the cultist swings at him. He follows up with a strong swing to take him down.
Once more, Yridhrennor's breath frosts in the air. Grymoedd gwynt a awyr, yn dod i mi dy gynddaredd! Gadewch fy ngelynion yn crynu ar y pŵer i chi a minnau yn meddu!
Again, he opens his hands and a large ball of snow flies from his cupped hands.
Abelard ghosts in behind one of the cultists and slices at him hard.
Steave kneed and kicked one of the cultists in the side and the demoniac collapsed, senseless, to the ground.
Galin kept up his fire, planting an arrow within a hair's breadth of a cultist's throat. Maddened by pain, the man refused to die.
The last of Clan Silverlight chuckled as he swung his earthbreaker with all his might. For a moment after he struck the cultist reeled, blinking in astonishment, before falling.
Yridhrennor spoke the words of a spell, "Grymoedd gwynt a awyr, yn dod i mi dy gynddaredd! Gadewch fy ngelynion yn crynu ar y pŵer i chi a minnau yn meddu!" Another snowball raced from his open hands, slamming with bone-jarring force into the final cultist standing. The demon-worshiper fell at Abelard's feet.
I have nothing to write here.
Good job, Elf, you killed the guy Galin turned into a pincushion! Congratulations! Falfaerel snickers and flutters down to poke about the cultists' bodies, looking for anything of importance.
Well.. I.. that is.. they were... they were trying to kill us.. and they.. well.. They have a very undesirable faith and... The elf diviner blushes and bows his head in shame.
Oh, don't get your feathers in a ruff. They were cultists. They worshipped demons and probably sacrificed babies or something. The bird blinks and bobs his head towards Abelard. No offense
Yes, well. I am glad that we didn't kill all of them. I doubt he'll repent, but we should at least give him the chance. Also, he might know more of what's going on. And, we can always use more information.
The raven caws in laughter and hops to another body. Leave it to you to be happy to question a cultist! The man will probably wish for death after he's done answering your questions!
I... I would never hurt....
You would never shut up! Falfaerel pecks at the cultists' clothes and roots in pockets.
The cultists, unfortunately, have nothing of particular interest on their persons.
Steave waits for the group's attention and then leads them downstairs.
Yridhrennor summons arcane sight to fill his eyes and reveal any fell magics that may hinder them!
Yridhrennor summons arcane sight to fill his eyes and reveal any fell magics that may hinder them!
Yridhrennor detects only the party's items and the lingering effects of his own and the dead cultists' magic.
Crusader... perhaps I should proceed? I have some safeguards that shall forewarn me of danger.
Steave arches an eyebrow and the sudden bravery of the scholarly elf, "as you wish."
Well.. urm.. that is.. I.... He blushes and scurries ahead. His raven's muffled giggles trailing him.
Idiot elf. Crusaders like damsels in distress, not manly bravery. No one sings ballads or tavern songs about the heroic knight and the fair maiden he... didn't... have to rescue. If you hope to catch yourself a human warrior, you need to be more like those stories you love so much!
Falfaerel! I.... that is.. he's.. I'm not.. and... I was attempting to be... It just makes more sense! I can see things before they happen! Sometimes. And... I do have defenses... Yridhrennor must be blushing furiously because he moves his hood up to cover his cheeks the way he does when he's embarrassed.
Defenses!? HA! You're covered in armor? Got a shield do you? He pecks at Yridhrennor's forehead. My, how stout your helmet is! I almost blunted my beak against it!
Well.. I.. that is.. magic.. .and spells... He opens a book and begins search through pages. Marco Volo's Journey to the Demonweb Pits is very clear about the merits of magical protection...
You're NOT Mithrandir Greybeard. And you're NOT in some story. You're a baby of an elf in Kenabres, fighting cultists and demons and all sorts of bad things! Stop playing the hero! Let the crusaders be the heroes, like they are in those stories you keep going on about!
Yridhrennor sighs but slowly inches forward, hoping his arcane vision and futuresight will warn him of danger.
Abelard politely - but firmly - reaches out with a forefinger and thumb and shuts the raven's beak. "Enough, bird. As the wise man once said, you gotta do what ya can where you are with what ya got. Your elf wants to help; let him. Don't do him down. After all, even Mithrandir Greybeard had to start somewhere; maybe his familiar was just a little more supportive, you know? Something to think on."
One ruined eye catches Yridhrennor's and winks. "You wanna be a hero? Good for you, kiddo. Too many spend time wishin' for one rather than tryin' to be one. Like another wise man said: don't let the &@#%#ers get ya down."
Steave smiles at the exchange and follows Yridhrennor down the stairs.
Theran just shakes his head at the talkativeness of the bird and the elf. But he understands the need to prove himself. When he was young, he often looked for ways to stand out and show his worth.
As he stands ready to run in and help the elf, his hand reaches out behind him and he unconsciously mubles some words.
Yridhrennor creeped down the stairs, finding himself in a lit basement empty save for a few bookshelves and a single desk and chair. A huge pair of wood and metal double doors stood in the south wall.
At the desk sat a horned, red-skinned man with a long tail and cloven hooves, dressed all in black. A scorpion rode on his shoulder.
"Stop skulking or I'll have your liver," he said, turning to look directly at Yridhrennor. "An elf now? Takes all kinds, I guess. Nice bird. Give me your report and don't ask about pushing on. Minagho will send us to a fresh city soon enough."
I'm told he's using it on perception when the time comes.
ah well, he keeps the better.
Bad guy was not aware because you intercepted the cultists before they could come down. Therefore he has no chance for surprise anyway. You monsters.
Let's see some init:
always acts in surprise
9.5
Well that's interesting. Might not be a fight just yet.
Yridhrennor looks askance at the Falfaerel, willing the bird to be silent. There is looting in the city
The bird silently groans.. that's a stupid report he seems to say.
Yridhrennor looks askance at the Falfaerel, willing the bird to be silent. There is looting in the cityThe bird silently groans.. that's a stupid report he seems to say.
"Is there now? Good to know. Good to know," the red man stood and Yridhrennor had a sudden vision of him speaking a hostile incantation. Before the elf could react, the vision came true. Fell powers struck and the elf's vision clouded over, leaving him lost in darkness.
I'd give Y a sense motive, but he'll figure it out from his cheater powers anyway.
Falfaerel mutters a particularly foul curse and flies up the stairs BEWARE!!! BEWARE!!!
Yridhrennor gasps in horror as his vision is swallowed by inky black darkness. He can practically feel his eyes clouding over. Every instinct in him tells him to run to bolt back up the stairs like a coward and let the crusaders fight off the fiend-blooded man. But, no! Countless wizards have suffered worse and rallied. And, he took the spell. that's one less spell that could affect the Crusaders. He just needed to do something, anything, that could help! It might be stupid, it might be foolish, but, he had to try. He had to!
He pulls sand from his hands as he takes a hesitant step forward. Lliwiau y gwynt, gwrando fy alwad. Tynnwch allan eich cyfrin tywod i fy nwylo a pheintio enfys ger fy mron!
He opens his hands and blows the sand towards the fiendish arcanist. You will not win! Kenabres will rise again!
Undeterred by his blindness, Yridhrennor strode forward and cast a spell: "Lliwiau y gwynt, gwrando fy alwad. Tynnwch allan eich cyfrin tywod i fy nwylo a pheintio enfys ger fy mron! You will not win! Kenabres will rise again!"
"Winning so far!' the red man said, before incanting again: "Zapis' pod moim vzglyadom nenavistnogo!" Yridhrennor felt a rush of heat on his face and two pinpoints of flame erupted on his chest, filling his lungs with the smell of brimstone and burning flesh.
damn, almost
he doesn't catch fire, but is burned
At the spell-casting, Steave hustles down the stairs and closes on the infernal.
Galin follows Steave, drawing his rapier as he moves down the stairs.
Theran also descends, readying his hammer
Abelard follows the others.
Yidhrennor grimaces in frustration and whispers his words of power once more. Lliwiau y gwynt, gwrando fy alwad. Tynnwch allan eich cyfrin tywod i fy nwylo a pheintio enfys ger fy mron!
He opens his hands and blows the sand towards the fiendish arcanist, once again.
Hearing spells cast, Steave rushed down the stairs. Galin, Theran, and Abelard followed in a similar rush, drawing arms as they went.
Yridhrennor, hearing the arrival of his friends and that Steave had gone ahead, dared a step forward before casting again: "Lliwiau y gwynt, gwrando fy alwad. Tynnwch allan eich cyfrin tywod i fy nwylo a pheintio enfys ger fy mron!" The elf's enspelled sand washed across the abyss-tainted man to no avail.
Undeterred by Steave's presence in reach, the cultist began his own spell as the flames of his last died in his eyes. His caution proved his undoing as he pulled carefully back to make the necessary gestures and poised his hands incorrectly. His incantation brought a shower of sickly sparks.
"Damn you, Minagho," he snarled to himself. "All in good time my tail!"
Judgment call here. Y can't see to know to cast around the party. But he could definitely hear Steave come past with all his jangling armor bits and manly adventurer footfalls. He can also literally reach out and touch Theran and Galin...but not Steave. Going to give him a Perc check to see if he has a sense of where Steave ended up.
That'll do it well enough to know Steave is in his planned cone. Plan B: he'll step up and then cast. So far as he knows the bad guy isn't a melee type.
no love.
And bad guy. Defensive casting.
and a lost spell. Ought to have kept cooking the elf.
Theran advances on the next cultist with a fury in his eyes. There are just too many people following these cursed demons. "Die and suffer the pain of the Abyss you love so much!"
Steave follows Theran's big swing with a fast kick and readies to disrupt his next spell.
Galin steps up to the boss and stabs at him with his rapier, connecting solidly.
Gwirodydd o olau a thân, amddiffyn fi oddi wrth y gweision y tywyllwch! Glowing light draws from the torches and forms a small nimbus about Yridhrennor.
Abelard moves into contact with the new enemy "Your minions above are dead. I'd like you to join 'em."
Righteous wrath kindled in his breast, the last of Clan Silverlight surged forward, flanking the cultist with Steave and swinging his earthbreaker with all his might. The cultist ducked the blow, snarling.
On the other side of the cultist, Steave stood ready to break his next spell with a swift kick.
Galin joined the fray, moving forward with his blade out and making a deft thrust perilously close to the cultist's heart. He coughed blood and gasped in pain, but refused to fall.
Far closer to a fray than he liked, Yridhrennor cast a warding spell over himself, "Gwirodydd o olau a thân, amddiffyn fi oddi wrth y gweision y tywyllwch!" Light from the nearby torches flowed around him.
Abelard advanced, declaring "Your minions above are dead. I'd like you to join 'em." the flash of his blade carried away the cultist's head. An instant later, the rest of the red-skinned man's body fell.
Abelard? Staeve? Galin?Theran?? What? What happened? Yridhrennor blinks and rubs furiously at his eyes, stupidly hoping he can scrub the vision back into them.
We won, no thanks to you, stupid elf. Falfaerel sighs and settles on the wizard's shoulder. But, don't worry, we'll fix you. Or, you can just retire in a nice chair in a library.. with the books you can't read.
"It appears that you have been magically blinded. If it doesn't wear off in a bit, hopefully someone at Defender's Heart can repair it. Let's search this place and return there as soon as possible." Steave concludes and not asking if the mage wanted to go first into battle again.
Such spells are permanent, Crusader. Yridhrennor desperately tries to keep a brace face, but it's clear he's crushed. There are spells that can remove this affliction, but the the caster must have been stronger than the one who blinded me. Restoring my vision will set our quest back a day at least. I'm sorry I did this.
"Naw, if it weren't you, would have been one of us," Abelard does his best to reassure the elf. "Mighty brave thing you did, and once we get that curse lifted you won't even have a scar to show for it! Gotta try harder next time," he kids.
He looks around. "Right. We done good. What's next? An' who's this Minagho he was talking about? Any ideas?"
A thorough searching reveals little in the room where Yridhrennor found the cultist, but the one beyond held rather more. On entry, all felt a chill descend upon them and the sense of a hostile presence regarding them from somewhere unseen.
Outfitted with numerous demonic decorations and lit by green glass lanterns, the chamber proved to be a fairly elaborate shrine to Baphomet. Near the altar sat a large wooden chest. It yielded its secrets to a reasonable amount of rough handling. Beyond the usual loot, heavy on fine housewares and silver signs of Iomedae, it held:
A small leather box with a strap attached, various demonic signs carved roughly into it.
A sheaf of papers detailing cultist activity in Kenabres, most of it dated. They reveal large number sof Templars of the Ivory Labyrinth coming into Kenabres from abroad in the last year, some specifically to study its defenses rather than the normal level of mischief. Most cultists appear in the records by name, including many described as largely based in other cities about Mendev and northern Ustalav.
Separate from the papers, and preserved in a leather envelope, is a letter:
Faxon,
You did well to report your superior's mishandling of funds, and I trust that you will continue to serve as loyally in the weeks to come. You need not command the Kenabres Templars for long, for the city is about to die-I only wish I could be there to take part in its murder, for I have fond memories of my Red Morning Massacre. No matter, I suppose, for you rmortal kin will all fall soon enough-as I said, Kenabres's days are short. Vorlesh has already left to meet with our Lord's daugther in the Abyss to secure a Nahyndrian crystal of the proper purity, and once she has what she needs, she'll arrive in Kenabres to finish the job and turn the wardstones fully to our use. You will know when she succeeds, I suspect! Praise Lord Baphomet.
-Minagho
With the gear shouldered and secured into backpacks, Steave leads the team back to Defender's Heart.