Secrets of the Faedark

Game Master Beopere

Dark forces muster in the town of Mercia and the Faedark Forest. The Divine Visage and its allies must meet the rising evil before a terrible fate befalls the region.

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As if to emphasize his declaration of trying fight before flight, Vladimir reaches back and pulls another arrow from his quiver, nocking and firing it before either his ally or his enemy can respond. It is a normal arrow.
Attack 3: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (7) + 13 = 20
Attack 3 Concealment: 1d5 ⇒ 1
Suddenly a fierce puff of steam billows into Vladimir’s face at the critical moment of aim and release. His arrow misses.

Half-Drow Warpriest

Irravin deftly avoids the dwarf's attack as his muscles go taut from the strain of both defending and staying aloft above the pit.

He quickly strikes, sweeping his foot under the dwarf's precariously balanced legs and attempting to knock her off balance.

Improved Trip: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (11) + 10 = 21

Irravin's CMB is 10, with a BAB of 6 and strength mod of +4.

Half-Drow Warpriest

Irravin slams his arms down, aiming the flats of his palms for her torso as she is tripped and attempting to knock her into the pit.

Right Hand: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13
Left Hand: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (10) + 3 = 13

Before Vladimir's feet reach the ground two arrows are knocked to his bow. As he lands he lets fly his arrows and follows with two more. His double arrows bounce harmlessly from the beasts armor, mere inches from a gap in the carapace. One more is lost to the steam, but a single arrow strikes true, the remorhaz recoiling from the bite of the bane arrow.

Arius stands fast before the creature and speaks in a shout and a hum. Though the word should be lost to the skittering of the remorhaz and the hissing steam, it is a steady whisper to Vladimir's ears: "Accelerate".


A familiar power fills you, speeding your thoughts and motions similar to the haste provided by Raziel. But this is somehow different. The quickening skips and jumps to your command such that many moments of movement are squeezed into one.

The magic is raw and barely balanced. Uncured. Unleavened. But sharp and crisp. Memories come, unbidden, of the magic used by Azithax. It is the same. Arius speaks Words of Power to enable his magic.

Remorhaz has lost 25hp.

The creature's heat intensifies as its rage builds. The creatures coils tightly before launching its weight over Arius, stretching to bite at Vladimir.

The creature has a 15ft reach.
Remorhaz Bite Attack: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (10) + 13 = 23
Remorhaz Bite Damage: 3d6 + 9 ⇒ (3, 3, 3) + 9 = 18
Remorhaz Heat Damage: 4d6 ⇒ (4, 3, 4, 5) = 16

Remorhaz Grapple: 1d20 + 21 ⇒ (13) + 21 = 34

The creature deals a brutal blow to Vladimir, but worse, its pincers find purchase and it drags him back to it.

The remorhaz pulls Vladimir adjacent to it, and they are both grappled with the remorhaz in control. Arius is now adjacent to both.

Remorhaz CMD:

It is Vladimir's turn followed by Arius.

Some notes for Irravin's attacks. He has improved trip giving +2 to trip maneuvers. In this case this cancels out with his decision to flurry. Beyond that he also has an amulet of might fists, adding 1 to his unarmed combat maneuvers and attacks. All the values in the last Irravin post are increased by 1.

Irravin finds his balance upon the poles and moves on the attack rather than just parrying the dwarf's attacks.

Irravin, Sense Motive DC 15:

Though you are not completely familiar with her fighting style, it is easy to recognize that her martial skill is not as great as yours. You is reminded of sparring with your master, Taliesien, only now you are no longer the student.

Irravin sweeps the dwarf's feet from her and strikes her with both palms as she falls.

Strike Damage: 1d10 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7
Strike Damage: 1d10 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13
Dwarf Climb Check: 1d20 + 9 - 5 ⇒ (6) + 9 - 5 = 10

For a moment it seems the dwarf will arrest her fall as she grabs onto a pole, but her momentum is too great and her hand slips. She easily manages to control her fall and lands softly on the ground. There is frustration on her face for a moment but it quickly changes to humble resignation.


HP:9/59 AC:21, T:15, FF;16 Saves:6,11,4 DR:0
Perception:11, SM:11 Initiative:+6

Vladimir's worst fear comes true: the fiery beast made a move to cut any of Vladimir's momentum in the fight. Burns sear Vladimir all over his body and only worsen as he struggles against the Remorhaz's foul pincers. The truly immense pain threatens to swallow Vladimir whole, and he knows the Remorhaz will literally do so soon after. His situation is dire, and he has very limited options. Unable to look away from the deadly beast, he shouts.


Vladimir doesn't take an action and instead gives up his spot in the battle order so Arius can go first, making the new order Arius, Vladimir, then the Remorhaz. I'm desperately hoping Arius has a spell or move that Vladimir can use to his advantage. Otherwise, Vladimir's turn will involve some creative and last-ditch efforts to survive.

Arius considers the situation. He can do little to alter the positions of the two combatants; his lexicon contains no words for paralysis or the like. The question, he realizes, is not which words he knows, but which the remorhaz does.

Knowledge (arcana): 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (7) + 11 = 18 Does Arius know anything about the remorhaz?
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (4) + 9 = 13 Can I tell what the creature's strengths are? Does it seem particularly WILful?

"Vladimir! Do you know whether this creature understands speech?"

Arius Skill Results:

Although Arius does not know much of the Remorhaz, he does know much of languages. He has heard of giants taming beasts such as these, and that they are able to understand Giant, though not speak it.

The beast appears to be in a wild fury to Arius. Such creatures are not typically willful, but he is unsure,.

Arius and Vladimir may take their turns in any order, then the remorhaz shall act. They may speak again with sentences of similar length, but following that point there will be no time remaining for words. Only action.

Male Word Sorcerer

Confound my fondness for bizarre languages.

"Little choice. Vladimir, you must escape its clutches; I will cover you as you assume a more favorable position behind me. Let us hope I can impede it adequately."

Arius utters a moan, two deliberate syllables which seem to take too long--it is as though the air thickens around them.

Decelerate, DC 17.

Let us hope this takes the edge off the creature. After this, I join the fray. Arius takes a five-foot step closer to the remorhaz.

How far away am I now?

Half-Drow Warpriest

Thanks for taking care of the specifics of that fight. Been a little while since I've been in combat!

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (5) + 11 = 16

Irravin watches the dwarf tumble towards the ground, surprised with the ease at which he was able to best her. She seemed so powerful, elegant, graceful--and her look of genuine humility from the bottom of the pit has a deep impact on Irravin.

It was not so long ago that I was easily beaten on these same training grounds. I suffered constantly at the hands of my masters during sparring like this.

Have I really come this far as a warrior? As a man? It feels like only yesterday I was desperately trying to prove myself here.

Will I always feel like my value only comes from my battle prowess?

Irravin springs across the poles deliberately and waits for the dwarf to make her way up to the top of the pit, lending a hand if necessary.

"You are a strong warrior...and a gracious host for allowing me to step in and spar with you. The Divine Visage is better for you having a place in its noble ranks. I thank you deeply."

Vladimir actively struggles against the pincers holding him in place. As flames lick his body, he manages to snake his hand into his quiver and grab two magical beast bane arrows. His last two. His hand tightens around them and pulls them out, transferring one to his other hand.

I'm. Not. Going.

His head pounds in agony, and the sharp pincers burn Vladimir's sides. As steam explodes all around him and his enraged captor, images flit through Vladimir's mind: explosions of fire as a small orc named F'zzbang hurls potions, a violent scowl on his face
-the city of Mercia on fire as Vladimir, Irravin, and Raziel run towards it to rescue brainwashed citizens from demons-
-a campfire in the Faedark burning brightly alongside Irravin and Raziel, their companionate smiles illuminated in the firelight-


Using every ounce of training, reflex, and spirit left, Vladimir releases a gutteral shout. Both his arms swing down, each holding a bane arrow attempting to strike the pincers.

Arrow 1: 1d20 + 6 + 3 + 4 + 2 - 2 ⇒ (20) + 6 + 3 + 4 + 2 - 2 = 33
Oh. My god. PRAISE THE DIGITAL DICE. The called shot effects section has suggestions/details for critical called shots.
Plus 6 for BAB, plus 3 for strength bonus to melee attacks, plus 4 for favored enemy, plus 2 for bane, minus 2 for called shot.

Arrow 2: 1d20 + 6 + 3 + 4 + 2 - 2 ⇒ (14) + 6 + 3 + 4 + 2 - 2 = 27

With his mind racing, Vladimir manages to pull out a third arrow, this one normal, and attempt to swing it down as he did with the previous ones.
Arrow 3: 1d20 + 6 + 3 + 4 - 2 ⇒ (3) + 6 + 3 + 4 - 2 = 14

Recommended soundtrack

As Vladimir's hands begin to descend on the Remorhaz's pincers, the world slows. Although he is accelerated by Arius, Vladimir immediately realizes his reflexes are kicking in one last time before he passes out from the numerous burns on his body. The pincers digging into him are segmented and chitinous, leaving none of the beasts' straining muscle vulnerable to the inspecting eye. However, the eyes scanning the large, superheated, pincers are no normal pair. Honed by years of training, they search for critical details.


A single segment of a pincer digging into Vladimir's right side bears depressions from some sort of physical trauma. A dent in the perfect armor! Perhaps that is where Vladimir's first arrow from the beginning of the fight struck. Perhaps it is an old mark from another enemy. It matters not to the enraged ranger: Vladimir sees his opportunity to do more than bruise the beast. This is his chance to tear into flaming hot muscle and sinew beneath the armor.

Vladimir releases his warcry into the cave and into the flaming maw preparing to engulf him. His arrow-gripping fists slam down, both finding purchase on a pincer grappling him. As his right-hand arrow slams into the depressed pincer segment, the depression begins to crack...

Critical confirmation: 1d20 ⇒ 1
Didn't include bonuses/penalties due rolling a 1

...but it does not give way to the vulnerable flesh below. His strike was unable to penetrate the armor.

Vladimir's voice calls out, not in despair, but denial of the result. His fist continues to grip the bane arrow and attempts to force the head deeper, as if the brute force of his will can break through. And suddenly it is not Vladimir's fist pushing into the Remorhaz. It is Irn's. Arius'. Dormin's.

This body, this fist, have all been entrusted to me by dozens if not hundreds of lives, all praying it would work for the good of all. This soul, bearing the work of all those before me who wished that all their hopes would become one, has been passed onto me so I can carry it forward. And I will. Carry. It. Forward.
The hopes, dreams, strengths, and goals of all his past lives weigh into his fist and arrow.

And the cracks deepen before giving way entirely. Vladimir's bane arrowhead sinks deep into the pincer of the Remorhaz.
One hero point spent; critical hit confirmed.

Damage 1 (base): 1d4 + 3 + 4 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 + 4 + 3 = 14 times 3 equals 42
Damage 1 (bane bonus): 2d6 ⇒ (5, 2) = 7
Damage 1 (total): 42 + 7 = 49

Damage 2: 1d4 + 3 + 4 + 3 + 2d6 ⇒ (3) + 3 + 4 + 3 + (6, 5) = 24
I've missed with a 17 so I'm assuming my third attack with 14 didn't hit

Roll Breakdown:
Plus 3 for STR, plus 4 for favored enemy (mgaical beasts), plus 3 enhancement for correct bane

Remorhaz Will Save:

will save: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10

The rippling heat and billowing steam slow as Arius' viscous words drag the remorhaz through time. Arius remains adjacent to the remorhaz since its emergence.

Vladimir wrestles in the grip of the scalding pincers, wielding his arrows by hand, desperately seeking an advantage that might lead to freeing himself. His solid white eyes narrow as he spots a vulnerability in the remorhaz's armor at the base of one of its pincers. He strikes with blinding speed, his hastened aura dancing around the sluggish steam bursting around him. With heroic effort his arrow strikes true, digging deep into the weakened chitin. The bane arrow expels its power, shattering the armor of the boiling beast, biting into muscle.

The furious creature throws its head into the air screeching in pain. The remaining pincer's grip is still strong enough to brutally lift Vladimir along with it, hurling him into the air. One magical beast bane arrow remains in Vladimir's hand. As he reaches the apex of the creatures recoil, he slams the remaining arrow into the now bloody and limply dangling pincer, striking at the base, penetrating into the creatures form. The arrow drives deep, severing muscles and tendon... and brain. Blistering blood sprays over Vladimir's arm.

The pincer's grip releases immediately, and Vladimir is tossed aside as the creature squirms in its death throes. His Eagle's Cape does not fail him, and he lands softly on the ground.

Until Vladimir is fully healed he will take a -4 penalty on skill checks and attack rolls involving precise motions of his hands.

Though Irravin's steps faltered and the dwarf was able to seize the opportunity, his defense shows no opening to the dwarf's attacks. Instead, in a single motion, he trips his opponent, and sends her to the ground. She climbs out of the pit under her own strength, politely shaking her head to Irravin's proffered hand. She bows deeply.

"Clearly there is more in your hands than I was able to perceive. May they strike as true against the enemies of the Divine Visage."

Before Irravin leaves the pit, the two remaining monks approach. The half-orc that the dwarf defeated, Hakail, speaks, "I wish to see more of your strength, but I fear none present will give you cause to actually exert it. Would you consider fighting at a disadvantage? Our two to your one?"

They will respect Irravin's response without pressure to accept.

Half-Drow Warpriest

Irravin bows sincerely to the dwarf, nodding respectfully as she takes her leave.

He sizes the two remaining monks up with a casual intensity not betrayed by any visible emotion on his face.

"I would welcome such a challenge. Any warrior among the ranks of the Divine Visage is more than worthy on their own, but if you see fit to both challenge me at once, I will not shy away from the opportunity."

He clasps arms with each monk in the familiar Divine Visage embrace, as the traditional greetings flow effortlessly between them. Clasping his hands in a brief prayer at the edge of the pit, Irravin springs up onto the poles and awaits their ascent on the other side.

The two monks exchange a glance and a nod, and Hakail responds, "Indeed, we shall challenge you together."

Initiative, any may look:

Hakail's Initiative: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23
Human Monk's Initiative: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14
Irravin's Initiative: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9

Hakail's Acrobatics, Full Movement: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (17) + 12 = 29
Human Monk's Acrobatics, Full Movement: 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (11) + 19 = 30

Irravin's two opponents leap into action in synchronicity. They circle the pit on confident feet, and flank Irravin with simultaneous strikes.

Hakail's Stunning Fist: 1d20 + 10 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 10 + 2 = 27
Human Monk's Stunning Fist: 1d20 + 7 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 7 + 2 = 29
Human Monk's Critical Confirmation: 1d20 + 7 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 7 + 2 = 19

Hakail's Damage: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 4 = 12
Human Monk's Damage: 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4 x2 = 8

Irravin takes 20 non-lethal damage. Technically speaking, criticals should involve rolling the dice x number of times rather than multiplying, but I leave it to dealers choice each time.

Irravin's Fortitude v Hakail: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 8 = 16
Irravin's Fortitude v Human Monk: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18

While Irravin is still flatfooted he receives two painful blows. Hakail's foot finds his gut and the human leaps and throws a kick that finds purchase in Irravin's neck, but luckily doesn't connect at full strength. His vision swims for a brief moment, but his determination stands firm, and he is not stunned. He stands surrounded by his two duelist opponents at the edge of the pit.

You feel Verndar's alarm. Though it may just be sparring, Irravins awareness extends to the surging desire to protect rising within Verndar. Unless you forbid him, he shall cast Mage Armor on you.

Vladimir's cape billows and floats down around his kneeling figure, bearing a new thick and black line where one of the Remorhaz's tendrils gripped his body. He flinches as he stands up, the burns searing his body. He is unsure if the lingering sound of the Remorhaz's death scream is echoing throughout the cavern or just his head. His gaze moves away from the still-steaming body of the Remorhaz and towards Arius.

"I admit, I was disappointed you chose to enhance my reflexes and accelerate my movements. I believed a strong and unified attack was necessary because if we didn't finish the fight quickly, the beast would do it for us. However, the fact I'm telling you this appears to prove me wrong. Thank you, Arius."

He motions to the bloody carcass.

"There may very well be more of these beasts in the area. I am deeply wounded: the burns have removed most of the sensation from my fingers and I doubt that bodes well for my ability to fight. Frankly speaking, I doubt the two of us can survive out here for much longer."

He tenderly reaches into a pocket and pulls out a potion of cure moderate wounds. After unstoppering it and greedily downing the entire flask, he continues.
Potion of CMW: 2d8 + 3 ⇒ (5, 4) + 3 = 12
HP: 21/59

"I recognize your authority as the arbiter of my test in Ia's absence, but I must ask you what your plan is. Perhaps we should return to the enclave? I can properly heal, and we can recruit Ivor to help guard you while you are catatonic. But the decision to postpone my test is yours. How do you intend we move forward?"

He holds up another potion.
"My last one." he states simply, leaving the implications to hang in the air.
Potion of CMW: 2d8 + 3 ⇒ (1, 4) + 3 = 8
HP: 29/59

Half-Drow Warpriest


HP:35/55 AC:21 (with Mage Armor), T:18, FF;14 Saves:8,5,11 DR:0
Perception:12, SM:9 Initiative:+2, CMB: 10

Though Irravin has no time to respond to Verndar consciously, the two have formed such a bond that the magical protection flows quickly and easily through the warpriest's being.

The monks strike quickly and efficiently, catching a normally ready Irravin off-guard.

These two have done this before!

The thought leaps rapidly into his mind, and vanishes like a puff of smoke as two brutal blows land in vulnerable spots.

Avoid Fall 1: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7
Avoid Fall 2: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22

The exertion of the previous fight seems to catch up to him all at once. His vision swims and the world lurches crazily, and as he windmills his arms to try and balance himself, the pole slips out from under his feet.

Climb: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (6) + 10 = 16

Irravin tumbles head over heels, and for a moment, the sky is at his feet and the bottom of the pit looms above him. Tensing his body with ferocious focus, his vision clears briefly and one hand snakes out for the pole. He jerks to a stop and looks up to find his index finger alone gripping the top of the pole and supporting his entire body weight.

Steeling himself, he vaults back up onto the pole using his weary arms and legs, gasping for air as the two monks quickly ready another attack.

Half-Drow Warpriest

The words of an old master come back to him, landing softly in the front of his mind. An old memory of standing on a short tower with one foot on the pedestal, one leg out hiked up at the knee in front of him, jumping and landing as his teacher swings a staff at his leg. The lesson is as fresh in his mind as if it had happened yesterday.

The wind, Irravin! Know it...feel it. You will never triumph if you're always flapping your wings against it! Your foes will come at you from all sides...glide through them! The crane accomplishes everything he needs with one strong movement!

Irravin slides his left leg up, spreading his arms wide for balance, feeling the grace and confident poise of Crane Style, preparing to fight defensively, and maneuvering his body to a standing position in the towering elegance of the crane.

I must first be balanced and untouchable before I can move with strength.

AC is now 30, 10 base, +2 Dex, +4 Wis, +1 dodge from Sacred Fist, +1 dodge from Monk's Robes, +1 dodge from Dodge feat, +4 for Mage Armor, +4 from Total Defense, +2 for acrobatics, +1 for Crane Style.

Male Word Sorcerer

"I trusted your bow more than my own weapon. If this was the wrong choice, I hope you can forgive me--perhaps you might not have been so direly wounded."

Arius looks forlornly around.

"As things stand, whether we remain or depart, there is danger. And I can make our berth here far more secure, whereas traveling now might incur another encounter. Unless your condition is degrading, it may be best for us to complete the ritual now, perhaps even camping a night here, rather than risking a second journey. I have no curatives, but perhaps I can at least mitigate the cold and the burning ..."

Arius speaks a word, neither fast nor slow, neither sharp nor smooth.
(endure elements on Vladimir simply for comfort)

"Now to look after our hides."

Arius begins to sing, a high, piercing note. The ice at his feet shudders in thin strands like a dog's horripilating frightened neck. The note resolves into an incantation, and Arius now paces the perimeter of the cavern, forming a half-dome which covers the entrance, walls, ceiling, and floor, leaving the rear of the cavern open.

He returns to a place near the entrance, where he withdraws from his satchel a rough charcoal carving, similar to a small bird. He whispers to it and sets it gently on the ice.

This done, he eyes the thick floor of rime in the center of the room, and two long couches arise. On one he sets his cloak and assumes a cross-legged posture.

"We begin again."

Vladimir nods as Arius argues to continue the test.
”Very well. Your logic is sound. And worry not, your spells seem prudent observing that fight in hindsight. There are no hard feelings. Let us continue.”

Vladimir sits on the unoccupied couch and awaits Arius' divination.

For the briefest of moments Irravin finds himself inverted, resting his weight upon a single finger, balancing upon a pole over the pit. His two opponents do not slow their assault, taking the opening to make opportune strikes.

I'm spoilering the rolls to clean up clutter, feel free to look

Attacks of Opportunity:

Hakail AOO: 1d20 + 10 + 2 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 10 + 2 + 4 = 21
Human Monk's AOO: 1d20 + 7 + 2 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 7 + 2 + 4 = 19

They strike, seeking to take Irravin's support from him, but he vaults over sweeping leg and striking fist, and lands back upon his feet.

Hakail bellows a sharp battle shout and redoubles his attacks.

Hakail's Attacks:

Hakail's Flurry: 1d20 + 10 - 2 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 10 - 2 + 2 = 12
Hakail's Flurry: 1d20 + 10 - 2 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 10 - 2 + 2 = 20
Hakail's Flurry: 1d20 + 10 - 2 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 10 - 2 + 2 = 18

Irravin is no longer flat-footed, indeed he is bolstered by stance and magic woven by Verndar, and he presents an indomitable defense. Blow after blow Hakail rains down upon him, and blow and blow are turned aside harmlessly.

The human monk remains close by during Hakail's flurry, threatening Irravin's footwork to unbalance his defense. Once it seems that no blows will land, he hops a pole back and clasps his hands in a series of interlocking gestures.

Irravin's Perception: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (1) + 13 = 14

Irravin cannot spare the attention from Hakail's assault to interpret the fine motions of the gesture.


Verndar Spellcraft: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (5) + 9 = 14
"He has worked magic upon himself. But I cannot see its purpose."

Half-Drow Warpriest


HP:35/55 AC:26, T:18, FF;14 Saves:8,5,11 DR:0
Perception:12, SM:9 Initiative:+2, CMB: 10 CMD: 29

Irravin has no time to assess what is happening with the human monk on the other pole. He is locked in a physical and mental battle with Hakail, and it takes his full concentration to fend off the many assaults.

As soon as Hakail's attacks relent, Irravin takes action, feeling the power of the Handwraps of Vigor pulsing through his arms, strengthening his fists to their fullest extent. He turns his mighty flurry on Hakail.

+4 to attack/dmg for 1 rd, -2 to attack for fighting defensively

Trip 1: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (19) + 10 = 29
Power Attack 1: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (13) + 8 = 21
Power Attack 2: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11

Damage base is d10+5, adding +4 for power attack and +4 for Handwraps bonus

Dmg 1: 1d10 + 12 ⇒ (3) + 12 = 15
Dmg 2: 1d10 + 12 ⇒ (4) + 12 = 16

Irravin pivots on the toes of his foot, smoothly sweeping his leg in a full 360 degree arc and catching Hakail's knee in a precision blow. As his opponent is caught off balance, Irravin reverses direction and slams a powerful hand into the other monk's neck.

Irravin's strikes knock Hakail off his feet and send him tumbling towards the pit.

Hakail's Climb: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (9) + 10 = 19

As he falls he stretches every limb, each finding a pole upon which to press, and catches his momentum. He quickly pulls himself back up to face Irravin, provoking an attack.

Irravin's Attack of Opportunity: 1d20 + 10 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 10 + 4 = 19
Irravin's Damage: 1d10 + 12 ⇒ (1) + 12 = 13

In case it wasn't clear the AOO are for standing up from prone. +4 bonus on attacks against a prone person. In addition, as someone returns to standing they are not subject to the fall checks. The same thing applied for Irravin.

Irravin's strike lands, making Hakail reel. Still he remains upright, though his balance has begun to falter and his eyes to list. Hakail pauses for a moment, his gaze over Irravin's shoulder.

The human monk steps close once more, seeking sweep Irravin's legs.

Human Monk's Trip: 1d20 + 9 + 2 + 20 ⇒ (11) + 9 + 2 + 20 = 42

His strike is preternaturally guided, and strikes unerringly. As Irravin falls Hakail unleashes his impassioned barrage once more.

Hakail's Flurry: 1d20 + 10 - 2 + 2 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 10 - 2 + 2 + 4 = 24
Hakail's Flurry: 1d20 + 10 - 2 + 2 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 10 - 2 + 2 + 4 = 34
Hakail's Flurry: 1d20 + 10 - 2 + 2 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 10 - 2 + 2 + 4 = 33

Hakail's Critical Confirmation: 1d20 + 10 - 2 + 2 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 10 - 2 + 2 + 4 = 26
Just enough!

Hakail's Strike Damage: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9
Hakail's Critical Damage: 1d8 + 1d8 + 8 ⇒ (3) + (4) + 8 = 15

Irravin takes 23 non-lethal damage, and is falling to the ground. He now takes -5 on climb and acrobatics checks.

Male Word Sorcerer

Arius props himself on the second couch. He begins to intone names once more, and they roll now like dry ice over the floor and crawl in storm constellations along the ceiling, drawn ever into the cavern's yawning gullet. Arius's eyes twitch independently, as though each were having a different dream, and his limbs seem to dance to a cacophony of tunes.

Half-Drow Warpriest

HP:12/55 AC:26, T:18, FF;14 Saves:8,5,11 DR:0
Perception:12, SM:9 Initiative:+2, CMB: 10 CMD: 32

Irravin's leg is swept out from underneath him, and two savage blows knock him away from the poles toward the bottom of the pit.

Climb: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18

Twisting his body to an almost gruesome angle, Irravin grabs the nearest pole with two hands, using his momentum to swing around and vault back onto the original pole.

His hands form a brief mudra as the powerful magic of the Handwraps surge through his arms once more.

This is it! Last chance!

Irravin's attack/damage are +4 for this round.

With some effort, Irravin regains his balance, gritting his teeth to strike again at Hakail.

Attack 1: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (19) + 12 = 31
Damage 1: 1d10 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10

A brutal thrust from Irravin's flat palm strikes Hakail solely in the middle of his chest. For a frozen moment, he stares down at Irravin's arm connecting to his solar plexus, as if he can hardly believe it is planted there. But before Hakail has time to register it, Irravin has already swept his hand away and targeted the human monk on his other side.

Attack 2: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (8) + 12 = 20
Attack 3: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9
Damage 2: 1d10 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14

Irravin throws a flying kick behind his body in a leaping arc, hoping to connect his two feet with the human monk's jaw in quick succession.

Irravin cannot flurry after standing up from prone. His turn stands as is, except the 2 extra attacks he made being purged from existence.

Both Irravin and Hakail strain under the thunderous exchange of blows, but both refuse to falter and the battle goes on. As Irravin regains his feet, his combatants take advantage of the opening.

Hakail's AOO: 1d20 + 10 + 2 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 10 + 2 + 4 = 18
Human Monk's AOO: 1d20 + 7 + 2 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 7 + 2 + 4 = 24

Irravin doesn't attack defensively until AFTER he regains his footing (otherwise he'd take a -4 penalty for attacking while prone) which means the AOO are made against his AC without the crane bonus (-3), which means one attack hits.

Human Monk Damage: 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6

One strike lands, an arcing foot planted into Irravin's obliques. He takes the blow, his strength flagging further, but is not distrated from his purpose. As soon as his feet are beneath him, he lands an empowered blow to Hakail's center. Before Hakail has even fallen to the pit below, Irravin turns to his remaining opponent.

The human clenches his jaw as he steps back out of Irravin's reach. He once again clasps his hands in a series of symbols that Irravin recognizes from prayer. Truth. Sight. Strength.

"His next blow is almost certain to find you. You must end it now or face defeat."

Arius drawns in power from the moonstone, and speaks the names given to him by Vladimir. Each released with a mote of energy that reverberates within the icy cavern.

"Vladimir. Irn. Oistos, Arcus."

The energy of the names hang in the air, reflected by the endless crystalline facets of the cave, echoed in both light and sound. Arius speaks once more. His voice a deep and weighty call.


Bursts of light emerge from the names he left to the cave, tracing and intersecting within a web much greater than themselves. Spiraling and crossing and twisting and coalescing to meet within a center. A vibrant point before unseen.

"Show us!"

The light grows to encompass Vladimir and Arius' conciousness.

Half-Drow Warpriest

HP:6/55 AC:26, T:18, FF;14 Saves:8,5,11 DR:0
Perception:12, SM:9 Initiative:+2, CMB: 10 CMD: 32

Irravin's vision swims as he focuses on the remaining monk. Dimly, he feels Verndar's warning pulse through him as he sees his opponent gathering his strength.

As the last bit of power of the Handwraps surges into his arms once more, he grits his teeth and prepares to move deliberately towards the man, hoping to finally end it.

+4 to atk/dmg for this round.

Half Speed Movement: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (5) + 1 = 6

Irravin wobbles on the poles, his balance lurching sickeningly. It takes all of his strength to simply remain upright, and he realizes he will only have time to try something to defend himself before the monk attacks.

Fervor: 2d6 ⇒ (4, 3) = 7

Irravin is healed for 7 HP, bringing him to 13.

Half-Drow Warpriest


HP:6/55 AC:26, T:18, FF;14 Saves:8,5,11 DR:0
Perception:12, SM:9 Initiative:+2, CMB: 10 CMD: 32

Irravin's vision swims as he focuses on the remaining monk. Dimly, he feels Verndar's warning pulse through him as he sees his opponent gathering his strength.

As the last bit of power of the Handwraps surges into his arms once more, he grits his teeth and prepares to move deliberately towards the man, hoping to finally end it.

+4 to atk/dmg

I will not fall!

Power Attack 1: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (12) + 10 = 22
Power Attack 2: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (8) + 10 = 18
Power Attack 3: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25

Critical Confirmation: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13

Damage 1: 1d10 + 12 ⇒ (7) + 12 = 19
Damage 2: 1d10 + 12 ⇒ (7) + 12 = 19
Assuming the crit did not land for Damage 3
Damage 3: 1d10 + 12 ⇒ (8) + 12 = 20
But just in case it did
Critical Damage: 2d10 + 24 ⇒ (8, 4) + 24 = 36

Irravin unleashes a mighty flurry of strikes at his opponent, digging deep into his last reserves of strength as he becomes a whirlwind of fists and feet.

Before entering combat over the pit, Irravin had not yet tested the full power of the ancient Handwraps he received within the Santum of Dormin. Now, for the third time, he weaves their full strength with his own. He abandons the defensive grace of the crane, and engages his opponent with ferocity.

The human tries to defend himself, but must endure witnessing his defense dismantled. Three swift and certain strikes find him, ripping his strength from him and hurling him to the ground below. He has no chance to regain his footing on the poles, and instead guides his fall to a safe landing. Irravin remains, solitary, over the pit.

After a short while the Hakail and the human regain a few scraps of their strength. The dwarf moves to assist them exiting the pit.

Using 2 charges of fervor Irravin can channel positive energy healing all living creatures within 30 feet by his fervor amount (2d6)... just FYI (under warpriest channel energy).

Half-Drow Warpriest

Irravin draws ragged gasps of breath as he watches his second opponent tumble to the floor of the pit. His body surges simultaneously with adrenaline and exhaustion. He pauses to appreciate the feeling--of testing his fortitude in combat, of being part of his beloved Divine Visage, of simply standing in the pale sunlight as a not unpleasantly icy breeze prickles his skin.

Irravin savors the feeling of simply being alive to participate in the grand cycle of life and offers a silent prayer in gratitude, both to Verndar and to Sarenrae.

He makes his way to the edge of the pit, clasping arms with each of his opponents in succession, then beckoning them closer. They form a small semi-circle as Irravin begins to speak.

"I thank each of you for the opportunity here today. All of you fought bravely, and well. My heart surges with pride--not for myself, but for the Divine Visage, that such fine warriors are counted among our ranks! We are truly blessed and I find myself more hopeful for the future for having seen your mettle."

Channel Energy: 2d6 ⇒ (4, 2) = 6

A healing aura washes over the party as Irravin's magic settles down onto them.

His voice changes timbre as he begins to intone a closing prayer.

"Sarenrae--we thank you for your blessings, and for continuing to light the way for all of us. Your presence guides and nourishes us, and we honor you always and all ways."

Unless the others have anything to say to him, Irravin will kindly part ways with the group, and make his way back to his quarters, where he will take a hot meal, perform his solitary cooldown kata, and get some much-needed rest.


The mists of memory and dreams part, and your mind’s eye awakens.

The monks fall silent as you enter the sanctuary. The ones gathered closest bear the fantastical, beautiful, and terrible masks. The dragon, with sympathetic eyes of an old friend, waits for you at the center of temple. A creature of shimmering, incandescent symbols hovers overhead. The ceremony for your ascension is full of ritual and customs to which you are not familiar.

Now you stand at the center. The words of devotion have left your lips and the chanting and drums have returned, building. At the dragon’s bidding the shining creature of sigils decoheres, distributing itself into the temple. Impossible stone mechanisms rumble as the temple’s ceiling opens to welcome the night sky. The dragon intones once more, and a powerful energy pours into the temple, saturating it. Your senses narrow and your hairs stand on end as the drums and chanting build until they shake your soul.

The temple brims with potency and it presses upon you to express it. You reach your hand forward, twisting... and reality twists with it. At first it contracts as your fingers pierce and reach beyond, then it expands to encompass the mask you have drawn forth. You trace your fingers over the scars and joys, the answers and duties etched upon its surface. Dormin. A silent promise to not forget, to still be... then you don the mask.


Arius enters Vladimir’s vision. He is free to move and inspect the world as he pleases, but can have no impact upon it.

Read Vladimir’s top spoiler, knowing that Arius witnesses it as a voyeur. Return here when complete.

During the vision Arius may inspect one aspect in greater detail. What does he inspect, and what does he seek? Choose a roll to go with it.

A spellcraft or a knowledge make the most sense to me

Arius and Vladimir:

Vladimir loses his balance, and is ejected from the woman’s experience he just inhabited. His self his own, he is now present in the temple as an observer rather than participant. He senses Arius’ spectral presence as well.

The woman who donned the mask of Dormin scans the room, ignoring the monks and the dragon looking to her. She brushes past them and inspects the world with demanding eyes. Suddenly, she steps forward and horizontally cuts the air with her hand. The figments around her shatter. The monks and dragon freeze as discontinuous images. Once more she scans until her eyes fall on Arius. Then, Vladimir.

The moment the woman’s eyes fall on Arius and Vladimir, Vladimir returns the gaze, immediately analyzing and creating a threat assessment of the first person he’s ever seen wearing Dormin’s mask.

Does she object to our presence? he wonders. He eyes the woman, especially the hands that seem able to cut through this divined reality. He is ready to spring into action and duck or dive out of the way should she attempt to chop at he and Arius.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (15) + 11 = 26

Moments ago, Vladimir had been part of this woman's experience. Not knowing her past, but feeling the subtle methods knowing where to stand or who to trust. But now, she is someone wholly different. Vladimir knows to name her Dormin, for he can see ages now in her eyes.

No.. Not Dormin. Already her edges bleed into silhouettes and her details into shadows. She is but a remnant of Dormin. A Shadow. She has domain over the vision, but no power over Vladimir or Arius.

She studies you as you study her. She speaks in a calm old voice, "What is it you seek? You need only ask."

Male Word Sorcerer

Inspecting the scene, Arius is most fascinated by the creature of whirling sigils. He sets his mind to parsing its form, replete with many glyphs.

Not sure which roll is right--I'll try Linguistics, Spellcraft, and Knowledge (arcana).

Linguistics: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20
Knowledge (arcana): 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (18) + 11 = 29
Spellcraft: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (7) + 11 = 18

Vladimir pauses. He looks past Dormin's mask, because his eyes could get lost in it; its appearance alone is shaped by a magical enchantment the likes of which he has never seen. He stares into the eyes of this summoned Shadow of Dormin. His mind spins at the turn of events; although this is what they planned for, he still experiences a sense of disbelief. To speak with his ascended form, even if it is merely a shade of the true form, is truly remarkable. He chooses his next words carefully.

"I seek information and knowledge. Our realm is in danger, and with it I suspect also the mission that you have been working on with Azithax. I need to know more about what you have been trying to do with our draconic friend. Additionally, where does the Divine Visage factor into it? I had such uncanny familiarity with the Citadel the moment I set foot inside. Why does it feel like I-or rather you have shaped it, and what fuels that magic I feel inside the Citadel? Because that magic feels broken in the Sanctum in Mercia."

Vladimir pauses and takes a deep breath before continuing.

"It appears that some battle between Azithax and a great evil long ago killed Azithax and broke the evil into still-malevolent
pieces. Can you tell me anything of this battle? And how or IF I can still attain the mask you wear without the dragon's aid?

I ask this during urgent times. The enemies of the Divine Visage grow stronger with each passing day, scheming and enacting malevolent plans. The sanctum in Mercia was under an intense coordinated demonic attack, and we still don't know why. Who would know about the sanctum, and why would they, along with demons, want to go to immense lengths to break into it?"


We'll go with linguistics as it is the first rolled

Though there is much to call his attention, Arius focuses upon creature of symbols, scribbling bits and pieces of the shifting creature into his notes.

This is a being who has been fashioned through words of power, and its nature, mind, and purpose are formed from the words used therein. Though Arius can speak a number of the words of power, here is a statement that contains all the intricacy and nuance of an entire mind. Its beauty presses upon Arius so that it frustrates his ability to focus.

There are six components that Arius can perceive and it is clear that from those components he can derive classical categories of magic.

Two are of divination, one of the external and one of the internal. Two are of conjuration, one of coming and one of going. One each are of evocation and abjuration.

From its form he may pull but a single meaning, and from it fashion words of power.

Male Word Sorcerer

Arius's Choice:

As solemnly as Arius regards his mission to observe this unprecedented mystical event, he cannot help but feel something of the treasure hunter's lip-lick avarice at the wealth set before him. That six whole schools of magic sit like unbudded flowers before him reminds him yet again how scant is his knowledge of words of power, how full of holes, like a mighty spire still skeletal, its bones built but its flesh alive only in an architect's drafts and dreams.

Evocation, as always, tempts him. To access perhaps a new element, to bind the might of a new force of nature to his armament--such is often his desire. Yet he attempts to consider his magical needs rationally. He knows nothing of divination or conjuration, and precious little abjuration. Surely it is time he learned something new, something to complement and augment his current array of abilities.

With a longing thought of the not-to-be-plumbed mysteries of the other words, Arius focuses on the word of internal divination.

She listens to Vladimir's inquiries patiently, her white eyes locked with his while the rest of her expression remains hidden by the mask fashioned from the night sky. Its surface is the deep void, but beyond it, as though a window, are points and patterns of light. Nebulae and singularities.

It cannot the hide pain in her eyes when Vladimir speaks of Azithax’s death.

"First, know what I am. Every life our soul has donned is connected to you. That connection is gentle... for you can barely recall but hints of the passions and pains within them. But the connection is also strong, for nothing can remove them from you, nor your essence from those that shall follow after you."

As she speaks her words are punctuated by stars shimmering into existence. They pay no heed to the perspective and placement of the previous vision of the temple, which seems hollow and flimsy now. Slowly, pathways appear between the stars to form a constellation of which Vladimir is an inseparable part.

"...until they don the Mask. It is much like death. Not only for the loss of self, but for the revocation of the connection to our other lives." The constellation vanishes. Vladimir is not longer part of the pattern of the stars. "After they don the Mask their further experiences can no longer speak to you. Instead they are bound to me… Or bound to what I am an echo of." The ethereal connections return, now bonding with the Shadow of Dormin.

"This connection is weaker than your natural one. It cannot survive the pain of death, and must be reforged anew in the furnace of primordial magic. But this connection is also lucid. For I can taste the sweat from exertions millennia past. I recall the lessons of every life I've lived."

She reaches out to touch Vladimir. "Alas... you and I. As her hand meets him it passes through without sensation or force. "...Are not truly connected. We stand at a memory that bridges our experience, but that bridge cannot support the weight of much. And truth is a heavy burden to bear. I will share what I can.”

Vladimir’s force of will to sustain the connection: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19

Vladimir can feel the strain of this connection, exerted through the Shadow. But it is an easy burden for him to bear to hear the answers he has sought.

She begins to pace as she speaks. The stars and suns of her mask change and translate, as though glimpsing a larger arrangement at great distance through a narrow portal.

“Azithax and our pasts were first bonded to each other, not by magic, but simply by devotion and love. They sought to do good through cultivating each other, which eventually lead to my birth. We used the latent magic of the land of the Faedark to bind my consciousness into being. A friendship was now also a partnership. We undertook many things, all to nurture goodness in life around us, or to repel those that sought to corrupt it. This endeavor took many lifetimes and the aid of countless others. Other places of power were settled, like the Citadel you speak of. The legacy we made and the traditions we created became the Divine Visage. At times I was its leader, but always I was its councilor.”

As she speaks wisps of herself part and drift. Her hair ends in smoke and her extremities lack definition from her surroundings. Only the Mask remains clear.

“But the tides of prosperity and suffering seemed greater than our grasp, and Azithax and I dreamt of more. Of the task of which you ask. The channels of power that flowed through the Faedark could be more than an anchor for me. Their power could be turned inward, and our reality could be opened. We crafted a passage that, at our command, could lead to the Heavens for aid or armament… or the Abyss to strike at the very forces that plant the seeds of evil in men’s hearts. Or any manner of other plane of existence.”

Now she is but figments and shadows. Edges with no substance. Still the faint starlight shines coherently from the Mask.

“I gathered those that were strongest and closest to me, and sought to slay Greed itself. Azithax remained, as he was the anchor of all our ambitions. And that was the last I lived. Never again have I been born, and as our lives have not touched, you know more of what has happened than I. I cannot speak of Azithax’s death, his killer, nor what has become of our places of power.

Vladimir must still sustain the connection: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 4 = 12

Her figure fades. The vision of the temple has long drifted away. Only the Mask remains, stretching to the edges of the darkness in which you now stand.

"There is little left. Ask your final question."

Vladimir’s mind reels from the combined experience of learning so much while also focusing on keeping his connection to this shadow. Out of the corner of his vision, Vladimir sees Arius looking away from the shadow and wonders if the apprentice is also feeling the same strain.

They don’t know about Azithax. No point asking about the great evil then. I need to make this question count. What do we need to know?

Vladimir’s mind flashes to a dark night. The darkest night in his memory: the scarring of Incarnis, when several powerful demons walked the grounds of Mercia. A cackling seer, cut off mid-speech, never to speak again.

Who was he? What did he want? Demonic artifiacts beyond the sealed door? Access to the magic that built the sanctum? A portal to the abyss?

Vladimir stares deeply and intently into the mask, keeping his speech simple and concise to avoid losing his remaining focus on the mask.
”What would demons and their allies want from the Sanctum in Mercia? What could they use for evil, and how would they know about it?”


Before the creature vanishes and the shadow of Dormin engages Vladimir, Arius obtains a word from its essence. In common, he notes it as Intention. But, of course, that does not capture all that it is. It is to know the origin of ones desires and understand the impact of ones actions. To fully comprehend the present moment of one's self. Derivations and applications spin through Arius' mind as he attempts to focus upon witnessing the rest of the vision.

Arius gains some spells known. I'll email you the details

"The sealed door of the Sanctum is a prison. For weapons, artifacts, and immortal creatures, all of which can only serve an evil purpose, whether through the nature of their powers or the corrupting influence they exert upon their wielder. There are many ways their presence could be discovered, mundane or magical. Such things call to be found. "

Finally the mask itself slowly fades, it stars vanishing into the darkness around you.

"Our bond need not be lost forever. I know naught of what has transpired in the Faedark since my passing, but the patterns of power run deep. Heal the hurt, and my Mask may be in your reach, should you wish it."

For a moment there is only soothing darkness. Then...

Vladimir and Arius awaken to early evening the the cavern of ice. The icewalls created by Arius remain, as does his figurine

Vladimir blinks his eyes blearily, as if awoken from a deep sleep. He turns and looks at Arius.
”We now have a great deal of information to digest and parse through. I’m grateful to have learned so much, and hope this satisfies your master’s desire for evidence of Dormin. What is our next step? Shall we return to the enclave?”

Male Word Sorcerer

"This evidence will be more than satisfactory. What we have witnessed is without comparison. There is much I do not understand, but I am awed at Dormin's ambition, at the great magnanimity which drove those comrades to confront Greed ... incarnate? Some primordial manifestation of it, even a divinity? And to travel between the planes seeking utopia? I--"

Arius returns his focus to the present. Time later to consider the metaphysics of what they'd been told.

"I leave the choice to you. Considering your wounds and the approach of evening, it may be best to remain here, when morning brings some balm to hurts. Expertise in the matters of the wilderness is yours, and yours is the body we must tend to. I defer to your judgment."

Vladimir considers his knowledge of the wilderness. Will the harsh tundra be significantly more dangerous at night? Will the carcass of the Remorhazz attract other predators?
Knowledge (Nature): 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7
OoC: Crap. Well. Vladimir recognizes the white material on the ground as snow. He struggles a great deal before remembering the word "snow".

Vladimir shrugs in response to Arius.
"I suppose remaining in this cavern to heal would be prudent. I have some spells that I can prepare in the morning for our journey back. Would you be willing to keep watch while I rest and heal? How long will your ice structure last?"

If Arius agrees to keep watch, Vladimir prepares Hide from animals and Aspect of the falcon for the next day and goes to sleep for ~8 hours.

Vladimir assesses the immediate surroundings to see if he can cobble together makeshift bedding for himself.
Survival: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19

Male Word Sorcerer

Remorhazes have a thousand words for snow
and not a single one for "saving throw."
They have no word for "eat" and none for "bowl,"
nor may they speak when using "swallow whole."

"I shall keep first watch; after that, my bird will warn us if anything should approach."

My ice structure ... mmm. Good question. DM, any way I can stretch that wall through the night with repeat castings? If so, I do that.

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