TWO's Mythic Kingmaker: Invited UnGuests (Inactive)

Game Master The Wyrm Ouroboros

The First World
Home of the Fey
Oathday 2nd Calistril, 4710 AR. - ???

Beyond the cave opening, which when turning about to look behind seems merely to be a rocky outcropping with a low thirty-foot-wide gap in its face and a stream trickling from here to there right in front of it, is a meadow surrounded by vastly immense trees, hundreds of feet tall. For those who have been to Kyonin, there is a resemblance -- but those in Kyonin look to be little children yearning to achieve the height, the spread, the immense treeness that these towering trunks seem to bear with them. Even the man-height bushes gathered about their toes at the fringe of the meadow seem to embody bushiness; everything is intense, vibrant, seemingly more alive and real than those base pieces of form and function you left back in Golarion.

And yet those who have information about the First World know that this place, this home of the fey, is in its way quite possibly more incimical to life because those that live here take nothing as consequential. A lethal trap might just be meant as a joke, as the one caught in it will emerge once again from the very fabric of the plane years, decades, centuries later, none the worse for the experience. Trying to cut your throat might be considered a compliment among the natives.

But perhaps fortunately, there are no natives to greet you, other than the towering oaks, the bushes, the grasses. The only things here at the moment are the fourteen of you: the king, eleven of his Electors, and the two monks.

And still in pursuit, those unholy screeches echo into the cavern from the widening passage -- two, maybe three of them.

As if in response, howls of challenge rise into the air from one side of the outcropping, and around the side race a pair of wolves, one of them monstrously large, each of them racing to their faithful humanoids -- Greyfang to Kaellin's side, Tieshi to William's. The latter dips his head to deposit a mass of leather at William's feet, then yawns to get the taste of treated cowhide off its tongue: the saddle and accoutrements necessary for the cavalier to mount him.

Others emerge as well; around the side opposite that from whence the wolves came, a tree walks out of the forest, brushing through the low plants that reach the 'knees' of its twelve-foot height; a honking sort of bellow rises from Heartwood's mouth as it spots Acaciano. And over the top of the outcropping clanks a short humanoid form wearing what looks to be plate armor, bearing a spear in its hand and a sword at its side. Seeing Velar, Lumnia lifts its spear and shouts, "My lord, the enemy comes!! Shall we not smite it with steel??"

How they got here is a mystery -- but here they are.

Amavin turns towards the mouth of the cave, standing on air above the meadow.
"If you believe you can slay it, then we might as well fight it here. We hold the exit, and I can blast it from range if we need to. A fight here *might* be the best option, unless the force is too large or powerful for us to hold, in which case fleeing might be best."

With a delightful grin on his face, Kaellin quickly drops to one knee and hugs his old friend around the neck.

"Greyfang! I've missed you too, girl, you're a sight for sore eyes," the ranger manages to say as the wolf happily licks his face. "But... how did you get here?"

The unholy screeches not far interrupted that line of questioning. Both the half-elf and the wolf quickly turn their attention towards the direction of the source. Greyfang growls.

"Questions later, then, my girl. Time to do what we do best." Placing a hand her the wolf's mane, Kaellin whispers a supplication to the primal spirits, opening his soul to the vastness of nature. Greyfang's teeth noticeably sharpen. Kaellin slips his bow into his quiver, then draws Tathlathria, standing guard towards the the direction of the enemy.

"The First World. Of course; what else would decide to intrude inside a storage closet?" Velar mutters to himself. This place were truly vivid and beautiful - just like the most poisonous of snakes. Sadly he didn't have time to ponder the nature of beauty right now.

"Lumnia? What are you doing here?" the elf chokes. His familiar really wasn't on the list of things he had expected to stumble over here. He probed the empathic bond just to see if this was some elaborate ruse. But all he could sense were the desire to stand and fight reflected back at him.

Well - we are part of the same. He gestured for his squire to take position behind him for now. Had it been his decision answering Lumnia would have been easy. But it wasn't. "My King! What is your command? There might not be a better position. Or another way back to our world."

"A moment for counsel, then," calls the king in a voice pitched to carry across a battlefield. "Those of you with the knowledge of these foes, to me." He withdraws some distance from the cavern's entrance, his blue-glowing weapon still drawn and ready for battle.

Once those who know what the hell the devourers gather, he cuts straight to the point. "How dangerous are these things? Can we kill even one of them, much less however many come through that thing?"

Amavin heads over to the King, desptie his command that only those with knowledge of the foes to attend to him.

"My king, while I confess I do not know the strengths and weaknesses of these enemies, might I have your permission to listen quietly to the discussion from those that do? I want to know if any of my magic would be useful in any plans or tactics we consider making." she states in a deferential manner.

Unable to answer the request for advice, Theodric circles patiently at the periphery of the gathering. Swords in hand, he puts his efforts into surveying their surroundings, for the cave isn't the only place a threat may come from, it's merely the source of the threat they know about. He also keeps an ear turned to the discussion, however, because knowing how to battle these things--or if retreat is the better option--is just as important, and will certainly shape his own plans.

In aid of his self-appointed watch, he lifts his mask to get the full range of whatever scents the area has, for his sense of smell is unusually sharp whenever the swordsman is in that peculiar state of heightened awareness that-quite frustrastingly--only comes about during battle. He'd ordinarily be hesitant to show strangers the seared skin that he takes such pains to conceal, but this is hardly the time for his usual reticence. "Besides," Theodric muses aloud, but in a quiet voice. "It's best to get these new allies accustomed to it now, because they'll see it sooner or later."

Seeing as no-one stepped up Velar took it upon himself to share his wisdom with the younger races. Not that he knew much about their foe no. But he had an inkling or two about the lay of the situation.

"With preparation and careful planning we could slay those creatures. But we have neither. Without it our odds are ... Bleak." The elf sighs. What wouldn't he give for a cadre of paladins and a night to scheme? No matter, they had to play this hand fate had dealt them. Folding was simply too costly. "I saw them gorge themselves on the souls of our people; no doubt they'd prefer to continue with that. But they didn't. So it is only logical to assume they are compelled to find you by something much stronger then their base desires. We can't count on them stopping."

"And they won't sleep, so they *will* catch up. Only question is then: battle them now or when they run us down?"

"If of course there aren't any outside factors. We could race deeper into the First World and pray the fay deals with them first. I'd mention that such a gamble might cost our very souls but ... They might already be forfeit."

Darivan, momentarily distracted by the area they found themselves in, alights gently on the ground by the king.
"I'm not completely familiar with devourers, but I do know a little. All I have to say is... we're in trouble. With all of us working together, preparing an ambush and moving to eliminate it as fast as possible, with teamwork, planning, preparation, proper coordination, and a good helping of luck, we could take down one without unreasonable difficulty. Two, and we would definitely be given a bloody nose. Three, and we'll take casualties. And for every one of us that dies, they get stronger. They're undead, too, which could be either good or bad depending on our individual skills. That said, our best chance is to catch them off-balance and on our terms. We ambush them, we stand a chance. They ambush us, and we're as good as dead and damned or worse."
Darivan sighs, looking down the hall, "Your call, my king."

"I can try to web the cave shut, but given the fireballs summoned earlier I don't know how much it will help. I could also try to blind them and can hasten the group when needed, but otherwise I doubt I will be of much help here." Bartek says to the group.

Acaciano's hate for the undead and concern for the King and the balance of the partygoers & servers mixed in with his delight, albeit confused delight, at seeing Heartwood and his intrigue at being in the First World. Looking around, strange as it was, there wasn't anywhere else they could be.

He flitted back towards Heartwood, making some clicking noises at his friend that weren't dissimilar from ones he might use were he still in his own body. This form could actually manage the common tongue, but it was unsettling to most who heard it and truthfully he didn't have anything to add that have already been said. He knew it was unlikely to be an easy fight, but hopefully there wasn't much better that he had to other than the form he already wore so that would have to do for now.

Aramil Wellys, now that it's a bit calmer (or rather, now that people aren't screaming in everyones' ears), reiterates most of what he said earlier. "The devourers typically prowl the Ethereal and Astral planes, and receive power from that small figure in them, which is a trapped soul. It fuels their existence. The devourers could use the soulbiters to stockpile a massive reserve of power. As undead, their minds cannot be forced and they cannot be paralyzed, poisoned, or afflicted by most conditions. We've seen they can sometimes resist spells, but I don't believe they have any particular resistance to the damage the elements can do, spell-cast or not. We'll have to hope our weapons can kill them."

Chalm grimaces at the suggestions, then finally nods. "I believe it will be best if we confront them here, now -- when we are fresh. If our presence here draws the fey, then better they know us by the enemies drawn to us, and that we fight them at their doorstep to prevent their intrusion, than that we fled and led these foes deep into their territory.

"Spellcasters, enhance the abilities of the front-line fighters as you can -- use what traps you are able. We have forest," Chalm gestures at the massive trees around you, then at the upthrust of bedrock from which the cavern emerges, "and I suppose some stone there, but I do not know how well you can use these things against them." He raises his voice, calling, "Fighters, to the fore. Flank when you can, defend as you must. Strike when they are distracted -- but then, I called for you because you know these things already. Do not protect me, for my sword is as needed in this as your own. May each of us do all we can, and with the blessings of the gods, we will emerge triumphant -- perhaps battered, but triumphant nonetheless. Now, forward!!" And with that he hefts his shield and advances towards the entrance, where several tall gaunt figures are already emerging from the gloom ...

... but they then stop at a furious scream, turning back towards the inside. The entire stony ridge bucks, shakes, then with a roar like a castle falling down, simultaneously falls in on itself and bulges up as if giving birth -- and indeed, even as Lumnia dives forward in a dive that is a combination of awkwardness and grace, the earth indeed bears forth a monstrosity. Several of the forms inside the cavern lurch towards the far side; the two closest to the front suddenly drop from their flight to spring forward as chunks of stone twice their size plunge down from above, clipping them and sending them sprawling with an ungainliness that brings to mind the fact that they were once living creatures.

Out of the top of the cavern of stone is bucking a spiderlike thing -- there are no other words for it but that, a spherical, cagelike body the size of a noble's carriage but composed of bloody-looking pulsating muscles and black ichorous bones, several multi-jointed legs jutting from it. However, a third figure manages to tumble out through the collapsing entrance, knocked by multiple chunks of stone but managing to keep her feet: Lyda.

Though fallen, the pair of devourers are climbing to their feet, the southernmost of them glancing with scorn at the various weapons drawn and turning its gaze towards where the black-chitinous thing is still clawing its way out from the stone guts of the passage from the Real World to the First. The other, its ribcage empty of a faintly-wailing victim and one of its arms, clearly broken, hanging limply at its side, turns to scan the majority of the assembled nobility of Krádira, to see who will be first for it to consume ...

Amavin reacts swiftly, seeking to weaken or disable the creatures, casting Glitterdust (DC 19} against the Undead creatures.

Fortune *did* seem to have some pity for them after all! Velar concentrated to split his appearance into multiple copies and dashed towards the monsters at the edge of the fallen rocks.

Darivan's hand lights up, and blue lightning crackles down his arm, seeming to blur the edges of his form and splitting his image into pieces. He then takes a deep breath and steps forward, engaging the devourer with a pair of supernaturally fast blows.

Pausing in his circuit to mull over the information given about these devourers--which sound like the sort of creature Darvan would just love to smack around--Theodric is surprised to feel the ground beneath his feet bucking like an ornery mount, even as the meadow (and his hearing) is filled with the roar of stone coming down, violently. Ears ringing most unpleasantly in the aftermath, he cocks his head briefly to the figure he senses at his left and asks, in somewhat overloud voice, "Something bad just happened, didn't it?" He tries to make out what's happening, but there's just too much noise right now for him to catch anything clearly. With a frustrated oath, the blind swordsman gives his head a hard shake in a futile effort to clear his ears, then says to the presence at his side. "Gods damn it all, I can barely hear a thing over that racket. If we've foes before us, be a friend and give me a bit of guidance to the one closest to us."

With that request answered in a few short words, Theodric cautiously edges forward until he senses a new presence before him. The presence is marked by wash of air from its direction laden with a dusty, yet indescribably foul stench reaching out to find his senstive nose; Theodric has a passing thought that he now knows what evil smells like. But he quickly puts that idle thought aside and focuses on doing his utmost to send this abomination into the dirt before it has a chance to strike.

Lumnia felt her heart pound like a hammer, flooding the empathic bond with anticipation. Like commanded she followed Velar in his wake, ready to help the mage-knight bring down the monstrous devourers. But for now; something to shore up their defences. As the elf cast Mirror Image the Mephit cast Blur on herself.

Acaciano took the appearance of their foes at least as well as anyone, and maybe better than some. If nothing else, he'd sworn to fight their kind, and that vow gave him something else to hold on to as they advanced.

He clicked at Heartwood, their joyous reunion now cut short, and signaled to advance and attack, before following suit himself.

Lyda has only a moment to consider her surroundings and the...strangeness of it. The large plants, the new, vibrant smells, the fact that she went through a cave and found herself in a forest. This was not the land she started in. It didn't even feel like the same world. Lyda shook the cobwebs from her head and shouted, "The large one is controlling them. Aim for the thing on top." As she points at said thing, a brown blur shoots past her and leaps several feet to claw at the beast. Kasha? How is she here? What was...no focus. Shoot. Question later. Ignoring the strangeness of the situation, Lyda instinctively sends her loyal companion strength and follows the brown blur with a blur of arrows of her own.

Not much I can do here...

Bartek takes a conservative approach to the situation, not wanting to catch his allies in his spells. Speaking the incantation Bartek casts a spell over the area one of the devourers is in.

"Greyfang, stay close and wait to flank them!" Kaellin orders his companion. He steps up to join the others surrounding the nearest devourer, and slashes with Tahlathria with preternatural speed.