Niyut scurries to get a clear shot at the Tikbalang with the bog-oak wand. A blast of ice and snow hits the creature in the face as it's knees buckle from the impact. It raises its hooves to protect itself and clears its mind. Shaking off the snowballs effects, it roars in anger at the oracle.
Going on the physical offensive in the magical mayhem of fire and ice, Gruskorb sought to interpose himself between a few of the archers. Even in his wounded state, he knew the shaman's potency would be more exacting if unabated by arrows in her direction.
Perhaps it was the singed exterior which made his movements hard to gauge, but the gnoll posed little resistance to its legs being pulled out from under it - or the raking slash which was soon to follow across its face.
A couple well-timed snaps from Nethuns fends off the worst of the Tikbalang's deadly claws.
Truk'tosh capitalizes on the beast's exposure, with a barrage of punishing blows.
Gruskorb trips one of the archers who tumbles to the ground and feels the hobgoblin's pain as the whips tear into his flesh.
To the east, Truk'tosh slashes at the retreating gnolls back. Blood sprays across the frozen ground as the gnoll slips away to the south.
Malz manages to force the fire bolt away from him at the last moment, gasping in pain from the fire. Heavens forbid I show myself for a flickering moment on the battlefield! Malz cloaks himself in invisibility and retreats north.
Garidan whips the rapier forward at the gnoll a second time, sending forth a new rain of shards to pierce and batter its wounded body.
With his target brought down in a bloody heap, Garidan turns north to next foe that needs seeing off, racing forward in a jaw-dropping sprint to get in close. He veers around the gnoll's side and back, mindful not to get caught out during his run, positioning himself with an eye toward swiftly engaging the third of his intended victims after this one is dealt with.
Malthazir reaches out a hand at the gnoll as the fiendish flames thrust outward. The elf seizes the elemental energy in his hand and extinguishes its flame. When the smoke fades, the gnoll sees Malthazir still standing and growls under its breath.
With a thrust of his rapier, Garidan dispatches another of the archers before flying north and preparing for his next victim. Upon the walls, the gnoll slayers continue their onslaught although several are frozen with fear.
To the north, Truk'tosh turns his attention on the Tikbalang. With the first swing, the orcish axe slices through the beasts chest. A torturous bellow echoes across the battlefield. With a surge of energy, the horseman manages to dodge the secondary blows and steps in to attack the half-orc. With a surprising speed, Truk'tosh brings the axe around a final time and buries it deep within the beast's skull. It stops and exhales deeply as it reaches for the half-orc. But its grip is light, and the tikbalang sinks to its knees before flopping to one side. Truk'tosh stumbles forward a step as the axe is firmly embedded in its head. He a mighty heave, the druid pulls the axe free and raises it victoriously. As the blade drips warm blood down its haft and onto his hand, Truk'tosh smiles proudly.
The gnoll rangers seeing the beast fall, snarl at the hobgoblin and flying swashbuckler. The injured gnoll lying on the ground, scrambles to his feet and fires an arrow, sinking deep into gruskorb's chest. The other two turn and fire several in Garidan's direction, the closest having taken a step back. Yet, Garidan successfully avoids them with a grace that even his sister could appreciate.
Just to their south, a gnoll undeterred by Malthzair's visage, draws back his bow and fires at the wizard. Sensing the incoming attack, the elf turns and catches the arrow with his left hand. A second arrow came immediately but strayed to high. The gnoll fired his third arrow as time seemed to slow for Malthazir. His thoughts were clear. The arrow was aimed true and would surely strike the wizard. He held the first arrow in his left and the Sage Staff in his right. There would be no catching this arrow. He drew a shallow breath. He may soon take a final breath, but this one would not be it, he said to himself. He whirled the staff, once made by Ealiannë for the Father of Elves, high above his head, bringing it down between him and the arrow... the arrow that was bound for his head. At the final moment, Malthazir relaxed and his hand shifted the staff slightly in its place. The arrow pierced the wooden flesh and reverberated with a high pitched twang. What he could not catch in his hand, he had caught with the staff.
The Haemil guard did their best to hold off the gnolls. The men had held the river tower, but the gatehouse was now taken. And the eastern tower was about to fall. The gnolls pushed against the gate doors but they had not yet begin to move.
Beaten and exhausted, Malthazir utters a few inaudible words and vanishes. Hidden from sight he flies north.
The robed gnolls hovers above the wall a moment then burst into a howl that sends shivers down the spines of the men of Haemil. He barks out in broken common, "RUN NOW! COWARD!" Then murmurs more to himself. He howls out once more for all to hear. "Mohvaye beaceykay! ite sayhayalele bee daesaytereohyeda fohre tehayeire arereivayale anda hayisyah gehleohryeh..."
The robed gnoll drops behind the wall beyond your sight as the dying flames tickle the bark of its fiery staff.
Niyut smiles a savage smile when between her magic and her twin's axe the old, hungry ghost was laid low. Her excitement is slightly diminished by the howls of the returning gnoll caster. From the sound of it, he planned to bring this section of wall down.
Not if I have anything to say about it, she thinks fiercely.
She turns to her brother, pointing to the west, "Gruskorb is sorely wounded. Please, brother, save him and defeat what archers remain. I will see if the power within me can contest with that gnollish master of flames before he destroys the horse-lords' gate."
Niyut inhales the lingering spiritual energy of the old, hungry ghost. Like jewels, essences sparkle in the air before they come to a rest in her pouch. With hag-won power, Niyut then leaps into the air.
With hag-won power, Niyut then leaps into the air.
Niyut looks closely at the mangled body of the Tikbalang. A blackened smoke arises from its skull. A life essence she thins, but hte energy fails to congeal and it wisps away in the wind. Yet, when she looks again, she sees the unmistakeable form of an arcane essence attuned to conjuration shimmering above the corpse. Moments later five ethereal essences form as well.
Truk'tosh roars in victory as he stands triumphant over the fallen Tikbalang. His moment of glory is cut short as the whistling of arrows flying through the air resumes a second later.
"I will protect him", he answers his twin's warning. "Can you disable the rest of the archers? We need more time to close the gap."
Moving with magical alacrity, Truk'tosh bounds to Gruskorb's side. He mutters a verse, asking spirits of autumn breeze to mend the Aegean's wounds.
Gruskorb felt empowered with a few good connections and advanced a step in his rugged - yet trusty - boots. He desired to coil from both left and right toward the other archer, yet just after stepping forward, a piercing shaft of deadly precision entered his form. Pushing him out of rhythm, he instead stumbled in between the gnolls, seeking to relieve the one he'd not tripped of its armament. They were much more accurate at close range than he'd expected... at least, that's what some years of purloining valuables and being targeted during an exit had led him to believe...
Garidan adroitly evades the arrows sent his way while closing to engage the next gnoll in a close fight that will at least hamper the other archers even if they have no compunction about risking their fellow's life to a shot meant for the swashbuckler. Stepping inside the gnoll's guard, he stabs at its torso with the tip of his blade, seeking a vulnerable point in the armor that will let him run a nasty little hole into the tender meat behind it.
Calling on the speed of the flame drake, Truk'tosh rushes to the east and places a large paw upon the hobgoblin. Ethereal energy swarms through his soul. YES! Yes, call upon His power, boy! Mylesar revels in such displays of power! The half-orc's ears echo with the booming voice of Morgrym deep within his being. The wire-bound ram skull dangling from his neck glows with a deep, blood red light. Smokey tendrils of the ether pour out its snout and curl up Truk'tosh's powerful arm.
As the healing energy passes to Gruskorb, the hobgoblin feels a renewed strength. Stepping closer to the gnolls, he attempts to disarm the beast of its longbow. Slipping the other end of his scorpion whip to his other hand, he loops it around the bow and gives a quick snap. With a loud crack, the whip rips through the air but fails to dislodge the gnoll's weapon. It's companion to Gruskorb's east begins to howl in laughter at the failed attempt but stops short and its eyes widen dramatically. Gruskorb tilts his head to the side and raises an eyebrow at the dog's strange look. Suddenly, a burst of blood comes up the gnolls throat with a loud cough. It's legs stammer as it gurgles another weak howl. The red light fades from its eyes and it drops to the ground. A smiling Garidan stands behind the gnoll griping a bloodied rapier. He nods at Gruskorb then turns his attention back to the south.
Wounded but alive, Malthazir hears a chorus of howls coming from within the city walls as the gnolls appear agitated and are signaling a warning to each other. The gnolls atop the walls scramble away from the gatehouse and urge their brethren to destroy the guards. In response, the archers begin to howl in unison and also move further from the gatehouse. Those whose vision remains draw back their bows before the retreat.
Gruskorb narrowly avoids the arrow destined for his chest with a quick roll. Garidan also nimbly moves out of the way of the four arrows flying in his direction. The last arrow deflecting slightly from its path as his breastplate protects him.
Harnessing the power of the Sage Staff, Malthazir summons three air elementals from the distant plane. The whirlwinds manifest in the air above the gnoll and glide in next to the robed caster. The four creatures slowly regard each other but none make a move for a long moment. The gnoll slowly reaches for his staff and takes it with both hands as the air elementals drawn in the thin atmosphere but they do not attack.
With a slow breath, he raises the staff of above his head and grins, his tongue hanging from his mouth and dripping with bloody saliva. A muffled "Hehe..." is the only sound he makes before his muscles tense and the staff begins to bend sharply in his grip.
The elementals lunge at the gnoll. The first flails its arms at the gnolls head, but he is too quick and ducks at the last moment. The second elemental slams its fists into the gnolls chest. He groans as several ribs snap from the impact. Yet his thickened hide and dense form prevent the shards of bone from impaling his own organs. The last gnoll slams down the gnolls head. A burst of blood whips through the air and splatters on the inner walls of the gatehouse.
Realing from the brutal beating of the air elementals the gnoll takes a last breath, and then smiles a tooth grin at them. Sharply bringing down the staff across his knees, a concussive explosion shatters the gatehouse. As a giant plume of fire erupts into the sky the entire area is lit to bright sunlight for a moment. Rock and debris fall all about the battlefield.
As the dust settles, it is clear the gatehouse has been destroyed and the gnoll is no where in sight.
Niyut clutches a hand to her mouth horrified by the explosion she just witnessed. Never had she seen such arcane fury.
I was too late. If only I had a few more moments. I may have been able to do something.
She flies towards the ruins of the gate. Her senses extended trying to make detect any hints of remnants of power.
Not a small part of her hopes that there will be Essence. She feels the ache of her spiritual hungers quite keenly.
She also sees two very bloody horse-lords fighting off five gnoll slayers. Without her aid they would die. With a whispered word, shadows flit over their eyes seeking to blind them.
A grunt of thanks in the thick of combat would have to suffice as appreciate to Truk'tosh. Despite his failure to disarm the ranger, a new opportunity had presented itself. Finally, some bodies to use on the field.
Malthazir's earth elementals gave the rangers no endless retreat option. And it's me who gets to do the poke-and-gos - not you! The ranger was caught in between three of the things and had a difficult time dodging the extended danger that the rogue sent toward its neck.
Following the jaw-dropping destruction of the gatehouse, it takes Garidan a few moments to get his mind back on the matter of dealing with the gnolls remaining, and he can't stop his eyes from straying toward the patch of burning debris as he enters the fray again. "Glad that wasn't us," he mutters as he advances to end yet another mangy beast's life.
"Me too. Harsh as it is, though, I'm glad the gnoll chose to spend its life on destroying Haemil's defenses rather than you." The dimmed stone circling his head dips once before the spirit within continues, ever pragmatic (and unknowingly echoing another half-orc's thoughts in the matter). "I wonder if that gnoll left behind any useful essences? It must have been pretty powerful to have made such a mess in death, and those sorts almost always leave behind a bit of themselves when they die."
"I suppose we'll find out when the fight's over," her brother answers before taking to the air and darting toward a gathering of archers. Dropping to land in their midst is dangerous, but hopefully they'll be unable to get any effective shots with him in close like this. As soin as his boots hit the ground, Garidan's rapier is sweeping out in a back-handed slash that aims to bring the razor-edged tip across the throat of the gnoll to his immediate left.
Niyut rushes forward upon the wind avoiding the smoke and still crackling energy left from the ethereal explosion of the staff. As she approaches, she pauses long enough to drop a veil of shadows over the minds of the gnolls to the east. Turning her attention back to the blast zone, she sees the shimmering light of essences coalescing in the rubble. Five ethereal essences seems to float above the wreckage.
Grauskorb quickly lashes out and strikes another gnoll with his whip while Garidan maneuvers amongst the blinded gnolls and stabs one of the archers with a plunge of his rapier into its gut.
Upon the walls the gnolls make little progress on dispatching the resisting guards.
Trusting his companions to handle the rest of the gnolls on the ground, Truk'tosh charges toward the rubble of the fallen tower to aid the desperate defenders.
As Truk'tosh dashes across the battlefield and through the rubble that use to the gatehouse, the gnoll rangers understand that the tide is quickly turning sour and look to retreat. Fending for themselves, they move north towards the river. Even the blinded ones are able to make a break for it, stumbling through the frozen field of carnage. One of the elementals swings its massive arm trying to hit a fleeing gnoll, but the gnoll luckily dodges the blow.
With a sudden burst of war cries, many more guards begin to flow in from the city. Howls from the gnoll slayers indicate their determination to kill or die. Reinforced the guards upon the wall, fight back with a renewed fury, slaying several of the gnolls.
As the voices of Haemil thunder from within city, movement from the river draws Malthazir's attention, an invisible form flies across the great river towards the wall. As it approaches, she sees a elf with flowing white hair extend her hands forward. An ethereal energy crackles about her form and begins to well up in her hands as she dives towards the gnolls. A vicious wind of ice and snow bursts forth from her, overwhelming the enemy. The guards look up seeing the elf with surprise and wonder.
Down below, the elementals glide across the battlefield and attack the retreating gnolls.
The horns and cries of the defenders reminds Niyut that she has little time to do what must be done before the horse-lords assert their control over the battlefield. They would not look kindly on blood magic -- given their history with the Night Blood -- but Niyut is unwilling to let any part of the gnoll or Tikbalang go to waste.
She inhales the essences left in the wreckage of the northern gates.
She then flies with all speed back to the body that she and her twin and left bloodied and broken. Plunging the bone hilted dagger into the open wounds of the Tikbalang, she lets its blood drip on to the pages of the Liber Sanguinem.
Seeing the gnolls outside the city finally break and begin to flee in earnest, Garidan finds himself quite unwilling to let them simply leave with no further penalty on their part. Taking to the air yet again, he draws upon the magic in his body to speed his flight and races northward until his eyes can make out what seems the be gnoll furthest along in leaving the battle. Dropping to ground directly in front of this one, the swashbuckler lashes out with a quick cut of his blade.
As Niyut struggles to feed the grimoire before the horselords reclaim the field, many of the essences that she had collected over the course of the battle shoot out like tiny glittering stars, seeking her companions to which they are attuned. Only two remain with the beautiful, if rather tired, oracle. The essence of Illusion melts into her brow almost like a third eye. The remaining essence swathes the bog oak wand before merging with its stony flesh.
Only two? Two essences alone would do little to assuage the hungers that had been kindled within her.
Niyut has long wondered how and why specific essences seemed to be attuned to individual members of her companions and not to whomever extracted them.
It is almost as if essence were like water, trying to find its level. But that would imply that there is some kind of unseen connection between all of us.
Truk'tosh scales the rubble and throws himself into the horde of swarming gnolls.
Fate, it seemed, had no plans for them to leave this world today. Though today and tomorrow seem much the same now...
Beckoning his iron follower to him, Gruskorb vicariously ended the life of some of the wounded or unconscious Gnolls to sate its thirst. Perhaps it was due the trap's nature, but it seemed to prefer latching onto the upper thigh, a gruesome exsanguination following. Many couldn't feel anything, but for the few that could yet, Gruskorb almost felt pity. They're fading anyway though - probably waiting for the scrum-combers to finish them off.
Ending life wasn't Gruskorb's favorite activity though; the looting which followed was much higher on his list! Niyut seemed to enjoy the arcane collection, but he preferred the tangible trophies. His hands deftly prodded all the common - and much of the uncommon - hiding places, and the adrenaline made him brazen enough to fish around the guard tower for keepsakes from the departed defenders.
After the last gnolls have been put the sword, Garidan quickly and thoroughly frisks the cooling bodies for anything of value or utility before rejoining the remainder of the party. Niyut's request, once she explains the reasoning behind it, prompts a nod from the swashbuckler and he rapidly moves to place himself well in advance of the others, so as to intercept anyone from Haemil coming out to meet with them.
While waiting, he considers the essences that have apparently decided--by what means, he doesn't know--that they belong with him. He's not quite certain yet how best to use these new prizes from their foes, and his study is in part done in an effort to discern whatever he can about the power that they might grant.
NIyut gathers the mystical essences from the site of the explosion before racing back to the north and the corpses of her fallen foes. Plunging the dagger into the tikbalang's body, she feels the warm blood begin to ooze across the blade. Pulling the dagger back sharply, she gasps as the blade is covered in a thin, weak flame. The oracle quickly shakes her hand and the flames fade. She places the Liber Sanguinem under the creature allowing the blood to flow on to its pages. Racing time, she repeats the process with the fallen gnoll. To her surprise, the blade once again bursts into flames. Sheathing the dagger, she turns her attention to the grimoire, but is disappointed to see that no new spells form on its pages.
Her brother, upon the walls of Haemil, roars as he rushes the gnolls. He hurls the orcish axe at the closest enemy, cleaving the creatures head in two. The gnolls on either side turn to see the oracle in his rage. They howl as they scramble across the parapets towards Truk'tosh. Before they arrive, his axes reappears in his hand; a hand already in motion. He snatches the axe from the air and sends it once again spinning towards an enemy of his. The whirling weapon removes the gnoll's leg from its torso and it tumbles from the wall into the city streets below. It's blood freezes as it splatters across the walkways.
The third gnolls blade slices out at Truk'tosh, but the half-orc ducks his head as he spins away. Catching Morgrym's Axe in his hand, the druid hears a howling voice upon the wind uttering a single name, "Garrick..." His free hand reaches up and grabs the gnoll and tosses him head over heels against the far battlements. Before the dog can recover, Truk'tosh plunges his axe in his chest. A cold wave of ice flows through the gnoll and the light of life leaves its eyes. Ripping the axe from the enemy's ribs, he turns and sees that the guards of Haemil are still pressed by three remaining gnolls.
With just two guards alive, the dogs don't see the druid approach. He strides forward hurling the axe once more. It takes a massive gash out of one of the gnolls who drops to a knee as it howls in pain. Another turns and charges Truk'tosh. The druid sidesteps out of the way and catching the axe upon its return, buries it deep in the gnolls neck. It clatters backwards and collapses. By this time the Haemil guards have finished off the final two gnolls. One of the guards peels off his helmet, "I have no idea who you are but I thank Calledrym that you came to our aid." Looking out over the courtyard below, the other guard points out the approaching reinforcements. "Thaddäus, look! Lord Foramdar and the Third Calvary." Truk'tosh glances into the inner courtyard beyond the broken gatehouse as a sea of horseman overrun the dozen gnolls that have made their way into the city. The slaughter is complete and swift.
Far to the north upon the battlefield, Garidan lands in the path of an injured Gnoll. The gnoll draws its blade, but the swashbuckler is upon him. A slight touch of his rapier to the tip of the gnoll's blade, sends the falchion out of guarded position. With an upward stroke the rapier penetrates the failed defenses and enters his throat just above his hardened leather breastplate. Garidan turns to look for another gnoll even before his blade has retracted. He takes no further notice of the skewered gnoll as death is certain. A gurgling sound comes up the dog's snout. It spits a mouthful of blood upon the ground as it collapses.
Garidan moves across the battlefield towards the walls of the great Aerten city, cutting down the fleeing gnolls. Bloodthirsty, the young human opens the entrails of another gnoll before firing a barrage of shards at the next. Several of the sharpened steel pieces lacerate the upper torso of a gnoll as it shrinks in fear. It stumbles forward, collapsing to its knees and remains motionless for a beat before beginning to rise again. But before it can climb to its feet, it reaches for its neck, but its hand cannot stop the bleeding. It dies before it hits the ground.
Malthazir directs the elementals to continue their rampage upon the few remaining gnolls that scramble away still cloaked in an unnatural shadowy darkness. Reaching for the devil ooze, he lets the substance crawl across his body repairing the burns caused by the gnolls fiery magic. It was a priest. I'm sure of it. A priest of Gaeruhn. I saw His symbol, etched upon the gnoll's armor. It glowed as he unleashed that infernal bolt of fire upon you, a voice rang in his ears that had long been quiet.
Gruskorb has been busy as well. The hobgoblin flanks a number of goons fleeing the field having lost their sight to a shadowy illusion. As the elementals chance down the slower ones, Gruskorb's bear trap shoots forward and opens its waiting jaws for the faster of the gnolls. With its mouth clamped down tightly on the gnoll's foot, it awaits its master. The rogue does not disappoint. With a snap of his wrist the scorpion whip lashes out and encircles the gnoll's throat. As he retracts the coil to his free hand, Gruskorb slices the gnoll's arteries. Clawing at its own neck, the beast dies slowly. Fresh meat... and warm blood... the trap's thoughts echo in Gruskorb's ears.
Leezzâ swoopes in and lands near Garidan as he surveys the carnage upon the cold, rocky battlefield. "I came from the west, young Garidan. The gnolls march down a narrow path through the mountains. Their numbers are light, probably no more than three hundred soldiers. I would normally have said that the city's defenses were adequate, but without the gatehouse..."
The white-haired elf looks towards Gruskorb who has already begun to loot the corpses. "Take your spoils with haste. I would say they will be here within three hours."
Out of the wreckage of the gatehouse, Foramdar and thirty of his men stride across the battlefield toward you.
Niyut frowns as the blood flickers, flares, and utterly fails to activate the magic of the Liber Sanguinem
Absorbed in his thoughts and quite unaware of his surroundings, Garidan twitches violently and jerks back back in startlement when Leezza lands and addresses him; he will absolutely deny making any sort of noise resembling a shriek, however. Once his heart is beating at a regular pace, he considers her warning for a moment before a rush of inspiration strikes. With barely a nod thanks to the unusual elf, the swashbuckler locates Malthazir and quickly hurries to enlist his aid.
"Malthazir," the human begins with little preamble. "There are additional gnolls, a considerable number at that, coming in from the west. If your summoned creatures have time to do so, can you command them to dig out a trench from the base of the wall to one side of the destroyed gatehouse and around to the other side?" To help clarify his request as he speaks, Garidan draws a crude little picture in the dirt. "If possible, I'd like the entire thing 20 feet across and as deep as your summons can make it, but the width and distance is more important than the depth, if they don't have sufficient time left here to get it all done. At a minimum, however, I'd like the trench at least deep enough to make climbing out take some effort," he adds as he finishes his request of the summoner. He then waits to hear what the elf has to say on the matter, for the rest of his idea is contingent on that trench being available.
Niyut peers through the Ether and sees several magical auras. The equine figure glows brightly as transmutation and the horn glows with an aura of divination and evocation. The vial of silver does not have an aura but instinct tells Niyut that it is a component to a spell or possibly alchemy.
Huh. As far as Niyut knows, the book always learns a new spell when exposed to the blood of a caster. She wants to know why it's not adding a spell now. However, she is now also confused why her previously non-magical bone-hilted dagger she has been using as her athamé is displaying magical qualities. Has its use in her spell-work and rituals caused magic to rub off on it?
Niyut gives her bone-hilted athamé a stunned look. She carefully sets in on the ground and gives it a good stare with her magically enhanced senses.
With a wave of her left hand, the horn, the figure, and the vial all disappear into her shadowy sleeve.
After glaring at her athamé for a few moments, she gets up to fetch Tacal and the nameless goat.
”A necessary victory”, Truk’tosh says as he wipes the blades of Morgrym’s axe clean. ”But the truth remains, when the living wage war only the dead emerge victors.”
Hearing the warning of gnoll reinforcements, he joins the discussion with Garidan and the others.
”Is there time to fall back to a more defensible position? The elf is right. Without the gatehouse, we cannot make a stand here.”