Father Donnagin is lucky enough to avoid the ball of fire that Etna sends his way (he looks deeply concerned as the flame-haired woman coughs up not-blood, muttering "Ah, girl, what have you done to yourself, now?"); although the flames distract him enough that his strike at Erevan as he makes his steal is desultory at best. The priest chuckles slightly as Erevan deftly loops his holy symbol from around his neck. "Ah, that old trick, my boy? I'm old enough to be wise to that; I've another at my belt, so. But I won't be needing it for this!"
Deftly - surprisingly so, considering his girth - he steps to one side of the antipaladin, away from Felrin; and utters a word that you don't hear. But Mitra does. And He answers with light. Bright, searing light: a burst that catches each of you.
Brighter than sunlight, hotter than flame, more searing than the fires of Hell itself, it is Mitra's wrath made manifest; or just a small portion of it, as much as a humble priest such as Father Donnagin can command. But it is sufficient for the evil he faces today. Somewhat surprisingly, it is Etna (along with Tkaara, less surprisingly) who fares the worst; only Erevan and Felrin are capable of resisting it, to some extent.
As the golden-eyed man and the fiend-spawn tiefling look around, they see that all of their other companions have been blinded.
EDIT:
Contrary to expectations, Etna's reaction to the spell is much less calm than Tkaara's. Instinctively shielding her eyes as the priest casts the spell, the ifrit drops to the ground, as the smell of burnt flesh fills the air around the fire-haired woman, smoke lifting from her like hot iron dropped in cold water. Luckily, Etna's illusory disguise helps her to hide the grisly spectacle of her wounds to her companions, but she nevertheless scream and spasms in agony on the ground.
Father Donnagin doesn't reply to Tkaara's jibe, but his mouth sets in a firm line. Despite his jovial features and love of a good chat, there are few in Talingarde more zealous in the fight against evil. He will stop you, or die trying.
Slowly, the haze of dizzying lights that forms the archon stops spinning and the gestalt entity ceases to be. In its place are nine individual globes of light, floating in the air. They seem angry (it's possible that Etna's 'cowbells' remark hit a nerve).
"Blasphemers!"
"Haters of music!"
"Unappreciative philistines!"
"Our music echoes the song of creation itself!"
"Evildoers!"
"Your wickedness ends this day!"
"We will sing of how your evil was vanquished!"
"Hymns of praise to Mitra!"
"Glory! Glory! Praise Him!"
Etna is down, coughing blood/not-blood and unconscious, and Erevan is locked in combat with Father Donnagin. They therefore concentrate their ire on Felrin, Ottakar and Tkaara: beams of radiant light fly from the archons, wrathful rays of righteousness briefly illuminating the great hall with heavenly radiance.
The doctor and the barrister, being sightless, make easy targets; and even the Beast's strange resilience fails to prevent it from harm. Tkaara is even less fortunate.
Felrin feels the sting of the rays of blessed light, and a surge of annoyance rises in him at the archons’ shouts and songs, but he keeps his focus on Father Donnagin. Taking a quick step to Erevan’s side, Felrin hisses fiercely, ”We must finish him!” before lashing out again with reptilian teeth and claws!
"Wisdom and experience do breed preparedness, Father," Erevan says in acknowledgement of Donnagin's smart move to carry two holy symbols, just before he lets out a groan of pain as Mitra's holy light burns him, though not as severely as some of the others. "I would... would applaud if my hands were not otherwise occupied," he adds as his spear darts forward as if to show what his words mean, the blade piercing deeply and the shadowy flames adding their sting to the weapon's bite.
The Beast flinches and snarls in pain at the blinding light and thunderous sound. Ignoring the indignity of the tiny burns from the archons, it cocks its shaggy head, trying to hear the annoying priest, but to no avail as its ears still ring from the holy word. Determined to deal with the Mitran, it stalks in the direction it saw him last, moving surely despite the blindness, its huge feet, shod incongruously in a gentleman's well-polished shoes, finding easy footing even in the magical grease. Once close enough, the Beast's incredible sense of smell locates its prey, and it strikes. It seems for a moment that the mighty jaws would find only air, but with a frustrated growl it corrects its aim at the last moment and tastes the warm coppery flavor of self-righteous blood.
Father Althus Donnagin is not (despite his experience) a front-line combatant - his fate was sealed the moment that Lord Havelyn was killed, and he knew it. For all that, he dies bravely enough. As his body hits the ground, the nine archons fall silent, momentarily; their illumination dims.
Then, as they resume singing, they take up a new refrain: lyrical, haunting, lamenting.
...
..
.
Still singing, the globes of light shimmer and vanish briefly, reappearing over Father Donnagin's body. Whirling and spinning in what looks almost like a dance of courtship, the archons glow brighter and brighter, becoming almost painful to look at. In that light, despite his terrible wounds, the late priest looks peaceful; he could almost be sleeping, dreaming dreams of home.
Still singing, the motes of light ascend, flying high up to the vaulted ceiling of the great hall - but now there are ten of them. There is no sign of the priest's body, although all his possessions lie there where he fell.
Then, in one final, near-blinding flash of light, they are gone.
The music persists, ethereal and wordless, for some time.
Combat is over, for now. Etna continues to bleed. Tkaara... doesn't.
There is no other path.
At the end of that pathway, you can see a face: your Infernal Lord and Master. It's too far away - and the air is too hazy - for you to see his expression.
He is waiting. For you.
|
Round 6
After standing rather dazed from being blinded, Tkaara suddenly feels the numerous burns from something, she has no clue what due to the blinding light caused by the father. With her teeth gritted, she turns to where the father was.
You chose poorly, eternal life could have been yours.
EDIT - The barrister then collapses to the ground, unmoving and unbleeding.
-------
As her vision returns, she sees the father lying on the ground and takes a step toward him, only to be further annoyed as his fresh corpse, and tasty blood, is stolen from her as was done with the paladin before. Raising her face toward the ceiling, she lets out an ear piercing shriek of frustration.
.
A moment later, her anger having subsided enough to regain her composure, she looks down and sees Etna lying on the ground bleeding from the wounds and singed from the cleric's vile spell.
.
With that, Tkaara moves over and bends down, calling to the heavens as she does so, and creating a whirlwind of light motes about her hand. These quickly leap from her to surround Etna, causing the ifrit to stop bleeding, and sealing some of her wounds.
"All things considered, we did well enough," Erevan says with a thin smile as he looks around at his companions and the state they are in. He himself looks healthy and, truth be told, in a good mood despite the burns inflicted upon him by Donnagin's divine power.
Moving a little closer to what remains of the late Lord Havelyn, the golden-eyed man proceeds to nudge the blackened pile of metal that was the man's bright and shining armor with the blunt end of the spear that ended his life. Once sure that it no longer burns hot, he crouches down, examining it a little more closely. It seems that nothing remains of the knight's symbols of faith and heraldry. Indeed, it no longer appears to resemble a suit of armor, certainly not one befitting the holy knight that wore it until moments ago. His eyes then move from armor to weapon, to the sword Havelyn wielded against them, these armaments and little else being all that remains of their "splendid" foe.
Although he hides it well enough, Erevan is quite impressed with what actual power can do. "Fool," he mutters softly, referring to not only the paladin, but himself as well for not having taken sooner such a path as the one he is walking now. And his mind travels for a few moments to a certain vision of his, a sort of epiphany he could call it, seeing as how things have unfolded so far.
'I wonder if this was it,' he ponders briefly before returning to the here and now once again.
It's clear to Erevan that the late Lord Havelyn's plate armour was mithral; even scorched, corrupted and blackened it remains mithral. At his touch, however, it responds: broken links knit together, strands of metal wind and twine one with another, writhing in his grasp - until he holds in his hands a complete suit of mithral chainmail, black as night; its sole adornment is an emblem on the chest, drawn in fresh, wet blood that never dries: the symbol of Asmodeus.
Truly, the Lord of Hell is pleased with you for sending Him such a mighty soul...
So very, very tired.
Surrounded by the smoke and chocked by the heat, without the strength to resist, Etna makes her way down the flame-lit path.
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"".
Sprinting from behind the corner he was hiding behind, still trembling, Winston runs up to Etna and start licking her face. Recoiling after the ifrit's skin's heat almost burns him, the dog whimpers and keeps trying to wake mistress Etna back.
Realizing that it was all futile, Winston runs to the only other of Mistress' friends that could help her get back up: however, as he barks to wake the barrister up, the Basset Hound realizes that Tkaara was faring no better than Etna.
Letting out a frustrated howl, Winston scans his surroundings to find a way to heal the two barristers: sprinting where Erevan is, the dog frustratedly tugs at the edge of the man's trousers, who was apparently too busy looting dead bodies to save Mistress Etna and Lady Tkaara.
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As the pile of molten metal starts changing in front of his eyes into a suit of fine ebon mail made of mithral, Erevan goes from being impressed to being surprised. Running his fingers over the metal links with something akin to reverence, he notes the symbol of Asmodeus displayed prominently on the front, the crimson blood providing the only source of color in an otherwise black suit of armor.
And then he feels a pulling sensation and looks down at its source. And he smiles a genuine smile, though still thin and crooked. Perhaps the dog is growing on him. "You do have a point, Winston," he remarks as he stands up again and retrieves a healing potion from his magical bag. "Lead the way," he says as he follows the dog back to its mistress and proceeds to help the unconscious woman drink the potion.
It would appear that disposing of a paladin in what was surely a rather painful manner and being rewarded with that paladin's own suit of armor, now corrupted, does wonders for one's mood.
It sounds like an infinitely great, adamantine blade being ground to dust on an infinitely hard grindstone. But it's not.
It takes your ears time to resolve it, much like a lens takes a while to bring something into focus. And you realise.
It's screaming. An untold multitude of souls and fiends and others, screaming.
Was that what she was going to happen to her now?
His teeth still stained with Father Donnagin’s blood, Felrin turns away from the fallen priest and braces himself to fight the holy lights and their bloody singing. As they begin to whirl and brighten, Felrin prepares himself for the worst, unsure he’ll survive whatever it is they’re about to do. When the light flashes and the music fades, he looks around in confusion for a moment, then lowers his bloody claws and exhales. ”We have done it,” he says calmly, though there is relief in his voice. ”We must send up the signal rocket. Doctor, those double doors will take you out to the courtyard. Would you step outside and send the signal? Erevan and I will tend to the wounded.”
Felrin lays a hand on his chest and a brief pulse of red light illuminates it. He grits his teeth against the moment of sharp pain as his wounds are healed, then relaxes, feeling significantly better. He then moves over by Tkaara’s side, muttering to himself, ”Will my healing help or harm her in her new…form?”
Tkaara can't answer Felrin, since she's dead. Even Ottakar can't distinguish her from a corpse.
Assuming Ottakar obeys his esteemed leader (!) and tries to leave the hall, he finds the doors barred, locked, bolted, magically sealed - you name it. You aren't getting out that way.
For a few moments after Erevan gives her the potion, Etna still lays unconscious on the ground. Then, abruptly, she springs up, eyes wide open with fear, before she again takes in her surroundings "What...what happened to the Archons?".
Still sitting on the ground in a daze, the ifrit absentmindedly pets Winston, before getting back on her feet and reacquiring her usual composure. Digging in her purse, she retrieves the wand of Infernal Healing.
"Is anybody else hurt?"
Regimental Sergeant-Major (RSM) Tamworth is the highest-ranking officer left alive in the fort. A grizzled veteran with more years' experience than he cares to remember, running from the fight with the Forsaken pained him deeply. But orders is orders.
Having alerted Father Donnagin, he heard the priest's last words and acted accordingly. The doors to the keep were sealed and locked; one of Father Donnagin's more promising acolytes, a pale trembling youth by the name of Fillip, read the words from the arcane scroll to seal the portal shut. That done, the RSM drinks one of the potions of Fly that the fort has in reserve, and ascends to the roof of the keep. He will run operations from there, with the aid of signal lanterns.
His first order is a grim one: Evacuate the lower floor. He, Donnagin and Lord Havelyn have spent the better part of a day and a half assessing strategies and second-guessing their foe, and the only answer that makes any sense (while at the same time being utterly unthinkable) is that this is a prelude to an assault from the North. The intruders are clearly too powerful to face individually or to stop with the limited resources the defenders now have, so difficult choices have to be made.
The second order is even more difficult; it goes against centuries of what Balentyne has stood for: Evacuate the Gatehouse. If that really is their goal, if these intruders have so utterly forsaken their humanity that they will side with monsters to attack the fort, then there is no means of stopping them from opening the gates. Lives lost defending the gatehouse are irreplaceable. Better to fall back within the fort and defend that.
The final order is not difficult at all, not to the men of the 23rd Regiment of Foot. They have served - and in some cases their ancestors have served - for years. They knew the stakes when they signed up - they are the first and last line of defence against the horrors of the North. Stand fast and die like Talireans. The reply comes back swiftly from all posts: For Mitra, Markadian and Talingarde.
Meanwhile, the Forsaken (unaware of the strategies being run outside) are recovering from the fight.
The only article that was in any way salvageable from the late Lord Havelyn is the new suit of armour in Erevan's possession. Even the sword was melted in the unnatural blaze.
Nothing remains of Father Donnagin, but his possessions are intact. They include:
- a mithral breastplate
- a masterwork heavy mace
- a large steel shield
- a silver holy symbol of Mitra
- a wooden holy symbol of Mitra
- 4 vials of holy water
- 2 scrolls of Dismissal
- a scroll of Death Ward
- a locket holding a decent portrait of a young man who looks strangely familiar
The Beast snaps angrily at the retreating lights, not having had its fill of carnage this day. After so long skulking in the shadows, it requires more blood to flow over tooth and claw. It growls in frustration at finding the doors sealed, but then the cold, annoying voice of the Doctor rings in its mind. [i]"There is work to be done yet. I must get to the roof, light the signal. The Fireaxe will come and set this kingdom ablaze." Pleased with the imagery, the Beast downs two extracts in quick succession to bind its wounds, then lopes hungrily across the room, still enormous, but knowing the enchantments that bolster it will not last much longer, and hoping to find a bit of resistance on the roof...
Late afternoon/early evening
As you salvage the last few remaining useful items from your fallen foes, the thing that occasionally resembles Dr Ottakar returns, having found no more Mitrans. Apparently the upper levels are blocked off; Etna and Felrin vaguely remember a huge stone cap by one of the stairwells, for that purpose.
It seems that the only way is back down the way you came.
The lower level is deserted; nothing stirs, nothing impedes your progress out along the causeway, or indeed into the gatehouse. The drawbridge is down, and the way into the gatehouse appears open.
With Etna conscious and her bleeding stopped -was that blood indeed?- Erevan pets Winston on the head gently before moving away and starting to remove his armor, the process not taking long. Spending a few moments looking at the suit of black mail, he starts donning it piece by piece, appreciating how light the mithral makes the armor. Clenching and unclenching his now mailed hands as if to test the gauntlets, they feel almost like gloves, though much sturdier. It is as if it has been made for him, and in a way it has, he finds himself thinking. Though it does feel slightly more cumbersome and restrictive than his chain shirt, that hardly deters him. He is certain he will find a way to overcome that little obstacle sooner or later.
Taking up his spear again, he moves from the ash and molten metal that was the paladin to the priest, or rather his belongins, as those are all that remain of him.
"The man on that locket," he says casually. "He reminds me of someone. Did we kill him somewhere along the way?"
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Fifteen to twenty seconds after the wand first touches Tkaara, her eyes suddenly blink open and she lets out a hiss. A second later, she jumps to her feet, as though the scorch marks from the light and holy magic had no effect on her. As you watch, a few more of the scorches slowly fade, when the magic of the wand ends, Etna taps Tkaara again resuming the slow healing process that the barrister does not seem to notice.
What happened? Where is the priest and the paladin?
As she says this, she notices the armor and equipment laying on the ground. Noticing the pouch with a scroll cast protruding, she picks it up and examines the scrolls. After a quick read, she looks to Etna:
Looks like divine spells, not sure you can use them easily. Two seem to be designed to send summoned creatures back from whence they came. The other protects against . . . well . . . against the powers of the evil and undead. Useless for me, but something that might benefit you all if we find any evil missed by the Mitran scum.
------
While Erevan, and probably the Doctor, are changing their armor, Tkaara notices the wounds she has suffered, looking rather confused as to why she cannot feel them. Deciding that it is not worth contemplating, but that she should probably try to heal them, she raises her hand, as the party has seen her do many times before. Except this time, rather than pinpricks of light, her hand is surrounded by motes of darkness, the blackest darkness anyone has ever seen. This flows from her hand and appears to seep into her injuries, causing many of her wounds to simply disappear as though erased from her form.
Cast ILW:
Cast ILW:
------
Once the party realizes that down is the only option, she follows the group, bringing up the rear behind Etna to keep any soldier from being able to attack the lightly armored sorceress from behind.
Everything is too quiet. We need to find where the guards are holed up and make their lives unhappy. We also need to get that rocket fired, sooner rather than later.
Lets make sure that these gates are disabled, permanently. We don't want the bugbears to be on the causeway, only to have the doors drop and archers to take over.
Tkaara will take the mace although she already has one and I do not think that the masterwork stacks with the +1 from Weapon Attunement.
Also, if there are any recently dead, guards we met on the way in, Tkaara will do some draining as she is starting to feel famished and desperately in need of sustenance.
It is the work of a moment for Ottakar, working with Felrin and Erevan, to tear down the gates leading to the causeway. The path into the fort is now open. All you need to do is get to the gatehouse, open the portcullis and hold it until Sakkarot gets here with his army. Oh, and signal said army.
The open gatehouse arouses suspicion, which proves to be fruitless: it really is empty. Wasting no time, Felrin (with his knowledge of clockwork) opens the gates and the portcullis, before trashing the mechanism beyond repair. Even if the soldiers of Talingarde storm the gatehouse and retake it (unlikely on the face of it), they'll not get the portcullis down in time.
The way to the Savage North lies open.
Under cover of darkness (possibly aided by Tkaara's Darkness spell), Ottakar reaches the roof of the gatehouse. While Felrin and Erevan busy themselves smashing and disabling the siege weapons and blocking the murder holes, the Doctor looks carefully at the rocket given to him by Sakkarot all those weeks ago. It has been carefully wrapped and appears still to be functioning. Still, there is, ultimately, only one way to find out.
Carefully setting the tube on a stable surface, he lights the fuse and retires to a safe distance.
...
..
.
Good thing you retired to a safe distance. With a fearful scream (it puts Etna in mind of... of... something), the rocket lances several hundred feet into the air in a matter of seconds, showering sparks and exploding with a mighty bang (it's a signal rocket, it's designed to work in daylight as well).
If Sakkarot's scouts are deaf, blind, and dumb, it would probably still get their attention. Knowing what little you know of him - and of bugbears in general - they're likely to be rather better than that. So now you wait.
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From the protection of the parapet, Tkaara looks back at the fort, trying to discern where the guards are hiding.
Looking to her less dead companions, she speaks her thoughts:
They would not pull back and simply leave this open. There is some failsafe. Some means of defending, or stopping, the horde. We should go back in on the upper catwalk. My darkness should provide some defense. Then, we can see what they have planned, and respond accordingly.
Perception:
Sorting through the belongings of the deceased priest, Felrin glances at the locket that Erevan holds up. ”Yes, he was a guard in Branderscar,” Felrin recalls, his mind for detail serving him well. ”Fancied himself a bit of a leader, until the good doctor clubbed his head in, and he swore Mitra would avenge him. He appears to have been wrong about that, but I can’t help but wonder what the…association…was between Donnagin and the boy.” With a shrug, he turns to the rest of the items, holding up Donnagin’s armor and giving it an admiring look.
As he and the rest of the Forsaken make their way through the fortress, Felrin asks Etna to heal him with the wand, savoring the feeling of the infernal power surging through him. He’s thoughtful as they discover the gatehouse abandoned, though pleased that he’s able to lock the gates open, as it will surely make the horde’s entry easier. Something isn’t right, however, and when Tkaara voices a similar concern, Felrin says, ”They’ll have retreated to the keep. I don’t believe there’s any way for them to affect the gatehouse from there, but it’ll certainly be a challenge to root them out. I’ve been through much of the building, let me think on what I know of it.”
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Listening to Felrin, Tkaara points to the fort, left of where the causeway enters.
Is that the stables? A few well placed flaming arrows, or one of Etna's flaming balls should light that up like a giant torch. This would light up all the walls so that we can see where any archers are. It would also light up the top of the tower in case anyone is up there.
RSM Tamworth nods as he hears the sound of the lower gates being demolished. Let the scum think they've made progress.
Even though he's half expecting something like it, he still jumps when the signal rocket ignites. So. It really is happening. Very well. In a few moments they will find that the door at the top is sealed and there's no way to access the bridge of death - the only way in is along the causeway and through the corridor.
Very well. It is time. Time to bring this to an end, to make the causeway into a death trap with no way out. From the top of the keep, he signals; Drop the seal.
Several tons of stone block lie poised to drop over the entrance to the lower levels: the famed Seal of Balentyne. Two men on the parapet walk over to the winch and release the mechanism.
Nothing happens.
The RSM waits for several minutes, but he hears nothing. From his position on the roof of the keep, he cannot see what is going on. Eventually the signal comes back to him: Sabotage. A curse hisses out from behind his clenched teeth.
A new plan will be needed. And fast.
The Forsaken know nothing of any of this, of course. All that they know is that the door to the upper catwalk is sealed and blocked beyond their ability to open. Ottakar's alchemical training allows him to detect the presence of Sovereign Glue. The only way from the gatehouse into the fort is back along the causeway.
To pass the time, they amuse themselves by getting Etna to set fire to the stables. The harsh light flickers into a blaze, illuminating the wall and revealing the presence of armoured men, looking grim and ready to sell their lives dearly.
Sadly, the fire doesn't blaze for long: a number of the late Father Donnagin's acolytes can evidently create water; once Etna's spell runs its course, they hasten to the scene and douse the burning thatch and timbers until it dies down. A thick pall of greasy smoke hangs in the chill night air.
It is cold. Bitterly cold. Not a night to be standing in metal armour, waiting for Mitra alone knows what.
Evening
You see them before you hear them: a network of flickering torches portends a multitude approaching (darkvision is nice to have tactically, but it only extends 60 feet or so. Sakkarot has clearly made the decision that he'd rather see strategically, even if that means giving up a small advantage). Sakkarot spoke of a horde, but you hadn't realised quite what he meant: the sheer numbers are difficult to comprehend. Are there really that many bugbears beyond the Watch Wall?
From your position on the gatehouse, you hear cries and shouts of alarm drifting on the chill night air from the men in the fort.
Closer they come, ever closer. Finally - just out of bowshot range from the gatehouse - they stop. Illuminated in the torchlight, you can see two familiar figures at the front: one carries a great, flaming axe; the other towers over even the hulking bugbears.
Cautiously, the two of them approach the gatehouse. No ballista fire advances towards them; no alarms; the portcullis remains up. Sakkarot grins as he reaches you, gleaming white tusks flashing in the torchlight. "You did it. By all the Lords of Hell, you did it!" He extends a great, furred paw to each of you, offering the warrior's grip, wrist to wrist.
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From the top of the gatehouse, Tkaara tosses down a rope for Sakkarot to climb up so that he can survey the area and decide how to send his troops in.
After shaking his hand with her cold firm grip, she gives the rundown of the situation.
Welcome Fire-Axe. Yes, the keep seems to be having some trouble with its defenses today. So, you chose a good day to visit. As most of the leaders have taken ill, and by ill I mean that their bodily functions have all seemed to cease, we think that a sub-leader is at the top of the tower and undoubtedly there are still archers on the parapets, although most of their arrows mysteriously burned a few days ago.
If you do not want to storm the fort and test their defenses, the nice dwarves who built this fort also seem to have made a long forgotten passage that ends in the lower level of the main inn in town. Your troops could easily ignore most of the guards and instead head into town to have some fun. I imagine it will not take long for the soldiers to abandon their posts to save their families and friends. Or, they can stay holed up here, while your army forms up south of the wall.
Sakkarot's eyes gleam with amusement in the dark. "You have been busy, haven't you? And that is... interesting information to have. But I want to storm the fort: an easy first victory, and-" another flash of his tusks - "it will cull those unworthy of following me. But first, I need to put my enemy off balance."
Stepping out in full view of the walls, heedless of enemy archers, Sakkarot raises his huge flaming greataxe above his head. In its light, with the torches of his vast army flickering behind him, he does indeed appear as a vision from Hell. He roars across the distance, in his impeccable Common:
There is a brief, stunned moment of silence, before a volley of arrows showers upon him (they bounce off, leaving him unhurt). He steps back inside, grinning at you. "Glad they did that; I've no idea what I'd have done if they'd surrendered!"
He talks freely, glad to have good listeners after too much time alone with his horde. Bugbears - normal bugbears - aren't the world's best conversationalists. "I like the idea of the regiment; a group bound to one another in battle, to a common purpose. I'm not too proud to steal it just because the pinkies invented it! I have two of my own now: Hekkarth's and Shaggoroth's. Let's see how they get on."
He holds up his flaming axe once again, sweeping it through the icy night air in a series of arcs. His troops howl in reply, surging forward under the command of his lieutenants.
The battle for Balentyne has begun
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Grumblejack arrives at the top of the gatehouse (he had to come up the stairs: Tkaara's rope isn't ogre-proof). The hulking figure is beaming all over his face at being reunited with you. "Hey! Grumblejack's favourite yoomies! We gonna have some good times now! Grumblejack happy with new friend Sakkarot, his lads give Grumblejack respect - Grumblejack hardly have to kill anyone... Now Grumblejack see big fort full of yoomies - you want Grumblejack should go kill 'em?"
This last question is directed at Sakkarot, who shakes his head with a smile. "Not yet," comes the reply, laying an arm on Grumblejack's shoulders. "We let others die. Then we make the kill."
The ogre's grin in reply is savage.
.
..
...
..
.
The battle for Balentyne is much like a goblin: nasty, brutish, and short. Sakkarot's lieutenants know their stuff far too well: Hekkarth Head-taker is large, brutal and quick with it (even for a bugbear); while Shaggoroth Night-Mane is cunning, brutal and stealthy with it (even for a bugbear).
Hekkarth's troops mass in the protection of the gatehouse, wielding an evil assortment of edged weaponry; Shaggoroth's conglomerate in the top, wielding modified crossbows sporting grappling hooks.
Hekkarth gives a terrifying, ululating war shout in Goblin (which none of you speaks) and his regiment surges out of the gatehouse, along the causeway. They are met by a rain of fiery arrows and a deluge of burning oil; they die by the dozen, living torches shrieking and writhing before dropping off the bridge into the river Tyburn below, trailing flames like evil furry comets; but still they press on.
At the gates on the other side (broken by the Forsaken some hours ago), they encounter resistance: RSM Tamworth - foiled by the sabotage to the Seal of Balentyne - has had to send a volunteer platoon to hold the entrance for as long as possible. They do their job, holding up Hekkarth's horde on the causeway, giving the archers time; but it's like trying to catch a whale in a shrimp net - there are just too many bugbears, and too few arrows. Still the men at the gate fight on.
Grumblejack watches, swelling with impatience, breath hissing between his yellow tusks. Sakkarot watches him closely. When he judges that the time is right and the ogre is about to burst an artery, he nods. "Now." The bugbear with the flaming axe and his ogre sidekick explode into motion, pressing through the crush of bodies on the causeway, pushing aside those too feeble to resist. Their combined efforts win the day, and the men are scattered and pushed back.
Led by the valiant Corporal Grant (whom Felrin 'befriended' one evening all those days ago), they regroup inside. They fight well. The combat in the hallway is brutal, savage, with no quarter asked or given; the floor is soon slick with human and goblinoid blood. But to a bugbear, that's part of the fun; and foot by severed foot they move forward.
Shaggoroth's troops, meanwhile, have launched grappling hooks at the battlements; the men on the ramparts try to cut them, to discover that the ropes are in fact chain links. Hand over hand (paw?), Shaggoroth's commandos vault along the chains now connecting the gatehouse to the battlements. Struck by arrows, they drop like flies; but for every one that drops, two more make the ramparts. There they encounter fire, and arrows, and death - but death, ah, death is a friend to these monsters and they deal in kind. Soon they have established a bridgehead on the walls, and it is all over bar the shouting.
The shouting - and screaming - goes on for quite some time.
In the hallway below, Corporal Grant sells his life dearly, but finally falls before Sakkarot's fury. His men fight on without him, but the end is inevitable. The flaming axe rises and falls, rises and falls, without end, without pity, without tiring...
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Tkaara stands on the top of the gatehouse watching the fight. With each blow, a need grows in her. When the breeze shifts to waft the smell of the fallen, it is all she can to to avoid giving into a carnal feeding frenzy. When Sakkarot and Grumblejack lead, it is all she can do to stay back until finally, she gives in and follow the others, ignoring the battle, and instead searching among the fallen for the acolytes and leaders of the guards, those who were most loyal, most lawful, and most fulfilling to her new desires.
When the rest of the party arrives, unable to follow the unnaturally quick barrister, they find her, coated in red, next to a young female cleric who clearly is suffering from wounds not caused by weapons or bugbear claws.
Interlude: Adventures of the Beast
Ottakar is - to a limited degree - capable of patience; or at the very least, sufficiently calculating to know when waiting, while intolerable, is preferable to any alternatives. The Beast... isn't. It wants to kill, to rend, to howl triumphantly from atop a mountain of freshly-slain corpses. While it has (temporary) control of this body, it's going to focus on the finer things of life. Which means killing people.
Deftly clambering onto the roof of the gatehouse, it jumps down to the aptly-named Bridge of Death; grunting slightly at the impact, it makes its cautious way along the bridge. Soldiers are nearby; it can smell them, the rankness of sweat, fear, and metal.
They can sense him, too; and not merely in the way that the prey senses its predator. The bridge is strewn with caltrops, which don't hurt the Beast in any way; but the noise - although slight - rings like a bell in the eerie silence of this icy Winter's night. Lanterns flash on the ramparts, sending indecipherable orders; and the Bridge of Death is suddenly slick with oil. The Beast easily keeps its footing, with a sneer; but a flaming arrow (lit from the coal braziers keeping the soldiers warm) ignites it with a whoosh of flame; lantern oil, one of the oldest tricks in the manual.
The Beast is not immune to fire.
Warded by Tkaara's freshly-recast Darkness spell, the flames do not reveal the Beast's position; but the eerie patch of magical darkness amid the flames gives the archers something to aim at. Flaming arrows streak towards him in a rush - most miss harmlessly; many don't.
Aflame, both literally and ragefully, the Beast finally makes it to the wall; spears and pikes do their best to ward it off, but it disdainfully pulls them out of the soldiers' hands, heedless of the strikes made against it in return. Most of them miss in the darkness, anyway. But not all.
As it finally forces its way over the ramparts, the desperate soldiers use some of their limited stocks of alchemist's fire, splash weapons which take a toll on the Beast's great stamina but which also do damage to the doomed soldiers surrounding it. It laughs, long and loud, despite (perhaps because of?) the pain. And then it's back to business. Which means killing people.
An orgy of slaughter ensues, red in tooth and claw, snarling, lunging, rending, tearing, the crack of gristle and the snap of bone sounding clearly over the sounds of combat. Eventually it is over: all the nearby soldiers lie dead at the Beast's feet.
The next guard posts lie out of range of darkvision; but the flare of the braziers show up, as do the burning arrows readied to fire. Dimly aware (at a recess in the back of its mind) that the magic protecting it is of limited duration, the Beast grudgingly withdraws, ignoring the few arrows sent its way as it leaves. It is pleased with its success. Which means killing people.
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When the others arrive and find the former barrister administering her own form of justice, she looks up, the desperation and hunger in her not-quite-dead eyes appears to have been mollified, at least for the time. Turning toward Felrin, she smiles. It might be considered a pleasant smile were it not for the blood on her face and her cold uncaring eyes.
I suppose we should contact the Cardinal as our mission here appears finished. We might want to search the chambers of the magician and Lord Havelin once we are able to get up the tower, although with the defenders dead and the bugbear chain crossbows, I would think that it should not be that difficult. Perhaps we search their chambers, and then go to the roof of the tower along with General Fire-Axe so that the Cardinal has a good view of the ruin we have wrought.
The young acolyte's name is Shannon Barhold, older sister of Eponine (who was Etna's maid). In the heat and panic of battle, she dropped her holy symbol and is therefore helpless to prevent Tkaara's approach. She can only watch, transfixed, as the skeletally thin white-haired nightmare with hungrily burning eyes stalks ever closer...
Without her symbol, her only defence is pleading and tears; it turns out these aren't much use against whatever it is that Tkaara has become.
"Have you had your fill?" The question is asked in Erevan's usual tone, even and almost casual. Still, he keeps his spear close at hand as he studies Tkaara's blood-covered face. He sighs. "You have a little something... all over."
Moving closer to the dead and drained acolyte, he crouches down, his expression impassive, cold even. Not a good death, that was for certain. But the girl's alternative was death -and perhaps not just that- at the hands of Sakkarot's goblins and hobgoblins. Perhaps the vampire did her a favor, however unwittingly.
"You should perhaps learn to control yourself sooner or later." There is still just a hint of hunger at the pale woman's expression, or so it seems to him anyway. His grip on the spear tightens ever so slightly. "Sooner rather than later I think."
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Tkaara looks up at the dark knight as she drops the head of the dead and drained girl.
You should try it. You will have never experienced something so sweet.
She pauses for a moment before continuing:
Do you recall the pleasure you felt when your blade past through Lord Havelyn's armor and sucked out his pitiful Mitran life-force? What I am doing likely provides the same pleasure, my technique is just . . . different. I would have loved to savor that paladins lifeblood had not your final blow somehow deprived me of the chance.
She stands, ignoring the still bleeding corpse at her feet.
So, lets get up to the tower and call the Cardinal. The sooner we are done her, the sooner you all can force me to leave this wonderful smelling fort. As she says this last part, Erevan can see a bit of a smirk directed toward him and his last comment.
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Watching the tide of battle turn so swiftly against the humans, Felrin’s usual rage at the world is replaced by a furious joy. The blood frenzy of Sakkarot’s troops as they overwhelm the noble Mitran defenders – May their souls be seared by hot irons in the deepest hell for eternity – is a glory to behold. He know that not only is this victory a cause for celebration in itself, but it is a step to the overthrow of a kingdom, and a demonstration to Cardinal Thorn of what the Ninth Knot can do.
The righteous joy fills him so, he cannot help but raise his clawed fingers to the sky and shout in wordless triumph, his cry joining the battle calls of the bloodthirsty hobgoblins. He charges forward, joining the last of the melee and savoring the feel of teeth and claw ending the lives of Balentyne’s oh-so-noble defenders. So caught up in the moment is he, he finds himself tempted to join Tkaara in a blood-feast, his teeth poised over the neck of a guardsman he has just slain. Collecting himself with a shake of his head, he looks around, surveying the rout, and throws the body to the cobbles. I was made leader of the Ninth not for my savagery – Thorn can find that in plenty - but for my dedication. I must show that dedication now.
As he has this thought, Tkaara speaks of contacting the Cardinal, and Felrin concurs. ”You are right, Tkaara, we must tell Cardinal Thorn of our – of his – victory here. I swore we would remind the Mitra-lovers that they shall not escape the grasp of hell, and we must show our master the reach of that grasp today.”
As the defenders are routed and slain, and the way to the top of the tower is cleared at last, Felrin takes the clay seal to the roof. He looks around in admiration at the destruction they have wrought, giving each of his fellow Forsaken a simple nod as they assemble, recognizing how far they have come since their imprisonment together in Branderscar. He then holds the seal aloft, gazing intently at the thorn-circled star upon it and whispering a fierce, heartfelt prayer of thanks to Asmodeus. When this is done, the corded muscles in his long, lean arms tense briefly, and the seal snaps in half in his hands.
As the bugbears descend upon the Talineraeans, Etna gets close to the parapet and observes the battle: dropping her disguise and returning to her usual aspect after weeks of posing as Jenna, her bright orange hair fluttering in the night's wind.
Just a day ago I would have found these cries unbearable...recent circumstances have changed that, I suppose.
The ifrit looks pensively at the battle, chuckling at the bugbear meteors. "A shooting star? I believe I have to make a wish, yes?" the fire-haired woman grins grimly to herself.
'I wish for Talingrade to have a bright future under Asmodeus' rule'.
...I just hope that all of this will help in doing that. I don't know about the cardinal but some of us-
The fire-haired woman glances at a cheering Felrin.
-just seem to be doing this to see the whole nation in cinders, and I really would prefer if that wasn't the case: you can't reform citizens when they're dead.
Etna cringes visibly as her musings are interrupted by the cries of an acolyte being eaten alive by the former barrister. "Could you avoid to do that? You could have used a spell to knock her out, instead of letting her scream bloody murder." the ifrit says annoyed, moving to Tkaara and wiping the gore from her face with a spell.
"Bark, bark! Woof." Winston says matter-of-factly, following after Etna. Shortly after he finishes, he trots behind Erevan and glances at Tkaara.
The ifrit nods to the dog "Winston just said that he agrees with Erevan, and that you should try to work reigning yourself in: he also pointed out that it's a dog telling you that."
With a roar, Hekkarth's troops surge out of the door, towards the unsuspecting town of Aldencross, to paint it red. Shaggoroth's regiment clears the walls of soldiers and uses their grappling hooks to get to the top of the keep. The fighting up there is bloody, but the result is one-sided. They come down the keep, moving aside the stone caps as they do so. Then they too hurry off to town.
It is over. Balentyne is taken. Sakkarot's standard (a great flaming axe with a bundle of rods tied around the haft) flies atop the battlements. With time now to search the place properly, you find the following.
Father Donnagin's quarters
Nothing here of any value survives; there are a few books on the shelves. Most are holy texts, but there are a few story books about a monk named Cadvall who solves crimes. They're surprisingly well written.
Magister-Captain Tacitus' quarters
The ice golem is still protecting this place, but Sakkarot almost casually knocks it off its feet before chopping it into pieces.
Amongst the debris of the fight between the late Tacitus and the golem, you salvage a Cauldron of Brewing and an Admixture Vial.
You also find a Tunic of Careful Casting and Tacitus' spellbook, a dragon-bound volume called The Heart of All Flame - and a Wand of Fireballs (8 charges remaining)
4 th – fire shield, ice storm, stoneskin, wall of fire
3 rd – dispel magic, flaming arrow, fireball, fly
2 nd – bull’s strength, burning gaze, flaming sphere, protection from
arrows, pyrotechnics, scorching ray, web
1 st – burning hands, dancing lantern, expeditious retreat, mage
armor, magic missile, sleep
0 th – all Core plus spark
Lord Havelyn's quarters
These include the Council Chambers, where the treasury of the fort is held in a locked strongbox. Shaggoroth's troops were too busy fighting their way down to do any serious looting and the box is intact. Inside, you find 1,000 gp (neatly sorted into 100 gp purses), and 7 ornate chalices adorned with gold, silver and a variety of semi-precious stones. These are gifts official visitors have presented the commander over the years. The chalices vary in value but in total are worth 1050 gp.
The Lord's private chamber is empty, save for a bed and an oil painting of a beautiful woman. The portrait is surrounded by candles.
By the bed is the family book of the House of Havelyn. This ancient holy book in praise of Mitra also features a chart detailing Lord Havelyn’s family tree. One name has been blotted out. That name ‘Samuel Havelyn, Cardinal of Mitra’ can still barely be discerned. This antique book with its fine leather bindings and gold fittings is quite valuable (450 gp) but would be almost impossible to sell, since it so obviously belongs to the Lord Havelyn.
William Marcus Marlowe, the Bard of Barrington, does not sleep easily his first night on the road. Tonight, he has even more reason than usual; his mind broods on the day's events. First thing this morning, he was summoned to be questioned (interrogated, really) by Lord Havelyn and Father Donnagin. Apparently those people he had travelled in with were known enemies of the realm - well, that wasn't his fault, was it? Eventually they accepted his pleas of ignorance, but he was sent away; his play remains unperformed.
And so, with such thoughts keeping him awake, he spots in the sky behind him the light of flame. Not nearby, and yet somehow far, far too close for comfort.
"Awake! Awake, darlings, UP!" He kicks his companions until they stir irritably, but they are soon as keen as he is to get moving. Invasion will do that to you. Leaving their wagons, they take the horses and move out, towards the capital. The Bard swears his people to silence; what they don't say can't hurt them. He, himself, will wait to see how this one progresses before he decides whose side he is on. If he has to decide at all.
One thing is certain, though: life on this island has suddenly become much more interesting.
His fabulous hat at a suitably jaunty angle, the Bard moves off with his entourage, whistling as he does so.
Late at night
Aldencross is burning. The glow can be seen from the top of the keep, where you all stand, watching. Some faint noises drift in on the icy night air; sound seems to travel further at night.
Of the fate of the citizens of Aldencross (of Dominik and Vanessa Vallinson, of Eponine Barhold, of Brother Justin and Mama Rosie; of the others who you met) we shall gloss over: this is a campaign about Lawful Evil, not psychopathy and sadism. Suffice to say that the fortunate ones die quickly.
Sakkarot looks out with you. He stays by your side to prevent any misunderstanding with his troops; although you are not in quite the same danger you were those few weeks past when you were in his camp. Much has changed you since, and the furry beasts seem to recognise that, giving you a wide berth when they can. The commander stirs. "This is just the beginning, you know. There will be more nights like this, to force their army into action against us. Then we will see a true battle. But an easy victory for now is what we needed."
As the clay seal snaps in Felrin's hands, there is a sharp crack and three figures appear from nowhere: you recognise Tiadora, of course, whose platinum blonde hair and cold beauty are unchanged; and Cardinal Thorn, dressed in the black and red of an Asmodean priest; but the third figure, cowled and hooded, you don't immediately recognise. Cardinal Thorn has one gloved arm draped around their shoulders.
Sakkarot immediately kneels, looking meaningfully at you to do the same.
Leaving you for the moment, Thorn walks straight over to the great bugbear. "Rise, my friend; my First of the Nine. You have exceeded my expectations. Go and have some sport with your troops."
Bowing low, Sakkarot gives you a nod of acknowledgement and takes his leave.
"My Ninth. My glorious Ninth." The words are soft, but they carry. "What wonders you have accomplished already! What more will you do, with me to guide you! But for now... Dessiter!"
Silently, the devil materialises from the darkness. "My Lord?" The same greasy tone is still there.
"Dessiter, I would see the Contract reaffirmed. My Ninth have served me and you will witness my reward to them." Tiadora steps forward, with a heavy leather bag. From it, she draws five ingots of platinum and hands one to each of you. They are heavy.
"Duly witnessed, my most wise and beneficent of Cardinals. A codicil will be appended to the Contract." With that, and another bow, Dessiter vanishes.
"Well, my boy, what do you think?" Cardinal Thorn addresses this to the cowled figure, who has moved to get a better view of the night's carnage. Turning to you, the figure pulls back the hood of his cloak. It is Timeon. The boy has grown almost a foot since you last saw him. His expression is indecipherable.
"Just as you said, my Lord: the chosen are revealed by their might. The weak deserve no sympathy." He recites by rote the Fifth Lesson. "They were unable to resist invasion, which makes them weak, therefore they deserve no sympathy?" His voice cracks and warbles, not yet a man's but no longer a child's, either.
Thorn smiles, pleased with his handiwork. "Very good, my young friend. Has he not made progress since that day you first found him?"
He allows a minute or two of reminiscence, before bringing things back to the present. "And now, I must depart. I have seen no evidence of any army gathering to meet the horde. It seems Zadaria has also succeeded at her mission and has assassinated the commanders. Truly, a great achievement. I must go and reward her Knot likewise."
He smiles, evilly. “Making matters worse for poor Talingarde, small bands of creatures unaligned with Sakkarot approach the breach, eager to take advantage of the chaos. How could these beasts know already about this break in the Watch Wall? Someone must have told them. Still, this will not be enough. Balentyne may be broken but Talingarde is yet strong. Soon word will reach the south. The Heartland and the great cities of the Cambrian Bay will marshal their armies. They will meet Sakkarot on the field and it will be far too close to a fair fight. We must do something about that."
He waves to Tiadora. "Follow her. She will take you to your next mission. Well done again, my most glorious Ninth - I knew you would not fail me! Enjoy the rewards of faithful service. Come, Timeon."
With that, he vanishes, leaving you alone on the roof with Tiadora. She looks at you for a long moment.
“Come, my lords, your ship awaits. Try not to sink this one.”
Lords. She called you lords. And lords you are. Lords of death and destruction. Lords of evil. Do you remember Branderscar? Do you remember being held down and branded like animals? How far you have come and how long yet the journey before you. The Cardinal is right. This is only your first step along the way of the wicked.
Etna bows when the cardinal, Tiadora, and the cowled figure appear, curtsying also to Dessiter when he materializes.
"He very much did, yes." Etna smiles when the Cardinal compliments Timeon, turning to the boy "It's an honor to have him on our side."
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Tkaara curtsies to the Cardinal and Tiadora.
You Honor. Your command has been completed and the Ninth is proud to have served in this great beginning.
She then turns to Timeon:
I am glad that you have followed the path of strength. One such as you with noble blood will be of great service in showing the flocks of the error in their prior ways.