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Then, nearing the market building, Krish gets a good look at the three kobolds disappearing into the tent. Greas knows two of them, and though he has never seen the third one, Krish knows him. For a moment he finds himself wandering through the memories of the day he met the future shade of this kobold, this Tessith.
Krish placed the spirit-mushroom in his mouth. Though he did not like the feelings he got when he ate the spirit-mushrooms, his mentor was adamant that they could aid in reaching the spirits when nothing else would do. And the spirits would not talk to Krish. For the first time since Toothless shared the story of Skreex-Sha and the spirit responded to Krish, no spirits would speak to him except those of his dead. And they only howled for vengeance.
As the Inshan, the spirit-mushroom, began to work, Krish could feel himself coming loose from his own body. For a time he would walk with the spirits and see the world with their eyes.
Most of the visions from that night are a blur, if that, until something happens to trigger knowlege from his inshan-dream. Except Tessith. Tessith is crystal clear in his mind. A red-scaled kobold wreathed in flames, walking through the ashes of those who would kill or enslave Krish's people. Find this kobold. The gods of our people speak to him. Find him and you will find vengeance and we will rest. Find him not, and you will listen to our spirits howl for vengeance for all time.
Now, when Krish had begun to despair of ever finding peace for his people. After years of trying to lay them to rest. After killing so many of the soft-weak-human-things, only to have the cries for vengeance thrust him from sleep yet again. Now, here is Tessith.
Now there will be blood! NOW THERE WILL BE FIRE!
Shaking off the memory, Krish charges along behind dead-Arman and Greas and Retzack, spirit-Arman in one fist and an iron bar in his other.
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Oadir, since Greas is keeping the shockstick, I'm going to use your Loot roll to give you a small music box. It's adorned with faintly glowing green runes, and obviously possesses magical qualities, but you'd have to either blindly experiment with it or roll a successful Spout Lore to find out what it does.
Greas, the pen does nothing when you scrape it against your palm.
Up on the hill overlooking the pavilion, Oadir makes the questionable decision to open the cage next to the tent without checking what's inside first. His elemental, at his command, destroys the lock on the cage door, which was heavy-duty but no match for magic from the shadow realm.
This emerges.
The lizard-monster crawls out of the cage and looks down at you. Its teeth are bared as it breathes heavily, but it's not attacking immediately. It's at least two heads taller than you when you're standing at fully erect height. Its horns are heavy-looking and curled, like a ram's horns, but sharper. Its claws are long, and wickedly curved, and covered with meat from its previous meal, that it appeared to be enjoying before you opened the cage. Its scales are almost as black as the shadow elemental you have at your side. As for summoning multiple elementals, I'll let you decide how the rules should play out, as it's your class. Can you summon multiple elementals with separate Control for each? Does it divide up your existing Control to have multiple elementals summoned? How does your magic work exactly? As the player, you're the authority on your own class, as long as it doesn't directly contradict what's written.
Nearby, Krish has been attempting to commune with the spirits, to no avail. Now he sees why, when Oadir opens up the cage. The spirits have been in hiding. This lizard-thing appears to have a spiritual presence that your ghosts can actually feel; and at the edges of your eyes, you think you can see an aura around the creature that keeps your spirits in hiding. Even the dead may know fear, it seems...
----
Inside the pavilion, Thunk cocks his dragonbone club back with a Babe Ruth-like smile. The first two guards' heads didn't feel right. This bolt, though? It's going for the bleachers. Acting on sudden inspiration, the red-scaled kobold points up at the shooter just before she loosens her bolt. Thunk-wheeew! the crossbow bolt whistles through the air as Thunk's club shows total disregard for realistic physics and ricochets it directly back at the shooter. It doesn't impact on her, but it sends her scrambling across the rafters to reposition. She won't be firing that heavy crossbow again for a moment, she's too busy using both hands and feet to keep her footing.
As you watch her, in fact, you see a rain of arrows being fired at her from outside! Kibra runs up and into the chaos of the screaming crowd in the pavilion, firing wildly at her with a speed that you can only envy. The crossbow gunner in the rafters was mid-jump when one of the green kobold's arrows punctures her calf! The guard screams and drops her heavy crossbow, barely clinging on to one of the rafters in the ceiling as her weapon clatters to the ground below. Unfortunately, Kibra was momentarily distracted from where he was going while he was firing so many arrows at once. A slave collar made of steel is snapped around his neck from behind! "Got you!" one of the guards that had gone unnoticed says in your ear, yanking you off your feet! In the chaos and confusion all around you, you don't get disarmed, but he drags your much smaller body with him toward the slaves pen, and tosses you inside! You land among a group of four other kobolds whose markings you don't recognize, and one duergar dwarf. After throwing you in the cage, the guard stoops to pick up your bow from the ground and take it away from you! However, it's just not this guard's day...
Greas the black kobold had seen that you were in trouble when he was charging toward the pavilion, and he slashes at the guard's gauntleted fist, knocking away his grasping fingers. He follows up by performing a daring somersault leap, landing on the guard's leg and holding on to the bigger man's body. With the two combatants thus so closely entwined, it becomes impossible for the larger, stronger guard to put his superior physical force to good use! Greas stabs mercilessly, again and again. The guard eventually shoves Greas off and makes to add him to the cage of slaves!
Meanwhile, Hegh's freezing blast makes partial contact with the incoming grappling hook fired by the Greenscale Dragonborn. The impact of the two projectiles on each other causes the grappling hook to go spinning off to the side instead of direct at your heart. The hook lands, though, penetrating the armor on your right thigh. Roll 1d8-1d6 damage, and you're hooked.
You notice that the hook's chain is not held taut, however - it's loose in the dragonborn's hands. In a moment you see why. The zombified Arman the Kind charges headlong into the fray, leaping onto the dragonborn's back and biting down hard on his neck. The warrior screams in pain and rage, and reaching over his shoulder, he grabs the insect-colony-turned-dwarf and hurls it across the room. The flying zombie knocks over the standing, screaming woman that Sees-Death was perched upon, just as the dangling chandelier that she loosened finally impacts on the stage below it. The stage breaks, creating dangerous footing for Hegh and Thunk, who are standing upon it. Roll defy danger, you two! Hegh, you have a -1 to your escape roll due to the grappling hook in your thigh.
The woman that Sees was riding, however, is knocked completely clear by the zombie, just as the bard was putting the Wrath of Gorlaug to her lips. The cacophonous blast she emits drowns out all other sound, but the blast was thrown off-angle by the sudden loss of position! It deals half damage to the Dragonborn warrior, and tears off half of the roof of this structure, creating a massive hole in the ceiling. Sees falls to the ground with a thud, but is unhurt. Directly before her, the zombie that Retzack resurrected is clawing and tearing at the throat of the woman that Sees had been riding just a moment before. (the Dragonborn is in control here, for now, Sees.)
This confirms it: "Rally! TO ME, GUARDS!" the dragonborn cries out. More guards from around the great slave market are rushing to the central pavilion to join the fray. Still angrily focusing on Hegh, the Dragonborn draws a long, curved scimitar and begins to stalk at the Dragon Mage angrily, knocking other slavers aside in his wake.
Smoog, you fire your weird-ass mental device at the group of soldiers, and see that it sparks, emitting a bit of smoke! You blink a few times, and you find yourself in the body of one of the guards! You look down at yourself, and see the disgusting pinkish flesh of a human! You feel taller, and stronger, but your senses feel like you've been deafened and blinded compared to what you're used to as a kobold. Forget about your sense of smell, it's basically gone compared to before. Across the pavilion, the small body of the blue-scaled kobold falls over backwards, unconscious. In this body, your stats are:
Str 2
Dex 0
Con 1
Wis -1
Int -1
Cha -2
"HEY! HEY! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! GET OUT OF MY HEAD! GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!" screams a voice in your head - the voice of this body's former sole occupant.
Defy Dex
Thunk feels the ground giving way, and immediately uses part of his ice hold to sprout wings and take to the air, directly towards someone to thump, at the same time the ice sprouts around his skin, giving him more armor
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Oadir is slightly startled by the shape and characteristics of the creature he's just unleashed. It looks... oddly familiar. Of course he does not miss the resemblance to his own physique. Even the horns are similar, though they curve differently.
Oadir wonders for a moment what use Arman could have had in mind for such a creature when he comes to a shocking conclusion. This creature has been held to fight, its natural majesty muddled by what are essentially dogfights. From what Oadir can tell, the creature has no scarring on its body, meaning one of very few things...
Either this creature has not yet fought, which is highly unlikely given the size and fitness state it seems to be in ('good job' on Arman's side to even contain such a force, no way he captured it in this state), or it has never lost, worse yet, never been hurt. The only possible alternative would be some sort of healing factor, but no way would such a creature ever evolve to need such a thing.
This truly is about the closest the infernal come to Dragons, bar only the most elite dangers.
For a moment Oadir smiles, then he grins, he chuckles even. This creature is just so damned awesome. Then he realizes he's just let a feral beast loose and the biggest potential prey is Oadir himself...
Oadir's face has never turned upside down quicker. Oadir recalls Kreng: Quick, you little nitwit, he'll kill you with a mean look. And quickly welcomes his newly summoned elemental Noos (say ~nose) with a shrug of his shoulders followed by a pull of his head as if to beckon the elemental.
Oadir is waiting to see what the creature will do, but he wants to be prepared for the worst.
Oadir readies his defenses as much as he readies his escape plan. Looking intensely at where the beast is not just to spy its intentions, but also looking to hop over there through the shadows if it appears too hostile. At the same time Oadir is doing his very best not to look threatening to the creature in any way, shape or form. He would love to lead it in the charge and it would absolutely be his dream to ride it into battle, but he knows full well that he would not survive it if the creature did turn on him.
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"Aww, Briny Blisterfarts! What the Hells happened?"
Urgh...come on, what am I doing! I have to get it together!
With difficulty, Greas works to reclaim a small section of his warring mindscape as he progresses through his assault. By the time he makes his landing, he has enough thinkspace to make a brief assessment. Namely, that he's not where he expected to be, he's facing down a guard, and Kibra's managed to get himself collared and caged without his bow in hand. Not the greatest position to be in. Most immediate problem: the Guard. Letting his feral mind do most of the work, he renews his assault. The crazed kobold charges once more, head on, before sharply shifting to the left and attempting to drive his rapier through the man's flank.
With the blade planted, he then attempts to make use of his light frame to swing around his opponent using the rapier as a pivot, to plant his knife in the poor fool's back.
As he attacks, he shouts in Draconic: "Dammit Kibra, you set traps, not get trapped!"
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Her breath cut short by the fall, Sees-Death senses the zombie before she sees it. It does not have the same… scent as the zombies that had followed Pork or the nameless necromancer, but the aura of decay resonates with something that has seeped deep into her bones. It’s an aberration, and a bold defiance of the beautiful entropy that is being fostered in the auction house. Is entropy law, or chaos? Is entropy the law of chaos? For one beautifully haunting moment, Sees-Death is witness to the cosmos laid bare before her eyes, and she is inspired.
They’re not going to hear me over this din… but maybe it’s not them who needs to hear. It’s magic. I can’t see it, but it is magic. I… don’t have much to loose by trying.
“The ties that bind are bound by ties,
like iron-wrought chains that drag and grind.
These gossamer threads, they feed you lies,
to claim your limbs their chains can bind.
Feel the age-carved leather flense,
Their cloying grasp, on this day ends.
Of these enchantments, I thee cleanse,
In Bahamut’s name, I make amends.”
The dragontongue feels the inspiration work its way out of her, but doesn't expect to see any evidence of any change it may bring. She scans the surrounding area for signs of her bloodslave, pushing and clawing toward where she saw him.
As he looks up at the chandelier, Hegh yells, Thunk, help me protect the darkling! Taking advantage of the slack, Hegh dives towards the dark elf, attempting to remove both from danger.
Hegh reaches out and clutches the chain binding the dark elf. The chain suddenly morphs into a few coins that bounce to the floor. In common: Take a sword dark queen. Take vengeance.
Kibra lands with a heavy thunk into the slave cage.
What the heck happened there? I didn't even see the stinking pigskin.
Seeing Greas go to town on his jailer, Kibra is shocked to see an old friend...or at least an old acquaintance. Kibra is not sure where they really sat on the "friend scale". Long time no see Greas! As usual you seem to have my back.
Recollecting himself, Kibra releases his spear from its clasp on his quiver. As his jailer is wrestling with Greas and his acrobatics skills, Kibra thrusts his spear firmly toward the guard's hip.
Missing the mark on the jailer Kibra hopes to have at least provided another obstacle to distract the jailer in the chaos.
At least I get xp...
Famous last words, in Dungeon World...just an observation...not relevant...
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After a brief moment of disorientation, Smoog peers out through the skull of the human guard.
Everything and everyone looks pale and transparent; moving in slow-motion.
He on the other hand, is a flickering blue flame floating on a sea of smoke and mist.
The Guard’s mind is here also, a blob of purple glowing energy, aware of Smoog’s intrusion into his Mindspace.
It bubbles and lurches toward him but Smoog’s sharp mind is nimble, even in this foreign environment.
-
Attempting to take control of this body would not be difficult but poses severe danger of becoming permanently entwined within.
He would sink into it like quicksand and not be able to extract himself easily.
That is a prospect Smoog is not willing to risk, so he concentrates on staying separate, staying whole.
-
As the battle in the physical world rages around him, he can now see the pulsating pink tendrils that still leash his kobold mind to the guard’s mind, and thinner weaker ones still attached to the other guards he had targeted but did not influence.
They are loose, jelly-like ribbons bouncing and undulating even as they slowly shrink and wither.
-
I need to get back to my own body quickly, before this tenuous connection frays into nothingness. But I need an energy source to jolt the line back to life enough for the transfer.
-
At that moment, Smoog hears then sees the cascading ripples of Sees-Death’s Aid spell rushing toward him to fill the room.
-
Well there is the wave. Now I just need something suitable to ride on.
-
Coalescing his thought into a sharp spike, Smoog stabs at the guard’s mind and slices off a chunk of purple mind energy to use as a surfboard.
Thunk finally notices other kobolds around, as he takes to the air, with icy wings
Where other 'bolds be? he says surprised, then shouts loudly
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Retzack smiles.
It is NOT a good smile.
His blood again turns to ice. He is focused on the task at hand. The Dragonborn has hurt him. Well, not -him- him, but he has resisted the Reborn. So. He has also proved himself worthy. A part of him. A part that had relished the contact with the Void, moves in to its old apartment in his head. It sets up. Renews old contacts. Relishes the problem to be solved.
Required. Power. More.
Through the primitive communication he has with the Dead Movers, he sends them again. Winged messengers move forth and back, crafting themselves through his Will. The colony infested in Arman disconnects. The zombie rips up a few more clumps of swiftly cooling flesh from the lump of viscera that used to be a woman, than goes limp and collapses on her, as if a mockery of two lovers spent in embrace.
The colony, well fed and now receiving reinforcements, expands and procreates. New workers flow into the woman and new connections are made. Flesh is re-made and re-shaped, Arman and the woman used as raw stock to forge a new home, a better home. Old organs are consumed and rearranged, all to better serve the colony. In moments it is impossible to tell where one corpse ends and the other starts. A torso once two is now one. Two sets of legs now work together. The skulls are broken apart then merged into a single mockery of a human head.
The Amalgamation stands. It awkwardly sways as the four legs and four arms re-calculate the internal gyroscopic effect that is instinct in the Dead Movers, but odd bits of still-wet flesh fall off. The stomachs, both now completely useless, are expunged and fall wetly to the ground. The lessened weight helps the...abomination balance. IT stands, mal-formed head and shoulders above the crowd. The misshapen head and all four imperfect eyes focus attention on one thing--the Dragonborn. All other shapes-in-motion are only seen as obstacles.
The thing lurches and stumbles once, then charges forward, half running, half-climbing with all eight limbs. It moves into range like an the inexorable march of time, and all four hands reach and clutch like an iron-cast machine, seeking to hold it fast in a vice-like grip and rip the Dragonborn apart as if caught on the infernal rack.
He smiles. It is a good smile.
Greas hears the sound of a not-so-eloquent voice nearby. Draconic. Probably a kobold. Not hostile.
Not so eloquent shouts can be given not so eloquent responses. A blessing, right now.
"YES, WANT BE FRIEND! FRIEND GET SCALY ARSE OVER HERE!"
UP ON THE HILL:
Oadir stares up at the horned creature that towers over him. He summons his elementals to his side, but otherwise makes no movement. The massive scaled creature lowers its head to sniff at you. It seems to be studying your horns. Suddenly, it rears back, as if to bite you, but it doesn't open its mouth. Instead, it bashes its horns against yours. Roll Defy Danger with Charisma to attempt to pacify the creature before it decides you're its next meal.
MEANWHILE, INSIDE A SPECIFIC GUARD'S MIND:
Smoog's cunning and organized mind easily overwhelms the confused guard's mind essence. Through his struggles, the man obeys his commands, though Smoog isn't able to escape the captivity of being inside the human's body yet. Stumbling and muttering, the guard leaves the other guards behind and stomps over to the outside of the pavilion. Smoog finds himself looking down at...himself...and wonders why nobody ever told him that his butt looks that big from behind.
INSIDE THE PAVILION ITSELF:
Greas skillfully flips around the guard's torso using his own rapier as a fulcum, sending both combatants tumbling to the ground. In all the confusion, the thief kobold accidentally puts himself in harm's way - Kibra, since no one Aided you, deal your spear's damage to Greas.
Elsewhere, Thunk barely escapes the falling chandelier by taking to the skies, and sees the struggle taking place in the nearby communal slave cage where Greas, Kibra and a bunch of kobolds and others that you don't know are being kept. Meanwhile, Hegh gets pinned by the falling chandelier and takes 1d6 damage - between the weight of the chandelier and the restrictive grappling hook, he's unable to move for now! However, the dark elf's handler has run in fear by now, so nothing is stopping her from approaching you when you beckon. You successfully demolish her bonds with her magic and generate 3d6 coins! The dark elf gasps in wonder at her sudden freedom. Then, her dark red eyes narrow in triumph. She grabs your sword, Hegh, and leaps to your defense. Screaming in High Drow, the slave makes use of her race's intrinsic magic, now that the collar's restrictions have been lifted.
A globe of darkness forms at the space between Hegh and the Dragonborn, and begins to grow rapidly. In mere moments, the entire pavilion area will be shrouded in a magical darkness. This dark elf is clearly a high-ranking member of her kind.
The darkness spreads just as Retzack's unholy amalgamation rises to its feet. With a voice that is formed from a nauseating combination of the dead woman's and Arman's, the monstrous undead thing shambles to its feet.
The slavers and other audience people had been crowding out the outer ring of the pavilion, but hadn't fled outright due to the spectacle of a real slave revolt. To them, it had retained a morbid interest despite the danger. That's all changed now. As one, the crowd erupts in frenzied, terrified screams at the sight of the troll-sized undead monster. The panic that strikes the crowd creates a full-scale riot that begins spreading throughout the entire marketplace.
The creature, whose head scrapes the ceiling, charges the Dragonborn and swings its tree-trunk sized arm. With a whoosh of air that was forced out of the unsuspecting Dragonborn's lungs, the green-scaled slaver is thrown against one of the support pillars of the pavilion, and shatters it completely. The pavilion begins to sag dangerously in that direction as the zombie amalgamation begins to stomp after him, seeking to finish the job.
With that horrible roll Oadir will probably die first but if he doesn't he quickly falls out of the way of the creatures attack to appear behind it and hop onto it's back holding on for dear life, trying to subdue the creature with status as opposed to charm.
Hegh grunts as the chandelier crashes down. Then he smiles as the dark elf begins her work. Careful dark queen, These kobold brothers and sisters are mine.
Hegh does a push-up, attempting to get enough space to wiggle free of the chandelier.
As the chandelier falls off his back, Hegh reaches for a nearby blade and cuts through the grappling hook, leaving about two feet of cable attached to the hook. He stands and gives it a few practice twirls. In the midst of the chaos, Hegh stands tall, wielding sword and grapple, and roars in triumph. He screams in draconic, then repeats in common. Slaves! Tanard the Red declares you freefolk. Free your brothers! Cleanse this town!
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Thunk pulls out his laughing gas and throws it at the nearest cluster of guards
Thunk know fun joke. What brown and sticky? A stick!
dex roll if I need to roll it
When he speaks Smoog's voice echoes in the empty void of the guard's mindspace,
"You do realize this is punishment for killing Dragons?
You will be tormented until you atone for that sin, for taking us as slaves and any other sins you have committed against the scaly-kind.
Tell me you will make amends and I may not leave you brain addled and drooling for the rest of your life.
-
Protect these kobolds near you, put your body between them and any who would hurt them and you will be shown mercy."
-
-
Smoog then returns to figuring out a way to transfer his mind back to his own body... which apparently has a large rear end...
I wish someone had told me.
I thought it was just that I had a stout tail.
I guess I should have laid off all those Glimmercakes when I was younger.
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As Kibra thrusts his spear at the guard it plants firmly into flesh just as he had planned. In the confusion of all the acrobatics he did not judge the location of his target correctly. The spear head found its way into his ally Greas's thigh.
Realizing his error Kibra panics.
Damn!
In his panic Kibra pulls the spear back from Greas. Likely causing more damage than if he had left it be. With the spear back from the action outside the cage Kibra has to develop a plan of action.
I had better leave Greas to his own actions. It seems I have only done more harm than good. Perhaps I can work on my own situation and see if I can get out of this cage.
As Kibra turns to the lock on the cage he shouts to the other captives in draconic:
Slaves, prepare yourselves! You are now given a chance for freedom. The question you will have to answer is how badly you want it? How much do you despise your captivity? As soon as I fling this cage open you must rush out, secure any sort of weaponry you can and bring destruction upon your ex-captors. Those with experience I ask that you stay close to the fray. Destroy the guards and undercut their defense. Those of you with little experience fighting run out into the crowd, slay those who flee. Cut down their women and younglings, just as they have done to ours. Make them regret ever taking you captive.
To the dwarf he says: Dwarf grab something sharp and do damage!
If Greas could think more clearly, it would not be lost on him how closely the pavilion begins to resemble the inside of his mind. Currently though, he's rather more concerned with the fact that his "teammate" stabbed him. Whatever his relationship was with Kibra, it was certainly worse than before.
Noticing what Kibra was doing, he attempted to give quick instructions on how to pick the lock he's dealing with.
For the most part, instruction is mixed with copious expletives, but it's comprehensible enough. He should be able to deal with the lock now.
From there, it's a matter of dealing with the guard. The damned pig STILL wasn't done yet. While he still had the chance, Greas hastily scrambled to his feet to shank the guard as he tried to stand.
Something told him that they wouldn't be getting up this time. Probably the massive hole that he'd gouged out.
Somewhat overwhelmed by the the strange creature has, Krish stands still for a few moments watching it as it challenges Oadir, trying to figure out what it is and why it had the effect on the spirits that it does.
Sorry boss! I'll get him for you!
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Retzack's concentration begins to wane as he absent-mindedly waves the zombie on to finish the dragon-thing. His gaze sweeps the pavilion, wondering if he has time to collect bodies before it falls. Then he starts thinking about the Dragonborn, wondering how he could Reborn it. He starts salivating at the victory to come, anxious to dig in to its corpse and see what's going on. The fight itself seems almost perfunctory.
Reality comes knocking on his door as he fails to concentrate on the zombie enough for it to actually finish the fight. He chastises himself for counting his bloodworms before they've molted.
IN THE PAVILION:
The scene is utter chaos. The crowd is screaming and trampling each other in their haste to escape Retzack's zombie amalgamation, in full every-man-for-himself mode. Humans, dwarves, and halflings lie scattered on the ground everywhere as the crowd runs roughshod over them. Retzack's undead beast stalks toward the fallen dragonborn, knocking aside those that are too slow to get out of its way. Screaming with the voices of Arman and a human woman co-mingled, it attempts to finish off the acid-scaled dragonborn, but the master slaver is down, but not out. As the beast prepares to issue the final blow, the dragonborn unleashes his breath weapon, spraying a forceful cloud of acid into the undead monster's "face."
As it roars with its mingled voice and falls backward, clutching at its "face", it stumbles and comes crashing down on its clumsy legs. The stage where the slaves were being auctioned was right behind it, and the massive creature destroys the wooden structure utterly as it falls. The dragonborn climbs to his feet, his face a mask of rage. He is quickly shrouded from sight by the Drow slave's darkness spell.
The wooden stage, meanwhile, is shattered and scattered everywhere as the zombie monster falls upon it. Thunk throws his laughing gas grenade just in time before a wooden 2x4 smashes him right between the shoulderblades. In the growing darkness and the chaos, it was too difficult to see it coming to dodge. Take 1d6+2 damage, Thunk, but your grenade has the desired effect. The gaurds nearest to Greas and Kibra, who had been moving in to arrest the uppity kobolds, breathe in the gas and begin to shudder. Falling to their knees, the guards claw at their own faces as they begin to laugh uncontrollably. Their eyes show the fear that they're feeling even if they can't express it...these guards are out of the fight for the next few minutes. In fact, there are few remaining guards in the pavilion - most have either already been dispatched or have fled in terror from the massive zombie and the spreading blackness inside the pavilion.
Off in the direction of the main town of Estr, above the chaos of the battle all around you, you can hear a town warning bell being rung furiously.
Kibra pops open the lock on his cage just as Hegh arrives to lend his support. He's flanked by the drow noble that he freed. Displaying uncharacteristic altruism - or perhaps just cynical self-interest - the drow is assisting Hegh in releasing the slaves' bonds; though none too gently.
By the time Greas reaches his target, the darkness has enveloped both him and the guards. He has to feel around using his hands to locate the guard's face. Once he does, he grips it tightly to hold it still and reverses his grip on his dagger, stabbing down into the guard's face viciously, again and again and again. Unfortunately, because he couldn't see his own handiwork, he stabs his own fingers a little. Take 1d6 damage that ignores armor, Greas, but your foe is dead.
Nearby, the human/kobold formerly known as Smoog is clutching his own head, his weapons dropped and forgotten. Inside, a fierce battle is raging between the incumbent mind and Smoog's invading intelligence.
Despite his smaller stature in the physical world, Smoog is a mental giant; in the realm of the mind, he dominates the weak-willed guard easily.
When the human opens his eyes again, he notices two things. One, Smoog is the master now; the human guard is just terrified at this point, willing to do whatever the kobold orders. Two, he can't see a thing. Normal human eyesight is terrible compared to a kobold's, but now there's the drow's darkness to contend with also. He can see his own kobold body lying on the ground at his feet, but that's about it.
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While this is all happening, Krish is staring in awe at the majestic creature that Oadir released (and subsequently failed to tame). This creature is a native inhabitant of the mysterious island-wide city-state known as Durnen, and the creature is a legendary monster known as a Deathclaw. They hunt and eat the living when needed, but their favored food is spirits. By some unknown mechanism, the teeth and claws of the Deathclaw can cut the ethereal bodies of ghosts, making them highly prized as materials for anti-ghost weaponry. The rarity of Deathclaws - coupled with their vicious savagery - makes weaponry made from Deathclaw materials worth its weight in diamonds. That's all he has time to realize, before Oadir blinks out of existence, reappearing at the Deathclaw's tail!
With a roar, the scaly monster begins to charge toward the massive melee in the pavilion below! Oadir, you manage to cling to the tail you teleported to, but you're not on its back by any means. Take 1d8 damage as you are dragged along the rocky path down the hill!
Oadir realizes he can't make an epic entrance like this so with a final feat of strength he tries to pull himself up on the back of this beast or let go entirely.
As Oadir yanks at the tail his muscle give out on him and he slides across the dirt with his face. He lifts his head up and spits out a mouthful of sands and other stuff that lay on the ground that he scooped up with his minor underbite.
Kreng scurries up to Oadir and hops on his back.
Boss, Boss, you gotta get up, this is no time for a nap!
I'll get him again for ya!
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Maximum chaos achieved. Time for phase two- What is Hegh doing with that pointy-eared hussie?
When Sees-Death reaches where her orcish warrior was once standing at the foot of the stage, she doesn't see him. She shouts out for him a few times before he returns to her side, blood that's mostly not his own covering his front. "We could stay and dispatch these fat-bellied upper-crusters until the town militia makes kabobs of us all, or we can beat a hasty retreat, and hope we can extract a bigger force than we came in with. On two, we break for the exit, and try to clear a path. Do you have both of your axes? Good. No, I don't want one, they're taller than I am, what would I even do with them? Are you ready? One... Two!"
Sees sounds Gorlaug's Wrath at those people crowding the entryway, Dufus following up with his whirling axes.
As soon as Kibra is released from his cage he runs past the mess that once was his jailer, as Greas goes to town on his face.
Finding his bow where he dropped it Kibra grabs it up and throws it around his shoulder, wearing it like a slinged weapon.
I cant see a damn thing in here!
Having a difficult time seeing much more than a foot or two in front of him Kibra looks up. Remembering the shooter on the rafters:
Perhaps if I can get up there I might be able to actually see what is going on down here and lend my arrows wherever they are needed.
Rushing as carefully as he can with limited vision, Kibra heads towards the nearest wall. Finding a large support beam, Kibra grasps hold of the wood, digging his claws into the hardwood. He propels himself up the wall easily. In fact he is reminded of his time in the swamps climbing trees and vines to find the opportune vantage point.
Ahh, nostalgia. How far have I gone in such a short time? What I wouldn't give to be back at the mountain hunting birds and trapping reptiles...
As Kibra reaches the top and swings to the rafter he spots the blood of the archer he nailed earlier. Kibra, still unable to see much un-snaps his spear and begins to follow the trail along the rafter. Finally he spots the archer, tending her wound on a cross beam.
Getting as close as he feels comfortable with, Kibra lunges out at the distracted archer. Aiming center mass, Kibra hopes to inflict damage and push her off.
Yes, yes, YE - OW OW OW!
With the accidental assault on his own hand as the impetus, Greas returns from the bloodlust that had occupied him. It was a little too familiar at this point after his original departure, and as pleasurable as it was, he was getting sick of the inconveniences it brought with it.
Like his hand...hold on. It wasn't just his...
As much as he felt being stabbed earlier, it was more the principle of the matter that had loosened his tongue. It was just plain sloppy, unprofessional, and dangerous. It was only now, as the pain of the spear and everything else caught up with him, that he truly began to acknowledge just what he and Kibra had achieved.
His head was clear. Clearly wracked with pain, but clear. He retrieved the potion that he had been given by "Oadir". The resentment from what the tiefling had done was still there, but the now very much appreciated potion he had given meant that the actual force of it had been transferred to Kibra for the time being.
As always, the same ritual - pop the bottle, let a droplet of his blood into the liquid, and drink. These things apparently keyed into the life of the first organism introduced to it, as he'd been informed, so he'd made a habit of marking his potions as such when they weren't to be shared. He had no idea whether it actually worked, but it was the trick he'd always been told by the more experienced of the kobolds back at Mo...before. That, and introduce some poison you'd already immunised yourself to. Even if marking doesn't actually work, the poison more than makes up for it.
As Greas prepares to become the knife in the dark, he hears a horn. And as far as he was aware, not even the guard carry horns like that, let alone what HAD to be some sort of war-horn or something from the piercing sound it made. Abandoning his attack for now, he approaches the sound he just heard, carefully, on guard, and ready to leap weapon in hand.
my two armor + my two ice armor
I'm sorry, dear Oadir, but I can't stick around very long. I can attempt to take another hit but I'll be sure to return to the Shadow Realm when it strikes, so I won't be able to shield you from much but the initial impact
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They are fleeing dark queen. Let us see!
As the darkness fades, Hegh looks around frantically. Where is she? Where is she!
He sees her, struggling behind Dufus.
Follow me!
Hegh charges towards the beleaguered Orc, and joins the fray, cutting an exit with his claws.
"Pick up that blue kobold and take it to safety.
Follow the sound of that horn!"
Smoog commands his slave-guard.
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The challenge of travelling along the brain-woven connection back to his own body is starting to become more understandable as Smoog studies it more closely.
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It looks and feels very similar to a spider's web and I should be able to traverse it if I can figure out how to become the 'spider'
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Astonished to see a Deathclaw, Krish is also more than a little terrified of the thing. The fact that it can eat spirits... But he knows that he is no match for thing, not right now, not yet. It would just eat the spirits I release to help me fight.
He rushes over to where Oadir has fallen, helping him to regain his feet, "We must leave. Big-soft-things will stop being scared soon. Then more will come. Always more come. Follow other kobolds. Come."
Half dragging Oadir with him, Krish hurries to join the others in leaving the slave market. He looks up at the human carrying the blue kobold, and almost falls on his face in surprise, shouting up at Smoog, "What you doing in there! That human-thing is not-right body for kobold! Go back to your body!" Krish then begins laying about himself with the iron bar trying to help the orc clear a path.
The sound of stampeding feet heralds the arrival of the Deathclaw. The massive, scaly creature is at home in the complete darkness of the pavilion; with its keen alternative senses, Deathclaws do not need to see you to find and kill you. Oadir's attempts to tame the creature have failed, and now it's exacting its vengeance upon the world that enslaved it.
There are very no remaining slaver customers in the pavilion, as they have all fled by now. Only guards, and their numbers are being lowered by the second. As it enters the darkness, the deathclaw finds a victim - Dufus.
The orc is screaming in battle-fury as he swings his axes blindly, trying to find purchase in a guard. The orc has no idea the Deathclaw is even there, until the monster's claws are protruding from the orc's back. Dufus coughs, his axes slipping from nerveless fingers to clatter noisily to the ground.
It is at this point that the magical darkness imposed by the Drow Noble slave begins to naturally fade away. All of you begin to regain your vision, only to see the 9 foot tall lizard tearing off Dufus' head with a big bite of its heavy-looking jaws.
Oadir is left in the dirt at the outer ring of the pavilion where the Deathclaw left him. All the guards are trying to flee. Kibra falls out of the rafters and lands heavily in the dirt - take 1d6 damage, Kibra - and you land near to the Deathclaw.
Kibra, an instant after you hit the ground, another body hits the ground nearby. You glance over, and it's the headless body of an orc, his muscles still twitching in post-mortem spasms. You look up, and the hateful eyes of the freed Deathclaw are staring down at you. Hegh and Sees-Death are not far off, and the Deathclaw's eyes are sweeping over them. The orc's blood drips from its jaws and claws.
Krish the shaman rushes up to you, Kibra, and is trying to help you to your feet - the Deathclaw is starting to snarl low in its chest. Its claws flex as the massive creature sizes the two kobolds up, from less than three feet away.
Meanwhile, Greas, you're outside the pavilion somewhat now - having followed the sounds of Estr's bells - and you can see that the Dragonborn that was attacked by Retzack's monstrous abomination is nursing his wounds and rallying. He's severely hurt, but he's looking determined as he backs away from the Deathclaw in the pavilion. He looks over his shoulder, to Estr. From the direction of the town proper, you can hear reinforcements approaching on horseback. They'll be arriving any minute now!
Oadir spots Krish' intention, observes the majestic elemental ice and wishes to be allied with the Draconic creature.
Then Oadir looks around quickly hoping to spot the Deathclaw among the madness, maybe he could bait it out, then gives up. This creature is meant to ravage this town, for now.
Seeing his new ally Krish endangered by the very monster he released Oadir feels immeasurable guilt running over him. He pulls together all the elemental energy he can to perform his most powerful move. He darts to Krish and the Kobold archer and stands in front of them, Shadow energy coursing over the front of his body.
Releasing the energy it erupts forward towards the Deathclaw, enough force behind it to topple an elephant. The fallout leaving a small pit of black in front of Oadir that consumes lifeforce from those who would let their shadow touch it and feeds it back to the Shadow Realm.
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The zombie monstrosity spends some moments wiping vigorously at its face. Great fistfuls of thick yellow ichor pour copiously from the places where the dragonborn's breath struck it.
So harshly does the zombie pluck at it's face that two of the eyes--a mis-matched pair--are torn asunder from the face and discarded to the ground. In the sockets so left bare seem to form a single replacement with a thousand crimson refractions, not unlike that which might be seen on a common housefly, save that this one is of greater size, and seems to pulse with unnatural intelligence.
The zombie stands and extricates itself from the remain of the destroyed structure. It's two human eyes and one insectoid orb locate the path the retreating Dragonborn took and again launches itself after him.
Upon nearing it's foe, two undead fists, now each the size of large hams, grasp each other and come down in a viscous ax blow.
We flee?
Thunk roars at the beast
come at me bro
Get our allies out of here!
Hegh adds his roar to Thunk's bellow, ice licking at the Deathclaw's feet.
Once Greas finds he can see again, it doesn't take long to spot the dragonborn. It's not the one he wants, but...it wouldn't hurt to off one of the blasted race-traitor's brothers before he could report. From its slot he plucks the specially coated throwing knife from his bandoleer, and tosses it at the retreating traitor...
The surprise of the sound of approaching cavalry causes his aim to go off slightly, but the knife still manages a good hit on the dragonborn's leg. From there, the Bloodweed would do its work - even if he survived, the poison would cause his muscles to lose all their tension with the state he was in, at which point the limp body would hopefully be trampled.
Which came to the next thing - warning everyone about the cavalry. Greas ran for the pavilion, yelling his warning in Draconic as loud as possible: "There's cavalrymen headed this way! Get out of here before they arrive!"
Once the warning is issued, he promptly conceals himself somewhere he can watch events unfold, out of the way of the brawl waiting to happen. With Kibra and Smoog here, and possibly others given that they were alive, he couldn't bring himself to run a second time.
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The bard flinches. All the convoluted planning drains from her as she starts to back away from the widening death hole, the shambling mass of death, and the two idiots goading the death machine.
"I h-hope you fools know what you're about! This battlefield is not a game. If that thing gets to you before we're out, your deaths will yield no honor or fame!" At this point the rhyming is becoming incidental. If she thought she'd survive the next hour, she'd wonder if she was stuck talking like that now. Instead, she tries to find a safer place to stand.
She spots Kibra and Kish, and moves to join them, as their plan to move away from the deathclaw would suggest they have level heads about the situation. "That is Kibra, and I'm Sees-Death. That's not a pun, and I'm out of breath. I just said that and I'm not sure why, but let's stick together and try not to die."