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Vespaja shades her eyes with her hand as she looks down the hill towards the sad and brutal scene. ”Hmm. See the way that one's flesh sags? Telltale sign of vermlek - demons that wear a dead person's body and move around the corpse like a puppet. They have the typical demon qualities: flesh that yields to cold iron or the right kind of dogooder magic; immune to electricity and poison, and spells don't always work right on ‘em.”
After rattling off the information about the demons, she sighs and puts her fists on her hips, mouth pursed to one side as she evaluates the situation. ”To speak plain, I can see the wisdom in leaving these poor bastards to their fate - I like a good fight now and then, but going toe to toe with a couple of demons over nothing sounds like trouble.” Vespaja furrows her brow, unsure. Addressing Sir Ilivan, she adds, ”On the other hand, it's not nothing to save a few lives - they might have some information or at least coin to reward us with. Not to mention, Sir Ilivan, you seem more callous than I would have thought - your anger is obvious. Are you thinking tactics, or are you thinking of something else?”
---
Sir Ilivan looks hard at Vespaja and is silent for a moment. Then he shrugs his shoulders and goes to stand, leaning against the tree. He takes a deep breath and then speaks, his actions trying to say "nonchalant" and "Unattached" but a hint of embarrassment in his voice.
Fine. You lot are Pathfinders, not my soldiers. If you want to waste time, energy, and risk your necks to help a couple of cultists, so be it, I can't stop you. I'll stay here, and if you get slaughtered I won't be coming to your aid. I'll pack up and go and finish the mission and let your Venture-Captain know that your own foolishness got you killed. But if your smart, you'll know that it's best just to walk away...
He sounds very sad at the last, and he looks down on the folks below and shakes his head slowly.
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Flyn looks towards the knight...sadly he says, "Sir, you have my utmost respect and your knowledge in demons far surpasses mine. Forgive my contrary opinion; foolish it may be, but I cannot justify leaving here without making an attempt to help those who need it."
He looks hopefully to his Pathfinder companions. "Are any of you with me? Bo, between us we might can take one of 'em out before they even know we're here..."
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Too much debate about doing something
Org turns Bobo to ride down to the southeast point of the map where there is a small bit of land protruding out. He dismounts and draws his short bow, strings it and pulls three arrows and makes his way to the southeast point of the hill these cultists are on.
I'll wait till the others post
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Braxus can't make out the details the others are going on about but he can see people in trouble and once demons are mentioned...
The northman begins to fume, barely keeping his anger in check as the group talks and talks, while people are being hurt! Eventually the group seems to get through to Sir Ilivan, however slightly.
"You and I are going to have words when I'm done!" he says angrily, stepping up to Sir Ilivan and giving him one quick hard stare before he turns and rushes down the hill.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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Suddenly recalling a former companion mentioning succumbing to breathing in a foul mist when facing demons, Flyn ties his scarf around his head, covering his nose and mouth...
Admiring Bo's bow, he says, "Bo, while I'm a decent shot, I suspect you're better than I...if we can completely take out one before they can act, that should increase our odds greatly. Think we should target the nearest vermlek and try to take it down..."
Seeing Braxus start down the hill towards the demons, he says, "Guess we should fire now..."
Flyn targets the nearest vermlek infested creature and fires two cold iron arrows at it...
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With a simple nod, "Agreed." Now Bo came into his own. This was what he had trained for, the sense on oneness he found only with his longbow, this extension of himself. The monk steps to the edge of the rise, gauging the distance, wind and other variables. He does not do this with conscious thought. indeed, quite the opposite. He clears his mind of these 'distractions' and instead feels his environment and then visualizes all aspects to come. He sees the bow aimed high, the arc of the shot, and the blue and white fletched shaft becoming one with his adversary.
for
for
********If Allowed two shots, use the rolls below**************
for
for
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Vespaja shrugs at Sir Ilivan as if to say, Do-gooders, right? She then steps up to the hill edge and deftly takes a couple of the offered cold-iron-headed arrows from Bo. "If you fools are going to start this, we may as well try to end it just as quickly." She stands with them and adds an arrow to their volley.
---
BATTLE ENGAGED! THEME MUSIC START!
The arrows fly through the air, glinting ever so softly in the light of the evening before they begin their descent upon the vile monsters below. Flyn's arrows drop upon the first creature, burying themselves deep into its flesh as it screams in sudden pain. In a disgusting motion, a giant worm-like THING rolls out of the body in a burst of blood and gore. The observant note that the gore seems to be ABSORBING into the worm's body.
The worm turns and screeches a howl of anger, when Bo's arrows strike it, driving the worm to the dirt as the arrows pin it to the ground. The thing twitches once, then Twice, then stops moving.
Vespaja, seeing that the first giant worm is dead, quickly corrects her aim, slamming into the target as well, who howls in pain before bursting out of his skin as well, the giant worm "Plopping" to the ground.
The other two worm creatures turn and wave their hands at the two standing men who turn as well, looking frightened. Confusion reigns as the quicker of the teams move to act again...
BATTLE ORDER! THE BOLD MAY ACT!
Vespaja
Org
Braxus
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Human Farmers
Vermlek 1 [Dead]
Vermlek 2 [Skin Suit Dropped, -1]
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Bo Goh Twang
Flyn
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Vermlek 3
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Braxus rushes down the hill while the others are still deciding to act. He is half way to the demons when he hears the taught bowstrings sing from behind him, and he roars in response, "ABOUT TIME YOU GOT TO IT!" and he hurls his cold iron chakram with all his might toward the fleshy demon husks before him.
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Her arrow fired, she spots Braxus running down the hill towards the demons. Unable to suppress a smirk she thinks, I certainly can't say he hasn't got enthusiasm. I better go make sure he doesn't get killed.
Vespaja darts down the hill as well, holding the bow in one hand and drawing her new morningstar in the other, ending up sloshing in the shallow water behind the huge Ulfen.
---
Braxus's Chakram flies through the air, a spinning blade of death, and it neatly lops the head off the worm thing, and it's body slumps to the ground. The third creature glares in anger and holds it's hands forward, and the two humans near him hesitantly move forward, lower pitchforks and preparing to strike anyone who moves near to the final demon. Org's arrow goes wide, and bounces in the dirt.
Please! One of the farmers yells. Just... Just stay away!
BATTLE ORDER! THE BOLD MAY ACT!
Vespaja
Org
Braxus
-----------------------
Human Farmers
Vermlek 1 [Dead]
Vermlek 2 [dead]
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Bo Goh Twang
Flyn
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Vermlek 3
Flyn's arrows whistle between the two farmers, striking first the worm thing in the chest, and then catching the worm itself as it explodes out of the corpse it was using out of the host, driving through it's mouth and down it's back, the twitching creature shuddering and convulsing as the arrows sticks deep in it's body before spewing ichor onto the ground and shuddering no more.
The two farmers hold for a minute, then throw down their pitchforks, one of them sobbing out.
Please! We ain't possessed! They said they'd kill us! Please!
The second nods his head quickly.
Mercy! Please! We've lost everything today to those worms, everything! I just didn't want to die! Please, Help our friends!
They turn to the brutalized figures, still breathing, on the ground behind them.
COMBAT ENDS
Flyn turns and bows curtly to Sir Ilivan. "Sir, thank you in allowing us to engage those demons. I'll check on the survivors and get any intel they might have."
He turns and hurries down to check on the wounded.
[Dice=Heal]1d20 + 5
Sadly, Flyn's attempts to get a handle on the extent of the injuries of the downed men is pretty much blind. They're hurt, badly, but they don't seem in danger of dying at the moment. Other than that, all he knows is the injuries are extensive.
The two farmers roll onto there knees and cough a few times, the healing magic helping to repair there wounds. It does not take long for them to explain that they where captured, tortured, and the two who had defended the worms were told they would be tortured to death if they didn't obey.
We thank you. Says one of the healed farmers, propped up by the friend who had been torturing him a few minutes ago.
I wish there was more that we could do. But while our caravan, our possessions, our things are gone, our family is home. All I want to do is go back and see my wife again.
The others nod in agreement, thanking the team again before wandering off.
Sir Ilivan waits at the top of the hill for the team to regroup, and stares out after the receding forms of the farmers.
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"We were glad to help! It is dangerous out here and you had best return home to your family. Take them far from here but pass on the words of warning as you go, and make sure you mention your own bravery. For as much as you suffered, you survived.",Braxus says to the weary and beaten farmers.
Once back with Sir Ilivan...
"You took ONE LOOK and decided that those were cultists and nothing more! We just saved FARMERS! They have FAMILIES they can return to now! They will tell tales, INSPIRING TALES, of how they were saved and it will spread to others in their path. THAT is why you are here as much as to fight and kill demons and report on large enemy movements and whatever the hell else you felt was so important that you wouldn't even spend a few MINUTES to check out!" Braxus roars at Ilivan while waving his arms expressively.
Then less animated and in a quieter tone, "For now, keep leading us, but don't be so quick to judge everything you see with such jaded eyes. You have experience here, and while that is worth much, maybe you have a bit too much experience." he pauses for just a moment to let that sink in... "Just think on that before you break the well of good you bring with that experience. Don't let the well run dry."
Turning to the rest of the group, he levels his eyes and says, "You lot! Standing around talking, even after YOU KNEW the scene was not what he said it was! Get your heads on straight. If I was even half as keen eyed as you... Bah! Just be better." and he climbs aboard his horse, to the horse's protest.
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Flyn waves to the farmers as they leave. "No worries, happy to be of service. Fare thee well."
To his fellow Pathfinders, he nods and says, "Very nice shooting...we took 'em down before they could even react."
After Braxus speaks to Sir Ilivan, Flyn approaches him out of earshot of the crusader, speaking quietly. "Well spoken. I think Sir Ilivan is still a good man at heart, just jaded and worn down by the years of fighting in these crusades. He seems to have been moved by Vespaja's earlier words and hopefully will take yours to heart as well."
Not knowing what other demons they might face, Flyn decides to keep his scarf around his face...
To his credit Sir Ilivan faces Braxus's screaming with the stoicism of a soldier. After Braxus is finished, he looks again out at the retreating farmers.
Perhaps.... Perhaps. It was still an unnecessary risk, and it still put you in danger that could have ended the mission. But... some lives have been saved. Iomedae be praised, perhaps it's been to long since I've been able to utter that phrase. Come on, the lot of you, let's get moving, we have to make up for lost time for this little side adventure.
He guides the troupe back to his horse and jumps on, clicking at the beast to begin walking along the path again. As others speak to talk to him, he waves it off, grumbling softly something about being tired and not wanting to talk.
After some hours of travel, Sir Ilivan points out smoke rising in the direction of their march. Fort Portolmaeus sits on a tall rock outcropping in the West Sellen River, surrounded by rushing waters on three sides. A stout, stone bridge connects the fort to the river’s
eastern bank, with a closed wooden drawbridge protecting the final approach. The keep itself is built of dark stone with tall curtain walls
surrounding a squat central keep that peeks out above the outer fortifications.
Portolmaeus has been the scene of a recent battle. Soldiers dressed in the colors of Mendev move around it making repairs, while others use carts to remove the bodies of humans and demons slain in the recent attack. As they approach the closed drawbridge, a voice rings out from above.
HALT! In the name of the Queen!.
Sir Ilivan whispers quietly.
Nobody make any sudden moves. And by Iomedae don't touch your weapons.
He calls out loud to the sentry.
That the Black Prince might be redeemed!
A man leans over the tower, scanning them with a wary eye.
That's a paladin. Sir Ilivan whispers again.
Making sure we ain't demon possessed with his sight of Iomedae. Hope none of you read as evil.... you won't be killed, in case your just a nere-do-well, but You won't be allowed to enter the fort. When we do, please don't do ANYTHING that might give these paladin's cause to detain you. By the looks of things, this battle did not go well, and they will be very on edge.
After a minute or two, and await the others’ return. The garrison then lowers the drawbridge and raises a heavy portcullis studded with cold iron spikes, after which a handful of soldiers lead the group through a
narrow zigzag tunnel to the central courtyard. The fort’s central building sits squat in its center, an impressive, monolithic edifice with few openings. A number of young stable boys come out from a side building to care for the team's mounts, quartering them in the stables until the party returns.
With the mounts taken care of, the team are led into the central building to meet Commander Manaria Wardroxan a charismatic young noblewoman with pale skin and black hair who is dressed in a mud-spattered uniform that hasn’t been changed since her previous battle.
Standing at the bottom of a tall, amphitheater-like chamber carved
into the bedrock the fort is built upon, she worriedly regards the fort’s wardstone, a massive menhir 30 feet high that pulses slowly with dull purple light and emits a low buzzing sound, but her concerns are overshadowed by something darker. She looks up to see Ilivan and his team and waves them down. Once they approach, Wardroxan sighs.
Thank Iomedae. Sir Ilivan, we are in trouble.
She turns her back to stare at the wardstone. Commander Wardroxan relates the previous night’s events with obvious regret.
“The demons attacked in the dead of night, a mixed group of dretches and schirs led by a terrifying brimorak, a creature of horn, claw, and fire. The wardstone had been buzzing like it is now, and it didn’t seem to stop them. They captured a scout patrol alive and staked them out on the ground in front of the fort. There they tortured them close enough for us to hear. I am ashamed to say that we deliberated on whether we had the strength to retaliate, but as the screaming and begging continued, I sent our cavalry to put at end to the suffering.”
She sighs heavily before continuing,
“Of course it was a trap. A group of schirs wielding halberds met our cavalry and wasted no time in dragging them from their horses. The dretches then overwhelmed them with sheer numbers, clubbing them into
submission. They slaughtered the horses and dragged off the soldiers while we looked on helplessly from behind the fort’s wall. I sent out another party after that, but most of the demons had already withdrawn with our captured men.”
Sir Ilvian's face hardens at the story and looks pointedly at the pathfinders.
Using the torture of innocents to draw out attackers for a sneak attack? Hardly surprising.
Commander Wardroxan nods and sighs deeply, one hand on her face.
I know... I just... I couldn't take it anymore. None of us could... Please, Sir Ilivan, you and your team... I don't have the men to spare for a rescue mission, but maybe, maybe you and your team could do... something? Please...
She looks to each pathfinder in turn, her face imploring.
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Flyn, as the most junior Pathfinder here, knows he should probably stay quiet, but can't help himself. "Count me in, ma'am. Where do you suppose the captives are being held?"
He also ponders on Sir Ilivan's words concerning torture and ambush, thinking, While I'm glad we rescued the farmers, it does give a little insight on the crusader's callousness...
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Commander Manaria Wardroxan a charismatic young noblewoman with pale skin and black hair who is dressed in a mud-spattered uniform that hasn’t been changed since her previous battle.
Somewhere in the back of his mind... I like my women with a bit of battle dirt on 'em. Bad timing and a worse situation though...poor girl. I wont let her or her people down.
Then looking to Sir Ilivar he ponders his reaction to everything.
The Commander nods to the questions, her face brightening with hope.
“I sent out a dozen men on horseback to rescue the captured scouts. Three of them died in the initial assault, and I think the rest were captured alive. I don’t know how many are still alive, but demons have been known to capture crusaders to be used as food, slaves, and ‘examples.’”
Her face twists in disgust, but continues.
At least three score demons attacked last night, and we counted fourteen dead dretches and schirs among their fallen this morning. Our lookout reported seeing the chained cavalrymen heading westward into the Worldwound a mile north of here, surrounded by a small group of guards—no more than a half dozen strong.”
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Delicately rubbing one temple with a fingertip, Vespaja looks past the Commander at the huge wardstone. "You say it was buzzing like that before, Cap'n Wardroxen?" she asks, at once impressed by the size and obvious magic of the thing and looking like she's developing a headache. "We will of course do our best to launch a valiant and knightly rescue - but it would be best if these wards functioned as they were supposed to in the first place, no? May I take a look at it? I'm curious as to how it functions, and I'd be happy to share whatever insight I have if I can figure out why it didn't keep those demons at bay."
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[dice=Diplomacy]1d20+9
The Commander nods at Vespaja and waves at her to allow her access to the ward stone if she wishes.
I have... some theories on the matter. I believe that the wardstone was drained of power, but there is still some remanence of magical power that can somehow be tapped by some more powerful source, though i have no idea how one might actually do that.
To Braxus, she shakes her head.
I am afraid I cannot offer much. It is a dangerous beast, and it's whole body glows with fire, making it dangerous to get close. But more details about it, I do not know.
and dangerous to approach, and has all the common traits of demons.
To Flynn, she says,
The world wound is a tricky thing... the terrain should be normal, but if you are forced to venture into the world wound itself, anything could happen. Hell itself is there, and trying to predict the horrors of hell is a losing game.
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Vespaja draws a scroll from her bag and casts it while approaching the wardstone. Her eyes glow with purpose as she reads the stone's magical aura, reaching out a hand and letting her fingers trail across the base of it.
In her focus, she briefly tries to recall hearing of any brimorak demons. Not coming up with anything immediately, she shakes her head clear of those thoughts and concentrates on trying to work out how the wardstone functions. These Avistani are like Braxus in their magic - crude but certainly imposing...
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There is nothing she can do now, but perhaps her superiors could use this information...