Argon spends much time outside, with the blade, letting it soak in the sunlight as much as he is reasonably able. He wonders if it makes the blade more intense, as well as giving it the power needed to do its work; or if is more like an addiction, with light from the Sols satisfying and calming it.
If the others keep busy with helping others or dealing with criminals, all the better for him to focus. Argon treats this much as a knight before a big joust. The difference is the stakes are so high. And it's not that he doesn't need or want help from the others. Indeed, the odds seem so terrible that he can use all the help he can get. He plans, and prays, and practices stabbing with a ('nother) dagger. He tries to reassure Deitus that there will be a great vampire and lich, a creature of both names, to vanquish soon. And if they are successful, there may be a few more powerful vampires to take off this world. Deitus' thirst will be fully slaked.
Or so he hopes. More likely he'll be struck down, dead or worse, before he reaches Azthoh. But the lich will have to pull the dagger from Argon's hands, with Argon hanging on for life. For life, of many, in fact.
He prepares. His spells, he guesses, will be useless, but he must try everything he can. He tries to sleep, but can't. He tries to eat, but can't do much of that either. He speaks with the others of the spells they will use, and encourages them to protect themselves as much as possible. Nobody knows how it will all play out. The least expected thing will probably occur. All the cliches seem simultaneously both sagacious and fatuous; all the training both critical and useless.
Finally the day arrives, and the lich, with no pomp or ceremony, merely demands the dagger.
Argon, on the wall, delays. He casts Eagle's Splendor on himself, and then Guardian of faith, and finally Blessed Fist, all the while hiding behind a wall. He casts Air Walk so he can walk to the lich. He scans the faces he can see, for Grendel or Calvoric, for Rygear or Dainoth, though he knows the last two will not be there, and does not expect the first two either.
Looking at each of the others in the eye, he nods goodbye. He has never been one of many words, and now he has none. This will fail or this will succeed. He walks out, upon the air, toward Jaevan Az' Thoh. As he walks out, holding the Deitus in his right hand, he watches the lich (Studied Target).
The Night before the lich arrives
Daxniss was running late from trying to counter Duran's power base, telling the other member's of the guild that the Dwarf had been in cahoots with the lich, and that the members of the guild should watch out for the rotters since the lich himself surely had the ability to take control of anything dead and use it against the city.
Daxniss warns other's the lich might have sappers from attacking from the inside and to plug holes that the thieves were not sure of were in that might be used by members of Duran and his followers.
Daxniss hunts for a chance to get at Duran
The day of the lich before Argon attends to the wall
Daxniss cast's a number of spells on Argon, multiple resist energy from every element she can think of, stopping him from casting air walk, she cat's fly on him instead, Daxniss was invisible, less chance for the guards to spot her and try and kill her, as there would be little else she could think of that would give the city or her friend a better chance. If anyone was able to see the rogue, she had a wand out, acting like she was just trying to get the thing to work on Argon.
Hearing Ssilax's words she holds back a snort, thinking that they should have spent time hunting down the fledgling vamprye's, racking her brains at trying to figure out what else they could have done. Hindsight had seemed to have gotten her, as she curses herself for not trying to do more. Ssilax had been busy trying to save life's for the last few days, and she had little idea as to whatever Wrathe had been up to, it must be something grand she thinks to herself.
Argon accepts the Fly spell but keeps Air Walk too, because he can go faster on foot than flying when he needs to (boots of speed).
Touching the center of the Mask that made up his scaly face, Ssilax chants several prayers in rapid succession. The dragonkin gives Wrathe, Daxniss and himself resistance to cold and acid. Seeing Argon float in the air, he rapidly adds a ward against Death to all of them. Just before the slayer heads out, Ssilax also grants him Freedom of Movement.
Having lost the argument with Dog as to why he should be left behind while the others went, he also protects his familiar. He places a Death ward, resistance to cold and acid. Tapping a slightly different vein of divine energy, he adds the strength of a bull and endurance of bear, and finally hides him from the sight of the undead.
"Are we flying? Or using the spiders?" Ssilax asks, feeling momentarily light headed from channeling some much divine energy at once.
Argon:
(98/98 HP, 19/30 Mana, 10/10 Domain Mana, AC 25
Internal Resistances Electricity, Cold, Fire, Acid 5,
Magical resistances Electricity (20), Acid (20), Cold (20),
Fly, Air Walk, Eagle's Splendor (+4 Cha), Guardian of Faith (vs. Evil, +3 Deflection bonus replaces +1 ring deflection bonus), Blessed Fist, Invisibility?, Freedom of Movement, Death Ward)
" Save the spiders for when the flight ends. " Daxniss says with a chuckle and hits everyone with the ability to fly.
Taking a steadying breath the wizard unleashes a number of arcane spells in rapid succession before the group walked out into mixed company.
(conveys see invisibility and invisibility to everyone present, 27/49 arcane mana, 40/40 divine mana)
Wrathe guides them to the corner of the building they ducked behind and points at a rope hanging in midair a few inches away from the wall.
"Magical rope trick. This is our fallback point if things go badly." He quickly explains how the spell works.
As Daxniss seeks to establish her power base she becomes aware of a rumour that Tymil is not ruled by a tyrant king, as he has been slaughtered by ancient monsters that now rule its people as slaves.
It is pitch as the black.
A harried patrol returns, owing their very lives to the two bronze dragons flying about the city, bringing in those that could not find their way into the city without assistance as they fled from the monsters on their heels that burned every farm they came across.
Invisibly standing upon the wall you catch a glimpse of the last of the refugees as they pass under the lit torches and into Caern. Among them is a woman with intense brown eyes, a sharp nose and straight white teeth. She is impeccably dressed in the newest fashion, her tunic indigo silk, pants tight fawnskin adorned with a belt of worked silver. Her dark hair had been woven into a multitude of small long braids, each oiled and drawn back. There is something extremely familiar about her that you cannot place your thumb upon right away, but you notice that birds take flight and mongrels flee as she draws near. She marks your location and melds into the throng of scared humanity that accompanied her into Caern proper.
Skirmishes continue to rage around the city, leaving the Caern defenders spread far too thin to address the mass of inhumanity that stands before its gates.
There is talk of reinforcements coming from Akhl, though it is likely that the sorcerers will not be hailed as heroes, and are as likely to be burned at the stake as embraced as saviours. Though, perhaps this is the first step to a new world upon Saevia.
Argon holds a contented blade, that glows brightly with stored sollight, and immediately feels overwhelmed with the sheer number of undead that move about the city and beyond. Dozens upon dozens of undead can be found outside the city, and he is momentarily distracted by how many exist within the city as well, which include Drowned Ones, zombies, vampyr....
There must be at least 40 undead within Caern's walls.
Three undead are very close to the gates, and all within the city. Argon can track them well enough to determine where they are, but not the type of undead they are.
You step off the wall and glide forth into what you imagine to be your last day upon Sel Torin.
Despite the blackness of the night around you, there is something strange about the lich lord, that becomes stranger and stranger as the group approaches through magically-conveyed flight. Even hunched over this one is twice the height of a man. The voice you heard demanding the dagger was not the same one you heard from the creature you met in the ruins of Enwas. Either that was not Lich Lord Azthoh you met earlier, or this one outside the gates is an imposter...
Grendel had mentioned that Jaevan would come at you sideways.
You only get glimpses of the giant beings that stand around the cloaked shape before you, but the sound of sizzling acid raining down from their forms reveal that these are Azthoh's "successful" experiments.
Moving forward a step the lich holds out his hand to receive the glowing weapon, easily able to see you despite your glamer.
Argon remains 100' away, among the others, and senses no undead among the "lich" and the giant beings around him.
Argon whispers to Wrathe in undercommon, "Look for the real lich." He begins to step up, as if up steps, and questioning the veracity of the lich image before him. He turns to look again inside the city, at the undead, and searches the visible undead for the woman with the braids, to see if she is one of them.
"Did anybody else see a dark haired woman, with her hair done up in braids? She was wearing tight leathers and a silver worked belt, I believe. Aside from looking familiar, it looks as though she had seen us. And I could have sworn that animals were fleeing from her," Ssilax says, thinking about the woman briefly as they glide off the wall. The dragonkin glances back at the sea of human milling about behind the walls. "How.., odd. Perhaps another caster?"
As they fly closer, Ssilax notes that Lich-Lord looks larger, much larger than it did before. Which doesn't seem quite right, true the lich could magical make himself larger, but, why would it bother? That would just make it more of a target....
Barely making out Argon's whisper, Ssilax's mind begins to whirl. Grendel had mentioned the lich would come at the sideways. Besides, there was no way the lich would be able to handle the athame. It would either try to fry him, or simple fade from this plane. 'Perhaps a powerful Dimensional Anchor would stop it?' Ssilax thinks briefly before getting his thoughts back on track.
"Jaevan was a coward before undeath, and I have little doubt that did not change with his curse." Ssilax remembers the illusion the Deva had presented for them. "Being a coward myself, I would never draw that much attention to my person if I was invading," Ssilax mutters in Undercommon as he thinks out loud, trying to put himself in the lich's mindset. "Where would I hide? I might hide at the rear like a general, but that seems too safe, I want people to see and fear my power, perhaps need to. But, how much do I know about the athame? I would know enough to realize it hunts undeath, and would plan accordingly," Ssilax sapphire orbs grow wide. "Jaevan is either in Caern, or near one of the gates," Ssilax says before pointing at the hulking giants. "These are a very dangerous distraction. I think these maybe some of the beings his power was split into." Ssilax glances back at Caern.
A sudden wave of doubt hits the dragonkin, as he glanced back at Caern. He was trying to put himself in the mindset of being he could only speculate on. He did have a few things going for his theory, chiefly, undead do not change. Intelligent undead can learn, but they cannot evolve there minds, or easily change them. The living are constantly dealing with new stimuli, both externally and internally. Forcing changes, even if they are smaller then the eye can see, or are beneath active notice by higher brain functions. From what he had read, it had seemed a sound theory. One that had been slightly validated by Grendel. The ancient vampire had seemed a bit off, even though he had frequent contact with the living when in Caern.
Of course, the vampire could also be insane from getting a peek at the Ender of All Things, or 2000 years of service to Asmodeus.
Argon turns and continues to walk forward, toward the image of the lich, the Deitus Athame in his hand.
He speaks out, loud enough for the fake lich to hear. "Lord Azthoh promised to spare the city. You may have it if you promise to spare my companions and me, also." He looks at the mock lich, a better creature, no doubt, as it is impossible to find worse; and tries to gauge its intentions.
(Studied Target)
(Studied Target)
Speed was of the utmost importance, since he did not want to leave the others alone for long.
Wrathe invisibly rises up into the air, his alien eyes sweeping over the area where the woman was seen last (shadowsight - darkvision and detect magic).
Argon senses, rather than sees, the presences of the undead in his area. He senses two undead converging on the third, who had traveled away from the gates using the alleyways. He only catches a momentary glimpse of one of them: Grendel.
Wrathe rises up and picks out the woman following her for a time before she enters The Flirty Friar. She gives off a telltale glow of magics that is so powerful it almost overloads the Xthian's senses.
You realize that the mysterious saw and recognized you despite your invisibility.
Looking at the masses of humanity that come into your sight, you are certain that Ssilax is correct that these are the creatures that contain a sliver of the lich's power.
Standing 14' tall at its full height, the thousand pound cloaked troll shaman pushes the closest abomination aside. Wyver, once the leader of the Cult of Vidjelu, is an enormous human with broad, thick shoulders and two solid, tree-trunk arms stretching down to almost drag on the ground. At further glance, its skin is a sickly, greenish hue and its eyes are pools of inky blackness. Its face is long and angular, with a solid, pointy chin and a crooked, hawkish nose, and its hair looks more like a mat of forest weeds and rests tangled and greasy on its heavy brow. There is an air of unsettled violence about it—its hands end in razor-sharp claws and its body seems taut and agile despite its size.
Wyver's cruel face twists into a mockery of a smile, "We will depart in peace with the blade; no one needs die." His inky eyes fixated upon the telltale glow of the blade.
You do not believe a single word that has been uttered, and understand from his posture that he is about to order your deaths. Trolls are not known for their patience.
100' is all that stands between this group and the gates, and you are perhaps halfway between both.
" Aye I saw the woman as well l, could be the lich or one of his agents. Still there is a large troll here as well.l, and this might not go over well to day the least. " Daxniss says to Ssilax looking at the troll and wondering how difficult this was going to be.
Daxniss prepares herself for the troll to charge, looking around at the the other foe's that the troll has surrounded himself, she wishes that she had the foresight to make herself invisible again. Although the troll might be able to counteract a batch of fire, she consider's using Ice slick again if and when they start to charge. After all, it had worked well against the barbarians, and if the troll was quick and the other's were not, it would slow down the number of foes the group would have to fight for a little while that is.
" Flee or fight? She whispers to the others near her.
Screams behind you makes you aware that the "fodder" has pierced one of the walls. Savage bodies flood into the city seeking to sate their taste of warm blood.
You see evidence that Wyver had recently raked open its own abdomen with its claws to spill forth slimy grey intestines. Thick troll blood stains its rotten shredded tangled robes, and bits of viscera still dangle forth from its rent open torso. You can see its organs within its heaving, pulsing, translucent sack.
The hiss of acid scarring the very ground brings your attention back to the 50 grotesque monstrosities mill about below the floating "lich".
Cutting out their tongues was designed to keep them isolated. The Cultists of Vidjelu could not talk, which means they cannot connect with other people, to let them form the kinds of bonds that might let them free themselves of the cult. They cannot taste their food. They don't have a voice of their own. Perhaps that is the method to convince them to accept such hideous experimentation; if it was inflicted upon them with their consent.
Each was created in a necromantic ritual perfected several hundred years ago, by a mad alchemist named Lharen. Lharen's experiments proved to be far too bloodthirsty, and were buried in the deepest hole that could be found, hopefully to never be used again. Azthoh had found Lharen's notes.
The deeper darkness parts and even from here you hear the gasps from the city's defenders.
Before you is an army of creatures that are less than human and stand nearly as tall as the troll, though carrying far more mass. Each shaped like a man with grotesquely bulging muscles, shoulders heavy, limbs too large to fit a human being, and necks almost non-existent. Some bore full-usable wings, while others could dig, climb, and yet others could remain underwater for days on end. Misshapen, twisted, broken, reformed, and then sharpened. Each was different, as if they were products of many different hands. Some were covered in fur, while others were hairless, another had an extra knuckle’s worth of finger on their hands sharpened into claws, and all were festooned sharpened razor-sharp plates, spikes, horns, and dire teeth. Their skin was the black of a bloated corpse, and they smelled of rot. None wear armour or clothes, or weaponry other than claws or horns. Their hollow eyes, devoid of live, were little more than slits revealing cold blackness behind, their mouths a gash stained with rust forever opened wide in a silent scream.
As the anticipation builds, so does the acid flow quicker from their bodies, illuminating each of the 50 in a faint greenish glow, and far more disturbing another 70 invisible bodies glowing from positions all around the walls of Caern as the abominations drive the "fodder" to continue their attacks, that does not go unnoticed by the defenders of the wall.
You hear the call for archers shouted out behind you, and hear bowstrings being drawn back.
"Flee, I am almost absolutely certain that these are meant to be a distraction, or trap for us," Ssilax whispers back to Daxniss and to the other two in Undercommon. "Can you slow any of them down? I do not have anything.., suitable. We just need to find Jaevan, I am hopeful the athame can manage that task, because if he was here, we would have found out by now."
Ssilax looks over his shoulder back at Caern, his sapphire orbs seeking out the bronze dragons. If he could get word to them to stall the approaching cursed trolls while they ferreted out the lich-lord, they might, just might, have a chance saving the people of Caern. 'Who have no idea as to what is lurking right outside the walls,' Ssilax thinks a giggle sounding off in his mind as his lip plates peeling back in a mad, feral looking grin. Probably a good thing he was currently invisible.
Wrathe whispers in Undercommon, able to see the others easily even though they are all invisible as well, "I have spells that can cover our retreat, but to do so will cancel the cloak of invisibility that hides me."
"I can hide you from the sight of the undead, Dax can cover the sight of the living, I believe," Ssilax whispers back from the direction he had heard Wrathe's whisper.
"Ah, but I just remembered," says Argon to the troll, "I am to deliver it into Lord Azthoh's hand. Where is he?"
He remains a good fifty feet away from the troll, up in the air, at the same altitude as Wyver, holding tightly onto the Deitus. He tries to ignore the other goings on, on the battlefield below.
To Deitus, Argon thinks, "If I gave you to the troll, would it be able to grasp you?"
" Alright I'll do the barbarian trip and start coating the ground with ice. I can hide us again with my wand let me know when we are ready to beat feat. " Daxniss wisphers back in Undercommon.
Fires and screams erupt anew in the city as the skirmishers bring bedlam to the streets. Such is the price for living on the frontier, establishing a beachhead among so many that wish you dead.
Argon is urged by the blade to sink it to the hilt into an undead creature. It cares not for abominations or trolls.
While there is little in the way of worry for either Argon or Ssilax to reveal themselves, though the dragonkin's unsettling appearance makes even this questionable, it would be suicide for either Daxniss or Wrathe to cast arcane magics within sight of the guard.
You are each invisibly flying and you imagine you can simply fly back over Caern's walls if you wish to retreat. It is possible that they can cut you down before you cover 50' while flying (can cover that distance in one turn), but if that is the case then you never stood a chance in the first place.
Wyver's doll's eyes bore into each of you to take your measure, and try to discern the truth of your intentions, but Argon's lies were so well crafted that the creature had not discerned the truth.
"I am Lich Lord Azthoh mortal. Give me the dagger right now, or I will make you suffer until you beg me for death."
Wyver is not a good liar. This is not Jaevan.
(fail to bypass Argon's bluff check)
(success vs. DC 21).
There is such a coldness to the troll's words, and almost a joy at the thought of meting out such horrors upon another, that it freezes the blood in your body. Argon feels the creature's attention is directed solely at him and he feels weak in the knees as a result (demoralize opponent successful, Argon is Shaken for 3 rounds: –2 penalty on attack rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks).
Time presses for the call to loose is nigh, and the sky is about to be filled with projectiles. Perhaps they know you are there, since it is highly likely that there are members of the guard that can pierce the illusion of invisibility, and perhaps they simply don't care if you are cut down as they seek to fell their attackers.
You hear the call to loose, and hear the horrifying sound of a number of sharpened projectiles heading your way at subsonic speeds.
In the same motion Wyver screams for the death of the party, sensing betrayal in the attack from Caern. Abominations rush forward at speed that belies their great size and bulk.
(group can take one action each)
Argon hrmphs as he tries, with great difficulty, to maintain his composure. "If you are Lord Azthoh, what is your first name?" His voice waivers, and as he glances at the archers, he rises up 30 feet to give them a free shot at the troll.
(98/98 HP, 19/30 Mana, 10/10 Domain Mana, AC 25
Internal Resistances Electricity, Cold, Fire, Acid 5,
Magical resistances Electricity (20), Acid (20), Cold (20), Fire (20),
Fly, Air Walk, Eagle's Splendor (+4 Cha), Guardian of Faith (vs. Evil, +3 Deflection bonus replaces +1 ring deflection bonus), Blessed Fist, Invisibility, Freedom of Movement, Death Ward, Shaken)
Daxniss back away from the troll and his ilk and whispers in undercommon " Can't use anything flashy, too many folk might take umbrage, and I for one don't wish for arrows to find me. " and takes to the air as well, not wanting the archers to pin her to the ground against a foe.
Realizing that arrows where about to decorate the air like a deadly rain, Ssilax flies upwards as quickly as he is able to. Opening himself up to the divine source, Ssilax wraps his form in holy protection.
"Up, away from the arrows," Ssilax hisses in Undercommom to the other members of the odd family as he rises. Whatever he had been planning was swept out of the way, as the cleric would rather not be felled by his allies. 'Allies might be a bit of a stretch, seeing as most of them would wear my hide as a pair of boots,' the dragonkin thinks with an feral grin slashed across his muzzle.
While Ssilax knew he should be terrified, the dragonkin was instead excited, almost gleeful. If he would have had the time to analyze his mind, Ssilax would come to realize the effect that absorbing his ancestor had on his thoughts. So much more than just skills and abilities had come along for the ride during the merge.
"We need to get to the gate where you noticed Grendel, to coordinate our efforts!" the dragonkin's Undercommon words are followed by the steely hiss as he draws his new longsword.
Wyver howls with homicidal intensity, "Kill them! Slaughter them all! Bring me the blade from their corpses."
Some abominations take wing.
Argon feels eyes following upon him that cannot see in the invisible spectrum, as Sollight drips forth from the weapon that Argon holds, shining even through his invisibility.
Arrows fly under you, so close that it steals the breath momentarily.
What follows is chaos as abominations run under the group with the garish decorations of dozens of arrows festooned about their grotesque flesh. Even those that can fly ignore the party, and focus on those that have hurt them. You mark that it is not blood that falls from their open wounds, but sizzling and sputtering acid.
They can be hurt.
As one of the charging behemoths slams into the gates of Caern you hear the sound wood splintering and holding; though it won't hold for long as acid eats into the wood with each passing second.
Wyver starts casting a spell and simply disappears (dimension door).
Argon's eyes frown as the troll named Wyver disappears, likely appearing nearby. He turns and reaches into the inner fires of his soul, his newfound ancestral power, to summon a Wall of Fire on top of those attacking the gate, twenty feet high, a hundred and forty feet long (less if that length is not necessary, or hits allies), and about twenty feet from the gate.
(2d4 points of fire damage to creatures within 10 feet and 1d4 points of fire damage to those past 10 feet but within 20 feet. 2d6 points of fire damage + 1 point of fire damage per caster level (maximum +20) to any creature passing through it or in it. No Save, duration 7 r)
He turns and flies back to the others, asking in undercommon, his voice still shaky, "Did we find him? Was he that woman? I'm wondering if we need a trap. What do you want to do with Grendel, Ssilax?"
His only thought at the moment is finding the lich lord. Everything else seems pointless to him, unless it somehow helps them find or weaken Azthoh. Slowing down the assault on the gate may help give them more time to find their quarry.
Wrathe points out, "If Jaevan has given a fragment of his own life force to each of the abominations, then would he not be at his weakest right now?"
He was dubious that the cursed rogue would permanently strip himself of his power; with each abomination death it was likely Lich Lord Azthoh would grow stronger and stronger.
" Well then let's go looking for the tosser, the more time we spend here the further away it gets from us.
" I think getting Grendel and going to the tavern where the mystery woman went into is an option " Daxniss says in undercommon
It is strange to think that damaging those who contain essence of the lich actually makes him stronger, but that is what had been implied. It means they must seek him out as soon as possible; and that woman might be him.
"Lead on!" Argon says to those who know where the tavern is.
" You are correct Wrathe this way, we can start our search there. If we happen to run into Grendal on the way we can bring him along as well. " Daxniss says while leading the other's to the The Flirty Friar, if that was where the lich was, she also wonders if the Troll and disappeared to the tavern as well. Duran had most likely briefed his new master on where to go in the city and where things were located as well.
Daxniss wonders if she should have dealt with Duran as soon as she got back, as it had taken her back that the other members of the guild had wanted her to lead, she never thought of herself reaching far in the guild due to her being non human. Shaking her head at the thought, she focuses herself into the moment as there was a battle and the fear that the troll had inspired in the her could still be felt.
Daxniss leads the other's to the The Flirty Friar as quickly as she was able too, glad that she had spent a fair amount of her magic's protecting those that she had cared enough about.
Argon's invisibility disappears as his spell targets the creatures for direct damage. The slayer floats in midair, prompting the guard to attempt to perforate the flying warlock fugitive.
An immobile, blazing curtain of shimmering violet fire springs into existence, which prompts pained growls from those abominations with the appropriate structural apparatus to voice their displeasure.
(Daxniss, Daxniss)
Two abomination-projected lines of acid speed toward the rogue, but miss by hairsbreadths each time.
An abomination opens a means of ingress, it's body producing buckets of acid that churn and roil until the gate is so weakened that a single blow from another is sufficient to open Caern wide to attack. Holes can be seen, like gaping maws, as some abominations burrow into the ground.
Guardsmen bravely leave their posts to meet the abominations. Death will drink well this day.
As you near The Flirty Friar Argon senses the cat and mouse game of the two undead stalking the other further in the city.
Looking at Argon, Ssilax thinks quickly. His friend seemed a bit distracted by Deitus at the moment, as he was the one who was pointing out the undead. Thanks entirely due to the brightly glowing athame.
"Grendel and two other undead where near the gate we flew over on the way out," Ssilax gently reminds the slayer. "Wrathe said that the dark haired woman with braid was very powerful, plus, she noticed all of us when invisible. My theory is that Jaevan is disguised, possibly as that woman, and is in Caern. Grendel, if he has not already, might be able to sniff it out of hiding." Ssilax glances at the Sol-bright athame. "Try to focus on an undead presence that is growing stronger, my bet is that would be Jaevan. One of the more powerful would probably be Grendel or Calvoric."
Ssilax and Dog fly towards the Flirty Friar, staying a good 20 feet above them. The dragonkin sapphire orbs flicker about, seeking any anything that might take note of them. Well, the rest of them, Argon was sort of very visible, even with an Invisibility Spell.
"The one with the glowing knife is a cleric!" Ssilax shouts down at the archers as he flies overhead.
More than just the Caern guard defends the city as you see glimpses of Lia, Storm, Sergeant Torgrim, Kai'lit, Velinioas, and Duran battling for their lives. Those that see you smile and offer your a salute before pushing back into the fray.
From your lofty perch you notice an intense glow, as if one of the Sols had landed in Ascendant Court. Sanriel has entered the fray.
All abominations move as one toward the Ascendant Court, ignoring the surprised combatants they faced just moments before. One of the abominations had been felled, and it crumples and burns like a crumpled up piece of parchment, leaving nothing behind but a puddle of acid.
Sounds of explosions and collapse can be heard, followed by long plumes of smoke drifting up.
Battle has been met deeper into the city.
Argon removes the arrow in the side of his armor that was sticking into his flesh. Another had grazed his groin and he was glad it was not worse, though he does wish he had time to stop and look at the wounds. (14 dam).
He does his best to ignore and avoid the archers, who are hopefully now shooting at their enemies.
"Further in the city. I sense, I think, Azthoh, Grendel and probably Calvoric. If the woman is in here she is likely not the lich. But then, who is she? An ally?" He follows Daxniss to the tavern.
(HP: 84/98, 19/30 Mana, 6/10 Domain Mana, AC 25
Internal Resistances Electricity, Cold, Fire, Acid 5,
Magical resistances Electricity (20), Acid (20), Cold (20), Fire (20),
Fly, Air Walk, Eagle's Splendor (+4 Cha), Guardian of Faith (vs. Evil, +3 Deflection bonus replaces +1 ring deflection bonus), Blessed Fist, Freedom of Movement, Death Ward)
Shaken still?
" Perhaps or an ally for us, better to do a quick check of the Filthy Friar, but Ssilax is right, about focusing on the undead force that might be getting stronger. We might be able to fell the lich. "
Hearing the waver in Argon's voice, Ssilax gathers some of his divine energy and reaches out and lays a hand on the slayer's shoulder.
Seeing both Storm and Velinioas alive and fighting gave the dragonkin both strength and hope, returning the wave. It also lent fuel to the burning desire to protect the innocents of Caern from Jaevan's horrible misuse of magic. Nethys's blessing had been perverted long enough in the lich's hands.
Flying with the others, Ssilax keeps his guard up, noting the abominations are making haste towards the Ascendant court. They had seemingly begun to ignore those that they had just been battling.
Thinking about the mysterious woman they had seen, Ssilax thinks about Momordica. Briefly, he wonders if that might be the Theurge, come to aid Caern against the Lich-Lord.
Seeing as it look like a Sol had dropped down, the draonkin felt it a safe bet the Deva had involved herself.
"I think we need to hurry. If Jaevan is destroyed, it could reform once more, and the gods only know where. We need to destroy it's phylactery with Deitus," Ssilax says as they fly. The dragonkin wasn't sure the lich-lord had thought that the living would band against it this time. It was possible that it was not able to grasp that new idea after being defeated by the Deva the first time.
Grendel had mentioned that everything had been repeating. This was perhaps the only chance they had to correct the stagnate cycle. He imagined it as trying to correct the course of a rock thrown into a lake with a smaller stone, for the ripples are dangerous. In this case, the ripples where the grown Umbral taint, tied lich-lord's cursed existence.
Wizards from Ankyl are spotted coordinating their efforts with the bronze dragons.
Gliding into the Ascendant's Court affords you a view of Lich Lord Azthoh standing over an unconscious Calvoric, Jaevan's hand drawn back to deliver the killing blow.
(please include a Will save vs. DC 23 in your next post)
The unstoppable Sanriel stands nearby. Implacably silent and waiting. Behind her is another that you can barely see.
Wrathe glides forth spells upon his lips and fingers twitching with eagerness to release magics to put this threat down once and for all.
(fail)
As they fly in to the Ascendant court, Ssilax spies the lich about to end Calvoric, with the Deva standing motionless nearby.
A frown tugs at the draonkin muzzle as his sapphire orbs sweep the scene.
"Hold! It is an illusion spell!" Ssilax cries out to his friends, trying to grab Wrathe's robe before he charges into the fray.
Argon sees the Lich about to do something to a vampire that will not harm it permanently. It will take Calvoric out of the fight, though.
Then Ssilax calls out that it's an illusion, so Argon asks the Deitus where the most powerful undead is. But the one in front of him seems real. Perhaps it's just Caloric that is not real? He starts walking forward, toward the lich, holding up the dagger, holding on tight. "Something for you, and you will stop all this bloodshed!"
Daxniss hisses in anger at the sight of the lich, fear from the spell that he had hit her with not so long ago, she had nothing in her tricks that the lich couldn't counter except to stab it.
Daxniss wanted to stalk forward as what little mana she had left wouldn't help except maybe a bolt or two of lighting. Daxniss stops mobing at Ssilax's words and frowns at the scene.
" Ssilax is right, tis a bleedin' illusion " Daxniss says right before attemptin to cast an minor can trip.
Detect magic
"Nethys, cast aside these illusions from our eyes," Ssilax chants as he cast Dispel Magic. The dragonkin unleashes the spell in the area centered on the supposed Lich, Calvoric, the Deva, and the nearly hidden something behind the divine creature. What they had seen as the lich was his target.
Ssilax feels the strain from channeling so much of the divine source. Just as with the arcane, it puts a strain on one's body.
" The creatures for the spell don't cast a reflection on the fountain. It looks like Sanriel is nearby. " Daxniss says to the other two, She starts looking around for any other source of magical aura's or hidden creatures.
Ssilax tries to peer through the illusionary magics to see the truth that lies underneath.
The bulk of Caern's defenders retreat toward the Ascendant Court to meet the threat, leaving behind only a skeleton watch to battle the "fodder" that continues to draw breath.
Sleek dragons armoured in dull metallic scales of mottled blue scream across the skies drawing air into their bellows and raining electrified death upon those that seek to visit harm upon the citizenry of Caern.
Your eyesight is stolen momentarily as lightning bolts and fireballs streak forth with devastating effect upon building and behemoth alike.
The abominations fight and give ground constantly, as they collapse back toward a common centre. Many civilians are trapped in the ring they create, and often standing inches away from a battle, but they do their best to keep from underfoot.
Argon and Wrathe move forth as if Calvoric's unlife was in peril, only to be held back by their other two companions. The falsity of the situation is easily conveyed, and the truth brought to the eyes of all present, especially when Ssilax waves his hand and simply dispels the figment.
Daxniss catches a glimpse of an area 40', which glows with so much energy that she must clutch her hands to her head to stop her head from simply coming apart. Seeing an angel, another being, and one of the most powerful forces for evil, in such a spectrum was far from pleasant.
Deitus Athame brings the slayer's attention to the lich and two closest vampyrs, closer than he had expected. Calvoric and Grendel throw themselves bodily at the onrushing horde. Abomination blood flows freely, its putrid acid leaving hissing trails of destruction in its wake.
40' away. Lich Lord Azthoh, cloaked in night's embrace, hovers in the air not 12 paces from the angel Sanriel, who glows so brightly that you cannot look right at her, battles 4 abominations at once. Behind the deva is little more than a shaft of sunlight that looks like a human woman from some angles. Her beauty rivals even the angel, and tears fall freely down her porcelain face as she watches her fallen daughter, stripped of much of her power, stand strong against a force of nature.
(Anyone with at least 1 rank in Knowledge: Religion recognizes this being to be the goddess of healing and light, called The Dawnflower, The Everlight, The Healing Light, or more commonly Sarenrae)
Jaevan grows visibly stronger as each of the abominations falls, consumed by an inner fire that leaves only ashes behind. Something flashes for a moment, but only catches the eye of the most perceptive of the lot.
(please include a DC 30 perception check in your next post)
Lich Lord Azthoh bares his teeth as he fixes his attention on the Alman, "Excellent timing. Bring me the athame. Quickly now Argon!"
Wrathe glances about while he floats invisibly.
(success)
Argon takes in the scene with amazement. He is surprised to see he goddess Sarenrae in front of him, and he tries not to look at her directly. He is humbled to be in her presence, though she is not his patron, and at first he almost doesn't hear the dagger's mental screams about the vampires nearby. His eyes water at her brightness.
Suddenly he realizes the lich is there, before him, and speaking to him. He hopes he is not making a mistake, delivering the Deitus to Lord Azthoh in such a fashion. Perhaps the lich will be more powerful if it is struck with the dagger? Perhaps the fate of the world will be sealed by a bumbling mistake made by a Warrior-Priest of an obscure god of crafting and metalworking?
But there's no reason at this point to change the decision already made. Second guessing could be done forever, and without full knowledge of everything the lich is capable of, it would never give a definitive answer to the question of what the right course of action is. No, he must follow through.
Hurrying toward the lich on solid air (Haste activated, free action: move rate 70'), he studies him (Studied Target) to determine if there is weakness there. As he approaches, he asks again, "You promised to stop this... Here is the dagger." The tears in his eyes help to make him seem earnest.
Bluff, hero point used, studied target...
(HP: 84/98, 19/30 Mana, 6/10 Domain Mana, AC 26
Internal Resistances Electricity, Cold, Fire, Acid 5,
Magical resistances Electricity (20), Acid (20), Cold (20), Fire (20),
Fly, Air Walk, Eagle's Splendor (+4 Cha), Guardian of Faith (vs. Evil, +3 Deflection bonus replaces +1 ring deflection bonus), Blessed Fist, Freedom of Movement, Death Ward, Hasted [extra attack with FRA, +1 attack, +1 AC, +1 reflex saves])
As the film of illusion fades away and the truth bleeds into reality, Ssilax is stunned. Mentally, he had thought that he was prepared for the sight of the Lich-Lord once more. The gathering in the Ascendant Court was more more a nightmare hallucination made flesh. Standing, like the beacon of hope the Deva once was, and is still, Ssilax noticed an all too perfect human woman standing behind the Deva, until he sees that the woman is made of sunlight.
All at once the cleric of Nethys realizes that the woman, is so much more than she appears. It is the Goddess Sarenrae, come to watch the fallen Deva standing like a mountain against the rushing tide of the Lich-Lord's evil. The golden tears running down the Goddess's face saddened the dragonkin and he was not even sure why.
Tearing his sapphire orbs from the Goddess, Deva, Lich-Lord, and abominations, Ssilax takes a quick glance at the battle raging all around. A degree of this was on reflex, for a large part of his mind was trying to process the Gods, and godlike beings trading blows less than a stones throw away from them.
At the sight of Argon heading towards the Lich-Lord, Ssilax holds his breath. Looking back at the cursed Jaevan, the dragonkin looks for the lich's phylactery. Whispering prayers to Nethys, Ssilax hopes that they have not over looked some clue. He prays that they are doing the right thing, as actually given the athame to the lich-lord seemed like a disastrous decision. It had more than proven it cared for nothing, and would perfectly content ruling a necropolis with a skeletal fist.