Sven nodded. A week would be good. His bow, which was now curled around his arm, was no longer a mundane weapon. He could feel the divine in it. He didn’t know what it could do, or truly what it was. He looked forward to returning to his prayers and communion.
And.. I think i'm waiting on you guys? Anyone want to gather info?
Sven failed to gather any info. Rather, the week went by in a blur as he tried to communicate with his bow. If you could call it a bow. Where once he had a bow in hand and a quiver on his back, now he had coils of wood and metal spiraling around his arms and across his back. It moved as if though it were alive. On the second day, when he willed it, it took its old form. By the fifth he no longer needed to make the quiver. The arrows formed in his hand as needed.
But it wasn’t just martial training that he partook in. He prayed nearly nonstop. On the surface, the bow reacted to this, shimmering with color when he called on the divine. Spiritually, he could feel something more. The weapon and him were indeed one. It was now a part of his soul. But at the same time it had its own intelligence. Which begged the question...what was it? Two days of pouring through archives came up with more questions than answers.
And so it was that the week went by. The duergar was shocked to find that it was already time to leave.
D'hara walked through the fortress in silence. She walked past other Hell knights, civilians, even prisoners, and all without a word. She acknowledged none of them as the headed to her private quarters.
The door creaked open and the man inside glanced up, anger in his eyes. "How DARE..." He fell silent in an instant. He immediately stood up, his eyes darting to the floor. "I'm sorry mistress" added.
"No no, you were saying?" D'hara asked.
"I was not expecting anyone. I left orders not to be disturbed" the man replied.
"Oh, am I disturbing you?"
"No mistress."
"Not yet anyway. Now, remove your clothes. And tell me what you know of Dresden" she said as she began disrobing.
Founded as a city-fortress during the hubris of the First Mendevian Crusade, Drezen was overtaken by the demonic hordes of the Worldwound. It now stands as a demonic monument to the foolish naivety of those early crusaders.
Drezen was overwhelmed in 4638 AR; a wave of raw chaos washed over the city turning most of its citizens into hideous beast-men creatures who turned on each other in a wave of cannibalistic fury. After the slaughter finally stopped, the corpses were taken from the city to the ice cliffs that mark the Crown of the World. From these corpses arose the foul winter wraiths who are capable of freezing a man dead with but a touch.
Saint Argil, also known as the Pauper Sorcerer, was martyred as he defended the fleeing people against the demonic armies.[3]
The city's once proud crusader shrines dedicated to Iomedae, Sarenrae and the other crusader deities are now perverse mockeries dedicated to foul demon lords. The city is now home to thousands of demons, led by one of the most ruthless demonic generals of the Worldwound, the bloodthirsty marilith commander Zuhra Aponavicius.
Following the Sellen River a day's ride north from Kenabres will bring the armigers to Valaa's Gift. It's a small farming village that provides the citadel with most of its food.
Two days from that is Vilareth Ford, the northernmost crossing point of the West Sellen, and the true gateway to Drezen. There are no settlements, fords, bridges, or other crossings north from here ont he Mendev side of the river. Named for the crusader general who first held the ford against a host of demonspawned cultists eager to use it as an invasion point, Vilareth Ford has long been watched over by a small contingent of crusaders. It's probably the last safe point they will have until they've reclaimed Drezen itself.
Another day beyond that is Keeper's Canyon. It's a large gorge cut in the earth, and the straightest path to the Citadel.
After this, will be about a 3-4 days' ride through the badlands of the Worldwound until Drezen and its outlying buildings.
Hearing about their destination, Sven listened in stoic silence. He felt no pity, or sadness, but rather respect for those who fell in the name of order. The history of his people was one of bitter loss. The inevitability of a horrific death and the absence of hope were instilled in all duergar from a young age. All there was in life was endless toil. The difference for Sven being that he had learned to replace toil for its own sake with the belief in the concept of order and law.
Just like those first crusaders they would do their duty. And they would probably die. But he was sure that he would take down more than a few demons with him.
Dawn breaks on the appointed day, and the armigers dutifully assemble before the gates of Fort Nebarius in disciplined ranks. There is no fanfare, nor fond farewell. Nothing of the pathetic displays of bravery or willful emotions that fill a bards' tales. The armigers are Hellknights, sworn by unbreakable oaths to the iron will of Law and Order. They do not care for glory, nor even recognition. They serve the greater good, the good of the world. The fate of reality itself is at stake, they cannot, MUST not fail.
With sombre and grim determination, they ride through the ruined streets of Kenabres. The air thick with the smoke of countless pyre--it is best to burn the dead; many of the horrors of the Abyss have the ability to spawn anew in the corrupting flesh of a corpse. Ash flutters from the sky like gray snow, piling about their armored shoulders. The buildings no longer burn, although whole wards of the citadel have been leveled by the onslaught of the Abyssal horde. Wherever the demons touched, they brought ruin and corruption with them. Those few buildings that did not fall to their flames have been altered, twisted and malformed form the perfect rigidity of ordered geometry.
The armigers pass one, a small temple to Iomadae that has been twisted and pulled up like a corkscrew so tight that it actually meets at a single vertex in the center. Priests and paladins enter the building, their movements conforming to its new geometry, as they attempt to retrieve relics and implements of their faith from its corrupted ruin. A group of the faithful pray over the haul, blessing and rededicating each item brought to them as they attempt to cleanse the taint from each object. Fools. Some may be saved, but all must be destroyed with the cleansing power of flame. Only fire can burn away the foul oil of the Abyss!
Further still they ride, finally passed the hastily erected barricade that once was the Northern Gates, and into the open lands of Mendev. They follow the river Selen, it's crystal clear waters rushing south, somehow pure and untouched by the demons' passing. Water, ever mercurial, seemingly the element of chaos, is like that. It is the substance of life and rebirth. Fire burns, and water purifies. Here, so far from the heart of the Worldwound, what water could be corrupted has long since been cleansed by the river itself.
Not so the earth, however. Grass bursts into choking dust with every gust of wind. The stones and soil of the road erupt into clouds of biting insects that burn into foul-smelling gasses in the sun's light. The path to the Worldwound is a path filled with corruption. Trees moan in agony as a foul wind blows from the North, and some even seem to weep blood and other even worse fluids.
As the sun sets on the first day, the armigers crest a small rise in a hill and see the small hamlet of Valaa's Gift. Or, what was left of it. The village has been destroyed. Its buildings put to the flame, and its people scattered.
The trees lining the road appear to have elongated and tortured faces, each locked in a perpetual scream of torment. They branches seem to move even before the hot wind comes, as though in anticipation of the diseased air.
There is movement in the village! Someone, or something is still alive down there!
Noticing movement in the village, D'hara simply held up her hand and pointed toward the village.
Sven held out his hand, and the coils of wood and metal unwound. The wood flowed to his right hand, becoming an ornate bow covered in holy scripture. To his left hand flowed the wood and metal that once made up his arrows. They remained coiled around his arm. As he raised his left arm to the bow string, an arrow coalesced.
Gone was the quiver that hung from his back, for he no longer needed it. He was certain that he could fire faster than ever now, for all he needed to do was will an arrow to form and the godclaw would make it so.
He noticed the trees which lined the roar with a cold eye.
"Wonder how long the villagers have been trees. From when the wound opened?" Sven mused to himself. It wasn't like anyone would be dumb enough to make a village here since then. Well...except maybe for humans. Some of the greatest minds he had ever met were humans. Some of the least too. He wouldn't put it past them.
"I wouldn't go through the trees. Let's purge the village, and then the trees. This is an insult to all that is lawful."
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"Just so," Giosue agreed. "But we cannot purge our entire path. We would be disobedient to our mission if we tarried."
The armigers grimly follow the road into the ruins of the city. On each side, the tortured trees seem to shake and quail in an the unseen breeze, but they do not move against the the Hellknights.
The village is itself a ruined husk: the buildings are burned and nothing more than shells. Those few that remain are mere skeletons, and will likely collapse with a strong wind
There are several tracks int he ash: boots and the hooves of a horse. No doubt these are from the movement you saw in the distance. They head into a shell of a building that still retains some integrity.
"Look here," Giosue said. [b]"Horses have trod this path. And men. They went toward the building there." He nodded his head toward the building, but did not point.
D'hara simply looked at Kevroth and asked "you or me?"
”My bow is more effective from a distance.”
Kevroth smiles grimly, "Let me scout the way." So saying he begins moving toward the building, trying to stay out of sight of any who might be watching from inside.
Kevroth cautiously follows the foot prints. He sees a dwarf in scarred plate, festooned with fetishes and iconography dedicated to the Lord of Locusts standing beside a monstrous mount that looks something like a mix between a horse, a wolf, and some foul insect. Its skin pulses as though something tries to burst free from underneath.
The dwarven warrior looks around, overturning ruined tables and other debris without concern. "WHERE is the blasted thing!? They said...! Pathetic beasts!" He utters a particularly foul curse in Abyssal that burns Kevroth's ears with its profane and unnatural cadence, and then moves to another side of the room. "Blast demons!! Burn them all!! They're not fit to serve the Great Lord! W here is it?" He snarls again, and then clutches something on his breast and extends a hand outward towards where Kevroth is hiding. But, he does not attack the servant of the God of this World. Rather, a sickly green and purple portal opens. The dwarf makes a pulling gesture, and a leash of locusts with the faces of screaming human children appears in his hand, the other end is linked to an almost skeletal demon with horns and a hide like slimy skintight leather which stumbles from the portal. It snarls at the dwarf, but then cowers close the floor and whimpers pathetically as the leash glows with a putrid yellow light for a moment.
"Search the ruins! FIND IT!" The leash evaporates as the dwarf pits on the demon's face and then steps through the portal. It winks out of existence just as the beast rears up on its legs and roars. The demon begins searching the ruins of the room, but, there's something cautious about its movements. Knowing. It knows Kevroth is there!
The creature is a babau. they are the assassins of the abyss.
Their slime is acid, and burns everything it touches. It can eat through a metal sword, burn a fist, anything that strikes corrupted flesh.
Kevroth looks back at D'hara, catching the monk's attention. He points into the building, holds up one finger, then puts one finger pointing straight up at either temple and bares his teeth in a grimace. he finishes his attempt at sign language by silently drawing his two kukri from their sheaths.
Turning back toward the fiend, Kevroth reaches into the still-new well of power and bends time and reality around himself. He darts into the room and slashes at the (hopefully) unprepared demon. He then takes advantage of being adjacent to the demon, and slashes at the creature with both curved blades.
Kevroth looks back at D'hara, catching the monk's attention. He points into the building, holds up one finger, then puts one finger pointing straight up at either temple and bares his teeth in a grimace. he finishes his attempt at sign language by silently drawing his two kukri from their sheaths.
Turning back toward the fiend, Kevroth reaches into the still-new well of power and bends time and reality around himself. He darts into the room and slashes at the (hopefully) unprepared demon. He then takes advantage of being adjacent to the demon, and slashes at the creature with both curved blades.
The babau knew Kevroth was there, unfortunately, it did not expect Asmodeus' servant to strike so swiftly or true. It pays for its lack of foresight as Kevroth's kukri bite deep into its leathery hide. Acid slime sizzles along his blade, pitting the metal slightly and making its normally glistening sheen dull. But, his blades remain unharmed and the Babau screeches in pain.
Ok, so each strike against the Babau requires a save or damage
that's 2 successful strikes, for 2 saves
DC 18 Ref save
FAILURE! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA
and no matter what it can't penetrate a kukri's hardness DANG!
D'hara stepped forward to get a better view of the building Kevroth had entered, freeing the spiked chain from around her waist as she moved. Her head turned back slightly to glance back at Giouse. "Assault or defend?" she asked simply.
She then called upon her father to empower her weapon.
Sven: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (8) + 9 = 17
Kevroth: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18
Giosue: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9
D'hara: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25
Babau: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12
Sven and D'hara both gird themselves with the iron power of Hell. The dents and scratches of their armaments disappear and take on the precise angles and rigid form of hell-forged armor and weapons.
Meanwhile, the demon begins a speaking, and a tear appears in in the air behind Kevroth.
[Spoiler=effects]
Sven: divine favor
d'hara: blessing of law
** spoiler omitted **
Sven and D'hara both gird themselves with the iron power of Hell. The dents and scratches of their armaments disappear and take on the precise angles and rigid form of hell-forged armor and weapons.Meanwhile, the demon begins a speaking, and a tear appears in in the air behind Kevroth.
[Spoiler=effects]
Sven: divine favor
d'hara: blessing of law
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"Let us tarry not," Giosue said, speaking a quick incantation.
Sven: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (8) + 9 = 17
Kevroth: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18
Giosue: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 = 9
D'hara: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25
Babau: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12
Giosue speaks, and the amigers feel the need to obey their duty with even more earnest and precision.
Sven: divine favor
d'hara: blessing of law
Everyone: Haste
Sven could see the foe through the rubble. It wasn't the easiest of shots, but with the favor of the gods, he hoped to make it.
Now, a normal archer would have been able to fire off a handful of shots. But Sven was no longer a normal archer. This divine bow was producing it's own arrows, which formed from what was once in his quiver. In the span of just six seconds, six arrows flew from the bow. Even with the abundance of cover, Sven was certain that a few would hit home. The creature which was behind his comrade would be hard pressed to continue after the barrage.
If a 16 hits (unlikely) the demon took 57 damage from the first shot
If a 20 hits, the demon took 115 damage from a mythic manyshot crit! And with the 29 certainly hitting, it will take a total of 139 damage
If a 20 misses, then the demon only takes 62 damage.
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Sven unleashes his barrage of arrows and the demon explodes in a swarm of flying slime and oozing insects. The portal the unnatural thing was opening closed shut.
Seeing the threat ended, Sven lowered his bow. It came apart in his hand, unwinding and twirling itself back around his body.
"Oi! Kevroth! Where be ye?"
Kevroth steps out of the building and up to Sven, "The demon was summoned here by a dwarf in plate that rode a beast of obvious demonic origin. He departed through a portal after instructing the demon to find me. Somehow he knew I was nearby."
”A dwarf? They continue to disappoint. To think, they were once pure. To see one fall to chaos.” He shook his head sadly. ”It might have left a clue behind as to what it was doing. Let us search the building, and then put it to the torch.”
Sven and Kevroth search the ruins but they find nothing of interest in the debris filling the shell.
"This dwarf, he must have been looking for something specific. One demon would not have been enough of an ambush. A minor victory that he was forced away without his prize" D'hara said as she looked about the area.
"Perhaps what he sought was in a different structure." She turned and began to walk away.
D'hara sees naught but the faint stain all demonkind leave upon the earth. If there was magic here, it has long been removed. The dwarf was a fool to search for something in this ruin without first studying his surroundings. Typical behavior for a servant of chaos.
Sven went to work putting fire to the houses. As much as he wanted to torch the trees as well, they had places to go. The entire place reeked of chaos. It was foul, pungent, disorderly...it was an affront to everything he believed in. He truly wished that he had more time to set things right.
But there was a mission, and it was one that needed to be accomplished. He gladly marched, as the party pressed on.
Nearly two days later, the armigers come upon a deep and rapid-flowing river and a shallow rocky crossing where the river suddenly widens into a slow shallows. The water is thick and murky, with an odd, mucus green quality. Yet, it moves and behaves as though water. This is Vilareth's Ford. Long ago, this was used as an entry point by a horde of cultists bent on crushing the crusades. But, a lone crusader held back the tide of chaos, though she died in the battle. She won the day with her life, and this ford has held her name ever since.
Since then, the crossing has been watched over by a small contingent of crusaders. Their heads and entrails now decorate the bunker-like structures that line the east bank. Beyond the embankment, Sven and Kevroth can see movement: Whoever... whatever... did this lays within.
”We can either sneak in, or lure the foe out. Ideas?”