Wrath of the Hellknights (Gestalt, Mythic, Wrath of the Righteous) (Inactive)

Game Master Thackery Baxter J Thorington

Hellstrider did just take 22 damage... so yes please =^^=

-Posted with Wayfinder

Round 3

Hellstrider nearly falls to the ground, her body almost failing her, but now was not the time to succumb to the forces of the Abyss. No. She was a Hellknight. And she would fight! She steels herself, her end may be close, but she will do as much as she can while she still draws breath.

"You still have to face me. So face me!" she declares as a last resort at the demon in front of her.

She begins to lash out, first with her two front claws, before she steps back and tries to impale it with her lance. She senses the foul aura of chaos that fills the fiend. And, though her very being recoils at its presence, her will is steeled by her fury! This. Demon. Will. Fall! She rears back on her hind legs forepaws thrashing at the air with claws bared. Reality puddles around her unnatural foe, and her claws strike twice but each time, the fiend ripples and twists in unnatural ways, and her blows do no harm. Then, she holds her lance in a powerful double-handed downward thrust, and drives the lance home deep and straight into the goat-headed demon's leg. It roars in agony as liquid blood the color of molten steel bursts from its leg in the shape of a blacksmith's puzzle!

Beside her, the perfect soldier, the finest weapon the forges of the Pyre have ever produced, kicked at the fiend slavering at its greaves. Its armor is cold-forged, hammered and shaped by an anvil without ever knowing fire. It is hard and arduous, far more difficult than working steel that has been heated in the forge. It is the perfect symbol for the Hellknights' mission: to hammer and pound the world into perfect order. The spikes are sharp and cruel, as they must be to drive out disharmony and chaos. They pierce the dretch's face with wicked precision, but the wounds fill maggots and locusts that move about as though its own flesh, and the demon's laugh drags across Iavdi's mind like a thousand torturer's knives.

Back on the other side of the courtyard, Giosue concludes his spell and Ezechias' body swells and strengthens. His skin takes on a hellish red as his muscles are infused with diabolic strength! He grows to the size of a powerful devil, a true soldier fit for the legions of Hell itself! He steps back and intones another spell. "Gratiam tuam Tithe Volucrem." His words are cold and firm, like the frigid winds of Caina itself. They are simple and precise, but their simplicity belies the intricacy of the act; temperature and dimensions are defined; form and function are outlined; cause and effect detailed with meticulous exactitude, that the creature cannot but fall! Instantly, another ice slick appears beneath the cloven hooves facing Ezechias. Such is his precision, and his iron will over reality that the demon cannot stand! It falls to the ground as all those who serve chaos must surely fall for chaos feeds upon itself and begets only ruin!

Malcxastulo! Mi festeni via vireco tiun nokton! The schir curses in outrage from its lowly position on the ground. Its words are foul and obscene, made all the more so by the unnatural speech its thoughts form. They feel as though the demon had dragged its rotten slithering tongue across the knights' skin, somehow worming its way inside their skulls!

With the schir's attention turned to Kevroth, D'hara swings her spiked chain low towards the demon's legs. As the chain wraps around the demon's appendage and the spikes dig into it's flesh, she spins in a complete circle, pulling the tangled chain as she goes. Midway through her spin, she catches sight of the blood pouring out of Hellstrider. Hold on Hellstrider. We are coming she thinks to herself. Although her thoughts are on her comrade, as is proper for a loyal Hellknight, her spirit and will are bent to her sacred task.

The fiend takes her momentary distraction and the complexity of her attack to strike, but she deftly dodges the attack. For, the servants of the Midnight Lord have taught her well the intricacies of the spiked chain, and like the spiked steel of her chain, her soul and will are hard and firm, unswayed by the dangers and horrors they face. With grim determination, she pulls on the chain, and the fiend's leg jerks horribly. The pikes lacerate deep cuts into its flesh, spilling blood and fur to collect in a twisted maze on the stones and a POP can be heard over the din of battle! The schir's leg is angled out from its body, straight and perfect, the only orderly lines on its entire frame, clearly dislocated from the hip, and the creature collapses to the flagstones, screaming in agony as it frantically tries to pop its leg back into place.

Hundino! Mi plenigos viajn truo kun miaj kornoj! Its howls of agony are a Joyous Noise to the Midnight Lord! D'hara has worked her craft well with this strike!

As the schir falls, Ezechias, empowered by the force and might of Giosue's will upon reality, and the stalwart faith and force of his own convictions, strikes at the prone demon. His arm rises again, bent on cleaving through demonic flesh. His blade glistens with the light of the Dawnflower shot through with the dark iron fastness of the grim bastions of Dis. This time, the cold iron curved blade arcs through the air in a more precise manner, like a crescent of pure light reminding that Sarenrae hasn't forsaken the crusaders struggling for their lives. "Perish, and send this piece of news back to the Abyss, foul spawn. This city does not belong to the Lord of Locusts. This city is under the protection of the Hellknights orders, striking and raising their shield as one. Begone!" The paladin's blade strikes true! Demonic blood bursts from its wounded chest in a great spray of blood, staining the stones in a perverse psalm to the Abyssal Lords!

Near the fountain, at the center of the courtyard, Kevroth sends up a small prayer, grateful that the demon's attack missed him. He bides his time, knowing well of D'hara's tendency to trip her opponents. Then, as she strikes the demon between them, he grimly cuts at the creature again with both kukri and sword. As his weapons blur, both protecting him and attacking the demon, they move in precise patterns learned within the walls of Citadel Enferac. Kevroth reaches into the strength of his faith in Asmodeus, summoning the magic with the speed of thought, "Like the walls of mighty Enferac, Dread Lord, guard me from the corrupted touch of these agents of the Enemy." The red-laquered holy symbol on his chest flares briefly with light, a glowing symbol echoed on all sides of Kevroth. Once more, the demon's blood is spilled. It snarls in fury, swinging with a twisted claw at the warpriest's greaves as its horn flies from the its head. Demonic runes fly into the air, spelling out unnatural, perverse knowledge in the mists.

Darsanaga continues his grim advance across the courtyard, his face hidden behind his black enameled armor, shield and sword at the ready. His metal-shod feet clang and echo above the melee. Implacable and unstoppable. One of the schir lowers his head like a bull, kicking and pawing at the flagstones. He snorts, spitting out three abyssal runes that corrupt and stain the air, and charges. Darsanga turns, with stalwart resolve, and raises his shield, bracing to catch the blow. But, the fiend's blood lust is so great it stupidly blinds itself to the danger filling its path! As it charges through the dretch's poisoned cloud, Iavdi'd glaive slices through the mists, laying open its side. Entrails, writhing and twisting upon themselves, coiling into knots and unraveling just as quickly dangle between its furred legs. It squeals in agony and trips on its own innards, crashing uselessly against Darsanga's readied bulwark.

Another shcir, its leg near ripped from it by the tender mercies of D'hara's whip, shoves its limb back into place and tries to stand. Once more, the monk's whip lashes out, this time, coiling about the beast's neck. Knife-like spurs dig deep into its throat, severing vocal cords and veins alike, drenching its fur in rune-shaped blood. The creature gasps and chokes on its own flesh, ruining its hands as it tries to pull the chain free of its neck. Kevroth sends the beast back to the abyss with a quick stab of his kukri to the fiend's back! It explodes in conspiracies wrought of ivory and horn that clatter to the stones like rain.

To the north, by the gates to Fort Nebarious, the schir tries to stand upon the ice-rimed stones. Its hooves give way and it collapses to the earth once more, exposing its flank to Ezechias. The noble paladin offers up a prayer to sacred Sarrenrae, and cuts down into the demon's flesh. The blade cleaves most of the fiend's skull free from its face, but still, somehow, the schir clings to its hold in this plane of existence!

The commander, seeing its summoned minions and soldiers fall like the chaff beneath a scythe, roars with maddened fury! Confident in its primal power, and convinced that Hellstrider's injuries will dull her own arms, it steps forward to cut its halberd across her flanks. This time, however, her sturdy armor turns aside its ill-formed steel and she drives her lance once more deep into its shoulder, spilling out even more of its blood to join the labyrinthine puddle forming at its hooves!

The foul mists dissipate, blown away by a charnal wind reeking of rotting flesh and burning wood as the prone dretches stand on the ice-covered stones, but they, like the schir to the north, slip upon the stones, and find themselves on their backs once more. They wail and thrash upon the ground, their frustration and the tortures they will suffer by their masters fill the minds of the Hellknights. But, Hellstrider has faced such horrors, and more, at the hands of her commanders. She has witnessed the grim skills and knowledge of the unbreakable minds of Hell itself! She will not quail beneath the pathetic mewlings of the lowliest of demons! Iavdi, too, proves unmoved. His mind, forged by the Hellknights themselves, and fueled by the soul of a devil, is adamantine in its resolve. He remains unswayed by their foul powers! For, as he looks out across the courtyard, the Hellknights have won back the melee! They were struck a grievous wound earlier, but they rallied and struck back with the iron will and wroth of Hell itself!
End Round 3. Start Round 4. Everyone UP!

Round 4

As the fallen schir dissipated, D'hara nodded to Kevroth before charging off towards Hellstrider. She felt a certain kinship with the only other female in their small contingent. It was a strange sensation to her, feeling a sort of kinship with another. Usually she didn't think much of females, but this one was stronger than any she had met before. She would not let her die alone.

She dipped her shoulder as she spun on her heels, sending the chain over her shoulder as she moved, her feet carrying her across the cobbled stone with little noise. A few steps from the nearest dretch, her knees flexed and she leaped into the air. Her body spun as her arms raised, the spiked chain floating up above her head. She began her descent and brought the chain down, an arching slash ripping into the distracted demon-spawn.

Spiked Chain, charge, flank: 1d20 + 4 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (9) + 4 + 2 + 2 = 17
Cold Iron Piercing damage: 2d3 + 3 ⇒ (3, 3) + 3 = 9

Active Effects: Protection from Chaos: 17 of 20 rounds remaining.

AC: 15 (due to charge); 17 vs. attacks made by Chaotic creatures, +2 resistance bonus to saves against effects created by Chaotic creatures, prevents bodily contact by chaotic summoned creatures. This causes the natural weapon attacks of such creatures to fail and the creatures to recoil if such attacks require touching the warded creature.

While still struggling to stand, her one paw glows as she tries to tend to some of her wounds, before she once again begins her assault on the demon infront of her

LoH: 1d6 ⇒ 1
Claw 1: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 10
Claw 2 : 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 3 = 12
5ft
Lance: 1d20 + 7 + 3 ⇒ (18) + 7 + 3 = 28
Claw 1: 1d6 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 5 + 2 = 12
Claw 2: 1d6 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 5 + 2 = 11
Lance: 1d8 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 5 + 2 = 10

-Posted with Wayfinder

Ezechias's curved blade tears through the schir a second time as the beastly demon attempts to stand up. Knowing that the lives of his companions may depend on how quickly he dispatches this lowly demon, he strikes once more, keen on ending this business as soon as he can. The blade's arc is near perfect, as if Sarenrae herself had guided her paladin's hand. The schir twitches, his bones and flesh torn from shoulder to abdomen.

Cold Iron Scimitar, Smite, Enlarge, vs prone: 1d20 + 4 + 4 + 4 ⇒ (18) + 4 + 4 + 4 = 301d8 + 2 + 2 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 2 + 2 + 1 = 9
Confirmation roll: 1d20 + 4 + 4 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 + 4 + 4 = 321d8 + 2 + 2 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 2 + 2 + 1 = 8

Spellcraft DC 16, to identify the spell the drenched used on them: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20

Laughing coldly, Iavdi shrugs off the suggestion that he suffer from any mortal emotion such as fear.

"I am not afraid." are the only words that escape his lips before he lashes out at the approaching demon.

AoO: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20
Attack: 1d10 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

As his blade connects (or doesn't), the android follows through with his boot again, striking at the abomination between himself and Chakat.

Attack, armor spikes: 1d20 + 7 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 7 + 2 = 21
Damage: 1d6 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8

that leaves Giosue, Kevroth, and Darsanga. If I can get them all tonight, I'll post. Or everyone but Darsanga, because of his RL commitments.

Giosue took stock of the situation and determined that it was best to strike while sure, then look to the others.

"Ita damnatos et in ira mea, dura sicut furiae!"

Magic missile on the schir near him. Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 = 4

Kevroth moves forward to threaten the dretches that are still struggling with the greased ground.

round 4

While still struggling to stand, her one paw glows as she tries to tend to some of her wounds, before she once again begins her assault on the demon in front of her. Green flames burst from her many wounds, each baring the leering face of a horned devil with a long twisted beard. As the flames burn, her wounds knit together, cauterized by the divine hellfire of Asmodeus channeled through her, his loyal servant. She rears on her legs, clawing at the goat-faced demon. But, the demon easily sidesteps her swipes. However, it is undisciplined, and trusts too deeply the chaotic fray of battle, for though Hellstrider's claws cannot touch it, the schir has left its back open to her lance! She takes the opening and thrusts her lance in deep through the place where its kidneys would have been were it a mortal creature. Ivory horns wrapped in iron barbs spurt from the wound.

Beside the chakat, Iavdi coldly regards the melee, and recalls the time he spent studying in the libraries of the Pyre shortly after he came to life. He easily identifies the pathetic attempt at magic as an attempt to cloud his senses and fill him with cowardice it's a fear spell. Laughing coldly, Iavdi shrugs off the suggestion that he suffer from any mortal emotion such as fear. "I am not afraid." are the only words that escape his lips before he kicks the demon between him and Hellstrider. His black-enameled boot drives straight into the creature's face caving it in. The dent stays, and the demon's eyes blink dumbly from within its caved in face.

Against the grim wall of Fort Nebarius, Giosue takes stock of the situation and determines that it is best to strike while sure, then look to the others.

"Ita damnatos et in ira mea, dura sicut furiae!" He speaks, and his words give form to his will and a ball of greenish black flame rockets from his outstretched hand, only to fizzle into harmless smoke as it touches the demon's flesh!

The creature laughs as Giosue's spell is torn apart by the chaotic energies eddying about his form. Behind him, the paladin raises his brilliant scimitar. Ezechias's curved blade tears through the schir a second time as the beastly demon attempts to stand up. Knowing that the lives of his companions may depend on how quickly he dispatches this lowly demon, he strikes once more, keen on ending this business as soon as he can. The blade's arc is near perfect, as if Sarenrae herself had guided her paladin's hand. The schir twitches, his bones and flesh torn from shoulder to abdomen. The twitching remains of the creature twist and contort spelling out a thousand blasphemies upon the flagstones, before bursting into foul-smelling flame and ash!

As the fallen schir dissipates, D'hara nods to Kevroth before charging off towards Hellstrider at the mouth of the plaza. She feels a certain kinship with the only other female in their small contingent. It's a strange sensation to her, feeling a sort of kinship with another. Usually she doesn't think much of females, but this one is stronger than any she has met before. She will not let her die alone.

She dips her shoulder as she spins on her heels, sending the chain over her shoulder as she moves, her feet carrying her across the cobbled stone with little noise. A few steps from the nearest dretch, her knees flex and she leaps into the air. Her body spins as her arms raise, the spiked chain floating up above her head. She begins her descent and brings the chain down, an arching slash ripping into the distracted demon-spawn. Locusts and other vermin burst from the wound and quickly devour the rubbery bits of flesh of and blood that fly from the creature's wounds, giving proof that chaos feeds upon itself.

To the west, beside Iavdi, Darsanga draws his morningstar, and holds it aloft. The paladin of the Godclaw offers a silent prayer to the Pentad of Order. Lords of Order, guide my arm! The cold-iron head glows a hellish red-hot, and with a powerful roar, the black-armored paladin brings the weapon crashing down on the goat-faced demon. Brains and eyes fly out from the crushed skull, each taking wing and flying into the sky, only to be devoured by the swarms of locusts and vermin that have collected in the air above the plaza. The vermin buzz and descend on the brained schir, leaving nothing behind but a greasy stain on the stones.

Chaos consumes the schir's every action and thought. Hellstrider no longer provides it with amusement, for she has three weapons to strike. No, it yearns to slaughter.. and Iavdi, atop his mount, is too tempting a prey. Heedless of the danger, or even the most basic of strategy, the fiend circles around Hellstrider. So intent on its prey, it fails to see the chakat's lance run it through its leg. The blow stops the fiend long enough for Iavdi's halberd to do it's work. The cold-iron blade cuts deep, adding to the blood pooling beneath the goat-headed demon's cloven hooves. Viscera and blood twist about the fiend's hooves, tripping it as it swings its pestilence-slicked glaive at the cavalier. The blade clangs harmlessly against the knight's breastplate, and the warrior is unharmed! The demon, somehow, still clings to life, despite the entrails spilling from its stomach.

The dretches, dumb disorderly brutes that they are, try to muster what little tactics have been drilled into their feeble minds. But, as will all creatures of chaos, they fail and give in to their most base instincts. Like surge of insects, they swarm around the Hellknights. Kevroth cuts the legs out from one of them, sending it sprawling on it's back once more. The other, also, tries to stand, but it's feet slip out from under it and it joins its comrade on the ice as well. The other misshapen fiends rush towards D'hara and Kevroth. One is cut down by Iavdi's halberd and the monk's spiked chain as it runs the gauntlet between the three Hellknights. The other, makes it to Kevroth, only to find its bite and claws bending away from the pentagram of Asmoedeus that flares to life in the air between them! The lone dretch between D'hara and Hellstrider flails pointlessly against the barbed wires that spring to life around D'hara!

She raises her lance once more as she turns to face the demon can she flank and still full attack? Cant access map atm
"To my last breath, i will send you so far into the abyss you will never return!" greenish fell energy swirls around her as she lashes out at the demon, perhaps for the last time. Now it will be her, or it. She plans for it to be the demon smite

Claw 1: 1d20 + 3 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 3 + 4 = 22 +2 flank?
Claw 2: 1d20 + 3 + 4 ⇒ (9) + 3 + 4 = 16 +2 flank?
Lance: 1d20 + 5 + 3 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 5 + 3 + 4 = 15 +2 flank?
Damage Claw 1: 1d6 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 5 + 2 = 11
Damage Claw 2: 1d6 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 5 + 2 = 10
Lance: 1d8 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 5 + 2 = 15

-Posted with Wayfinder

Delaying until Hellstrider goes to provide flank, then double moving through the fountain to flank with Kevroth. Three squares of normal movement north, three squares of difficult terrain movement east, one square of normal movement south to current map position.

As Hellstrider ripped into the dretch in between them, D'hara watched patiently. She felt a little foolish for under estimating the powerful chakat. She quietly cursed herself for not having any healing magic to assist with, so instead she gave a deep nod of her head before backtracking across the cobble stones the way she came. A few steps later she turned to the east, dashing through the fountain and coming up behind another dretch, once again moving opposite of Kevroth.

Active Effects: Protection from Chaos: 16 of 20 rounds remaining.

AC: 17; 19 vs. attacks made by Chaotic creatures, +2 resistance bonus to saves against effects created by Chaotic creatures, prevents bodily contact by chaotic summoned creatures. This causes the natural weapon attacks of such creatures to fail and the creatures to recoil if such attacks require touching the warded creature.

Seeing his opponent dissolve into chaotic ashes, Ezechias raises his chin, thanking Sarenrae for bringing her light to shine in these desperate times. His mind is immediately forced back into the fight, as his companions are sustaining heavy damage at the claws of the demons. Ezechias charges, his scimitar shining briefly as it strikes the dretch harrassing Hellstrider. "Measure and Chain! May our bonds of brotherhood never be forsaken!"

Cold Iron Scimitar, Smite, Enlarge: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (16) + 4 = 201d8 + 2 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 2 + 1 = 5

"Chakat, get the schir." Iavdi's cold voice states calmly, an odd clash with the chaotic sounds of the battlefield around them.

With that, his wicked glaive slices once more, this time at the dretch (if it's still alive).
If Ezekiel (joke :P) kills it, the he'll use his armor spikes against the schir.

Glaive attack on Dretch: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21
Damage: 1d10 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10

Or.....

Spike attack on schir: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (13) + 7 = 20
Damage: 1d6 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6

Kevroth, Giosue, and Darsanga. Gonna wait till tonight and then update

Giosue weighed his options and decided it was better to act than stand idle. He had a duty. He fixed his gaze on the last schir and repeated his last spell.

"Ita damnatos et in ira mea, dura sicut furiae!"

Magic missile on the schir near him. Damage: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3

Kevroth laughs with true pleasure at the dretch's pitiful attempts to damage him, "Foolish spawn of Chaos! The power of The First protects me!"

With the dretch at his mercy, a hideous smiles creeps across his lips, and the red glow of his eyes brightens slightly. His blades lash out again at the prone demon.

Dueling sword: 1d20 + 5 - 2 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 5 - 2 + 1 = 11.
Damage: 1d8 + 2 + 1 + 1d6 ⇒ (6) + 2 + 1 + (5) = 14.
Kukri: 1d20 + 4 - 2 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 4 - 2 + 1 = 17.
Damage: 1d4 + 1 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 1 + 1 = 5.

Roud 5

"Hellstrider, get the schir." Iavdi's cold voice states calmly, an odd clash with the chaotic sounds of the battlefield around them.

Hellstrider rears on her hind legs and rakes one down across the demon's plague-ridden flesh. Though her skin recoils and fur stands on end at the foul-thing's touch, discipline steels her will and firms her resolve. He aim is true, and her claws rip the last vestige of life clinging to the fiend's body. It roars in pain as blood pours form the wound even as it folds in on itself, contorting and twisting, its bones snapping as they bend at odd angle and odd places, to form a twisted blacksmith's puzzle of flesh and bone even as a crack in reality rips open in the soil and demonic chains pull into the foul pit.

Then, she steps forward, her duty is clear. The demons MUST fall! They cannot be allowed to take For Nebarius. If the fort falls, then Kenabres has no hope of fighting back the demonic hordes! Once more, her claws rend demonic flesh. With one swipe of her paws, she sends the dretch's head flying. The demon flails about, beating the air above it's stump of a neck as many-jointed legs reach out from the stump like the tentacles of an octopus. The legs bend down and pull the body of the demon inside-out. The fleshy remains crumple to the ground in a steaming heap that slowly evaporates to a greasy smear on the stones.

As the dretch and schir fall, Iavdi guides his stallion forward with his knees. He draws forward and swings his cold-forged glaive in a powerful arc. The dark-hued blade lays open the dretch's stomach. In the gaping wound within, a thousand blinking eyes from hundreds are chitteirng insects glisten

Once more, Giosue weighs his options and decides it is better to act than stand idle. He has a duty. He fixes his gaze on the demon standing between D'hara and Kevroth and repeats his last spell.

"Ita damnatos et in ira mea, dura sicut furiae!" Once more, his words, writ upon the contract of the planes, provides strength to his will as he shapes reality, forcing a small bolt of energy to sail from his hand. It explodes in the chest of the demon, putrid blood like rancid honey, bursts from the wound.

As Hellstrider rips into the dretch in between them, D'hara watches patiently. She feels a little foolish for under estimating the powerful chakat. She quietly curses herself for not having any healing magic to assist with, so instead she gives a deep nod of her head before backtracking across the cobble stones the way she came. A few steps later she turns to the east, dashing through the fountain and coming up behind another dretch, once again moving opposite of Kevroth.

Opposite her, the holy warrior laughs with true pleasure at the dretch's pitiful attempts to damage him, Foolish spawn of Chaos! The power of The First protects me!" With the dretch at his mercy, a hideous smiles creeps across his lips, and the red glow of his eyes brightens slightly. His blades lash out again at the prone demon. Kevroth sneers and drives sword and kukri deep into the dretch's chest. Worms and centipedes twist and wriggle their way out of the wound, crawling and chewing on Kevroth's weapons and then devouring the thrashing demon.

Near Helsltrider and Iavdi, Ezechias readies himself to strike once more. Seeing his opponent dissolve into chaotic ashes, Ezechias raises his chin, thanking Sarenrae for bringing her light to shine in these desperate times. His mind is immediately forced back into the fight, as his companions are sustaining heavy damage at the claws of the demons. Heedless of his own personal safety, for the good of the many outweigh the needs of the few. What is one life, even his life, when balanced against the lives of his comrades in arms, nay, the whole world! Ezechias charges, his scimitar shining briefly as it strikes the dretch harassing Kevroth and D'hara. "Measure and Chain! May our bonds of brotherhood never be forsaken!" The blade strikes true, and carves a great chunk of rubbery flesh from the demon's naked chest. It flies into the air, exploding into a cloud of stinging gnats.

At the far end of the courtyard, Darsanga considers actions. He could heal Hellstrider, and his comrade's wounds are many. However, healing her now, could prolong the conflict, endangering not just her, but also his fellow Hellknights. Striking now, no matter the risk to his own life, could end the battle. Once more, his morning star is held high. This time, he charges the fiend, braining the demon between Kevroth and D'hara! He slams the metal weight of his weapon down on the fiend, popping its eyes out to dangle comically on either side of its nose. It howls in pain and flails about madly, but all of its strikes splatter harmlessly against the divine protections shielding D'hara and Kevroth.

The other dretch tries to stand and slip out from the patch of ice plaguing it still. But, its efforts are for nought, and the creature falls.

Ending it now, there's only 2 dretches left, and they're pretty badly hurt

Then, with grim determination, the Hellknights exectue the last two demons. Both explode in swarms of locusts that coalesce into a giant leering demonic locust in the air before flying off towards the Worldwound far to the west. The sounds of battle still rages within the city walls, but it's soon masked by the sound of marching mailed feet. The legion of Hellknights that rushed from the fort to crush the hordes beyond the courtyard have returned! Though they look battered, they have lost few of their numbers. Although any loss of fellow knights is a serious blow to order in this doomed city.

The half-orc commander steps marches up to the fellow armigers and salutes. Well done, armigers. You have proven your worth this day. Your sponsors chose well. Come! Inside we shall see to the wounded, and, she gestures with her longsword towards a group of able-bodied men and women, some clearly are paladins and crusaders, others simple guards or even citizens. New recruits. The paladins nod with grim determination, their eyes hard. The others nod as well, although the peasants seem less sure of themselves.

Hellstrider limps after the commander. Her body bruised and battered. She wasnt bleeding as much. Most of the wounds sealed to an extent. But every step felt like they were going to rip open at any moment. The offer of healing did sound very good to her.

"As you command" she voiced. Her voice very shakey

-Posted with Wayfinder

Ezechias's muscles hurt in the aftermath of the confrontation with the demonic hordes. He takes time to inspect everyone's wounds to make sure they aren't infected, and does his best to staunch any bleeding.

Yet a smiles shines brightly on the paladin's face, as he contemplates the fact that no life was lost on the Hellknight's side. A feeling of great pride starts to swell inside him, the pride of belonging to a unit of peerless armigers. Ezechias wipes the blood on his blade, and returns to a normal size. He snaps to attention and salutes as Commander Tirablade issues her orders.

"Commander, Ma'am. Are we to train them, Ma'am?"

rrrriiiiight.. infected.... about that :P

-Posted with Wayfinder

just a quick update, Hellstrider's wounds are infected with gray pox

Kevroth salutes the commander and makes his way back inside the fortress.

D'hara returned the commander's salute before giving a formal bow. She then turned and walked over to Hellstrider. Reaching up she placed a hand on the chakat's shoulder and leaned in.

"You are a testament to your training" she whispered. It wasn't so much a compliment as a statement of fact. In fact, D'hara had never paid someone a compliment before, and the large Hellknight had demonstrated more powerful blows than most mounted knights could muster. They also didn't have claws with which to rake the enemy with as well.

Being close to Hellstrider also Gave D'hara an opportunity to get a closer look at the wounds the chakat had suffered. Not only were they deep but they appeared to be infected as well.

"When we have a few minutes, I would like to examine your wounds more thoroughly" she whispered to Hellstrider.

Heal (treat disease): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15

"Thank you" she grits her teeth as she talks, even through the pain she manages to whisper back

She gives her a weak but meaningful smile

-Posted with Wayfinder

Ezechias's muscles hurt in the aftermath of the confrontation with the demonic hordes. He takes time to inspect everyone's wounds to make sure they aren't infected, and does his best to staunch any bleeding.

Yet a smiles shines brightly on the paladin's face, as he contemplates the fact that no life was lost on the Hellknight's side. A feeling of great pride starts to swell inside him, the pride of belonging to a unit of peerless armigers. Ezechias wipes the blood on his blade, and returns to a normal size. He snaps to attention and salutes as Commander Tirablade issues her orders.

"Commander, Ma'am. Are we to train them, Ma'am?"

Commander Irabeth ssneers. You are armigers. You are still in training. Do not think that your showing here is proof of promotion. We have traditions for a reason. Remember that. Her words are harsh, her gaze stern. She glowers down at the lot of you, a vision of true Hellknight discipline and strength. Then, a small nod of satisfaction and an even fainter hint at a smile. You have performed admirably. You wil train them in blade and tactics. Teach them how so few could defeat so many. If you wish, you may mentor the new recruits as well. You will, of course, be responsible for their actions. Their failings, will be yours. Their successes, yours. Remember this and choose. I will hear your decisions tomorrow. For now, go to the chirugens. Our healers will tend to your wounds.

She turns, and leads her command into the depths of the fort. The gates are soon to close.

You have a day to seek medical and aid and claim a recruit if you want as a sort of squire/trainee if you want. They can be window dressing, little more than a slave, nothing at all, or a potential cohort. Your choice. If you want to RP anything, do any knowledge checks, recon, whatevers, you may do so. The resources of Fort Nebarius are open to you.

so i can assume that my wounds and disease is treated before i go look for a recruit?

-Posted with Wayfinder

ya they have magic

She was flexing her sore limbs. She felt much better. The fight still fresh in her mind as she begin to walk about the fort. Looking through the gathered people. Her mind focused on one thing. Finding someone that would be good to work with. Cant just pick anyone now

-Posted with Wayfinder

Giosue looked over the younglings, weighing their prospect carefully. An apprentice might prove of use, in time. But he lacked the leisure to train one to his specifications, so it would only do to find one already suited.

"Boy," he said to one who seemed reasonably cowed. Giosue used a calm, firm voice. "You will recite the three necromantic heresies."

A failure. Giosue passed him over without another thought.

"Girl, the second warding position." A finger out of place; she would have bungled the spell.

"You, the halfling," did not know the properties of demonic resistance.

"Are none of you worth the air you breathe? I would sooner see you whipped with the chain than bound by one. Will you weep? Will you beg the demons? I would not blaspheme the God Fiend by taking you as slaves or sacrifices. You think from my youth that I will forgive your laxity? Mine is the Path Unbending."

"Master." It was a boy Giosue had passed over, who had not so much as minded his presence until then. One he had noted only to recommend a thorough scourging. Perhaps flaying, but Giosue would leave that to those better trained in correction. The boy's words were correct, his tone obsequious, but his eyes held no blind submission nor vacant obedience as he gave the heresies, the resistances, and made the second warding position.

He did not hide his smirk. He thought himself above this, a master only posing as a supplicant. Giosue did not awe him, but presented him only a tool. A thing to bind and surpass. He was perfect.

"With me," Giosue said, putting on his most pleasant voice. He took the boy to the quarters appointed for him and produced a scourge. They must begin at the beginning. "You will have your punishments from your own hand, so you know that by your faults they come to you. For your insolent manner you have given yourself ten lashes. Do not stint yourself or they will multiply."

The boy gave him a look unafraid of pain and unconfused by Giosue's manner. Yes, he understood.

"Your name is Giustino, until it pleases me to change it again," Giosue told him. "You are my creature. Serve well and you may earn branding."

I'm not fussed on stats for him. He's flavor at least for now.

D'hara returns the commander's salute before giving a formal bow. She then turns and walks over to Hellstrider. Reaching up, she places a hand on the chakat's shoulder and leans in.

"You are a testament to your training" she whispers. It isn't so much a compliment as a statement of fact. In fact, D'hara has never paid someone a compliment before, and the large Hellknight has demonstrated more powerful blows than most mounted knights could muster. They also don't have claws with which to rake the enemy with as well.

Being close to Hellstrider also gives D'hara an opportunity to get a closer look at the wounds the chakat has suffered. Not only are they deep, but they appear to be infected as well.

"When we have a few minutes, I would like to examine your wounds more thoroughly" she whispers to Hellstrider. Hellstrider's reply is lost as Commander Irabeth orders everyone back into the fort, but the monk's tender touch already leaves her with more spring in her step than she had before!

Once the armigers are healed and have seen to their trainees, Commander Irabeth orders the newcomers to sit at her table. The Commander, the armigers learn, is new to her post, having been given her armor but a few short years ago. Her command of this Fort nascent, at best. She has been here little more than a fortnight. The knights love her, though, although they suspect she may be too soft on the people she once called kin. Only seven years ago, Commander Irabeth was the Lady Irabeth, holy knight of Iomedae and a crusader of the Eagle Knights. Her entire banner--one hundred holy warriors brave and true, each pledge to the gods of Law and Order, shining beacons of faith and purity--set out to assail a demon host massing on to the south of the Wall. They rode out, lances ready. They were unprepared, deceived by foul heretics whom the Grand Inquisitor of Kenabres burned at the stake shortly after Irabeth's company had set out. But, word of their treachery was too late. Had it not been for a company of Hellknights, returning from their own sortee into the Worldwound, Irabeth's company would have been completely destroyed. They saved what members they could, and offered shelter and healing within Fort Nebarious. That night, they say, Irabeth joined the faith of the Godclaw, and pledged herself to the Hellknights as armiger. She has won many supporters and commands the loyalty of all within the fortress without question.

But, she is still seen as rather odd. One of her peculiarities, and one she freely admits is a holdover from her days with the Eagle Knights, is to hold meals with her fellow knights, sitting amongst them not as a commander, but a sister in arms. It is here, at table with even lowly armigers, that she beckons the newcomers to dine.

You are well? The clerics and chirugens did well their stitchwork? It is a formality that she asks, nothing more. She knows they are healed, and that those under her command performed admirably. To do otherwise would be unthinkable.

I'll let you guys have some fun RPing if you want before moving things along. you can choose to talk to your mentees, if you want, or to Irabeth.. or whatever

-Posted with Wayfinder

Hellstrider looks the girl over.
"Yes. You are not a slave. Free. And you should enjoy it." she walks over slowly. Not wanting to scare the girl. She knew what kind of impression knights made. She saw it in her own villiage. Yes. She wants the respect. But not fear. Only things that should feat her are the ones who are lawless. And have no sense of perpose. This girl. She seems... interesting. She goes infront of the girl and lies down. Bipedals needed some help in this respect when it came to quadrupeds like herself

"I will appreciate the help. What is your name girl?" she asks as the girl begins to help jer out of her armor. It felt good. It has been a long, hard and very tiring day. She wondered how the others felt like if she felt like this

-Posted with Wayfinder

** spoiler omitted **

-Posted with Wayfinder

you got it!

"Through the unflinching discipline of these students of the Descending Way, I was unharmed," Giosue said.

I think he was undamaged, anyway.

Ezechias remains lost in his thoughts for most of the day. He spends an hour in prayers at dawn, honoring the rising sun shedding its light over the ruined city of Kenabres. However he cannot bring himself to venture into the courtyard and pick a trainee like he was ordered to. His face remains tense, as if he knew he had to do it but couldn't bring himself to doing it.

I cannot bear the responsibility of one of these wretched souls. This isn't for me - I'm no master, I won't lay chains around their wrists, their hearts, their souls.

Yet as he is passing through a less-frequented hallway of Fort Naberius, he suddenly hears the outcry of an argument, then nothing. Taking the next turn, he stumbles into the cowled figure he caught glimpse of earlier, among the new recruits. A frail-looking figure, a woman perhaps, whose head is hidden by cloth and shadows. Behind her, the agonizing body of another recruit, a strongly-built one, lying in a pool of blood. Fortunately enough, still conscious. Uttering a holy word, Ezechias stops the bleeding and the man's wound starts to close as they transfer over to the half-orc's body. He quickly escapes without explanation nor thanks. It is only then that Ezechias's blue eyes catch glimpse of the cowled figure's hands, or rather, claws. Pale as death, yet with pitch-black fingernails dripping with blood. He seized the assailant's wrist as she turns tails and attempts to escape.

"Let me go!" a woman's voice says in a rugged Taldane.

"I won't, for you have hurt this man and must atone for your action. Who are you? Why have you hurt him?" the stern voice of the paladin demands, yet with a slight hint of compassion in his words. With his other hands, he pulls back the woman's cowl, revealing the face of a beautiful woman in her early twenties, her skin pale as death, with jet-black hair flowing around it. Her eyes are as dark as the heart of the Abyss itself. Pointy horns, albeit discreet, adorn her forehead, while a black leathery tail is wrapped around her waist. "LET ME GO! You can't help me, no one can. I'm Hopeless. The man did nothing, he was in my way and I needed to steal food from him - he resisted, so he got a taste of my claws. And so will you if you don't let me go!" The woman grows fiercer, her face enraged and devoid of regret for what she has done.

A Tiefling. I clearly smell the taint of the Abyss around her, yet she's no demon. She's just a lost soul. Yet if someone else finds out about her origins, she's as good as dead.

Ignoring the woman's protest, he pulls her wrist forcefully, literally pulling her as she's lashing out like a frienzied cat. Her claws rake into the plate armor Ezechias is wearing, leaving marks of fury. Turning to meet the tielfing's gaze, the paladin protests with an authoritative voice that leaves the woman speechless for a moment. "No, you are not hopeless. Come with me and stop this childlike behavior. If anyone sees you, you're dead." Ezechias climbs the stairs all the way up to Lady Tirablade's office, and enters after knocking.

"Lady Tirablade, my apologies for this uncalled visit, yet I fear there's a matter requiring your attention. I found this woman assaulting another recruit, and if it were not for my arrival, the man may have died. She's a tiefling, with the taint of the Abyss on her. She clearly comes from the Worldwound, and her motives are unclear. Yet I wish to submit a formal request to allow me to train her. I do believe in redemption, and I feel this woman's heart and soul aren't lost for good. She may yet find her way back into the light, and into the path of law and righteousness that is ours. Her failings will be mine, any punishment she will have to endure, I will endure as well. Yet her redemption, should she find the way, will be hers and hers alone." solemnly vows the paladin, bowing his head as he awaits a stark rebuke for his bold words and vain hopes.

The innuendo was not lost on D'hara, but it had been years since she had even thought about such things, although the thought of a large, feline-like tauric creature was intriguing to say the least.

As the line of trainees was marched through, D'hara paid them little mind. She was no instructor. She did not excel at passing on knowledge. Quite the opposite really. Still, she had been ordered, more or less, to select one and do so. She remained standing next to Hellstrider for quite a while as Giouse inspected the recruits.

"Whipped with the chain." Now that had special meaning. She nodded to Hellstrider before parting and made her way over to the recruits. As she walked, she called upon another gift from her master. She focused her vision until she could see their morality. She looked them over, walking up and down their ranks again and again. Finally, she stopped in front of the one with the strongest aura of malign intent. She curtsied and offered her hand in a lady-like manner. When the man reached out to take her hand she simply said "you will come with me." Then she led him away and back to her private quarters.

Many hours later she left her room to seek out sustenance. It had been a hard fought and long day with little to eat. She eventually ended up at the mess hall. She had intended to simply grab a few things and eat them in her room, but seeing a few of the others along with Commander Irabeth presented a rather unique opportunity. She grabbed some cheeses, some hard bread and a few vegetables and joined the rest at their table. She set her plate down before sitting down and then finally removed the scarf that had been hiding her face. She gazed at the Commander, letting the details of her facial tattoo sink in before she finally offered up "Commander." To most, the skull tattooed on her face, her eyes in the place of the empty eye sockets and the spiked chains running down her cheeks was off putting, to say the least. To others, it was sacrilegious. Regardless, it always had an effect and she was actually anxious to see how the Commander reacted.

Once the armigers are healed and have seen to their trainees, Commander Irabeth orders the newcomers to sit at her table. The Commander, the armigers learn, is new to her post, having been given her armor but a few short years ago. Her command of this Fort nascent, at best. She has been here little more than a fortnight. The knights love her, though, although they suspect she may be too soft on the people she once called kin. Only seven years ago, Commander Irabeth was the Lady Irabeth, holy knight of Iomedae and a crusader of the Eagle Knights. Her entire banner--one hundred holy warriors brave and true, each pledge to the gods of Law and Order, shining beacons of faith and purity--set out to assail a demon host massing on to the south of the Wall. They rode out, lances ready. They were unprepared, deceived by foul heretics whom the Grand Inquisitor of Kenabres burned at the stake shortly after Irabeth's company had set out. But, word of their treachery was too late. Had it not been for a company of Hellknights, returning from their own sortee into the Worldwound, Irabeth's company would have been completely destroyed. They saved what members they could, and offered shelter and healing within Fort Nebarious. That night, they say, Irabeth joined the faith of the Godclaw, and pledged herself to the Hellknights as armiger. She has won many supporters and commands the loyalty of all within the fortress without question.

But, she is still seen as rather odd. One of her peculiarities, and one she freely admits is a holdover from her days with the Eagle Knights, is to hold meals with her fellow knights, sitting amongst them not as a commander, but a sister in arms. It is here, at table with even lowly armigers, that she beckons the newcomers to dine.

You are well? The clerics and chirugens did well their stitchwork? It is a formality that she asks, nothing more. She knows they are healed, and that those under her command performed admirably. To do otherwise would be unthinkable.

I'll let you guys have some fun RPing if you want before moving things along. you can choose to talk to your mentees, if you want, or to Irabeth.. or whatever

Kevroth accepts the admonishments of the Master of Arms with perfect acceptance. He departs with his new weapons in hand, his will strengthened, and his dedication to Law stronger than ever.

It is in this mindset that he passes through the throng of new recruits. Though he is still just an Armiger, himself, he shakes his head in wonder at the rabble before him. Still, he thinks to himself, I came to the Word of The First as little more than a ravening madman. If I can reach this point, can not they?

He looks on with new eyes, searching for one with the signs of arcane power, For it would be my duty to guide such a one to the Gate.

I will finish this when I get to work.

Iavdi cares not for who he picks as his recruit, instead relying on his skill and training to forge this new recruit into one suitable to serve under him. Picking out what looks to be the weakest physically (perhaps aiming at a Signifer) of the group in front of them, he beckons him over as he rides to the Tower of the Pyre.

"Come. You will help me out of my plate, then we will perform the Pyre's reckoning. After that, you will join me for dinner with the Commander."

Once he has stripped his armor off, reluctantly, Iavdi washes off the blood and gore from the previous battle before ordering his recruit to start up the pyre. For they had work to do.

As Iavdi enters the room and joins Irabeth at the table, all present can finally get a look at the true skin of the android, as he is armored only in Pyre leather he requisitioned from the quartermaster, although he still has his glaive nearby.
The intricately styled burns, appearing to have been self-inflicted, form lines of flame and various other appropriate brands, and are a stark contrast to the bright red veins that otherwise cover the android's skin.
Many are still glowing faintly, indicating they are freshly removed. Took one point of fire damage. Don't offer to heal it, anyone.

"Ha, stitchwork?" Iavdi says, laughing emotionlessly as he brandishes an obviously metal arm. "The artificers over at the Pyre did take care of my wounds, yes."

Paid 30 gp for Pyre Hellknight Leather. Also going to inquire about getting any barding for my mount, as I have not the resources to do so, but wish to be better protected in battle.

Kevroth continues to watch the new recruits for some time, not particularly caring for any of them. There are a number he identifies that have some skill in the arcane. On the verge of selecting one, possibly entirely at random, he notices a half-orc woman near the back wearing simple robes and leaning on a quarter staff. Knowing well the orcish tendency to chaos, Kevroth makes his decision in that instant. He approaches the woman quietly. Though she seems unaware of his presence, he is somewhat surprised that she does not start when he speaks, "You wish to strike back against the Demons, yes?" A nod. "And you wish for your actions to make a difference?" Nod.

Kevroth beckons for her to follow, and together they leave the courtyard, headed for the Tower of the Gate. He seeks out one of the higher ranking members of the Order and guides Dravai in swearing herself to the Gate.

***

Kevroth enters the room moving with discomfort, the reckonings for his failure to properly prepare still pain him. Dravai follows him in, now dressed as befits an armiger of the Order of the Gate. He bows slightly to Irabeth before he and Dravai take their seats. He introduces Dravai to the others at the table, then falls silent. Never one for idle small talk, Kevroth simply nods in response to her statement.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch.. with everyone at dinner
As Iavdi enters the room and joins Irabeth at the table, all present can finally get a look at the true skin of the android, as he is armored only in Pyre leather he requisitioned from the quartermaster, although he still has his glaive nearby.

The intricately styled burns, appearing to have been self-inflicted, form lines of flame and various other appropriate brands, and are a stark contrast to the bright red veins that otherwise cover the android's skin. Many are still glowing faintly, indicating they are freshly removed. Took one point of fire damage. Don't offer to heal it, anyone.

I had heard that the Pyre were experimenting with technologies they had vetted from an infernal forge-wright. Commander Tirablade calmly regards Iavdi as he enters. If she is unsettled by the obvious diabolic nature of his workings, the paladin does not let on. Your successes this day are proof of their wisdom in crafting you. I hope their foundries create more of your kind for our cause. She sips her wine, and turns back to her food. I trust the food shall be acceptable. We are on short rations while the city is under siege, to make our meals last longer. I do not wish to bother the priests with trifles such as food and drink, though they have offered. Their skills are needed for healing our brothers and sisters. True to her words, the food is good, but sparse. They are not campaigner's rations; those are reserved for a protracted siege, when the perishable food is gone, even after short rationing, so the magicked stores (which Fort Nebarius no doubt has) can be used to store clean water. The priests have done well.

"Through the unflinching discipline of these students of the Descending Way, I was unharmed," Giouse intones from his spot at the table.

"Ha, stitchwork?" Iavdi says, laughing emotionlessly as he brandishes an obviously metal arm. "The artificers over at the Pyre did take care of my wounds, yes."

Commander Irabeth Tirablade nods and turns back to her meal, although as D'hara unveils herself, the paladin's eyes tighten slightly. Tirablade is a paladin, after all. But, her duty to the Measure and Chain is just as strong as those to the Five, and she maintains her discipline. Each of you has remarkable skills. Skills that will, no doubt, prove most useful as we drive back the demonic hordes that have beset Kenabres. Without command, a senior Hellknight, his battered spurred armor naming him of the Godclaw, produces an ebony box covered silver-inlaid crests of each of the Orders. She opens the box, revealing Terendelev's scales bound in black leather thongs so they could hang from the neck as an amulet. The Signifiers of the Godclaw and Gate have tested them. They are of untold strength and power, and each holds a small portion of the Silver Rampart's soul, as well as her magic. Perhaps they can aid you as we fight back against the hordes.

As she speaks, detachments of Hellknights leave through the gates of Fort Nebarius, rushing at the commands of the superiors to bring order to this beleaguered city. They will dash he demons upon their swords and shields, or squash rebellion and looters. Both, will inspire the lawful citizens, and remind them of their duty! Or, remind them of the folly of opposing the agents of law and order! Either way, peace will be restored! Of this, there can be no doubt. The Hellknights will not fail! They cannot! I know you are eager to join your comrades in battle against the hordes of the Abyss. But, your skills are required elsewhere. In truth, this task I set you is better suited to more experienced Hellknights, those who have at least earned their armor. But, their skills are needed to crush the chaos raging within Kenabres. A group of Hellknights burst in behind her, carrying an armored man on a stretcher, blood oozes from rents in his armor; along with other things that hop and laugh madly through the air before descending back into his body, ripping and devouring pieces of flesh and armor with abandon. A signifier of Asmodues, Ezechias can feel the woman's devotion to the First's darker tenets, intones dark words of strength and healing, wrapping the knight's wounds in will-forged iron-bound chains of hellfire. The chains lash out at the creatures leaping from the knight's body, impaling some, crushing others, and setting all to flame with a green glow. Commander Tirablade pays the group no mind as they head towards the infirmary. The Blackwing, more formally known as the Librarium of the Broken Black Wing, contains the most complete record of research on demon hunting and the Worldwound in all of Mendev. The Signifiers believe that the Blackwing holds information we can use to thwart this assault. You will go there, crush any demonic influence you find there, and retrieve any relevant information you find.

She stands, cold eyes measuring the armigers. Clearly, she expects to be obeyed. This pause is but a simple courtesy.

So, i've had to write this post 3 times because of tons of crap reasons so.. i hope this ok

Giosue bowed and went to make ready, not delaying a moment.

Before Dinner:

Seeing as how we're using the Unchained Crafting rules, Iavdi is going to spend the time before dinner teaching his new apprentice the ways of the forge, beginning the work on Igneous's Hellknight Half-Plate Barding. It'll cost 1,133 gp in raw materials, which will be paid for as we go along, and be a DC 20 Craft check to determine progress. Assuming untrained laborer for my new wizard-to-be, which gives him a +4 on Craft checks, as well as the forges here counting as masterwork tools.

Aid Another, DC 10 Craft: 1d20 + 2 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 2 + 4 = 7

"Ignorant fool! Your father was a blacksmith, no? Did he teach you nothing?!"

Craft, DC 20: 1d20 + 9 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 9 + 2 = 15
Wow, you have got to be kidding me. Seriously? Okay. Fine.

Finally letting the tongs and hammer drop, Iavdi steps away from the anvil, today's efforts gone to waste.
"Get out of here, get cleaned up, prepare yourself for supper." he says in a not too common frustrated tone.

Yeah, that....that sucked. To say the least.

During Dinner:

When the commander offers food, Iavdi's new recruit, Kobeus, eagerly digs in after a hard day's toil at the fires. And yet Iavdi merely sits there, his eyes simply watching.

"Yes, the Pyre has indeed found the secret to creating....'life.'" he replied, once more holding an arm up to look at the scarred flesh as he curls his hand into a fist. The motion seems to fascinate him, as if he can see the machinery working underneath.
"Although I do not know the progress of more of my kind being produced, unfortunately."
With that, Iavdi is unnervingly quiet through the entire meal, observing his new companions as they ate.

When the scales were brought out, Iavdi (rightfully) doesn't trust them, but takes whichever he is able to and wraps it around his neck.

"I am sure there is plenty of lore that could help us in this....'Blackwing', but what if there is more dangerous knowledge held in that library?" Iavdi says, knowing how find these cultists truly are of hiding their heretical knowledge among other, less conspicuous books.
"I need to check in with the Tower of the Pure, and see if they have any pyre beads that are not being used; one would surely come in handy in our upcoming task."

Basically, just going to go ask whoever showed me to my quarters in the Pyre's tower if they have any pyre beads.

Edit: yes, the pyre beads are, in fact, for burning both the dangerous knowledge that often comes with religion and the followers and cultists of these religions themselves. Witches aren't gonna burn themselves at the stake, ya know!

Also, ooh, ooh! We get to go in a library, we get to go in a library!

D'hara quickly reached out and picked up the Scale of the Mask without any hesitation. She had no idea just how powerful they were, but she was intent on testing their limits herself. She was unaccustomed to individuals sharing knowledge freely, even her superiors never told her everything. Such was the life of a Hellknight Interrogator, and that life often left many secrets to be uncovered by one's self. Still, she wasn't ungrateful that the scales had been tested. Everything she learned proved valuable at some point in time. One just had to wait for the right moment to exploit the knowledge for one's own benefit.

As the injured Hellknight was ushered past them, she watched as the hellfire was used to heal some of the wounds. The green glow of order restoring flesh was inspiring. Once again she was thinking about the healing magic that the gods sought fit to bless some with. She made a mental note to ask father about it when she prayed next. It would prove useful in keeping her charges alive longer and provide more time for more thorough questioning when the need arose.

She paid no direct attention to Tirablade as the commander spoke of this mission and the library, although she heard every word. Once the commander was done speaking, D'hara gave a curt nod of her head before slipping one last bite of food into her mouth. She then donned her scarf again and checked to ensure her whip and chain were affixed correctly. If they were going out in public, as it were, she would need to dress the part.

A bastion of knowledge, how delicious D'hara thought to herself.

She listens carefully. Even with the interruption of the wounded, she tried to remain focused. Her limited knowledge of the planes told her that this was nothing compared to what they may face in the near future.

"As you wish ma'am. We are at your service" she gives a formal salute. Bowing her head

early morning. So just posting a bit so story can move =^^=

-Posted with Wayfinder

Yes, the Pyre has indeed found the secret to creating....'life.'" Iavdi replies, once more holding an arm up to look at the scarred flesh as he curls his hand into a fist. The motion seems to fascinate him, as if he can see the machinery working underneath.
"Although I do not know the progress of more of my kind being produced, unfortunately."

Pity. No emotion colors Commander Tirablade's speech. To have a legion of your kind, even a squad. Sleepless. Emotionless. Absolutely loyal to the cause. Without the need for food or drink. They would make excellent guards or even a shocktroop. The could be sent in, with minimal supplies, without fear of returning as some abomination should they fail, and without the need to secure supply lines.

When the scales were brought out, Iavdi (rightfully) doesn't trust them, but takes whichever he is able to and wraps it around his neck. However, D'hara quickly reaches out and picks up the Scale of the Mask without any hesitation. She had no idea just how powerful they were, but she is intent on testing their limits herself. She is unaccustomed to individuals sharing knowledge freely, even her superiors never told her everything. Such is the life of a Hellknight Interrogator, and that life often leaves many secrets to be uncovered by one's self. Still, she isn't ungrateful that the scales have been tested. Everything she learns proves valuable at some point in time. One just has to wait for the right moment to exploit the knowledge for one's own benefit.

As the injured Hellknight are ushered past them, she watches as the hellfire is used to heal some of the wounds. The green glow of order restoring flesh is inspiring. Once again, she is thinking about the healing magic that the gods sought fit to bless some with. She makes a mental note to ask father about it when she prays next. It will prove useful in keeping her charges alive longer and provide more time for more thorough questioning when the need arises.

She pays no direct attention to Tirablade as the commander speaks of this mission and the library, although she hears every word. A bastion of knowledge, how delicious, D'hara thinks to herself.

Unlike D'hara, Hellstrider appears to listen carefully. Even with the interruption of the wounded, she tried to remain focused. Her limited knowledge of the planes told her that this was nothing compared to what they may face in the near future.

Likewise, the Hellforged soldier, however, pays deeper heed to the Commander's words. "I am sure there is plenty of lore that could help us in this....'Blackwing', but what if there is more dangerous knowledge held in that library?" Iavdi says, knowing how to find if these cultists truly are of hiding their heretical knowledge among other, less conspicuous books.

Commander Tirablade's icy eyes bore into Iavdi, like his drill commanders from the forges of Enferac. [b]The knowledge they contain was gathered by holy warriors devoted to the most honorable and pure gods of the Crusades: Iomedae, Serrenrae, Torag, and the such. But, it is possible, scholars being as they are, that some knowledge that is not safe for public eyes has been secreted away in their dusty shelves. If you find such, you are, of course, free to follow the edicts of your Order. As are you all.

"I need to check in with the Tower of the Pure, and see if they have any pyre beads that are not being used; one would surely come in handy in our upcoming task." For the first time, something approximating eagerness enters Iavdi's voice.

Commander Tirablade nods. You will report at the front gates at first light. Dismissed

"As you wish ma'am. We are at your service" she gives a formal salute, bowing her head.

Tirablade gives no response, having already turned to regard several scrolls an armiger has given her.

Giosue bows and goes to make ready, not delaying a moment. D'hara gives a curt nod of her head before slipping one last bite of food into her mouth. She then dons her scarf again and checks to ensure her whip and chain are affixed correctly. If they are going out in public, as it were, she will need to dress the part.

"So. We move at first light. What do you expect? Ive never been far from my homestead before I joined the Order. So my knowledge of the outside world is limited. Only recently began to learn and study the areas" she asks her new companions. Its been only a few days and already they have been in battle together more than a few times.

-Posted with Wayfinder

"Thank you, Commander, for giving me this opportunity." Iavdi says, before quickly heading to his meeting with the Pyre's quartermaster.
This, unfortunately, leads to him not responding to Chakat's question, instead rushing off with his charge tailing behind him.

Okay, so I went back and read through the Pyre's section in Path of the Hellknight, and there's no mention of the Record of Wrongful Knowledge. Which means you made it up. Which is awesome. It sounds so much like something the Pyre would do, I didn't even question that it might not be true, and instead went to go find what I missed. The thought of lower level acolytes constantly scribbling away with their quills at the parchment that holds our world together is an inspiring image.

As for the Pyre Bead, I do intend on making it my first true purchase, as soon as I can afford it from whatever loot we may find. For now, however, I will have to loan it and possibly recover any knowledge that the Pyre might be interested in from this library.

"Yes, Sir Taran, that is correct. I require the services of a pyre bead, as I am being sent to a location known as the Librarium of the Broken Black Wing, a place which the commander believes may have felt the taint of the Worldwound. Should this be true, there are undoubtedly cultists and their dangerous knowledge present, and this pyre bead will aid me in destroying what I can before hauling back what the Pyre must see for itself."

"Surely the potentially dangerous knowledge there along with any new material to add to the list is worth the issuing of a bead. I shall make every effort to recompense the Order when I earn the funds through battle against this heresy."

"Thank you, Commander, for giving me this opportunity." Iavdi says, before quickly heading to his meeting with the Pyre's quartermaster.

This, unfortunately, leads to him not responding to Chakat's question, instead rushing off with his charge tailing behind him.

Okay, so I went back and read through the Pyre's section in Path of the Hellknight, and there's no mention of the Record of Wrongful Knowledge. Which means you made it up. Which is awesome. It sounds so much like something the Pyre would do, I didn't even question that it might not be true, and instead went to go find what I missed. The thought of lower level acolytes constantly scribbling away with their quills at the parchment that holds our world together is an inspiring image.

As for the Pyre Bead, I do intend on making it my first true purchase, as soon as I can afford it from whatever loot we may find. For now, however, I will have to loan it and possibly recover any knowledge that the Pyre might be interested in from this library.

"Yes, Sir Taran, that is correct. I require the services of a pyre bead, as I am being sent to a location known as the Librarium of the Broken Black Wing, a place which the commander believes may have felt the taint of the Worldwound. Should this be true, there are undoubtedly cultists and their dangerous knowledge present, and this pyre bead will aid me in destroying what I can before hauling back what the Pyre must see for itself."

"Surely the potentially dangerous knowledge there along with any new material to add to the list is worth the issuing of a bead. I shall make every effort to recompense the Order when I earn the funds through battle against this heresy."

The quartermaster hears Iavdi's words. His horned-skull regards Iavdi without a hint of emotion or the man's thoughts. When the hellforged soldier is finished, he waits, silently for several minutes, neither moving nor taking his gaze off the machine. Finally, the quartermaster nods. Aye, you may have this pyre bead for a week. And, you will make a reckoning each night you hold this most sacred of our tools without making lawful payment.