Sir T charges the druid.
The phantom gains a +2 bonus on attack and damage rolls against creatures that are shaken, frightened, panicked, cowering, or subject to effects such as aura of despair or crushing despair.
If the phantom hits a creature with a slam attack, that creature must succeed at a Will Saving Throw DC 13 or take a –2 penalty on attack and damage rolls for 1 round. This is a mind-affecting fear and emotion effect. Penalties from multiple hits don’t stack with themselves.
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Kahwen can see that he's done some impressive damage to the pod but he can't be sure how much more is needed.
"You're doing great, companions! I'll be with you as soon as I finish this thing off!" he calls back to his friends embroiled in heated battle.
He gapes in astonishment as he misses. How does a person miss a stationary plant?!
"Umm...I'll be right with you, Friends!" he calls out again, looking back toward the direction of the group, hoping none of them were able to see that embarrassing moment.
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The battle continues as the Pathfinders push hard against the blighted creatures. Ridley's bomb blast lands directly at the druids feet and effectively knocks him off it! He suffers enough injuries that he falls into an unconscious state. The bombs shock also affects the vine. Heorn turns to the weakened vine and tries to cut it apart with his now large rapier! He cuts a few vines.
Kahwen hacks away at the seed but doesn't pull enough strength. His sword just bounces off the pod's hard exterior. *Thunk*
~~~
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Strands of purple energy whip across the battleground and begin to swirl above the remains of the giant flower. The continuous chant of the Twinhorn shamans reaches a fever pitch and then suddenly stops. After a breathless moment of silence, a loud reverberating boom echoes across the swamp as a column of purple energy pierces through the clouds, dissipating into the starry sky. Shouts of celebration begin to sound across the field as Medda makes her way to the heart of the blight. A shaft of moonlight shines on the site through the parted clouds as she rips through the withered roots of the blighted flower. Medda reaches in and draws out the shriveled remains of a female crusader. In stark contrast to the rest of the remains, her silvery breastplate glimmers in the moonlight. A grievous blow has scarred its surface where a golden engraved figure spreads out her wings. Trails of blood seep out from scars running across the figure. Medda lowers the remains gently upon a white cloak that a Twinhorn warrior has placed on the ground.
With a heavenly glow, the ghostly form of Ivvora appears in the clouds above. “She was my sister-in-arms against the vile Tar-Baphon. I now know that her sacrifice spared me all those years ago, as it will all of you in the days to come. Go with Vildeis’ grace and use this blessed plate to vanquish my hated adversary. Hurry back north, for the moment of Eshimka’s reckoning draws near!”
Medda looks up to the sky as the visage of Ivvora dissipates, the red phantom hand of Anok floating above her shoulder. After a moment, she kneels next to the crusader’s remains and carefully wraps them up in the white cloak, which is slowly soaked with red. She looks at the crowd gathered around her and speaks up. “We stand here triumphant, having rid this land of corruption. But this is a mere shade of the darkness that awaits us at the Solstice Scar! Fear not, for Vildeis’ blessing will guide our weapons to strike true and eradicate Eshimka for good!”
Medda motions for the Twinhorn warriors to raise the bundled remains on their shields as one of the honored dead. “Pathfinders, you have done much for my tribe and our lands, but I ask you once more to lend us your weapons so that we might end the evil that haunts Solstice Scar. What say you?”
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Kahwen is just about to slash at the seedpod again, this time really focusing so that he does not have another embarrassing miss when the lights in the sky stop him.
He watches the exhumation of Ivorra somberly, somehow feeling that he actually knows the woman after all that he has heard and seen of her. His sorrow is not that of losing a friend but of losing an honored mentor.
He bows low, left hand over his chest, right hand holding his blade out parallel to the ground. "My sword is yours and Ivorra's, Friend Medda. Eshimka must be vanquished once and for all," he promises.
He then turns to his fellow Pathfinders. It is impossible for him to blush, but one has the sense he would be if he was capable of it.
"My apologies, Companions. I fear I was not very helpful in that battle and I wasn't even able to destroy this," he says, kicking the seedpod ruefully.
"I swear I will do better when next we are assigned to a mission," he says.
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"We live to see another day and that is good. I however would venture forth to deal with this evil and see to its end...." Heorn responds as he takes a seat and now produces a different water skin and chugs it down with vigor, this one is definitely alcoholic.
"We should enjoy our victory and heal for now."