"The prophet has spoken." Scramsax announced, turning to the others present. "We go now for the fight of our lives. Join us, and know glory in the eyes of your god."
But the statue interjected
Scram quickly scaled his rope as the statue continued to berate him, collecting his grappling hook then climbing down the side of the structure. As the others prepared the Nasty Rug, the halfling scooped a few handfuls of soil into a flask...smirking somewhat in wild anticipation about the wondrous beans he still possessed.
A couple of the workers agree to join you in your endeavor. Each wishing to strike a blow for Katerina and a bit of their own revenge for the persecution of the inquisition. All step onto the carpet and Scramsax utters the command word only to have nothing happen. There is a flicker of movement at the corners of the rug, but otherwise nothing happens. And so it is that the limitations of the Nasty Rug are further understood as only Gunnar, Luthael, Quinn, Scramsax, and Ingryd are able to ride the rug and allow it any kind of reasonable lift and maneuverability.
Luthael comments to Quinn, "looks like the statue is a Scramsax compass."
The prophet piles on to the magic carpet and address the troop, "the goal is bring down that airship. Please look for a weakness and let's mind where it crashes."
Raising an eyebrow "Scrampass? I don't like the sound of that...eh, Ingryd can you rip its arms off? Or mouth for that matter..."
----
As the carpet streaked towards the fleeing Elder in hot pursuit, Scram's nostrils enlarged to possess the full brunt of musky autumn wind. Sitting in the pilot's seat meant he was mostly upwind from the disgusting cat urine and feces that they all now sat upon...how they kept forgetting to clean the thing was a mystery for the sages.
Scram mentioned "Ahoy prophet, I've heard a priest's symbol is his source o' power...like without the symbol its harder for them to do magic? That true? Maybe I can snatch the Elder's..."
He further sent out some feelers to the group for a few tactical considerations, including tying a rope to his waist and lowering self down onto the blimp to look for weaknesses, whereupon planting a deuce of bean bombs.
“We should use those healing potions before the battle,” suggests Gunnar.
Ingryd looks at her torn and tattered clothes and shrugs as she gets on the carpet. She sits in the middle and hugs her maul.
' If we are to bring down a huge ship, maybe we should hit what makes it float. I mean you wanna down a dragon you aim for wings so they can't fly anymore. At least that's what the elders say" The bear maiden says as she reaches up to touch her necklace of claws and teeth.
"Hopefully we can do that and then scour the wreckage. If not, we board it and take the ship!"
Scram closes the distance, analyzing the structure and function of the incredible device as he goes...looking for any weaknesses to exploit.
+
== 26 total
Next he pilots the Nasty Rug to about 50 ft directly over the blimp, ready to lower himself down by rope and grapple, or to drop fireballs and bean bombs...
With everyone healed and aboard the Nasty Rug, Scramsax lifts off and sets a course for the distant, retreating airship. The echoing calls of the statue within the temple thankfully fade into the distance as the flying carpet elevates over the treetops as turns west. There is a crisp chill in the air as the sun dips toward the horizon where storm clouds brew over the open sea. A hawk calls from high above, its wings spread as it drifts effortlessly upon the currents, searching for its next meal. A last look at the temple has Katerina, her youngest squire, Willem and the rest of the survivors hurrying to gather gear and set out upon her own journey south.
But soon what is behind is set aside for what lays ahead. The airship cuts through the evening sky like a bloated glitter-covered shark. For you each notice the sparkle of sunlight reflecting off the metallic surface of the massive oviod shaped structure with the armored barnacle-like gondola tucked below.
Approaching closer, you realize the airship is like nothing you've ever seen before. Without the distraction of temples, town, and marauding giants, the airship is much bigger than it initially seemed. At least 200 paces long and a good seventy five wide at its fattest point. No steam or smoke billows from great arcane boilers like some of the Cantonal airships that occasionally pass over Zobeck and the other great cities of central Midgard. Nor is the upper 'balloon' the typical light weight, fabric crafted, gas filled structure so easily put to the flame or torn asunder.
Instead you spot twinned rows of circular cages of a thick glass or clear crystal substance lining the oval structure. The source of the 'glittering light' spotted earlier. Inside each cage, are more than a dozen sprites, pixies, or imps. Each crackling with magic as their wings madly flutter against one side of each enclosed bubble while sparks of eldritch purple and green energy crackle on the opposite side. Occasionally, a orange burst of fiery light flashes within the great armored balloon. The light flickering from behind the fishbowl pixie prisons.
As you continue your observations, the eldritch power to sifts a few degrees within the bubbles, this in turn causes the flying fae creatures to sift their momentum and the airship adjusts course by a few degrees. One pixie is a bit slow in its shift and there is a crackle and flash of eldritch power that lashes the laggard fae until it thrusts itself forward in a wild attempt to escape the stinging magic.
Mounted near the bow, center, and stern along the top of the great armored balloon are twin pairs of some kind of arcane energy projector. Each twin barrel glows with a menacing sickly green power. Two more of the contraptions are mounted near the front and rear of the gondola below. Each appears to be manned by a crew of two inquisition clad crew, bundled against the cold air of flight and the unpredictable elements.
Eyeing the defensive batteries, Scramsax, spots the closed hatchways used by crew to come and go from the more exposed positions on top of the balloon. The halfling also points out the various blackened sections upon the armored surface above and along the port side. Fire, or perhaps dragon fire, the most suspected culprit for such damage. The immediate conclusion is the Narg Nasty Six are not the first ones to attempt some sort of action against the airship. It's very presence in the sky telling the fate of the previous attacker.
It is with this realization, that you all hear alarm klaxons start to bellow the call to stations and the previously bored gun crews bolt alert scanning the skies for the only possible threat. That being the oncoming hero laden flying carpet.
Gunnar moves up and prepares to use his magic to help deflect any incoming attacks, saying “Doesn’t look like we will be able to crack this nut from the outside—I would say evasive action is called for…”
"Scramsax! Hide us as many of those guns as possible! Dodge and close on a hatch or this gun!" Luthael shouts over the wind.
The prophet was conflicted about fighting his way aboard. If Willem had been mind-controlled, then he suspected that more were, too. Hopefully, he could save more Willems, but the Elder Patriarch needed to be judged by Khors.
"The prophet has spoken!" Scram acknowledged, tearing ass across the sky in a tummy-tumbling, vertebrae-shattering evasive maneuver. Making a direct approach for the nearest gun, Scram was sure to put the enemy nostrils downwind of the Nasty Rug's approach vector...nothing was a better distraction than 2 lungs full of cat urine, or so the halfling reasoned.
The screams of his companions echoing in his ears as sky and ground alternate for the position of 'up,' Scramsax deftly pilots the Nasty Rug on a corkscrew a path toward the upper stern gun emplacement. Pushing the flying carpet to its maximum, the first burst of crackling black energy bolts zip past. The halfling nearly dodges away from the second burst, but it grazes Quinn as the elf clings to the carpet. The minor hit leaves a thin trail of blackened, withered clothing and flesh along the elf's left shoulder, but no significant damage.
The lower stern battery has a momentary window of fire, but the crew zero in on the twisting target. Both bursts of necrotic energy crackle past the rug harmlessly.
Gun One
Gun Two
Scram felt himself dangling in the AckAck gunner's crosshairs, and gambled the speed of his reflexes might outdo the speed of their magic...
"Blast 'em!"
"Great piloting, Scramsax! Let the holy fire of Khors cleanse you!" He calls out to release a ball of fire at the gun emplacement that they appear to be heading towards.
Not quite close enough to use his own magic, Gunner uses the Eldritch Blast staff as a follow-up to Luthael’s fireball. He aims for any weak spot he can find in the gun emplacement.
Scramsax zigs. Scramsax zags. Luthael unleashes a holy inferno that engulfs the closest gun emplacement. One of the two crew men, attempts to leap clear, but is a heartbeat too late. The fireball bursts just as the man makes his leap. As his heavy weather clothing bursts into flames, the hapless man is thrown clear of the emplacement and the airship. A screaming ball of fire, the poor soul plummets to the earth below, a trail of black smoke marking his final flight.
The second crewman, being more alert, manages to duck behind the thin blast shield of the battery where he busies himself slapping at the flames on his clothing.
The arcane device itself pops and hisses in the heat. Gunnar's followup blast hits a key power junction causing a momentary arcane feedback loop. Eldritch energy crackles and sparks. An eerie moan as if multiple pained souls were suddenly released into the heavens groans across the sky. A malevolent greeting as Scramsax drives the rug close enough for any brave souls to make the leap to the airship.
As he moves in the central battery fires again. One blast hits the carpet withering the threads as they blacken and shrivel into dust. Everyone feels the rug lurch and slow as some bit of its magic is destroyed by the necrotic energy.
Gun Two
As the attacks come in, Gunnar expands his Arcane Ward to blunt the effect of the damage on their flying carpet (6 points off using Projected Ward as a reaction).
Near the front, Gunnar hops off the carpet onto the gun emplacement and moves out of the way for others to board. If a hatch needs to be opened, he does so; otherwise he brings his hammer down on the remaining gunner.
Scramsax saw the wizard's magics light up the crewman like a desert thunderhead, winding up a prickly pink blade in hand and sending the mind-scrambling burst cascading across its randomly firing neurons...
Quinn leap off the rug, drawing his merged blade as he jumps.
Landing on the deck, he slashes at the gunner.
Ingryd takes a leap off.
once aboard she will head to the Gunnar and strike hard
Luthael sticks with Scramsax on the Nasty Rug and sends a blast of sacred flame toward the remaining gunner.
Scramsax swoops in close to the airship foiling any attempts by other gun stations to sneak in another shot. Initial damage assessments from the one hit turn out to be a bit exaggerated due to the number of shouts and curses as a portion of the carpet withered away. Fortunately, Gunnar's rapidly deployed wards brunted some of the blow. Still Scramsax still senses a degradation of the carpet's power as he guides it over the shattered gun emplacement.
As soon as they can, Ingryd, Quinn and Gunnar, and Quinn leap and scramble their way into the small ten by five foot space that makes up the arcane weapon station. Tight quarters which leave the smoldering crewman absolutely no chance to fend off the rush of crackling dwarf, growling bearkin, and blade twirling elf. The three electrocute, slice, and squash the bundled inquisitor. With the foothold secured it takes a few moments to spin the valve on the hatch. Time enough for Scramsax and Luthael to squeeze themselves into the cramped, smoldering space.
"Hold on..." Scram was trying to parallel park the little rectangular rug in the square gunnery encasement with some frustration "...damnit, nope." backing it up and in again and again. Finally the rogue uttered some unrepeatable halfling curse, and rolled the soggy kitten diaper up, holding it pinched by two fingers a respectable distance from his humongous nostrils "Eh...*sigh* I'll carry it I guess..." reluctantly storing it with his pack. It certainly did stink.
Before Scram joined the others down the hatch, he took a glance at any possible salvage from the obliterated AckAck gun. You never knew when a Type IV Pulse Resonant Crystal Array could come in handy...
While grubbing about the tiny space, you decide to search the mauled, burnt remains of the crewman. You manage to locate a holy symbol, similar to that worn by the Inquistor, but utterly devoid of any holy or otherworldly power. That along with a cutlass, six gold dragons, a dozen silver crowns, three singed, but still legible, cards from a fortune tellers deck, The Knight of Swords, The Tower, and the Ace of Cups. You also discover the burnt, skeletal remains of a rabbit's foot attached to a small silver chain. Unfortunately the silver completely melted in Luthael's firestorm and partially fused with the metallic grate that makes up the floor of the emplacement.
With the hatch unlocked, Gunnar pulls it open, stepping to the side so the others can enter. He prepares to follow after them (towards the back of the group).
Scram stuffed his pockets with a number of odd bits n' pieces, but when Gunnar stepped to the side he heard his cue. He stopped only a moment, to regard the melted silver chain and the charred black rabbit's foot bone "Ha, behold the Prophet Invictusol, who turns the tides of fate." giving the Khors priest a thumbsup and spelunking into the mechanical wonder...
"Let me carry that" Ingryd takes as she grabs it and puts it on her back.
Quinn follows Scramsax through the hatch, giving the halfling a bit of room as to not potentially blow any advantage he may have gained.
Gunnar swings the hatch open revealing what must surely be a scene from the very pits of some planar fey hell. Steel grated steps sink a half dozen paces before connecting with a gantry that runs the length of the interior of the airship's balloon. The air shimmers with the heat emanating from a quartet of massive fire elementals trapped in glass cages similar to those holding the hundreds of sprites and pixies. Two of the prisons are close by. Just a couple dozen feet up the gantry. Each sits perched at the end of a twenty foot extension that juts out port and starboard. The other pair are located in the bow section of the craft in a mirror image arrangement.
A klaxon sounds and coils looped within the glass cages glow with violet power. The arcane energies agitate each elemental causing them to churn and burn hotter, brighter. The flaring light bursts across the upper and lower reaches of the great balloon structure. You all feel the odd sensation of being suddenly lifted higher.
The light further reveals the smaller prisons of the smaller fey sprites and pixies. Several still, in some cases desiccated, forms line the bottoms of nearly every glass orb. The electrical energies crackle and another odd sensation as the craft turns several degrees to port. A pair of sprites suddenly collapse within a globe around the midsection. A lightly robed overseer, steps over, says something that can't be heard over the din of flames and moans and shouts of the other tiny fey. But moments later a small dimensional portal opens and a trio of surprised pixies are drawn into the cage. Before they can react the portal slams closed and lightning crackles in the bottle causing the panicked creatures to fly with all their might against the far side of the orb.
Alert and coming to investigate the explosion, a trio of red and white clad crew come rushing forward, brandishing light weight clubs and crossbows.
Thirty paces away, two of the men spot Quinn as he follows Scramsax through the hatch. Pointing and shouting at the others two race up the gantry while the other snaps off a shot with his crossbow. The bolt zips past the elf's head and slams into the metal staircase beyond just as Ingryd ducks through to join the fray.
”It would seem our goal of freeing these fey and elemental slaves coincides with taking down this nest of vipers,” says Gunnar. He pokes his head into the superstructure and looks for weak points where a well-placed sonic spell might crack open the prison of the fey or the elementals. Perhaps if freed they will turn on their tormentors…
Scram felt himself slip off the gantry further into the dark shadows of the fey light, his tiny fingers slipping through the links of the walkway as he dangled in standby as the enemy rushed Quinn. He would bide his time until Quinn engaged, exploiting the ensuing physical combat for his own purposes.
Replying to Gunnar's observation, Luthael says, "Since the fey prisoners are probably this airship's means of flight, we'll probably need to land first."
To the enemy approaching, the prophet shouts,
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Quinn marks one of his adversaries with a primal mark of the hunt and rushes forward, joined blade in hand.
(Hunter's Mark)
(Hunter's Mark)
The first being that, each of the glass prisons does have a weak point. In order for the magical energies and containment fields to function properly each must be physically attached to the ship, which seems to act as a kind of massive focusing device. Of the two closest elemental orbs, that connection point is a the top of each orb where it connects to the gantry and support structure. A well placed blast at that point would most certainly break the orb free and send it plunging to the bottom of the balloon and into whatever cabins below.
For the sprites, the connection are smaller, more difficult to pinpoint or hit, but you spot a similar link at the base of each orb. A closer look reveals that you can actually disrupt two at a time because the smaller orbs appear to be paired one to port, one to starboard, all the way up the length of the balloon. Take out the linking crossbeam, and both orbs will likely give way.
As you contemplate the potential for chaos and destruction, you recognize there may be a need to keep the ship from actually plunging several hundred feet to a fiery doom. You can do little more than guess, not knowing that actual lifting strength of several hundred sprites and a quartet of fire elementals, however, your best guess would be that as long as half of both remain in place, the ship should be able to make a landing that prevents outright death of all on board.
The fires of fanaticism burn in the eyes of the crew as they ignore Luthael's offer of surrender. Charging forward, none spot the halfling in the shadows as he slips over the side of the gantry. Legs dangling, Scramsax bounces and holds on as the metal platform shakes and rattles with each banging step of the oncoming crew.
Seeing his words have little to no effect, Luthael unleashes the holy fire of Khors. For the moment, the god's fire is weak inside this den of evil and darkness. For the sputtering flame barely brushes the ducking crewman as he charges forward, lunging at the holy prophet.
What the crewman doesn't expect is the sudden flare of brilliant pink within his mind that turns to charged vibrating blades of pain and doom. His attacks miss wildly as Scramsax's pink blades buzz and whirl in his mind.
The crewman further back, loads an odd looking bolt into his crossbow. The cone like tip seems bulky and not terribly effective at punching through armor or flesh. The man fires, but the shot is poorly aimed. It misses and flies past the priest, bearkin and elf to burst against the interior of the balloon several feet away. When it hits it unleashes as booming crackle of electrical energy in a wide area that surely would have set nerves tingling and muscles jolting had it hit anywhere near the intended targets.
Crew 1: 29/50
Crew 2: 50/50
Crew 3: 50/50
Scram had zero bulk, but fitting with his very nature this was a deception...indeed the halfling's body was in tremendous shape when relatively sober. His muscles were lean and had little strength, yet fit beyond most men and more like a martial artist or dancer. So it was with little effort Scramsax fully inverted, his legs becoming a hook clipping to hte metal and further anchoring him secure to the gantry, even as the tiny rogue's solid core performed an upside-down sit-up to finally get back on top.
Well-noting the cunning contraptions fitted to the marksman quarrels, he shouted "The Archer! His bolts are infused with some artifice!" while simultaneously realizing he was the only one who could get to the reloading crewman. Scramsax ran the gantry at high speed to close the gap...
The empty-handed thief scanned the crewman's equipment, and considered it best to relieve him of his contraptions before tossing the man over the edge...
==17 total
"By Khors fire cleanse these inquisitors!" Lutheal sends another sacred flame toward the heretics.
Noticing the reaction of the ship to the fire elemental energy drain, Gunnar locks eyes with the nearest one. He puts both wrists together and pulls them apart triumphantly, attempting to signal to the elemental that he is about to be freed. That done, he targets a sonic blast at the top of the glass orb prison where it attaches to the gantry. With the burst of sonic energy, he hopes to disconnect the orb and perhaps even shatter the glass, allowing the elemental to free itself.
Quinn continues his assault on the crew member.
(Hunter's Mark)
(Hunter's Mark)
Quinn slices and dices the rushing crewman, elven blades opening up several bloody wounds and a spray of some kind of cold, sweet scented, apple green liquid that pours forth from the heavy uniform until the man crumples to the side and then tumbles over. A fine mist of green and red trailing him downward.
Moments later a boom of thunder echoes within the balloon causing sprites, pixies, and various crew to shout in alarm. Gunnar's spell weakens, but doesn't quite break the junction between orb and superstructure. Multiple jagged cracks appear in the upper neck of the glass cage as well as in the metal rings holding it in place. The fire elemental swirls wildly inside and glows brighter causing the surrounding air to grow hotter and hotter. The orb starts to swing precariously in the weakened bracket, the squeal of metal piercing the air as entire gantry begins to shake and twist.
Luthael continues to summon forth the holy fire of Khors. But once again, the flames seem to roll off the inquisitor's body as he steps forward resetting the aim of his crossbow.
Scramsax's boots pound on the gantry's metal grating as the halfling races toward the crossbowman. He stumbles when the entire structure shifts beneath his feet following Gunnar's spell, but the nimble rogue dashes forward. Although Luthael's holy fire causes no harm to the enemy, it does provide Scramsax the perfect cover. Taking advantage of the man's distraction, the quick thief manages to snatch a pair of the cone tipped electocharged crossbow bolts before the man snaps off another shot toward the trio behind Quinn and his comrades.
This time the man's aim is much better. Then bolt takes a shallow arcing path over Quinn and slams directly into the shouting prophet of Khors. Hitting Luthael square in the chest, the heavy cone shaped tip bursts and unleashes a crackling of electrical energy that leaps and arcs along the gantry catching Luthael, Ingryd, and Gunnar in its charged blast. Muscles spasm and flesh crackles as the bottled lightning is released.
Just a few feet away, the second crewman rallies and jabs his blade into Quinn's shoulder. The wound is painful and deep, but fortunately for the elf, misses anything of truly vital importance.
Crew 1: 0/50
Crew 2: 50/50
Crew 3: 50/50
Quinn's eyes narrow as he focuses his ire on the crewmember who dared wound him. The elf's first strike is well off the mark, having over-compensated for his wounded shoulder.
(Hunter's Mark)
(Hunter's Mark)
"Uuff." Luthael takes electro-bolt to the breastplaate.
With a whisper of determination, he sends another sacred flame toward the heretics.
Cursing himself for letting one through, Scram reached back to the ridge on his neck, were the icy blade of the wizard Zove was nestled in its hidden sheath. If the halfling truly could ever express the sensation of anger, it was ever with that magical dagger in hand. With one slick stroke, the hidden threat of Morrin's Misery was revealed, and a red line was traced on the archer's neck...better leveled than any straightedge could muster.
==hits 17
Of course, as it often did, chaos took over. One of the fey pixies thought it would be a most hilarious time to throw a rotten tulip blossom directly into Scram's open eye. The fermenting juices stung like the damned, even though the aroma was a new perfume craze in the making. The alley-blade was no stranger to getting a fist of dust to the face in a scrape though, so his training yielded results with the thrust despite the total lack of depth perception. "Dangit, assh*ole! I'm on your side! Who throws a flower?! Really, a tulip?" scraping the muck from his peepers, which only seemed to increase the tiny creature's cackling.