Gunnar throws up a quick elemental shield against the incoming electricity damage (Absorb Elements), faintly reactivating his Arcane Ward.
Still, a fraction of the shock reaches along his breastplate and threatens to numb his extremities.
Shrugging it off easily, Gunnar aims at the other suspended Fire elemental Glass prison weak spot. He has calculated that freeing two of the four fire elementals should cause a relatively survivable descent of the airship.
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Ingryd watches the battle unfold. She tries to figure out the best path to get to Quinn but she can't seem to work out whether or not her nimbleness, weight, and height could get her there without falling.
She scratched that idea. Instead, she drew her Shield and Handaxe with the magical bauble on them. The Bear Maiden looked to help shield her allies, but then felt some sort of electrical shock.
She growls and freezes up her muscles unable to respond to the shock and constant trudge. It was rare to have such a thing happen to her. Now Ingryd stood frozen staring at the battle, useless. It was frustrating, she couldn't get to the front line. Ingryd the Hagslayer, Ingryd the Widow, Ingryd the Swarm was now Ingryd the worthless! Unable to skillfully leap towards the fray, and now some spell held her in place. SOmeone soon would know her wrath!
Ingryd vibrates back near the hatchway, a trickle of smoke filtering from her ear hairs until the electrical charge of the bolt runs its course.
Not surprising, the lightning wizard wards and shrugs off most of the charged blast. Turning his own destructive attentions to the second hanging elemental orb, Gunnar unleashes another dose of rending magic. This time the arcanist is able to pack a bit more punch into the assault upon the crucial connection. Metal shrieks and groans, reinforced glass cracks and snaps in a cacophony of staccato pops like an entire company of crossbows being released. With one final *CRACK* the narrow neck at the top of the orb breaks away completely. The large mass slowly starts to drop down. It is almost dream like at first. A slow motion disaster that rapidly picks up speed.
As the orb drops away, the fire elemental whooshes out the open top. The fury filled embodiment of pure fire races up toward the ceiling. The creatures flaring flaming being burns brilliant yellow-orange and even a nearly radiant white as it reaches the balloons outer edges. Wooden supports simply evaporate while metallic beams begin to twist and glow. A white hot rain of melting armor begins to sizzle and hiss and drip on anything unfortunate enough to be below.
Luthael continues to call upon his own godly fire. This time there is no escaping Khor's judgement. The inquisitor's heavy padded suit bursts into flames as radiant fire engulfs the man. It is at this moment that the effects of the sudden release of the orbs weight from the gantry strike. The metal causeway bounces and twists violently with one arm no longer properly balanced. Everyone is thrown precariously against the flimsy railing. The burning crewman, stumbling and panicked as the god's fire momentarily engulfs his entire being is unable to maintain his balance. As the gantry twists back, the man simply slides over the edge falling to his doom.
His foe vanquished, Scramsax turns his mental blades upon the crewman still blocking his companions. He manages to unleash his attack despite the floral intervention of a pixie who no matter the circumstances simply cannot resist its pain in the a@@ nature. The psychic blades shear through vital nerves and tissue leaving little but a gibbering mass easily shoved aside by Quinn.
There is little time to crow over the initial victory as everyone is much too busy grabbing at the railing to keep from joining the hapless inquisitors in a plummet to death. Thus all can only watch as the competing forces of the twisting gantry snap the final connection with the initial orb targeted by Gunnar. In a near mirror image of moments earlier, a second fire elemental races upward to join its previously contained companion. Adding to the boiling metal rain now dropping from above and increasing the growing hole in the top of the balloon.
The release of the second orb causes the gantry further stress as the entire section slams downward a good ten feet. Bolts shear and metal screeches, but fortunately the gantry still holds at the hatchway.
Toward the far end of the balloon a half dozen other crew members rushing to reinforce their fellows are much too busy gripping the rail for their lives and trying to avoid the growing burning precipitation from above. Meanwhile hundreds of sprites and pixies pound against their glass cages even as alarms sound and the airship begins to sink rapidly toward the forested ground.
Scram raced down the gantry, looking for a place to secure his grappling hook before throwing the rope out to his companions, urging them to make a quick crossing.
Looking at Scramsax and the two clear paths directly above, Gunnar shouts, ”The floating machine should be forced to land now! Break out that Flying Carpet and let’s go out one of those holes up top!”
Gunnar prepares to move onto the flying carpet if it is produced, hoping the others are amenable to his plan—and that his calculations for the relative buoyancy of the elementals and fey were on target…
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.
Hearing Gunnar's singular call, Scram double sighed. On the one hand he regretted not thinking of the most excellent of ideas. On the other hand he regretted having to touch the Nasty Rug again.
Quickly storing his rope and hook like a cobweb swept-up to a tiny singularity, his other hand reached shallowly (cautiously) back into his pack...waiting for the cold squishiness that was the thing's nature.
With great sadness, he realized he found it.
Unfurling it with a lightning strike *flick* produced a spray of tiny cat turds outwards in a perfect 15 ft cone. Why that happened everytime, where they kept coming from, what substance were they really, why the perfect mathematical cone, was a mystery for which the Barsellan detective had frankly been lax on the case.
Regardless Scramsax the Turd-burglar swooped majestically forth, for who cared what a hero really smelled like, as long as he could help his gorsh dorn friends wasn't that the true tall tale? (by-golly?)
At least, such was the half-smiler's sarcastic reasoning as he jokingly rode the rug closer and upwind...eager to see them flinch.
Scramsax flips open the Nasty Rug and its ever revolting contents. The halfling can't help but notice the increased proliferation of kitty rocha and along with such perceptive observations gains an understanding as to why the thing was chucked in the farthest, darkest corner of Radovan's closet. And why the wizard, who ended up walking from his tower toward distant Nargenstal, was perfectly fine giving up the foul carpet.
Surrounded by a stench worthy of its name, Scramsax arrives upon the Nasty Rug just as the gantry heaves and jerks with further complaint and after one of the elementals suddenly dashes from the air above toward the other two cages. Although unable to simply shatter the metal and glass bindings as Gunnar did. The fiery creature has no trouble or qualm with simply melting the entire support structure to release it follow kin from their glass prisons.
As the third orb sudden snaps free at the far end of the airship, the gantry at this end begins a slow collapse toward the center. Scramsax does his best to put the rug into a position to give all of his companions the best opportunity to make it aboard before things get really bad.
Frowning as the elemental returns to free its brothers, Gunnar says, ”Ah, I hadn’t considered that,” as he lurches along the failing gantry towards the rug.
Struggling, Gunnar thinks to call upon his magic to whisk him safely to the carpet, but his arcane resources have been taxed too heavily…he can only hope to fare better in his next attempt.
Luthael considers throwing a holy fireball into the inquisitors when Scramsax unfurls the nasty magic carpet. Instead, he scrambles aboard.
Seeing Gunnar struggling, he tries to help him.
"Heh, welcome aboard. I'll just need to see your ticket sir." the conductor explained, dead serious. Of course, times when Scram was 'dead serious' seemed to coincide with '100% lying'.
He added as the Invictusol's boots squished through the muck into position "Oh its you, The Prophet. No charge of course. Guide us to victory." he grinned, dodging the pellets of raining fire with a heart full of faith. Or full of something.
Ingryd slips her shield and axe back into there places and leaps out to seat herself on the rug.
With the magical constriction gone her muscles reacted with even more power then needed and she sailed from her spot and landed on the carpet with a heavy smack. Her linen wrapped feet keeping her upright as she looked down at the others.
" Well that was fun"She said with a grin ready to descend and finish off any who survived and thought to do evil under the view of righteousness!
Quinn slips trying to leap from the platform to the rug.
Luthael and Ingryd jump aboard the Nasty Rug. It is unclear whether the hesitation of Gunnar and Quinn is the stench of the rug, a bit of vertigo, or simply the lurching of the badly damaged gantry. Regardless, that lost moment costs them both. The platform shifts beneath Gunnar's feet and the dwarf finds himself tumbling over the side. He reaches out and manages to grasp the railing support, but his legs dangle over the edge.
At nearly the same moment, Quinn leaps. The odd movement of the gantry throws the elf completely off. Instead of swinging gracefully over the rail and onto the rug, the elf's toe catches on the rail and he simply rolls over. Fortunately, he is able to grab the railing with one hand that just barely maintains a grip as the rest of his body swings against the walkway and then back out into the open with each shoulder jarring twist and turn.
Scram tossed one end of his rope over the side of the flying carpet, handing the other end to the big strong bear.
Luthael lays down on the rug to brace himself and attempts to pull aboard one of his companions who is not fished in my Scramsax's line.
Gunnar looks for an opportunity to grab a rope or otherwise get on the rug.
Ingryd grabs some of the rope, coils what she can around her, and braces herself. With a nod, she speaks.
"I got the rope, grab hold of you guys and we will hoist you up. Just don't let go until you secure the rope to you"It was simple at least to her. However, armor did slow you down if you weren't careful. It's why she didn't wear any, that and one should train themselves to take a blow and keep going.
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Quinn scurried up the rope and onto the rug.
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Quinn easily climbs the rope and is helped onto the rug by Luthael.
Gunnar attempts to follow suit. It is unclear whether the events of the next few moments were caused by the intervention of a malevolent god, errant magics from a prankster pixie, the dark influence of the Elder Patriarch, because the dwarf had had a very long, very tiring day, or by nothing more than plain simple cold blooded chance. Regardless of the true reason, events conspire against Gunnar as he reaches for the rope.
First, and perhaps most significant, the fourth and final globe succumbs to the efforts of the fire elemental and breaks free of the balloon's central structure. The heat of the elemental's presence and attack weakens the entire system even further. The gantry upon which Gunnar and, until moments earlier, Quinn, dangled snaps under the total strain. With an ear shattering *SNAP-SNAP-BANG* the far end breaks free sending the entire length of platform slowly swinging down and back toward the stern of the airship.
Gunnar reaches out for the rope, but the swinging gantry forces Scramsax to shift the Nasty Rug a few paces to avoid getting caught by the ruined platform. The sudden movement sends the rope undulating like a drunken snake. The flailing rope slips free of the flailing dwarf's hand as he swings backward on the collapsing gantry.
The sound of metal grinding, tiny fae screams, and sharp rapid popping bolts and rivets shearing free echo across the large interior of the balloon. All that and one dwarf's streaming series of curses as his sweaty palmed grip slips free of the gantry.
Finding himself in sudden freefall, the wizard quickly rummages the vast libraries of his mind for some bit of arcane wizardry that might be helpful in such a situation. Unfortunately, what little power still resides within the confines of his mind are of little use.
As both dwarf and airship plummet toward the earth, there is a brief moment of odd, almost otherworldly equilibrium as both fall at roughly the same rate. Thus for a few brief moments it appears that Gunnar simply hovers in place within the collapsing balloon. It is, of course, just an illusion and soon enough the dwarf manages to pick up speed faster than the bulky balloon which still retains some of its buoyancy.
But the moments of equilibrium do delay any potential bone crushing impact with the hard surface at the bottom of the balloon for a handful of heartbeats. This is fortuitous as it is just enough time for the first fire elemental freed by the wizard only a few short moments ago to notice Gunnar's plight. The elemental, whose name roughly translates to Heart-of-Eternal-Flaming-Spirit-Dancer-of-a-Thousand-Undulating-Forms-Upon- the-Golden-Sea-of-Purity does what any noble elemental might do upon seeing their rescuer plummeting to their death within a collapsing Inquisition airship. It attempts to repay the favor.
A burst of light flares from the elemental as it dashes across the distance of the balloon and snatches Gunnar from the air. This ends the dwarf's fall, and not surprisingly incinerates every exposed hair on his body. And while Gunnar's own magics hold back some of the incinerating heat and the friendly, grateful elemental does its best to turn down its own internal combustion, it is a creature of pure fire, there is little else it can do but limit the exposure as much as possible. And so it races for the exit hole opened earlier in the slowly crumbling balloon.
Those on the Nasty Rug can only watch in surprised fascination as their friends falling screams sudden reverse course and tone. The shouted anger and fear of one falling to their doom sudenly become screeches of pain accompanied by the smell of cooking dwarf as he is carried up and over the lip of the opening.
Both to try and rescue Gunnar and because being inside a collapsing airship doesn't sound especially safe, Scramsax wisely follows the exiting elemental. Slipping into the open sky once again, Quinn is the first to spot Gunnar's smoldering body resting in a shallow trough of collapsing airship. The fire elemental hovers a few safe paces away.
Moments later Ingryd is carefully lifting Gunnar aboard the Nasty Rug and setting him gingerly near the center where he adds the smell of burnt dwarf to the foul feline odors already embedded within the arcane conveyance.
Meanwhile the airship, now smoking from several new fires set by the other three elementals taking out their revenge upon the ship and its masters, continues to plunge toward the ground.
Remembering the old adage about pouring liquid paraffin on a hearth-fire, Scram watered another bean bomb and tossed it into the balloon hole as he piloted the team to a safe distance.
Expending the rest of his magics (Absorb Elements) trying to absorb the fire damage from the elemental (so that he takes only the 33 fire damage and not much, much, more), Gunnar croaks his thanks to the fire elemental and says, “Thank you for saving my life. You and your brothers…Please…free the fey imprisoned inside if you can…”
Though conscious, he is not particularly coherent after being unceremoniously plopped onto the rug and spirited away from the doomed ship…
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The fire elemental flares bright in response to Gunnar's thanks and request. It dives back down toward the rapidly sinking airship and buzzes the rows of glass bubbles. Light flares brilliant as Khors himself causing the orbs to melt. Some of the tiny fey don't survive the jail break, but many do and soon enough trails of glittering pixie and sprite dust scatter from the doomed vessel like fireworks launched into the daytime sky. The glittering display is followed by the quartet of fire elementals fleeing into the sky and then veering south. Their smokey trails slowly drifting eastward on the evening air. A minute later, maybe two because time always acts odd when one is watching such disasters, the ship crashes into the forest.
Even from your high altitude perch, the sound of twisting metal, snapping trees, screams of the crew can all be heard. Smoke rises as flames flicker all along the length of the wreck. A few bloody wounded crawl free only to find themselves under assault by a raging, fire scarred treant. The living tree thrashes out wildly ripping through the remaining central portion of the wreck before its crisped, smoldering form even lurches off in search of a lake or stream to cool and soothe its burnt roots.
Scram didn't remember a giant tree inside, but was pleasantly surprised to see one on fire burst forth in a psychotic rampage. The flames danced like leaves in the wind, the reflection of fire plastering the halfling's dark brown eyes, as he questioned his friend "Why, Invictusol? Why do they so ignore the words of the one true prophet? *tch* They just don't get it, eh?" still feeling the pang of guilt from the accidental manslaughter back at the temple.
Gunnar smiles in thanks as many of the fey are freed. He sits up weakly and asks his friends, ”Did we win? Does the corrupter still live?”
"Scramsax, let's go tend to the ones that Khors has blessed to live after that crash. Hopefully, the Patriarch will be easy to find." The prophet suggests.
"Where'd that treant come from? He looks mad."
"Mercy to those we can't save, and death to those who still fight us?" Ingryd says taking her place back in the center so everyone gets room.
Scram pulled the Nasty Rug in for a landing near the 'door' created by the treant, not trusting some of the higher ground precariously balanced on shifty foundations...and the balloon's structure worried him too. "May have been the bean. Can't say for sure...no two are alike. Never met a bean wizard though, maybe they know something we don't."
Rolling the vomit-inducing fabric up again "Didn't they say the Patriarch was in a coffin or something? You think there's any undead in there?"
Scramsax sets the Nasty Rug down at the outer edge of the utterly chaotic crash site. The shattered airship continues to burn sending a pillar of smoke swirling into the evening sky. The ship itself has split into three separate sections. The massive armored balloon, now a twisted crumpled mass that is broken in half like a giant egg shell. Smoke pours as anything flammable within the interior burns away following the roaring fires initiated by the freed elementals.
The bow section of the wooden gondola and passenger area was torn free as it hit the first tree tops. The remainder of the main structure split around the point where the raging treant emerged and is now the fueling the ongoing fires. The treant can still be heard, not far away crashing through the wood, snapping brambles and knocking the branches of its less mobile kin aside.
At least two dozen bodies or parts of bodies are scattered all about the crash area. Some being danced upon by cheering pixies. A trio of corpses continuously sprout blooming periwinkle vines that then quickly wither and die only to resprout again under the dancing pixies. Over another pair of corpses, a quartet of sprites play a round of macabre badminton with an eyeball until one of the players spikes it hard into a nearby stump where it splats and oozes down the scorched bark of the broken tree. The four then go off giggling as they look for a replacement.
You maintain vigil over the burning wreckage of several minutes. Watching and waiting for survivors, of which there don't appear to be any. The sprites and pixies continue their macabre celebration of the demise of their oppressors. A celebration that looks to last well into the night when one industrious group of tiny fey manage to conjure a cask of Old Barleykings Midnight Moonbeam Bourbon. But before they can tap the cask and get the party truly flowing, something begins to stir.
Gunnar and Luthael feel it first. A sudden chill in the air. A prickling upon the skin as if a cloud filled with Thor's fury were about to unleash its charged power. Looking up, the sky contains no such towering threat. Instead, all begin to notice the flickering light from the fires changing hues. The crackling orange and yellow fading to an odd, shadow gray. Several fae notice the odd change and flit closer to investigate the largest fire burning along the ruin of the main passenger section. As they move closer the sparkling trail that always lingers behind such fey takes on the same pale hue. One daring sprite tentatively reaches a hand toward the fire only to discover there is almost no heat. Giggling he waves his hand and flits back and forth through the flames.
Laughing and doing a series of somersaults, the little sprite sticks his tongue out and sends a long raspberry toward his fellows who cautiously steer clear of the weird fire. Their caution is warranted as a moment later the sprite vanishes in a puff of ash and shadow sparkle mid-raspberry.
Seconds later the flames arch out and stab a half dozen of the surrounding corpses. The gray fire slips into each body where it disappears. A foul stench erupts all through out the crash site, as if someone poured the entire contents of a Zobeck open sewer upon the wreck to douse the fires. As each of you cough and gag at the sudden odious aroma, the same half dozen bodies infused with shadowfire, begin to twitch and jolt. A visible set of empty, blackened eye sockets begin to glimmer with an aether gray glow. Somewhere near the center of the wreckage something shifts causes beams to creak and groan and brittle burnt boards to snap and crack.
Having used all his magic to survive his fiery escape, Gunnar is at a loss...though he rises gamely to his feet and drinks a greater healing potion...
"I think we have company," says Gunnar grimly, pulling out his wand of Eldritch Blast.
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"May Khors bless you for sacrificing yourself to set the fairies free." Luthael blesses Gunnar.
Scramsax had been trying to avoid locking his gaze with the tulip-prankster from earlier, but was happy to see quality bourbon being supplied. Yet watching the fae & flames break the laws of physics triggered a sharp eyebrow raise. It was similar to Vrindel's colored fire...here though was the absence of color. It was a mockery of light and vitality, indeed a mockery of Khors among others.
Scram scanned the wreckage for any partially intact AckAck gun...perhaps with the still humming crystals liberated earlier, he could get one running again in time to annihilate the new emerging threats.
"Do you think the area is safe for me to enter? If so Scram gets closer I wanna try something stupid" She says with a wicked smile as she pulls her maul out and stands seeming to want to leap off the carpet into the fray below.
Scram pretended to set a course appropriate for a bear-bombing run, but in truth had zero f*cks of a clue about how to do that. While the natural philosophy of physics was always interesting to the thief, the logarithmic and trigonometric tables necessary to solve the basic trajectory equations were a burden...not just literally but in actuality the books were too damn heavy to be practical. So, he winged it. Grabbing a corner of the rug Mr. Bojangles had used to deworm himself, the Nasty Rug divebombed one of the lumbering corpses. "Now!" the bombardier shouted with 100% confidence...which of course meant Scramsax was lying through his teeth.
However, perhaps of even more importance, if not to your own self, but Luthael and some of the others, is the sudden shifting within the central mass of wreckage. Shifting your gaze away from the destructive potential of the anti-dragon cannon, you manage to spot further movement within the suddenly diminishing flames of that central section. In fact, the flames don't just seem to flicker out, it is as if they are being momentarily drawn downward before they turn shadowy and then blink out of existence.
Scramsax examines the scene carefully slowly circling above the wreck until malevolent energies begin their obvious manifestations. As Gunnar braces himself for whatever may rise from the airship wreckage, Ingryd shouts instruction to the carpet pilot. Luthael provides a bit of Khor's comfort to sooth the burn wounds covering the wizard from bare head to smokey toes.
Nodding his understanding, Scramsax accelerates the carpet up to speed and then swoops into a banking turn. Racing just above the broken treeline, the halfling brings the carpet in low and fast only dropping speed at just the right moment which is followed by his shouting signal.
With a roar, Ingryd launches herself at the closest rising zombie. It is still over fifteen feet away, but the carpet's speed and timing of bear and halfling are fairly accurate. Over three hundred pounds of battered bear flesh traveling at just under ten miles per hour come sailing out of the air and crashing down upon the hapless undead creature. Any normal creature under such an assault would at least have the instinctual reaction to duck, this is not the case with the mindless zombie. Having only recently found itself existing at all, it is more fascinated by the odd shadow swooping across the ground than with the roaring threat barrelling in from above.
Ingryd launches herself off the carpet and with a huge overhead arc her maul ignited and as she descended down the maul was pulled forward and slams hard into the zombie, she then slams down with a wet smack from the ground before she stands covered in faith and grins
Calling to the others and pointing to a random spruce tree "I'm going to see if I can get that bow blaster back in action before Father Tuck's evil twin wakes up..."
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"Scramsax, can you circle above the undead to examine the wreckage. I don't they have ranged attacks." Luthael would have suggested before letting paratrooper bear drop into a hot zone.
As the carpet circles around, Quinn draws his bow and fires off a pair of arrows in hopes of aiding the bear maiden.
Before her feet even hit the ground, Ingryd's heavy hammer crashes into her target. The magical bonecrusher bursts into flames as it strikes crushing the zombie's skull and insuring it doesn't try to make a third attempt at life upon this mortal plane of existence. There's no time to admire her crushing blow as an instant later the bearkin is tumbling forward across the site of the wreck. She bowls through a few lingering tiny fey eliciting brief curses and at least one obscene gesture before the sprites take off for safer realms.
The maneuver is something to behold. Even as the flaming zombie tumbles back to the ground, Ingryd rolls to a stop, having only suffered a few minor bumps and bruises. Really nothing that she wouldn't have received after any reasonably fun night on the town. Her powerful legs almost instantly propel her upright and ready for the next unwitting undead to step into her path.
While Ingryd is still in the air, Quinn sends a pair of feathered shafts into one of the other nearby emerging zombies. The power of the elven bow knocks the creature back a step or two, but its lumbering form soon recovers and begins to shuffle forward toward Ingryd.
Zombie 1: Dead
Zombie 2: 11/25
Zombie 3: 25/25
Zombie 4: 25/25
Zombie 5: 25/25
Zombie 6: 25/25
Patriarch: ???
Ingryd growls as she goes into a Rage! With the anger of her past fueling her she jumps forward to the nearest Zombie and swings with all her might not once but twice.
Gunnar mostly bides his time waiting for the entity who raised the undead to reveal itself, though he does drop a few curses the zombie’s way—more to slow them from hurting his ally than to really do much damage.
plus disadvantage on next attack, DC 15 Constitution Save to negate.
plus disadvantage on next attack, DC 15 Constitution Save to negate.
With one hand gripping a urine-soaked tassel, the soulknife manifested the stolen third eye of Illarya once again...raining a spinning psychic blade onto Ingryd's target...
Quinn fires off two more arrows, focusing on his previous target before moving to another.
(dreadful strikes)
Based on your crit investigation roll, you do have a good idea where and AoE attacks would be effective
"Invictusol! Khors has shown me the path, just as you said was going to happen!! Look!" pointing to a particularly juicy spot to drop a hot fireball.
"Well done, Scramsax! Khors blesses you. Holy fire in the hole!" Luthael proclaims proudly.