Staying well back, Gunnar sends a trio of magic missiles at the undead creature.
Luthael grips his shield but still manages to eat the full brunt of unholy blizzard frosting his hair and eyebrows. He holds his position and exhales fog, "Rupert von Florien, Lord Khors will redeem your soul!" The prophet raises his holy symbol and floods the hallway with holy sunlight.
After the brilliant dawn recedes, a holy lance remains to stab the undead knight.
Ingryd still wounded aluggishly moves, she takes the brunt of the cold, frost forming abiut her body yet the Bear Kin was at home in climates colder, fighting foes who emitted cold much like this fool.
" Fool!" Ingryd roars as she take taps into that primal angry, fear, greif and loss. Fueling her the Mighty warrior propels herslef towards the monster!
Arianna's arrow goes wide as she reappears just in time to take the brunt of the blast. She moves out of the way and let's Ingryd take the lead as she struggles to shake the chill in her bones.
"Ingryd! I think this guy needs to be hugged! Aggressively," she calls out before weaving a spell to mend the worst of the bearkin's wounds.
Arcane and holy power converge upon the unholy knight. Gunnar's bolt's of force strike against ancient armor and flesh like a trio of overcharged sling stones. Trickles of smoke waft from each impact point. The light of Khors flares bright and true in the dim shadows of the hall. For a brief moment the deep void cold is replaced with the heat of the southern deserts. The knights armor pops and hisses as the radiant light of Khors' holy prophet embraces and burns away the desolate chill of the void. As the light fades, the sun god's spear slips past the knightly defense and drives into his upper leg causing more steam and smoke to emerge from another wound.
Ingryd charges forward, slipping past Arianna as the elf quickly heals some of the worst of the bearkin's remaining wounds. Hammer blows strike with a frenzied fury. Each flaming strike crumpling armor, flesh, and bone. Following in Ingryd's wake, Scramsax drops from his perch above the bearkin and ducks beneath the knight's guard. The halfling's dagger drinks deep of whatever power feeds the ancient warrior of Zobeck. But as the blade releases it's own cold embrace, Scramsax notices some of his recent wound seals itself shut with black icy stitching.
Battered, but certainly not out. The cold of the void surges forth from the very being and essence of the fallen creature that was once Rupert von Florian. Like some mighty hand grasping from the beyond, the cold reaching out to embrace those closest to the creature. With no means to escape the vile freezing presence, the two begin to shiver and shake uncontrollably as their bodies succumb to the darkest depths of the void.
"Yes....yes...feel her embrace. Let her warmth flow through your body." The knight utters as he lashes out with his longsword. First at the halfling trying to slip behind him and then a return slash at the big maul wielding bearkin. Both sword strikes land drawing blood and adding to the chilling misery of the knight's attack.
Meanwhile more ale continues to flow and freeze in the hall, creating ever more treacherous and slippery footing.
Von Florien: 33/130
Yeah I remember that feeling well, standing on the frozen Iron Crag stout. Rupert used the word 'warmth' but was bein' sarcastic I think. Still, was enough ice cold beer for a proper flophouse after...wish I had taken a drink before those deathblows.
Arianna sees Ingryd and Scramsax hurt. She can't do anything for the halfling thief just yet, but she can help Ingryd stay in the fight.
Gunnar sends a quartet of missiles the undead's way, then steps back around the corner to stay out of range of any further billowing cold snaps...
Save 16
Ingryd stumbles spits some blood as she accepted the cold and slash. Both seemingly lessed. One from the burning rage within and tbe other her heritedgs of the northern wilds protecting her.
Ingryd throws herself into the frah rexklessly swinging maul at the foul creature before her.
Luthael again raises his holy symbol and floods the hallway with holy sunlight.
After the brilliant dawn recedes, the holy lance remains to stab the undead knight.
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Shaking off the cold, I grabbed a frozen grape on the way to the corner of the room...quickly snapping it back around towards Griffon's spine.
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Holy and arcane power once again assaults the fallen knight. Gunnar's bolts of force batter von Florian for a second time, while Luthael summons the radiance and spear of Khor's to drive the dread darkness from the manor. This time whatever power that fuels the undying creature grants him the strength to withstand the brilliance of the sun god, but not the spear. The bright shining length of pointed light drives into von Florian's shoulder smoking and hissing as it sinks into the cold flesh.
The night staggers, wavers upon the threshold of falling. Fighting off the freezing presence of the creature, Ingryd brings her maul up and around. But although the cold doesn't fog numb her mind and body completely, it does seem to affect her aim. Her first blow glances weakly off the knight's armor. The second merely misses, whistling through the frost filled air.
Shivering from the cold, Scramsax manages to pull herself free of the void's icy embrace. She ducks away from both the area of lethal cold and von Florian's blade. At first it appears the makeshift frozen buffet fruit misses terribly. But then the purloined projectile ricochets of a wall scone with a metallic *pling*, bounces again off of Ingryd's maul just as the bearkin feints to her left, the wayward bit of waste finds itself caught up in the arcane wake of Gunnar's magical missiles. This shifts the mistimed shot yet again and sends it streaking, as luck would have it, straight through the hole created by Luthael's holy spear. Plunging through the small opening, the frozen fruit explodes against a bone sending tiny slivers of a very ancient vintage shredding von Florian's interior like a cat in a pillow factory.
The knight rears back, his hand grasping at the wound in his chest. Eldritch eyes grow wide and his mouth gasps open. "Oh blast!" The knight exclaims. "Holy mother I welcome your embrace and what you may teach me!" He says in an almost panicked, fearful tone. Moments later the house shudders. A whirlpool of writhing tentacles opens beneath the undying knights feet. A high pitched keening wail bursts forth from the center of the grasping, slithering appendages. It sound sets each of you staggering backward as it rips and tears at your minds and very essences of being. Several tentacles stretch out wrapping the now screaming knight up like some abominable mummy and drag him into the swirling mass. The entire things disappears with a loud *POP*.
Ale continues to flow into the still freezing hallway. If anything, the temperature following von Florian's disappearance is even colder than before. Below the din of the remnant echoes of the unholy wailing, beneath the groans of weakening, rotted, ale heavy floorboards, beyond the gnashing, gargling, gasping struggles of the changeling, a music box chimes its long forgotten tune of love and hope and desire.
" I need a drink" Ingryd says brushing some ice from her fur as she seems a bit dejected about rhe whole lack of a fight. She looks at others and shrugs.
" Lets look about with cuation" Ingryd seems to whirl her mual into it
"W-what was that?!" Arianna's voice is frail and brittle with terror as her mind refuses to acknowledge what she has just seen.
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"Evil, Arianna. That is the evil that we fight. That retreats from the light of the sun." Luthael replies to the elf maiden.
"Ingryd, let's go find the source of that flood of ale. Perhaps, there is some still some to imbibe." He heads upstream of the river ale.
Able to hold onto the Detect Magic spell through the combat, Gunnar follows up the steps after the others, using his arcane senses to detect any threats or useful items.
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Them Zobecker Griffon riders always were momma's boys. If you looked closely enough, thief to mark I mean, you'd always see the signs: that embroidered handkerchief flapping in the wind, pauldrons polished beyond maternal scrutiny, and of course those carefully packed battle lunches lovingly prepared by mommy dearest. Kobolds down in the lower ward warrens used to joke about it "There go the flying momma's boys, bravely upholding honor but never forgetting to write home." they'd say. I even remember a scene from a play, can't remember if was one of Burst's later ones or not, that one about Sir Reginald? That line when his griffon got its wing stuck between two rocks in the skirmish with the great dragon Umbrathorn Nyxterror "Mother?! I could use your expert advice on griffon wing disentanglement right about now!" ...yeah, that line always got me. Many a legend of those momma's boys on flying griffons worth a chortle after a few pints.
So, Rupert's words during his second death didn't surprise me much.
That grape sure did.
"Changeling's still about, Burst...quick, a mask!" I remember handing over the last of my rations, still cold as an Ice Hyena's warren as we traced back to that open window near the cradle. "Guys, was my magic bean that brought the beer...I think that gurgling sound is the creepy little monster asphyxiating once and for all. Careful, was like a living darkness near the door liked to give me the heeby jeebies." giving the skinny to the Six.
Course, before leaving the dirty banquet, I tried to find a free mug or stein leftover from whatever the hell was going on in there. Wasn't gonna let that bean juice go to waste.
Arianna turns to Scram, wondering what the halfling is talking about before she finds herself wearing a mask made of parsnips, cabbage leaves, and turnip slices. Not understanding what's going on or why there's a cascade of ale pouring down the stairs, she decides it's better to go with it for the moment.
"There's still that music box and whatever it is that Scram found. As lovely as it might be for it to have drowned in fine dwarven brew, I doubt we'll be so lucky," she tells the others as she draws her sword.
"The darkness was blocking the door...we'll have to do something about it." I tried to explain. Coulda just been my imagination, but seemed like gettin' in or outta that Alcoholic Nursery was gonna be tough... "Can you light it up down the hall, Invictusol? I swear somethin's there...you know, not just light but like...the special darkness slayin' light?"
"Darkness blocking the door?" Luthael repeats incredulously.
He pulses his shield grip and runs his right hand through his shoulder length, blonde hair reigniting every strand in silvery gold, magical flames.
"Well, let's go take a look. Ingryd? Might need your strong shoulder to push the door open. I'll bring the special light slaying darkness." The prophet smiles at his turn of a phrase and approaches the blocked door cautiously wondering if the music originates from the room beyond.
The giant bear grins showing her teeth and nods." Yeah more beer for us. I wont let some unappreciative shadow hog all that sweet nectar of the gods!"
The bear kin stands behind Lutheal and looks down. " You are absolutely glowing!"
Searching through the slushy ale, Gunnar finds no evidence of sword, armor, or any other piece of the knight's equipment. He does notice something odd that seems to have been burnt into the floor on the very spot that von Florian stood upon. The arcane symbol of the pentagram, but stylized so that each length of the symbol appears as a stalk of wheat. The ale frozen atop the symbol also appears blackened and smells of rot and decay.
Moving down the hall in the opposite direction of the knight's banquet room, Scramsax is the first to notice the ice dam that has formed about midway between the staircase and the former nursery. Several inches high the barrier has kept a good portion of the still flowing ale from flowing down the hall. Unfortunately, this has put an increasingly heavy strain on an already poorly maintained and rotting floor. Boards and supports creek and groan like regretful old men with each step further along the passage toward the open door of the nursery. The complaints become even more vociferous as Ingryd steps across the icy wall and puts her own bulk atop the struggling floor.
The foreboding darkness reluctantly gives way to Luthael's shining presence. Beneath Khor's light, shin deep in dwarven brew, and sporting the latest in afternoon salad-wear, the Narg Nasty Six creep up to the nursery entrance where ale flows like a full on brewers river. A headless doll floats along the rippling surface followed soon after by a broken toy unicorn horn.
”This symbol is associated with the Goat of the Woods, a goddess who reached to far for power and touched madness. It’s presence here is…disturbing,” says Gunnar as he follows along, careful to not step on the symbol.
"So we're two for two on pissing off mad goddesses? Wonderful," Arianna mutters.
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Ingryd dips a finger in the brew and sniffs it. After that she licks her finger trying to assertain the flavor and robust content it could have. As she does she half way listens to her companions as she really does want to try and maybe see if Scram can do this again and drink her fill.
"Ingryd, can you destroy that ice dam, so the beer can drain. The floor doesn't look like it can take much more of the strain." The prophet suggests.
Ingryd looks and nods. "Shouldnt be too hard to do" She looks to strike it.
.
Is it strudy enough for her to step forward and smash the ice?
Ingryd cautiously looks at the ice dam and listens to the constant, groaning strain of the second story flooring. Meanwhile Scramsax approaches the doorway to the nursery, now a bit less foreboding with Luthael's light driving back the eerie, oppressive darkness.
Poking his head around the corner of the door, the halfling sees the gushing geyser flowing from the center of the room. The tumbled and broken bassinet lies jammed against the window. The smell of the ale is almost overpowering within the room, the heady aroma, not to mention the actual foaming brew is strong enough to make even a life long resident of the Barsellan dockside bars swoon. The highest point of the rushing flow seems to have broken through the room's ceiling and into the attic space above. Along with the river directly from the geyser's main eruption, more ale rains down from above. He can see no sign of the gargling, gurgling changeling within the geyser's flow. All evidence of the creature seems to have disappeared. Washed away along with most of the rest of the rooms contents.
It takes a moment for her to notice, but the halfling's eyes suddenly lurch back toward the bassinet and the window. A window, she'd most certainly left open to the outdoor sky upon making her rapid escape. But now something covers the entire opening. Layered with frozen ale spray, the dark gray barrier occasionally ripples and spasms like some sort of massive living tissue.
Was hopin' the tap in that changeling's arse would be the end of it...but now I had to rethink some stuff. Coulda escaped out the winda, taking the survivors face already. Course wasn't enough salad for those unfortunate souls...serves them right dining uninvited earlier, I guess. But coulda also shimmied up that attic hole. Seems like what I'd do, if I were drowning in stout...take it to the top, cause you know that frothy head's where most of the flavor comes from. Still, coulda shifted into one of those creepy rich kid toys.
One thing at a time.
"Might be up in the attic, or back outside...you see a retractable ladder back there?"
"I'll go see," Arianna says before heading downstairs and outside to see if the people they have been trying to save got turned into a scene from the Gruesome Gourmet, the official cookbook of the ghoulish empire.
Ingryd steps tentatively forward. After that she whips her Maul around and taps the floor before moving on another 5 feet
She does this slowly usinf her Maul as a walking stick, hammer head down like a foot.
Luthael stands close to a wall in case the floor releases and keeps an eye on the way they came. He trusts his companions and waits in the calm before another storm.
Scramsax goes over to the original bean planted crib from which the geyser gushes forth. Spluttering and gasping in the vast flow of dwarven brew the halfling grabs the remains of the ancient baby cage. With a series of grunts, swelling veins and purpling face, she heaves the crib and aims it toward the blocked window.
Ale begins to pummel the freezing rubbery surface which causes a near instantaneous reaction as the entire house begins to shake and shiver. Loose plaster crumbles from the ceiling of the room and the groans of the floor become even more urgent even as Ingryd cautiously makes her way across the struggling surface toward the ice dam. The bearkin's eye can't help but look at the ale soaked thief with both envy and alarm.
The flesh of the blocking window barrier continues to ripple and twitch under the onslaught of alcohol. This appears to cause more quaking and shaking of the house itself. Somewhere a loud *pop*crack*snap*crash* announces the loss of a main beam elsewhere on the premises. Not only that but a foamy head builds and bubbles all atop the surface practically covering Scramsax in a matter of several seconds and filling the room and hall with gas that makes everyone a bit dizzy and woozy as it grows more intense.
”Ahh, reminds me of my days as a wee bairn at the knee of my pappy…Always smelled so nice,” says Gunnar.
The danger snapping him out of his reverie, Gunnar tries to figure out what this strange window covering might be and why it seems to be linked to the house’s structural integrity…
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...and then, well, can't really remember much about what happened after that. Just remember open windows aren't really open when there's ghosts about.
I know that now.
Heard a lot of retellings of that day since then, though each of the Six had a different Narg Nasty story.
Gunnz claims it was how I got that 'Iron Stag' tattoo of a deer (with little beans for eyes) on my arse, givin' it to myself later when I drunkenly slurred 'Iron Crag' and 'Stout' together...rebrandin' the geyser brew and brandin' myself simultaneously.
Griz sez I got real political. Way she tells it, only valid point might be that Krakovan trade was gonna see more coin under vampire rule. Some drunken epiphany musta convinced me that those vamps were better with long-term investments after all, owin' to their immortal tainted souls, and not privy to the short term risks of yer common port hustler.
Burst described a game of trick-shot darts that I apparently challenged her to, and lost epically. Gotta say that one is pretty low on the believability scale, maybe 2 Scrams out of 5. I always know my throw, drunk or no...probably somethin' else shes not tellin' me.
The Prophet wouldn't give me the dish for a long time, but I finally got him to recount somethin'. Seems I was real keen on saddling up Dekatron for a fast trot out in the timbers. Sez I was gettin' agitated when he put his holy foot down, not letting a mate ride plastered. Sez that shiner I woke up to was his work...well, had to thank him for it.
All in all, not a night I'm proud of but hey...free beer.
Suddenly the entire house lurches and groans. Dust, webbing, and plaster cascade from the ceiling to splash into the growing pool of ale that you can also hear dripping down from somewhere down the other hall. A staccato flurry of cracks and pops come from the doorway where the wooden frame shows signs of being squeezed from the outside. Signs the match the rippling, flexing appearance of the rubbery gray mass now blocking the doorway.
A louder cacophony of destruction comes from somewhere down the hall in the opposite direction of the dripping ale. While almost directly above you see the ceiling bow and too many cracks to count are born a grow in jagged patterns through the plaster. It groans with growing consternation and warning as something heavy moves slowly across the floor above. Punctuating the danger, in the room opening up opposite the main entrance, a hanging lamp suddenly gives was and crashes to the floor with a mighty clang of metal and shattering glass.
Luthael starts coughing and inhales the inebriating vapor deeply several times. He becomes lightheaded, and the hallway begins to slowly rotate around him. The prophet hears the cracking of the house, but it's muffled. "Time... time... to go. The... the... house is coming down." He states and stumbles toward the stairs.
"Oh great, the house is trying to eat us," Arianna says before she hears the groaning and decides she needs to move out from under failing ceiling.
"Guys! We're trapped in here," She shouts as she tries to find someplace safe from the coming ale-lamity.
Cursing as he sees the drunken halfling lose focus, Gunnar snaps, "If I'm going to give ye a spell, the least you could do is use it to help us escape! Aim the lightning bolt at the window after I hit it!" growls Gunnar at Scramsax.
Gunnar goes over to the window and hits the fleshy wall blocking their exit with his blessed hammer, channeling lightning and treant fury into the blow, then backs up to give Scramsax a clear shot, praying for the best.
You know, I do sorta remember that ring making pretty colors...