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Aterro points to the struggling bag by way of Kali's answer. "Aye I knew it was dangerous to lay hands on so queer a thing, but I believe, and still do, that only my clerical training and faith could brave such a rampage and come away with the knowledge of the thing.
As to what it is, it is emotion made manifest. It was a swirling maelstrom of everything a man feels when afraid. It tried to overwhelm me and make me it's host, but, well, it found me a meal most unappetizing.
Hence if we lack a spirit, a believe we have found one. Now we just need to know what to do with it."
"I know ya do, you scruffy procurer of gemstones." Britta says with a grin back to Scramsax as the halfling continues to search Radovan's study for clues. "And the door is indeed barred, if not protected by wizardly magic."
As Aterro and Gunnar get caught up on what has been learned and the dwarf prepares his ritual, a string of curses erupts for the desk where Scramsax rifles through a stack of papers. The cause of the outburst is quickly evident as black ink spreads from a tipped bottle across several note filled sheets. Pages the halfling had been particularly interested in, but not because of their immediate relevance. More because of the potentially useful titles like Diego's Dutiful Lock Devastator or Rupert's Perpetual Distraction and one that is simply titled Lockbuster. Alas, all are ruined beyond saving.
Still as luck would have it, he does manage to snatch away something that does appear to be useful to the wizard's current pickle. It is a somewhat rambling series of notes in Radovan's own hand that postulates a variety of potential outcomes in the event Vee or one of his other creations should suffer a catastrophic failure of their cognitive functions or programming. Most of the arcane jargon and language is well beyond the halfling's understanding, but the general take is that Radovan seemed to be exploring some sort of way to copy the essence or living spirit of his creations into some sort of external storage. It's unclear what kind of success he may have had.
By the time Scramsax has absorbed enough of the salvaged note to share, Gunnar has completed his ritual and the dwarf's eyes alight with their eerie glow as he reads the various arcane energies within the study.
Turning your gaze upon the sack and its unusual contents. You find an eye-watering level of chaos riddled transmutative power somewhat contained by abjuration and necromantic weavings. But the levels of chaos make truly deciphering anything of use extremely difficult as the energies change and morph as quicker than you can decipher any kind of meaning from it.
There are other pockets of magic scattered around the study. The drawer where the remaining 'star keys' are kept. A handful of bottles on a shelf above the main workbench. Something within a narrow wardrobe near the back side of the room. Another something that seems to be moving down the hallway and approaching the door...that something reeks of Conjuration and Evocation powers. It also feels very, very displeased...
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Having delved the mystery of the sphere, he felt he had done his due and left to find this door that Scram was referring to and see if it could be fastened to guard their rear.
"Aye, we've stopped another one. They seem to have no end," he mutters to himself, reflecting that since the forces of evil are not able to kill him, there is a pattern of trying to subvert him. He decided to be complimented by it.
"And you, DeathMetal?" he says to his morning star, hefting it up. "Will you too turn and betray me, seeking to wield the whip hand?" he asks it in good sport, giving it a twist with a flourish.
It could have been the unnatural silence of the room, or perhaps some whirl or gurgle of magical contraption's death rattle, but he thought he heard a reply, a reply in song, with joyous laughter.
'We are the metal. You can't destroy the metal. They tried to kill the metal. Hahahaha. But they failed as they were smite to the ground.'
Paragraphs deep in Lockbuster, Scramsax felt he was on the verge of something profound. It hinted at an algorithm, a sequence of simple steps, that could break the cylindrical cipher disks used to encode the combinations of high security vaults...the type only royalty could afford.
His body twitched and jerked randomly, wanting to just skip forward to the juicy bits...but the author had ensnared his mind with a unique dialogue structure restraining those instinctual urges. The result was Scram's eyes were rapidly scanning left to right as quickly as physiologically possible without causing permanent damage to the optic nerve.
It presented the cipher theory using the conversation of three men: 2 sages and a layman. The first, Salviati, argued for the position of the author and his new method. The second, Sagredo, took the counter position of traditional methods. Finally there was Simplicio, a layman who took a neutral standpoint.
Scram found humor in Simplicio, empathized with Sagredo and was intrigued by Salviati. So enraptured was the ordinarily keen eyed halfling he couldn't notice the octopus ink precariously resting nearby on a rectangular prism paperweight. The one now accelerating under the force of gravity and soaking into every last fiber and illumination of the parchment he was holding.
"Mumblecrusts!" expelled the black-fingered rogue, the most vile of halfling curses, as the key to the kingdom fell to the floor in a soggy rag. But like a poison dart in a cheap keyhole, Scram's reaction speed countered with a sudden movement of its own...snatching by pure chance the document pertaining to Radovan he was initially looking for. Perhaps there was some magic in that ancient halfling curse.
Wiping his other hand on his studded leather tassets (and splatter dying them with the same dark ink) he passed the tech-note to Gunner after a skim. "Take a look, Savant, think Rad had a gut feeling this might happen...does it jive with what you're seein'?"
Savoring the taste of magic in the room, Gunnar is happy to explore and consult until he feels the magical presence approaching. Turning quickly in its direction, he says urgently, ”Someone or something with powerful magic approaches, be wary!”
Scram doesn't hesitate, stuffing the note into Gunnar's vest pocket before diving amidst a few half-finished construct bodies...
"Britta, was there someone else in this tower that we have not yet met?"
Britta shrugs with an uncertain look and grabs the blade she'd laid aside upon finding Radovan. "As I said, there are parts of this place I don't venture in and guests of Radovan I'd never wish to meet." She says to Kalisuel. "Those who might have posed a threat were usually kept contained by the wizards spells. If those are failing..." Her voice trails off as a figure appears framed in the doorway.
He is tall, nearly a hand taller than Aterro. He is naked from the waist up. A body that exudes grace, strength, and sensuality. His face appears a bit long due to his prominent and slightly pointed chin. His skin is the deep coppery red of a sun setting over a burning city. Covering his waist and legs are a simple pair of blood red, silk trousers. A sash of violet is wrapped around his waist. A chain of finely wrought gold hangs about his neck, the thin delicate lengths glittering in the light of the studio.
When he speaks, his voice drips of charm and secret pleasures. "Tsk, tsk. Has our host gone and got himself into a bit of trouble?" He says, mock concern on his face. "I did warn him he could run into trouble if he wasn't careful. But who have we here? More guests of the good wizard Radovan?" He's quiet friendly and congenial, although there is something very disconcerting about how his eyes seemingly bore into your very souls each time they lock onto your own. He starts to step forward into the study but then notices Vrindel standing near the back of the room. "Ahhhh...my earlier visitor." He says to the trollkin. "I'm afraid we didn't have a chance to get properly acquainted when you popped in earlier." He adds with a wry grin.
The entire time he stands there, he holds a piece of red rock that glows from within because of the swirling golden vortex that slowly spins within the stone's center.
Kalisuel starts to answer, but then the figure appears. This is apparently one of the so-called guests that Britta had just warned her of. Kalisuel didn't like the look of him, though a corner of her mind wonders what in all of Midgard Vrindel was doing with the fiendish fellow.
Still, better to stall for time and see what he is about. Kalisuel steps up and bows courteously before the creature.
"Greetings, Guest of Radovan. I am Kalisuel. May I have your name?"
Unarmed, friendly, and covered in gold and silk. It was enough for Scram. "*cough*" the halfling tumbled out of his hidey spot, clattering a few robot faces to the ground and spilling a small tub of nuts "Ahoy my sun scorched friend. You've the luck of the wee-folk, I'll say! You happened upon us at just the right moment. What would you say if I told you you've just found the deal of a lifetime? Too good to be true? I tell you sir that miracles can happen." he smiles "Scramsax: Broker of Curiosities. Please, step into my office...peruse my wares. You want to see this, I promise." motioning the demonic overlord over he starts gathering up a few oddities from his pack seemingly in an attempt to fence them off (but really to get a closer look at that exquisite golden chain): assorted gems, preserved Effildawnan pollen...now where was that middle finger...
XD
"Oh, hello! I deeply apoligize for disturbing you earlier. I was just looking for something useful. The master mage was not entirely forwith with support."
"We are looking for Radovan's mind. He seems to have lost it. Would you have any idea where he might have left it?"
Gunnar remains quiet and watchful, keeping his concentration on detect magic going as he observes the new arrival.
The man's eyes alight upon Scramsax he gives the halfling a wide, charming grin. "Oh indeed. Indeed I do believe miracles happen all the time. Why I used to talk with by brothers all the time about how generous this old world can be if you just have a little patience and pray to the powers for deliverance." He says walking over to peruse the halfling's tiny showcase of oddities.
To Aterro's question he replies with a smile. "The truth?" He says with a quirk. "What I have shared is true. I did meet this good trollkin not so long ago when he stepped into my room. Uninvited I might add. And I did warn off Radovan from his ill advised notion of mining the ley line."
He holds up the glowing orb. The vortex clear and swirling within. So similar to the black one held firmly in Gunnar's grip. Except for the dangling, occasionally squirming 'legs' that the wizard continues to contend with. "And truly, I do imagine this might belong to our unfortunate host. I bring it only to be sure since it only recently appeared..." He glances at Scramsax and smiles. "...like a miracle within my chamber. A true blessing that it fell into my hands rather than one of those dreadful fae who've been so recently troubling the premises. So what may I do to appease your concern friend?"
It's then that your senses really start to tingle with alarm. No mortal kin are quite as smooth, graceful, and handsome as this one. For just a moment you blink and instead of the good looking human, you see a thin framed creature with unusually long limbs. A pair of short black horns poke from the top of its head and its cloven feet clack upon the stones. Golden scaled armor covers its chest and lower body. And dangling at its side is a three headed morning star, each spiked ball gilded in gold. You blink and the vision is gone as you speak of truth and second chances.
"Yes, take a good long look at that middle finger..." he dances it across the table playfully in a little fast-paced Tango "I can guarantee its freshness. Great for virility...imagine what you could do with it!"
Scram did what Scram does best: steal. Popping apart a loose nugget of solder didn't take long, and he knew exactly how to place both hands deftly so the strange creature wouldn't feel a thing (not even a tickle of its chest hairs).
But there was something else, a residual thought the thief planted in the red creature (who refused to give his name)...a sensory experience that gave the illusion that the necklace was still safely in place.
Kalisuel stays away from the fiendishly handsome man, feeling uneasy around him. She wishes that she could be anywhere else at the moment, and wonders what Radovan was doing with this one.
"Forgive me, but I have given my name, sir. It is only proper to give yours. Unless you would rather I address you rudely."
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Aterro's first reaction was to spring into a killing frenzy to wipe this foul creature away, of course. But it dawned on him that so beautific a creature might not be might by a full line. Perhaps there was a guilful way?
Besides, if there were any so cunning and skillful to stand their ground with such a thing, surely it was Scramax. The halfling seemed to be playing a game of his own and needed no saving.
Turning to Gunnar, Aterro mutters, "Our friend there is under a glamor of some kind. Might you be able to either study it or remove it?"
Wishing to aid in the endeavour he makes sure Thor himself will have a guiding hand.
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plus
You watch as Scramsax draws the devil in closer and follow his gaze to the gold chain. The chain and its jeweled pendant. Not surprising that it would draw the halfling's attention. But now it has drawn yours, for the chain is the cage that confines and contains the devil's power. While it remains in place the creature is at the complete mercy of the the chain's owner, likely the comatose wizard. Even to such as yourselves, he really only maintains his illusionary appearance and what is most likely his own hellspawned gift of persuasion. But should the chain be willingly removed by another!
And there's Scramsax's hand slipping around the devil's neck...
Scramsax leans in close to the man, pointing out the demon's claw and his other odd and ends. The man leans in close, a wide grin on his face. "Do you mind if I hold this up to the light a little more. It seems such a curious specimin." He says taking hold of the claw and turning his back slightly to the halfling who follows the motion with his own wide grin.
All this as Aterro looks on suspiciously after whispering to Gunnar who'se gaze is shifting wildly between halfling and visitor.
“NO! THE CHAIN BINDS HIS POWER!” yells Gunnar at Scramsax with a belated warning. Diving at the halfling, Gunnar attempts to prevent him from touching the item restraining the fiend’s power.
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Waltzing the finger away "Touchsies, eh? Well, there's the matter of a 5% handling fee...but you know what? I like your style. Let's say 2%...only a gentle touch could wear silks like that and s---HOOOORK!" Scram takes the full dwarven throat punch, sneak attacked by his own companion...he never saw it coming.
Kalisuel decides that if this thing is bound, then it having the other orb was likely what could be called a bad thing. She acts quickly to take advantage of the commotion Gunnar is causing to get in and try to snatch the swirling orb.
That looks important, Vrindel concludes to himself about the glowing orb with a vortex swirling within it. He doesn't quite follow what's going on until Gunnar cries out. Of course, it would be the halfling.
The trollkin lunges at the scrum trying to help.
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"I--" Aterro tries to say something as suddenly EVERYTHING GOES CRAZY. The confusion at seeing his sober and patient brother suddenly try to body-slam and pin the halfling for the three count and the title belt is coupled with the surreal disbelief that usually it is HE that starts a grand ol' melee, but no he's left in the lurch.
Are they...starting a general action with...the halfling? No, that's unlikely. Or maybe....
He gives up trying to figure out what's going on and just enjoys the sensation of actually -watching- things happen without be the center of it.
'Heh. And they called -me- reckless.'
Gold eyes twinkle in the light as the man leans in. Bright white teeth gleam in the sunlight as the halfling's hand slips with spider's grace toward the chain. Then chaos.
"What?! GAAAAAH!" Startled. Then a frustrated scream from the man as he straightens, the gold chain still hanging around his neck. The charming face contorts into a vision of fury and rage. "Filthy dwarf!" He screams, spitting at Gunnar.
Scramsax clutches his throat unable to speak as air refuses to pass through his neck as the muscles spasm from the sudden abuse. Vrindel and Kalisuel lunge for the orb. The trollkin goes high as a distraction while Kalisuel slips in low. Her quickness surprises him and Kalisuel manages to snatch the red orb. Realizing the loss of the orb, the man unleashes an unholy, unnatural, raging roar that shatters several of the windows in the study. Glass cascades into the room like an unleashed crystal waterfall. They tumble down upon everyone in the study, glittering and sparkling in the sunlight.
A burst of heat erupts from the man filled with the scent of brimstone. Suddenly the handsome features are gone. Replaced by a devilish figure, too tall, too skinny for a man. A pair of short, dark horns protrude from his head. His fingers appear stretched and end in blackened nearly claw-like nails. He stands upon cloven hooved feet and wears a long coat of woven gold. The air begins to ripple with heat, then suddenly the jewel on the pendant hanging from the chain around his neck flares with a cold blue light. As quickly as it started the heat dissipates and the creature screams yet again, but this time more in pain and frustration.
"I'll KILL you and feed upon your souls for all eternity!" He rages taking a swing at Kalisuel. The blow lands like a hammer blow into the elf's back, knocking her sideways and hard into one of the worktables.
There on the floor under 300 pounds of dwarf, with an ants-eye view of some kind of devil above that, Scram was having trouble focusing the psionic energy of the sapphire orb. But years on the hard streets of Barsella had trained his muscle memory to act efficiently without the need to spend time on thought. So it was such instincts brought the miser's hand to the hilt of Morrin's Misery, concealed in a sheathe on his spine.
With a quick flick of his wrist the icy blade swept a tight arc, the heat of the devil causing it to condense the air around its cool edge into a white fog...further concealing its strike. The hoof would be too tough, but the ankle-like cartilage just above it nice and soft...
...and Scram didn't bother to analyze the attack's efficiency, wasting no time wriggling free of the dwarf and doggy rolling to the side, seeking cover within the lab.
Gunnar let’s the halfling go without resistance as he himself gets up, mumbling something that sounds like, ”Sorry about your throat.”.
His own magic depleted from the epic struggle in the shadow realm, Gunnar tries to think what he knows about such devil creatures so he can be of use to his companions while they fight.
If Scramsax’s frost attack proves effective, Gunnar will finish standing up and call down “Curse of the Frost Giants” upon the devil.
frost damage and disadvantage on next attack, DC 15 Constitution Save to avoid.
Kalisuel cries in pain as the slams into the table. Her mask, knocked free by the blow, clatters to the floor. As the others spring into action, she picks herself up off the floor and slips the orb into a pouch on her belt.
"Aterro, I certainly hope you thirst for battle is not yet sated. Run him through and make him squeal like the pig he is!"
Knowing that Aerie would likely be cross with her if she didn't let the valkyrie have her fun, she takes up the Thorspear and aims to repay her injury on the fiend. Circling around to provide the best advantage for Aterro, she hopes the fiend doesn't realize how much hurt he'll be in if he just focuses on her.
Aerie, I know it is not a giant, but I do hope you will enjoy this fight. Besides, he is a bit rude. He never did give his name.
"Fiend!" Vrindel hisses through clenched fangs. Gripping his shield and staff, he growls a guttaral command word causing the golden chain to glow red-hot. He lets Tee flitting behind him to concentrate on maintaining the magic in place.
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"Oh, you need not worry about that, Kalisuel. I have a fine rare apetite, and we have a great table well-laid before us."
Aterro walks slowly toward what appears to be a great wonderful messy melee just warming up to a full burn. And, for once, not one that he started! This has been a right strange day.
"There, isn't that better," he shouts in joyous rancor at the now exposed demon-thing. "Isn't this better than all the sneaking around, the shadowplay, the false guises? It is only in open combat that we can be who we truly are."
He gives his morningstar a practice swing in the air, bringing it to the ready position.
"DeathMetal might not be much for running through, but I bet I can get a squeal out of ya!" A glowing ephemeral shield materials before him as he rushes in to battle in earnest.
Fortunately you travel with such folk and most carry weapons of some given power.
Thinking further you watch as Vrindel launches a simple ball of flame at the creature. It strikes with only a tiny hiss and disappears causing little to no discomfort at all. This reminds you of what one of your old masters mentioned. If you do find yourself confronted by one of these foul fiends of the direst depths of the hells. He said, chewing on that everpresent and smelly tobac stick of his. Well then you'd best know something besides fire magic, for given their natural world all the beast are immune to it. Poison as well. He spits a gob of something into a nearby spittoon. Silvered weapons will work in a pinch, but your best bet is just to be the fastest runner in the room. He added with a cackle.
"Use magic or silver weapons against this foe, and don't bother with fire or poison," remarks Gunnar briefly, preparing his next attack accordingly.
Scramsax slips free of Gunnar's tackle and immediately tries to slide his dagger between the devil's ribs. Despite landing a solid blow that drives right between a narrow gap in the foe's armor, he does little damage. The blow does provide just enough of a distraction for Kalisuel to move in with the Thorspear. With the devil turning toward Scramsax, the elf leaps forward with the spear. The sparking blade easily bypasses the golden armor drawing blood as a jolt of electricity races across the wound.
Vrindel's fire splashes against the devil, hisses for a second and then simply extinguishes itself. Gunnar's blast of winter has almost the same effect except the dwarf does notice a slight discoloration on the devil's skin where the cold was centered.
Aterro jumps into the fray, his Imperial mace landing with a crushing blow to crimp golden armor and puncture hell born skin.
Raging at the sudden assault from all directions, the devils snatches one of the pieces of scrap metal from the workbench. Instantly he stretches and transforms the brass bar as if it were little more than clay. When he finishes running his hands along the bar it is twice as long, and appears to be hardened steel with a series of thin barbed spikes at each end. He spins and twirls the weapon then lashes out.
His first blow clangs off of Aterro's armor but the study steel doesn't give. Pivoting with surprising quickness for one of his size, the devil reverses direction and slams the back end of his staff into Scramsax clipping the halfling across the shoulder.
Devil HP: 115/150
Doing his part to surround the devil, Gunnar flanks the foe and lashes out with his stylized warhammer, electricity racing along its length and centering on the tip just as he tries to bring it in contact with the devil’s armor!
Scram popped his head up among the unfinished construct heads in Radovan's workshop, the stolen orb burning ablaze in his mind as the perception of a knife's edge was subtly suggested...
...convincing the master of persuasion's subconscious to believe in the hot pink apparitions put a smirk on the halfling's face, as the devil's mind dissolved faced with the hyper-reality of Scramsax' astral connections.
"Little fairies, littler sprites,
Take up your needles and stitch it arights
The hurts and woes so sore-red
Then back you can go to your bed!"
Kalisuel chants as the worst of her wounds begin to knit back together. As the spell is finished, the young elf-marked bard snarls and stabs the devil again. She isn't very strong, but the spear is keen and the magics no less potent for being in her hands. Besides, he is insulting her waving around a crude work like that.
"Ye think ye can wave that piece o' orc-slag around and beat me with it? Yer as daft as ye look!" She sneers as she twists the spear and pulls it free for another strike. Again the blow is true, through the damage it does seems to be meager at best. "Go back home and learn to craft a proper weapon, or get ye granny t'do it for ye, ye limp, ogre-brained, son of a whore-sow!"
Vrindel hears about and sees the futility of his fire spell used on the infernal. Live and learn, he concludes to himself. He swings his staff around as everyone encircles the fiend. With a guttural command word, he summons his fey guardians to defend and attack. Spiritual fey pixie hunters swarm around devil and attacks.
Again, the druid passes the concentration to Tee who flits away from melee.
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Aterro roars and laughs in battlejoy as the blows come swift and the blood runs red. "YES! You see, demon? Isn't this better? Would not have rather started in your natural state and ravaged in with steel blazing?
I mean, if I had a face like that I'd hide behind a guise as well. And my faith and METAL is proving proof against your feeble attacks, so now you will DIE AS YOU DESERVE TO!"
In a motion so fluid it's become all but instinct, mid swing he opens himself to Thor's grace and a spectral hammer matrializes next to his own swinging morning star. The two weapons join and crash against the unwordly horror in synchronized slaying.
The combined efforts of the heroes batter, sizzle, slice, and debilitate the devil as he rages and flails about unable to defend against all fronts at once. Ironically, it is only Aterro's blows that miss the mark doing little but stirring the blood and smoke gathering about the fiends body.
Still, despite the battering and his very limited abilities, the creature from hell continues to lash out. Focusing his efforts against the weapon blessed by the hated thunder god, the devil crashes his long spiked staff his to Kalisuel's side. A hard blow that rattles the elf's teeth. Although his magics are limited, the devil's quickness is not affected by the magical cage wrapped round his neck. Showing an inhuman speed he reverses the staff and drives it forward striking the elf a second time.
Devil HP: 66/150
Kalisuel, despite being rather quick herself, finds the blows too fast to dodge. The first tears into her side, leaving behind a wicked and bleeding gash that has her gasping in pain. She barely avoids having the second strike leave a twin to the first wound, turning at the last moment to avoid the worst of the damage, but the cut on her arm is not painless and she grits her teeth to keep from crying out in pain.
"Little fairies, littler sprites,
Take up your needles and stitch it arights
The hurts and woes so sore-red
Then back you can go to your bed!"
Her chant rings out again as her wounds mend somewhat. Undaunted she thrusts the spear at the devil again, the first is easily batted aside, but the second lands true. Lightning crackles and while not as strong as Aterro, the elf-marked is proving to be a vexing thorn in the devil's side.
"Aterro! Stop playing around and hit this damned fiend already," she calls out, seeing the priest struggling to land a blow.
With a guttural command word, the trollkin infuses the power of nature into his staff and swings at the devil. The blow lands solidly on the infernal. So much unnatural beings and things in this wizard's tower. Must destroy them!
The swarm of tiny fey guardians continue to encircle and sting the fiend.
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Scram felt the psionic blade scitter around the back of his hand, like a rapid spider seeking shadow and tickling like a feather as it rotated impossibly. He yet grasped Morrin's Misery in the other, just now noticing the slow drip of devils blood getting slower as it froze into blood-ice. Something about that sight and thought churned the halfling's little tummy, and he took the time to wipe the edge clean on his leathers before sheathing the strange weapon. And it was then, unknown to the conscious Scram except for a sudden sensation to sneeze, that an event was set forward in the subconscious...
***
Under the vast expanse of twinkling starlight on the white sandy beach, the Admiral sat sipping rum in his island retreat as he watched the battlecruiser fire volley after volley with the sapphire cannon. The pink explosions were complemented by a meteor shower of dark orbs which seemed to hone in on the massive black winged creature of smoke that was harrying the vessel. It was a truly horrific foe, but First Mate Brown had it under control (or so the Admiral trusted), and the halfling simply put his feet up, tipping the vertex of his tricorn hat over one eye to preserve his night-vision from the blasts.
Then there was a quiet 'dink' from somewhere on the beach. Quite an out of place noise, like a wedding's champagne toast, but so soft the half-drunk Barsellan paid it no mind. But then it was again, just as soft and yet just as certain. Something down in the waves.
A bottle in the sands.
::What have we here? This Brown's idea of a new supply line...?:: but on closer inspection, no, it wasn't another bottle of Scruffy Hook's Lost Island Rum but a missive rolled inside and sealed with cork and wax. A handwritten letter:
There are many possible futures. Why not prepare for them all? The darkness inside is not only cover, but a bridge. Trust me. It was signed with an infinity symbol, but Scram had accidentally smudged and melted one half while reading...leaving only a circle.
He felt a rush of wind from behind him and turned to see a square pit cut into the sands...pitch black inside, just like those hidden corners of Illarya's mind he exploited...but now here, certainly within his own.
***
"*choo!* Damn aluminium shavings." the thief sneezed, hitting his head squarely on an incomplete construct's robo-crotch from the recoil. He wasn't really sure why he had chosen between her legs as his hidey spot (which thanks to the sneeze wasn't a hidey spot anymore), but the rhythm of the melee was turning the devil squarely into his line of fire...and the feathery spider of a blade finally gave up its tickling as it zipped off his fingertips...
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"Not everything is as easy as I make it look, Kalisuel!" Aterro launches back at the elf.
What he didn't want to admit to himself is that she had a point. He _was_ laying an egg on this one. And...and...and he wasn't supposed to be. He was the Shield that defended Humanity, the Sword that brought like to the Darkness. He would bring Peace to those that sought Peace, but to those that brought War, his order of clerics brought...well, that was how it was supposed to go.
And this wasn't. Yes, the fight hadn't gone on that long, but that was no excuse. And he got a good blow a moment ago...but that was a moment ago. Would he ever draw it s blood again?
'What do you think, DeathMetal?' he thought, trying to focus his thoughts. 'Are we to stand aside and let the bard take all the glory? Should we neglect our own offense to enhance hers? Should we embrace the passivity of all clerics everywhere and forgo the van?'
There it was again. A voice. A thought. But was it really there? Or just the clank of some far-off malfunctioning wizard-thing? A response, of some kind. Again of music. Again of glory.
'Come touch my metal machine.'
Invigorated, he brought DeathMetal CRASHING down on the interloper.
Gunnar continues to stand strong and invoke the blessing of Thor as lightning leaps once again from his Blessed Hammer!
"Swinging a mace is easy. You seem to only be hitting something when I shame you into it," Kalisuel shouts after Aterro rings the devil's bell.
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Lightning crackles as the Thorspear punctures the devil in the shoulder. As it ducks away, Vrindel slams his magically imbued staff into the creature. The blow to the gut causes foul breath to burst forth from the devil's lungs. The twin blows distract the fiend and creates an opening for the druid's fae spirits who sweep in ripping and tearing at hated devil flesh.
Reduced to doing little more than flailing and thrashing wildly about, the devil is struck with visions of a wholly unnaturally nature. The sound of strange steelpan music echoing across a twilight beach. For the briefest of moments he smiles as a pair of beautiful native girls step forward bearing vast mounds of gold and smelling of sweet dark rum. The smile vanishes and he let's forth a scream as the native maiden transform into chilling hot pink blades that drive forward and puncture his eyes.
Still screaming and blinded, the devil doesn't really see the oncoming morning star and holy hammer. There's only a moment's realization as the air swirls and shifts in the wake of the coming, perfectly timed and coordinated blows. Then weightlessness as he flies into the air. His mortal form is already dead before the body hits the floor and receives a final dose of electricity from the dwarven wizard. As his spirit self is ripped free of its mortal form, the pain of death is almost unbearable. But the creature of hell holds onto two things as he plunges back into the depths of the fiery place from which he originated. First, is the sweet, sweet return to freedom. Once again unbound by the treacherous magics of mortal wizards. The second, the seared images of the five who brought such quick and painful death. Next time, he would not be hampered by such chains as placed upon him by that impudent mortal Radovan. No, next time things would be very different.
A hard, cackling, fiendish laughter echoes through the wizard's study as you all stand over the carcass that was once the mortal body of the fiend from the dark pits of hell. The cackle sends hairs crawling and spines tingling, but finally dissipates after several long, long heartbeats. Within the same time the body of the devil also bursts into flame. The remains burn with white hot fury until nothing is left but the melted useless remains of the gold chain and the cracked pendant stone.
Crawling out of the tangle of prototype legs and thighs "Heh, buyer beware, am I right?" collecting his 'wares' and quickly making them vanish with his typical legerdemain.
Scram was, to say the least, unsure how to proceed with the body, mind orb, and spirit orb...if that's indeed what they were. He hoped Gunner would take a look at the notes and figure something out...the payout from this little tower job was getting more uncertain.