Following the halfling's initial strike, Gunnar unleashes the power of the staff. Eldritch power streaks toward the first otherworldly creature and slams into its midsection shredding silk webbing and crushing whatever fleshy remains still exist beneath. The creature continues to stagger forward a few more paces driven by whatever infernal force lurking within the nearly shattered form.
*WHOOM!*
*KABOOM!*
The tunnel erupts in a cacophony of fire and lightning as Khors and Thor set aside any immortal differences to display their righteous displeasure at such unnatural beasts inhabiting their mortal domain. In an instant half of the onrushing wave is simply incinerated in the conflagration of power that is unleashed by priest and wizard. Of the front ranks only a single antlered thing stumbles forward through the swirling smoke and ozone, much of its outer layer of webbing still flicker with fire and sparking electricity. Kalisuel puts an end to the thing by sinking a feathered shaft into what remained of its head.
But others still rush forward, including two larger, slower moving beasts that come rumbling onward despite the display of power.
Antlered Lunarchidna 1: 0/39
Antlered Lunarchidna 2: 0/39
Goblin Lunarchidna 3: 0/30
Goblin Lunarchidna 4: 0/30
Goblin Lunarchidna 5: 0/30
Goblin Lunarchidna 6: 0/30
Rabbit Lunarchidna 7: 0/25
Rabbit Lunarchidna 8: 25/25
Sprite Lunarchidna 9: 14/40
Sprite Lunarchidna 10: 40/40
Bear Lunarchidna: 11: 60/60
Drake Lunarchidna: 12: 56/80
Patting Luthael on the back, his eyebrows scorched and the dying embers still lighting his eyes "Hahaha! The bards do little justice to the Invictusol!" grinning with glee and pointing at the utter destruction.
Smoke sits heavy in the tunnel as flames continue to burn on several of the corpses of the enemy. There's a loud crunch as Deathmetal crashes down upon one of the seared and singed sprite-winged creatures. The blow knocks it aside and leaves it open for the warpriest to finish it off with the crackling power of Thor's own spiritual weapon.
The remaining creatures continue to rush forward. The smaller two leap at Aterro, slashing with claws and biting with mucus soaked teeth. The first of the things cannot get past shield and armor. The second crawls across Aterro's shield and along his arm where it's sharp claws slash through the warcleric's garments and rend his flesh. It then leaps up around his throat and sinks dripping, overgrown sprite-fangs into his neck. Moments later the massive bear-beast charges forward slamming into Aterro attempting to push the stout cleric back toward the edge of the tunnel even as it rakes a claw across his armor. Fortunately the new mail holds, and the blow only leave a few deep gouges in the tough metal.
Beyond the bear, the web-covered head of the drake raises up. Menace filled eldritch eyes glare past the swarmed cleric toward the twin spellslingers. It's jaws spring open and a quartet of arcane darts ripple forth and streak toward Gunnar and Luthael. The magical missiles slam into the two charring skin and bruising ribs.
Antlered Lunarchidna 1: 0/39
Antlered Lunarchidna 2: 0/39
Goblin Lunarchidna 3: 0/30
Goblin Lunarchidna 4: 0/30
Goblin Lunarchidna 5: 0/30
Goblin Lunarchidna 6: 0/30
Rabbit Lunarchidna 7: 0/25
Rabbit Lunarchidna 8: 25/25
Sprite Lunarchidna 9: 0/40
Sprite Lunarchidna 10: 40/40
Bear Lunarchidna: 11: 60/60
Drake Lunarchidna: 12: 56/80
The feathery spider-blades of pure thought tickled the rogue's fingers as he maintained his psychic barrage, focusing on bringing down the magic dragon...
Almost disdainfully, Gunnar flicks his fingers in the symbol for the Shield spell. The magic takes hold, absorbing the incoming magic missiles and creating an arcane ward around him to protect him from further harm.
He then moves up beside Aterro to cover his flank as the nasty creatures continue to attack
”I am at your side, Thunderbrother,” intones the dwarf, his hammer crackling, Gunnar strikes at the smaller foe on Aterro’s arm, trying to electrocute it!
Lutheal grits his teeth when the magic missiles slam into him. He nods in respect to Gunnar's magical reaction. Then, he repeats, "fire in the hole!" Another prayer to Khors sends a bead of holy fire into the tunnel, danger close.
Kalisuel flinches as fire boils out from the bead Luthael launches out into the tunnel again. She tries to blink away the tears, but the dying embers spangle her vision and she misses her shot.
|
The pain from the small-and-annoying thing clambering around his shield arm registers in his head on a lower level. Battle is all about priorities, and his attention is chiefly consumed with the great bear rushing upon him.
He tries to plant his feet to hold his ground, but this is no sturdy tunnel, lovingly crafted and leveled upon which one might plant the feet of civilized men. This is a rough-hewn thing more of accident, and its all Aterro can do to not trip over his own feet and go hurtling backward into the creature-strewn mists.
"Gratitude, brother," Aterro states, gladdened that his stand on the front is no longer of the solo kind.
Trying to re-gain some kind of initiative, Aterro takes up DeathMetal and tries to beat the bear to death.
Aterro frowns at how the tide of battle is going. Calling upon his internal reserves of power he steels himself to carry on.
Scramsax strikes out with his mental blades. The bright pink knives streaking toward the mental pathway and synapses of the drake like creature. But instead of the usual mortal mentality, the halfling's attack passes into a bizarre dream realm. A jagged landscape of thought, desire, and hatred burbling with twisted ideas and deformed aethereal manifestations. Searching for a tangible target, the blades circle the kaleidoscope landscape until finally spotting a mass of massive spiders crawling upon a web-coated pyramid of crimson stone. Judging the creeping spider thoughts to be the functions of the enemies mind, the pink blades dive in a brutal assault only to have their power wasted as the spider image shatters into a thousand, thousand shards of illusion.
Joining Aterro on the front line, Gunnar does his best to try and drive the clinging rabbit creature from Aterro's shoulder. His hands crackle with electricity. The dwarf snatches for the thing only to have it scuttle up and around the warcleric's back. From its new perch the mummified thing scratches and bites until finally a claw finds an opening and tears numerous tiny gashes across Aterro's back shoulder. Clinging to his other side, the sprite-like beast jams its small claws beneath the splint mail and proceeds to cut and slice, ravaging more flesh and bone.
Meanwhile another great *WHOOSH* of flame flies down the tunnel and releases the fury and fire of Khors upon these abominations. Both drake and bear are caught in the blast and unable to avoid the worst of Luthael's holy fire.
Still seeing balls of red fire, Kalisuel's aim is off and her arrow simply disappears down the length of the tunnel to clatter harmlessly against the stone.
Regaining his footing, Aterro feels a satisfying crunch as Deathmetal drives into the mass of the mummified bear. The crack and rattle of breaking bones and ravaged innards vibrate back up the handle of the powerful mace. But the creature still stands, if only barely.
And still standing it unleashes its otherworldly fury upon both Gunnar and Aterro. Thick clawed limbs, more than are natural on any such actual forest creature lash against arcane and steel defenses. Steel gives out before the arcane and Aterro feels another heavy blow smash ribs and knock the breath from his lungs.
The drake trundles forward on its numerous, awkward limbs. Again its eye flare and again its jaws open to release three eldritch orbs of power. The missiles fly unerringly toward the priest of Khors and his fiery magics striking Luthael in arm, chest and leg.
Rabbit Lunarchidna 8: 25/25
Sprite Lunarchidna 10: 40/40
Bear Lunarchidna: 11: 20/60
Drake Lunarchidna: 12: 31/80
Seeing the dire straights Aterro is in, Kalisuel shoulders her bow and takes up the Thorspear. With the priest's attention on the bear, she decides to go after the lesser foes bleeding him slowly.
Unfortunately, the young bard's brush with oblivion earlier has left an impression and the sight of the awful creatures so close spooks her more than she cares to admit. With little effect on the tide of the battle, she calls out encouragement to Aterro
"Split its skull as Thor splits the skies!"
Roaring in defiance, Gunnar calls forth another lightning bolt and thrusts it at the two large creatures in the hallway, trying to angle it to hit a closer foe if possible without damaging Aterro!
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Lutheal grits his teeth and shakes his again when more magic missiles slam into him.
Then, he shouts again, "fire in the hole!" Another prayer to Khors sends a third bead of holy fire into the tunnel, danger close.
If this doesn't cleanse this infernal pit, he'll scour it with a Wall of Fire!
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Dry salami. It was Scram's favorite. The chewy meat, the melt in your mouth fats, that tangy chemical aftertaste. Few things brought warmth and nourishment to a halfling's tummy more than razor thin-sliced dry salami.
Therefore, when the Coney of the Damned scaled Aterro's shield with its slobbering buck-teeth inches from the WarCleric's lootsack filled with Radovan's salami, it drove the Barsellan into a hatred-embracing berserk fury.
Blood rushed upwards to his head, bloodening his eyes to a dark red, almost black, and as he triple backflipped forward through the air with Morrin's Misery held madly in both hands, his piercing scream echoing out his white-foaming mouth forced a flock of birds miles away into early migration...
...Cutting the small creature nearly in half instantly as blood and nether-tapestries flooded over them all. But a hiss and a stir signaled animus still within the abomination, and through some sub-conscious command Scramsax felt a psychic blade manifest and drive into the tiny skull spinning like a top and eviscerating whatever living or unliving hell was left within...
|
|
"Ooooooch," Aterro allowed the word to escape his mouth, the brain-fogging pain mixed with a slow respect for the monsters and their ability to deliver war in a respectable manner.
Drawing upon his newfound martial prowess, when the sprite goes for a bite and ends up biting no more than the iron ring of his shield, he uses the thing's momentary lack of momentum to bring DeathMetal around in a back-handed blow.
Deciding he had done all he can, we wells up with pride as others surge around him, bolstering the front line, and allowing him to tend to his ever-growing wounds.
He still allows the hammer to continue its work, and even lets the bards inspiration flow to give it greater lethality.
Kalisuel struggles to swat the smaller spritely abomination from Aterro's back while Gunnar unleashes another crackling blast of lightning. The electrical bolt zigzags down the tunnel filling the air with ozone and thunder. Somehow both larger abominations manage to avoid the worst of the assault, but they are no match for Luthael's following inferno.
For a third time fire consumes the tunnel. Neither abomination is able to avoid the broiling cataclysm of flame. Webbing, flesh, and bone are instantly consumed by the roaring inferno leaving little behind but a putrid stench and flames flickering on smoldering remains.
Protecting the Sanctity of the Salami, Scramsax slips forward and eviscerates the rabbit-thing both physically and mentally. For a few seconds it twitches upon the the halfling's dagger before sluffing off and dropping to the floor dead.
With the larger creatures utterly annihilated and one less scampering across his body, Aterro is able to focus upon the last one, that continues to drive it's claws into his flesh. Using his shield to scrape the creature aside, the warcleric is then able to bring his mighty mace fully into play and pummels the creature repeatedly. Joined by Thor's spiritual hammer, Aterro pulverizes the creature until there is nothing left but a runny, gooey blend of web, blood, meat and ground bone covering the ground.
The last ringing echo of steel on stone drifts through the tunnel as Aterro finishes off the final abomination. A nervous, eerie silence suddenly engulfs the tunnel following the cacophony of battle. This is interrupted when a fox suddenly drops past the carpet and into the mist where it suddenly comes to a stop, the creatures eyes glazed over, its body motionless even as another silvery thread approaches from below.
A much calmer Scramsax "Ah darn, did you see that? This death engine just gonna keep cyclin'...what should we do?"
The stolen fae skull answered, as the halfling puppeteer ventriloquized in the high pitched voice of a cross-dressing elven queen "Oh gee I don't know guys. You better at least read my tombstone before you go. Maybe close the Mound-hole and I can get back to sleep. *yawn*"
It wasn't funny at all, and you could see his lips moving.
"Right. That was horrifying. Everyone alright?"
"Scramsax, do you want to sneak down the tunnel to see what they were protecting" The prophet gripped his shield and steadied the flying carpet. These were not his first horrors, but it had been awhile.
Shrugging his shoulders and tossing the skull aside "Yeah, sure."
"Show some respect for the dead, please," Kalisuel tells Scram as the waves of cold shiver through her limbs as the adrenaline of combat leaves her. "Fae curses are subtle and dangerous things. I would like to not have one on my head."
Nodding at Kali "No, seriously, there was some writing down there with the bodies. You might be able to translate it. Could be something important..." as he walks off.
|
|
"No no no no no no by the Hammer of THOR this madness can not start again!" Aterro blurts out as the fox suddenly drops in and appears to be the newest recruit for the inhuman army they just defeated.
Aterro thrusts out a fist while own personal embodiment of the aforementioned hammer sails over to the hypnotized beast.
It would seem that Thor heard the invocation of his name and gave the planar embodiment of his weapon of choice an extra dose of lethality.
"Do you not see?" Aterro stops to breath to his friends, even while still leaking blood heavily upon the rough ground. "The animals we just faced, they are the end product! They are how this abomination defends itself. Only by culling any and all that fall into this web can we allow ourselves the best chance to cut away its black heart!
For any animals we see in this strange mist, our best move is to grant them a swift and final mercy, lest they be unwilling transformed as deadly soldiers and used in a some grand plan we know not what."
Only then, having shared his personal epiphany, does he start to take stock of his wounds. "Oh confound, I seem to have caught some palpable hits. Kalisuel? Do you have any healing powers you could share so I can continue to man the front line?"
"I agree," says Gunnar succinctly, "Let us clear the mist of fuel for the evil entity while our stealthy companion scouts."
Gunnar starts calling down magic on the creatures trapped in the strange field (Curse of the Frost Giants (Frostbite)) while he waits for Scramsax to complete his recon.
Seeing his companions to slowly destroy the creatures in the mist, Luthael will add Khors' Sacred Flame to the process.
Luthael, Gunnar and Aterro begin clearing the remaining souls from the honey trap of the mound's central shaft. It is an unpleasant, grisly task but necessary as during the course of the more than a half dozen creatures are nearly transformed by the numerous worms that pop into existence within the mist to seek a suitable host. And of course there is the occasional hapless creature that is drawn in from above and comes tumbling down to hang suspended in the eldritch trap.
In the meanwhile, Kalisuel tries to gathers herself and her wits while Scramsax ventures back down into the depths of the cursed prison mound to try and seek out the true power lurking within.
Just ahead are two openings. One to the left and one to the right which presumably would lead into the center of the mound. Purple eldritch light shines through the right hand opening to illuminate more intricate carvings of vines and fae along with an inscription of ancient sylvan along the top of the opposite opening.
Scram wiped his brow and felt his consciousness melt into the astral dimension, that hidden infinite aura of Ginnungagap, from where it descended like roots into his companion's inner senses...the tight bundles of thought infiltrating their psyches ::Think I've reached the bottom, center of the Mound is just ahead. More stuff I can't read...gonna get a bit closer.::
Kalisuel shakes her head as Aterro notices his many wounds.
"I fear that I have naught beyond my meager skill in medicines to help heal your wounds."
"Aterro, we can take a short break before exploring further. Those Magic Missiles took something out of me, too. Let's see what Scramsax has found." Luthael suggests.
On his way down the tunnel Scramsax spends a few moments poking through the remains of the creatures. Between fire, lightning, and pulverizing hammer blows, there is actually very little left. Eventually he does manage to find a few scraps of the silk like material that enveloped the victims of this strange place.
A closer inspection of the stuff reveals it to be nothing like a fabric at all. In fact, it is much more like a small piece of thick rubbery flesh, somewhat like a flatworm or other creature. The second surprise is how it slowly dissipates over the course of several minutes. Disappearing into a fine curling tendril of dreamy smoke.
Continuing to ponder the nature of such a thing, the halfling turns away from the eldritch light coming from the center of the mound and instead steps into the outer facing chamber.
Peering ahead you discover a circular chamber, sixty feet in diameter. The walls of the chamber are covered with more intricate relief masterworks that make it feel like you stand in a secluded clearing surrounded by a great wood and its many inhabitants. Overhead is a mosaic dome of a night sky complete with glittering stars. You are even able to recognize a few of the familiar constellations. The Navigator, The Crown of Boreas, The Huntress and her Seven Sisters. But all of this is as nothing compared to the wonder and beauty occupying the center of the chamber. More ancient sylvan circles the top of the wall where tree tops intersect with the domed sky.
It is an elaborate bier made of four great jade carvings depicting rose vines. Strong as stone, but a delicate and intricately detailed as living vines, they twist upward from the floor to a height that would match Aterro's. There each of the four 'vines' open into four sets of blooms. Effildawnan in the east, lavender in the south, honeysuckle in the west, and rose in the north. The great blossoms all appear to be crafted from semiprecious stones. Amethyst, aquamarine, amber, and garnet. Any little sparkle of light reflects of the thousands of cut facets of the hundreds of petals depicting each of the two to three foot wide blooms.
Resting in repose at the center of all that sparkling splendor is a feminine form of unsurpassed beauty. Dark tresses, like that of a midnight sky surround a pale face with pink lips and a delicate nose. Long fingered hands rest intertwined upon her chest. She is dressed in the softest of silks of deep, dark green like that of the grandest fir in any wood. A crown of wood accented with silver, gold, and emeralds rests upon her head. Most amazing of all, is that it looks like she just lay down only moments ago. Unlike those found in the chamber above, there is no decay here. No disintegration of flesh or fabric. No sign or evidence that time or the mortal realms have touched this place.
And yet, as you stand there taking it all in, you do notice something may not be right. Pieces of the precious stones have recently cracked and fallen to the floor. Several emeralds in the crown appear smokey and sundered as well. Wrinkles can be seen lining the sleep posed eyes. Whatever magic was keeping this resting place pristine and preserved is most certainly failing.
Scram again felt a portion of his identity sneak its way into the conscious thoughts of his companions ::Stone art down here...like Rad's tower. Air's different...colder. Wait, I know that smell...Effildawnan flowers. Oh nice, they made the ceiling look like the actual night sky...::
There's a dark spot in the mental connection a few moments.
::Jackpot guys. Jade and gemstones...might be some kind of puzzle, or ritual thing...Effildawnan in the east, lavender in the south, honeysuckle in the west, and rose in the north. Smells real but its made of jewels. Are you getting this? Hold on, fresh body up here...::
Another anxious moment passes, or another respite from the annoying halfling, depending on your perspective.
::She's beautiful guys, must be a princess. No, queen for sure...looks like she died a few moments ago. Wait, what the hell?::
Scram saw a disappointing crack in the emerald of the 'queen's' crown. Luckily, his jewelers kit was one of the few possessions he still had, and quickly he produced a small eye loop, tweezers, and cleansing solution to better appraise the fortune before him.
==15
Scram experienced a bizarre psychic reaction during his appraisal, the gems seemingly entraining with the hidden rhythms of his own bioregulatory signature...he could almost 'feel' the essence of the stones, as if his body and mental impetus was translating their physical properties into an actual texture.
Gunnar nods as they rest, rebuilding his arcane energies and keeping watch for any other unfortunate souls who may fall into the trap.
==14
Scramsax continues to report back as the rest of you rest or continue to deal with the occasional hapless creature that falls into the pit.
Carefully examining the break points along the main sculpture, you find similar substances where some bit has broken away.
Climbing up to get a better look at the crown and the woman, you are surprised to find the emeralds in the crown to be quite real. Unfortunately all but three minor stones are cracked and clouded. Fatally flawed and useless. Even a total Zobecker rube wouldn't pay more than a few coppers for them.
With a sigh you turn you attention to the fae woman. Again your first impressions turn out incorrect. She appears quite dead. But when you reach out to see if there is any brain activity through your psychic connection, you find a furious flow of power and energy. You even pick up a single pulse of a heartbeat. A beat, healthy and strong but impossibly slow. Another doesn't occur in the entire ten or so minutes you spend examining her and really you wonder if it was just your imagination. But the psychic energy, that's is certainly not your imagination. Even if her body is near death, her mind is racing and power flows through it like a stream racing out of the mountains in early spring.
::She's alive! Barely! Someone get down here...take a left, away from the heat...::
*slappity smack slap*
The halfling gently padded her across the cheek a few times whispering "Wake up..." shaking her by the shoulders and tickling her in the ribs. Such was the extent of his healing arts.
::I'm gonna try breakin' in. Our link will become ungrounded, so just get down here as soon as you can...:: he projects before retracting his astral identity back within himself, terminating the connection with the Narg Nasty 6.
Back in his body, the forces and currents of this true Scramsax surged and reassembled with the strange metabolic control techniques he had learned subconsciously from Coin...materializing again on the side of the great coconut tree that extended into space within the thief's intellect fortress, climbing and reaching for the woman's star psyche there in the infinite void...
"Come Luthael, we must go at once", says Gunnar, moving quickly but steadily down the passage and taking the left route away from the heat as Scramsax suggested.
Luthael listens to Scramsax's telepathy, not having a lot of experience with it. He is frankly distracted by Aterro's desire to recuperate and Scramsax's accelerating actions of danger.
In reply to Gunnar, the prophet inadvertantly screams telepathically at the halfling, Wait for us.::
He directs the flying carpet down the tunnel following Gunnar's directions.
|
|
'Well, try not to get in any trouble until I wake up,' Aterro cautions mentally as the enigmatic halfling scout goes scouting. He might have added more, but he knows you would have as much luck telling the sun to stop shining as one might tell Scram to cautiously avoid some unknown mystery. He couldn't really gainsay much more. We all must needs follow our nature. He'd give no more truck to some dandelion eater telling him that peace is a better way than he'd force the halfling to observe caution. Plus ca change.
On the whole he lays down and remains motionless, letting his body get maximum recovery from the brief but very very painful fight. He had clearly underestimated these mummy-animals, and wanted to be at full power when next he crossed their path.
As the incessant chatter from the thief became impossible to ignore, and as Gunnar called out a march, Aterro at last rose and took up his instruments of war.
"Yup. Let's go see what trouble has started now."
Realizing the Invictusol might be on to something, Scram halts further probes of the carcass-not-carcass, twiddling his thumbs for an hour as his companions slowly arrive.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
Gunnar, Luthael, Kalisuel and Aterro make their way down the tunnel. The four pass up the initial chamber discovered by Scramsax and continue down into the depths. Finally they come to the intersection with passages leading left or right. Right into an inner chamber still filled with eldritch light the other left and the outer ring of the ancient site. Following the halfling's direction you each enter a short hall leading to another arched opening. Relief carvings of incredible craftsmanship line the stone wall. Infinite spirals, interlacing vines of life that give birth to numerous creatures of the wood both mundane and fae. Stepping into the passage, the temperature of the air drops considerably and a chill runs along your sweat soaked arms. The heavy and all too familiar scent of effildawnan flowers along with lavender, rose, and honeysuckle fills the air as you each step beneath the second arch.
Peering ahead you discover a circular chamber, sixty feet in diameter. The walls of the chamber are covered with more intricate relief masterworks that make it feel like you stand in a secluded clearing surrounded by a great wood and its many inhabitants. Overhead is a mosaic dome of a night sky complete with glittering stars. You are even able to recognize a few of the familiar constellations. The Navigator, The Crown of Boreas, The Huntress and her Seven Sisters. More ancient sylvan circles the top of the wall where tree tops intersect with the domed sky. But all of this is as nothing compared to the wonder and beauty occupying the center of the chamber.
It is an elaborate bier made of four great jade carvings depicting rose vines. Strong as stone, but a delicate and intricately detailed as living vines, they twist upward from the floor to a height that would match Aterro's. There each of the four 'vines' open into four sets of blooms. Effildawnan in the east, lavender in the south, honeysuckle in the west, and rose in the north. The great blossoms all appear to be crafted from semiprecious stones. Amethyst, aquamarine, amber, and garnet. Any little sparkle of light reflects of the thousands of cut facets of the hundreds of petals depicting each of the two to three foot wide blooms.
Resting in repose at the center of all that sparkling splendor is a feminine form of unsurpassed beauty. Dark tresses, like that of a midnight sky surround a pale face with pink lips and a delicate nose. Long fingered hands rest intertwined upon her chest. She is dressed in the softest of silks of deep, dark green like that of the grandest fir in any wood. A crown of wood accented with silver, gold, and emeralds rests upon her head. Most amazing of all, is that it looks like she just lay down only moments ago. Unlike those found in the chamber above, there is no decay here. No disintegration of flesh or fabric. No sign or evidence that time or the mortal realms have touched this place.
And yet, as you all stand there taking in the scene, you do notice something may not be right. Pieces of the precious stones have recently cracked and fallen to the floor. Several emeralds in the crown appear smokey and sundered as well. Wrinkles can be seen lining the sleep posed eyes. Whatever magic was keeping this resting place pristine and preserved is most certainly failing.
Scramsax stands near the head of the woman, his eyes glassy and staring into the glittering sparkle of light twinkling upon the gemstone blossoms.
You begin the long climb up the palm until finally coming to the top. Stepping onto an oversized coconut you kick off, letting yourself drift across the void standing upon the hairy round drupa like a commodore aboard a dingy.
Within moments you breach the outer barrier of the golden star and abruptly find yourself plummeting down toward a vast purple, blue, and maroon desertscape. The gravitational pull is surprisingly strong and there's no stopping the fall until you smash into the surface creating a small mushroom cloud of colored dust slowly settling over a halfling shaped crater.
Fortunately, this was not a truly physical experience otherwise the young ladies of West Scarlet Street, Barsella would be mourning one of their best patrons. Instead you slowly pull yourself out of the three foot deep crater coughing, choking, and spitting a not so magically delicious rainbow of grit and grime from you mouth and nose.
You glance up into the sky to quickly mark your bearings back home only to have your astral heart skip a beat. Several beats. There is nothing above but a pale orange, cloud filled sky. You scramble around for some sense of the way back, but manage little more that creating a confused set of circling tracks in the crusty, dusty purple ground.
With the front door seemingly slammed closed, you do what you do best and start looking for the back door or at the very least or poorly maintained window that could be jimmied open. The initial prospects don't seem very promising until you spot a half dozen figures lurching along at a gangly lope in the distance. From here they appear to be men of somekind, yellow skinned, and a bit beastial, but human and they appear to be pursuing the woman from the bier as she runs quickfooted a mile or so ahead.
Gunnar follows along carefully, looking in wonder at the scene unfolding before him. He assesses the mystical energies and begins his ritual for detecting magic.
"Everything is so beautiful. Yeah, she may look beautiful, but she is obvious a big bad evil who was imprisoned by powers far stronger than us." Luthael offers.
He makes the sign of the sun and starts praying to Khors for inspiration on how best to secure this prison.
|
|
"I'm not sure about that," Aterro vocalizes as he looks up and slowly spins in a circle, taking in the majestic sight.
"She looks still asleep, yet the disturbance is undeniable. Even directed by some active intelligence. I don't see how she could be doing all that is going on while still in her coma.
So too, this doesn't really look like a prison. Where are the writhing runes of protection and immobility? Where are the warning written in long-dead tongues? Where is the undead guardian, or walking statue of stone designed to keep watch over the eons?"
Aterro falls silent, hoping that Gunnar will be able to make some sense out of this.
"Scram? You wanna stop heavy-breathing on the sleeping lady and tell us what you think we're seeing here?"
*ugh whsshf drool*
It was less a response and more the shoved out noise and detritus of his lungs collapsing in a slow exhale. He still had his jeweler's loupe equipped over one eye, and the small angle finding gauge locked in time measuring the dimensions of the least fractured emerald.
But perhaps most importantly, while the powers originate here, all of it is directed toward the central core of the mound. Powerful conjurations of Abjuration, Enchantment, and Transformation begin here but their focus is elsewhere. All except of a single core arcane thread.
Emanating from the power of the Eiffeldawnan construct. This thread of Divination, Conjuration, and Abjuration magics is focused upon the fey woman and judging from the way several tendrils now surround Scramsax, the Barsellan as well.
You ponder further and can only think of the old elven gods as possibly being involved or called upon to aide such a display of nature and its wild bounty. Yarila and Porevit jump to mind as the most likely or perhaps someone even more ancient such as Kostroma, the Earth Mother.
Still, as you climb aboard the soft feathered back, it beats walking. The creature lunges forward at your urging and enters an awkward listing gait that although ungainly and seasick inducing actually chews up the miles rapidly.
You pursue the woman and her pursuers over a short ridge that looks down upon a great valley. Rising out of the valley opposite the ridge is another cliff riddled with wide opening and strands of silvery webbing. The woman has stopped her flight and stands near the center of the valley looking up at the cliff. Those who followed her now seem to stand ideally by until see points at one of the openings. As you come closer you see they are not truly men, but with hoofed feet and small horns protruding from their heads. Long, double jointed arms are covered with a fine fur and their backs are slightly bent as they stand near the woman waiting. As you watch from your perch upon the ridge, some sort of command is given. The woman points toward one of the lower caverns and within moments, half of the creatures lope off toward the dark opening.
Scramsax appears unresponsive to Aterro's chiding comments most uncharacteristic for the halfling. Still there is little time for the war cleric to comment further as the scrape of claws upon stone is heard in the outer tunnel.
Hearing the claws scrape against stone stands the hair up on the back of Luthael's neck. The prophet parks the magic carpet and readies his shield. The Khorson doesn't want to prove a better combatant than the Thorson, but he looks forward to the test.
"She appears to be one of the fae entombed here to secure the prison for whatever entity is in the center of the mound, as the tendrils of the prison flow from her towards that direction. It seems Scramsax has been ensnared by the same siphoning magic..." Gunnar begins as he reads the magic signatures, but then he is interrupted by the sound from the outer tunnel.
Grasping his hammer, Gunnar looks towards the sound and says, "Looks like we have company."
Holding the mount there amid the swirling skies of infinite entropy encapsulating the fae's mind-space, Scramsax stuck a loose rolled cigarette in his mouth, manifesting a miniscule meteorite for a quick puff. He hadn't had a smoke that good since before, when he was a woman.
After a few moments of satisfied introspection "Well Kimmy what's the score here? I'd say theys plannin' assault but where's the steel...mages or monks maybe? And them webbin's..." Kimmy made her trademark combo neigh/dolphin whistle sound "...yeah I don't like them neither. Well, they'll know more about it than we do."
*ckk CKk*
Clicked a sharp tongue, sending Kimmy into a glide down the valley. "Ahoy there! Aaaaahooooy!!" he boomed from atop waving and smiling and smoking.