Seeing the divine protection afforded the remaining foes, Gunnar presses forward, angling to line up at least one mummy and the high wizard. He then lets loose with Thor's answer--a crackling bolt of lightning channeled by a holy hammer blessed with the great tree's hatred of undead!
Raseri lets out a wolf's howl as the way is cleared. She moves the spectral image of Mjolnir towards the the one that Gunnar had zapped with his lightning as she hurries to join it, her sword crackling with lightning and thunder of its own even as the Valkyries around her swarmed.
Luthael follows and stays next to Ingryd to bring his translucent heavenly host of winged knights to viciously attack the undead.
When the shield wall sets with the undead, the prophet calls out, "Khors! Bring the holy fire! Danger close!" And, a crimson beam emerges from his bejeweled amulet to explode with the sacred flames licking Ingryd and Luthael's face.
The holy lance continues into the shield wall.
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The elemental manifestations of Rage, Fire, Lightning, and Thunder engulf the ancient warriors in a maelstrom of destruction and doom.
Scholars have constantly trumpeted the many advances of the Ankeshelian Empire before it was engulfed by the Western Sea. But near the empire's end, much of its so called advanced arcane acumen resulted in utterly useless items such as Xilmander's Hair in a Can, Dr. Gastronomican's Flatulence Blanket, or Vecnor's Disappearing Comfort Wipes. Which is to say, it was an empire peopled by less than stellar minds and some philosophers would argue its fate was well earned and deserved.
The last bastion of true strength within the empire was the much feared Black Legion. It roots dated back to the founding of the empire. Traditional, fierce, highly trained, fanatical and unmatched on any field of battle. The Black Legion of Ankshel was the iron fist pummeling the world into bloody submission for over two thousand years. Carn was their brutal and bloodthirsty god.
The Legion was still the strongest single power in all of Midgard, it was a thing born of bone and blood, strength and courage, savagery and brute force. It was singular in its purpose. Destroy, sacrifice, scour the land of any who would oppose the Empire and its God of War. But like its god, and ultimately its empire, the Legion did not adapt to a new age. Power rarely breeds innovation.
Adversity, scarcity, need, fear, a desire for something better. These are the potent forces needed to drive innovation. Forces the world has gorged itself upon since the fall of that ancient land. Innovations in arcane manipulation, innovations in clerical-deity collaboration, innovations in combined arms tactics. Centuries of survival based innovation by human, dwarf, halfling, bearkin, and every other kin to populate the world have meant an ever changing and much more deadly battlefield compared to those ancient days of long ago.
Thus it is that these once masters of Midgard stride forward unwittingly into their utter and complete annihilation. Where once entire armies could not stop them, now a handful of vagabond adventurers bring them to death's door within a matter of moments.
Emerging through conflagration of fire, lightning, and swarming spirits the three ancient warriors are scorched and battered. Only the warrior with axe and the one with the massive club managed to avoid a some of the onslaught. All three seemingly abandoned by their god, who is even now caught up within the grips of two others who struggle to gain his power.
No sooner do the three clear the first line of assault when the second arrives with equal fury. Ingryd's maul slams into the axe wielder, knocking it back a step and sending and ancient pauldron flying into the lake. Raseri is a pure force of destruction, her holy weapon lashing out at the sword wielder crushing bone even as her own bright steel blade, infused with further magics, slices through mummified flesh and bone. Her final stroke slashes across the warrior's rotting spine, thunder erupts, bone shatters and the spirit departs the world of the living once and for all. With one dispatched, Luthael concentrates on the club wielder. The holy lance of Khors strikes and sinks deep into rotting flesh that hisses and smokes at the wound.
In a last desperate sacrifice for their god, the two battered warriors lash out. Their skill and prowess and deadly nature on full display as both Ingryd and Luthael find themselves bleeding from axe and club.
Meanwhile, in the lake, halfling survival instincts overcome halfling greed and Scramsax swims for the surface. Her attempts to peer through the muck and murk to follow the path of the gleaming gemstone are thwarted when a massive stone from above plunges into the lake nearly becoming a permanent headstone for her watery grave. By the time she recovers the glow of the stone has faded to a dim, pale puff of light within the very depths of the lake near the now collapsed temple entrance. Another distant flash of lightning. Then nothing but the churning mud and ink filled waters of the lake.
High Wizard: 6/100
Axe Warrior: 34/150
Sword Warrior: 0/150
Club Warrior: 44/150
Luthael grits his teeth as two strikes get past his shield and holds the connection with his translucent heavenly host of winged knights who continue viciously attack the undead.
The holy lance continues to attack the undead.
Then, Luthael holds aloft his bejeweled amulet that emits piercing daylight.
Noting with satisfaction the damage his lightning bolt did to the oncoming mummy and the high priest lined up behind, Gunnar spares a glance back at the dark pool to see if Scramsax or the stealthy pursuer has risen from the depths.
Seeing nothing, he evokes more thunder to shatter the remaining skeletal warriors and clear the path for his allies to engage the high priest!
Not seeing any immediate threat in the way and unsure of what took the gem, Scram resolved to help her friends. Rising to the surface, the thief again took to the skies! ...or didn't, because the Fly spell had worn off. Instead, Scram sloshed up and down sadly for a few moments before submerging again and frog-paddling to the shore.
Unaware of what is going on in the lake, Raseri marches forward with the inevitability of a storm rolling across the plains from the high peaks. The image of Mjolnir floats over to one of the remaining warriors to continue it's deadly work. Raseri, though, has her eyes on mightier prey.
"I hear Minotaurs are fierce warriors. Please try not to disappoint me," she says before rushing in the last few feet as the swarm of Valkyries around her charge in.
Ingryd keeps up her swings, muscle and fur added by the bees. Cognition pops in enough for her to send the buzzing bees to the priest to distract him.
Unable to withstand the combined spirit vortexes of Luthael and Raseri along with Gunnar's arcane shattering, the final two mummy warriors simply disintegrate under the assault. Bone splinters scatter in every direction and the heavy, clumsy ancient weapons clatter to the ground along with the twisted and ruined armor.
With the final path clear, Ingryd charges toward the High Wizard of Carn. The ancient minotaur tries to throw up an arcane shield but it is of little avail. The bearkin is all to familiar with such wizardly tricks having journeyed with Gunnar these past years. One blow slips past the enemy defenses followed quickly by a second. Ancient bones crack and snap beneath the heavy steel maul. Robes a thousand years dry burst into flame. Ancient words of power echo in the chamber. It is a language unknown, but the meaning is clear. It is also clear the wizard's final spell fails. The syllables too late to save a body and soul long overdue for death's waiting embrace. The minotaur falls backward with a heavy thud, flames hungrily devouring its ancient flesh and robes.
From further out near the center of the large lake, a flash of light and power burst through the inky waters. Moments later the surface is roils and thunder booms into the chamber. Chunks of bloody tentacle are among the churning waters.
Far above, a guardian's last desperate ploy takes hold and begins to work its terrible power. Ancient rock, solid enough to last for another ten thousand years weakens. The tiniest hairline cracks expand. Where water once avoided, it now pours through washing more dirt and weak stone free. Trickles become streams, streams, floods.
The rumble and grind of shifting stone fills the entire cavern. All around where Gunnar, Luthael, Raseri, and Ingryd stand, trickling streams of muddy water plunge downward from above in fast growing amounts. In a matter of seconds the number double and are accompanied by a just as steady flow of small rocks, grit, and mud. Crawling out of the lake Scramsax curses as a stream of rock and pebble strike her from above followed by a slurry of muddy water. Another grinding rumble that rattles the ground beneath feet and sets hairs rising on backs of necks.
No stranger to the song of the stone, Gunnar calls out, "We must leave quickly--this cavern will not stand for much longer!" Looking at Ingryd standing over the body of the dead enemy wizard, Gunnar mourns the loss of an opportunity to study the magic this creature once wielded.
He calls out, "Grab what tomes or items of power you might see as we leave!" as he turns around and sprints for the land bridge, back the way they came. In truth he is more interested in the Perun altar and items on it than the one to Cairn, but he is most interested in not getting buried beneath the rubble.
"Scramsax! Where's the gem? Did you replace it?" Raseri's voice calls out over the cacophony of falling earth, stone, and water.
"No, somethin' klepped it! There's a thief in the water!" the thief in the water exclaimed.
Raseri sighs. Of course something went wrong. She says a brief prayer to Thor before taking a deep breath and diving into the water.
Luthael shakes his head at Scramsax's answer. "There is nothing more for us to do here. Time to leave, or this will become our own tombs."] Luthael maintains his connection with his heavenly host escort and looks for anything useful along the way to getting out.
Ingryd still under the effects of rage moves her legs carrying her quickly as she doubles her movement to get back to the narrow caverns to the cave above.
Luthael, Gunnar and Ingryd begin the long dash back across the natural bridge toward the altar of Perun. They can see the dripping form of Scramsax pulling herself ashore not so far from the ancient, fallen priest and the now cracked altar of Midgard's current Deity of War. The trio only get a dozen paces along the bridge when a loud splash draws their attention.
It is Raseri. The priestess of Thor diving into the murky water obviously in search of the ruby and it's not quite fully imprisoned guest. Within moments her swimming form disappears in the swirling, churning, grit and ink filled waters of the underground lake.
Moments later the entire roof of the cavern groans like ten thousand late night drunkards suddenly struck with fouled guts. Fifty feet beyond the High Wizards altar a massive chunk of stone slams into the ground with a bone crushing, ear shattering boom. A torrent of icy water comes flowing into the cavern washing down more mud, dirt, stone and ice.
A rather startled and stunned fish flops around on the ground madly until it is washed along in the cascade from above down into the lake where it hurriedly dives for the deeps. On its way down it passes Raseri, bubbles filtering slowly from her nose as her keen eyes try to penetrate the murky waters.
At first she spies nothing. A massive boom ripples through the water followed by the percussive blast of impact. Not so long after, as her ears pick up the sudden steady rush on in flowing water, the priestess spots a dim flicker of crimson light. Barely perceptible through the darkness. Near the bottom of the lake, ninety, one hundred feet down and another seventy feet further away from the exit. She watches for a heartbeat longer. It did appear to be rising, although slowly. How, why, or upon what, she cannot see. Only the slowly growing stain of bloodlight spiraling back up toward the surface.
Continuing to move and dash towards the exit, Gunnar has few spells left, though he does mentally prepare himself to cast Misty Step (bonus action) if he falls too far behind the others or finds himself in the path of a particularly large falling boulder.
As he runs, he continues to look for items of interest or power that he can scavenge as they escape--or any sign of that cursed evil god gem reappearing.
Raseri starts swimming to intercept the rising light all while silently cursing herself for not asking for any blessings that might have allowed her better mobility. She would be correcting that mistake on the morrow. For now, she has gem to catch.
Luthael follows his companions to the exit with his translucent heavenly host protecting them. He still has many spells left but no targets to attack or helpless people to save. He does not know what that crazy Thor priestess is doing.
The prophet believes that Khors is angling him to be near the exit with that shadow emerges from the water with the gem for an attempt to capture it then. An attempt. They were all tired, and he certainly did not like being a cavern, potentially a tomb, with earth between himself and his god's sun.
Hearing Gunnar's call, Scram went on a crazed, klepto raid as the sky fell and everyone died.
Water pours through the opening in the caverns roof. A seemingly never ending torrent of water that continues to eat away at the weakened stone of the caverns ceiling. As the stone gives way, even more water floods into the cavern. Even after such a short time the shore line near Perun's altar is already lapping at the stone's holy base. There is another earth grinding moan from above, thunderous cracks and snapping. A chunk of stone the size of a small temple breaks free and slams into the former alter of Carn crushing it and the remains of the fallen followers beneath a thousand tons of rock, earth, and icy mud.
Scramsax shoves the body of the now truly dead priest of Perun aside to get a closer look at the weapons still resting atop the altar. A long blade carved from blue lapis, etched with a series of runes. A hide shield, Perun's symbol in faded color emblazoned on the front. The blackened, charred remnants of runic symbols circling the outer edge. A jade spear point a jagged streak of symbolic lightning carved into each side of the wide point. The wooden shaft is rotted and brittle with age. Finally, an obsidian headed hammer. Cold to the touch, much colder than the surrounding air. It makes the halfling's head ache and her stomach twist to look upon the piece for more than a few seconds.
Another mass of collapsing stone falls, rattling the altar as the halfling ponders the ancient items dedicated to a god. Gunnar, Luthael, and Ingryd make it across the land bridge just as yet another portion of the roof collapses, this time crushing the center of the bridge in an ear crushing explosion of stone upon stone.
Dust and grit fill the air everywhere. Luthael's holy light glows in the darkness, but extends only so far before being absorbed by the billowing, swirling clouds of destruction fueled dust. A torrent of water flows into the cavern. A cascade equal to that witnessed back outside at the thundering falls. More fish, crawdads, eels, a pair unfortunate river goblins plunge into the cavern, some fortunate enough to land in water, others landing with a bone shattering thud upon stone.
Within the churning depths of the water, Raseri barely avoids being crushed by a plunging stone from above. The glowing cloud of crimson light rises closer. An odd form slowly begins to emerge from the depths. A winged mermaid of some sort is the what the priestess sees. Humanoid head and upper body, finned lower powerfully driving upward. But in addition, two leathery wings are folded against her back, evidence of an ability to take to the air should the creature reach the surface. A length of thick tentacle is still wrapped around the creature's lower body, even in death clinging to it's enemy.
A tree plunges into the water from above once again shrouding both priestess and her quarry from each other as the ice coated fir limbs and other debris stir the waters and block the view.
Gunnar’s eyes are for his friends and the exit. He rushes as quickly as his legs can take him, hoping the god gem is buried forever beneath the mountain!
”There!” yells Gunnar, pointing at a section of rock where the entrance was, ”We must dig to uncover the exit!”
He plunges right at the indicated area, blasting loose stone away with a thunderous boom!
Scram narrowed her eyes at the rising gemstone, feeling some new, deep scorn for the whole situation. Goblins. Of course, it was the putrid stinks that swiped the rock down there.
Looting the altar, there was nothing rushing through the thief's mind but a kind of professional loss staring at some hard facts: the gobbies had bested ol' Scrammy in the end. It would just take a moment to walk over and stab them...with this jade spear.
Gripping the old spear point like a dagger, the thief rushed to where the goblins and other stuff had fallen from above. Scram looked back and forth between the succulent ice fish that was flopping around and the KOed goblin.
It was time to cut and run.
It was time to have a nice dinner.
Scram skewered the fish and headed towards the massive dwarfknocker known as Gunnar's thunderclap. Slipping a hidden crowbar from along her thigh, the klepto-spelunker found leverage.
”Grab the items from the altar—they may be useful later or help us dig now!” suggests Gunnar as he rebounds from his self-created sonic boom.
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Raseri continues to swim to intercept the creature rising out of the water with the gem.
Luthael sees both the only way out, Raseri, and the gemstone that his god ordered him to put back. "Gunnar! Ingryd! Scramsax! Raseri and I will find another way out!" ... through heaven or hell.
The prophet positions himself with his translucent heavenly host swirling around him on the shore ready to burn whatever is carrying the gemstone.
Ingryd stands next to the prophet and waits hoping to see how the others need her muscle to be utilized.
'Tell me where to dig and I will dig, or swim"
”Dig with me until the foe surfaces,” says Gunnar to Ingryd, ”Then do what seems best to you,” he adds.
Ingryd goes and begins to exude her claws and muscle to digging, feriously with strength and spee. The same strength and speed she does in battle
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At the altar of Perun, the halfling, with encouragement from Gunnar, doesn't hesitate to scoop up each of the items carefully placed upon the holy site. This results in a series of effects, that to an outside scholar of holy totems would find quite interesting and intriguing. To the halfling they are merely painful.
The lapis sword is the first to respond to the thief's touch. Cold blue energy crackles and sparks in great arcs that zap flesh, tingle toes, and sizzle hair.
You dare lay your hands upon me, foul ally of the Great Enemy? A haughty baritone voice echoes within Scramsax's mind. (It is worth noting that the keen observer would recall that this particular halfling has often been plagued by various voices, personalities, and other entities residing within her, or previously his, head. While this might cause one to assume a certain comfort level with such occurrences, one would be incorrect. First, this particular voice is rather overbearing, pompous, and annoyingly pushy. Second, having another personality enter ones mind is just not something one gets used to, even halflings.) Free me of your infernal touch, this instant." The voice adds punctuating the statement with a fierce burst of electrical energy.
Oh Dear. Oh my goodness! Did that hurt? I'm really sorry about that, but my companion does have a point. Heehee. A sword has a point. Did I make a joke there? What? Oh. Where was I? The rather scatterbrained, flighty, and confused voice of the hide shield is the next to enter the increasingly crowded mental space of one Scramsax the Many Minds. I'm really not sure, you should be handling us in that way. Now, how about that handsome glowy fellow over there. He seems just dreamy. Although...what is that he's carrying?
Never mind that you circular twit. Scoffs the spear. "That idiot priest let my body rot...again. I swear, would it be too hard to just jab me on the end of a decent stick once in a while? I mean I am a holy artifact of mighty Perun. Pftt. Whatever. Doesn't seem to count for anything. No solid hickory for me. Or better yet, steel, now there's a handle you can count on. But noooooo! Look halfling, I don't care what the others say, you want to take me anywhere, get me a handle first.
The green spear head inexplicably drops out of the halfling's grip and clatters on the ground.
Really. I don't see the point of it at all. Why bother? We're nothing more than tiny bits of chemicals and energy floating through the vastness of the cosmos. We fight, struggle, wait, empower, and all of it only to end up doing it all over and over again. The mournful voice of the void hammer sighs sadly. Sure we're all going to get buried here for another five thousand years, or not. But what use freedom? We'll just be handed off to some other mortal with delusions of grandeur. The weight of the voice is nothing compared to the weight of the hammer which is like attempting to lift a dozen barrels of fine dwarven dark ale.
Ah crap. Did you grab him too? Hollers the sword.
Oh pooh! Don't be such a downer, there's always some good that cam come of things.
Oh right. Poor you, at least you have a f%^king body.
Please don't eat me miss. Begs the fish. I've a wife, five hundred kids, not too mention a mortgage on a swimming hole that just collapsed. I mean could you just cut me a break and let me go?
Meanwhile, Gunnar blasts the stone near the tunnel exit revealing a sliver of an opening. Ingryd gets to work with shovel and hammer even as more and more water and stone pours into the chamber.
Fifty feet away, Luthael stands along the shore waiting for the bearer of the gem to surface. Within the waters, Raseri manipulates the water itself to shove the odd creature toward her. Sensing the sudden intrusion upon its body, the strange merwoman grimaces and then slams the gemstone into her left eye crushing the small orb like an overripe grape. The gem flares to brilliant life as an aura of power engulfs the creature. Twisting toward Raseri, the eye within the gem blinks once, twice, thrice at the priestess of Thor. Then a beam of pure red energy flashes from the eye. Water boils instantly along the path of the beam creating a hissing swirl of bubbling steam and chaos along its back trail. A trail now quickly followed by the gembearer as it closes the distance to Raseri.
Pulling out his Mason’s Tools from his pack now that some of the rocks are scattered, Gunnar assesses which rocks need to be cleared and which ones can be used to reinforce the structure of the passage. He directs Ingryd based on his assessment, relying on her for most of the heavy lifting.
Raseri is used to the heat of the forge and weathers the boiling water fairly well, though her clumsiness in the water means that she takes the brunt of the blast. More importantly, however, she manages to keep the spell controlling the water going. Divine energies redirect the flow towards her as she focuses in on the prize she seeks.
Ingryd continues digginf, focusing everythinf on her task. As she does she just seems to hum a string of notes
Luthael sees the creature put the gem in their eye socket. Unfortunately, he had seen that trick before, and it was terribly handy not to have the gemstone in play, like a kickbag. Just need to dust the creature first.
With his translucent heavenly host swirling around him on the shore ready for melee, the prophet sends Sacred Flames toward the creature.
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"Mourning the loss of your shaft, eh spear? Guess what? Fish over here has mortgage problems, did you ever think of that? Here, how about you two decide...who deserves to stay more? Whoever lives, I'll toss back in the lake."
Scram equips the fish with a tiny dagger before directly chucking it at the spear point on the ground.