The divine light of Rillifane Rallathil burrows into the water, but the baatezu has the presence of mind to battered body just barely out of the way...
Szasa moves forward and then a spell, using the power of magic to fly forward a bit more. before landing and gesturing, a beam of light streaking towards the devil.
The ice devil's constituent molecules were torn into atoms...then those atoms further disintegrated into subatomic particles. But it didn't end there, the protons and neutrons disintegrated into quarks and gluons...which further decomposed into preons and finally into the void. A complete absence of matter.
The threat to the camp is gone, but it remains devastated. Numerous Thayans or their acolytes maintaining this post have died or are dying from fire and poison. The flames are strong, but short lived...the canvas tents and crates of supplies offering little to sate their hunger. With Finlogan's help, the worst of it is snuffed and smoking by the time Selune's tears pierce the azure of twilight.
Aykiq, the mage who fought almost to the last, does her best to offer you some comfort when you explain your mission to the Glacier. She summons up a bitter but flavorful tea which is quite refreshing after a day on the trail (and baatezu slaying). "I wasn't expecting anything like this...but in the final analysis, it may prove to my benefit." giving a brief window into her thinking "I can be quite resourceful." she mentions looking over the fallen.
"Agreed. I will be in my tent if anyone needs me." says Szasa, who changes again and then goes to bed.
As soon as the Ice Devil disintegrated, the tower of water evaporated with a shift of the hierophant's staff. Only flotsam and jetsam and a bit of dew in its path remained of the terrible destructive power of the elements.
Seeing a few seconds in advance, Finlogan starts analyzing the Red Mages comments before she said them.
He could cure all of their effects of poison, but let Nature take it's course. Certainly don't tell Lindaer about that. He wants to cure everyone. Some need to become fertilizer sooner than later. He thought to himself.
He goes to find any animal witnesses of the summoning to determine if he can learn anything of their infernal motives.
Fin, if you had to hazard a guess, you would think Aykiq was about to infuse necrotic energy into the corpses and raise them in servitude. It simply makes the most economic sense, less mouths to feed means less supplies to manage.
Regarding the animals, they were likely scared shitless by the arrival of Degamos of the 9th layer of Hell and his captains. None turn up in the 500 ft radius or so that you scout.
Falko, you do turn up a half-keg of a very strong liquor, almost 100% alcohol but smelling like other chemicals mixed in. Probably worth a sip.
Not sure what the mage means by being resourceful, Tarn simply accepts her thanks while helping her up and dusting off some of the chunkier bits of grime and grit from her robes. His small hands deftly slip into pockets, pouches and pack grabbing at least one thing of value or interest he discovers and can easily nab. After all it's the least she can pay for saving her life. He thinks, not entirely sure she wasn't responsible for the entire fiasco in the first place.
Tarn, padding all over, a warm slightly vibrating stick catches your attention...you pull a long, slim, black wand out of her pocket and into your sleeve. Glancing at it later, you see it has the head of a spider carved into it...
Falko, who knows what the hell it is, but its doing the job and how. You get a rush as your inhibitions are lifted and your spirits soar. Although those pants seem a bit...restrictive... At the same time, it occurs to you a large floppy hat would be better than the lack of one.
Leaving the mage to her Thayan devices, Tarn smiles and waves farewll after carefully sliding the wand into one of the numerous pockets hidden within his robes. Stepping back on his carpet the southerner drifts over to rejoin the others where he watches as Falko begins talking rather provocatively to an odd smelling bottle.
With a simple shake of his head he leaves the barbarian to his drink and takes a position fifty feet above the camp and begins slowly circling while watching for further dangers.
Szasa climbs out of the hole and goes to see what all the shouting is about. "What did you find?" she asked.
"Oh, no. The last time I had wine I ended up in a bed that wasn't mine."
After returning from attempting to question the fauna, Finlogan approaches the Thayan wizard. "I suggest you wait until we leave before you produce any undead. Now, I'm realistic that you will not change your habits that will eventually get you killed. Some of my companions here on the other hand, will advance the date on which you personally get to share the experience of your victims and tools."
The Hierophant offers a font of healing before they settle into beds with watches.
After ensuring that everyone who should be standing is still standing, Daryl takes the time to visit each of the dead Thayans, and say a prayer over them, as well as check for any survivors.
He keeps his thoughts to himself as he works.
Very powerful companions I now have. Hope we can work as a group when we need to.
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”Here, I can but pray for their souls to be judged fairly. While it is possible to bring back the dead, it is a tiring process and one that I can only perform a few times. Rather, the power given to me is going to be spent on ensuring that none of the wounded need that power. Come, we can talk as I work.” He then added ”I fear that my powers are nowhere near as potent as that of Fingolan or Lady Szasa. Nor will they ever reach such dizzying heights.” He sighed. ”But power is not all there is in life, no? I believe that what matters more than one’s amount of strength is what one decides to do with it. So, tell me. What is it that you seek? What purpose lies behind the power that you have earned?”
"In any case, can I stash my bottles in your portable hole? I mean... You know what I mean!"
"I don't mind. At least you asked first." Szasa also laughs.
She then takes the bottles from him and stores them in a chest.
With things remaining fairly peaceful as the evening continues, Tarn spends a bit of time later that evening examining the spider-headed wand. It never ceased to amaze him what wizards tried to do a simple pointy stick. Of course, all too often the glowing end was pointing in his direction.
With the moon drifting across the sky, the little goblin continues to examine and spin the black wand in his small hands. After about the fiftieth spin, he notices some tiny red, script scrolling around the carved abdomen of the spider.
"Ara...Arachn...Arachnophobia..." He whispers, quietly reading the script to himself. Unfortunately, he also happened to place his thumb directly onto the center of the carved abdomen as he did so. Without warning the wand suddenly unleashes a burst of sticky, clinging spider webs covering Tarn, his carpet, and his gear.
"Ahhh....so that's what it does." A delighted but muffled voice says from within the spontaneous cocoon, seemingly unfazed by the blast or his confined situation. With little but two pointed ear tips and the feather from his hat still visible, the curious goblin begins the slow process of cutting his way free with his trusty dagger.
At Finlogan's subtle threat, the Thayan gives a tired sigh with a nod "...yes, our culture finds little empathy here in the west. Finds little, despite near universal acceptance of the shield dwarves. Dumathoin may empoly undead as courier to Kings, yet the Thayans get such...scoldings...the second we utilize the same resource; even in the simplest of toolings. It's my sincere wish our cultures might see eye to eye one day..." debates the wizard with genuine argument.
But Aykiq looks upon the seizure of her supplies with mild disdain "...er...yes I suppose you can keep that batch of Corpus Vitalizer. Our post is luckily less remote than the others..." she justifies to herself. Or perhaps she is just too afraid to challenge the group.
Lindaer's wonders never cease, channeling the ancient elven guardian of harmony through the night. The imp's poison proves hard to counter however, emboldened by some unusually tenacious eldritch vigor. In the end, less than a third of the camp's employ survived the sudden attack from Hell.
The next morning, Finlogan gathers the party near an old gray spruce betrestled with holly...
Daryl continues tending to the injured and recently deceased until a few hours after sunset. He's not really sociable as he's still digesting the days events.
Finally he goes into his tent for the evening, arising slightly before dawn to greet the new day with prayers to Enlil.
"Come here for a moment friend. You must have laid your head in a spider web as you slept. Let me get those strands off the back of your head".
"Ah...yes. I did indeed have a bit of trouble." Tarn says to Daryl plucking yet another bit web from his hat and robe. "Thank you for your aide. The stuff does get everywhere it seems. I fear it'll take days to get it out of my carpet." He says. Pushing back his hat and scratching his head and frowning at his carpet. The poor rug now sports a variety of short, sticky strands across much of its surface. These mix in with a few scorch marks from the nights devilish encounter and the large peach juice stains from his arrival in Mulmaster.
"Khadi is going to kill me if I'm unable to find a good cleaner on the way back home. Although the webs do help to hide the other stains, don't you think?" He says turning back to Daryl with a hopeful grin.
During breakfast, you realize the Thayan's supplies aren't exactly trail rations...you have instead fresh fruits, sugared nuts and figs, lightly-smoked meats, and skins filled with wines and fruit juices. Oddly, it is already starting to spoil.
With the days journey discussed, there is nothing left for it but to listen to the forgotten song of the infant lands...the sound of Toril's first flowers blooming...one forgotten by all but the ones who guard it.
Gently a warm breeze, like the first breath of spring after a cold winter, brushes your cheek...and your cheek willingly dissolves into it. The rest of your material form is only too eager to follow, spilling upwards in a quick draft, rushing into this new quite bearable lightness of being.
With a mere thought, your form is projected forward at tremendous speed, faster than you've ever gone...faster than your mortal form would ever allow. There is no motion sickness, no gut lurching or headrush of blood...simple immediate translocation...
A cloud tickling the earth hardly pays it mind, though your conscious seeks landmarks for guidance. What better than the bright red banners of Thay bearing the sigil of the Zulkir. They precede along the supply line at regular intervals like a military road's stone monoliths...
Soon you spot a blinding shimmer the color of starlight, rich solid ice beyond the highest peaks of the Earthspur range. But as you coast high over the tips of the last evergreen before the crumbling peaks, suddenly your wind form is cut short! Something has, at least temporarily, suspended the spell...
Finlogan finds a batch of Goodberries the night before.
Having never before experienced such a mode of travel, Tarn spends much of the trip marveling at the feeling of actually becoming the wind. Speeding along with the clouds and currents, he giggles as he swoops past a high flying griffon, tickling its belly before diving away as the creature squawks in surprise. Swirling and looping within the clouds, he pays little attention to the camps below except to mark their presence enough to keep him on course. This is a much better way to travel than by carpet or Loremaster defend teleportation. He thinks to himself as he ruffles the tops of the nearest trees. I could really get used to....
"AIEEEEEEE!" The goblin screams, suddenly finding himself back in his fully material form and falling fast. He spots the odd orb with its creepy yellow-eyed gaze and quickly does whatever he can to reduce his speed and trajectory. His loose fitting robes suddenly flair out as he stretches his arms and legs wide. Like a kite, the billowing brightly colored fabrics flutter in the wind and sun for a moment and then grab the air, giving the small Zakharan just enough control to try and direct his fall away from the creature waiting in ambush below.
Suddenly Tarn spreads his robes like a flying squirrel and banks a hard right with an audible *whoosh*, flipping crazily end over end quickly away from you. Then, he simply disappears.
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Lindaer looked down, just in time to see...something the size of a large bear. It seemed to be hovering just above the ground under some shadowy bough down below. He caught the glint of one giant orb, a single sickly yellow eye gazing up at him.
Interesting. He thought as he began to fall. Is that the cause of this? He used the carpet of leaves, riding it as if though the Magic still worked. He trusted in his deity to carry him out of the danger they were currently in.
As the world looms large below them, Szasa knows she doesn't have long. to save herself. She tries to move away from the others, hoping to break out of the antimagic area before the ground hugs her.
Hoping she's far enough away, Szasa will cast fly on herself.
Lindaer's carpet whipped the wind as it unfurled, sending the white-knuckled elf veering to the left rapidly. Soon he too vanished.
Szasa plummets quickly below Falko, she focuses -- the Lady of Storm was no stranger to buffeting on high...but her magics failed her and she crashed into a line of evergreen branches.
Falko followed not far behind, crushing the tiny bead into his forehead...but there was no effect. A birds nest was the first thing to splat him in the face, followed by a shallow and ice cold pool of water.
"Ouch." says Szasa as she crashes to the ground.
"Of course not, but someone used antimagic, which is exactly what it sounds like."