Forcing his way through the wall of ruinous sound, the gearforged reached the screaming head and brought his hammer down at it. Each step felt more difficult than the last, let alone swinging his hammer, but the Paladin refused to take a step back.
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Dacknar and Gaius cower in the tunnel with the continuing screams emanating from the cavern ahead. For Dacknar the wailing of the sacrificial construct sends his mind plummeting backward into time and another, darker, deadly place...
The lumbering merchant cog was supposed to be easy prey. A blessed boon of good luck on an otherwise disappointing voyage. Captain Yig, of the Reaper's Bounty growled orders and smiled his sharktoothed grin. The same wicked smile that crossed his scar-riddled face whenever he sensed blood and riches in the water.
Eager and full of youth, Dacknar was one of the first to board the merchant ship. They didn't expect much resistance, but certainly not what they found. Bodies. Dead for days, maybe weeks. Not easy deaths. Bits and pieces were strewn from end to end of the hold and the captain's cabin was painted in blood and gore.
It was while he explored the officer's cabin that the screams began. An otherworldly, high-pitched wailing that sent chills down his youthful spine. By the time he scrambled back up on deck, the screams of his fellow pirates had joined those other aetheral cries. The cacophony was mind numbing. The sight that met his eyes a horror the young rogue had never experienced before or since.
A dozen ghostly, ghastly banshees drift among the rigging and along the decks. Their pitiful, terror inducing screams, screeching across the calm ocean air. A few of his comrades ushered up enough courage to strike at the undying creatures, but most simply cowered and died as long claws tore their bodies limb from limb.
Seeing what he'd caught, Yig knowing replacement crewmen were easy to come by, ordered grappling lines cut and sails up. Yig himself grabbed a pole and helped shove the Bounty free of the ghost ship.
Dacknar could only watch in horror, the wailing horrors between him and his slowly retreating salvation. Finally one of the creatures spots him after eviscerating another pirate. It unleashes an unholy screech and flies toward Dacknar. The elven youth scrambles below deck and back toward the captains cabin. The wailing sea banshee slowly drifting behind, certain in its ability to ultimately catch is feeble, mortal prey.
It was Loki's own luck that the captain just happened to be a devout Khorsman and had recently replenished his stock of blessed water. Remembering tales of how holy water can fend off the unliving, Dacknar grabs the six marked glass beakers. Biting the seal off the first he waits for the creature to enter the cabin.
With the inevitability of death, the banshee slides through the wall and into the cabin. The scream it unleashes in the tight confines of the cabin blurs Dacknar's eyes and leaves little but ringing after wails rattling in his ears. But he's ready and sprays a mass of holy water at the ragged feminine form. If only the merchantman had been as savy a trader as he was a devout worshipper he would have recognized the water as fake. Unfortunately for the dead merchant and Dacknar, he was not. Loki's Luck had turned yet again upon the rogue.
The water has little effect upon the creature. A long claw slashes Dacknar across the chest opening three deep gouges upon his flesh. He's tossed back in the process. Crashes through the stern window and out into the dangling shoreboat. With the banshee drifting toward him, ready to extinguish the last bit of life left aboard the ship, Dacknar swipes his blade across the ropes. He drops to the sea and spends the next week in a dazed, blood soaked, stupor of hunger and thirst before finally washing ashore just outside Barsella.
Never will he forget the terror induced by those wailing banshee screams. Thus it is that to hear such a thing again, so similar, so utterly courage shearing, that he is left locked in place, unable to do little but keep his heart from pounding out of his chest and avoid looking at the puddle growing at his feet.
In the meantime, Gaius tries to rally, but the artificer deems it much more prudent to stay back while other, braver and more capable lads deal with whatever horror could cause such a noise.
Within the chamber, Toki's second attempt to strike the creature ends with a more satisfying crunch than his first. The warhammer cracks the stone beneath the flesh, sending several chunks flying. His blow is followed by Rilkus, whose silvered weapon has an even more spectacular effect. The left arm of the construct shatters completely when the paladin's hammer blow lands. Although seemingly impossible, the construct's screech become even more wild and high pitched. Pummeling the room with palpable waves of fear and pain. That is until Beordt brings his mighty sword crashing down across the skull and stone frame. Some of the bladed blow is diverted by the stone, but not the crushing head butt that caves in the things jaws, nose and utterly crushes one panic-filled eye. The thing's cries are abruptly cut off.
There is little time to celebrate. One of the trollkin warriors steps up and lets the short spear fly. The gleaming stone blade slams into Beordt, knocking the bearkin back a step as blood blooms from his gut.
The second trollkin warrior continues his charge and ends up only a few feet from Rilkus, Toki and Beordt.
The necromancer slides forward and flings two ruby colored scarabs that in the air, take flight on rapidly whirring wings and race toward Toki and Beordt. The crimson beetles, land on flesh and quickly try to burrow under the skin of the two heroes.
Shield raised, Rilkus sought to bash the trookin warrior before him in the face. Truly, not the most deadly of moves, but it was hard to argue with the effectiveness of breaking an opponent's nose.
Rilkus, Tor is watching! This ugly thing couldn't be loved by anything but his mother! Toki taunts.
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Fear of his past still hunting him. Dacknar refuses to move, but mumbles out. "The screams have stopped, but that could mean that the creature could be coming for us. We must flee or die."
And Dcknar takes a few steps backwards before some sense of courage or perhaps pride slowly starts to surface.
It's a small spark in the darkness, but that spark is all that is needed. It becomes fueled by the memories of past deeds and actions, glowing brighter and brighter. For there is a reason why he has a reputation that he is feared in many a port town.
Slowly, very slowly that spark starts to get brighter.
"No, no I will not this time."
Dacknar slowly start to move forward, each step a fight to take but each becoming a little easier than the last.
Take down the caster! Toki calls, It seems we interrupted a foul ritual! Let us not let them resume! This altar and pool are still infused with foul magicks!
Beordt rushes the necromancer. "Die foul bugromancer."
The bearkin brings sword in and follow through teeth bared.
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Gauis had taken to closing his eyes and covering his ears and just existing from moment to moment, wanting to flee but also not wanting to go farther from what was surely a thing of unspeakable horror which his friends were fighting even now.
The silence was loud when the screaming stopped. He even had to make sure he had not simply gone deaf, or, more likely, irrevocably mad, to get used to the not-screaming that he heard.
Seeing Dacknar at first retreat, but then have heart enough to take furtive steps forward, only doubles Gauis' courage to ADVANCE and make up for time lost, and to take up the risk that others had taken up for him.
Toki tickles the trollkin warrior's mind with his bardic magics while the inspiration of Thor charges the metal gears of Rilkus' arms. The paladin delivers a crushing blow to the enemies hip, shattering the bone. With the trollkin staggered, Beordt uses the creature's limited mobility to his advantage. The bearkin slides right a step, then suddenly pivots back left bringing the massive ogre blade down in a violent arc. The heavy sharp blade severs the trollkin's head and right shoulder from the rest of its body. A geyser of blood sprays across the bearkin, his companions, and the sacrificial pool causing it to start bubbling and boiling with some nefarious power.
Relieved of the fear inducing screeches of the construct, Gaius and Dacknar regain control of their minds and bodies and move to rejoin their companions.
The second trollkin warrior takes up a defensive stance in front of the spell slinger, waiting for anyone to charge up the stairs. At the same time the caster utters a few guttural words and points at Rilkus. A painful ringing noise fills the air. The eldritch power ripples through the air rending metal, bone, and flesh alike.
Beordt pushes past the new trollkin wanting to end the mage.
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Entering the area that has become an arena of blood and gore and the macabre, Gauis at last takes in the developing seen and understands the foemen facing their stalwart group. Seeing the trollkin take up a good position before the shaman, Gauis sounds his battlecry.
"Do not fear, friends, I will charge the enemy and make a way to the vile--" then his speech is cut short as he sees the bear of a barbarian take a MIGHTY cleave unto the last swordsman. Jaw hanging open in astonishment and mouth agape he is honestly unsure if anyone could survive such a blow. Not really wanting to stick anything of his anywhere near that for fear of losing it, his hasty steps come to a trickle before he stops and throws an obligatory lance of fire at the remaining shaman.
The metal form that was Rilkus cracked under the wave of sonic energy. His tears grinding as they broke, he took one last desperate move by throwing his hammer with every bit of force he could muster.
With his legs starting to work Dacknar closes the distance to the battle.
Toki staggers, dropping to a knee as blood trickles from a ruptured eardrum...
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Dacknar descends the steps to join Gaius about where the artificer stands ten feet from the sacrificial. The artificer releases a bolt of flame that bursts against the enemy spell slinger's chest. Before the creature can retaliate, Toki charges forward. The waiting warrior stabs at the bard, but his aim is off as he doesn't really expect Toki to pivot and drop down low in a flying tackle that knocks his feet from under him and sends them both tumbling in a tangle of limbs.
Moments later Rilkus' hammer flies by in a chuffing whirl of silvered doom. The paladin's mighty throw crashes into the bloodmage like a charging elephant. The trollkin's shoulder cracks and his arm suddenly hangs limp at his side as he is spun around by the blow. Beordt is on the move before the hammer clatters upon the stone steps. With the path clear, the bearkin rushes forward. At first the attack seems almost clumsy and doomed to failure, but the it must have simply been in fact it was an elaborate move perfected by the clan Stormchaser over twelve generations of war and battle.
Performed to perfection, the maneuver cleanly removes the bloodmage's head in one fell slice of the deadly scimitar. The trollkin's eyes still blink is astonishment as his head proceeds to bounce down the steps with a soft *thunk* *thunk* *thunk*
Another geyser of blood soaks Beordt and the stairs as mage's body drain's its contents onto the stone creating rivulets of crimson that wend their way down toward the central altar.
The pool where the original construct remains dormant and immobile, but where the previously killed trollkin's blood continues to flow freely into the now wildly bubbling and gurgling pool.
Beordt roars suggesting similar fates fall foolish foes. He starts toward the next trollkin but looks toward Toki, "Are we summoning something? I doubt it will be on our side." Though his words apprehensive his actions are visceral. He brings this sword down followed by a crushing press of bear.
Toki and the trollkin wrestle on the steps of the amphitheater. The struggle is fierce and neither can really gain the upper hand on the other. Instead they flop and roll down a half dozen steps, ending up on the tiled center where trickles of blood continue to wend their way toward the sacrificial pool.
But the bard's efforts are not in vain, for they keep the enemy distracted and in place just long enough for Beordt to bring his mighty blade crashing down to severe one of the trollkin's legs. Teh bearkin follows up by throwing his entire weight down upon the hapless creature. Barely escaping being smothered by his companion, Toki can't escape the spray of blood that goes shooting out of the enemies severed hip. Bolstered by Beordt's heavy weight the stream gushes across the bard, the altar and the increasingly agitated pool.
Toki stands, exalting in the thrill of battle, but feeling keenly the weariness coming of the exertion. Faltering ever so slightly, the skald moves toward the construct of foulness, ready to shatter all that remains...
Beordt looks at Toki and his intent stare at the pool. "You're gonna poop in the piscina again? Can't say they don't deserve it."
Toki laughs, Can't say the thought crossed my mind, but I don't know if that would do it... Not for these trull...
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"Well that would hardly be worse than they warrant," Gaius calls over, absently agreeing with the sentiment.
After satisfying himself that Rilkus is off death's door, Gauis continues his borderline-obsessive duty with checking the trollkin, seeing if any of their gear is of salvageable quality, or, and the odds of this are ever-decreasing, worth using.
"Whatever you plan on doing to or in the pool, methinks we must make haste. Only John Galt knows how long that fire will keep them distracted, and we must needs explore the whole of this passage to find the prisoners."
Still, you're a bard. A man trained to remember what he hears or witnesses with almost little to know effort. So it is that you recall a debate between a trio of godpushers back in Zobeck. Three long bearded codgers cackling like hens about the various aspects of ritual and worship. For most of the time your were distracted by the aforementioned barmaid, but some part of your mind perked up and paid attention when the conversation turned to some of the darker gods and their ways that are so often frowned upon by civilized societies.
You recall one of the priests, a man of Khors judging by the garish yellow and orange robes and the sun prominently tattooed upon his cheek. This cleric of light spoke of the discovery of a secret cabal of Marena worshippers lurking beneath the streets of the city. Crinkling his nose and frowning in disgust at how long it took to get the blood stains out of his robes, the old lightbearer finally got to the meat of the matter. It'd taken a half dozen priests of light and their acolytes to finally get the place cleansed of the blood goddess presence. But he goes on to share how that was because of the wide extent and spread of the Blood Bi$#@es presence.
"It took us a month to cleanse and sanctify the unholy mess." He says slurping his plum wine. "Got started by using more than fifty barrels of holy water on the place. Acolytes were mopping and sloping for days." He adds with a hearty laugh.
"But the water paid off. One young lad foolishly cut himself while scraping ritual works from the stones. Got a few drops of fresh blood in a still active puddle and nearly summoned one of them blood elementals the cult is so fond of. Fortunately, I was there to splash a bucket of holy water over the beast before it could get itself fully through the portal. Merana's bloody works can't stand a good bathing in pure, blessed water."
Pushing the memory aside, you stare again at the boiling pool and recognize a hand momentarily form within the bubbling liquid. You're certain there's another elemental from the plane of blood trying to push its way into the world. You aren't sure if anyone has any or enough holy water with them, but you are sure that's the quickest, easiest way to stop or at least substantially weaken the beast before it breaks through.
Holy water, Toki says resolutely, Blood demons are on the other side of that pool, and holy water is likely the only thing that'll do the job. We lost Lil, though... We need the gods for this...
The young skald takes a breath, Let us bring home the prisoners first, then deal with this.
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"Agreed, Toki. Once we have let slip a starving horde of slaves, and, perhaps, armed them somewhat, we will be much more able to take stock of the situation and see if fight or flight is our best avenue.
For the now, yes, let us be about our business."
Gauis reminds himself that the trollkin weapons, though they might be bereft of value, still might do well enough in the hands of liberated slaves, and he sets his standards quiet low in his searchings.
Dacknar moves forward to scout ahead down the dark tunnel.
Rilkus regarded the vile sight before him. He did not have holy water, but he had his faith. He picked up his silver Warhammer and the weapon began to glow with a soft, golden light, which grew brighter and brighter as he poured everything he had into it. Without a word he brought it up, and then down, seeking to break apart the unholy affront that was before him. He saw no reason to speak, for actions spoke for far louder. If this did not work, then truly it was beyond him.
Beordt, Toki and Gaius discuss and debate the merits of possible alternatives to holy water. Never one for long winded processes, Rilkus recovers his hammer and stomps up to the altar. He takes a few moments to ponder the weak points of the stone before bringing the hammer down in a powerful arc. Light flashes as the paladin's holy blow smashes upon the blood stained stone. Several cracks appear upon the alter and the boiling blood of the pool steams and hisses as the holy light of the strike washes across the ooze. In fact, you all hear the pained squeal of the creature trying to fight its way into the mortal world. An eerie, echoing sound both within and outside of this world. As the cry ends, the churning of the pool subsides just a little. Wary of this new, unexpected threat, the thing beyond ponders whether to flee or push harder.
This proves more fruitful. Clearly many have made the trek in recent days. And judging from the obvious scuffing and trailing tracks, many were prisoners struggling against or incapacitated by their captures. It's highly likely those you seek are not far ahead.
Rilkus didn't want to use up the last of his power to force divine spells upon the mortal world, but this took precedence. He raised his hammer and brought it down once more...there could be no pity and no mercy for abominations such as this!
We don't have forever, let us hope that will hold it and we can come back with you and Beordt when you are rested! Toki places a hand on Rilkus' shoulder, We have prisoners to save.
"Maybe its on our side. We gave it the blood. Fitting that they should reap what they have sown."
He turns and nods, "Prisoners."
Dacknar slowly move back to the others and then reports.
"That trail has not been used for a very long time. But this tunnel here where the beasts came out from has sign that prisoners move through that area. Ah think we be close to those we seek."
Let us not dally, then, Toki starts heading down the hallway, with some modicum of stealth...
Channeling the last of his divine power for the day, Rilkus did what he could to heal the worst of the wounds suffered by him and Toki. It wasn't enough, to be sure, but it was all he could do.
Toki nods his thanks before disappearing down that hall, expecting the rest of them to follow...
Beordt takes a minute to catch his breath with the intensity of combat was over.