Donal curses and hops up to his feet and runs after the mechanoid, feeling his Second Wind coming on!
Donal caught his breath and lumbered further afield, chasing the strange device down. Simon reached the scene of the earlier melee, seeing Fisk face down in the grass and Grim's horse standing at the ready.
Reya charged forward as far as her short legs can take her, which is not enough to close the 60ft gap.
The war cleric was there, hidden within the great beam of light. Hurling a divine missile plucked from the sky, or something in between thought and sky, it blasted the hard shell into scrap. *crASsh*
Malaric followed the flash of light with a crashing thunder, the orb of contained sonic flux taking a single bounce like a skipping stone off the grass before striking the device from underneath. *THOOM*
The machine halts suddenly, its axles glowing red hot and the entire pile of bolts and brass steaming in the noon sun.
Grim throws himself back in the saddle... and prepares to give chase!
Bonus action. Healing word: Fisk
Donal surges forward and slides up, plunging his hands into the core of the overheating machine!
Deciding that he'll never make another sprint toward the gnomish mechanical, Mal steps out from behind his necromatic cover and hurls another glittering orb that detonates on impact.
After it hits, he dives behind total cover again.
It was worth drinking wine after all. The guys are doing great on their own.
Nevertheless, Simon manifests from invisibility, creating his infernal runes and singing the sad melody of power and slavery. Bow down before your savior, for I will crush this death machine!! - he says before sending two charges of infernal energy into the mechanical monster.
Fisk blinks back to consciousness, heaving the heavy iron lance that had impaled him to the side and clicking off another bolt hastily...
Donal, up close and personal with the machine, can clearly see the arcane device at the heart of the control orb. The blue glow creating a larger sphere (now clear of the strange organic material growths enshelling it) allows his hand to pass freely through...but the device lurches and his fingers slip off the tiny clockwork. "Hey! Hands to yourself, bucko!" the animated ballista protests.
Reya closes the gap and flurries with her flashing blades of silver...
...yet the still glowing hot machinery prevents her from getting a close enough stance, and her attacks go wild.
Multiple Simons then suddenly appear sending an apparent hexad of beams pummelling into the structural supports of the machine, doing heavy damage. "Threat eliminated." the device announces prematurely, before the strange arcano-explosive bolt is finally loaded. With a high pitched scream, the terrible missile is unleashed...
*KRooOOOM*
Fisk is immolated in a terrible blaze, dropping unconscious yet again. Grim's horse makes a graceful leap at the last second, protecting itself from the brunt of the explosive force.
Dusting the ashes from his shoulders, Malaric makes a last second judgement call to hurl another thunderbomb at the rickety remnants of the fallen glory of Gond.
*KaBLAAAAM*
The firing pin ejects from the bow, flinging high into the sky and getting lost in the sun. The machine falls apart piece by piece as whatever magical formulae holding it together are erased and or made unintelligible by the shockwave rippling through every bolt of the thing. A final heavy lance seems to materialize in some last effort of countermeasure, but it only forms halfway, fusing into the frame and permanently rendering the entire design jammed and broken.
...yet the control orb remains lit. Its blue glow has reduced in radius, and now appears much more green. The tiny clockwork device at its heart yet ticks. "Awaiting new substrate." it announces.
The priest is blown backwards, copping a face and chest full of the blast...
HP 0.
Donal curses and rushes to Grim's side, Anybody have a potion?!
The explosion surges around the corpse where Malaric was hiding flambeing him. "Ouch! Ouch!"
He limps toward the mechanical device and removes the Core. Depending on how big and heavy it is, he finds a secure spot for it. He looks around the vehicle for a potential truck of potions of healing.
Malaric, the core is about the size of a plum yet has the heft of a mercury filled flask. The outer coating is covered in scale-like, razor thin gears and mechanisms all in constant motion. It emits dim light in a 5 ft radius, and has a visible glow surrounding the plum sized core that reaches about 1 ft in radius. The visible light is currently green.
Then, cursing himself for not getting anything from the recently visited potion shop, Mal begins the grim task of surveying the ruined caravan...piecing together splinters of wagons and hitching like a jig-saw puzzle. You become certain there were at least 4 vehicles here, the animated ballista among them.
In one you find the mundane provisions of a group of gnomes on the road. Tools, knick-knacks, keepsakes...actual survival gear an obvious second priority. Another vehicle from what you can tell was meant for a military contingent. You find fragments of weapon caches and common equipment for cleaning and maintaining gear. The third appears to be a long benched transport for a large number of people.
...it is in a fragment of this final wagon you find an unopened healer's kit, along with 3 potions.
Whether Simon, who so enthusiastically burned people in a similar way with the help of the dark magic of the Shield Lord, had time to think about instant karma and the boomerang effect remains unknown. But one thing was for sure - - a scorched young man was lying on the grass and while he was dying, he saw a nightmare in which he was fighting a horde of zombies in some abandoned fortress...
Mal tucks the plum-sized core into his gear, so it's weight is balanced. While everyone moans in pain, the halfling searches the wreck. "And Shar provides. Oh! Ho! Ho! Here we go. I've got a healer's kit and 3 potions of healing."
He heads over to Grim and pours a potion down his throat, before giving him a space.
The halfling removes his backpack and other shouldered gear before sitting down, "let's take a breather. Don't think anyone will bother us on this battlefield." He pulls out his Shar-bible and starts studying.
He shoots one of the potion after praising Shar's generosity. Finder's keepers rules apply.
"If anyone wants a potion, you just need to praise Shar's generosity. Heh. Heh." He says with a giggle. You don't know if he's kidding.
+ 10... now 37.
The priest wanders over to the gnomes...
I will be honest and confess, I don't have much fight left in me... .
He crouches down and looks them in the eyes.
So if you want to kill me, you better do it now... because, I ever hear you rebuild a thing like that again? And it kills a bunch of innocents malfunctioning through a village or such? I . WILL . FIND . YOU. AND . KILL. EVERYONE . OF . YOU, he says with deadly intensity.
He lets a roll of thunder sound around the area with a thaumaturgy cantrip.
EDIT:
The corpse was scared stiff from the Doomguide's reprimand.
The corpse was scared stiff from the Doomguide's reprimand.
Lol... I missed that bit
Fisk grumbled, snapping back from death "...hells these Gondsmen, or Nebelunans whatever they're called. I've seen wonders sure enough, but if those are the devices that guard the islands of Lantan? ...remind me to visit the east soon."
Reya well noted Malaric sliding the core into his pack.
How much do you think we can sell such a thing for? Simon sips his wine and reflects on the issues of life, death and all that. You mean that, didn't I hear wrong?
Donal - Head back
Simon - ??
Mal - ??
Grim - ??
Donal - Head back
Simon - ??
Mal - Head back
Grim - ??
Keep it... screw those little bastards. Press on to Camp and rest.
Although Malaric and Donal are quite adamant about getting the core back to the temple, Simon and Grim create a water-tight counterargument.
First, the machine was a creation of Gondsmen...but the temple at the Friendly Arm Inn was to Garl Glittergold. Sure, both organizations filled their ranks with gnomes, but religious cooperation tended to have strict boundaries. Second was the curious way the aura of light around the clockwork seemed to react when taken near the party's wagons. Tendrils of probing energy phased through the wheels and planks of the vehicle, the voice of the entity calling itself 'Select' making unusual claims like "Substrate acquired." There was truly a great power within this device, however chaotic its last incarnation.
The party left the field of carrion behind and within a few hours was climbing into the rocky coastal highlands. The steep upward climb would plateau after a few more days leading finally to the shear cliff face holding Candlekeep far aloft of the waves below...but for now it was a brutal, slow moving effort forever upwards. At one point, a rockfall had tumbled out a sloping path on the road so sharp and steep the animals had to be hoisted with block and tackle...dangling freely in the air. Then the punishing drive of dragging the vehicles up in a similar manner began.
It was the Flaming Fist donkey who came through in the end (somehow still alive after the violence of the last few days) so stubborn it did not give up until all 4 wheels again touched soil.
From an outsiders perspective, there were in fact 8 reasons why Donal's choice of a campsite was not such a great pick...
First was the wind, it was quite a bit colder at this altitude. The wind quickly sucked all the heat of a man's body, and further drove rain or snow into every nick and cranny of your shelter. Don made no notice of the wet sides of the trees, and started to stake out a location in the gustiest of all.
Second of course of water drainage. Putting camp next to water smoothed stones was never a good idea, because it meant you were in a flash flood area...or at best a channel for severe water drainage. Such considerations were foreign to the Tormtar.
Third was water access itself. Even though the respite was brief, water was heavy after all and needed for drinking, cooking and washing all. More a fault of the terrain than Donal's choice, there simply wasn't an obvious spring or even slight pool at this altitude...making the chore of water fetching a serious expedition. Luckily, there was enough left in the storage barrels on the wagon that such extremes needed not be taken.
Fourth were the widow makers. Experienced scouts always looked up...that meant dead branches that fall in a sudden wing, or the dreaded rockfalls that kill everyone instantly. This campsite had both.
Fifth, one had to consider game trails. A clearing could easily be a path animals/monsters might take at night. Even if it were the road of docile cows a single aggressive bull could demolish a camp rapidly. There were tracks and spoor all around...though none noticed.
Sixth was simply the geographical location. Cold settled in lower elevations, and wind was more intense at higher altitudes. A middle ground somewhere halfway between the two extremes was preferable. Of course this fact was lost on the group.
Clever outdoorsman looked at the dip line of trees next, the point where moisture comes off trees. This was essentially a spring from the sky, but none were nearby.
The final ignored consideration was lightning. One should never discount the possibility of a strike, especially in the highlands. Donal's choice was a single isolated tree at the top of a peak.
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In the silence, you can hear the teeth chattering loudly from the cold of a drenched and sniffling nobleman. He seems to be continuously muttering some obscenities while looking around.
=Don
*10=50 ft
Simon and Reya have an uneventful night's watch, although the lightning strikes in the distant dark give them some concern. The rolling squall brings an icy wind from the western oceans, the camp seemingly erected right in a bottleneck which focuses the full, gusty burst on Simon's face. Reya at last can't take the cold anymore and invests a lot of effort digging out a winter blanket from the wagon supplies. Mercifully, the entire thunderstorm seems to slowly strafe past them over the course of the few hours...lumbering off to the east.
Passing the torch to Donal, the Tormtar wanders the camp perimeter keeping a dutiful gaze on the edge of the campfire's light. Suddenly there's a *crrrRRRRCK!* that nearly gives the aging human a heart attack, but its only a dead branch falling after all. Crashing onto the wagon, no damage seems to have been done and its easy enough to clear the brush and reassure the frightened animals.
Except for the damn donkey.
Who knows what sick games the Flaming Fist played with the poor thing during its training, but at the moment the *heehaw*s were unrelenting and each one split Donal's psyche asunder. At first it just seemed very thirsty but when the Champion of Wyrms Rock got closer, it became clear the donkey was in fact experiencing a strong fear.
Something was out there.
*chk CHK chk CHK chk CHK gggrrrrOOOOOOWWLLLllll*
A tingle shot up the Tormtar's spine as a series of footfalls could be heard some 50 ft away...followed by a monstrous growl. Attempting to visually focus on the sound was useless, as it came from just beyond the edge of the campfire's dim light...
2nd-level cleric feature
You can expend a use of your Channel Divinity to fuel your spells. As a bonus action, you touch your holy symbol, utter a prayer, and regain one expended spell slot, the level of which can be no higher than half your proficiency bonus (rounded up). The number of times you can use this feature is based on the level you’ve reached in this class: 2nd level, once; 6th level, twice; and 18th level, thrice. You regain all expended uses when you finish a long rest.
Ahhh, what the hell! Fighting devils was more fun than this damn trip. You absolutely do not know how to take a cultural vacation in nature, ladies and gentlemen. Simon gets up and looks around.
Mal rolls out of his bedroll and finds a hiding place. He tucks his Sharite bible under his arm and readies to handle the visitors.
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Simon, waking from your slumber and looking around you see a dark-orange, 8-legged, reptilian horror. It appears to have strong jaws and the spikes surrounding its cranium resemble a king's crown. Its eyes seem to glow green when it turns just so.
Also, you recognize this monster, perfectly matching the artistic carving that hung above the Basilisk Gate near Zodge's command post...
*Sigh* Incredible luck... Simon snaps his fingers and becomes invisible.
Gods! It's a damn Basalisk! It can you to stone with a glance! Blind it!
He rolls out of bedroll, takes up his sword and touching his holy symbol prays for a restoration of power... add a level 2 spell slot.