"Fallacy! You're awe...!" Mal shouts at his griffon and then grunts in pain when the devil's whip-lashing scorpion stinger thrashes the halfling across his face.
He barely hangs onto the griffon until he points his diamond again and repeats the short prayer to his divine mistress before hurling a 4-inch-diameter sphere of thunder at the devil, which rolls wide AGAIN!
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One of the guards emerged from the dust, beady eyes squinting into the dim light of the warehouse. The little black orbs quickly pinpointed her raspy coughs. He lurched forward, his burly legs causing the floor of the warehouse to groan in complaint.
"Wid Vic outta da way, more fun for me. Ain't that right, little lady." The man's low, slow voice drifted on the dust with all the friendliness of a collapsing mine. Massive knuckles crack as he works his fists. An unsprung snare trap springs around his thick ankle. Instead of swooping him up into the air to dangle like the daily special, with a grunt and tug of his leg, the burly syndicate enforcer snaps the frayed rope and keeps right on going.
Waving Two Fingers out of sight. Syrina backpedals, still trying to catch her wind. She'd spotted the big guard earlier. Had a plan for him. Unfortunately, she didn't have one for the big three-eyed hellhound who'd apparently finished up his personal business and was back on the job. Whatever that really was. His long nose flickers back and forth once, twice, thrice. A low grumble emerges from the thick throat. Hackles lift.
"Der, der...nice doggey." The enforcers says, giving the beast and its snarling teeth a wide berth. The three glimmering golden eyes aren't really trained on either Syrina or the Enforcer. Instead they stare straight at Cat. The feline's initial lazy lounging attitude atop a set of busted out crates, completely shifted with Dog's sudden arrival. Now tense and nervous, Cat lets out a snarling yowl and leaps across onto another rickety set of crates. In a heartbeat, Dog is after him. Barking and howling in a frenzy of pure hatred.
The two critters race and careen about the building setting off traps, knocking over stacks of debris, crashing through thin back office walls. Syrina hits the dirt as a flight of short spears nearly skewers in place. Rolling clear she's gathers herself again and is churning toward the final rearmost section of the building. The guard rumbles behind in pursuit. His tiny eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Cursing as her eldritch magic just sloughed off the enforcer like filth on a pig, Syrina dove down the next narrow pseudo passage of rubble and empty crates. The enforcer's pounding steps were right behind. The stench of rotting teeth and sickly cannibal diet emerging with every billows breath pummeling her nostrils like a champion gladiator.
Cat yowls with anger as he crosses just in front of her, the feline running a perpendicular course to Syrina. She forgets about Dog. The two meet in a tangle of flailing limbs, paws, curses, and howls. Two becomes three as the enforcer, unable to stop, joins the fracas.
"Damned, blasted, rot brained, no good Dog!"
*Snarl* "Rowrrrrrooorwrr" *Snap*Snarl*
"Ha! Got you now little lady. Gonna get me doze cuddles you promised."
"The hell I will!" That last is fortified with a fist to the enforcer's jaw. Alas, her knuckles end up taking more abuse than the granite chin. Worry starts to creep into Syrina's thoughts and the three tumble further. An iron grip wraps itself around her throat. Tighter and stronger than any rope that'd ever coiled itself about her neck. Dog yelps, a swift kick from one of four possible boots sending it out of the scrum.
Syrina struggles and squirms against the unstoppable, unbreakable grip of the mountain that is slowly crushing her ability to keep breathing. A loud crack. Suddenly she's weightless. Falling into the cellar. The warehouse floor had taken all the punishment it could handle. It was done. For a moment she could breath. Sucking in air a fast as she could, she still couldn't free herself from the bandit's grip. The head still attached to her belt smiles with sudden glee.
"OOOMMF!!" Both exclaim as they hit the cellar floor. Syrina taking the worst of the fall as she's sandwich between stone and fatty flesh.
The iron grip tightens. She stares into the two beady eyes of deadly doom. A devilish, black rotted toothed grin bearing down toward her face. The last dregs of sanity start to slip away as she kicks, thrashes, screams.
"Aiiiyyyyeeeeee!"
The scream isn't actually hers. It is something else. Primordial fury and hatred. It is The Scream of Vengeance. The rabid, snarling sound pins Dog's ears back and sends him scampering out of the warehouse in search of someplace a bit more safe. The hated feline can wait for another day.
The enforcer's head lurches back in startled confusion at the sound. Then releases a blast of nauseating air blasted from his lungs when something lands on his back. Syrina can't do anything but grunt as more weight crushes her battered body.
The screams continue along with the wet, sloppy sound of a blade striking flesh over and over and over and over again. Continuously. For how long, Syrina has no idea. Finally, she musters up enough strength to claw her face free of the limp, smothering mass despite it now being quite dead.
"Molly. MOLLY!" Syrina chokes out. "He's a bit more'n dead. How 'bout helpin' me outta here?"
The words are a splash of ice cold water dumped the frail girl with the scars upon her wrists. Her hands and face covered in blood. Slowly, her crazed eyes clear, her breathing slows. A nod of her grit and gore coated head. She climbs down off the mountain of dead flesh, pulling the dagger free as she goes. She looks at the dagger, looks at Syrina as the other woman slowly, achingly pulls herself free. She looks at the dead syndicate enforcer. Slowly a thin smile grows upon her blood stained lips.
"Let's get another one." Is all Molly says grinning like a moon faced cheshire cat.
"Meow." Adds Cat grinning down from the floor above.
Gods, I hope Lucian finds them kids. Syrina mutters in her mind, spitting a wad of blood before lighting a new cigar so the smoke calm her shaking hands.
Sprog locked eyes with Astrid briefly from a distance, and something about the look of pure shock on the kid's face and the follow-up tongue jiggling raspberry hinted he didn't want to be found. Clutching a dead blackbird underarm the half-elven boy scurried into a tight gap in the wall...not through the wall, but inside it. Apparently the rat had a little tunnel along the syndicate's fortifications.
Meanwhile the guards on the walkway had their backs turned to the druid, distracted by something. A dog was barking crazily and someone shouted "He's after the bones!" (whatever that meant) followed by the twang of bowstrings and vibrato of flying sling stones.
Damnit... Lucian thinks to himself, only half-convincingly...he knew this wasn't going to be that easy, even if the true threats among the group were minimal.
"Restocking on ammo." he responds. "Small skirmish on the eastern wall with some devils...nothing we couldn't handle, just need gear for their next try." he adds in his thuggish best and walking toward the shop's door like he belongs.
If I can close to blade range, these two don't have a prayer...now if my little ruse can hold just a bit longer...
Sprog locked eyes with Astrid briefly from a distance, and something about the look of pure shock on the kid's face and the follow-up tongue jiggling raspberry hinted he didn't want to be found. Clutching a dead blackbird underarm the half-elven boy scurried into a tight gap in the wall...not through the wall, but inside it. Apparently the rat had a little tunnel along the syndicate's fortifications.
Meanwhile the guards on the walkway had their backs turned to the druid, distracted by something. A dog was barking crazily and someone shouted "He's after the bones!" (whatever that meant) followed by the twang of bowstrings and vibrato of flying sling stones.
Astrid heaved a sigh of frustration as the child slipped away, momentarily considering just leaving the little brat to his fate. But if she wanted the goodwill of the people in the print shop, a place to curl up and sleep (someday?), she figured she needed to at least give a rescue a try. The gap was too tight for her, but if she shape-changed, she might be able to get in... She considered her options, crouched down and pondering.
All of a sudden, a stray arrow embedded itself into the wall, barely missing her nose. The half-elven woman flinches away from it, eyes darting toward the source of the commotion. Fighting going on. The guards were distracted. Astrid grins to herself and closes her eyes, reaching within herself to the spores.
Within her core, she sits on a brightly colored toadstool, shaping a cloud of spores into her desired form. A cat: small enough to fit into the gap and quick enough to give chase. After only a few seconds, she shapes the cloud properly and gently embraces it, taking it into herself.
Back in reality, the halo of spores that normally floated about her suddenly retracts, sprouting into a blanket of mushrooms over her body. The coating of fungi undulates and the air around her wavers, shivering as though someone had tickled it. It peeled off of her, disintegrating into dust, and revealed...a haggard, ragged-looking creature with strange little mushrooms sprouting seemingly randomly out of its body.
Astrid merps quietly, sniffing the air, and darts into the gap after Sprog.
"Just a minute..." the posted guard looks past you "Who the hell brought that dog in here..." Turning you see the bone-hill chanters running circles around said bone-hill, as a three-eyed dog chips and choppers at the bottom jenga piece. "Oy, box it in you numbskulls!"
There's a lot of playful mongrel-yipping with the chanters embarrassingly falling on their faces. One takes up an odd tactic: becoming the dog. On all fours, the crazy syndicate psycho barked back...chasing after the thing and nipping at its haunches in a dramatic display of tables turned.
The other guard managed to stay on topic "Devils in the east, eh? And you 'handled em' you say?" looking over your illusory gear with some scrutiny. "Hmm, wasted your quiver on missed shots more likely. Well, go ahead...quartermaster's upped it to 60 a day." standing aside and letting you peruse the weapon racks and barrels of bolts and arrows.
"Look I didn't say it was a pit fiend or anything like that, but they were devils..." Lucian complains, continuing to play the role of one of the wall's guards.
Heading inside Lucian observes the surroundings. How many were in here, where were the stairs. If he could find the route up, would Harkina's boys still be here.
Donal's griffon spiral corkscrews in place, its rider pummeling the devil to the head...which ruptures spectacularly. There was one thing to be said about slaying devils: it was clean. In place of blood, brains and skull chunks there was only a spiritual vacuum...the chains of the master lurching up from thousands of feet below to cling to this outsider's essence. A long passage of light downwards was followed by the bone devil's screams of torment.
Grim encourages the group to land and recover...
The griffons squawk and purr at each other, saying who-knows-what...however Fallacy was obviously upset none of the bone devil could be eaten. Eventually, they reform a triangular formation and quickly return to cruise altitude. After a matter of minutes, the tower can be seen from afar...little more than a floating cylinder high above the cloudtop.
The griffons swoop a wide arc and begin a spiraling descent to the windowless, doorless stone castle. Jagged holes riddle the tower's conical peak, they slowly squeeze through the apertures mindful not to ding your head on the boards...finally landing on the top floor below, a smooth marble surface scattered with hay and old goose nests. A spiral staircase leads further down.
Glancing one level down, you see...well, a mess. It is as if someone taped some gnomish firecrackers onto the crotch of the most stubborn mule in history, then tossed the entire animal-explosive combo into a teenager's room. Further, it appears to be mostly on fire. However, on closer inspection, you realize the flames are magical and do not produce heat.
A small elephant with golden fur scuttles out from under a heavy blanket, taking to the air with feathery wings and tooting a merry trumpet sound. The only other creature here appears to be an actual river otter, which turns around slowly in its chair to regard you all.
Sliding off his griffon, Donal looks to everyone, Everyone okay?
The trumpeting elephant and the river otter give him pause, however...
A highly emaciated, pale as marble, gold-haired elf toils in the corner with stringing a bone bow...barely registering your presence as you survey the remaining goods of the Mad Phantom's Fletchery. Explosive bolts. Blackened darts. Poison-tipped barb arrows. Runed sling stones. One extra thick arrow that has a large red paper rocket attached, looking better ejected from a warship's ballista than a soldier's bow. Another strange bolt more closely resembles a doctor's syringe, but appears empty. Not to mention scores and scores of mundane ammunition...and the weapons that launch them.
A ladder on the far wall leads up to an open trapdoor. Sneaking or beguiling your way past the fletcher, you enter a ransacked apartment which matches what Harkina told you about it. You find yourself imitating the little girl of your dreams from the previous day, searching under the table...inside the cupboard....behind the butter churner...on top of the chandelier...but find nothing.
The last room on the left has a scene quite hard to swallow, even for a hardened Hellrider. Iron chains and shackles have been nailed low into the wall...two sets side by side. There are quite a few dirty dishes and bedpans around suggesting those held captive were here for some time. There are no signs of a struggle save the typical scavenger scatter through drawers and lockboxes. The shackles are open, and the key was left inside.
There are no other signs of Harkina's boys.
After a very long and very awkward silence, the otter speaks "W-otter you all doing here?"
Lucian browses the selection of ammunition before scurrying up the ladder to the apartments above.
The Hellrider feels his heart sink a bit in his chest, seeing the condition of the apartment and begins to steel himself for what would likely be despair, from what was increasingly futile mission.
Entering that final room, Lucian's drops seeing the conditions, and in particular the empty shackles. No sign of a struggle...that's not good...
Despite his dismay, Lucian takes a closer look at the area around the shackles. If the boys truly were dead, even the freshly dead leave tell-tale signs of their presence, and gods knew based on the rest of the apartment no one would have bothered to clean up after that.
Sliding off his griffon, Donal looks to everyone, Everyone okay?
The trumpeting elephant and the river otter give him pause, however...
Evendur looks over his mount critically.
He looks pretty bad... maybe rest him for an hour or so?
Donal nods to Grim and turns to the talking otter... You can talk?
Grim attempts to give some tender care to the noble beast, but its not having it. It shields its wounds with its wings and looks the other way while Grim is murmuring to it. In fact after only a moments perch, the entire squad takes to the skies again on a return vector.
"Yes?" there is no hint of a chittering in the small mammal's voice in the slightest, rather its raspy and full like an old man who has been drinking heavily their entire life. "Ah, could it be you are the ones going to hell?"
Assuming you spill the beans...
"*sigh*...we'll be lucky if it's not a sl-otter. I am Traxigor, the Magical Otter!" he shuffled over to a tiny wardrobe and donned an otter-sized, red seer-sucker shirt...yet remained pantsless. "This is Lulu, she'll be going with us as well...Sylvira has given her explicit instructions to guide and protect me down there."
The flying furry elephant blushes and does a mid-air curtsy.
"We can leave at once! But I need to find my tuning fork...hmm..." glancing around the total mess.
Malaric gingerly slides off the saddle of Fallacy and staggers to sitting like a heap. His wounds keep him nonplussed by a flying elephant and a talking otter. "Can we take a break before going to hell? I need to be stronger to manage the travel?"
He finds comfortable spot curled against a wall and looks like he is not moving any time soon.
It isn't a bad idea.
The fluids and excretions you know to be so closely related to death are not manifest on the chains and shackles. A double-edged sword, confidence that they are alive mixed with the uncertainty of how that could be possible.
Scanning the area more closely, the only thing of note you find is a curious gold foil slip. It seems to be some kind of coupon for some place called the Wandering Emporium, this one offering a 10% discount when you give them the promo code: 'sadism'. Mysteriously, it features a scantily clad succubus enjoying a fully-loaded bratwurst with saur kraut and dripping honey mustard while giving a clawed thumbs-up.
Calico-Astrid slips inside the wall, rapidly closing the distance on the nimble kid. Boards shake. Screws strip. You step on something squishy. The entire fortification is compromised, from an insider's perspective. It might be useful to delay an attack from the outside, but any notion of the wall offering serious security is clearly dismissable...it is, for all intents and purposes, a giant pile of junk.
Surfing down a tangle of copper pipes on a discarded banana peel, you swipe a vicious paw at the child with all the spiritual fury of a thousand ancient mushroom-kittens!!!
...it bounces off his shoulder harmlessly. "...huh?" Sprog squiggles in place, putting his body between the hostile meow-meow and his dead bird. The hostile meow-meow that continues to slap him with its soft padded paws. "...s-stop that."
*clang*
The heavy sledgehammer head hit the stone floor like a primeval xylophone...the hole in Rosseau's chest slowly regenerating. A balding imp with a lot of extra weight around the belt appeared from nowhere "No, no, no...dat's dat, forma' inspecta'. Yer time's up...I'm takin' you off the case."
"What? No! D*mnit...not when I'm so close..." slowly picking himself up off the floor.
"You're a loose cannon, Rosseau...dat's de problem, yer too close to this case. You wanna list of all the regulations ye've broken in the past month alone? No one got time to write it! And what the hell do you call 'dis incident report...?" producing a fancy document with dog-prints all over it. For the dog's part, the penmanship was actually fairly impressive. "Badge."
"...sir, I know that rat-farm was just a front for--"
"Cut the chatta', Rosseau! Badge and get the hell out!"
Dejected, the smelly old undead reluctantly tore the little ivory talisman from his heart-vest pocket gripping in his decaying hand so tightly the skin began to slough from the bone. He was just about to hand it over at the peak of his career shame when...
"Oh bother, Terri! Alas! There I see undead and devil both have made it inside, yet again. Yes, I was certain I heard a 'slousch'." a well dressed gentleman with one brown eye and one blue eloquently ascertained. The lump of mutant flesh called 'Terri' grunted from behind his mask of human bones, thumping forward like an avalanche.
Rosseau had to think fast. Snatching the imp by the wing and tossing it at the huge man uselessly was perhaps not the best first move. His follow-up included a behind the back grab for his rainy-day bottle of Coffin Varnish (the drink of your lifetime) and quickly stuffing it with a nasty rag that had been holding his spleen in place the last few days. With a flick of a tinderstick, the spleen was on the floor and the bomb was in the air.
*crssh*
Terri was on fire.
Unfortunately, in his youth, Terri's parents were much more interested in vocational education. The simple mantra of 'stop, drop, and roll' was simply not part of the practical curriculum. Instead, Terri the Massive was left to his instincts...which meant running around like a crazy person on fire and knocking everything that had been knocked down up again (and setting it on fire).
"Oh dear." the gentlemen pinched his nose as the warehouse was filling with smoke "What a dreadful stench! Eh, Terri old bean, do wash up when you're all done here, will you?" before leaving the chaotic scene to burn in hell, and Terri to die a horrible death.
No one ever saw what came of the detective...save a certain three-eyed feline and its shadow-touched master.
Malaric politely helps Traxigor by shuffling a few things around, but only comes up with a wooden apple painted blue, a set of nunchaku sized for a pixie, and a weird floating rock. Tending his wounds is certainly Malaric's main concern, but Traxigor appears to be thankful for the brief help.
Meanwhile Donal goes fishin'-for-forkage in the piles of garbage the Magical Otter calls home. He comes across a severed head shrunken by some island juju magic. He finds a baby octopus preserved in a jelly jar. Next he labors to move a few heavy stacks of Toy Voyaging: An Illustrated Guide. Finally, he finds the tuning fork...of a dense, dull metal that burns his fingers as he holds it.
"Ah yes, that's the one for Avernus. The spell requires the tuning fork be made of a metal found naturally on that plane. That one gets us there, this one gets us back..." holding up a similarly sized aluminum version. "So, ready to go to hell? Or is there some otter thing to take care of first?"
Hmmph...they're alive, or at least they were when they were taken from here... the ranger thinks to himself, continuing his investigation of the area.
He's just about to leave the room, contemplating just how he would break this news to Harkina when the glint of gold catches his eye.
"What's this? Wandering Emporium? Perhaps that's where the boys were taken...it's a lead anyway." Lucian concedes, slinking back down the ladder and out of the shop.
Leaving the shop, Lucian nods to the pale, gold-haired elf, grabbing up a few dozen arrows to complete his cover-story.
As he begins making his way back toward where he left Syrina and the others it occurs to him, Wasn't the Wandering Emporium where those bearded devils were taking Harkina?
She'd lost track of Two-Fingers and Harkina while trying to pry herself out from beneath the mass of the doubly dead enforcer. Doubly dead, because as soon as she was free, Syrina made sure she wouldn't face the half-ogre a second time by removing the man's head. It now dangled from her belt next to the battered Indigo Rose. The two heads clacking like a set of coconut windchimes as she walked. Rose didn't seem to appreciate the company. Cuddle's just maintained a look of perpetual confusion, which Syrina guessed was just the slow witted fellow's natural state.
Throughout the grim process, Molly just stood there running a whetstone along her dagger's blade. A thin smile making her dimples standout while the shiiinng..schiiiing...shiiing of stone on steel echoes in the shadow filled cellar. The girls eyes glittering crimson reflection of the single ray of hellsky light filtering into the dim chamber. The weapon itself seemed to sigh with content at each passing stroke.
Cat's three eyes flicked back and forth between the blooded steel and its wielder.
"Meow?"
"Aye." Mutters Syrina, finishing the last knot on Cuddle's rope. She thump's the top of the head with a knuckle. Satisfied at the task's completion. She tilts her head to Molly. Nodding like a coach proud of her student.
"Always good t'keep your blade nice an' sharp." Nudges Cuddle's bloated torso with her boot, which elicits a quiet "Ow...hey...wat waz dat?" from Cuddels.
"Quiet you." Syrina raps the half-ogre's head again with her knuckle. "You're dead remember? This 'ere Angel of Vengence carved you up like a midwinter pig. So no more jibber jabberin' outta you."
Hearing her new title made Molly's smile grow and her back straighten just a bit further. She leans in. Whisper something Syrina can't make out to the dagger. Sounds like it whisper's back. It'd never talked back to Syrina, but she didn't mind much. It just meant she'd handed it off to the right person. Sometimes she liked playin' matchmaker.
*THUMP*
The sound came from upstairs. Cat rumbled deep in his throat and Molly's grip on the dagger tightened as her eyes peered upward. Hissing at Cat, Syrina grabs the girl's free hand and hurries up the cellar stairs. Peeking through the partially blocked doorway, she sees the imp and the undead city constable arguing. Friends of Lucian's? She wonders. Watches the two argue some more. Then another pair of new faces. Quick as a snake, the constable tosses first the imp and then a fiery cocktail onto the bloated newcomer that could have been Cuddle's ugly big brother. Fire and chaos erupt.
Not wanting to stick around for the inferno, Syrina uses the smoke and Terri's immolation oriented interpretive dance to slip out of the warehouse in pursuit of the shambling constable and to try and find Lucian and the others.
Calico-Astrid slips inside the wall, rapidly closing the distance on the nimble kid. Boards shake. Screws strip. You step on something squishy. The entire fortification is compromised, from an insider's perspective. It might be useful to delay an attack from the outside, but any notion of the wall offering serious security is clearly dismissable...it is, for all intents and purposes, a giant pile of junk.
Surfing down a tangle of copper pipes on a discarded banana peel, you swipe a vicious paw at the child with all the spiritual fury of a thousand ancient mushroom-kittens!!!
...it bounces off his shoulder harmlessly. "...huh?" Sprog squiggles in place, putting his body between the hostile meow-meow and his dead bird. The hostile meow-meow that continues to slap him with its soft padded paws. "...s-stop that."
Cat-strid gives up on smacking Sprog with her paws and merps at him, her little meow trilling softly within the decaying wall. She darts around the little boy's feet, trying to herd him out of an opening, biting the hem of his pants, and then trying to drag him out.
Eventually, the boy's curiosity takes over, and he follows Cat-strid outside, where she promptly drops her cat form and snatches up the boy. "You have people very worried about you!" She says quietly, covering his mouth with a hand to muffle any shouting from the boy. "I'm not here to hurt you, kid. but your people sent me out here to look for you. I will let you talk if you don't scream, okay? There are people here who really don't need to know we exist."
Rustling its whiskers, the Magical Otter gathers everyone together in a tight circle following the mystical geometry of arcane law. Hand holding is strictly required, thus Reya makes a point to stand opposite the circle as Simon. The fluffy elephant called Lulu seems to understand speech and joins as well, her heavy, hot-to-trot pachyderm nubs having a surprisingly gentle touch. "Don't worry, we'll get there come hell or high otter."
Traxigor dips his fingers in a bottle of holy water before grasping at the infernal tuning fork, seemingly dampening the pain of handling it. Rapping it once on his tiny otter knee, the vibrations mix with the chantings of his own voice and become amplified. The tower rattles, books fall from shelves. The note becomes a slightly uncomfortable drone that seems to deaden your other thoughts.
You feel the heat first, like someone just opened an oven...but instead of freshly baked bread inside its rotten offal. A pinpoint of light next, it traces a spiraling pattern near the center of your circle. It sweeps wider and wider until an image forms that stretches from the center out to your feet. You see a massive pile of bones with people (one actually pretending to be a dog themselves) chasing a three-eyed dog around it near a large building on fire...it is hard to recognize it as Shiarra's Market from Elturel with the massive junk wall, but the resemblance is there.
Traxigor executes a final hand gesture, and the image and reality swap places. Traxigor's tower is now inside the circle, and the hot ruin of Elturel is where you stand. The image slowly shrinks and fades as the tuning fork's vibrations settle...and you are filled with terrible regret.
Before you can really get your bearings, catastrophe strikes. The massive pile of bones collapses in an avalanche, burying the strangely dressed people and dog alike. What's worse is the bones rise again...forming the shape of a massive skeletal dragon.
The hulking frame is a twisted mass of sharp spines and jagged little edges, with the slightest wisps of thin and tattered leather draping its wings...yet they still beat with a fierce, unearthly power sending shockwaves of terror through everything living. Its eyes twinkle with a deep glitter of starlight, as if animated by the ancient hatred of eternal darkness. This monstrosity of death and decay, this specter of bone and sinew, roars with absolute authority having waited for eons to reclaim its rightful place as the ruler of all it surveys.
Its tail whip-snaps down, slicing the junk wall of the syndicate in half. Pipes, banana peels, and other unidentifiable squishies go flying inches from where Astrid and Sprog stand. It sends a blast of purplish energy from its throat in a wide cone, catching quite a few of the syndicate in the whirling death spray. Their flesh withers like old age before turning black and finally to ash, leaving only bones behind. Even buildings and structures caught in the blast rot and erode, the nightmare an engine generating only pure destruction...or perhaps more accurately annihilation.
"This sucks, I'm otter here." announces Traxigor who casts Time Stop, then Plane Shifts himself (only) back to Toril, abandoning everyone instantly. Classic Traxigor.
The three-eyed dog stubbornly maintains its grapple on the dragon's rib bone.
,
Round 1:
Grim (of course with the nat-20 as his destiny begins), Lulu, Mal, Simon, Reya, Lucian, Donal, Syrina, Astrid <--UP
Skeletal Dragon
Just before the horrible emergence of the bone dragon, Sprog pleaded "*mmpfh mm mmpf!!*" and if allowed to speak would explain "I don't wanna go back...they're gonna kill each other just like the others, I heard them!" wriggling in your grip stubbornly.
"Final Rest" thrums with intent... the blade somehow detecting the presence of massed and focused necromantic energy. The vibrations pulse with an intensity that matches the rising rage of its wielder. With a shout of "Kelemvor!", he charges the undead abomination.
for
He swings again... righteous determination in his swing.
for
The doomguide offers zero hesitation confronted with the towering dragon, drawing the black glossy blade and charging into action. Bones clack and shatter with sharp fractures, as the divinely charged blade hacks through the physical and mystical frameworks of the revered bones.
Lulu's surprise turns into an extreme crinkling of her long elephant nose, collapsing like an accordion as her eyes squint and she starts vibrating with clenched teeth.
A blast of sparkly magic is ejected from the double-barrelled nostrils of Lulu. The conical burst catches everyone nearby, feeling like a gentle touch...except Simon and Malaric. The shards of radiance burn his eyes and skin like acid, having a similar effect on the dragon itself.
Lucian, as a spirit familiar with the forests of Celestia, you recognize the trumpet call of a hollyphant from just outside the fletcher's shop. Messengers and helpers of angels and deities that treasure friendship and honesty, you wonder if it could really be that such a majestic creature has found itself in hell.
The dragon glares down at Grim, swiping across his armor vengefully...
...but the cleric deflects the falling swipe with a tactical twist of his blade.
Round 1:
Grim, Lulu, Mal, Simon, Reya, Lucian, Donal, Syrina, Astrid <--UP
Skeletal Dragon
Mal pockets the wooden apple painted blue, set of nunchaku sized for a pixie, and weird floating rock out of habit before he rests.
Decidedly not really ready to hell, the halfling trusts in his Shar to give him only what he can handle and enjoys holding Reya's hand. He wonders if their faiths in Shar and Torm would prevent them from getting closer. Probably. His Dark Mistress would be jealous.
...Oh my Dark Lady is that an undead dragon! You must think me a lord to make me face such a challenge! He grabs both his new grimoire and large diamond. With a word, he slings a 4-inch diameter crackling blue sphere of thunder toward the dragon. Then he heads for cover.
Just before the horrible emergence of the bone dragon, Sprog pleaded "*mmpfh mm mmpf!!*" and if allowed to speak would explain "I don't wanna go back...they're gonna kill each other just like the others, I heard them!" wriggling in your grip stubbornly.
Astrid allows the child to speak and frowns deeply. "What in the world are you talking about?" She demands, right before a bone dragon emerges about 100 feet away and slams its tail down near them. Her eyes go wide and her spores burst out around her, forming a halo of protection.
"Oh...f~%~!" Astrid curses as she runs forward 30 ft before brandishing her focus and calling forth the spores to boost her power.
Her halo of spores contracts and detracts around her threateningly, ready to strike at any enemy who comes too close.
Hidden behind yet another battered remnant of garden wall covered with the withered skeletal remains of some vine, Syrina watched the shroom coated feline transform into a woman and begin accosting a young boy.
"That'a trick you can do Cat?" She mumbles looking at the three eyed cat standing with its front legs pressed against the wall watching the incident with keen interest.
"Meow." Cat replies sarcastically. Each of the three eyes conveying a certain If I could, would I be hanging out with the likes of you and the crazy girl with the dagger look.
"Fair enough." Syrina says looking back toward the two strangers. She wasn't sure if that was one of Harkina's missing boys or not. Only one way to find out. She rises, starts to step over the low wall. Then all hell breaks out.
"Meorrrwww." Hollers Cat, back arching, three eyes looking for the nearest hiding spot.
Molly laughs in terrorized delight as several syndicate tormentors vanish in a flash of necrotic dragon fury. A half peeled orange splatters at her feet followed moments later by a withered hand holding a bit of orange peel.
For a moment, Syrina just stands there staring at the massive undead horror. Something squishy and bloody hits the brim of her hat and slowly slides to the ground. Bits of wood clatter to the ground all around her while paper and tattered bits of cloth drift through the air like snow. Seeing the other woman across the way charge in Syrina finally breaks out of her stunned state.
Scurrying from cover to cover, Syrina closes the distance a little and finally drops behind an overturned wagon. Ignoring the flies and the stench of whatever still lurked hidden beneath the overturned cart, Syrina summons a bit of the power she'd acquired in her bargain with Lady Raven.
"Back to the grave you devil damned lizard." She growls. "And until ya return to where ya belong, may your bones be brittle as tindertwigs and reflexes a good as a midday drunkards." As she speaks a raven cackles and her hex magic worms and crawls into the dragon's being weakening it as she readies her first strike.
"Klaatu Barada Koko." She hums. Eldritch power growing brighter with each syllable until she unleashes the blast and sends it flying toward the undead dragon.
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Disgusting creature. What a disgusting creature.
No, Simon wasn't thinking about the dragon. The feeling of terrible itching from the sounds that the little elephant makes, as if Simon's skin is removed from the inside, was unbearable.
This could be a problem. We should put Reya on this elephant and send her straight to Hell.... Ah, we're already here. Then maybe in a suicide attack on some local fort full of warlike devils? Damn... I have to go to the fort myself. Shit.
Some incomprehensible people from different sides attacked a terrible monster (and now Simon's thoughts finally switch to the dragon). He immediately noticed another warlock. Patrons are different, but the general style is recognizable. A lover of deals too, huh?
Moving away from the baby elephant (no, perhaps the vile sound still ringing in his ears takes up quite a lot of the nobleman's attention), he begins his monotonous mournful infernal chant. Here it sounds louder, sadder and more hopeless than ever before.
The runes he draws in the air radiate much more power. Dissolving into streams of violet-black darkness at the same speed as before, they seem to leave an imprint on the retina of everyone who looks at them, as if looking at a bright light. Black light.
Begone.
Spoken almost in a whisper, this word feels like a spice on the tongue... And at the same second, two streams of power from Simon's hands descend on the dragon!
Malaric's summoned thunder crashes into the bone dragon's chest, a long affirmative *grrUUUHH* coming from nearby letting you know the zombies have taken interest in this noisy fight. Blasting trumpets, falling walls, a warehouse aflame, thunderous crashes and shouts of terror...all were drawing in the dead like a magnet.
Astrid ran forward bursting with the cloud of microorganisms plating their colonies in certain spots like armor. Syrina and Simon clash their eldritch blasts from opposite sides of the battlefield, degrading the dragon's strength and mobility.
Reya, wearing her defiled Hellrider armor, charged into the mix with a lunging silver sword...
...but the halfling could hardly reach the lowest dangling bone.
The towering powerhouse of necromantic fuel stood majestic as ever, swiping down again at the Doomguide valiantly daring to go it alone toe-to-toe...
...barely knicking his armor with a brittle old fingernail.
Round 1:
Grim, Lulu, Mal, Simon, Reya, Lucian, Donal, Syrina, Astrid <--UP
Skeletal Dragon
Donal curses at the appearance of the dragon, drawing his mace and summoning his arcane shield, the Hand of the Hound surges forward, circling opposite Grim!
The warrior takes full advantage of the opening provided by the Doomguide, seeing the opening and exploiting it, slamming his enchanted mace into the dragon's flank, once! Twice!
[ooc]Also, not to be that guy, but since many undead are affected differently by necrotic damage, remember that hex is necrotic. I don't know about this dragon, but it is something to consider... ^_^
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Lucian marked his quarry with the spiritual light of Celestia, putting a knee on the second story window sill and firing across the market...
...before leaping out of the window, scurrying down the brick facade of the tower and running to engage the corrupted beast of bones.
The Tormtar proves his worth as a volley of sudden strikes from the flank cripples the dragon of death. Bones shatter into a powdery mist from the force of the False Eye of Zariel. Meanwhile a rain of arrows streams from the Fletchery, the sniper closing the distance quickly with a determined look...
The skeletal assembly turns on Donal, slashing down with vengeance...
...and despite the amazing display of the shield catching the palm of the dragon, a single talon sneaks through tearing into Donal's shoulder.
Round 1:
Grim, Lulu, Mal, Simon, Reya, Lucian, Donal, Syrina, Astrid
Skeletal Dragon <--UP
The bones shift erect, as a purplish crackling energy is siphoned from the dead. The pressure builds in the horror's gullet, a numbing buzzing sound presaging the expulsion of cataclysmic decay...
*CRRSHHHHSSHH*
The blast of necromantic foulness consumes Reya and Lulu in a flesh-wilting wrack of pain and despair.
Contrasted with the horror of the dragon's breath, it was hard to notice...but indeed the blasted-to-bone syndicate members rose up as animated skeletons, the same starry scene in their eyes as if under the dragon's control.
*BoooMMM* *PoPPPP* *SCHliiiingG!*
As if that wasn't enough, a horde of countless zombies was slowly making its way across the trap field near the broken wall...setting off explosive traps, rock falls, and axe swings along the way.
Round 2:
Grim, Lulu, Mal, Simon, Reya, Lucian, Donal, Syrina, Astrid <--UP
Skeletal Dragon
Zombs & Skellies