As they ascend, Autumn glances at the rust-colored markings that have reappeared on San’s arms. “How did those come back?” she asks with a note of understandable concern, given that she suffers from the same disease. “I thought it was cured?”
But aside from this worry, the young con artist somehow feels invigorated and alive—and it’s not just because they’ve accumulated more wealth in just a few days than she’s ever scammed in a year. A great con isn’t just about the score—though that silver ingot in her pack sure feels good—it’s about the thrill you get when the mark takes the bait, the exhilaration of a perfect lie, the adrenaline when a ruse is discovered and you need to improvise an escape. And as sick and twisted as it might seem, the life-and-death scrapes she’s just survived are more thrilling than … well, anything. Certainly more than a sleepy life in Sandpoint. It’s like comparing a large gemstone to a couple gold pieces—not the same.
Her magic, too, has grown, coaxed and pushed by her adventures to new heights. She’s figured out how to animate her illusions, coax healing from memories, and empower her dazing spell. Surely it’s only a matter of time before she figures out how to replicate Vildran’s invisibility spell too. The whole experience has her brimming with new waves of confidence.
Reflecting on your adventures so far, you take the long underground tunnel from Rusthenge back to the basement of Stonehome. The dampness and dripping are comforting rather than ominous, now that you know that you've dealt with the source of the town's mysterious illness and disappearances.
You climb up the stairs and enters the infirmary. Out the open doorway you can see night has fallen, with the room lit with a single candle sitting upon the table. Despite the late hour, Elsie is up tending to a half dozen locals suffering from Rust Creep. Bed rolls have been set up on the floor to provide additional capacity beyond the room's two beds. The room's patients are in various late stages of Rust Creep, their bodies covered in the dire shifting bruises that you first saw on that guard that washed up in Sandpoint. Labored breathing and faint groans fill the room. One young man who seems the worst progressed is entirely still.
Elsie looks up wearily from where she's dabbing an elderly dwarf woman's forehead with a wet towel. She whispers "Welcome back. I heard from Ordwi that you were facing a terrible trial under Rusthenge. Is it... over? I certainly hope you're not here to bring bad news. It's been bad enough already."
"Ah, Ordwi's in the common room, resting, if you need her."
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As the ascend from the depths Vildran gets his first chance to reflect on the whole situation, and perhaps process mixed feelings. For so long he'd grown tired of research conducted in and around Sandpoint. The town is somewhat sleepy and the ruins nearby very picked over already.
This, however, was true field research. But why did knowledge have to be guarded by cultists, demons, and other creatures?! It would seem that to get the best data and discoveries a level of danger will be involved. Vildran felt he wasn't always a liability. Sometimes he was even useful. Despite his bookish comfort, he also knew it was most important to help others when possible.
He also couldn't help but wonder if this would be the most exciting thing that would happen to him in his life. He suspected that the matter of his mysterious heritage might bring him similar danger, but who knows when.
For now, it occurs to him that he didn't really get complete notes and evidence from this complex. Allowed time, over the next two or three days, he does just that. He sits on the peninsula and sketches Rusthenge itself. He delves back into the rooms they'd previously explored and makes maps and notes. He records and takes rubbings of as many runes as he can possibly find. Surely he can get a published paper out of this and drum up some interest back at the Arcanimirium...
--------------------
Vildran nods at Elsie.
Yes, it is over. We discovered Meitremar in the midst of a ritual and were able to interrupt it... and defeat him and his subordinates. This.. "thing" should be over now. Thanks to all of these folks around me. He gestures at San, Autumn, and Morga.
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It takes Morga several seconds to process the fact that Elsie is tending to an elderly dwarf woman. She's...still alive? Wordlessly, she approaches, afraid to break the illusion. Can her great-aunt still be alive, really? She takes the feeble, veined hand in her own and presses it gently, her eyes roving the wrinkled face on the pillow. A whisper barely escapes her lips: "Great-aunt Hilga?"
Morga tirelessly works to help heal as many of the invalids as possible over the coming days, including Autumn and San. In fact, it's almost necessary to drag her away and tie her to a bed to get her to rest. Her go-to response to such efforts is typically a terse: "I can sleep when they're well, dammit!" How much of this is duty and how much is a deep-seated desire to expunge the last vestiges of that evil from the world is something she'll have to tease out when she's strung enough hours of sleep together to think straight.
Once everyone's healed, she asks Vildran about that magical pick. "Does it have any enchantments on it that'll make it easier to completely destroy those runes where Meitremar was casting the ritual? I want to make sure no one can re-use any of that to finish what he started." Regardless, she suggests that the two of them invite San and Autumn along to thoroughly smash everything in that room. She knows that Autumn won't want to get dirty or work, but won't mind watching others do so; and Vildran may regret the loss of knowledge for knowledge's sake, but he certainly is wise enough to know that leaving around dangerous knowledge that can't be properly protected is worse. And San has good strong arms to make the job go faster.
Autumn nods in agreement with Vildran, but glances over the sick and adds a somber caveat. “Except we couldn’t find a cure for the disease. Looks like it’ll be another long night for Morga.” She stifles a yawn as the long day finally catches up with her body. “I’ll go give Ordwi the news.” On the way to the common room she surreptitiously retrieves and downs a vial of antiplague, before it’s wasted on someone else.
In the common room, she updates Ordwi, letting her know that Meitremar is dead and the ritual no more. After providing a brief summary in a tired voice, the sorceress succumbs to a deep and well-deserved sleep.
Once everyone's healed, she asks Vildran about that magical pick. "Does it have any enchantments on it that'll make it easier to completely destroy those runes where Meitremar was casting the ritual? I want to make sure no one can re-use any of that to finish what he started."
Elsie listens in to the story, as much as you can provide, regarding what you found in the Darklands, including Meitremar's failed ritual. She nods, resigned, at the news that no easy cure has surfaced. The details around Meitremar's defeat earn a relieved sigh "Some big old demon of rust? It sure is good you got to that. If you hadn't, well, I reckon our town being Iron Harbor and all would've been wiped right off the map had he finished what he wanted." She closes her eyes "Who would've guessed the Rusthenge name we gave those spires would've turned out so literal."
"It's been hard work here. It's a tenacious sickness to fight off, even with proper medicine. Ordwi knows her way around tinctures and salves, but even so for some it'll be a hard battle." She glances over at Morga's great aunt.
Morga approaches Hilga. The old woman is breathing weakly, her skin a mottled mass of rust. She doesn't awaken at Morga's whisper, but Elsie says "She's been in and out of sleep. If you stay, you might be able to catch her the next time she's conscious."
---
In the common room, Ordwi wakes to Autumn's entrance. Rubbing sleep from her eyes she listens in as well, offering her quiet congratulations at the story's conclusion. "A demon of rust? I've done my share of adventuring over the years, and I can't say I've had to face one. You've truly proven yourselves." She looks over at the infirmary "All that's left now is the other battle. We'll work to save as many as we can."
Also in the common room, Vildran looks over the magical pick. He deduces that there's a simple potency rune inscribed upon it.
San always trained with the Sandpoint militia as more of a just in case. He never expected to be in a fight for his life much less the existence of at least a small town if not a wider area. This was supposed to be a fun little excursion to bring back a marooned priestess. What does he do when they get back to Sandpoint? Redouble his training? Turns out he was pretty good at more than just the bow. Focus more on his scholarly pursuits? They always hold an interest at least. This place was hiding some terrible secret... what if there's some terrible secret undiscovered at home? Not likely but still, what if?
But more immediately, what to do now. Kick this renewed rust creep at least. When Autumn asks how he got it he gestures at the general area. "One of those terrible creatures we encountered down there. It looks like this is an imposed condition rather than transmitted like other diseases. If we don't find something that can give it, we shouldn't get it again." He gives her a reassuring smile despite the weariness in his bones.
Thankful the others are explaining the situation, San finds a quiet corner to examine the weapon he's been using more closely.
Autumn wakes the next morning to find that her illness hasn’t gotten any better—in fact, it seems to be worse. Out of desperation she tries massaging some rust scrub into her bruises—even though she isn’t made of metal—and seeks out Morga for help.
Autumn manages to nag Morga to rest long enough to be able to prepare some helpful spells. She can only cast Cleanse Affliction twice, however, and there are too many patients. She chooses to cast the spell on Autumn and San so she can dedicate her time to the others.
She splits her medical attention between her great-aunt and the girl who was found in the room with her. In the few lucid moments that Great-Aunt Hilga has, Morga introduces herself and tries--oh, she tries!--to prevent the topic of Great-Uncle Guntrand from coming up, to no avail. Of course that's the first thing poor Hilga asks. Morga's heart sinks; she knows the truth could break her will to live, but lying would be worse. She softens the hard news by telling Hilga how Guntrand spoke of her in his better moments, and all the signs of love that fill her home. It's not long before she drifts off to sleep, and Morga can't help but feel a sinking in the pit of her stomach at the thought that she may not want to awaken again.
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-----
Those of you who rested over night wake groggy late the following morning. Both San and Autumn feel quite a bit worse , though one look at the others infected puts their current state of weakness into sharp perspective.
As for the infirmary, between Morga's determined treatment and alternating shifts from Ordwi and Elsie, several of the patients seem to be doing a little better. The same cannot be said for Morga's Great-Aunt, who clings weakly to life and no longer rouses from her rest. Despite the best treatment, her age has left her too vulnerable, especially with the disease progressed as far as it has. It seems likely she will not last another night.
-----
“Thanks, Morga,” Autumn says simply and gratefully to the cleric for her curative spell. The rusty bruises recede, and though they don’t disappear, at least they’re no longer any worse than yesterday.
She glances over at Hilga, then gives her companion a sorrowful look. It’s clear that the great-aunt is inching ever closer to the Boneyard, and there’s little the distraught great-niece can do. But it’s too early to say ‘so sorry for your loss’, so the sorceress says nothing. Instead she places a gentle hand on Morga’s shoulder and gives a sympathetic squeeze.
For the rest of the day, Autumn puts her people skills to work. Although some of her companions might wish to return to the depths beneath Stonehome, she has no such desire. She starts by visiting Art, to ensure that they still have transportation back home—it’s been some days since they’ve seen him—and telling him what happened. Finding Sister Vanda and Trygve comes next, to tell them the news as well. There is an ulterior motive, of course—she would like to gain the town’s favor for saving those they could and eliminating the cultist threat (and perhaps garner some small reward for their selfless service?)—but she knows that the tales of their adventures would be better received from a local—like Vanda—rather than from outsiders.
So even though the sorceress isn’t interested in going back down the tunnels herself, she does so to show Vanda first-hand what they faced and endured, so that their tale can be properly told. She affects a humble tone, of course, leaving it to the Gorumite to properly praise them. While she’s down below, she also keeps an eye out for any trinkets they may have missed. She even takes a peek inside Gurga’s forbidden wet room, now that the boggards are gone, on the off-chance that there might be some discarded treasure there.
When some of the patients are well enough, she notifies their family to visit—like little Mara’s mother. Besides engaging in public relations for the party, Autumn also spends time looking for anything that will help her fully recover from the rust creep disease.
Morga isn't a fool. She knows her great-aunt will die; it's only a matter of keeping her as comfortable as possible until she does. So that's what she does, as her heart weighs heavily in her chest. If only we hadn't been so weak, we wouldn't have needed to rest so often, and we could've saved her. ... But if we'd continued without resting we would've been killed--all of us. She would've died down there, with no one who cared about her. At least she has some peace now.
Morga faces a difficult battle against the Rust Creep, but at least the first step is simple enough. Her spells manage to grant Autumn, San and a couple of the other patients a lightening of their burden. Beyond that wave of helpful magic, she has only her hands and tinctures to rely upon. As the day progresses, several of the younger patients distinctly begin to look better, and by evening a few eye rise briefly from their beds to eat and drink.
The same unfortunately does not prove true for Hilga. The elderly woman's rust scrawl grows thicker and thicker, until finally the faint passing of her breath falls still. Elsie is apologetic, blaming herself for not being able to do more for Morga's relative. Ordwi on the other hand simply puts an arm around the young dwarf's shoulders.
As for San and Autumn, the two of you fully recover by the next morning. And indeed, as the days pass afterward, more and more of the other other villagers pull free of the terrible affliction. Elsie returns to her store and Ordwi takes over caring for the few remaining patients, mentioning that she thinks its "What Brother Blanton would have wanted". She shoos Morga away, determined to have the dwarf finally take care of herself, rather than spend night after day caring for others.
Over the week, Autumn's able to check in with Art and Bastiano, who have managed to evade all manner of trouble simply by remaining with the sloop. They take the story of Rusthenge with some incredulity, especially after Autumn gets to the part with the demon and the dire ritual interrupted at the last moment. As for Vanda, the woman knows nothing about medicine but still hovers around Stonehome, helping with the more day to day needs of the place. She takes the news of what happened at Rusthenge stoically. Amid all the loss of friends and the uprooting of her life, she doesn't seem to be able to process the nature of the threat you averted. Trygve proves much more tricky to find, though she does track him down eventually to a fishing hut far down the shore. Having temporarily traded his hammer and anvil for a fishing pole, he listens to Autumn's tale idly. The mention of the skymetal workshop below seems to pique his interest, but for the danger averted below he offers only a curt "Good. They had no business being here."
As for the rest of the town, the story quickly begins to leak out from those who spoke with Elsie or who recovered and returned to their families. The people are more shocked than anything else and fall into uncertainty as it becomes clear that the town's leader was taken by dark powers beyond their understanding. For now, no one quite seems sure what to do. While there is heapings of praise from some for your selfless heroism, others seem to hold you responsible for this disruption to their way of life, lacking any other target upon which to pin their ire.
At first Vildran offers his assistance to Morga in the treatment of the disease. He of course quickly figures out that he'll just be in the way and backs off. He does think it important to stick around for the vigil for her great-aunt. He doesn't have the words to help the situation, but he knows leaving someone completely alone is not good. He's learned the powers of simply lending presence.
Sometimes he takes time during those treatment days to steal away back down into the depths. He prefers the buddy system and so he certainly tags along when Autumn gives Vanda the visual tour of their journey.
His goal remains the same: make maps and notes. He records and takes rubbings of as many runes as he can possibly find. He sketches the wretched, rusted devices they discovered below. He collects any books that seem particularly interesting or informative. He sketches a map of all that they explored. Once Morga is done helping with treatment, and Ordwi finally shoos her away, he steals away to the peninsula and sketches Rusthenge itself. He wants as thorough of notes as possible to report back to his advisors at the Arcanimirium, and possible generate some lectures or papers out of the experience.
He's starting to take more and more to helping his friends, and so when Morga descends again to smash the ritual implements in the depths he accompanies her to exercise some telekinetic projectile launching.
Finally, he hopes to steal away for a short time at Elsie's before they return on the sloop (if it can be afforded). It is now that he finally gets to studying the scrolls they've come across to pen them into his personal spellbook. Once that is successfully done, he offers the scrolls to Autumn.
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Surprisingly, San seems to go the opposite rout of Vildran. Morga is a friend but he doesn't know her great aunt. He can commiserate with the feeling of loss but they are of the moderately short lived races. It was going to happen sooner rather than later anyway. The disease just moved the timeline.
He is happy to accompany her to the depths again to destroy the alter and is willing to let her do the deed. Though the concepts behind the summoning are intriguing. He tries to memorize some of the symbols to research for later.
San is also willing to play research assistant for the more proficient Vildran. Offering insights to what things might mean and different interpretations to the smarter elf's observations. While down in the depths again, he investigates the locks Autumn disabled and some of the traps that were disarmed, including the one that almost took his life at Stonehome.
While they have some downtime between delving, San asks the more magically inclined party members to show him some finer points of spellcasting. Some cantrips to enhance his investigating items at least. Offensive magic can come later, his skill with weapons is good enough.
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Fortunately, Morga happens to be with Hilga as her last breath passes. She holds her own breath, unconsciously, straining to no avail to hear her great aunt take another. With a long sigh, her shoulders slump, accepting defeat. She lingers, holding the limp hand of her relative, too exhausted in body and mind to weep.
Morga ensures that Great-Aunt Hilga is buried beside her husband, Gertrund Fistcrusher, then somehow finds time to arrange an estate sale and sell the house in between tending to the remaining Rust Creep patients. Nearly all the proceeds from the sale are distributed among the families impacted by the Rust Creep, though she keeps a small amount for herself so she can afford food and lodging now that she's not staying for free in the old house. She knows Autumn would've handled the money differently, but tough luck. Besides, the gifts might help soften some of the townsfolk's opinions of the group from Sandpoint.
The trip back down to destroy the ritual altar is uneventful. Fortunately the boggard queen is still alive and remembers them. Morga smashes and bashes until there is nothing left of the ritual and her arms and emotions are utterly numb. The boggards are relieved when the surface-worlders trudge tiredly back up the stairs, as they can finally pull the wadded cloths out of their ears.
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Given the town’s disappointingly lukewarm (or worse) reception to being saved from the cultists (not to mention the possibility of a resurrected demon), Autumn is eager to return to Sandpoint. Unfortunately, the meticulous wizard takes forever to record everything with never-ending maps, notes, and drawings. No wonder some people consider elves slow!
Stuck in town, and with not much else to do, she offers to help out Elsie—the one genuinely friendly local—at the store. Although the halfling’s muffins are good, they’re not the same as Alma Avertin’s, and the sorceress realizes just how much she misses Sandpoint. Yes, she’ll have to deal with Titus when they return, but right now she can’t think of anywhere else she’d rather be.
Autumn also spends a fair bit of time with the non-slow normal-looking elf. Noticing San’s interest in locks and traps, she readily loans him her lockpicks and toolkit, and gives him some pointers on how to use them. She had learned the basic rudiments of lockpicking out of necessity—because she was locked out of her house one time, is the story she gives San—and wouldn’t mind being relieved of such a tedious (and sometimes surprisingly dangerous) task. “Maybe next time you can spend hours breaking picks to open a locked door,” she jokes. Not that they’d ever be in such a situation again, of course—seriously, what are the chances of them exploring another dungeon filled with traps and locked doors?
The sorceress also shares what she knows about magic with San, though it’s unlikely to help much—“if it’s not already in your blood, I can’t help” she explains. However, sometimes elves are somewhat magical creatures—more than humans, anyway—so she tries nonetheless.
As for Vildran, she agrees to lend him her scroll, but only on the condition that they leave for Sandpoint. Seriously, how long has poor Art been forced to wait for them?!
...
San, Vildran and Autumn work together to take a look at the few remaining unexplored rooms. To the south side of the first basement floor, you can still hear the sounds of something shuffling about from behind the barricade. Whatever it is, it either has plenty of food and drink or somehow has resisted dying of thirst over the last week. Gurga's room proves quite interesting. The chamber she kept you out of is overgrown with mold and fungus and is filled with the sound of trickling water. Rivulets run down the walls along two sides and into a large mud-filled basin dug into the stone foundation. The water is - strangely - quite lukewarm. There are no obvious treasures left behind. The boggards were diligent in gathering all their goodies when they returned to their tribe below.
Back up in Iron Harbor, Morga earns some respect from the town as she works to distribute her Great-Aunt's possessions to the needy. While the town is too small for much of an auction, the affected families are glad to be bestowed with a few of the Fistcrusher's household goods, if even just for the gesture. Many around town prove ready to comfort her for her loss. Though it seems Gertrund had a spotty history among the other villagers, Hilga was well liked and Morga ends up hearing a number of stories of her great-aunt in her younger years.
---
As the days pass, the remaining patients at Rusthenge mostly recover, with only one more young man succumbing. With no more cursed plant-beasts or magical hazards to spread it, no further infections surface and the current cases thankfully don't linger. Ordwi finally emerges from Stonehome and meets with you all at Elsie's one evening when San and Vildran have returned from their research. She eases herself into a chair, picks up an apple from a pile Elsie has been peeling, and joins in the work.
After a minute she speaks up "We did what we could, and we did very well, all things considered. Of course you all outdid yourselves. While there were those we lost along the way, we also saved many people here in Iron Harbor and likely beyond. Whatever you choose to do after this... you can be proud of what you did here these last couple of weeks." She finishes peeling an apple and adds it to the growing pile. Elsie nods her agreement and her thanks to Ordwi. Ordwi continues "As for myself, after this ordeal its clear my adventuring days are behind me. But I do think there's still some good I can do here. The Gorumites were a big part of this town, and as much as the people will keep carrying on with their lives, I expect the echoes of their loss with continue for a long while." She shakes her head at the thought, then smiles warmly at your group "As for you all, I'm sure you're getting eager to return to civilization. Returning with treasures and stories to tell, like I did in my youth."
Ordwi continues "The one piece of this tale that worries me still is that horn. The way Meitremar treated it, it is clearly a tool of great importance to Xar-Azmak and perhaps other demons as well. I don't think it can be left alone, but by the way you've described it, I expect destroying it will be far from easy. If I can ask one last thing from you - can I count on you all finding a way to deal with it?"
Autumn glances around at the others, then nods in response to Ordwi’s request about the horn. “Of course,” she says easily, knowing that she won’t be the one who’ll research the artifact—there are others who’ll be more than happy to do it for the group. “There’s sure to be some people in Sandpoint who’ll know more about such things. After all, it’s a proper town, not a little village like Iron Harbor.”
She glances around the isolated, insular settlement. “Are you sure you’ll be all right staying here? Art would be happy to take you back to Sandpoint with us.”
Did Vildran's notes from the tunnels and halls below yield any new knowledge?
Ordwi thanks Autumn for her reassurance regarding the horn. After a moment's thought to her question, she responds "I have to say - I'm not absolutely certain, but I still feel its the right place to be. And if that changes, well, I'm no stranger to finding my own way across the seas and back to Magnimar." She smiles "I just have to make sure I don't board another ship doomed to be attacked at sea by dero."
---
Vildran's extensive notes catalogue equipment, inscriptions, and the few scraps of written material left behind in the secret labs beneath Rusthenge. Amid those notes he connects a few dots in Rusthenge's history. The laboratories appear to have once, long ago, been part of a project funded by the Runelord Belimarius. The same Runelord Belimarius that now rules over these islands in the modern day, at least on paper. That means the site will be of interest to the other citizens of Xin-Edasseril, and likely the Runelord herself. Based on the few scraps of information Vildran is able to gather, as well as his own knowledge of Thassilonian history, he suspects that the true purpose of Rusthenge likely was not widely known.
...
Vildran's extensive notes catalogue equipment, inscriptions, and the few scraps of written material left behind in the secret labs beneath Rusthenge. Amid those notes he connects a few dots in Rusthenge's history. The laboratories appear to have once, long ago, been part of a project funded by the Runelord Belimarius. The same Runelord Belimarius that now rules over these islands in the modern day, at least on paper. That means the site will be of interest to the other citizens of Xin-Edasseril, and likely the Runelord herself. Based on the few scraps of information Vildran is able to gather, as well as his own knowledge of Thassilonian history, he suspects that the true purpose of Rusthenge likely was not widely known.
A living Runelord may hold the key to understanding the labs below our feet! I must travel to Xin-Edasseril soon. No wait... I'll have to consult with my advisors at the Arcanamirium first. I'll need their help to obtain an audience with a Runelord.
Nodding to Ordwi, San also agrees to try to figure out how to deal with the horn, though he doesn't actually take possession of it. Also, seeing that the blacksmiths in town aren't capable of or are unwilling to help transfer runes, he bundles all the gear the others don't want and packs it away for the trip back to Sandpoint. San doesn't exactly share Vildran's excitement for consulting with the Runelords. Their crew wasn't the most helpful until it benefitted them. If the rest of their society is similar, it would be an exhausting exchange. And he certainly wouldn't want to bring the horn there either.
Ordwi smiles at Vildran's enthusiasm. "Well then, from the way Autumn seems about to jump out of her seat it seems you're all eager to go. I won't hold you any longer. Good luck on your trip back, and with the Horn. And do keep in touch. It would reassure me to know that you're all safe and sound and continuing your own journey."
Elsie passes each of you a cloth pouch filled with muffins of various flavors. "You're welcome back any time, even if we're a little out of the way! Especially welcome if we have ourselves some more mystery cultists that need punchin'." She winks, then waves as you head on out into the cool evening air.
---
Heading out to the pier where Art and Bastiano have the sloop tied up, you're halfway toward it when you hear a strange cackling from behind you. You turn and see a somewhat familiar, misshapen creature lurking in the shadow of the nearest house to the pier. With a bloated torso, goat-like legs and long, claw-tipped arms, its somehow even more grotesque now among the ordinary features of this seaside village. The abrikandilu is hunched over, eyes gleaming in the shadows. It calls out in Draconic "I smell it. The Horn. It brought Meitremar what he deserved." It snickers "It will do the same for you. Blow it. Hear Xar-Azmak's whispers. Or don't. Either way they will come for you to take it back. No mortal deserves it and no mortal will have it for long."
The destruction demon. *That's* where it went. Chagrined (understatement of the week) that she'd completely forgotten about this demon, Morga muses on the possibility of letting it try to destroy the horn before rejecting the idea out of hand. It probably wouldn't be able to truly destroy it, and would definitely cause trouble with it if it could. She draws her shield and cold iron light hammer, glowering at the demon.
Then her mind catches on the first thing it said. "You smell it?" She sniffs warily.
"Yes, of sorts. An ancient scent, a feeling of war and ruin. It lives." The abrikandilu seems almost reverent.
As for Morga, she smells nothing beyond the sea air.
Surprised by the forgotten demon, Autumn eyes it with a wary yet confident look, remembering how she had cowed it with nothing more than stern words and a single spell last time. In an aside to Morga she quips “You should’ve recruited it to help you wreck the ritual chamber—you’d have been done in no time.”
She glances around at the others, unsure how they want to handle this, before having Vildran translate into Draconic for her. “Is there no way for you to return to the abyss? Can’t Meitremar’s summoning be undone?”
We will not blow it, we will find a way to destroy it! Vildran shouts back indignantly.
An ugly grin splits the abrikandilu's face "Why should I return? There is so much here to do." before it responds to Vildran "Destroy it? A demon lord is never destroyed. He is too great, too terrible. The effort will bring you to ruin before it will claim your life." In the faint light of the evening, the abrikandilu's small beady eyes gleam. It seems utterly confident in this assessment.
Over at the sloop, you hear Bastiano calling out to you, asking you what's holding you up.
San finds his hand returning to the cold-iron hammer he thought he had put away for now. "What we do with this demon relic is our business. Your... advice on how it will go is noted. You, however, will not be staying in this small town. You need to leave. If we need to force that outcome, so be it." Difficulties fighting another demon just the other day are pushed out of his mind as the sunshine warms San's mood. What's another demon that was cowed by images of itself last time.
"So be it!" Morga echos, raising her shield and advancing.
Between San's ultimatum and Morga's advance, Vildran is flustered looking between all of the actors present. He tightens the grip on his staff, ready to do some burning.
“Just a minute,” Autumn calls back to Bastiano. “We have a demon to deal with first.”
-
Vildran and San are the quickest to leap into the fray.
|||| INIT ||||
San
Vildran
Abrikandilu
??? A
??? B
Morga
Autumn
Not alone...! How many more are there?! he demands.
Vildran gesticulates and forms a ring of glyphs, that expands to shield his allies.
He then cautiously moves forward.
By the time he reaches the ledge he's essentially crouching to (feebly) attempt avoiding notice.
San is about to retrieve the hammer when he hears the flapping. Using his trained senses, he strains to locate the source of the sounds.
-
-
The blur to the south descends upon Vildran. With a pitched screech it claws at his head, becoming visible in the process. All it manages to strike is the wards that surround him however. You can now see its some kind of tiny, green fiend with leathery wings.
The abrikandilu steps up to the edge of the ledge and sends a spell at Morga...
... but other than a slight pressure on her mind, she shrugs it off with ease. A second tiny flying demon appears in her face, but she bats its away instinctively with her shield.
|||| INIT ||||
Morga
Autumn
San
Vildran
Abrikandilu
??? A
??? B
There they are... he remarks as he senses the attacks at him.
Vildran gesticulates and the ring of glyphs expands a little further.
He retreats to near Morga.
He can't get a good shot on the winged foe that's harassing Morga so San fires a few arrows at the flying beasty that attacked Vildran. Feeling the time for ranged is coming to an end, he finally swaps his bow for the hammer he should have grabbed at the start.
Morga doesn't bother with the gnat buzzing around her head. Steely eyes locked on the abrikandilu, she surges forward and leaps up beside it, bringing her hammer down as she lands with a wordless roar.
“What are those things?!” Autumn exclaims after the invisible fiends reveal themselves. For a moment she hesitates, trying to decide if the tiny demons’ invisibility is more of a threat than the larger demon’s physical strength ... but it’s a moot point, as the dwarf’s charge forces her hand.
Focusing her gaze upon the abrikandilu, she pushes and stretches her magic beyond its normal limits, like a dead tree’s lengthening shadow at sunset. The sorceress pries into the demon’s mind, implanting a psychic image of its own visage to cripple it with mental pain.
-
-
Morga leaps up onto the short ledge and with that momentum slams her hammer into the abrikandilu demon. It gasps in pain as the cold iron burns it, and then doubles over for a moment as Autumn's spell overwhelms its mind with further torments.
It shakes its head and then launches into a savage attack upon Morga. Its sharp teeth tear at her arm, but its followup swipe of its claw only meets armor . Where its fangs tear however, the wound seems to briefly gain a life of its own, twisting and opening until it takes on a grotesque appearance.
The remaining flying fiend swoops down at Vildran, missing once with miniature talons before landing a second slash right across his neck.
The tiny creature's talons prove envonomed and Vildran feels a burning pain spread from where he was slashed . Over atop the ledge, Autumn sees the abrikandilu slowly shaking off the lingering effects of her spell.
|||| INIT ||||
Morga (9 dmg, "mutilated" 1)
Autumn
San
Vildran (8 dmg, poisoned)
Abrikandilu (36 dmg)
??? Flying fiend
Hurk!... Whatever that thing did, it wasn't just a flesh wound. Vildran feels it coursing through his body.
Vildran retreats backwards between San and Autumn.
Again he sustains and expands his circle of protection.
Trusting San to deal with the remaining imp, Autumn continues to attack the abrikandilu from the safety of long range. This time she empowers one of her trademark phase bolts, phasing a juddering blast of magic through her allies at the demon.
San strides forward, closing the distance then a little closer to the big demon. Whirling the hammer around, he strikes at the winged beast.
Morga doesn't spare a glance at the mutilating wound. It hurts in a weird way, but the recognition of that is distant, muted by her residual anger at all that's happened here. Growling viciously, she pummels the Abrikandilu twice before raising her shield.
-
San has an easier time against the tiny flying foe. While he stumbles upon his first swing, the second connects, as does a third when the little monster darts in toward him. Morga takes advantage of the abrikandilu's shuddering after Autumn's earlier spell. She manages to land one solid blow, but finds her second swing blocked by a foul claw.
The abrikandilu looks seriously injured, but it only fights back with more ferocity. A sudden lunge for Morga's throat catches her partly off guard. She slows the attack with her shield, but is still hurt . The gash left on her billows into a grotesque wound.
Despite this injury, Morga's able to deflect the claw that follows. You notice the abrikandilu finishes shaking off the last of Autumn's spell. The small flying fiend darts in at San, getting struck again for its daring. Nevertheless it manages to nick him before flying up and away.
|||| INIT ||||
Morga (20 dmg, "mutilated" 2)
Autumn
San (6 dmg)
Vildran (8 dmg)
Abrikandilu (46 dmg)
??? Flying fiend (19 dmg)