Cephalon tears into the paladin as viciously as he can.
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Cephalon storms out of the hallway into the larger room, and imposes himself between the paladin and the vampire.
Is there an eleven-body problem? Because he has ten heads.
Cephalon takes a moment to count his heads again, then decides against it. No one can count that high. He lumbers over by Vladimir, grumbling about how none of this would be a problem if he had better architectural sense. "Fine, but this had better work."
What's he going to do, eat it? He can't wear anything designed for medium and small bipeds. At most he can use the ioun stone, maybe an amulet.
"An alchemist?"" Cephalon ponders a moment, then another of his heads speaks up. "No, too full of chemicals." "I only eat organic." "Does anyone else want it?"
Cephalon spends a moment licking his wounds, but since he hadn't been hit that many times, he still had a chance to talk. "You know, all this healing makes me hungry... mind if I have just a little snack?"
Cephalon's foul blood sprays everywhere, the wounds appearing too quickly for his body to heal them.
His heads roar in unison, but he backs away, carefully withdrawing to let his allies finish the fight.
Several of Cephalon's heads howl in pain, but the wounds quickly begin to seal one more.
Full Attack:
Alright, that's fine. At least that means we don't have to backtrack.
So he's not grappled, then?
Cephalon rushes forward, his massive legs carrying him across the length of the chamber in what looks like an instant, and he's upon the adventurers the very second they see him. Full Attack:
Cephalon hunches down, ready to pounce.
If we're going for the main room, Cephalon will stand here, where he can get a pounce. There's no point in hiding at the back of the room, because the odds of anyone NOT spotting him are... poor.
Well, Cephalon is obviously super sneaky.
One of Cephalon's heads pipes up. "Once you've taken your picks, see if you can preserve whatever's left." Another seconds the notion. "I'm sure my chefs can do something with them." A third mutters, "If there are any of them left." Two more heads get into a short argument over whether or not the plural of 'chef' should be 'chefs' or 'cheves', which ends with them trying to bite each other, but not being able to because the other heads are in the way.
Sorry to change the subject right after you asked a question, GM, but I've got some no-good, terrible, evil, rather inconvenient news just now. Cephalon's character sheet was hosted on Myth-weavers, which suffered a huge loss of data today. His sheet has been completely lost, along with several other characters of mine that will have to be remade from the ground up. Not sure how long it will take.
Cephalon will object to any attempts to shrink him, but OOC, I agree that it will be very helpful. So go ahead and do it despite his protests.
Cephalon, despite his vast intellect, doesn't know big words. "Fit in your what?"
Cephalon's various heads mutter among themselves. It takes the better part of a minute for his wounds to heal, at which point he turns to address his colleagues again. "Why are we just letting them get away?!"
I return! Hello again, everyone.
I'd like to apologize in advance for the next week. I'm going to be away for a funeral, and I doubt I'll be able to post. Sorry, everyone!
Cephalon backs away once more, hoping Tikkik and his dragon-thing will be able to help.
Cephalon howls in pain as the pathfinders' mighty blows manage to harm him. He would never accept defeat, of course, but perhaps it was time to back away and give his wounds a moment to heal. He carefully backs away, out of the room, until he bumps into Tikkik's mech.
Alright. I figured that might be the case, but I wanted to be sure.
Just to be sure, you're not applying an additional -4, are you? Because I was already rolling at -4.
Despite the massive gashes in Cephalon's body, he seems barely fazed. Only seconds later, the wounds have already begun to heal.
He lashes out wildly at the fighter, switching over to the warpriest if his current target falls. Full Attack:
Cephalon continues to squeeze down the hall. He nearly makes it to the heavily armored one, stopping ten feet away from him. The warrior won't be able to get close enough to attack him without leaving himself open to attack.
Cephalon forces his way down the hallway as fast as he can, but it's not very fast.
Cephalon bursts through the door and turns right, which was what Vlad clearly said before, and not the opposite of that, and starts crawling his way through the hallway towards the others.
I was tempted to have Cephalon actually go the wrong way, just to see what happened.
Two of Cephalon's heads nod. "Right. Out the door and turn left." "We should hurry. Adventurers don't stay in one place for long." "And don't blame me if he gets it wrong!" one of his heads says, pointing at the kobold and his machine. "We all know he won't listen."
"Is it working?" "It had better be working. I wanted to eat her." "Where is she now? Are there more of them?"
Cephalon looms over the terrified cleric. Slowly, one by one, a maniacal grin spreads across all of his faces. One of his heads leans in as close as it can, and helpfully whispers a single word of instruction to the poor girl. "Run."
"Bah, just toss it all into the forge. It's right over there, isn't it?"
"That's it? I thought that one would put up a fight!"
Cephalon's heads have another discussion among themselves. Or at least, some of them do. The others are busy tearing into the barbarian, ripping the armor and weapons from the corpse.
The gash quickly seals itself up, and if anything, the puny warrior has succeeded in drawing Cephalon's ire. Attacks:
Cephalon, sick of waiting, lumbers over to where the other adventurers are, snarling and snapping as he gets closer.
Cephalon completely ignores the ghost-thing as he barrels out into the center of the room, looking for an opportunity to crush someone. Unfortunately, between his allies and the room itself, he can't quite find a path. If he sees an enemy he can reach- a corporeal one, that is- he'll immediately bite it.
Oh. If I need an overrun, just use that attack roll as a CMB check instead, and forget the readied action. It'd be a 36, counting the +2 from Vlad's music.
I'm trying to move Cephalon out into the room, but I can't target him without moving the black circle out of the way.
All of his heads hacking and wheezing from the noxious gases, Cephalon blunders out into the open and takes a spot in the middle of the room, trying to catch his breath.
Cephalon crawls over to the intersection, where he plants himself firmly. He will need the others to clear the entrance for him, as he'd be open to all sorts of attacks if he went first.
Cephalon sticks his heads into the hall and sucks in his gut as he prepares to make his way down the uncomfortably tight hallway.
Cephalon hears nothing. His heads seem to be distracted, talking among themselves. "Why don't we just kill it?" "Because it's still useful." "Disgusting."
A few of Cephalon's heads tear into what's left of the cleric and wizard, trying to separate the valuables from the gore. Two of them turn around to address Vladimir. "So you see the problem, then?" asks one. "This is why I don't like close quarters!" cries the other.
Could you link your character sheet in your profile, Cephalon? Oh, whoops! Forgot to do that. Thanks for reminding me.
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