I'm not sure when that might be, but I'll add you to the list of folks to be alerted!
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Thanks guys. I have enjoyed and appreciated you all. I'll be in touch when the Greyhawk bug inevitably strikes again!
And with that, my friends, I am going to take a break - of indefinite length. When I put this campaign together originally I planned out several more adventure arcs. And while I still have lots of ideas about what happens next, I find myself with less time than I used to and even less motivation. At this moment, I can't honestly commit to completing another 20 months of adventure, and I don't want to start something and be unable to finish. So for now, the campaign is on hiatus. But if the muse strikes some time in the future I will contact each of you to see if you are interested in continuing on. I hope it has been enjoyable, even it things lagged a bit here and there (next time I'll know to modify those old 1E/2E adventures even more significantly. Old-school dungeon crawls don't work as well on PbP). I enjoyed gaming with all of you, and we just might have cause to do it again in the future. Cheers!
With heavy hearts you lay the dead to rest, burying the massacred elves in graves at the edge of the wood before burning the orogs and giants so their corpses will not attract carrion-feeders. Mindful of the words spoken by the dying - or dead - orog, Kierdan says a prayer to ensure none rise again to afflict the surrounding lands. The drovers and guards give the campsite a wide berth and travel on for several hours before setting camp. You rise early the next day, eager to return to Hochoch. The sun is still an hour shy of noon when you crest the hill south of the town, which stretches out on the far side of the Realstream beneath a pall of smoke. The slums and temporary barracks outside the city's walls have grown in your absence, as has the number of banners camped in orderly rows near the western gate. Some new military effort must be forming, as the displaced people of Geoff seek to retake their land. Wearily, you descend the final distance to the water, where the ferry waits to take you across. With the treasures you looted from the Mistress's lair and the tomb of Dalvan Meir safely secured in your magic sack, you avoid the hefty "recovery" taxes imposed by the city's military rulers, and pass into the city itself. Home at last. Promising to meet the next day, you head to your individual homes or to the nearest inn, where baths, ale and hot meals await. You sleep well, despite the nagging worry of the evil you unearthed from the naga's abode. Such threats are for another day. The next morning, each of you finds a slip of paper, tied in gray silk, beneath your door. Each contains an invitation to the Freckled Lass (aka the Poxie Doxie), the ale-soaked tavern where you first met. There, you are greeted by half a dozen members of the thieves guild known as the Talons -- and at the back table, regal as a queen, the Snow Owl, Onshae. "The conquering heroes return," the guildmistress says, inviting you to sit with her. The bartender, One-Eye, looking as if he is not used to being up so early, brings a steaming pot of tea and several loaves of fresh bread, then disappears back into the kitchen, muttering about entitled half-breeds ... "You've had a quiet return to the city, though the bards already tell the tale of Orlane's curse and the heroes that lifted it," Onshae says. "A pity you were not better rewarded - my man at the gate said you declared no plunder when entering the city. Well, should you find anything that slipped your mind then, my offer to fence any relics or coins you recovered still stands." She winks, then gestures toward the table. "I have other business I'd like to discuss, and at least one client who wishes to engage the services of those who defeated the "scourge of the Rushmoors," as the bards are calling it. But such talk is for another day, I think. For now, enjoy yourselves. Have a rest. You have earned it. "Further adventures await, no doubt, but not all of them must be conquered today."
[dice=arcana]1d20+2 Whatever possessed the dying orog would seem to be linked to the demon lord Orcus, who apparently seeks revenge against the arch-lich Vecna.
Kierdan knows from his study of dark cults that "Blood Lord" is a title sometimes claimed by the demon lord Orcus. "Maimed usurper" would seem to refer to Vecna, who in some circles is said to have stolen power from Orcus. Examining the bodies, it is clear all are beyond the help of all but the most powerful magics, which sadly are outside Kierdan's reach. All he can do is inform the elven refugees of the Autumn Court in Hochoch, and hope that word reaches the families of the slain.
Though your enemies fight to the last, the battle is a foregone conclusion. Rolen finishes the wounded giant with a final arrow as the others gang up on the remaining orogs, cutting them down with sword and spell. Even with a hole in his gut, the orog leader laughs as he draws his final, shuddering breaths. "I will clear a space for you in the Abyss," he says, the shudders and lies still. A moment later, his eyes snap open again, showing only white. "The Blood Lord comes to reclaim what is his. The maimed usurper will be cast down, his secrets spilled, and the Prince will trod upon his thrice-dead corpse." The orog's body seems to cough, then, and a foul-smelling mist escapes his mouth and quickly dissipates. He says no more. As disturbing as those words, you soon make a more gruesome discovery. The orogs and giants appear to have come from the west, where they evidently slaughtered many elves. From the orogs' belts hang strings of pointed ears, and the giants' sacks contain larger, equally bloody trophies. Their slaughter of the Fair Folk appears to have only stopped with your arrival. The corpses of several elven rangers are strewn around the campsite. Several are half-butchered, hung from spits, but a few are intact enough to be recognizable. One is Kierdan's friend, Varisthas, who aided you on your way to Orlane.
I hope everyone's been enjoying the holiday weekend. I should have a post up tonight.
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Steel clashes against steel as the melee is joined. Working together with sword and spell, Koralyn and Eldramin manage to drop one of the wounded orogs. Dragomir, meanwhile, flies into a frenzy as he lays about with his axe, cutting down two more in a bloody flurry. Rolen sinks another arrow into the thick hide of the remaining hill giant, as Alistair's magic missiles burn holes next to it. Gasping for breath as its life leaks out of numerous wounds, the giant launches one more boulder, but its aim is off and Alistair is able to dodge out of the way of the deadly missile. Nearby, Dragomir and Koralyn easily evade the axes of the two remaining orogs, who appear to realize the fight is lost. Rather than fear, their eyes contain only a weary resignation - neither appears willing to kneel in surrender.
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With the orogs and giants still off-balance from the magical assault, the party works to maximize the damage before closing to melee. As Koralyn and Dragomir move into position to intercept a charge, others continue to flings spells and arrows at the enemy. The first of Eldramin's eldritch blasts glances off the heavy armor of the lead orog, but the second hits him square in the chest, knocking him back in a heap. Alistair's second fireball goes off a split second later, leaving the wounded and slowed hill giants in worse shape than before, their skin charred and smoking as they bellow in rage. The screams of one end abruptly as one of Rolen's arrows sprouts from an eye socket. Kierdan's prayer heals the worst of Alistair's wounds as the orogs charge, whipped into a frenzy by their leader's battle cry. Dragomir slashes one that approaches but suffers a minor wound himself, while Korlayn expertly evades multiple blows that come her way. Kierdan is not so lucky. The priest is taken by surprise as the surviving giant flings another boulder, smashing into his armor and nearly driving him to the ground .
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As the cry goes up among the raiders Rolen's arrow punches through the air and buries itself deep into the hide of the nearest hill giant, who bellows in rage before grabbing at the nearest boulder. His movements slow considerably as Koralyn's spell takes hold, the giant's gnarled limbs moving as if underwater. The other giant and one of the armored humanoids are similarly affected, although others shake off the enchantment and grab heavy axes as they prepare a counterattack. Before they do, Alistair's fireball explodes among the slowed raiders. One of the giants is too hampered to avoid the flames and is badly burned, but the other - the one Rolen stuck with an arrow - as well as the armored brute manage to avoid the worst of the blast. One of Eldramin's blasts knocks the armored figure into the fire before it can move, however, as another blast batters the most wounded giant. As Kierdan calls a blessing down on the group the raiders finally organize a counterattack. One of the armored figures in the back calls out orders in Orcish. The giants both stay put, grabbing boulders that they fling at the party. Koralyn just barely avoids the first throw, but the second catches Alistair in the chest, knocking him to the ground . The armored figure in the fire flails and tries to roll away before succumbing to his wounds. The remaining five brutes charge forward, covering the distance surprisingly quickly. Pulling up just short of the party, they fling a volley of javelins that falls among the party. Dragomir steps in to protect Alistair and is struck a shallow blow . Koralyn and Eldramin also are struck and Kierdan takes a deeper wound . Close now, you see that the armored humanoids are orogs, orc-and-ogre hybrids known for their strength and discipline. Clad in heavy armor, they ready their axes for the imminent melee.
The guards seem frightened by the prospect of fighting giants but noticeably relax when you tell them to take the wagons into the trees and wait for your return. That done, the six of you creep forward, skirting the edge of the forest as you try to maintain cover as you approach the column of smoke. As you draw nearer, you recognize the thin copse of trees where you camped on your journey to Orlane. It was in this spot that Kierdan encountered his old friend, the elf ranger Varisthas, who warned you of the goblin band you encountered soon after that. As you draw nearer you see a burning wagon is the source of the fire and smoke. Around it, crude spits hold the carcasses of horses and men, roasting over the flames. Two hill giants move about, along with at least half a dozen heavily armored humanoids who have the look of orcs, but taller and even more brutish.
Most of the raiders are preoccupied with the cooking, but as you draw even with the campsite a sentry on the near side of the camp spots you in the forest eaves and sounds the alarm. Rolen manages to dash away, hiding among the tall grass to the north, but the rest of your have been sighted. Battle is imminent ... :
Rolen finds his sister easily enough, sitting at one of the tables surrounded by half a dozen young suitors. She seems happy, and largely unfazed by the horrors she endured at the hands of the cult. She excuses herself when she spots her brother and follows him to the edge of the celebration. Brushing off questions about her own well-being, she seems more concerned about Rolen. "Be careful treading dark paths, big brother," she says. "Hunting monsters is all well and good, but don't get yourself lost in their lairs." With a kiss on the cheek, she bids him a safe journey, then returns to her friends, who have talked one of the priests out of another bottle of wine that is swiftly disappearing. Rising early the next morning, the group is greeted outside the constabulary by a pair of merchant's wagons loaded with grain, as well as two drovers, half a dozen armed guards and a handful of townsfolk hoping to make the journey to Hochoch as part of an armed caravan. Bidding farewell to Ramne, Zakarias and others, the group heads out of town along the western road, retracing its steps from several weeks earlier. The first day passes uneventfully and you camp for the night near the ruined tower where you fought off the warg-mounted goblin raiders what seems like a lifetime ago. The next day brings you within sight of the Oytwood -- and a column of smoke to the north, along the trail leading north toward Hochoch. Wisdom (Perception) DC 15: The wind carries the stench of burning flesh, and you spot a few carrion birds circling near the column of smoke. As you draw closer, you see at least two giant-sized figures moving about in front of the smoke.
Hey all, been swamped. Should have a post up tonight.
Overhearing talk about the grain shipments, the mayor, Zakarias, leans over. "We've been able to salvage much of the harvest since the cult was driven out of town, and have recovered some of the stores that had been hidden away, as well. Several of the farmers are eager to send a shipment to the markets in Hochoch and no doubt be grateful if you were willing to escort the wagons. The safety of the road to the west is the only open question. You are the last to have made the journey, as far as I know." The mayor is interrupted as the townsfolk call for him to make a toast -- one of several that punctuate the evening. When he returns, he steers the conversation back to your imminent departure. "I expect you will leave soon, even tomorrow. Have you given any thought to who might travel with you? As I said, several of the locals no doubt would like to send along a wagon or two of goods, if you'll have them, and there may be others who wish to make the journey if it can be made with a larger group. And Rolen, what of your sister? Do you wish her to accompany you or remain here in our protection?"
"I am never disappointed by the utility of such storage devices," Ramne says. "I am sure that remedy is as good as any other, and will provide at least a modicum of protection against unwanted scrying until a more permanent solution can be identified." "Now, my old bones are telling me it is time for a mug of mulled wine and rest, and I am sure you are ready to partake of the feast they have prepared for you. Go in good spirits - but do go - and enjoy the heroes welcome you have earned. Perhaps we will see each other again before you leave Orlane." The old hermit ushers you out of his tower and toward the waiting festivities, where villagers and those you rescued from the cult already are raising glasses of wine and tankards of ale to the sky, giving thanks to Merikka for Orlane's salvation.
Calling on his god then and there, Kierdan channels warm, pure light into the rotten flesh on Alistair's chest. Within moments, the cancerous afflicting begins to shrivel and peel away, revealing new, pink skin beneath. The wizard draws in a deep, clear breath as the curse is lifted and his body returned to normal. "Well now, that's done. As for passing on that rod to the Watchers or the brothers of St. Cuthbert, I suppose that is an option," Ramne says. "But even good men, stern men, have fallen prey to such things when they thought their cause was good. As desperate as things are in the war to retake Geoff, it would be an easy mistake to make ... You will have to use your own judgment as to whether the various factions in Hochoch can be trusted." He raises an eyebrow with interest when Koralyn speaks. "And which Tower do you mean, my lady?"
When Alistair mentions his curse, Ramne beckons him into his laboratory for an examination. He grunts and mumbles as he pokes and prods at the blackened flesh on Alistair's chest, but does not seem overly concerned. "A rather uncomfortable condition, I expect, but nothing that's going to follow you to the grave. My son picked up something similar once from a "lady" of questionable pedigree from the Gran March. The priest's benediction should remove all traces, although I wouldn't engage in any ... strenuous activity for a few days." He turns to the rod with a look of distaste. "As for that thing, it is as foul as its reputation. Does it bear some pernicious taint due to its long association with the Arch-Lich? Perhaps. But whether or not it is corrupted, it most certainly is corrupting - the power to bend men's minds has a way of turning the most righteous mad for power. It is a path that, once started, is very difficult to leave." Ramne stares thoughtfully out of the tower window toward Orlane, where the villagers are readying the feast outside the cathedral walls. "I wish I had some advice about where to take it. This village is certainly no place for it - it should be evident now we could not keep it sake. In Hochoch there are many who would seek to use in the war against the giants. You might try the elves, though I fear they, too, would be tempted to use it to try to take back their homeland. Perhaps it would be best to hide it yourselves and seek counsel from from sages and tomes about how it might be destroyed."
With some difficulty, Dragomir is able to chip away at the surrounding stone to free the lead-lined coffer containing the rod. There is little else of any value on the island - the Mistress's mortal form collapsed into dust, and none of her servants, living or undead, carried anything enchanted or high-quality. With the rod safely stowed, you withdraw from the water-filled cavern and back through the serpent-filled passage to the embalming chamber and former prison. There, the surviving captives greet your return with jubilation. After sharing out some of your dwindling supply of food, you fortify the chamber and fall into a well-deserved sleep. Upon waking, you gather up anything of value and explore the last few corners and shadowed chambers in the underground complex, steering clear of the deeper tunnels where the reek of the troglodytes is strongest. You pick up a few trinkets, and loot the previously unexplored barracks and kitchen on the upper level for the supplies you will need to make it back to Orlane. You encounter only a handful of surviving cultists, most of them near-catatonic after the Mistress's defeat. They agree to return to Orlane with you and are nothing but cooperative. Of the other cultists, there is no sign - they've either fled into the tunnels below or the swamps above. You do not see them again. The journey to Orlane is relatively uneventful. You lose a few villagers to illness, age and misfortune, but their deaths are due to no failure of your own. You make brief stop at the dryads' grove, where Dragomir attempts to return the black axe, but the dryad's refuse, instead granting him a blessing that seems to lift some of the weight the big man has been carrying since succumbing to the naga's domination. Several farmhands working the outer vineyards spot you as you approach Orlane, and half the village comes to meet you as the enter the village proper. A feast is called for in the reconsecrated temple of Merrika, and you soon receive a summons to meet with Ramne in his tower. His son, the mayor, is there as well, and greets you warmly. Even Ramne at first seems at a loss for words, nearly overcome by emotion. "I did not ... ahem, I did not dare to hope that my wife's death might be avenged while I still walked this plane," he says, clearing his throat repeatedly. "But you have done what I could not, and for that all who live in the shadow of the Rushmoors owes you a great debt." He seems about to choke up again when his son, Zakarias, steps in. "I am sure you are eager to return to Hochoch, but I hope you will accept our hospitality, at least for the night. You look as if you have stories yet to tell, or mysteries to share, if I am not mistake."
Alistair's attempt to unwind the ancient dweomer fails -- rather spectacularly. There's a flash of green light and a smell like rotting offal as the wizard is thrown back to land in a heap several feet away. Sitting up, you all see a smoking hole burned into his robe ... and a rapidly blackening spot on his chest. The discoloration spreads rapidly, eventually covering the wizard's chest and back and his right arm. The flesh smells putrid, but remains intact and flexible ... not unlike the flesh of certain well-preserved undead. Alistair feels a bit weak, struggling to catch his breath as whatever it is has burrowed into his lungs, but he can function more or less normally despite the infestation. Detect magic + Intelligence (Arcana) DC 13:
Congrats! Alistair is under the effects of a bestow curse cast using a 9th level spell slot. Until it's dispelled, he has disadvantage on Constitution-related checks and saving throws. On the upside, the triggering the trap appears to have disabled it, leaving no trace on the lead-lined vault lid. Carefully, Dragomir chips away at the lead, then levers the lid open with his axe. The lid slides away to reveal a shallow, lead-lined cavity. At the bottom, amid piles of dust, lies a rod of black iron, red gold and bone that resembles a skeletal human hand clutching a sphere made up of swirls of both metals. It is obviously highly enchanted. Detect magic + rest or identify:
The rod appears to function as both a rod of rulership and a crystal ball, allowing one to charm large numbers of people as well as serving as a scrying device. Eldramin:
You have an immediate, gut-level reaction to the rod, which you recognize as the tool of a hated foe ... although perhaps a tool that could be turned against that foe, in time. Intelligence (History) DC 17 or Intelligence (Arcana) DC 19: The appearance of the rod seems to match that of the Rod of the Whispered One, a fell item that served as a badge of authority for the lieutenants of the Arch-Lich Vecna. Lost since the fall of the Rotted Tower, it was thought to have been destroyed, or perhaps buried with the remains of the Occluded Empire.
"Hmmm..I have the ability to dispel enchantments, which relies on the abjuration school of magic, but at the moment I am completely drained and will have to rest to regain the power necessary to cast such a spell"
As Alistair tends to the wounded, Koralyn and Rolen explore the rest of the island in the middle of the lake. It soon becomes apparent that the island, although not large, is only the tip of a larger, mostly submerged structure - and a man-made one, at that, although so decayed and moss-covered in places it appears almost natural. Calcified deposits cover the ruins that have not crumbled, making it impossible to make out the details of the carvings that once embellished the stones. The layout of ruined walls suggests a small fane or temple that once sat atop a larger pyramid, submerged in this cavern as water from the swamps above trickled through fractures in the stone above. Near the center of the isle, at what might have been the shrine's sanctum sanctorum, the stones are smoother, as if repeatedly swept clean over the ages. Fell runes are carved into the cracked and polished floor tiles, the gold and silver inlay that once embellished them long lost to corrosion. One stone stands apart, appearing more like a lid set in the ground. Unlike the others, its edges are lined with lead, as are the ancient Ur-Flan runes carved upon, promising death to any who disturb the contents below. There is magic upon the lid, but the eldritch knots have frayed ... you sense they might be unraveled with a well-cast abjuration.
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The naga's energy wave echoes through the water-filled cavern like a bell as the shock wave knocks you all from your feet. Dragomir appeared poised to stand against the blast, but he is too battered and bruised, slumping unconscious as the spectral explosion roils outward. Kierdan is thrown back against a broken stalagmite, knocking his helm askew and leaving him unconscious with a bleeding head wound. The rest of you breathe still, although some through broken ribs. "Now you know my power, and the pain I bring to bear. But worry not -- your suffering will not end quickly," the Mistress says, rising slowly to tower over you. Her ascent is stopped abruptly. Groaning in pain, Eldramin lashes out with his revenant blade, the broken shards of steel forming a glowing chain linked by green energy. The whip-like blade wraps around the naga's spectral form, sawing at her form and holding her in place. Already chanting, Koralyn and Alistair unleash a swarm of arcane missiles, each one striking in small explosions of light that strip away more and more of the naga's ghostly substance. After five, six of the strikes, little is left but a glowing, beating heart, held in place by Eldramin's blade -- then Rolen's black arrow impales it, and the last remnant of the naga's spirit dissipates like a blood spot on the water. The Mistress is destroyed.
Koralyn and Alistair continue to bombard the spectral naga with magic missiles even as it transforms into a bolt of lightning that blasts through Dragomir and arcs toward Alistair -- before Eldramin appears, shield drawn and stops the bolt. Although singed by the electrical discharge, the warlock manages to lash out with his revenant blade, slashing away still more of the etheric energy that comprises the naga's spirit. As Kierdan chants a spell of healing, the badly wounded Dragomir charges after the Mistress's spirit form, axe held high. He attacks with a flurry of blows. The naga narrowly evades the first two strikes. Unwilling to give up, Dragomir surges forward and levels two more blows, which connect, leaving deep rents in the naga's spiritual form. Seeming to sense a final death approaching, the Mistress roars in inarticulate rage. She who has know only temporary setbacks, never defeat, screams in denial, her fury manifesting in a wave of energy that explodes outward, striking each of you with the force of a charging bull.
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The energy missiles summoned by Alistair and Koralyn streak toward the spectral naga, slamming into her glowing form in multi-hued explosions of light that seem to tear away some of her own substance. She screeches again, the sound soon drowned out by the roar of anger that erupts from Dragomir's chest. Freed from the naga's control, the proud warrior charges at the ghostly fiend, leaping onto a broken column of rock before flinging himself into the air to hack at her with his black axe. :
The doughty warrior manages to land a single blow, carving away more of the Mistress's spectral flesh, before landing heavily on the ground. With a roar of her own, the naga swoops down toward him, her body crackling with electricity as she speeds up into a bolt of pure energy, smashing through the fighter like a lightning bolt - shocking him badly - before arcing toward Alistair ...
The soul gem pulses with green light and the air is drawn from your lungs as Alistair completes the incantation. Silence reigns for a heartbeat, then two, before the Mistress looses an ear-splitting shriek. The skin of the face splits, torn to either side as glowing, dark-hued column of energy emerges from within like an insect from a chrysalis. Coiled and lithe, the energy form twists into the air above the Mistress's body, which stitches itself back together immediately -- at least until Rolen's black arrow buries itself in one eye socket. The glowing energy trail screams again, the echoes reverberating within your skulls as the naga's body collapses to the stony ground. Dragomir falls to one knee, free of the Mistress's domination. Unmoored from a mortal form, her spiritual aspect continued to shriek, then streaks into the air, spinning in circles, before turning back toward your group. What have you done? I am sundered! But you, you I will eradicate utterly!
Having spotted the naga's now-visible form among the ruins, Rolen let's fly another arrow that, yet again, strikes true and deep. The Mistress cries out in pain, guiding Koralyn as she stalks into the ruins after it. Wielding Namarra in a two-handed grip, Koralyn thrusts the blade between two lines of scales, the bloodied tip emerging from the far side of the naga's body. Wrenching free, she rears back as blood streams from half a dozen grievous wounds. It is obvious death is almost upon her, but her mouth stretches into a fang-filled smile. "I will eat your young when I return!" she says. Intelligence DC 10:
You are reminded of your many conversations with Ramne, the sage of Orlane: "I know a fair bit of this Mistress -- I saw her killed, some 30 years ago. Looks like it didn't take ... but I've an idea or two how to spoil the trick this time." "A monstrosity with the body of a snake and a woman's head, spouting blasphemy and dark incantations. I can't say I remember much of the battle. My wife fell before we had managed to cut through the fiend's protections. I must have gone a bit mad after ... the next thing I remember I was standing over the scorched body of the monster, hacking at it with a broken axe." "After burying my wife, I consulted with some peers in Niole Dra, trying to identify the thing that had killed her. What I found left me filled with dread. The Mistress, by all appearances, had been one of the naga, serpent creatures possessed of great intellect and arcane skill. The ancients used them as guardians and gifted them with a rather persistent form of immortality. Even if they are killed, burned to ashes and scattered, their bodies will reform in a matter of days, none the worse for wear." "A formidable foe, and not one to succumb to anything so pedestrian as fire or holy water. Only the most powerful magic is sufficient to prevent a naga's revivification, on the order of a wish granted by a genie or a miracle called down by the most favored arch-priests of the gods. The ancient Suel knew something of such Power Magic, as do a few living archmages like Mordenkainen and his circle ... But such power is beyond me, or anyone likely to take notice of Orlane's plight." "But while ending the fiend may be beyond our abilities, there may be a way of preventing her return ... I came across a book a few years ago that went into some detail regarding certain theories of necromancy -- soul magic, essentially, and the various methods of trapping or transferring the ethereal essences of living creatures. As far as I can tell, the naga's ability to reform its body requires that its soul be snuffed out, as well. If the creature's soul could be trapped, instead, its body could be destroyed, leaving it in a sort of limbo as long as the soul was contained elsewhere." And then, after making "improvements" to the cracked, rune-covered crystal found in the tomb of Dalvan Meir: "There were too many cracks in the aetheric superstructure for it to contain a soul again, but enough of the separative magics remained that the gem can still be used to split a soul from its body -- just point, focus on the target and complete a Suloise counter-benediction with the left hand while uttering the command word. It will be easier to accomplish if the target is wounded, as the connection between mind and body becomes strained the more the body is deformed." "Once you've severed the connection, the body and soul will be separate entities. I expect the body will simply collapse, with nothing to animate it. The soul, if strong enough, might fight on ... I guess. Truthfully, I have no idea what will happen -- I can't wait to find out! It will certainly make for a fascinating story, if any of you manage to survive." Near the center of the circle, Kierdan calls upon his god's aid to renew a portion of his own strength, as Alistair attempts to halt the dominated-Dragomir's advance with a spell of slumber. The incantation has no effect, however, as the hale warrior accelerates into a trot, and then a charge that takes him past Eldramin toward Kierdan.
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The sun-priest manages to raise his shield to block the first blow of the black axe, but the reverse strikes batters past his guard, cleaving through chain and leather to gouge a brutal gash in his side. Even as he circles, readying another attack, tears fall from Dragomir's face as he mouths a silent apology. Cackling now as bloody froth drips from her lips, the Mistress spits out a few crackling words of power before vomiting a bolt of inky black energy at Koralyn, whose skin immediately begins to blacken and slew away in rot where the foul magic strikes. ~~~~~0~~~0~~~~~
Eldramin inexplicably wipes mud in his eyes and can't see his own hands in front of his face. Koralyn and Rolen's more acute vision is able to pick out the Mistress's coiled form behind the jagged ruins of a wall 30 feet north of the pillar it was wrapped around before.
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Mimicking the incantation used by the naga to fade from sight, Koralyn casts an identical glamer upon herself and Eldramin, hiding both within a cloak of invisibility as they advance toward the pillar from different directions. Dragomir advances between them, in plain view, but has little luck spotting the concealed naga, swinging his axe in frustration. With a mental command and the aid of Kierdan's blessing, Eldramin directs his spectral blade to slash at the space where the naga was most recently seen -- a spray of blood shows he guessed correctly. Alistair also manages to catch the naga with a firebolt, but the blast was a glancing blow at best. Rolen, aided by keen eyes that spot the dripping blood the naga has shed, sinks an arrow deep into unseen flesh, eliciting another howl of pain. "You fools! Strike me down and I will only return, again and again, to wreck vengeance upon you and devour your offspring. But not all of you will live that long!" The threat is followed by sibilant whispers that echo most strongly near Dragomir. The big fighter shakes his head, desperate to fight off the mental attack, but his will is insufficient. He bows his head in defeat, and when he raises it again, he turns and heads toward Kierdan and Alistair. "The priest and the wizard must die," he says, his black axe held aloft as he moves. ~~~~~0~~~0~~~~~
Sorry for the delays, folks. Had a lot going on with work and family. Should have a post up tonight.
Koralyn: Yeah, Dragomir has been away for a while. I've been hitting him but just forgot last round. I'll make up for it next round.
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Kierdan and Eldramin disappear in the column of fire, their flesh blackening and cracking beneath the unholy blaze. Kierdan cries out to his god for solace, and the inferno dies, the flames transformed into healing warmth that allows the priest and warlock to emerge refreshed, if not entirely unscathed. With all attention on the fiery aftermath, Rolen slips from hiding and launches an arrow at the Mistress. Catching her off guard, it sinks deep between two scales. She screams in surprise and pain. Alistair launches a lightning bolt but the naga is on guard now and easily dodges, letting the stalagmite she hides behind absorb most of the damage. . As she readies a counter-attack, Koralyn and Eldramin use their enchanted blades to cut down the remaining cultist and the entrapped wight, leaving the party alone on the field with the Mistress. No longer playing, she spits out the words of another spell -- and disappears from sight.
Gonna give Koralyn and Eldramin a chance to post. El, even though you went negative, Kierdan healed you quickly enough I'll let you go ahead and take your action.
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Rolen sinks an arrow between the shoulder blades of one of Dragomir's attackers. Seizing the initiative, the big warrior cuts down the other cultist, then runs over to bury his axe in the skull of one of the men harassing Koralyn. Free to focus her own attacks, the elven bladesinger attacks with a low slash that is parried. Without missing a beat, she reverses the attack, slicing neatly across the cultist's throat, nearly decapitating him. To the south, Eldramin attacks with a flurry of slashing blows, cutting down the wounded cultist and carving red trenches in the other's exposed skin. The battered cultist thrusts back feebly with his spear, but Eldramin uses his enchanted shield to redirect the blow. With only the one wounded cultist remaining, Alistair and Kierdan turn their attention to healing. The wizard slathers healing ointment on his wounds, and is further strengthened - as is Eldramin - as the priest calls on Pelor and the magic of his necklace to provide further healing. "Enough with your mewling prayers!" the Mistress screams from her perch on the stone spire. "You will learn to worship me, or you shall die!" With a word she calls down a pillar of fire that engulfs Kierdan and Eldramin, burning them with fiery, radiant energy.
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