I was really looking forward to having a final showdown with Master Soan, but getting Sceptre was definitely rewarding.
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Oh, that's just cause I drop-kicked your elemental to hell.
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Me too please.
Moving swiftly like a cat, Soan rushed inside the tent. He was too late. It was empty. The nine were no longer here. There were no slaves inside either. Perhaps most troubling of all, the guards were gone too. Everyone was gone. Nothing was left but a near-empty food table (and, oddly enough, a large tent canvass rolled into a ball). Soan focussed on the tracks coming and going from the Emerald tent to see what could be learned. Again the images materialized before him and the clues slowly puzzled into place. A large procession had come, not long ago. The Exemplar’s men: they picked up the conscripted slaves to take them to the pyramid. But the tracks of the slaves were all wrong. The Exemplar’s men did not collect the slaves. They collected the interlopers instead. Could the fools not even count? They picked up nine people instead of six. From here, they headed directly to the dig site, to Ahn’Sehlota. Soan also located the six tracks corresponding to the Exemplar’s true draftees. Five of them had now fled to the west, one though turned south. Soan could not be certain where the slaves had actually headed and he did not have time to follow the tracks. All he knew for certain was that while the Exemplar’s real draftees appeared to be still alive, they were nowhere near the pyramid where they should be. Truly the nine interlopers had become incredibly bold. No longer were they just threatening the Exemplar. Now they had somehow become imposters and were setting themselves up for a chance to pillage Ahn’Sehlota under the Exemplar’s very nose. Her humiliation would be total. That must not happen. Was it possible? Could the nine actually know of the Pactstone? There was even more mystery to this story though. There was the matter of the three tent guards. They left on their own power. Soan assumed the nine must had disabled them to enter the tent, but there were no bodies, only exit tracks. The guards travelled northwest, towards the Master Camp. The moved at a great speed, but they were clearly not chasing the departing slaves or the imposters. Why then? Did they flee to try to get help? If so, why was the camp not on alert? Finally, there was also another single track leading to the outside of the tent. Soan considered that someone else had observed all of this as it occured. But who? And what side were they on? Soan activated his infernal sight and began to study the track as only one wielding the true power of a Bezekira of Ramlock’s Hollow might. Suddenly in the distance the Master heard the sound of Osiriani drums. It came from the great pit. The Exemplar’s speech was about to begin! There was little time. Soan exploded nito action. He found the first guard he could find and ordered him to round up a squadron of soldiers and bring them to the dig site. He was to send for every brother of the Shrine he could find. Soan did not wait to see if the guard fully understood his Osirani. He raced towards the dig site moving so fast his body began to blur.
It was incidental, to be sure, that the Master’s sudden burst of violence against another fellow predator further swelled his ki. Soan could now feel his life force frothing inside him. The sensation was like that of an ocean churning with great swells. The raw power was kept in check only by his sheer will, like the stone gates of a mighty dam. The Master looked forward to opening the flood gates of that dam on the interlopers as he closed in. Ever since the god-fiend had favoured him with the chance to consume an archon yesterday, his ki had scaled new heights of power, previously unreached.
The Master stood quietly collecting his inner thoughts. Although his heart pounded in excitation, his mind focussed and became perfectly still. His three quarries had ceased all attempts at hiding their tracks and had instead made a mad rush back to the dig site. Following them had been was no obstacle for Soan. Nor was closing the distance unseen; their speed was vastly inferior to that of the Master. That chase had brought him here, to this place, with four lifeless corpses hanging on sticks speared into the sand. Two more bodies lay in a shallow depression amongst the dunes. The dead Osirions were once guards, now they were just meat - perhaps carrion for desert birds. The use of the term “guard” though was a rather loose one in the Master’s opinion. These men had clearly failed to guard anything at all, including a simple open stretch of desert that lead to the south border of the Exemplar’s camp. It would appear that while the three men that Soan pursued were rushing in from the east, another team of four snuck in from behind and subdued all six men. It did not appear to have been much of a fight. Seeing as the Osirions had failed to be of any use, Soan thought it best if he consumed their life force to replenish his ki and revitalize himself after a long night’s hunt. The guards could better serve their Exemplar in that way. After the Master twisted the neck of the first guard hanging on the spear, the other three squirmed wildly. Apparently they did not agree with the Master’s plan for their further service. The two on the ground, tied up as they were, managed to roll ten or fifteen feet at most before Soan stepped on their necks ending their struggles. Their deaths would be questioned later, probably by that disagreeable Sand Sage, but it could easily be blamed on the interlopers who were clearly making a further incursion into Khymrasa’s camp. There were tracks enough to establish that. Flush with ki from consuming the life force of the Osirions as they died, Soan continued to analyze the tracks. When he studied the tracks with his infernal sight, even the near-invisible disruptions in the sand provided him with vast amounts of information. With his ki now as strong as it was, if he focussed hard enough, Soan could even extrapolate a still image of the track’s creator, revealing exactly who made each depression, perhaps what they were wearing at that exact moment in time, or even what fool expression marked their faces. Soan could see that the three big men that he had followed all morning had now reunited with the other four, swelling their total to seven. The three big men were exhausted at first, no doubt from the long run, but their tracks and associated images quickly became reinvigorated. Likely, they had been healed. A cleric was likely among the group of four. Soan loved to slay priests. He hoped it was one of those Sarenrae fanatics. There were lots of Sarenrae worshippers this far south. In any event, the seven sets of reunited tracks accounted for all three of the dwarves that Soan saw in the Golden tent days earlier. The Halfling that did the talking that day was now here as well - as unlikely as it seemed to Soan, perhaps he was the leader. The surprise though was the arrival of a slender half-elf. He knew this track. He had seen it causing no end of minor skulduggery around the camp the week prior, though never quite reaching the level of threat that he would have bothered to dealt with her personally. The half-elf was not at the Golden Tent when the interlopers attempted to assassinate the Exemplar. She must have been held in reserve. Interesting - the Exemplar’s enemies were consolidating. Master Soan did not fear their growing number. Perhaps when their numbers sufficiently swelled they would finally stop running and face him. And swelling they were. Soan spied yet two more groupings of tracks. Soan had almost missed them. One was the cleric who opened the dimensional rift a few days ago at the Golden Tent. The other was new to him, or was it? He would keep an eye on that one. Something bothered him about it but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Regardless, that made nine in total. They were now a small army, one which would be unsuited to travelling in the camp for very long without being detected. Soan could see that the group of nine congregated here only briefly. From here the reunited group travelled north through a field of dunes headed for the slave section of the camp. Their tracks were fresh and they were not moving fast. If he moved quickly, Master Soan would be on them in no time at all. Soan reflected on where he was going and where he had been. This all confirmed his earlier suspicions. The interlopers had split-up and attempted to lead him away far away into the desert on some manner of wild goose chase. Then they dared to circle back and re-enter his lair. They had almost succeeded in outmanoeuvring him but they would soon learn their folly.
To pursue the three interlopers, Soan had to grudgingly abandon the tracks of the other three men he had been following as well. Two of those other tracks belonged to two fellow brothers of his very own order, the Shrine of Horns. The monks' apparent desertion or solo mission was a mystery to Soan that the Master would love to have solved, but one which would have to wait. While he would have preferred to chase them down and beat an explanation out of them, he decided he could not afford to give the interlopers any more time. He suspected they were circling around back to the dig site. If so, they could not be afforded any more freedom. Soan had been taking his time, studying his prey, but no longer. Class dismissed. Soan set out after the three interlopers, racing at a great speed, like that of a horse, or more accurately, like that of a great feline predator.
Semi-optimized BBEG seeks eclectic band of adventurers for climatic battle. Enjoys martial arts, life draining, and jumping inordinately high. Must be capable of defeating my minions and looking past my keloidal scars to see my inner ki beauty.
To someone else, it might have looked like just another empty stretch of wasteland, one dotted with yet more wave-like dunes. But Soan knew better. He saw the signs. This was the site of an ambush. His quarry had been here and not that long ago. By now, Soan had come to know their prints very well. All three men were heavy-set, their feet sinking deep into the sand. The slowest wore wide armored boots. The second was barefoot with almost claw-like toes. The third, the wizard was unaccustomed to travel – or any exertion for that matter – and this weakness was betrayed in the manner of his gait.
The first of the ambushers had tracks that disappeared. Perhaps he could only be tracked when he wanted to be found. Soan had seen this trick before. The man was either a talented ranger or a sorcerer, or both. Maybe he was a desert elf. In any case, Soan did not recognize him. The other two ambushers however, wore sandals identical to the ones that Soan wore. They were issued to the Shrine of Horns when they first docked in Sothis many months ago. Soan considered the inevitable conclusion. These two were his men. Yet he had no knowledge of their operation. Did he have traitors in his midst? Deserters? Impossible. Yet the evidence was mounting. No, perhaps they had killed two of his men and stolen their sandals. But why? What gain would there be in framing the Shrine of Horns for an execution Soan already intended for the Shrine to carry out.
It would appear that the smaller trio eventually fled. Their ambush failed or they decided to lure their targets elsewhere. Initially separated, the three smaller warriors linked up and headed south, back towards Ahn’Sehlota. The three larger men, Soan’s quarry, made pursuit, but only half-heartedly it would seem. They were too slow, perhaps too injured in the attack to do much more than make a show of it. It bothered Soan that someone was trying to kill his prey. The confusion would make his job all the easier, perhaps too easy for it to be enjoyable. Yet the wizard had teleported away once already. Perhaps the distraction would ensure the wizard, this Potentate, did not see him coming. His death would be painful. Soan would swear on it. He already knew he could travel many times faster than his prey. He needed only to decide whether to trace their tracks or head them off. Either way, he could not let them near the pyramid. Soan could not allow himself to frag the hunt on for much longer. As much as he enjoyed it, it will need to end soon. He contemplated his next move.
Suddenly coming out of nowhere, Master Soan leaps forward jabbing his hand straight into the epicenter of the deserted archon. The Asmodan's claw-shaped hand reaches right into the creature's “heart” and the monk appears to drain archon's the life force. Noorulahn's light begins to dim and a few moments later it turns dark, reduced to an empty shell without a spark. At the same time, the firelight in the monks eyes seem to grow in strength. The devil monk has taken his prey’s life force and consumed it, using it to further fuel his own power.
(hit) (applies)
The celestial’s destruction, however, provides Master Soan little consolation. His true targets have vanished. His eyes seethe in anger.
(hit) (applies)
The sand cloud falls away as the monk flips over at the peak of his arc, delivering a spinning axe kick. He brings his heel straight down on top of the epicenter of the glowing orb. When he hits, the orb shatters like a mirror, with hundreds of shards flittering towards the ground in glowing trails. Even in death, the archon is a thing of beauty. Yet, perhaps it is not dead after all -- a moment later the shards re-form, once again coalescing into a perfect orb.
The deadly monk then continues his flight, sailing past the archon, landing somewhere underneath the palanquin, out of sight. Before he vanishes, for the briefest of moments, you catch sight of him. This bare-chested monk is covered in raised scar tissue. You recall seeing him earlier in the Golden Tent. This was the silent monk who appeared to command the others.
After all his planning, his prey had returned on their own. This shortened things greatly, but without the hunt, would the killing be as exhilarating? It mattered not. The Exemplar's faith in the support of the Shrine of Horns and indeed Cheliax, needed to be fully restored immediately. Without a word, Soan set out -- alone.
Behind Enemy Lines: Few thing excited Master Soan more than worthy prey. Would that he could hunt them for days. But this was neither the time nor the place. It was essential that in order to continue to properly manage Khymrasa, the Exemplar needed to understand that nobody could cross the Shrine of Horns and live – they could not fall to just another class of servant in her eyes. Hence, in order for that understanding to be maintained, Master Soan required the corpses of these latest interlopers. He would not have the luxury of dragging this out. He would pile the bodies before her and she would never know he ever broke a sweat to do it. He would begin by meditating on this further, seeking direction from his dark god. Then, as everything fell into perfect focus as it always did, he would place a plan in motion with unholy precision.
Despite the chaos, for the grandmaster everything slows down, as though it were happening at the speed of a crawl. All the irrelevant sounds, such as the panic of the crowd dies down, while the important ones, such as the patterns of the footsteps of his adversaries become isolated and and clear. Above all is the sound of Master Soan's slow and perfect heartbeat. It is these rare moments that he is truly alive. He gives thanks to his dark god for sending him such worthy prey. His threat assessment is over. He knows what he must do. (Actually, the best thing for him to do tactically is probably just murder a spellcaster, but if this works it will be much cooler.)
(hit!)
(applies) Well that was a little bit underwhelming given that a guardsman just did more damage. . . But the point of it was to apply his punishing kick. As impossible as it sounds, Master Soan hits the dead center of the elemental and applies such a concentration of force that he knocks it back ten feet (to areas J13&14 and K13&14). Without looking he outstretches both arms and catches his two students who each fall into his arms, free from the cyclone. He gently sets them both down on the ground as a Father cares for a child. (They are prone.) A moment later Master Soan is gone. You think the flew (flew?!) west and he exited the edge of the tent at E12. But it happened so fast. You are quite certain though that he will be back. He's just getting started. I am not sure the physics of that even make sense. But it's Master Soan's world - we just roll initiative in it.
The monk with the scar tissue raises a hand as though he is preparing to signal an attack. His eyes dart from "guest" to "guest" looking for any sign of an excuse so that the neck snapping can begin. However, he restrains himself, waiting to see if the soldiers' order will be obeyed.
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