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The shaman makes sure to bring Kaervek back to the world of the waking so he can participate in the debriefing.
Oria wipes the blood from her metamagic rod as her familiar slithers close and finds its home inside of her pockets once again. "Hey, it was... interesting. Oh, also..." She smiles, looking over her allies. "Thanks. It wasn't easy, but we made it work."
Oria looks over at her hand, and her target. Her spell might end it. But it would also end the target she was just requested to take alive. Part of her wants to try it, so she can feel the thrill of a proper kill for once. A victory. But she doesn't want to embarrass herself by killing an important target. Another part of her wants to keep him, even though his powerful mind and regenerating body are dangers she isn't prepared to deal with. The choices and their presumed failures orbit her inner mind like barren moons. And she knows she has to do something. Anything. So stop hesitating. "FINE!" she shouts as she shoves the unconscious psychic off the box with the heel of her foot, sending him to the floor in a crumpled heap. She follows soon after, sliding down the box as she draws her rod of extend spell. "Someone pass me a sharp knife! I'm going to cut this bastard up and pry him open so he won't get back up til we want him to!"
Handle Animal is Trained Only for training tricks, you can make Handle Animal checks untrained. Also, as a summon it generally follows your commands. Entirely up to you if you don’t want to spend the actions to direct it, of course. Oh right I keep forgetting the [Trained Only] tag should come with more of an asterisk on that front. Well, Oria's Charisma rests somewhere below the pavement so she'll simply let sleeping psychics lie and give him that Love Tap if he stays down for a round.
Oria takes a knee and observes the opponent, her teeth gritting as she rears back her fist and aims at the fallen foe's cranium. The mind, the mind
But the merry though leaves her as she realizes that she's not known for her punches. Instead, she draws upon her diminishing reserves to surround her hand in the all-consuming void.
With an ally down, Oria considers what to do. Are they bleeding out? Will they make it? The crumpled form of her friend lies in a pool of crimson, just out of reach of the meager healing of her touch. The shaman half whispers, half whimpers an apology to the doomed as she decides to put the pressure on the foe. Her monstrous summon flies closer, and she scampers up the box to get close enough to pressure him ever so slightly. In Aklo...:
"Oh, you're going through the copper gate, alright!" She shouts in an unsettling language. "I'm going to crush you so flat what's left will fit through the keyhole!" Which is both an impolite and unfeasible thing to propose, but we can all agree that emotions are running pretty high right now.
Bat's attack of opportunity:
Oria's's attack of opportunity:
With the intoxicating aroma of that alien gas now gone from Oria's system, she finds it much easier to focus. She'll have to rely upon sanity, for the time being. The summoner spell completes, summoning something... resembling a bat, if only in silhouette. Much like the wolf from before, the grotesque mockery of its original form forcibly breaches the gossamer veil between worlds, taking to the skies. Looking something like a fleshy mass with wings like fingers with extended webbing, it flies over to the enemy and takes a bite with bulky fangs!
Satisfied with her contribution, Oria contemplates this uncommon sensation as she climbs down and moves closer to where the flying combat is taking place.
More gas. More battle. And more frustration as Oria is left in the metaphorical dust by her agile opponent. Not wanting to spend the next several minutes playing uppie-downie with her climb speed, she instead begins concentrating on her magic. The shaman begins to open her mind to the void, allowing it to tear and weave and the barrier between worlds. A cosmic pinprick, enough to allow something horrible to squeeze through the breach.
The unearthly aroma of the gas fills the air and flavors each breath Oria takes. Her vision blurs, her senses shift, and her mind threatens to slowly twist itself into a knot.... "No!" she responds defiantly, attempting to wave the gas away with a hand. Her other hand motions to summon her magic in an attempt to sop her foe dead in his tracks. It's probably for the best, really. The last thing she needs is to lose more of her mind.
Free lat last from that writhing pit of pain, Oria strides forward with purpose. Cinders form where she steps, a sign of the stolen powers of fire granting her greater speed... ...until she remembers she can't walk her way to punching a man who's 20 feet in the air. Considering her options, she casts a silly little spell that causes her hands to grow little hooked nails and webbing. Creepy little hands.
As the bothersome tentacles gradually drain her team's resources, Oria considers her own options. Startlingly few of them work well when already under the unfortunate situation of being slowly crushed to death. The shaman struggles to the best of her ability, so intently focused on the uphill battle that her imagination doesn't even have time to dream up a new form of self admonishment.
Observing the fireworks, Oria attempts to concentrate to use her own magic to add in the destruction with a ball of fire. Such a shame that pattern recognition was never one of her talents.
"Hate... hate this... hate you!" she shouts, quite ungratefully, while hurling a sphere of void-stolen flame at the monsters.
But despite the outburst, she at least has the wherewithal to attempt to discern more about their aberrant foes. Perhaps she can dredge up some sort of weakness or strategy? Beyond 'stop letting them strangle you with tentacles,' that is.
Once again, Oria finds herself face to face with an expression of the dark tapestry with the single minded intent of crushing the life out of her. And no friends to bail her out in short order? What a shame. But the shaman's annoyance turns to fear as she realizes her familiar is also caught in the crushing grip of the tentacles. Surely, her precious little conduit will die before she does.
Skin bruises and limbs are forced in uncomfortable directions as she struggles to concentrate on her magic.
It's certainly a clever idea. If breaking things is all she's good for, she reasons, why not break the spell she's trapped in? But alas, even that brute force and magical barbarism requires a degree of finesse that seems to be beyond her.
Oria lets out a tired sigh as an ally goes ahead. "Well... I hope he can't be stopped by whatever he's trapped in that room with right now." she says, giving Xanac just enough time to stew in the consequences of his actions. Or so she imagines. For all she knows, he could be drinking deep from a well of dark power. Which would be fitting, considering her luck. The shaman presses against the door and makes an attempt to open it, despite her modest frame and shrimp-like posture.
Oria nods and readies her shield. She does a little count in her head to try and keep track of her ongoing magic. "Last call to cast preparatory spells, I suppose." Not wanting to be caught off guard, the shaman taps into her reserve of spells to seek foresight and knowledge. Surely, after her last blunder, she's due for something less embarassing? While the concept has no name that she's aware of, the shaman quietly hopes to herself that the gambler's fallacy is real and working to her benefit.
Question! How long has it been since the start of the session, in-universe time? I'm probably gonna want to refresh Oria's barkskin if I have to.
"So, where are we going next? I'm guessing the Blackros Museum? We still need to box up the other one." The slug crawling through her robes cuddles up closer, shivering. It can sense the concern building up inside of her. Every Pathfinder worth their rope has at least heard rumors about that place. "Well, do we have time to rest up?" She already knows the answer, but the prospect of restoring her spells is tempting enough to chance a stupid question. "...Maybe we shouldn't sleep next to the spooky orb in the box."
It all happened before Oria could even stand up. The shaman merely stumbled back clumsily, the creature that captivated her interest already banished from this plane. Then the reality of the situation comes in like a taught bowstring clapping the back of her head. She just had to try and touch the caged monster. Summoning circle be damned. More and more she realizes she looks less like a scholar of the dark arts and more of an unsupervised child. Oria reaches down to pick up her dropped familiar. "I.. I'm sorry." she manages. The words 'I didn't mean to' come to mind, but even she knows better than that. "We should take notes, in case we..." in case "I," more likely "in case we might forget something."
Oria takes this moment to reflect on her actions and attempts to remember something useful.
Oria picks up on Xanac's hint and decides to rise to the challenge. Something observing her through this conduit does not sound so surprising. After all, existing as a singular body with a singular mind is a very Human concept, and eldritch entities are not limited by such rules. Xaya'lorash slithers its tiny body along the shaman's arm and into her outstretched palm. The oily purple thing extends a tentacle of surprising length over the circle and within range to touch Nggilth-Tsa. Attempting communication as a simple shaved ape with flapping lips and gaseous pockets might be what's limiting her more than anything, save her limited mind and subdued will. So Oria instead opens her mind in its entirely, in a similar fashion as to how she receives her spells. So often does she work with foul mockeries of terrestrial beings, she can't possibly squander this opportunity to peer into the cosmos through manyfold eyes. Well, you can't fault her for trying. The greats stand in the shoulders of enthusiastic fools. At this rate, she may as well try eating the thing to see if she learns something.
Xanac:
-------------------------------------------- Oria seems to recognize the spell. She leaves the front door to her mind open, trusting an ally and acting as a good host. Perhaps the fear of alienating her allies is why she puts up no resistance? Anxiety seems to course through her psyche like blood through her veins. "Was it that easy?" she asks herself as much as she asks her guest. Her previous attempt at communication, layering abstractions upon abstractions, was as much an attempt to convince her of her own capability as it was to initiate chatter with the extraplanar being. "Stop that." she thinks, most definitely directing the statement inward. It really is a mess in here. Surely you have something more interesting to focus on.
The shaman takes a deep, long breath before releasing it. Her attention turns entirely towards the creature in the circle, so much so that she barely notices her own corrupted slug familiar crawling out of her robes and onto her shoulder. "I am essence. Flowing in the hands of beings from beyond the planes. Woven to shape, given breath and life. I am the master of my own way. Revel in my presence, and join my choir" she states, manufacturing the bravadio of a competent conjuror. And again, with the music metaphor.
Oria is immedietly fascinated with the creature before her. She steps closer to the circle, being careful not to make direct contact with the carefully drawn seals. "It's nothing like my Xaya'lorash..." is what she manages to say, vaguely and somewhat stupefied. For all the corrupted mockeries at her beck and call, she had little power to draw a true traveler between the stars. She sits cross-legged, staring at it intently. How do you leave memories behind, when you are wrapped in skin? Aklo:
"Nggilth-Tsa. We are essence, drawn and sculpted and bound. Eyes sealed shut with weeping wax, minds isolated in prisons of Self. Our perception is inward. We sing in our prideful choir." She looks back at the group, the subtle nuances of her usual deadpan expression showing disappointment. "I wish I knew, I would have prepared a ritual of communion."
Oh wow, we're back in business! Thank you very much for volunteering to fill in, TOZ! Oria hasn't been through any Blackros scenarios on this character, but I've had my fair share on others. Certainly some worth a replay... In terms of support from pregens? Kyra is the common pick, but we could also go with a front line defender. As I recall, Oria had to stand up front and she isn't exactly optimized for tanking. We're also short on rogue skills? Hmmm.
Kaervek then smugly tells the rest of the party everything he knows about the dark tapestry, which is actually quite a lot. Oria rolls her eyes upon hearing the first bits of information. "If you wanted to know that, you have someone right here who's felt the touch of the dark tapestry." Of course, as the information continues to flow, she realizes that such a trickle is closer to a river. Flowing, abundant, and beyond her disappointingly inadequate ability to swim through. By the end, the best she can do is slouch and shrink away. "It's.... still different... to use."
"We're seeking knowledge, and we need it to contain some dangerous magical items that have connections to the dark tapestry. Please... can we come in?"
Triix's attempt to communicate with the slug reaches a dead end of sorts. Like attempting to pilot a boat across land, or attempting to climb upwards using only fog as footing. Or however her mind conceptualizes a language barrier. "That's a hard one to answer, really..." Oria says before trailing off. The thought balances precariously on the tip of her brain before losing its footing and falling into the abyss. Almost as if something gave it a little push. "Ugh. The details always slip my mind. But I was..." Studying. "Studying." Exploring ruins. "I was out exploring some ruins." The slug squeezes tightly around her arm from the inside of her robes. She ignores it, attempting to grasp at the slippery thoguht. "There were voices, whispers... they..." They promised you. "They promised me something. Was it power....?" No, it was not. Oria barely had the gumption to make use of power that was given to her, nevermind the ambition to seek it out. One last slippery grasp at the memory yielded a glimpse into her past self's actions. A glimpse of utter oblivion. "No." she says to herself as much as anyone, or anything, that may be listening. "My memories may have been part of the deal I made." she says, vaguely enough to not technically be lying to her allies. But certainly not skillfully enough. "We should be looking in the Arcanamirium, right? Let's get ready."
Oh? The Dark Tapestry itself or one of the Old Ones in it? Nyarlathotep for instance. And ... that thing .... what IS it? While this has been going on, Candledark has been trying to engage The Thing, if not in Aklo, then in Undercommon, Senzar, Abyssal, Ancient Osirian, Draconic, Thassilonian, then finally Wayang, while testing its reactions to strange lights and small floating objects. Oria holds the void-corrupted slug in her hands. It gazes at the two, the many sightless eyes on its body blinking out of unison. "This is Xya'Lorash. It serves as my conduit to the dark tapestry." She sighs, extending her arm. It crawls along her hand for a moment, leaving a trail of slime across her palm before vanishing into her sleeve and settling somewhere inside of her robes. "It's funny, really. Without it, I'm nearly powerless." The slug emerges from the collar of her robes and tilts his head towards the shaman. The front of its face parts like some kind of toothless maw and it utters a strange, alien language: The sound of multi-chambered voices twist and turn around one another, discordantly resonating around it. The language bears no resemblance to anything Xanac understands. Oria responds in a similar voice and language, rolling her eyes. "It's harmless." she adds, speaking those words in common as she places her thumb on the slug's head and tucks it back into concealment.
Oh, okay. I'll roll it back on the scrolls. All, please forgive my absence. My mother passed away on January second. There has been a lot of demands for my time and attention these last few days and I am only now getting back to something of a normal routine. I should be able to resume near daily posting today. My condolences for your loss. I had to go through the same thing almost exactly two years ago. However you're feeling now, I can tell you the pain gets more bearable over time.
Oria's horribly disfigured body slowly begins to return to its original form, bit by bit. Kaervik and Shine are certainly helping as well. A shame, really, as being restored by another all but assures she won't learn her lesson. Still, it is enough that she has to draw upon her own reserve of scrolls to keep her body in shape.
Returned to her original, significantly less interesting shape, Oria walks over to the wriggling betentacled slug on the floor and scoops it up in her hands. "It's... connected to the Dark Tapestry? Interesting... that's the same place where I draw my powers from."
Whoa, Excruciating Deformation is a nasty spell! Oria, you need a dispel magic to end that evil spell quickly before it does more damage to you. As far as I can see you are also the only one who can cast the dispel right now (unless Zarta can do it, too?). Nope! Oria's only got one in the chamber, and it's looking like the only tool we have to do anything about this strange sphere. She's just gonna have to endure being folded like amateur origami.
Oria continues to look at the glowing sphere and examines its features. The seconds crawl on by at a pace that would make them feel like weeks, but she shakes it off as some odd and irrelevant feeling. Deciding to take action, she gestures for the party to give her some space. The bottom of her robes flutter, and out crawls a purple slug about a hand's length in size slips out and onto the floor. Its body is covered in lumpy spots, all of which open to reveal sightless eyes across its body. Along its back, a sinuous tendril drags behind it, several times its own body length. It crawls away from her at an agonizing pace, eventually settling behind the rest of the part. With her familiar secure and her allies hopefully out of the way, the shaman decides to put herself to a use. She places her hand on the sphere and gives it the slightest little push to see what happens. As the saying goes, should a lock-picker be unavailable for the job, trap duty falls on the team member with the most resilience and the fewest people who would miss them.
Oria approaches the beacon, standing close to Zarta. The girl's untrained eyes fail to notice any details of importance or insight, and despite this shortcoming she seems determined to contribute to the conversation. "Is it... growing plants? Maybe eating it?" is about the best she can manage. One might swear that even her summoned monstrous wolf had given her a disappointed look in the moment before it dissipates.
More and more the concept of success reintroduces itself to Oria's mind, like the memory of an old stranger's face slowly revealing itself to be the visage of a friend not seen in ages. With this rediscovered confidance, she steps forward to deliver a slightly less cowardly, if similarly soft-handed blow.
Likewise, her wolf begins to lay into its new target with a set of serrated teeth that seem to have worms wriggling just beneath the gums.
Almost to her surprise, the shaman still has her organs exactly where she left them six seconds ago. Not wanting to look a gift goblin in the mouth, she utters the final incantations and makes a wide sweeping gesture with both hands, as if tearing at reality itself. And a tear she does make. From this this temporary wound in reality, a creature steps forth. One might mistake it for a wolf, save for the asymmetrical bulging muscles and forms wriggling beneath its stretched-thin golden hide, as if its trembling body were being piloted by a colony of parasites. The wolf-thing turns its head, the three shimmering eyeballs stuffed into one socket all focusing on one of the enemies. It lets forth a bloodcurdling howl and charges! Satisfied that she has contributed enough to no longer qualify as an embarrassment, Oria turns her attention towards keeping the immediate threat away from her allies.
Oria once again takes an appraisal of the battlefield. It would seem that her backup is mostly a firing line of mages against a fairly lopsided match up. And the piece of spiked steel wrapped around her knuckle certainly isn't up to the task. Her mind flares with two ideas. Each one sillier than the last. She could retreat behind her allies, allow them to be evicerated while she safely conjures, or... "Nooo..." she protests to no one in particular, and yet the foolish notion takes root regardless. She takes a brisk leap backwards over a vine and begins channeling magic, hoping that the sillier of the two ideas is worth it.
As the information of her foes' capabilities is spelled out to her, the shaman's mind races with the likely consequences of her decisions. She can already feel her organs turning into soup. A foot shifts back, bumping into a root, reminding her how deep she's in this. She steels herself and reaches out towards her foe, hand coated in inky blackness and glittering motes of starlight.
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