Shaking off his momentary stupefication, Paper concentrates on the enemy in front of him.
Paper's fear is transformed into a wild, almost barbaric frenzy as he swings on his skeletal foes. His countenence has grown so forbidding that he almost doesn't look human. Two more skeletons shatter into ivory shards with the force of his strokes.
Modius notches an arrow and looses it. The missile hits a skeletal hand knocking away a few knuckles but doing little actual damage.
Shortbow, damage: (1d20 4=20, 1d6=1)
He notches and lets another fly but without flesh it finds nothing, clattering across the room and shattering.
Levi grabs isat's arm. "Do you have sulphur, or guano, or a piece of hazel wood?"
Ducking down behind the broad backs of the warriors, Isat breaks off a small piece of hazel bark from his supplies and hands it to Levi.
"These are supernatural creatures, I think we need some supernatural help."
He tries to shut out the noise of bursting skeletons and the various battle cries and seeks his goddess.
Although the damage Modius did seemed trivial, he is surprised to see the light inside the skeleton's skull flicker and fade. It falls to the ground. Their tie to life is wan, and easily disrupted.
Levi stands with the hazel pointed toward the skeletons. He speaks in rapid consonants, with the occasional syllable. His other hand is clenched in front of his forehead, as he chants in Hebrew. The hand that was clenched flies forward, and the thorns that he pulled off outside fly from it. Each of the thorns has turned into a bolt of white light. The bolts each twist around the defenders, and slam into two seperate skeletons, blowing a gaping hole in the chest of each. The linen padding starts to smolder.
"If only we had sulphur!"
Stratos repeats his trick with the vinegar. He is aiming at one of the skeletons in the back, so he does not waste a spell on a skeleton that is cut down by one of the warriors.
His caustic spittle sears away the face of a skeleton in the back.
"I think that was the baritone!"
To Levi
"Tough luck. It's not among my ingredients. Nor is guano unless the yoghurt culture is any help."
Goddess, if we're in your world, show us the ways of it. We are all your children, living and dead alike. Guide me. How can I help? I lie helpless in your hands great one. I call upon the dark mystery of Eleusis to guide my thoughts. I float free of humanity. I am only yours.
Isat's thoughts tumble relentlessly in circles. Somewhere on the edge of consciousness he's aware of staying low and out of the way while battle rages in front of him. He is aware of Levi and Stratos' witchcraft.
Hrothgar swings downward with his axe, battering and crushing a skeleton. He chooses not to strike again, and brings his axe back to guard.
The undead mass, thinner now, continues to press against your line of defenders. The gilded horror that rose from the pool, watches you all malevolently, but seems bound to stay where it is for now.
Again, the skeletons thrust their spears forward in a synchronised strike.
Attacking Paper:
1d20=16, 1d4=1, 1d20=17, 1d4=2
A thrust hits Paper just above the knee, leaving a small, oozing hole. There is almost no pain, as that area is not sensitive.
Attacking Rufinus:
Rufinus easily evades both strikes.
Attacking Hrothgar:
1d20=6, 1d4=1, 1d20=20, 1d4=41d20=18 2d4=6
A first strike is evaded by the Goth, but as he steps to the side, he feels an explosion of pain, as a spear drives through his shoulder, and out his back. Ten points of damage. The spear is pulled out again, and does not snap off like the one in Rufinus' arm.
The second line attack over the heads of the first line, jabbing their spears toward you all.
Attacking Paper:
1d20-4=11, 1d3=2, 1d20-4=11, 1d3=3
Attacking Rufinus:
1d20-4=14, 1d3=2, 1d20-4=-1, 1d3=1
Rufinus is not wearing armour. Blows that would slide off a well equipped warrior, are perilous for the old slave. Two points of damage to the chest.
Attacking Hrothgar:
1d20-4=5, 1d3=2, 1d20-4=16, 1d3=11d20=17 2d3=3
Dazed with pain, Hrothgar bats away one of the jabbing spears, but a second skeleton sees an opening, and tears Hrothgar's scalp open with the edge of it's spear. Like all head wounds, the blood flows freely. Four points of damage.
Damage dealt last round: 3 points to Hrothgar. 9 points to Rufinus
Damage dealt this round: 2 points to Paper, 13 points to Hrothgar, 2 points to Rufinus.
Rufinus growls in his throat at the damage that he has taken. The veins in his forehead bulge, and blood flows to all his muscles, causing them to distend and engorge. His knuckles turn white, and he bites his lip. His eyes roll in their sockets, and seem as large as sestertii, but his pupils are tiny pinpoints. Even his hair stands on end, and he is now drawn up to his full height of 6'6. He smashes at the skeletons in his rage. His hammer swings close to his comrades, causing them to duck out of the way.
His first strike shatters a skeleton, and shreds its armour.
His second strike is a collossal blow.
It shatters four of the wretched dead.
Dangerously, Rufinus steps forward into the breach he has made, leaving himself open to attack on all sides. He seems to be out of his mind in fury, and now your front line is a wedge.
Twenty one of the thirty six skeletons remain. As holes open in their ranks, they step forward to fill them.
Modius steps into the line, in the space left by Rufinus.
The skeletons are taking five foot steps, so there are no attacks of opportunity on them as they close their ranks.
Modius may make his attacks.
Hrothgar is on seven hitpoints. Isat?
Eleusis and the darkness wrap themselves around Isat. Moving automatically, he reaches into his bag and pulls out the winged amulet he's carried since childhood.
The movement and the gestures are involuntary, the words unintelligible to anyone. Isat himself does not know what he's saying, but the intent is clear. This is a wave of pure energising power. Is pulsates out from the amulet, causing the dead to shrink back and strangely reviving the living.
Taliesin
Isat steps backwards, his eyes rolling up into his head and collapses into a very personal darkness.
Ten of the skeletons burst into white flame, and detonate away from the searing light from Isat's symbol. Any of the party that were damaged recover five hit points instantly.
1d20=13, 1d20=13 Their will save is +2, so fifteen each.
The remaining skeletons sag for a moment, as the bonds that tie them grow weak and flicker, but they straighten, and form up, stepping amid the roasting wreckage of the fallen. Then four of them simply stop. There are too many fallen for them to maintain their undead state. the light in their skulls has fallen to a dull blue ember.
Modius' blade rings as he quickly unsheaths it.
He lashes at some of the remaining skeletons.
Two of the skeletons are cut down by Modius. Only five remain. There are shadows burned permanently into the walls from the burst of holy light that Isat unleashed. His face is flickering in his unconscious state, and seems to be shifting from male to female to male, old to young to old. There is a strange hum in the air around him. Levi is looking fascinated.
The five remaining skeletons seem unfazed by the utter destruction of their comrades. They are etiolated by the blast. They step neatly together into a line in front of Rufinus, and seem intent on skewering him. They are unable to adapt to new circumstances.
Initiative order:
Modius. Has just gone.
Hrothgar.
Stratos.
Paper.
Skeletons.
Rufinus.
Isat. Isat is unconscious for a few minutes.
Levi.
Released from his body, Isat falls trustingly into the arms of his goddess. The known and unknown worlds vanish and another journey begins. Part of it is a familiar path: since that first doubtful step, Isat has traversed it in memory many times. A path never regretted, always welcomed and always feared. This time, as the last shreds of his own identity vanish, he’s aware of new gates opening, fresh awareness and even greater fear.
“Iaccus”
Kathados (downgoing)
A strange voice in the darkness, neither male nor female “The rites of Eleusis should open the doors of Heaven, and we shall enter in and see god face to face.” Some fragment of Isat smiles at this, it’s the kind of thing Modius says, but his meaning is very different. There is no need for the Kykeon to take this journey, here in a place all hers, there is nothing needed but faith.
The start of any journey, purification with water. Salt water. Let tears flow and run down the body, let the tears purge the impurities and weep the loss of the goddess. Long gone she is, down into death, the good of the land gone with her. Tears run, so long, so hard the eyes bleed. Blood and tears. Demeter’s mourning too great to be contained. Fragment Isat learns her iron hard grief. Grief that can only be appeased by sacrifice.
Somewhere his body responds to the need and he grips his scalpel hard, letting the cleansing blood run over his hand. Right at the back of his mind a tiny thought intrudes “A surgeon’s hands are his life, the only tools worth having.” Another thought replies “Is anything worth having without sacrifice? You longed to embrace the goddess fully, before you even knew the desire.” And then there is no more Isat to speak to or respond.
She takes him then. The way opens. The path of snakes clears, their venom and hissing not meant for him. His destiny is further in, beyond the shrine and the gates. Here he will truly become one with her. She is Persephone and Ariadne and other names far older than that. He knows them all. Nothing is hidden now. She guides him surely through the labyrinth, deeper into the dark. There is no thread to guide them, only the name of the goddess.
Sanctuary. Male. Female. Old. Young. Death. Life. Beloved of the goddess. The golden serpent at the centre spins and reveals the secrets. There is no one true path. Male, female, old, young, death, life. Under the goddess’s hand there can be no misunderstanding. Here in the darkest place, the fire shines brightest.
Anodos (Upcoming)
“Choose.”
The way is open now and the choices clear. Her child may take the gifts most fitted to him.
“Earth. For truly there is nothing that does not come from the earth or from you.”
“Choose.”
“Fire. To cleanse and celebrate, warm and devour. For my Wise Lord, one of your consorts.”
“Choose. Name yourself.”
“I have no name. I have only you.”
“Choose your name. Return to the world.”
“Zagreus …”
“That is not your name to choose, not yet. You may not remain. That gate is not open to you.”
“Isat.”
“Walk the paths to life Isat. Journey up. Don’t look back. The path closes behind you.”
The golden serpent twists again, one last embrace when years pass, the fire flares up. She is gone. The path is clear, the journey simple, the pain unbearable. This yearning will never pass.
Kalligeneia (Fair birth)
Eleusis and the cave mouth. The mystery revealed. The path determined. She is with him always. In her greatness she has trusted him with dominion over the elements, granted him understanding of powers and the ways of their use. This world returns fast…
Isat coughs violently like a man returning from drowning. One heavily bloodstained hand holds a scalpel and bears a newly healed scar. In the other he still holds his amulet. The winged symbol of Ahura Mazda has altered. The wings are now fledged with corn sheaves and the bird claws clutch pomegranates.
Stratos has a mouthful of vinegar, but he swallows it in surprise at the burst of energy from Isat. He is rooted to the spot, obviously trying to process what just happened.
Hrothgar and Paper will get to strike at the last five skeletons before the undead strike at the enraged Rufinus.
Paper gawps at the blast of energy that fells so many skeletons, but he's seen so many wonders today that it only makes him hesitate for a moment.
Paper's gladius slices through his first bony foe, only to ...
...misjudge the second swing, sending him staggering into the way of the mad, frothing Goth. Paper collides with Rufinus, and barely manages not to stick his gladius into him. Rufinus loses his dexterity bonus to AC, and is -4 to hit, because Paper is providing half cover to the remaining undead. Paper provokes attacks of opportunity from two of the foes, as he is passing through a threatened space.
Two of the skeletons stab at Paper as he staggers past them.
One of them connects, sticking a jagged spearhead deep into Paper's calf.
"Jesus Christ."
Hrothgar swings at one of the last skeletons. He is still squinting, after the bright flash of a moment ago.
It is a mighty blow, with far more force than needed. He immediately steps forward, in line with Rufinus, and strikes again, keeping a wary eye on Rufinus' arcing hammer.
Staying our of range of Rufinus costs Hrothgar a chance to place his second blow.
The five remaining skeletons attack. Three of them attack Rufinus, two of them, Hrothgar.
1d20=3, 1d4=3, 1d20=1, 1d4=3, 1d20=19, 1d4=4
One thrusts a spear vacantly at the space Rufinus was in last round. One loses its grip on the spear, and stands, processing what to do next.
The third makes a perfect strike, straight into Rufinus' chest, doing four damage. It pulls the spear out, and holds it poised in the air.
Both of the ones that attack Hrothgar, make hard jabs with their spears, but miss completely, as the agile warrior steps out of the way of each.
"I hate the undead! No blood! No guts!"
Rufinus lift his hammer so far back, that it touches his calves, then slams it forward at blinding speed.
He hits so hard, that he cracks the granite floor. Pieces of skeletal wreckage fly in all directions.
He then swings sideways at the next to enter his view.
As the pieces fall to the ground, Rufinus starts to breathe again, in sharp, quick breaths, and his eyes blink rapidly. He seems to be tired, and slumps visibly.
"Three....more...."
Clutching the bloody cut on his chest, he steps back to safety, suddenly aware of the severity of his injuries.
The last of the skeletons are overwhelmed by Paper and Modius. The two of them dispatch the last without leaving themselves open to attack.
The giant undead still has a foot in the water. He holds his trident low, and stares at you all with the point of light in its waterlogged eye socket. Where the skeletons seemed wan and disconnected, this creature is a necromantic masterpiece. The flesh is white and watery, but there is almost no decay, and no odour. It looks as if it were made within a few weeks of now. It stands solid, and poised. If any of you speak, it focuses its gaze on him. The shield rim is on the ground, and its shield itself is nine foot tall. The trident is twelve foot long, and must weigh about two hundred pounds. The gold is not tarnished, but neither are the leather straps that hold the breastplate and greaves on the corpse.
It waits.
Damage dealt first round: 3 points to Hrothgar. 9 points to Rufinus
Damage dealt last round: 2 points to Paper, 13 points to Hrothgar, 2 points to Rufinus.
Everybody healed five points by Isat.
Damage dealt this round: 4 to Paper, 4 to Rufinus.
Totals:
Hrothgar at max -11
Rufinus at 20 -11
Paper at max -4
The rest of the party is unharmed.
Levi is pressing on Isat's carotid arteries. He lets go, and a rush of blood to the head wakes Isat. Isat is no longer shifting. He looks terrified and elated.
Only if it is within thirty feet.
The cyclops is on the far side of the pool, about sixty feet away. It glows blue in the darkness, outside your torchlight. With only one torch, the last battle was difficult.
Isat jolts back into consciousness. Nodding his thanks to Levi, he hunts for the torch he dropped and relights it. He seems oddly composed and much more at peace with himself. Whatever happened to him has changed him profoundly. He looks confident and at home here in a way he's never done in Constantinople.
Staring at the necromantic cycloptic wonder, Paper shivers.
"Mars aid my right hand in what must be done."
With a flash of inspiration, Paper chants a bit of doggerel in Classic Greek at the giant:
<in a fine baritone>
Neptune's henchman, trapped in death.
We will guide you to your rest
Elysium's soft fields beckon you anon
Your soul to finally rest upon
Foul necromancy froze your fate
The time is now to clean that slate.
"A fine sentiment. Good voice you have there Paper."
Whatever's happened to his head, Isat seems to be pretty much back to himself.
The timeless creature turns its gaze toward Paper. It suddenly splutters and blubbers up water, then hacks and coughs. It takes a deep inhalation of the tomb air, then speaks.
"I see you crushed the little ones. Who are you that dare to tread in this forgotten place? Speak, singer."
The voice is not as melodious as the chorus, but was made by the creature's own vocal chords. The voice was powerful once, but centuries of disuse have left it hoarse and wavering. It still has its guard up.
Mutters. "Oh he had to go and give the damn thing a brain. Of all the cursed luck."
The fact that the giant cyclops talks unnerves Paper a bit. He had almost thought it would be an automaton of some fashion. Deciding perhaps a classic rhyme goaded the creature, he attempts another stanza. Paper inhales, trying desperately to remember the proper tenses of Classical Greek.
You see before you Atropos' shears
Come to cut your thread of tears
Your fate was cruel, but now it ends,
Upon the swords of new-found friends
We come here to cut Fate's tangled cord
Releasing your soul to its noble reward.
"You have not answered the question. Who are you? Speak not to me of Atropos. Do you not ken where you are? Atropos and Hades have no dominion here. You abandoned fate when you crossed the threshold into this realm, and I have no reward but my days and my dreams. Put out your light, that I might better see you."
"Hey, Modius! Look at these new scars. Roman women will be as wet as October."
Paper looks at the cyclops. Perhaps the rhyming isn't going to help after all.
"Noble godling of a forgotten age. You see before you Gnaeus Cornelius Papyrus, scion of the ancient Roman house of Cornelii Papyrii. My sword is sharp, and my strokes true. I will release you from this half-life if that is what you wish. If you wish to remain as you are, stand aside. If you cannot, then I will release you from your bondage whether you find it a sweet bondage or no."
"You are a hero? It will be good to fight a hero."
"Him? A hero? I feel insulted."
"Hey, Paper! Wait a moment. We need to resolve first who goes against One-Eye here first." Hrothgar grips his axe two-handed.
"Tell me of your deeds, that I may remember well who I vanquished."
Paper looks at his uncouth companion.
"Let the noble godling decide. I fear he will want both, to make it a fair fight."
Paper shifts his gaze back to the cyclops.
"Noble one. You see before you one of the last followers of the old gods. I pay you homage as a remnant of the gods of old. I decry your cruel servitude and declare by my patron Mars that I will assist you to go forward to your final rest."
"I am Hrothgar the Red
Gelder of Princes, Ender of Lines.
I'll geld you too if you underestimate me."
Hrothgar wields his two weapons.
"And I don't fear death!"