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Story Hour
Shilsen's Eberron SH (Finished - The Last Word : 9/20/15)
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<blockquote data-quote="shilsen" data-source="post: 3151374" data-attributes="member: 198"><p>As long as we're not speaking for the PCs, yes <img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>See below.</p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p>They're planning to just <em>teleport</em> out, actually.</p><p></p><p>*********************************************************************</p><p><strong>Sticks and Stones</strong></p><p></p><p>Gareth finds himself standing in a large chamber, the boundaries of which are vague and misty. But what is clear is that the other Angels stand around him, and that they face the two rakshasas they have fought before, now in their own forms. The white-furred male holds the Key, which glows brightly in his paw. A battle begins, but strangely, Gareth finds himself alone fighting the rakshasa swordswoman, while everyone else attacks the one with the Key. Though wounded, he eventually manages to smite the rakshasa to the ground. Gareth hurries to join the battle, where things are going badly for his allies, all of whom are seriously wounded.</p><p></p><p>As he is about to reach the remaining rakshasa, someone knocks the Key from its paw, which rolls straight to Gareth, almost as if seeking him. He stoops to pick it up, and instantly, all of the other Angels turn to attack him. Nameless summons pseudonatural wolves around him, Luna <em> flame strike</em>s him, and Korm and Six charge, weapons raised. Even more surprisingly, as Gareth defends himself, the rakshasa moves to aid him. Or so he assumes, since it attacks them with spells, but specifically does not harm him. Gareth’s (former) allies keep shouting, “Mine! I must have it! Give it to me!” as they fight. Their initial attacks wound him, but then Kizmet begins to glow with a silver flame, tendrils of which climb up his arm, healing as they go. The Key begins to glow with a similar light, which expands into the form of a shield around you. With the aid of Key and Kizmet, and the rakshasa, Gareth gradually manages to cut down all his allies. </p><p></p><p>As the last one falls, the rakshasa looks at him and then slowly kneels, saying, in reverent tones, “You are the one!” It stretches forth its arms and lays its head near his feet. Gareth smites off its head, a silvery flame leaping from Kizmet, and its body is consumed in the flames. The paladin raises the Key, now glowing brighter and brighter with silver light, and the chamber melts away, revealing that he is standing outside a giant cathedral-fortress. Though he has never seen it before, he recognizes it from pictures as the Cathedral of the Silver Flame, which stands at the center of Flamekeep.</p><p></p><p>Gareth walks forward, Key still held aloft, and passes through the walls, as if they did not exist. He walks deeper and deeper into the fortress, continuing to pass through whatever is in the way. He passes many people, most wearing insignia and symbols of the Silver Flame, who all stop and bow or kneel as he passes. Very quickly, Gareth reaches the innermost sanctum and descends, finally reaching a huge chamber, where a small girl stands before a giant pillar of silver flame. He realizes this is the Chamber of the Flame, where the Keeper, eleven-year old Jaela Daran, listens to the Voice of the Flame. </p><p></p><p>Jaela bows too, and says, “Greetings, Gareth Byron Deneith, Keeper of the Flame. Do what needs to be done.” She steps away and he walks up to the column of flame. Still holding the Key aloft, he steps into the pillar. Gareth feels gentle warmth surround and hold him aloft, and then a face forms before him. He recognizes it as that of Tira Miron, as he saw on the day of the Battle of Grace, as she says, “Thank you. By your actions, the Flame is now cleansed and made complete. Accept our reward.” Gareth feels his body beginning to melt into the Flame painlessly, being replaced by silver flame where it was flesh. As it melts, the tendrils of flame all around him all display tiny faces, all looking at him. The one right in front of him is his father’s, which smiles in approbation. It is the greatest sense of mingled peace, contentment and pride that Gareth has ever felt, as close to perfection as he could imagine, if it were not for the irritating voices that are shouting, louder and louder…</p><p></p><p>And then Gareth opens his eyes, and realizes that he is in the middle of the Demon Wastes. And that the voices are those of Korm, Six and Nameless, who are standing near each other, looking off into the darkness of the Wastes and shouting an alarm. Which is almost drowned out by a chorus of bloodthirsty screams from somewhere ahead of them.</p><p></p><p>As Gareth rolls out of his blankets and grabs Kizmet, Six hurls an <em>everburning torch</em> some sixty feet into the darkness ahead of him. It lands, and rushing out of the shadows at the edge of its range of illumination, Gareth sees half a dozen humanoid shapes. They are fiendish in appearance, their shadowy faces a mixture of horns, dark reddish skin, large yellow eyes and fangs. The seven assailants wear hides and brandish large two-handed weapons, continuing to scream as they rush at the Angels. </p><p></p><p>A second later, a <em>cone of cold</em>, an <em>arc of lightning</em> and a <em>flame strike</em> smash down, slaying three and badly wounding the others. Gareth and Six rush in weapons swinging. Gareth brings Kizmet down in an overhand chop that drops one of the wounded enemies. As the stricken foe rolls over in his death-throes, Gareth realizes there is something strange about their demonic features. A call from Six confirms what he thinks. “Human! They’re human!”</p><p></p><p>Immediately, Gareth realizes what it was that he’d noticed. The horns are actually hair raised into spikes, while the yellow eyes are painted around their real eyes. They also have a vile stench around them. Even as he is noting this, the remaining humans scream aloud. The Angels see dark tendrils of smoke shoot up their legs and envelop them, as if each wore a large, shapeless cloak, and then fall apart. As the ‘smoke’ disappears, they seem stronger and fiercer, and rush to attack with renewed force.</p><p></p><p>Nevertheless, they are still badly wounded by the spells, and the Angels dispatch them quickly, though not before one smashes Gareth painfully over the head. While he calls upon Kizmet’s healing power, his companions check the corpses.</p><p></p><p>“What do you think they are?” asks Korm.</p><p></p><p>“Members of the Carrion Tribes, I presume,” replies Nameless. </p><p></p><p>“Any idea what that strange smoke thing was?”</p><p></p><p>“Not really. It wasn’t a spell, that’s for sure. The results looked a lot like when you do your berserker thing. Maybe it’s something to do with their worship of the rajahs. Strange, but that’s to be expected here.”</p><p></p><p>“That’s not all that’s strange,” says Luna, backing away from the corpse she was bending over. “Yuck! What’s wrong with them?”</p><p></p><p>Korm continues to lean over the bodies, though there is a look of distaste on his face as he looks at the angry welts and open weeping sores on their arms and other exposed flesh. He wrinkles his nose at the stench of corruption and says, “They’re diseased. All of them. That’s where the smell comes from.”</p><p></p><p>“And from the weapons,” points out Six, having picked up one of them. He indicates the dark substance coating the weapon. “It’s that strange crap you people produce.”</p><p></p><p>“What crap?” asks Nameless, a little confusedly.</p><p></p><p>“Crap,” says Six. “<img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /><img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /><img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" /><img src="data:image/gif;base64,R0lGODlhAQABAIAAAAAAAP///yH5BAEAAAAALAAAAAABAAEAAAIBRAA7" class="smilie smilie--sprite smilie--sprite1" alt=":)" title="Smile :)" loading="lazy" data-shortname=":)" />. Excreta. They have it coated on the weapons.”</p><p></p><p>“Oh, come on!” says Luna, in disgust. “That’s just wrong.”</p><p></p><p>“They must be members of the Plaguebearers that the Ghaash’kala mentioned.”</p><p></p><p>Gareth, having recovered, walks over. “Any magical weapons?”</p><p></p><p>“Not very likely,” says Six, pointing out what the weapon he’s holding is. “It’s a stick. Actually, not even really a stick. It’s some thick fibers tied together to make something like a stick.”</p><p></p><p>Korm turns to look at Gareth. “You almost got your head caved in by a guy with a stick?”</p><p></p><p>“Hey! I’m in my pajamas, remember?”</p><p></p><p>“If it makes you feel better,” says Six, “There is a rock attached to it.”</p><p></p><p>Luna, now at a safe distance from the smell, sits down and begins to laugh. “Yes, that’s so much better. We’ve fought dragons, rakshasas, mind flayers, beholders and a bloody daelkyr! And now we’re being attacked by people with a stick and a rock?”</p><p></p><p>“One guy had a sword,” says Six, lifting it up. “Crappy one.”</p><p></p><p>“That does it,” says Gareth. “I’m going back to bed.”</p><p></p><p>“First we need to dispose of the bodies,” points out Nameless. “I have no interest in finding out what kind of scavengers there are out here.” He looks over at Luna. “Could you turn into a bear and dig a hole?”</p><p></p><p>Luna grumbles, “All right, but I’m not putting them in there. That’s on you guys.”</p><p></p><p>As she is about to change, Gareth interrupts, “Wouldn’t it be better to burn them? They’re diseased, and could spread it to animals and passersby.”</p><p></p><p>Nameless looks at him silently for a moment and then says, in a voice of withering scorn, “We’re in the middle of the freaking Demon Wastes. If any animal survives here or some traveler passes by, I’m pretty sure they could handle a little disease.”</p><p></p><p>“Fine,” says Gareth, with a shrug. “Do what you want. I’m going to bed.”</p><p></p><p>The rest of the Angels dispose of the corpses and then follow suit, except for those who are on watch.</p><p></p><p>*****</p><p>The next morning, the Angels awake to an uncomfortable morning, all of them feeling slightly queasy.</p><p></p><p>“That’s weird,” says Luna. “I wonder if those damn corpses affected us some way.”</p><p></p><p>“Can’t be,” says Gareth, sounding seriously confused. “I feel ill too. I haven’t been ill for years, since I was blessed by Tira Miron. I can’t <em>be</em> ill. I’m immune to disease. Of any kind.”</p><p></p><p>“Apparently not this one,” says Six. “I don’t even have all those things in my stomach that you have … I mean, I don’t really even have a stomach … but something feels wrong in here.” He stretches and then says, “Ow! My joints hurt!”</p><p></p><p>“You have a stoma…,” begins Korm, before being interrupted by a hacking cough. </p><p></p><p>Nameless, who has been silently running a hand over extremely cracked lips, takes them away with a slight trace of blood. “Looks like we all have something or other going wrong.”</p><p></p><p>“But this is impossible!” says Gareth.</p><p></p><p>“Only if it’s a disease. This must be the Taint the Ghaash’kala mentioned. Maybe it’s more akin to a curse.”</p><p></p><p>“Well, that I can deal with.” Gareth settles down to a comfortable posture and begins to pray.</p><p></p><p>“Anyone else have this greasy skin?” asks Korm, having temporarily recovered from his cough.</p><p></p><p>“Me too.” “And me.” “Same here” “Yup. And yuck!” come the replies.</p><p></p><p>“Wait a second,” adds Luna, looking down at her left arm and wrist, around which the daelkyr symbiont is still tightly wrapped. She rubs her fingers carefully up and down her arm and says, “This arm’s just fine. Dry, like normal. Till here, at the shoulder.” </p><p></p><p>“That symbiont must be keeping it fine.”</p><p></p><p>Luna raises her arm and looks. “I think the symbiont’s gone a little grayer than it normally is.” </p><p></p><p>“Really?” Six reaches into a pouch and produces the eye-like symbiont, which he had used through the night on watch. It gazes back at him unblinkingly, but now a fine network of red lines covers it, making it look slightly bloodshot. Six hands it around to show the others.</p><p></p><p>“Oh, great! This affects symbionts too?”</p><p></p><p>Hopefully, Luna says, “Maybe mine will keep me fine. Or as fine as I am now.”</p><p></p><p>Six looks over and says, just a trifle maliciously, “Maybe. On the other hand, I think it made your hips a little wider overnight.”</p><p></p><p>Luna looks down, back up, back down again, and then stomps off, cursing loudly.</p><p></p><p>Other than Six, the rest (joined eventually by a still grumbling Luna) settle down to prepare their spells for the day. Once they are done, Gareth casts one to <em>remove curse</em> on himself. As soon as he does, the feeling of mild queasiness, which he and the others have been slowly getting used to, subsides.</p><p></p><p>“Ah!” he says with satisfaction. “That feels much better!”</p><p></p><p>“Good for you,” grunts Korm. “Do you have any for us?”</p><p></p><p>“Unfortunately, no” begins Gareth. “I can only….” Then a distasteful expression covers his face, as he feels the queasiness return threefold, like a temporarily dammed flow bursting forth. “Damn! It’s back – and worse!”</p><p></p><p>“Well, that answers the question of whether you can deal with it or not. Come on – let’s just get done with it and leave this place.”</p><p></p><p>The Angels settle down to a quick breakfast. Just as they have finished and are breaking camp, a number of them see more of the Plaguebearers, this time over a dozen. They rush over a nearby ridge at the bottom of the nearest hill, letting out bloodthirsty howls as they come.</p><p></p><p>“Damn!” says Nameless. “I don’t want to waste time with these idiots, but my <em>phantom steed</em> takes ten minutes to summon.”</p><p></p><p>“Not a problem for me,” says Korm, rushing through the motions of his spell, causing a <em>phantom stag</em> to appear. “Gareth, you take this one. Luna, summon one for Six, and then transform to a bat and carry Nameless. I’ll fly.”</p><p></p><p>“No need,” says Six, hoisting his backpack. “I can just run.”</p><p></p><p>As he takes off at a run, his metal feet ignoring obstructions in the terrain, Gareth climbs quickly onto the magical mount. At his command it gallops off, easily catching up to Six.</p><p></p><p>Luna, meanwhile, transforms into a bat the size of a horse, letting Nameless mount her before she rises into the air. Korm, meanwhile, calls upon his own druidic powers to grow a pair of large feathery wings, rising by her side.</p><p></p><p>As they are taking wing, Nameless <em>summon</em>s a pair of bison to keep the attackers busy. Though the majority of them stop, surprised, to engage the animals, six of them break past and continue after the Angels, three to abortively hurl stone-tipped javelins at them, and three to even more ineffectually attempt to chase Gareth and Six.</p><p></p><p>Of more concern, however, are the three figures that rise from behind the ridge after the first wave of Plaguebearers, borne aloft on bat-wings. As they hurl themselves through the air, the Angels realize that the one in the center, boasting unusual height and musculature, is not actually wearing the disguises his companions are. His black, scaly skin, glowing red eyes, and large fangs are all natural. He also stands apart in that he wields a gleaming, saw-toothed metal battleaxe, while his compatriots use the same sticks and rocks. Though there is enough to indicate his partly human nature, there is just as much evidence of a fiendish heritage.</p><p></p><p>“They’re too fast!” shouts Nameless. “Blast them!” A second later, a barrage of spells from Luna, Korm and him descend on the three flying attackers. Though wounded, they continue onwards, the part-fiend leader (evidently strongly resistant to both the heat and cold magic used against it) charging Korm, while the other two attack Nameless and Luna.</p><p></p><p>Seeing that escape is not an option, Gareth turns his mount and comes racing back. The abrupt turn surprises the three who were following him, none more so than the one who is both trampled and slashed badly as the paladin rides over him and continues. </p><p></p><p>Korm and his opponent circle in mid-air, falchion ringing off greataxe, with the big orc quickly realizing that his opponent is stronger. <em>Much stronger</em>, thinks Korm. He calls upon the berserker instincts of his ancestors, feeling added strength and vitality flow through his veins. With a triumphant cry, Korm slashes through his enemy’s defenses, his enchanted blade laying open its chest to the bone.</p><p></p><p>The wound seems to have little effect on the part-fiend, which shouts wordlessly, wreathing itself in the strength-giving smoke that the others had. It strikes back with a flurry of axe-blows, punctuated by a lunging bite into the side of Korm’s neck. Within seconds, Korm is dripping with gore, only conscious due to his berserker spirit. “Guys!” he shouts desperately. “I need help!”</p><p></p><p>The others are in some difficulty as well. The barbarians Gareth rode through turn and give chase, and before he can turn his steed away, sticks and stones are smashing into his armor and battering his bones with surprising efficacy. </p><p></p><p>Luna and Nameless have even bigger problems. One of the flying attackers goes down beneath a pair of spells, but the other hurls forward, wrapping muscular arms around Nameless. The additional weight overloads Luna and she drops out of the air with a surprised squawk. She lands right on top of one of the waiting Plaguebearers below, but putting herself and Nameless in the perfect position for the others to attack.</p><p></p><p>Nameless reels as a rock smashes into his back. “Hold on, Luna!” Despite the rain of blows, he concentrates and casts a spell. A second later, the Plaguebearers around them look around in surprise, as the two disappear from among them.</p><p></p><p>The leader is even more surprised. He is snarling his bloodlust as he raises his axe over the barely conscious Korm. And then, suddenly, there is a huge bat, with a bloodied human clinging to it, right next to them. As the part-fiend pauses in surprise, the bat Luna squeaks and touches Korm with her wing. She sends as much healing magic as she can into her ally.</p><p></p><p>The part-fiend’s expression changes from surprise to rage, but only for a second. “Bye bye,” grits a revived Korm as he swings. The falchion makes a gleaming arc with barely a pause, and, as the leader plummets to the ground, his still-snarling head depicts a neat arc and actually smacks into the face of one of the remaining Plaguebearers.</p><p></p><p>Who, along with his remaining five allies, survives his leader by only a few seconds. An irritated Nameless drops a <em>cloudkill</em> around them, and when it clears, only corpses are left. </p><p></p><p>Gareth and Six, having disposed of the three that had attacked Gareth, join the others, the paladin barely able to sit upright on his stag.</p><p></p><p>Six, who is effectively untouched, looks around at his bloodied allies. “You know, I’m fine with killing those rakshasas,” he says, “But next time we see people with rocks and sticks, I’m running away and not coming back.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="shilsen, post: 3151374, member: 198"] As long as we're not speaking for the PCs, yes :) See below. They're planning to just [i]teleport[/i] out, actually. ********************************************************************* [B]Sticks and Stones[/B] Gareth finds himself standing in a large chamber, the boundaries of which are vague and misty. But what is clear is that the other Angels stand around him, and that they face the two rakshasas they have fought before, now in their own forms. The white-furred male holds the Key, which glows brightly in his paw. A battle begins, but strangely, Gareth finds himself alone fighting the rakshasa swordswoman, while everyone else attacks the one with the Key. Though wounded, he eventually manages to smite the rakshasa to the ground. Gareth hurries to join the battle, where things are going badly for his allies, all of whom are seriously wounded. As he is about to reach the remaining rakshasa, someone knocks the Key from its paw, which rolls straight to Gareth, almost as if seeking him. He stoops to pick it up, and instantly, all of the other Angels turn to attack him. Nameless summons pseudonatural wolves around him, Luna [i] flame strike[/i]s him, and Korm and Six charge, weapons raised. Even more surprisingly, as Gareth defends himself, the rakshasa moves to aid him. Or so he assumes, since it attacks them with spells, but specifically does not harm him. Gareth’s (former) allies keep shouting, “Mine! I must have it! Give it to me!” as they fight. Their initial attacks wound him, but then Kizmet begins to glow with a silver flame, tendrils of which climb up his arm, healing as they go. The Key begins to glow with a similar light, which expands into the form of a shield around you. With the aid of Key and Kizmet, and the rakshasa, Gareth gradually manages to cut down all his allies. As the last one falls, the rakshasa looks at him and then slowly kneels, saying, in reverent tones, “You are the one!” It stretches forth its arms and lays its head near his feet. Gareth smites off its head, a silvery flame leaping from Kizmet, and its body is consumed in the flames. The paladin raises the Key, now glowing brighter and brighter with silver light, and the chamber melts away, revealing that he is standing outside a giant cathedral-fortress. Though he has never seen it before, he recognizes it from pictures as the Cathedral of the Silver Flame, which stands at the center of Flamekeep. Gareth walks forward, Key still held aloft, and passes through the walls, as if they did not exist. He walks deeper and deeper into the fortress, continuing to pass through whatever is in the way. He passes many people, most wearing insignia and symbols of the Silver Flame, who all stop and bow or kneel as he passes. Very quickly, Gareth reaches the innermost sanctum and descends, finally reaching a huge chamber, where a small girl stands before a giant pillar of silver flame. He realizes this is the Chamber of the Flame, where the Keeper, eleven-year old Jaela Daran, listens to the Voice of the Flame. Jaela bows too, and says, “Greetings, Gareth Byron Deneith, Keeper of the Flame. Do what needs to be done.” She steps away and he walks up to the column of flame. Still holding the Key aloft, he steps into the pillar. Gareth feels gentle warmth surround and hold him aloft, and then a face forms before him. He recognizes it as that of Tira Miron, as he saw on the day of the Battle of Grace, as she says, “Thank you. By your actions, the Flame is now cleansed and made complete. Accept our reward.” Gareth feels his body beginning to melt into the Flame painlessly, being replaced by silver flame where it was flesh. As it melts, the tendrils of flame all around him all display tiny faces, all looking at him. The one right in front of him is his father’s, which smiles in approbation. It is the greatest sense of mingled peace, contentment and pride that Gareth has ever felt, as close to perfection as he could imagine, if it were not for the irritating voices that are shouting, louder and louder… And then Gareth opens his eyes, and realizes that he is in the middle of the Demon Wastes. And that the voices are those of Korm, Six and Nameless, who are standing near each other, looking off into the darkness of the Wastes and shouting an alarm. Which is almost drowned out by a chorus of bloodthirsty screams from somewhere ahead of them. As Gareth rolls out of his blankets and grabs Kizmet, Six hurls an [i]everburning torch[/i] some sixty feet into the darkness ahead of him. It lands, and rushing out of the shadows at the edge of its range of illumination, Gareth sees half a dozen humanoid shapes. They are fiendish in appearance, their shadowy faces a mixture of horns, dark reddish skin, large yellow eyes and fangs. The seven assailants wear hides and brandish large two-handed weapons, continuing to scream as they rush at the Angels. A second later, a [i]cone of cold[/i], an [i]arc of lightning[/i] and a [i]flame strike[/i] smash down, slaying three and badly wounding the others. Gareth and Six rush in weapons swinging. Gareth brings Kizmet down in an overhand chop that drops one of the wounded enemies. As the stricken foe rolls over in his death-throes, Gareth realizes there is something strange about their demonic features. A call from Six confirms what he thinks. “Human! They’re human!” Immediately, Gareth realizes what it was that he’d noticed. The horns are actually hair raised into spikes, while the yellow eyes are painted around their real eyes. They also have a vile stench around them. Even as he is noting this, the remaining humans scream aloud. The Angels see dark tendrils of smoke shoot up their legs and envelop them, as if each wore a large, shapeless cloak, and then fall apart. As the ‘smoke’ disappears, they seem stronger and fiercer, and rush to attack with renewed force. Nevertheless, they are still badly wounded by the spells, and the Angels dispatch them quickly, though not before one smashes Gareth painfully over the head. While he calls upon Kizmet’s healing power, his companions check the corpses. “What do you think they are?” asks Korm. “Members of the Carrion Tribes, I presume,” replies Nameless. “Any idea what that strange smoke thing was?” “Not really. It wasn’t a spell, that’s for sure. The results looked a lot like when you do your berserker thing. Maybe it’s something to do with their worship of the rajahs. Strange, but that’s to be expected here.” “That’s not all that’s strange,” says Luna, backing away from the corpse she was bending over. “Yuck! What’s wrong with them?” Korm continues to lean over the bodies, though there is a look of distaste on his face as he looks at the angry welts and open weeping sores on their arms and other exposed flesh. He wrinkles his nose at the stench of corruption and says, “They’re diseased. All of them. That’s where the smell comes from.” “And from the weapons,” points out Six, having picked up one of them. He indicates the dark substance coating the weapon. “It’s that strange crap you people produce.” “What crap?” asks Nameless, a little confusedly. “Crap,” says Six. “:):):):). Excreta. They have it coated on the weapons.” “Oh, come on!” says Luna, in disgust. “That’s just wrong.” “They must be members of the Plaguebearers that the Ghaash’kala mentioned.” Gareth, having recovered, walks over. “Any magical weapons?” “Not very likely,” says Six, pointing out what the weapon he’s holding is. “It’s a stick. Actually, not even really a stick. It’s some thick fibers tied together to make something like a stick.” Korm turns to look at Gareth. “You almost got your head caved in by a guy with a stick?” “Hey! I’m in my pajamas, remember?” “If it makes you feel better,” says Six, “There is a rock attached to it.” Luna, now at a safe distance from the smell, sits down and begins to laugh. “Yes, that’s so much better. We’ve fought dragons, rakshasas, mind flayers, beholders and a bloody daelkyr! And now we’re being attacked by people with a stick and a rock?” “One guy had a sword,” says Six, lifting it up. “Crappy one.” “That does it,” says Gareth. “I’m going back to bed.” “First we need to dispose of the bodies,” points out Nameless. “I have no interest in finding out what kind of scavengers there are out here.” He looks over at Luna. “Could you turn into a bear and dig a hole?” Luna grumbles, “All right, but I’m not putting them in there. That’s on you guys.” As she is about to change, Gareth interrupts, “Wouldn’t it be better to burn them? They’re diseased, and could spread it to animals and passersby.” Nameless looks at him silently for a moment and then says, in a voice of withering scorn, “We’re in the middle of the freaking Demon Wastes. If any animal survives here or some traveler passes by, I’m pretty sure they could handle a little disease.” “Fine,” says Gareth, with a shrug. “Do what you want. I’m going to bed.” The rest of the Angels dispose of the corpses and then follow suit, except for those who are on watch. ***** The next morning, the Angels awake to an uncomfortable morning, all of them feeling slightly queasy. “That’s weird,” says Luna. “I wonder if those damn corpses affected us some way.” “Can’t be,” says Gareth, sounding seriously confused. “I feel ill too. I haven’t been ill for years, since I was blessed by Tira Miron. I can’t [i]be[/i] ill. I’m immune to disease. Of any kind.” “Apparently not this one,” says Six. “I don’t even have all those things in my stomach that you have … I mean, I don’t really even have a stomach … but something feels wrong in here.” He stretches and then says, “Ow! My joints hurt!” “You have a stoma…,” begins Korm, before being interrupted by a hacking cough. Nameless, who has been silently running a hand over extremely cracked lips, takes them away with a slight trace of blood. “Looks like we all have something or other going wrong.” “But this is impossible!” says Gareth. “Only if it’s a disease. This must be the Taint the Ghaash’kala mentioned. Maybe it’s more akin to a curse.” “Well, that I can deal with.” Gareth settles down to a comfortable posture and begins to pray. “Anyone else have this greasy skin?” asks Korm, having temporarily recovered from his cough. “Me too.” “And me.” “Same here” “Yup. And yuck!” come the replies. “Wait a second,” adds Luna, looking down at her left arm and wrist, around which the daelkyr symbiont is still tightly wrapped. She rubs her fingers carefully up and down her arm and says, “This arm’s just fine. Dry, like normal. Till here, at the shoulder.” “That symbiont must be keeping it fine.” Luna raises her arm and looks. “I think the symbiont’s gone a little grayer than it normally is.” “Really?” Six reaches into a pouch and produces the eye-like symbiont, which he had used through the night on watch. It gazes back at him unblinkingly, but now a fine network of red lines covers it, making it look slightly bloodshot. Six hands it around to show the others. “Oh, great! This affects symbionts too?” Hopefully, Luna says, “Maybe mine will keep me fine. Or as fine as I am now.” Six looks over and says, just a trifle maliciously, “Maybe. On the other hand, I think it made your hips a little wider overnight.” Luna looks down, back up, back down again, and then stomps off, cursing loudly. Other than Six, the rest (joined eventually by a still grumbling Luna) settle down to prepare their spells for the day. Once they are done, Gareth casts one to [i]remove curse[/i] on himself. As soon as he does, the feeling of mild queasiness, which he and the others have been slowly getting used to, subsides. “Ah!” he says with satisfaction. “That feels much better!” “Good for you,” grunts Korm. “Do you have any for us?” “Unfortunately, no” begins Gareth. “I can only….” Then a distasteful expression covers his face, as he feels the queasiness return threefold, like a temporarily dammed flow bursting forth. “Damn! It’s back – and worse!” “Well, that answers the question of whether you can deal with it or not. Come on – let’s just get done with it and leave this place.” The Angels settle down to a quick breakfast. Just as they have finished and are breaking camp, a number of them see more of the Plaguebearers, this time over a dozen. They rush over a nearby ridge at the bottom of the nearest hill, letting out bloodthirsty howls as they come. “Damn!” says Nameless. “I don’t want to waste time with these idiots, but my [i]phantom steed[/i] takes ten minutes to summon.” “Not a problem for me,” says Korm, rushing through the motions of his spell, causing a [i]phantom stag[/i] to appear. “Gareth, you take this one. Luna, summon one for Six, and then transform to a bat and carry Nameless. I’ll fly.” “No need,” says Six, hoisting his backpack. “I can just run.” As he takes off at a run, his metal feet ignoring obstructions in the terrain, Gareth climbs quickly onto the magical mount. At his command it gallops off, easily catching up to Six. Luna, meanwhile, transforms into a bat the size of a horse, letting Nameless mount her before she rises into the air. Korm, meanwhile, calls upon his own druidic powers to grow a pair of large feathery wings, rising by her side. As they are taking wing, Nameless [i]summon[/i]s a pair of bison to keep the attackers busy. Though the majority of them stop, surprised, to engage the animals, six of them break past and continue after the Angels, three to abortively hurl stone-tipped javelins at them, and three to even more ineffectually attempt to chase Gareth and Six. Of more concern, however, are the three figures that rise from behind the ridge after the first wave of Plaguebearers, borne aloft on bat-wings. As they hurl themselves through the air, the Angels realize that the one in the center, boasting unusual height and musculature, is not actually wearing the disguises his companions are. His black, scaly skin, glowing red eyes, and large fangs are all natural. He also stands apart in that he wields a gleaming, saw-toothed metal battleaxe, while his compatriots use the same sticks and rocks. Though there is enough to indicate his partly human nature, there is just as much evidence of a fiendish heritage. “They’re too fast!” shouts Nameless. “Blast them!” A second later, a barrage of spells from Luna, Korm and him descend on the three flying attackers. Though wounded, they continue onwards, the part-fiend leader (evidently strongly resistant to both the heat and cold magic used against it) charging Korm, while the other two attack Nameless and Luna. Seeing that escape is not an option, Gareth turns his mount and comes racing back. The abrupt turn surprises the three who were following him, none more so than the one who is both trampled and slashed badly as the paladin rides over him and continues. Korm and his opponent circle in mid-air, falchion ringing off greataxe, with the big orc quickly realizing that his opponent is stronger. [i]Much stronger[/i], thinks Korm. He calls upon the berserker instincts of his ancestors, feeling added strength and vitality flow through his veins. With a triumphant cry, Korm slashes through his enemy’s defenses, his enchanted blade laying open its chest to the bone. The wound seems to have little effect on the part-fiend, which shouts wordlessly, wreathing itself in the strength-giving smoke that the others had. It strikes back with a flurry of axe-blows, punctuated by a lunging bite into the side of Korm’s neck. Within seconds, Korm is dripping with gore, only conscious due to his berserker spirit. “Guys!” he shouts desperately. “I need help!” The others are in some difficulty as well. The barbarians Gareth rode through turn and give chase, and before he can turn his steed away, sticks and stones are smashing into his armor and battering his bones with surprising efficacy. Luna and Nameless have even bigger problems. One of the flying attackers goes down beneath a pair of spells, but the other hurls forward, wrapping muscular arms around Nameless. The additional weight overloads Luna and she drops out of the air with a surprised squawk. She lands right on top of one of the waiting Plaguebearers below, but putting herself and Nameless in the perfect position for the others to attack. Nameless reels as a rock smashes into his back. “Hold on, Luna!” Despite the rain of blows, he concentrates and casts a spell. A second later, the Plaguebearers around them look around in surprise, as the two disappear from among them. The leader is even more surprised. He is snarling his bloodlust as he raises his axe over the barely conscious Korm. And then, suddenly, there is a huge bat, with a bloodied human clinging to it, right next to them. As the part-fiend pauses in surprise, the bat Luna squeaks and touches Korm with her wing. She sends as much healing magic as she can into her ally. The part-fiend’s expression changes from surprise to rage, but only for a second. “Bye bye,” grits a revived Korm as he swings. The falchion makes a gleaming arc with barely a pause, and, as the leader plummets to the ground, his still-snarling head depicts a neat arc and actually smacks into the face of one of the remaining Plaguebearers. Who, along with his remaining five allies, survives his leader by only a few seconds. An irritated Nameless drops a [i]cloudkill[/i] around them, and when it clears, only corpses are left. Gareth and Six, having disposed of the three that had attacked Gareth, join the others, the paladin barely able to sit upright on his stag. Six, who is effectively untouched, looks around at his bloodied allies. “You know, I’m fine with killing those rakshasas,” he says, “But next time we see people with rocks and sticks, I’m running away and not coming back.” [/QUOTE]
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Shilsen's Eberron SH (Finished - The Last Word : 9/20/15)
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