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The Fall of Civilization
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<blockquote data-quote="the Jester" data-source="post: 5029630" data-attributes="member: 1210"><p>Cook runs and leaps for one of the large platforms suspended over the arena. He stretches out and lands on it, momentarily causing it to tilt alarmingly, but catches his balance. The slave already on it drops his crossbow and pinwheels his arms, but he, too, manages to stay on the platform. </p><p></p><p>The dwarf looks down. Below- in the coliseum proper- the ground is littered with spikes, fires and other things that would be very bad to land on. Behind him are the death knight, his nightmare and dozens of troops. And behind them- on the balcony that Sir Unleafe had been on when Cook was ushered into his presence- the rest of the party bursts into view. </p><p></p><p>“Oi!” hollers Cook. “Over here!” Waving frantically, he catches their attention- and then gasps in pain as a crossbow bolt hits him in the leg. To his surprise, the slave on the other platform is the one that shot him! “What are you doing?” he cries. “We are here to save you!”</p><p></p><p>But more arrows from below are whizzing through the air, singing as they deflect from the platform. A few arc overhead; more miss completely, as the platform slowly swings out and over the coliseum. </p><p></p><p>Meanwhile, the rest of the party begins to descend, with Iggy falling off the balcony and landing dazed, while Vann-La and Heimall climb. Shakgar simply leaps, not caring about the fall, and the others follow after the first wave. From the top, Hkatha hurls a <em>fireball</em> into the audience. It detonates with a tremendous boom and the smell of burnt flesh. Iggy follows this with one of his own, and panic rips through the Six-Fingered Hand troops. </p><p></p><p>Sir Unleafe wheels his mount around and glares towards the party with burning eyes. “You there! Come over here to die!” he calls, his voice like an inferno.</p><p></p><p>Vann-La retorts, “You don’t say that when the Imperial Marines are here to kick your ass!” </p><p></p><p>The two charge each other.</p><p></p><p>Hkatha, meanwhile, tumbles down from the top of the balcony, landing on his feet without harm below. Then he races towards the death knight. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Sharm the Terrible snarls and stabs one of his attendants in rage. The kobold female gasps and dies, sliding from his wickedly curved knife. “These interlopers are spoiling my games!” he snaps. “I have had enough!” </p><p></p><p>He begins to make his way towards the fight, drawing both of his scimitars in a single motion. This situation has made him even fouler tempered than he was before. <em>Bad enough that Sir Unleafe is here,</em> he thinks. <em>He wanders these lands for Lord Arawn, keeping an eye on our operations throughout the region. But to be here, now, when we are attacked- and my troops are behaving disgracefully! I will have them decimated!</em> He curls his lips back, showing his teeth in a snarl. <em>If I survive, that is. Sir Unleafe is... not known for forgiving failure. Perhaps, if these invaders harm him enough, I can... eliminate him.</em> Sharm the Terrible begins to drool at the thought. <em>If he were gone, who would oversee this region for Arawn? Heshwat the Eviscerator is dead, and the other generals in the area are old, fat or complacent. Surely he would choose me. Sharm the Terrible has always been loyal. I have worked hard. I reduced Northshore, Brelana, Sebell and three other major cities. I have slaughtered thousands and enslaved thousands more. Surely he would choose me! And how would he know if I finished off his wounded lieutenant?</em></p><p></p><p>He leaps forward into the fray, attacking one of the invaders- a large, formidable-looking dragonborn- from behind.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Vann-La roars as she swings her maul into the death knight, crunching into his ribs beneath his guard. Sir Unleafe shouts, “I swear I shall destroy you!” and strikes back, landing a series of punishing blows against the elf with unerring accuracy and surrounds her with a cloud of shrieking souls.* She staggers, and he raises his axe to strike again- but she manages to land a <em>disruptive strike</em> first, bloodying him, before his axe descends and slices her along her own ribs, pulling her into a <em>profane duel</em> and bloodying her. </p><p></p><p>Sir Unleafe leaps from the back of him mount and presses his advantage. The two continue to slash and pummel each other with mounting intensity while the rest of the party tries to deal with the other enemies all around, including the two skeletal bats that swoop in from the back and assault Hkatha and Heimall. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Cook springs off the platform. </p><p></p><p>It is a long way down.</p><p></p><p>When he lands, he tucks and rolls, feeling a stab of pain in his right ankle. He grimaces, but as soon as he is back up he darts to the side wall of the coliseum, crouching down into the shadows. </p><p></p><p>The arrival of his friends has precipitated a panic amongst the Hand troops. <em>What a few shuriken and knives cannot do, the dramatic explosions caused by the wizards can,</em> thinks the dwarf with a grim smile. <em>It just takes something a little more visible to panic these monsters... and I prefer to strike from the shadows, unseen.</em></p><p></p><p>Cook takes a moment to observe. For some strange reason, the stands empty into the base of the coliseum at the end farthest from the gates, requiring any fleeing spectators to run through the hazard-strewn floor before they can escape. <em>A foolish design,</em> muses Cook, <em>if it were designed with the health and convenience of the Hand in mind. Yet... what if the slaves designed and built this to make it as inconvenient and unhealthy as possible? And why would the Hand do the work themselves, when they have so many slaves to do it for them?</em></p><p><em></em></p><p><em>In fact...</em> A slow grin spreads on Cook’s face. <em>That might explain a lot of the layout of this area- the enclosure looks relatively easy to escape, but hard to reinforce. The fortress seemed to have inconvenient halls and passages within it, and none of the typical features that dwarven engineers would have put in to repel invaders. This whole area- this whole arrangement- the slaves have subverted it, to make it easy for them and hard for their oppressors!</em></p><p></p><p>If he weren’t being sneaky, Cook would have let out a belly laugh. As it is, he keeps his mirth to himself and begins creeping towards the gate house. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Torinn invokes a <em>beacon of hope,</em> and Sharm the Terrible reels back, weakened by Lester’s holy might, while our heroes’ flagging strength is boosted. Heimall uses a <em>knight’s move</em> to get the dragonborn into a flanking position, while uttering a <em>commander’s strike</em> that permits Vann-La to land another punishing blow on Sir Unleafe.</p><p></p><p>Not far away from them, Unleafe’s nightmare mount charges forward and crashes into Iggy for an appalling amount of damage even as the skeletal bats slash at the wizards with their bony talons as they fly by. “This isn’t good!” Iggy exclaims, and <em>dimension doors</em> away. He casts a <em>scorching burst</em>, but the disorientation that his teleportation caused makes him miss.</p><p></p><p>Hkatha is left to fend for himself. He ducks as one of the bats flies by, suffers a flaming hoof to the shoulder from the nightmare, which rears and prepares to crash down full upon him; but in the instant before it does so, the other bat snatches Hkatha and drags him up into the air- and out of the way. He groans, feeling blood soaking through his tunic and uniform. Its talons squeeze him, and his head swims for a moment from the constricting pressure on his lungs.</p><p></p><p>Then the pressure relents. Hkatha gasps in a breath of air- and realizes that he is falling.</p><p></p><p>With a bone-crunching crash, he lands not in the stands surrounding the coliseum, nor even on the coliseum floor. Instead, the bat’s aim is perfect, and the tiefling drops straight into one of the pits in the floor of the coliseum. He groans again and shakes his head, then looks up. </p><p></p><p>He swears. </p><p></p><p>And starts to climb.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Another shuriken flies out and takes a goblin in the throat, and Cook pushes his way in the guard house. His throwing stars are everywhere; his left hand holds a dagger, with which he deflects the few blows that the confused, surprised and demoralized Hand troops can muster. </p><p></p><p>Another few shuriken, another few stabs, and the gatehouse falls quiet. </p><p></p><p>Quickly, Cook binds his wounds, and then he turns to the windlass that opens the gates at the bottom of the coliseum. Grinning again, he begins cranking it.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Outside, the audience is in a stake of confusion and panic. Their leaders are under assault, their games have been interrupted and their coliseum is on fire. </p><p></p><p>When the gates begin to creak open, they finally see a way out, and the milling crowd suddenly becomes a massive rush. Goblins and kobolds- the smaller of the Hand forces- are trampled. Gnolls and orcs, hobgoblins and lizardfolk, all join in the massive press towards the exit. Audience members are forced by the mass of bodies over the edge; they fall into the hazards in the floor of the coliseum below. Some die in the fall; some to the hazards that they fall upon. Others find themselves suddenly attacked by their slaves, some of whom were armed in order to fight in the games. </p><p></p><p>“Slaves of Northshore, rise up!” yells Cook. “The time of your liberation has arrived!”</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Vann-La strikes again, gasping with the effort, and Sir Unleafe collapses to the ground in a smoking pile of soiled robes and bones. </p><p></p><p>Sharm the Terrible gives a howl of combined rage and pleasure. <em>He is out of the way, and I do not even need to lie about not having been involved!</em> the kobold gloats, then spins into a <em>kobold whirlwind,</em> his scimitars slashing all around him. Torinn cries in pain, staggering back; then the nightmare, billowing smoke, charges in at him as well. He swings his spiked chain around him, clearing some space, and Heimall, Vann-La and he focus their attacks on the deadly kobold. </p><p></p><p>Vann-La smashes Sharm the Terrible’s shoulder with her maul. “Take that!” she cries. In return, Sharm draws an X on Vann-La’s torso with her two scimitars, then <em>double attacks</em> Torinn, dropping him. Unfortunately for the Six-Fingered Hand, the dragonborn pops up again immediately, using a <em>healing word</em> to fortify himself.**</p><p></p><p>“Damn it, go down!” swears Heimall, stabbing out again with his glaive. Sharm’s eyes widen as he recognizes <em>Throat-Ripper.</em> </p><p></p><p>“You are the ones who slew Heshwat the Eviscerator!” the kobold exclaims.</p><p></p><p>“That’s right,” replies Heimall, “and you’re next.”</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Finally pulling himself out of the pit, Hkatha invokes a <em>flaming sphere</em> and sends it down into the crowd. The ball of flame rolls through them, increasing the panic. Screams echo everywhere. It is total chaos. </p><p></p><p>Arrows are still flying through the air, especially from a group of brownscale lizard folk, notes the wizard. The two skeletal bats are still swooping at the heroes- one has taken to harrying Iggy, the other to assaulting Cook. Hkatha winces as a <em>prismatic burst</em> explodes with blinding force near the center of the fight; then, he sees several arrows sink into Cook with seemingly impossible accuracy. The dwarf drops like a sack of gravel. </p><p></p><p>With a gesture, Hkatha sends his <em>flaming sphere</em> towards the archer lizard folk, and he quickly begins to make his way across the arena floor towards his fallen companion.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>Sharm parries, dodges, whirls and slashes; cuts, ducks, feints and strikes. </p><p></p><p>But there are <em>so many</em> of the foe...</p><p></p><p><em>Heshwat,</em> he thinks, as another blow to the face rattles his teeth and knocks several loose, <em>now I understand why you had so much trouble with these people!</em> He tries everything, tumbling back, hacking and slashing; but now he is on the retreat, as the invaders press him harder and harder towards the edge of the coliseum. </p><p></p><p><em>“All bets are off,</em> you scum!” cries Torinn, his spiked chain slashing against the kobold and the nightmare. Sharm is weakening, and he knows he can’t take much more of this unceasing assault. He tumbles back again and gets to his feet just in time to see the blue-skinned elf cow coming for him. He tries to raise a scimitar to parry, but it catches on the bench-</p><p></p><p><strong>Crunch!</strong></p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>An arrow pounds Hkatha in the shoulder, and he spins around and almost loses his footing. There is blood on the floor of the coliseum, soaking the sand. With a gesture, the wizard sends his <em>flaming sphere</em> rolling into the midst of the archer formation again; he curls his lip as one of them catches fire, shrieking, and tries to flee. But he has nowhere to go; instead, he collapses, his screams slowly dying.</p><p></p><p>Another hail of arrows lances out towards him, arcing over the crowd. He throws his hands up and gasps a quick incantation, and a barely-visible <em>shield</em> of force springs up, deflecting the incoming missiles. </p><p></p><p>Hkatha continues to limp his way towards the archers- who are virtually the only organized resistance that remains- and grins as Torinn leaps on them from above, crashing on top of one of the brownscales like a meteor. He begins laying about himself with his spiked chain, and Hkatha keeps adding chaos with his <em>flaming sphere</em>. </p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>With Sharm the Terrible slain, our heroes surround the nightmare and start the grim process of slaying it, stabbing and smashing at it even as it whirls around, spilling demonic smoke everywhere. Flames spring up in its wake as it tries to break free of their assault, but Heimall calls for a <em>white raven onslaught</em> and the party keeps it penned between them. It screams in rage, a horrific noise full of hate, but there is no escape for it. Heimall uses <em>Throat-Ripper</em> and tears off its head. Spurting liquid fire, the beast keeps moving for another few moments, flailing blindly around at everything nearby, but then it finally collapses. </p><p></p><p>There is no time to stop and catch their breath. Torinn and Hkatha are still fighting down below, finishing off the archers, and the others move to join them.</p><p></p><p>But where is Cook?</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>The slaves are rising. Using whatever weapons they can find- and there are many scattered about, after the slaughter that our heroes brought to town- they express to the Six-Fingered Hand exactly how much they appreciate the last five years of slavery and servitude. </p><p></p><p>They were born free, citizens of an Empire that may or may not still exist. Then their freedom was taken from them, stolen by the man-eating humanoids that have terrified and lorded over them for years. When the Hand first came, these people- for the most part- were peasants, not warriors. They were not forced to fight. But now, although not forced, they fight for their lost freedom. They pick up whatever stick or stone is handy and attack the orcs near them, slit the throats of the kobolds, run through the lizard folk. </p><p></p><p>Northshore’s time has come.</p><p></p><p>***</p><p></p><p>The two skeletal bats wheel about and fly off into the distance. The roar of the crowd, the sounds of panic and fighting are everywhere. </p><p></p><p>“Here!” cries Hkatha. “Torinn, Heimall, one of you- come help! I found Cook, and he’s dying!”</p><p></p><p>“Gather around, quick!” orders Torinn. The party clusters around; and the dragonborn tilts his head back and utters a prayer to Lester. </p><p></p><p>Wounds knit; Cook gives a startled cough, and his eyes fly open. He spits dirt and blood and groans. “Oi,” he says weakly, and drags himself to his feet. “Did we win?”</p><p></p><p>“The death knight and the kobold are dead,” pronounces Heimall. </p><p></p><p>“We got his horse, too,” adds Torinn.</p><p></p><p><em><strong>Next Time:</strong></em> Sigil Sequences! </p><p></p><p>*Sir Unleafe swore his <em>oath of enmity</em> against Vann-La, allowing him to roll each of his attacks against her twice.</p><p></p><p>**Blast, only in retrospect do I realize that he should have stayed down. He had regeneration going, but it doesn’t work once you’re at 0 hit points or below- a technicality that I missed. Oh well, I’m sure Heimall would have just <em>inspiring worded</em> him on his next turn anyhow.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="the Jester, post: 5029630, member: 1210"] Cook runs and leaps for one of the large platforms suspended over the arena. He stretches out and lands on it, momentarily causing it to tilt alarmingly, but catches his balance. The slave already on it drops his crossbow and pinwheels his arms, but he, too, manages to stay on the platform. The dwarf looks down. Below- in the coliseum proper- the ground is littered with spikes, fires and other things that would be very bad to land on. Behind him are the death knight, his nightmare and dozens of troops. And behind them- on the balcony that Sir Unleafe had been on when Cook was ushered into his presence- the rest of the party bursts into view. “Oi!” hollers Cook. “Over here!” Waving frantically, he catches their attention- and then gasps in pain as a crossbow bolt hits him in the leg. To his surprise, the slave on the other platform is the one that shot him! “What are you doing?” he cries. “We are here to save you!” But more arrows from below are whizzing through the air, singing as they deflect from the platform. A few arc overhead; more miss completely, as the platform slowly swings out and over the coliseum. Meanwhile, the rest of the party begins to descend, with Iggy falling off the balcony and landing dazed, while Vann-La and Heimall climb. Shakgar simply leaps, not caring about the fall, and the others follow after the first wave. From the top, Hkatha hurls a [i]fireball[/i] into the audience. It detonates with a tremendous boom and the smell of burnt flesh. Iggy follows this with one of his own, and panic rips through the Six-Fingered Hand troops. Sir Unleafe wheels his mount around and glares towards the party with burning eyes. “You there! Come over here to die!” he calls, his voice like an inferno. Vann-La retorts, “You don’t say that when the Imperial Marines are here to kick your ass!” The two charge each other. Hkatha, meanwhile, tumbles down from the top of the balcony, landing on his feet without harm below. Then he races towards the death knight. *** Sharm the Terrible snarls and stabs one of his attendants in rage. The kobold female gasps and dies, sliding from his wickedly curved knife. “These interlopers are spoiling my games!” he snaps. “I have had enough!” He begins to make his way towards the fight, drawing both of his scimitars in a single motion. This situation has made him even fouler tempered than he was before. [i]Bad enough that Sir Unleafe is here,[/i] he thinks. [i]He wanders these lands for Lord Arawn, keeping an eye on our operations throughout the region. But to be here, now, when we are attacked- and my troops are behaving disgracefully! I will have them decimated![/i] He curls his lips back, showing his teeth in a snarl. [i]If I survive, that is. Sir Unleafe is... not known for forgiving failure. Perhaps, if these invaders harm him enough, I can... eliminate him.[/i] Sharm the Terrible begins to drool at the thought. [i]If he were gone, who would oversee this region for Arawn? Heshwat the Eviscerator is dead, and the other generals in the area are old, fat or complacent. Surely he would choose me. Sharm the Terrible has always been loyal. I have worked hard. I reduced Northshore, Brelana, Sebell and three other major cities. I have slaughtered thousands and enslaved thousands more. Surely he would choose me! And how would he know if I finished off his wounded lieutenant?[/i] He leaps forward into the fray, attacking one of the invaders- a large, formidable-looking dragonborn- from behind. *** Vann-La roars as she swings her maul into the death knight, crunching into his ribs beneath his guard. Sir Unleafe shouts, “I swear I shall destroy you!” and strikes back, landing a series of punishing blows against the elf with unerring accuracy and surrounds her with a cloud of shrieking souls.* She staggers, and he raises his axe to strike again- but she manages to land a [i]disruptive strike[/i] first, bloodying him, before his axe descends and slices her along her own ribs, pulling her into a [i]profane duel[/i] and bloodying her. Sir Unleafe leaps from the back of him mount and presses his advantage. The two continue to slash and pummel each other with mounting intensity while the rest of the party tries to deal with the other enemies all around, including the two skeletal bats that swoop in from the back and assault Hkatha and Heimall. *** Cook springs off the platform. It is a long way down. When he lands, he tucks and rolls, feeling a stab of pain in his right ankle. He grimaces, but as soon as he is back up he darts to the side wall of the coliseum, crouching down into the shadows. The arrival of his friends has precipitated a panic amongst the Hand troops. [i]What a few shuriken and knives cannot do, the dramatic explosions caused by the wizards can,[/i] thinks the dwarf with a grim smile. [i]It just takes something a little more visible to panic these monsters... and I prefer to strike from the shadows, unseen.[/i] Cook takes a moment to observe. For some strange reason, the stands empty into the base of the coliseum at the end farthest from the gates, requiring any fleeing spectators to run through the hazard-strewn floor before they can escape. [i]A foolish design,[/i] muses Cook, [i]if it were designed with the health and convenience of the Hand in mind. Yet... what if the slaves designed and built this to make it as inconvenient and unhealthy as possible? And why would the Hand do the work themselves, when they have so many slaves to do it for them? In fact...[/i] A slow grin spreads on Cook’s face. [i]That might explain a lot of the layout of this area- the enclosure looks relatively easy to escape, but hard to reinforce. The fortress seemed to have inconvenient halls and passages within it, and none of the typical features that dwarven engineers would have put in to repel invaders. This whole area- this whole arrangement- the slaves have subverted it, to make it easy for them and hard for their oppressors![/i] If he weren’t being sneaky, Cook would have let out a belly laugh. As it is, he keeps his mirth to himself and begins creeping towards the gate house. *** Torinn invokes a [i]beacon of hope,[/i] and Sharm the Terrible reels back, weakened by Lester’s holy might, while our heroes’ flagging strength is boosted. Heimall uses a [i]knight’s move[/i] to get the dragonborn into a flanking position, while uttering a [i]commander’s strike[/i] that permits Vann-La to land another punishing blow on Sir Unleafe. Not far away from them, Unleafe’s nightmare mount charges forward and crashes into Iggy for an appalling amount of damage even as the skeletal bats slash at the wizards with their bony talons as they fly by. “This isn’t good!” Iggy exclaims, and [i]dimension doors[/i] away. He casts a [i]scorching burst[/i], but the disorientation that his teleportation caused makes him miss. Hkatha is left to fend for himself. He ducks as one of the bats flies by, suffers a flaming hoof to the shoulder from the nightmare, which rears and prepares to crash down full upon him; but in the instant before it does so, the other bat snatches Hkatha and drags him up into the air- and out of the way. He groans, feeling blood soaking through his tunic and uniform. Its talons squeeze him, and his head swims for a moment from the constricting pressure on his lungs. Then the pressure relents. Hkatha gasps in a breath of air- and realizes that he is falling. With a bone-crunching crash, he lands not in the stands surrounding the coliseum, nor even on the coliseum floor. Instead, the bat’s aim is perfect, and the tiefling drops straight into one of the pits in the floor of the coliseum. He groans again and shakes his head, then looks up. He swears. And starts to climb. *** Another shuriken flies out and takes a goblin in the throat, and Cook pushes his way in the guard house. His throwing stars are everywhere; his left hand holds a dagger, with which he deflects the few blows that the confused, surprised and demoralized Hand troops can muster. Another few shuriken, another few stabs, and the gatehouse falls quiet. Quickly, Cook binds his wounds, and then he turns to the windlass that opens the gates at the bottom of the coliseum. Grinning again, he begins cranking it. *** Outside, the audience is in a stake of confusion and panic. Their leaders are under assault, their games have been interrupted and their coliseum is on fire. When the gates begin to creak open, they finally see a way out, and the milling crowd suddenly becomes a massive rush. Goblins and kobolds- the smaller of the Hand forces- are trampled. Gnolls and orcs, hobgoblins and lizardfolk, all join in the massive press towards the exit. Audience members are forced by the mass of bodies over the edge; they fall into the hazards in the floor of the coliseum below. Some die in the fall; some to the hazards that they fall upon. Others find themselves suddenly attacked by their slaves, some of whom were armed in order to fight in the games. “Slaves of Northshore, rise up!” yells Cook. “The time of your liberation has arrived!” *** Vann-La strikes again, gasping with the effort, and Sir Unleafe collapses to the ground in a smoking pile of soiled robes and bones. Sharm the Terrible gives a howl of combined rage and pleasure. [i]He is out of the way, and I do not even need to lie about not having been involved![/i] the kobold gloats, then spins into a [i]kobold whirlwind,[/i] his scimitars slashing all around him. Torinn cries in pain, staggering back; then the nightmare, billowing smoke, charges in at him as well. He swings his spiked chain around him, clearing some space, and Heimall, Vann-La and he focus their attacks on the deadly kobold. Vann-La smashes Sharm the Terrible’s shoulder with her maul. “Take that!” she cries. In return, Sharm draws an X on Vann-La’s torso with her two scimitars, then [i]double attacks[/i] Torinn, dropping him. Unfortunately for the Six-Fingered Hand, the dragonborn pops up again immediately, using a [i]healing word[/i] to fortify himself.** “Damn it, go down!” swears Heimall, stabbing out again with his glaive. Sharm’s eyes widen as he recognizes [i]Throat-Ripper.[/i] “You are the ones who slew Heshwat the Eviscerator!” the kobold exclaims. “That’s right,” replies Heimall, “and you’re next.” *** Finally pulling himself out of the pit, Hkatha invokes a [i]flaming sphere[/i] and sends it down into the crowd. The ball of flame rolls through them, increasing the panic. Screams echo everywhere. It is total chaos. Arrows are still flying through the air, especially from a group of brownscale lizard folk, notes the wizard. The two skeletal bats are still swooping at the heroes- one has taken to harrying Iggy, the other to assaulting Cook. Hkatha winces as a [i]prismatic burst[/i] explodes with blinding force near the center of the fight; then, he sees several arrows sink into Cook with seemingly impossible accuracy. The dwarf drops like a sack of gravel. With a gesture, Hkatha sends his [i]flaming sphere[/i] towards the archer lizard folk, and he quickly begins to make his way across the arena floor towards his fallen companion. *** Sharm parries, dodges, whirls and slashes; cuts, ducks, feints and strikes. But there are [i]so many[/i] of the foe... [i]Heshwat,[/i] he thinks, as another blow to the face rattles his teeth and knocks several loose, [i]now I understand why you had so much trouble with these people![/i] He tries everything, tumbling back, hacking and slashing; but now he is on the retreat, as the invaders press him harder and harder towards the edge of the coliseum. [i]“All bets are off,[/i] you scum!” cries Torinn, his spiked chain slashing against the kobold and the nightmare. Sharm is weakening, and he knows he can’t take much more of this unceasing assault. He tumbles back again and gets to his feet just in time to see the blue-skinned elf cow coming for him. He tries to raise a scimitar to parry, but it catches on the bench- [b]Crunch![/b] *** An arrow pounds Hkatha in the shoulder, and he spins around and almost loses his footing. There is blood on the floor of the coliseum, soaking the sand. With a gesture, the wizard sends his [i]flaming sphere[/i] rolling into the midst of the archer formation again; he curls his lip as one of them catches fire, shrieking, and tries to flee. But he has nowhere to go; instead, he collapses, his screams slowly dying. Another hail of arrows lances out towards him, arcing over the crowd. He throws his hands up and gasps a quick incantation, and a barely-visible [i]shield[/i] of force springs up, deflecting the incoming missiles. Hkatha continues to limp his way towards the archers- who are virtually the only organized resistance that remains- and grins as Torinn leaps on them from above, crashing on top of one of the brownscales like a meteor. He begins laying about himself with his spiked chain, and Hkatha keeps adding chaos with his [i]flaming sphere[/i]. *** With Sharm the Terrible slain, our heroes surround the nightmare and start the grim process of slaying it, stabbing and smashing at it even as it whirls around, spilling demonic smoke everywhere. Flames spring up in its wake as it tries to break free of their assault, but Heimall calls for a [i]white raven onslaught[/i] and the party keeps it penned between them. It screams in rage, a horrific noise full of hate, but there is no escape for it. Heimall uses [i]Throat-Ripper[/i] and tears off its head. Spurting liquid fire, the beast keeps moving for another few moments, flailing blindly around at everything nearby, but then it finally collapses. There is no time to stop and catch their breath. Torinn and Hkatha are still fighting down below, finishing off the archers, and the others move to join them. But where is Cook? *** The slaves are rising. Using whatever weapons they can find- and there are many scattered about, after the slaughter that our heroes brought to town- they express to the Six-Fingered Hand exactly how much they appreciate the last five years of slavery and servitude. They were born free, citizens of an Empire that may or may not still exist. Then their freedom was taken from them, stolen by the man-eating humanoids that have terrified and lorded over them for years. When the Hand first came, these people- for the most part- were peasants, not warriors. They were not forced to fight. But now, although not forced, they fight for their lost freedom. They pick up whatever stick or stone is handy and attack the orcs near them, slit the throats of the kobolds, run through the lizard folk. Northshore’s time has come. *** The two skeletal bats wheel about and fly off into the distance. The roar of the crowd, the sounds of panic and fighting are everywhere. “Here!” cries Hkatha. “Torinn, Heimall, one of you- come help! I found Cook, and he’s dying!” “Gather around, quick!” orders Torinn. The party clusters around; and the dragonborn tilts his head back and utters a prayer to Lester. Wounds knit; Cook gives a startled cough, and his eyes fly open. He spits dirt and blood and groans. “Oi,” he says weakly, and drags himself to his feet. “Did we win?” “The death knight and the kobold are dead,” pronounces Heimall. “We got his horse, too,” adds Torinn. [i][b]Next Time:[/b][/i][b][/b] Sigil Sequences! *Sir Unleafe swore his [i]oath of enmity[/i] against Vann-La, allowing him to roll each of his attacks against her twice. **Blast, only in retrospect do I realize that he should have stayed down. He had regeneration going, but it doesn’t work once you’re at 0 hit points or below- a technicality that I missed. Oh well, I’m sure Heimall would have just [i]inspiring worded[/i] him on his next turn anyhow. [/QUOTE]
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