Against the Shadows VII - A Faded Glory Story Hour (Re-Updated - 5/17)
- Thread starter Old One
- Start date
...
Rel
Liquid Awesome
I'm sorry that it has taken a few days to get around to reading this update but it was worth the wait. Boy, you can just feel the tension leaping off the computer screen, can't you?
And for those of you who are struggling to play once a month or so, you have my sympathies. Our group has managed (somehow) to maintain a 1/week schedule for years and judging from how much stuff we forget from session to session, we'd have a nightmare trying to keep any continuity if we played 1/4 as often or less.
I'm very thankful for the arrangement I've got and I wish you all the same.
BTW, Old One, there is a very small chance that my wife and child may go out of town to visit a relative on the date of the Game Day you're planning. If that happens, I might make the drive up to attend. That's the only way I'd be able to get away with that considering that NCGDV is the preceeding weekend.
Hopefully it will work out but I'm not counting on it yet.
And for those of you who are struggling to play once a month or so, you have my sympathies. Our group has managed (somehow) to maintain a 1/week schedule for years and judging from how much stuff we forget from session to session, we'd have a nightmare trying to keep any continuity if we played 1/4 as often or less.
I'm very thankful for the arrangement I've got and I wish you all the same.
BTW, Old One, there is a very small chance that my wife and child may go out of town to visit a relative on the date of the Game Day you're planning. If that happens, I might make the drive up to attend. That's the only way I'd be able to get away with that considering that NCGDV is the preceeding weekend.
Hopefully it will work out but I'm not counting on it yet.
Ola, Rel!
Rel,
Thanks mucho...glad ya liked the cliffhanger
!
Yeah...I really give credit to the players for hanging in with me. My schedule is very variable these days...so it is tough to get in the grove. If I could play more regularly, I would...but it is not to be right now
.
That would rock! Let's keep our fingers crossed!
~ Old One
Rel said:
Rel,
Thanks mucho...glad ya liked the cliffhanger
!Rel said:
Yeah...I really give credit to the players for hanging in with me. My schedule is very variable these days...so it is tough to get in the grove. If I could play more regularly, I would...but it is not to be right now
.Rel said:
That would rock! Let's keep our fingers crossed!
~ Old One
Session 24 (Part Two)
"R" Rating Warning
Not Enough Tears
Quintus cursed and pulled up short half a bowshot from the enemy formation as a roiling wall of fog appeared betwixt them. His companions continued forward in a rough skirmish line, but also slowed their advance. The sorcerer briefly contemplated using his Alter Self spell to return to the air, but feared the combined effects of more summoned undead bats. Instead, he prepared to blast anything that came through the fog.
On the other side of the obscuring vapors, the shorter necromancer nodded to her taller companion and issued orders. A gaggle of mostly skeletal undead lurched forward, heading for the fog. One of the few zombies in the group, a diminutive creature with a half-eaten face and an unnatural gleam in its rotted eyes, brushed past the shorter necromancer as it advanced. She barely noticed, however, as she counted the writhing bundles encased in skeletal ribcages for the third time. “Yes,” she whispered, “just enough left!”
She turned, barking orders. Her necromantic cohort and menacing undead captain helped the ruffians herd the remaining children into the one working wagon. She glanced skyward for a moment, mentally communicating with her raven familiar. The empathic report she received brought a feral grin to her face.
Sextus, Drusilla, Rowan, Röse and the Emorians reached the swirling mist and halted. Rowan’s keen ears picked up movement just beyond the concealing vapors. “Something approaches,” he barked.
Röse hesitated for a moment, and then plunged into the fog. Cragen, straining to catch the rest of the group, shared a low curse with Quintus as he hustled past the sorcerer, huffing and puffing. The elder Scipio sent a sharp command to Severus and the osprey screeched loudly before swooping down over the mist. The sorcerer tried to construct mental picture of the scene behind the maddening obstruction.
Sextus peered into the mist and swallowed hard as ghostly outlines began to appear. Rowan quickly notched an arrow and drew to his ear, waiting. Bato and Junior Tribune Metallus positioned themselves on the left end of the skirmish line and locked shields. Drusilla held back a bit, gladius and pugio held low, waiting for an opportunity.
Röse burst through the far side of the fog cloud unscathed, having passed right through the center of the undead mob. His eyes locked on the activity on the bridge and he sprinted forward, weapons borrowed from Sextus and Rowan gripped tightly in his huge hands. His battered face split in a wolf-like grin as he noticed the necromancers had few protectors around them. He grunted and increased his speed.
Quintus narrowed his eyes and calmly began to gather his arcane power as he noted the posture shifts of his front-line companions. He reached out to his familiar again, recalibrated his line of attack and idly thought that a side benefit of his impending Fireball would be the dissipation of the clinging mist. His fingers twitched reflexively.
Sextus swallowed hard as the first pair of undead loomed out of the fog, one large and one small. He began to swing at the smaller lead figure, but his blow lost momentum halfway through the swing. Unnatural light shone from the eyes of the diminutive zombie that faced the younger Scipio. Even in its current corrupted state, gnaw marks were still clearly visible on the ravaged visage of Garrick the halfling, erstwhile companion of Rowan, Röse and the departed Lew. Behind the moldering body of Garrick loomed the armored form of Marcus Tiro, former militiaman of Glynden. Sextus momentarily questioned his sanity when Garrick extended a cloth-wrapped bundle towards the bard and croaked, “H…e…l…p.”
Cragen tried to will his weary legs to push his stout dwarven frame to greater speeds as his stubby fingers closed around his holy symbol. A ragged line of skeletons was emerging from the mist. The dwarf’s practiced eye judged the distance and he cursed, “Still…too…far…away.”
The taller necromancer shouted an alarm as Röse leapt onto the tongue of the undead chariot at speed, murder gleaming in his eyes. Her shout turned to derisive laughter as the usually nimble barbarian lost his footing, straddling the bony pole and receiving a crushing blow to the groin. A strangled groan slipped from the Brigante as he slowly slipped to the ground, stunned.
(DM’s note: Röse is good for comic relief, if nothing else! He tries to do something heroic, gets a low DC balance check to split the enemy force and smack the necros and rolls a natural “1” on his skill check! That boy just can’t buy a break!)
Sextus shook off his amazement as several skeletons began moving around the immobile Garrick and Marcus Tiro. He noted unnatural movement around the midsection of each skeleton. There, swaddled tightly in the fused ribcages of each skeleton, squirmed a Glynden infant. The sharp-eyed Rowan noted the anomaly at the exact same time. The pair exchanged a brief look of utmost horror and turned towards Quintus, screaming in unison.
“No!”
It was too late.
A glowing pellet streaked between the ranger and the bard and detonated in the center of the fog bank. Flames ripped through the undead band, incinerating skeletons, captive infants and mist alike. Sextus threw up an arm to shield his face as the fire flared before him, engulfing Marcus Tiro and briefly washing over Garrick. The bard blinked as the magical blaze receded, leaving nearly a score of crumbled remains in its wake. The slightly singed undead halfling, unnatural intelligence burning in his eye sockets, once again offered Sextus the cloth-wrapped bundle.
Silent tears streaming down his face, the younger Scipio reached out with trembling hands.
Rowan stood stock still for a moment, stunned at their misfortune. Quintus’s Fireball had torn most of the mist away like a gauze curtain and decimated the center of the undead platoon. The flanks, however, were still intact. A half-score skeletons and zombies crashed into the Emorians and a similar amount curled around towards the spot Sextus, Rowan and Drusilla stood, dumbfounded.
The ranger took in the cluster of activity around the remaining wagons in a grain or two. His blood ran cold as a menacing figure, clad in archaic armor, advanced towards the companions, spatha swinging low. He sent a shaft speeding toward the undead commander, who disdainfully swatted it out of the air with his large shield and continued forward.
Röse had an eerie sense of déjà vu as blows rained downed on him. The partially incapacitated Brigante sought to protect himself, but two ruffians and the taller necromancer were quickly pounding him into oblivion. As the worst effects of his mishap wore off, he summoned the rage of his ancestors and lurched to his feet. The shorter necromancer, who had just finished casting a spell, turned and raised her wand.
Quintus’s mind was reeling. He had realized the true nature of the skeletal infant carriers a single grain before his spell impacted. Horror, disbelief and grief threatened to overwhelm his mind. A gentle mental tug from Severus was followed by a mental slap…like talons ripping across his mind. He willed himself to focus and cursed as another blanket of mist obscured the necromancers and the wagons from his sight. He strode forward, heedless of the combat swirling around him, his spirit screaming for revenge.
(DM’s Note: Normally, you need line-of-sight to cast a fireball. I allowed Quintus’s player to make a Spellcraft Check (I believe the DC was 15), to target the center of the Obscuring Mist, since he was using the airborne Severus to “triangulate” for him. Maybe NOT the best idea...)
Drusilla and Rowan prepared to meet the onslaught of three skeletons and twice as many zombies while a badly shaken Sextus received the bundle from Garrick. The undead halfling nodded once, glowing eyes blazing, and something akin to a horrible grin spread across his mangled face. The bard loosed the cloth binding, half expecting to see an infant. Instead, he found himself gazing at a heavy tome with a rune-carved leather covering. He looked up in surprise, but the diminutive zombie had disappeared into the tumult.
The left wing of the undead platoon slammed into Rowan and Drusilla, but much of the force of the attack dissipated as three skeletons and three zombies crumbled into the sum of their various parts. Cragen had arrived.
The furious dwarf, still bearing a slight violet glow from Moradin’s residual power, tried to bring some order to the chaos the companion’s found themselves in. Röse was no where to be seen, Sextus seemed incapable of action and the Emorians were fighting for their lives against eight or nine enemies a stone’s throw away. He noted the undead commander emerging from the second fog bank, but resisted the urge to run to the attack. “First things first, “ he growled.
Rowan and Drusilla dispatched the remaining zombies and secured several squalling infants from the dust of their erstwhile skeletal prisons. The ranger flashed a quick hand sign at Drusilla, who nodded and scooped the trio carefully into her steady arms before slowly withdrawing.
Röse’s panic-stricken brain was able to wrap itself around one coherent thought as the barbarian, having fallen victim to the necromancer’s Wand of Fear, hurled his battered body off the bridge for the second time in as many hours. “I hope I land in the same spot.”
The squat necromancer nodded curtly as the last nearby enemy disappeared and quickly summoned a brace of spectral steeds. “Get them in the traces and get this brood moving,” she snapped at the remaining pair of ruffians.
She turned to find her taller companion regarding her with hooded eyes. Anger welled up within her at the unspoken challenge. “What? We still have enough…and our relief will be here in a nonce. Now get moving!”
Within fifteen grains, the bone chariot left the bridge, followed by a creaking wagon. They immediately turned northeast, angling away from the battle and towards the approaching undead force from the Legio III Armorica, recently torn from their eternal repose. The taller necromancer noted Quintus’s familiar wheeling above the battlefield, narrowed her eyes and began casting.
Cragen’s holy power demolished most of the right wing of the undead force, leaving the balance to the wounded Emorians and Rowan as he turned to meet the undead commander. Quintus, guided by Severus was angling to intercept the now-moving caravan. The sorcerer paused briefly to send several Magic Missiles into the undead warrior before continuing forward, trusting in the sturdy dwarf to protect his flank.
Rowan was torn. The decimation of the enemy right flank had left two more babies crying on the ground. He desperately wanted to join Cragen, but couldn’t leave the infants unprotected. Roundly cursing his misfortune, he gathered the tiny bundles under each arm and moved back to join Drusilla.
Dwarf met undead champion in a ringing cacophony of spatha and hammer on respective shields. The undead warrior’s fearful shout was less effective this time, only affecting the already shaken Sextus. The poor bard, his spirit already aching, clutched the black tome to his chest and fled toward the river as fast as he could run.
Bato and the Junior Tribune, shaken but not quailed, split and prepared to flank Cragen’s opponent. Bato cast a quick look over his shoulder, more from guarded habit than anything else. He ground to a halt and stood stock still, slack jawed and staring. “Osirian have mercy…”
The skeletal legionnaires had arrived.
Quintus saw the bone chariot emerge from behind the second cloud of mist and grimly began to gather his will. He cursed silently as yet another fog bank appeared, quickly masking the enemy from direct observation once again. He reached out to Severus and sent the bird streaking towards the last known location of the bone chariot. He stopped and focused, determined to stop the foul necromancers.
From his new vantage point with Drusilla, Rowan could see disaster looming. Sextus was fleeing to the west. Cragen, Junior Tribune Metallus and Bato were engaged with undead champion and Quintus was standing immobile in the path of the onrushing skeletal legion. He turned to Drusilla. “Quick, we have got to get these small ones over the bridge. Can you run?”
Drusilla had used her cloak to fashion a sling to hold her three charges. She responded by sprinting towards the now unoccupied bridge. Only a lone wagon, bereft of a team, remained at the southern end of the bridge. Rowan followed, praying for speed and courage.
Cragen and the Junior Tribune’s combined assault inflicted some damage on the undead commander, but his return strikes were brutally efficient. He feinted towards Cragen, and then drove the Emorian back with a deft combination of sword stroke and shield rush. Suddenly, instead of pressing his advantage, he withdrew a dozen paces and lifted his blade in a mock salute. Cragen stood for a moment, shaking his head in confusion until Bato’s warning cry alerted him to the hundreds of undead legionnaires barely a spear’s throw away. “Moradin’s beard!”
Grating laughter assaulted their ears from behind the Berylian helm as the undead champion left them to the newly arrived troops and headed towards his mistress. The laughter turned to an evil chuckle as his burning eyes noted the motionless form of Quintus directly in his line of march.
Cold sweat beaded on the elder Scipio’s brow. A small part of his mind recognized the large force bearing down on them from the northeast and an even smaller part understood the extreme risk of what he was about to attempt. His heart ached for those innocents already dead, but he refused to allow the remainder to suffer an even worse fate. He reached out again to his familiar, using the bird’s keen eyesight to zero in on the bone chariot on the other side of the roiling mist. He gathered his power, communed with the osprey one last time and prepared to release.
Just as began to loose his magic, three skeletal bats appeared in the air just in front of Severus causing the bird to screech and veer violently. The mental link with his master was jolted for less than half a grain, but that fleeting distraction was enough. The unguided Fireball pellet hurtled through the mist and struck the wagonload of children square amidships, reducing it to a flaming funeral pyre.
The short necromancer screamed in anger. “No!”
She raged against the companions as the flames consumed her hope. “Ashai curse you!”
The skeletal legionnaires had drawn parallel to the bone chariot on their opposite line of march. Her command echoed across the battlefield. “Leave none standing!”
Her voice dropped into a low growl, “The rest of you follow me.”
The undead commander heeded his mistresses’ command, pausing briefly to cut down Quintus as followed her to the northeast.
Cragan, Bato and Junior Tribune Metallus stood for a moment…three living beings in the tide of undeath. The skeletal legionnaires of the III Armorica drew their rusty blades in one jerky motion and closed on the companions.
(DM’s Note: This was the ultimate in misfortune L…as noted earlier, I allowed Quintus to make a Spellcraft check to target with his familiar. You guessed it…he rolled a natural “1”. A scatter die roll by me followed…with the scatter die results putting it right on top of the wagon of children…bleah
!)
To Be Continued…
Next: Blame and Circumstance
~ Old One
"R" Rating Warning
Not Enough Tears
Quintus cursed and pulled up short half a bowshot from the enemy formation as a roiling wall of fog appeared betwixt them. His companions continued forward in a rough skirmish line, but also slowed their advance. The sorcerer briefly contemplated using his Alter Self spell to return to the air, but feared the combined effects of more summoned undead bats. Instead, he prepared to blast anything that came through the fog.
On the other side of the obscuring vapors, the shorter necromancer nodded to her taller companion and issued orders. A gaggle of mostly skeletal undead lurched forward, heading for the fog. One of the few zombies in the group, a diminutive creature with a half-eaten face and an unnatural gleam in its rotted eyes, brushed past the shorter necromancer as it advanced. She barely noticed, however, as she counted the writhing bundles encased in skeletal ribcages for the third time. “Yes,” she whispered, “just enough left!”
She turned, barking orders. Her necromantic cohort and menacing undead captain helped the ruffians herd the remaining children into the one working wagon. She glanced skyward for a moment, mentally communicating with her raven familiar. The empathic report she received brought a feral grin to her face.
Sextus, Drusilla, Rowan, Röse and the Emorians reached the swirling mist and halted. Rowan’s keen ears picked up movement just beyond the concealing vapors. “Something approaches,” he barked.
Röse hesitated for a moment, and then plunged into the fog. Cragen, straining to catch the rest of the group, shared a low curse with Quintus as he hustled past the sorcerer, huffing and puffing. The elder Scipio sent a sharp command to Severus and the osprey screeched loudly before swooping down over the mist. The sorcerer tried to construct mental picture of the scene behind the maddening obstruction.
Sextus peered into the mist and swallowed hard as ghostly outlines began to appear. Rowan quickly notched an arrow and drew to his ear, waiting. Bato and Junior Tribune Metallus positioned themselves on the left end of the skirmish line and locked shields. Drusilla held back a bit, gladius and pugio held low, waiting for an opportunity.
Röse burst through the far side of the fog cloud unscathed, having passed right through the center of the undead mob. His eyes locked on the activity on the bridge and he sprinted forward, weapons borrowed from Sextus and Rowan gripped tightly in his huge hands. His battered face split in a wolf-like grin as he noticed the necromancers had few protectors around them. He grunted and increased his speed.
Quintus narrowed his eyes and calmly began to gather his arcane power as he noted the posture shifts of his front-line companions. He reached out to his familiar again, recalibrated his line of attack and idly thought that a side benefit of his impending Fireball would be the dissipation of the clinging mist. His fingers twitched reflexively.
Sextus swallowed hard as the first pair of undead loomed out of the fog, one large and one small. He began to swing at the smaller lead figure, but his blow lost momentum halfway through the swing. Unnatural light shone from the eyes of the diminutive zombie that faced the younger Scipio. Even in its current corrupted state, gnaw marks were still clearly visible on the ravaged visage of Garrick the halfling, erstwhile companion of Rowan, Röse and the departed Lew. Behind the moldering body of Garrick loomed the armored form of Marcus Tiro, former militiaman of Glynden. Sextus momentarily questioned his sanity when Garrick extended a cloth-wrapped bundle towards the bard and croaked, “H…e…l…p.”
Cragen tried to will his weary legs to push his stout dwarven frame to greater speeds as his stubby fingers closed around his holy symbol. A ragged line of skeletons was emerging from the mist. The dwarf’s practiced eye judged the distance and he cursed, “Still…too…far…away.”
The taller necromancer shouted an alarm as Röse leapt onto the tongue of the undead chariot at speed, murder gleaming in his eyes. Her shout turned to derisive laughter as the usually nimble barbarian lost his footing, straddling the bony pole and receiving a crushing blow to the groin. A strangled groan slipped from the Brigante as he slowly slipped to the ground, stunned.
(DM’s note: Röse is good for comic relief, if nothing else! He tries to do something heroic, gets a low DC balance check to split the enemy force and smack the necros and rolls a natural “1” on his skill check! That boy just can’t buy a break
!)Sextus shook off his amazement as several skeletons began moving around the immobile Garrick and Marcus Tiro. He noted unnatural movement around the midsection of each skeleton. There, swaddled tightly in the fused ribcages of each skeleton, squirmed a Glynden infant. The sharp-eyed Rowan noted the anomaly at the exact same time. The pair exchanged a brief look of utmost horror and turned towards Quintus, screaming in unison.
“No!”
It was too late.
A glowing pellet streaked between the ranger and the bard and detonated in the center of the fog bank. Flames ripped through the undead band, incinerating skeletons, captive infants and mist alike. Sextus threw up an arm to shield his face as the fire flared before him, engulfing Marcus Tiro and briefly washing over Garrick. The bard blinked as the magical blaze receded, leaving nearly a score of crumbled remains in its wake. The slightly singed undead halfling, unnatural intelligence burning in his eye sockets, once again offered Sextus the cloth-wrapped bundle.
Silent tears streaming down his face, the younger Scipio reached out with trembling hands.
Rowan stood stock still for a moment, stunned at their misfortune. Quintus’s Fireball had torn most of the mist away like a gauze curtain and decimated the center of the undead platoon. The flanks, however, were still intact. A half-score skeletons and zombies crashed into the Emorians and a similar amount curled around towards the spot Sextus, Rowan and Drusilla stood, dumbfounded.
The ranger took in the cluster of activity around the remaining wagons in a grain or two. His blood ran cold as a menacing figure, clad in archaic armor, advanced towards the companions, spatha swinging low. He sent a shaft speeding toward the undead commander, who disdainfully swatted it out of the air with his large shield and continued forward.
Röse had an eerie sense of déjà vu as blows rained downed on him. The partially incapacitated Brigante sought to protect himself, but two ruffians and the taller necromancer were quickly pounding him into oblivion. As the worst effects of his mishap wore off, he summoned the rage of his ancestors and lurched to his feet. The shorter necromancer, who had just finished casting a spell, turned and raised her wand.
Quintus’s mind was reeling. He had realized the true nature of the skeletal infant carriers a single grain before his spell impacted. Horror, disbelief and grief threatened to overwhelm his mind. A gentle mental tug from Severus was followed by a mental slap…like talons ripping across his mind. He willed himself to focus and cursed as another blanket of mist obscured the necromancers and the wagons from his sight. He strode forward, heedless of the combat swirling around him, his spirit screaming for revenge.
(DM’s Note: Normally, you need line-of-sight to cast a fireball. I allowed Quintus’s player to make a Spellcraft Check (I believe the DC was 15), to target the center of the Obscuring Mist, since he was using the airborne Severus to “triangulate” for him. Maybe NOT the best idea...
)Drusilla and Rowan prepared to meet the onslaught of three skeletons and twice as many zombies while a badly shaken Sextus received the bundle from Garrick. The undead halfling nodded once, glowing eyes blazing, and something akin to a horrible grin spread across his mangled face. The bard loosed the cloth binding, half expecting to see an infant. Instead, he found himself gazing at a heavy tome with a rune-carved leather covering. He looked up in surprise, but the diminutive zombie had disappeared into the tumult.
The left wing of the undead platoon slammed into Rowan and Drusilla, but much of the force of the attack dissipated as three skeletons and three zombies crumbled into the sum of their various parts. Cragen had arrived.
The furious dwarf, still bearing a slight violet glow from Moradin’s residual power, tried to bring some order to the chaos the companion’s found themselves in. Röse was no where to be seen, Sextus seemed incapable of action and the Emorians were fighting for their lives against eight or nine enemies a stone’s throw away. He noted the undead commander emerging from the second fog bank, but resisted the urge to run to the attack. “First things first, “ he growled.
Rowan and Drusilla dispatched the remaining zombies and secured several squalling infants from the dust of their erstwhile skeletal prisons. The ranger flashed a quick hand sign at Drusilla, who nodded and scooped the trio carefully into her steady arms before slowly withdrawing.
Röse’s panic-stricken brain was able to wrap itself around one coherent thought as the barbarian, having fallen victim to the necromancer’s Wand of Fear, hurled his battered body off the bridge for the second time in as many hours. “I hope I land in the same spot.”
The squat necromancer nodded curtly as the last nearby enemy disappeared and quickly summoned a brace of spectral steeds. “Get them in the traces and get this brood moving,” she snapped at the remaining pair of ruffians.
She turned to find her taller companion regarding her with hooded eyes. Anger welled up within her at the unspoken challenge. “What? We still have enough…and our relief will be here in a nonce. Now get moving!”
Within fifteen grains, the bone chariot left the bridge, followed by a creaking wagon. They immediately turned northeast, angling away from the battle and towards the approaching undead force from the Legio III Armorica, recently torn from their eternal repose. The taller necromancer noted Quintus’s familiar wheeling above the battlefield, narrowed her eyes and began casting.
Cragen’s holy power demolished most of the right wing of the undead force, leaving the balance to the wounded Emorians and Rowan as he turned to meet the undead commander. Quintus, guided by Severus was angling to intercept the now-moving caravan. The sorcerer paused briefly to send several Magic Missiles into the undead warrior before continuing forward, trusting in the sturdy dwarf to protect his flank.
Rowan was torn. The decimation of the enemy right flank had left two more babies crying on the ground. He desperately wanted to join Cragen, but couldn’t leave the infants unprotected. Roundly cursing his misfortune, he gathered the tiny bundles under each arm and moved back to join Drusilla.
Dwarf met undead champion in a ringing cacophony of spatha and hammer on respective shields. The undead warrior’s fearful shout was less effective this time, only affecting the already shaken Sextus. The poor bard, his spirit already aching, clutched the black tome to his chest and fled toward the river as fast as he could run.
Bato and the Junior Tribune, shaken but not quailed, split and prepared to flank Cragen’s opponent. Bato cast a quick look over his shoulder, more from guarded habit than anything else. He ground to a halt and stood stock still, slack jawed and staring. “Osirian have mercy…”
The skeletal legionnaires had arrived.
Quintus saw the bone chariot emerge from behind the second cloud of mist and grimly began to gather his will. He cursed silently as yet another fog bank appeared, quickly masking the enemy from direct observation once again. He reached out to Severus and sent the bird streaking towards the last known location of the bone chariot. He stopped and focused, determined to stop the foul necromancers.
From his new vantage point with Drusilla, Rowan could see disaster looming. Sextus was fleeing to the west. Cragen, Junior Tribune Metallus and Bato were engaged with undead champion and Quintus was standing immobile in the path of the onrushing skeletal legion. He turned to Drusilla. “Quick, we have got to get these small ones over the bridge. Can you run?”
Drusilla had used her cloak to fashion a sling to hold her three charges. She responded by sprinting towards the now unoccupied bridge. Only a lone wagon, bereft of a team, remained at the southern end of the bridge. Rowan followed, praying for speed and courage.
Cragen and the Junior Tribune’s combined assault inflicted some damage on the undead commander, but his return strikes were brutally efficient. He feinted towards Cragen, and then drove the Emorian back with a deft combination of sword stroke and shield rush. Suddenly, instead of pressing his advantage, he withdrew a dozen paces and lifted his blade in a mock salute. Cragen stood for a moment, shaking his head in confusion until Bato’s warning cry alerted him to the hundreds of undead legionnaires barely a spear’s throw away. “Moradin’s beard!”
Grating laughter assaulted their ears from behind the Berylian helm as the undead champion left them to the newly arrived troops and headed towards his mistress. The laughter turned to an evil chuckle as his burning eyes noted the motionless form of Quintus directly in his line of march.
Cold sweat beaded on the elder Scipio’s brow. A small part of his mind recognized the large force bearing down on them from the northeast and an even smaller part understood the extreme risk of what he was about to attempt. His heart ached for those innocents already dead, but he refused to allow the remainder to suffer an even worse fate. He reached out again to his familiar, using the bird’s keen eyesight to zero in on the bone chariot on the other side of the roiling mist. He gathered his power, communed with the osprey one last time and prepared to release.
Just as began to loose his magic, three skeletal bats appeared in the air just in front of Severus causing the bird to screech and veer violently. The mental link with his master was jolted for less than half a grain, but that fleeting distraction was enough. The unguided Fireball pellet hurtled through the mist and struck the wagonload of children square amidships, reducing it to a flaming funeral pyre.
The short necromancer screamed in anger. “No!”
She raged against the companions as the flames consumed her hope. “Ashai curse you!”
The skeletal legionnaires had drawn parallel to the bone chariot on their opposite line of march. Her command echoed across the battlefield. “Leave none standing!”
Her voice dropped into a low growl, “The rest of you follow me.”
The undead commander heeded his mistresses’ command, pausing briefly to cut down Quintus as followed her to the northeast.
Cragan, Bato and Junior Tribune Metallus stood for a moment…three living beings in the tide of undeath. The skeletal legionnaires of the III Armorica drew their rusty blades in one jerky motion and closed on the companions.
(DM’s Note: This was the ultimate in misfortune L…as noted earlier, I allowed Quintus to make a Spellcraft check to target with his familiar. You guessed it…he rolled a natural “1”. A scatter die roll by me followed…with the scatter die results putting it right on top of the wagon of children…bleah
!)To Be Continued…
Next: Blame and Circumstance
~ Old One
Last edited:
Rel
Liquid Awesome
HO-LEE ****!!
I almost don't know what to say except this:
Old One, I don't believe I could out-bastard you on the bastardingest day of my life, even if I had an electrified bastardizing machine! I BOW before your bastardliness.
Damn. And when I say "Damn", I mean, "DAY-um".
That is all.
I almost don't know what to say except this:
Old One, I don't believe I could out-bastard you on the bastardingest day of my life, even if I had an electrified bastardizing machine! I BOW before your bastardliness.
Damn. And when I say "Damn", I mean, "DAY-um".
That is all.
Well...
Rel,
I wish I could take full credit for Rat Bastardliness here...but much of what happened was...um...self-inflicted, shall we say. I did, however, put them in a VERY precarious moral dilemma. Do they let the necromancers go (and the children with them) to some unknown fate if the rescue attempt fails? Or do they push all out for a "do or die" rescue?
They chose the latter course and the PCs really do have free will within the campaign. Had their initial ambush been successful (which it very nearly was) then they would have triumphed over evil. As it happens, evil (it seems) carried the day here...but the immediate plans may have been thwarted.
Do the ends justify the means? Tough to say...
On a macro scale...there was some very interesting fallout from this session, which I will get into in the near future. One direct outcome was a complete reworking of the "Hero Point" system!
~ Old One
Rel said:HO-LEE ****!!
I almost don't know what to say except this:
Old One, I don't believe I could out-bastard you on the bastardingest day of my life, even if I had an electrified bastardizing machine! I BOW before your bastardliness.
Damn. And when I say "Damn", I mean, "DAY-um".
That is all.
Rel,
I wish I could take full credit for Rat Bastardliness here...but much of what happened was...um...self-inflicted, shall we say. I did, however, put them in a VERY precarious moral dilemma. Do they let the necromancers go (and the children with them) to some unknown fate if the rescue attempt fails? Or do they push all out for a "do or die" rescue?
They chose the latter course and the PCs really do have free will within the campaign. Had their initial ambush been successful (which it very nearly was) then they would have triumphed over evil. As it happens, evil (it seems) carried the day here...but the immediate plans may have been thwarted.
Do the ends justify the means? Tough to say...
On a macro scale...there was some very interesting fallout from this session, which I will get into in the near future. One direct outcome was a complete reworking of the "Hero Point" system!
~ Old One
Rel
Liquid Awesome
Old One said:
There's no doubt that much of the situation and resulting mishaps (Rose jumping off the bridge AGAIN, but not before a good hard blow to the fellas) were a combination of bad luck and tough choices. But I was specifically thinking of the whole combination of Obscuring Mist/Zombie Garrick/Vulnerable Infants/Undead Commander/Necromancer/Wagonload of Children, oh and by the way, an Undead Emorian Legion.
Nothing like having your dead friend hand you a swaddled infant right at the moment where every sword swing has to count or you are looking at a possible TPK and the death of a wagonload of children.
Good times...
Rel said:
Oh...well...there IS that
! The Obscuring Mist was a fine, inexpensive (ie, low power) way to divide the battlefield...since it is hard to hit what you can't see. Quintus's idea to use Severus to triangulate for him was inspired and pretty much anything but a "1" would have been fine, since he has a pretty high spellcraft...but that isn't how it played out !Also, the Garrick/Marcus Tiro twist was nice...since the pair have appeared either singly or together in the dreams of the original party members (now just numbering Rowan and Rose) from time to time...usually with some manner of cryptic warning that they never figure out
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
...Marcus Tiro got consumed by Quintus's first fireball, but lil' Garrick may still have a part to play in events to come...
I must admit I stole the "babies in the breadbasket" idea from PirateCat and altered it a bit. One of his band of bad guys..."The Dockside Royals"...strapped babies to their chests to keep the "Defenders of Daybreak" from using area of effect spells. The reformed skeletal strollers seemed like a good take off on that
.Rel said:Nothing like having your dead friend hand you a swaddled infant right at the moment where every sword swing has to count or you are looking at a possible TPK and the death of a wagonload of children.
Good times...
Are you SURE it was a swaddled infant? Check again
!Glad you liked it...
~ Old One
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