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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Lazybones" data-source="post: 2036926" data-attributes="member: 143">Well, he was a 7th level cleric, saving vs. DC25. So the odds were definitely against him (at best, he probably had a +9 or +10). * * * * * Chapter 327With several of the gathered notables already dead, and a powerful spellcaster flying above them unleashing more spells, the surprise assault perpetuated by the mad derro had already achieved some degree of success.  But the companions, though bloodied, were quick to reply.  Dannel had strung his bow with a practiced motion, and now drew the first long shaft back to his cheek as he sighted in upon the derro savant.  His first shot missed, turned by the layered magical defenses protecting the sorcerer, but the elf did not hesitate, keeping up a rapid-fire barrage of shots as quickly as he could fit the arrows to his string and draw.  Within six seconds the derro bore two wounds, although his shields had kept the impacts from being anything more than grazing hits.  But the sorcerer only laughed, plucking the arrows from his body to drop to the ground below.  He waved his hand at the elf, calling upon his magic once more in a dread invocation of power.  Dannel staggered as the spell took hold of him, his next arrow falling from his hands as his eyes widened in horror.   “Annoying archer... you remind me of a tunnel slug... in fact, I think I prefer you as one!” Dannel cried out as his body began to shrink and distend, and within a few heartbeats, the nimble elven archer had been replaced by a foot-long gray slug, splayed out over the burned carpet in a slick of greasy slime.The rest of the companions could not come to his aid, as they had their hands full with the derro warriors.  The diminutive demi-dwarves proved quite tenacious, ignoring wounds that should have crippled them, shouting gibberish as they redoubled their berserk, all-out attacks.  Arun kept hitting his foe, but the derro barbarian just simply refused to go down, even with torrents of blood pouring down his body from the rents that the paladin’s holy blade had torn in his chain armor and the flesh beneath.  Hodge held his ground on the holy knight’s flank, but he too was hard pressed, favoring his left side where the derro’s axe had crunched through his armor.  Hodge had opened the battle with violent power attacks, but as they proved ineffective against his dexterous foe he’d switched to a more deliberative approach, standing his ground and exploiting the openings left by his adversary’s raging assault. With Omar Tiskensen’s disintegration, the derro that had faced him cackled maniacally and turned back to finish Premiach Vanderboren.  The nobleman was unconscious, blood still oozing from the deep gash in his side onto the ruined carpet.  His wife Aeberrin held him in her arms, and when the derro turned to face her, lifting his axe, she held herself over his body, offering him protection in what could only be a futile gesture. But before the derro could strike, a fleet form tumbled up on the warrior from behind, leaping into a high flip that culminated with a rapier stabbing deep into the barbarian’s shoulder.  “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, creep!” Mole said, kicking off from the derro’s shoulder and landing easily on her feet a pace back from him.  The derro turned, more enraged than hurt by the attack. “Uh oh,” Mole said, as the dwarfkin rushed at her, his axe sweeping out in a blur.  Beorna had been temporarily forgotten, in the midst of the battle, and she drew upon the fullness of Helm’s might, infusing herself with the divine power of her patron.  She looked up at the sorcerer, and as he polymorphed Dannel she prepared a dispel that would hopefully negate some of his defenses.  But before she could act, a familiar cry drew her around. The last derro warrior, frustrated by the escape of Meerthan and the others, had turned to the nearest vulnerable enemies: Jenya and Ophellha.  The High Priestess was strong in the power of Helm, but on this day she was not clad in heavy armor, nor did she carry any weapon.  Most of her spells were designed to heal and protect, rather than to destroy enemies.  But her expression remained calm as the derro screamed and ran at her, and she did not turn to flee, protecting the elven noblewoman with her slender body.  She hurled a powerful enchantment at the derro, intending to immobilize him, but the creature’s insanity protected it like a shield, and the spell dissipated harmlessly.  She staggered as the derro’s axe clove through her layered robes, opening a cruel gash in her side that grazed the ribs beneath.   Beorna’s roar of rage overshadowed the high-pitched screech of the derro, and she slammed into him from the side with the force of a battering ram.  Her holy blade glanced hard off his partial helm, but even though the blow should have stunned him, the derro hardly hesitated before turning and laying into the templar with his axe.  The derro savant exulted in the chaos that swirled through the chamber below him.  The smell of roasted flesh and fresh blood filled the once-pristine interior of the Great Library.  Even in his insanity he knew that his potent rays would have little chance of affected the tough dwarves, but he aided his warriors by firing an empowered ray of enfeeblement that stabbed into Arun’s chest, draining his strength.  His critically injured adversary took advantage of the paladin’s sudden weakness, leaping at him with a series of crushing blows, two of which penetrated his armor and cut painfully into his flesh. Arun took the hits, and then, grunting against the pain that stabbed through his body, he lifted his sword and drove it through the chest of the derro warrior. Beorna’s intervention had given Jenya a chance to shepherd Ophellha to the chamber exit.  The high priestess looked down at Zachary Aslaxin, lying the foyer, but one look at the roasted corpse was enough to tell her that there was nothing that could be done for him, at least not right now.  “Go!” she said to the elf woman, all but pushing her forward toward the front exit before she turned back toward the raging battle.  She looked frightful, pale with her white robes soaked with her own blood, but a solemn calm seemed to descend about her as she filled herself with the divine power of Helm once again. The companions had taken a beating, but once more healing energy suffused them as Jenya filled the room with a mass cure serious wounds spell.  The derro, without any such benefit, were being quickly worn down.  Arun’s foe had been downed, and as he turned to help Hodge the two dwarves quickly finished the second warrior was well.  Beorna’s adversary could not match her in sheer determination, and even Mole had managed to hold her own, although blood marked her dark clothes in several places as she darted and tumbled around the derro, thus far avoiding the critical blow that would have finished her nimble evasions for good.  She wasn’t even bothering to attack, instead buying time as she harried the frustrated warrior.  Her stratagem worked; as Jenya’s healing filled the room Premiach was able to rise, and the two Vanderborens rushed for the exit.  The savant shrieked as his victims sought escape.  He focused on the high priestess, standing there defying him in the entry to the foyer.  A wise assassin might have chosen to retreat at that moment, as his fighters went down around him. But Kravichak was, of course, insane. The savant laughed as he blasted Jenya with the coruscating green ray of his disintegrate spell.  But Jenya, protected by Helm, simply absorbed the hit, defying destruction even as her body shook with the grim power of the spell.  And she was quick to counter, calling upon a greater dispel that slammed through the savant’s magic with the force of a sledgehammer.  Kravichak’s shield collapsed, and as his fly spell faltered he plummeted twenty feet straight down to a hard landing on the marble floor. The sorcerer drew himself up to his knees to see Arun and Hodge looking down at him.  “Help Mole,” the paladin said to his friend.  “I’ll deal with this one.”The derro laughed, although his white eyes blinked back moisture as the light of Arun’s holy sword stabbed into them.  “The Cagewrights will destroy you!” he hissed.  “They are as gods, and will not be denied their prize!” “Perhaps, perhaps not,” Arun said, lifting his blade.  “But you, at least, are at an end.”With a maniacal scream, Kravichak conjured a final fireball, centered on himself.</blockquote>

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