The Liberation of Tenh (updated April 24)
- Thread starter (contact)
- Start date
(contact)
Explorer
Since neither Pris or Anon had any ranks in Romance, I assumed their teenage first-time encounter would go alot like most folks' I've talked to did. 
We did play through the fight last session, but I've put the Big Brawl that Almost Was in a seperate update-- no deception intended! I can't post it from work, since I don't have it here . . .
And thanks for the literary crit-- it's always appreciated, Ethan. You tend to read the subtext of these logs the way I meant to write them, which is always gratifying.
-----
The LoT, motivation-wise, is about kicking a lot of Evil ass. It's about turning the tables on the villains and Making Them Pay for the TOEE2 campaign. It's about growing bigger over the summer, then going back to school and making ALL the bullies eat sand, over and over and over again.
Role-playing-wise, the LoT is about contrasting the superheroic-fight-a-whole-army-with-one-hand-tied-behind-your-back D&Disms with these ingorant, flawed and generally f--ked up individual personalities.
We've seen from the beginning what a pathetic mess Jespo is, but who in this game really has their stuff together? The answer may surprise you. It's certainly not Thrommel-- he's a moron. Heydricus, we are starting to see, is an selfish, willfully ignorant egotist, and Pris is so caught up trying to be subtle and manipulative, she forgets what it is she even is trying to accomplish!
The only person who really knows herself is Elijah-- "I paint my face with mud, put a knife in my teeth and wait for something evil to come by, and then I kill it."
We did play through the fight last session, but I've put the Big Brawl that Almost Was in a seperate update-- no deception intended! I can't post it from work, since I don't have it here . . .
And thanks for the literary crit-- it's always appreciated, Ethan. You tend to read the subtext of these logs the way I meant to write them, which is always gratifying.
-----
The LoT, motivation-wise, is about kicking a lot of Evil ass. It's about turning the tables on the villains and Making Them Pay for the TOEE2 campaign. It's about growing bigger over the summer, then going back to school and making ALL the bullies eat sand, over and over and over again.
Role-playing-wise, the LoT is about contrasting the superheroic-fight-a-whole-army-with-one-hand-tied-behind-your-back D&Disms with these ingorant, flawed and generally f--ked up individual personalities.
We've seen from the beginning what a pathetic mess Jespo is, but who in this game really has their stuff together? The answer may surprise you. It's certainly not Thrommel-- he's a moron. Heydricus, we are starting to see, is an selfish, willfully ignorant egotist, and Pris is so caught up trying to be subtle and manipulative, she forgets what it is she even is trying to accomplish!
The only person who really knows herself is Elijah-- "I paint my face with mud, put a knife in my teeth and wait for something evil to come by, and then I kill it."
KidCthulhu
First Post
(contact) said:Since neither Pris or Anon had any ranks in Romance, I assumed their teenage first-time encounter would go alot like most folks' I've talked to did.
First time? Pris? Wow. She talks a damn good game then. I'd always guessed she was walking the walk. You know the one. Kind of wide legged and limping, but with a spring to the step.
(contact)
Explorer
Kid C.: Bowlegged with a spring to her step? Tee, hee hee.
Now how do I put this in light of Eric's grandmother? Well, prior to Anon, Pris might have . . . befriended a unicorn, or have been a proper candidate for a sacrifice.
Pris is a teenaged girl, really, about 19 yrs. old. She is bookish and generally on a mental plane that has always prevented her from relating to her peers. Of course, now that she has mass suggestion at DC 26, she no longer really has to.
Now how do I put this in light of Eric's grandmother? Well, prior to Anon, Pris might have . . . befriended a unicorn, or have been a proper candidate for a sacrifice.
Pris is a teenaged girl, really, about 19 yrs. old. She is bookish and generally on a mental plane that has always prevented her from relating to her peers. Of course, now that she has mass suggestion at DC 26, she no longer really has to.
(contact)
Explorer
Wealsun 14, CY 593
42: Fighting in Stoink, Things Come Full Circle.
The next morning, Prisantha emerges from her room, to find that Dabus, Elijah and Heydricus have assembled in the kitchens.
“Pris!” Heydricus says. How did you sleep? I slept like a babe. Listen, Dabus has communed and that maggot-eating bastard Maskaleyne is running scared. We need you to vision him.”
“Vision requires that a question be asked,” Pris says.
“Let’s ask what his ambitions are,” Dabus says.
“Well, how about if we ask whether he poses any threat to Tenh, instead,” Heydricus asks.
“We could ask what he is doing in Stoink,” Dabus says.
“We could ask if he’s still a virgin,” Pris says and giggles.
Heydricus and Dabus stare at her. “Let’s just ask what his plans are,” Heydricus says with a puzzled expression.
Jespo comes into the kitchen, bleary eyed and yawning. The thin tufts of hair on either side of his balding pate are sticking up. “There you are, Heydricus,” he says. He squints at Prisantha. “You’re looking awfully smug this morning, Pris. Did you cut your hair again? Listen, Heydricus, I’ve been meaning to talk to you . . .”
“Hello, Jespo,” Pris says. “I got you into a Wizard’s school. The Willip Community Wizard’s College. I hear it’s very good.”
“Yes, yes. Thank you, Pris. Listen, Heydricus, it’s about Reine. I simply cannot abide his incessant snoring, and I am in the middle of Important Work for our prince. Can he not be billeted elsewhere?”
“No, Jespo. It’s like I told you, it’s the only place we have for him. Really, I thought you two would become friends.”
“Friends!” Jespo croaks. “Reine is the villain who had me jailed, or has everyone forgotten that fact?”
“He was only doing his job, Crim,” Dabus says. “He was the Provost Marshall, and you were convicted of debt.”
“Yes, well, it was the relish with which he did the deed that galls me,” Jespo says with an indignant sniff.
“You know, why should we even pursue Maskaleyne,” Heydricus asks. “He’s not a threat to Tenh, and he’s running scared from his own order. I don’t like the idea of doing the Greater Boneheart any favors.”
“But what if he becomes a threat later on?” Prisantha says.
There is some debate, but in the end, Prisantha visions Maskaleyne. In her mind’s eye, she sees a child’s doll, one of the sort that is hollow, and contains an ever smaller series of hollow dolls within it. As she watches, the doll opens itself, and while its outer shells are cherubic and rosy-cheeked, the inner shells are progressively more pale, and sickly looking. As she watches this scene, she hears the following, in a woman’s voice:
“Some things seem appealing; they shine but are empty, and the most depraved cannibal eats only himself. Maskaleyne is reborn through his own hunger, dead where he is hollow, a beautiful shell. He has made of himself an incubator for a horde that consumes him from the inside out. His charge in the Bandit Lands has failed, his demesne lost to Iuz in all but name, and he knows that you will come for him nonetheless. He fears you only slightly less than he fears his Abyssal master, and seeks even now to forge alliances that will protect him from all sides in this war.”
“Okay, I’m convinced,” Heydricus says. “Let’s scry the bastard.”
-----
There is an old folk saying in Tenh, “No one looks their best while puking in a privy”. Or at least there should be, because it is so true. Bathed in the warm afternoon sunlight glowing through an expansive bank of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Stoink’s most prestigious district, Maskaleyne is seen to be a beautiful man. Stunning, even, with his glossy black hair, big pearly white teeth, broad shoulders and clear blue eyes. He is dressed casually and in the height of current fashion, wearing regal purple and gold. He stands before the window with a wineglass cupped casually in one well-manicured hand, the other resting on his hip, and he gazes thoughtfully at the city of Stoink. After a moment, he yelps, and drops his wineglass to the floor. He casts a terrified gaze directly at Prisantha’s scrying sensor, and yells “Ooh, alarm! Help! I’m being scryed! I’m being scryed!”
A deep, resonant voice sounds from just outside of Prisantha’s view, and says, “Pathetic.” A huge half-orc appears, dressed from head to toe in red and silver field plate armor emblazoned with the holy symbol of Hextor. The half-orc grabs Maskaleyne by the arm. “Get a hold of yourself, this situation is contained.” Turning away from the Iuzain with a sneer he says, “Prepare the away team.”
Prisantha breaks her scrying and looks at her companions. Dabus, Heydricus and Elijah stand at the ready, their weapons nearby. She says “We teleport now.”
-----
The Liberators take a few seconds to activate their preparatory spells, then Prisantha teleports the group to the location identified in her scrying. There, they quickly see that Maskaleyne has not left his spot beside the window (except to scoot away from the spilled wine, so as not to stain his new velvet boots), and the Hextorian half-orc cleric is still by his side, a foul expression plastered on his already foul face. Together, they seem to bookend the whole spectrum of Medium-size humanoid appearance—beauty and his beast.
They stand with their backs to a semi-circular window-well, and they look across a large ballroom area, decorated with paintings depicting the nobility and power of the mansion’s first occupant. Opposite the dance-floor from Maskaleyne and his bodyguard is a railing overlooking the mansion’s entry hall, some thirty feet below. Three figures stand at the balcony’s railing, two unarmed humans and a young boy, all dressed in the robes of Hextorian lay-clergy. Another armored human, this one void of any religious symbols, charges up one of a pair of elegantly curving stairs leading to the ground floor that flank the balcony.
Without any preamble, Elijah leaps at the heavily armored cleric, and punches her weapons through the crevasses and creases between plates. He half-orc grunts in surprise, and reaches for the heavy flail at his side. Dabus calls down a flame strike directly onto the priest, narrowly missing Elijah but singing Maskaleyne slightly as the Iuzian stumbles backwards.
The half-orc laughs, and stares hard into Dabus’ eyes. “Heydricus, I presume?” he says, making a slight affectation of a Great Kingdom courtly bow.
“No f-ckface, I’m right here!” Heydricus says, as he punches his spear through the half-orc’s armor, and then through the half orc.
Maskeylene stares at the group as his beautiful visage undergoes a strange and subtle transformation, taking on an entirely disturbing cast. “Ah. So you are. Welcome to my home. You will see that I have prepared you quite a . . .”
Dabus speaks the Holy Name of Tritherion and intones a destruction spell. Maskaleyne is turned to a pile of evil dust before he can take advantage of his one and only opportunity to speak with the people who killed Zinvellon, killed his Cadaverous Ones, killed Martak and Festering, and of course, just killed him.
“It’s a shame such a good looking body is wasted on such an evil man,” Pris says.
Heydricus, however, is concentrating on the half-orc cleric he has just impaled. Heydricus looks the cleric in his beady pig-like eyes, and flexes his muscles, lifting the half-orc bodily off the ground, using his spear like a lever to rip the cleric open from bladder to jawline. There is a great tearing sound, the thin snapping of the cleric’s armor straps popping open, and then a wet thump as the lifeless corpse of Maskaleyne’s bodyguard and most trustworthy ally hits the ground with a bloody spray.
As an afterthought to his evisceration, Heydricus turns and fireballs the group standing by the railing. The human nearest the blast is blown off his feet, his clothes set on fire and his hair burned completely away. Barely alive, he crawls toward the stairs, crying out in pain. One of the humans nimbly leaps over the side of the balcony to avoid the fireball, but surprisingly manages to keep a hold on the railing and then vault back up into his former position, avoiding the fireball altogether and dropping into a ready stance before favoring the group with a smirk.
Then Prisantha feebleminds him.
She glances at the fighter charging up the stairs toward her and after an eyebite and a wink, sends him running back the way he came, screaming in terror.
Less than ten seconds have elapsed since the group first appeared, and only three foes are left to face the Liberators of Tenh: A human child, a feebleminded idiot, and a crispy sorcerer trying to figure out how to keep his skin from peeling away from his muscles as he crawls to safety.
Prisantha regards the feebleminded monk (who seems to have finally realized the monastic imperative of “Beginner’s Mind”) and says, “I don’t think I’ve never seen someone so graceful, and so stupid at the same time.” She regards at the young child, who is balefully regarding her back, and he seems strangely unhurt by the fireball, despite his lack of evasive maneuvers. She winks at him, attempting to send him away along with the fighter, but her eyebite has no effect.
He laughs and says, “Come on, Prisantha. Get real.”
So she casts hold monster. That seems to do the trick.
There is a soft popping noise, and suddenly, several reddish-orange, four foot long, insect-like creatures appear from out of nowhere and begin to swarm at the PCs, greedily rubbing their feathery antennae across the Liberator’s weapons and armor. Wherever the things touch metal, the object crumbles to rust, provoking delighted chattering from the creatures. Dabus and Heydricus move away from them, and Prisantha summons a trio of lantern archons to attack the rust monsters, while Elijah draws them away, and leads them to the corpse of the half-orc cleric, covered head-to-toe in the finest enchantment-grade steel the Great Kingdom has to offer.
Just as the group is adjusting to their new foes, a trio of scaly, warty hands appear on the railing, and three foul trolls emerge, climbing onto the balcony. Dabus charges forward, beating them back but taking wounds from them in the process. He notices that their skin bulges where no muscles should be, and as might be expected of the servants of Maskaleyne, maggots drip from their mouths, and run from their eyes like vile tears.
There is another pair of popping sounds, and a strange group of creatures are teleported into the room. A large, stalactite-like growth appears very near Pris, Elijah and Heydricus, and as they watch, it releases several rope-like tendrils from its body that envelop Pris and Heydricus, and draw them toward its crystal-lined mouth.
A black dragon appears and tears across the room, already in a diving flight pattern, streaking toward Dabus. The creature is small for its kind – only 7 feet long – but is ridden by a heavily armored gnome, dressed rather incongruously in the holy regalia of the queen of Evil Elemental Water. The dragon hovers before Dabus, boxing him in, and lashing at him with its claws and tail. As it does so, the gnome on his back invokes clerical magic and calls a flame strike onto Heydricus and Elijah.
A lightly armored human woman becomes suddenly visible, as an arrow streaks from her composite bow into Prisantha’s back. Pris convulses slightly as the arrow’s slaying magic runs through her, but fortunately, Pris is tough enough to resist the necromantic energy, and does not die. Unfortunately, the roper is pulling her toward its gnashing mouth, and she is unable to turn to completely face her would-be assassin. She regards the woman over her shoulder, and with a wink, eyebites her. The assassin turns to flee, dropping her bow as she goes.
Elijah, meanwhile, is trying to get a volley of arrows through the roper’s rocky hide, but with little success. Heydricus strikes at the thing with his spear, and resists its pull somewhat, but is himself unable to break free. Fortunately, Prisantha is not without recourse, and with a gesture, she polymorphs the fearsome thing into a beautiful pink magnolia.
The gnome stands up in his saddle on the back of the hovering dragon, as the beast prepares to attack Dabus a second time. The gnome looks around the room, and yells, “Damn it all to Hell, we teleported upstairs! We’re freaking upstairs! I quit this chickensh-t outfit!”
“I’ve got your pink-slip,” Heydricus mutters as he disentangles himself from the decidedly un-fearsome flower, and moves toward the gnome, his holy undead bane spear in hand.
But Dabus is even quicker, and surrounded by foes, he utters the Sacred Word that Tritherion greeted his deific companions with upon his first return from Hell. The holy word immobilizes the trolls, and paralyzes both the dragon and its rider.
As the sacred reverberations fade into silence, the party finds themselves without any foes, staring out the window at an elaborate botanical garden, delicately illuminated by the warm summer sun.
There they see Maskaleyne’s servants, fleeing the grounds at a run, their arms filled with everything they can steal.
42: Fighting in Stoink, Things Come Full Circle.
The next morning, Prisantha emerges from her room, to find that Dabus, Elijah and Heydricus have assembled in the kitchens.
“Pris!” Heydricus says. How did you sleep? I slept like a babe. Listen, Dabus has communed and that maggot-eating bastard Maskaleyne is running scared. We need you to vision him.”
“Vision requires that a question be asked,” Pris says.
“Let’s ask what his ambitions are,” Dabus says.
“Well, how about if we ask whether he poses any threat to Tenh, instead,” Heydricus asks.
“We could ask what he is doing in Stoink,” Dabus says.
“We could ask if he’s still a virgin,” Pris says and giggles.
Heydricus and Dabus stare at her. “Let’s just ask what his plans are,” Heydricus says with a puzzled expression.
Jespo comes into the kitchen, bleary eyed and yawning. The thin tufts of hair on either side of his balding pate are sticking up. “There you are, Heydricus,” he says. He squints at Prisantha. “You’re looking awfully smug this morning, Pris. Did you cut your hair again? Listen, Heydricus, I’ve been meaning to talk to you . . .”
“Hello, Jespo,” Pris says. “I got you into a Wizard’s school. The Willip Community Wizard’s College. I hear it’s very good.”
“Yes, yes. Thank you, Pris. Listen, Heydricus, it’s about Reine. I simply cannot abide his incessant snoring, and I am in the middle of Important Work for our prince. Can he not be billeted elsewhere?”
“No, Jespo. It’s like I told you, it’s the only place we have for him. Really, I thought you two would become friends.”
“Friends!” Jespo croaks. “Reine is the villain who had me jailed, or has everyone forgotten that fact?”
“He was only doing his job, Crim,” Dabus says. “He was the Provost Marshall, and you were convicted of debt.”
“Yes, well, it was the relish with which he did the deed that galls me,” Jespo says with an indignant sniff.
“You know, why should we even pursue Maskaleyne,” Heydricus asks. “He’s not a threat to Tenh, and he’s running scared from his own order. I don’t like the idea of doing the Greater Boneheart any favors.”
“But what if he becomes a threat later on?” Prisantha says.
There is some debate, but in the end, Prisantha visions Maskaleyne. In her mind’s eye, she sees a child’s doll, one of the sort that is hollow, and contains an ever smaller series of hollow dolls within it. As she watches, the doll opens itself, and while its outer shells are cherubic and rosy-cheeked, the inner shells are progressively more pale, and sickly looking. As she watches this scene, she hears the following, in a woman’s voice:
“Some things seem appealing; they shine but are empty, and the most depraved cannibal eats only himself. Maskaleyne is reborn through his own hunger, dead where he is hollow, a beautiful shell. He has made of himself an incubator for a horde that consumes him from the inside out. His charge in the Bandit Lands has failed, his demesne lost to Iuz in all but name, and he knows that you will come for him nonetheless. He fears you only slightly less than he fears his Abyssal master, and seeks even now to forge alliances that will protect him from all sides in this war.”
“Okay, I’m convinced,” Heydricus says. “Let’s scry the bastard.”
-----
There is an old folk saying in Tenh, “No one looks their best while puking in a privy”. Or at least there should be, because it is so true. Bathed in the warm afternoon sunlight glowing through an expansive bank of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Stoink’s most prestigious district, Maskaleyne is seen to be a beautiful man. Stunning, even, with his glossy black hair, big pearly white teeth, broad shoulders and clear blue eyes. He is dressed casually and in the height of current fashion, wearing regal purple and gold. He stands before the window with a wineglass cupped casually in one well-manicured hand, the other resting on his hip, and he gazes thoughtfully at the city of Stoink. After a moment, he yelps, and drops his wineglass to the floor. He casts a terrified gaze directly at Prisantha’s scrying sensor, and yells “Ooh, alarm! Help! I’m being scryed! I’m being scryed!”
A deep, resonant voice sounds from just outside of Prisantha’s view, and says, “Pathetic.” A huge half-orc appears, dressed from head to toe in red and silver field plate armor emblazoned with the holy symbol of Hextor. The half-orc grabs Maskaleyne by the arm. “Get a hold of yourself, this situation is contained.” Turning away from the Iuzain with a sneer he says, “Prepare the away team.”
Prisantha breaks her scrying and looks at her companions. Dabus, Heydricus and Elijah stand at the ready, their weapons nearby. She says “We teleport now.”
-----
The Liberators take a few seconds to activate their preparatory spells, then Prisantha teleports the group to the location identified in her scrying. There, they quickly see that Maskaleyne has not left his spot beside the window (except to scoot away from the spilled wine, so as not to stain his new velvet boots), and the Hextorian half-orc cleric is still by his side, a foul expression plastered on his already foul face. Together, they seem to bookend the whole spectrum of Medium-size humanoid appearance—beauty and his beast.
They stand with their backs to a semi-circular window-well, and they look across a large ballroom area, decorated with paintings depicting the nobility and power of the mansion’s first occupant. Opposite the dance-floor from Maskaleyne and his bodyguard is a railing overlooking the mansion’s entry hall, some thirty feet below. Three figures stand at the balcony’s railing, two unarmed humans and a young boy, all dressed in the robes of Hextorian lay-clergy. Another armored human, this one void of any religious symbols, charges up one of a pair of elegantly curving stairs leading to the ground floor that flank the balcony.
Without any preamble, Elijah leaps at the heavily armored cleric, and punches her weapons through the crevasses and creases between plates. He half-orc grunts in surprise, and reaches for the heavy flail at his side. Dabus calls down a flame strike directly onto the priest, narrowly missing Elijah but singing Maskaleyne slightly as the Iuzian stumbles backwards.
The half-orc laughs, and stares hard into Dabus’ eyes. “Heydricus, I presume?” he says, making a slight affectation of a Great Kingdom courtly bow.
“No f-ckface, I’m right here!” Heydricus says, as he punches his spear through the half-orc’s armor, and then through the half orc.
Maskeylene stares at the group as his beautiful visage undergoes a strange and subtle transformation, taking on an entirely disturbing cast. “Ah. So you are. Welcome to my home. You will see that I have prepared you quite a . . .”
Dabus speaks the Holy Name of Tritherion and intones a destruction spell. Maskaleyne is turned to a pile of evil dust before he can take advantage of his one and only opportunity to speak with the people who killed Zinvellon, killed his Cadaverous Ones, killed Martak and Festering, and of course, just killed him.
“It’s a shame such a good looking body is wasted on such an evil man,” Pris says.
Heydricus, however, is concentrating on the half-orc cleric he has just impaled. Heydricus looks the cleric in his beady pig-like eyes, and flexes his muscles, lifting the half-orc bodily off the ground, using his spear like a lever to rip the cleric open from bladder to jawline. There is a great tearing sound, the thin snapping of the cleric’s armor straps popping open, and then a wet thump as the lifeless corpse of Maskaleyne’s bodyguard and most trustworthy ally hits the ground with a bloody spray.
As an afterthought to his evisceration, Heydricus turns and fireballs the group standing by the railing. The human nearest the blast is blown off his feet, his clothes set on fire and his hair burned completely away. Barely alive, he crawls toward the stairs, crying out in pain. One of the humans nimbly leaps over the side of the balcony to avoid the fireball, but surprisingly manages to keep a hold on the railing and then vault back up into his former position, avoiding the fireball altogether and dropping into a ready stance before favoring the group with a smirk.
Then Prisantha feebleminds him.
She glances at the fighter charging up the stairs toward her and after an eyebite and a wink, sends him running back the way he came, screaming in terror.
Less than ten seconds have elapsed since the group first appeared, and only three foes are left to face the Liberators of Tenh: A human child, a feebleminded idiot, and a crispy sorcerer trying to figure out how to keep his skin from peeling away from his muscles as he crawls to safety.
Prisantha regards the feebleminded monk (who seems to have finally realized the monastic imperative of “Beginner’s Mind”) and says, “I don’t think I’ve never seen someone so graceful, and so stupid at the same time.” She regards at the young child, who is balefully regarding her back, and he seems strangely unhurt by the fireball, despite his lack of evasive maneuvers. She winks at him, attempting to send him away along with the fighter, but her eyebite has no effect.
He laughs and says, “Come on, Prisantha. Get real.”
So she casts hold monster. That seems to do the trick.
There is a soft popping noise, and suddenly, several reddish-orange, four foot long, insect-like creatures appear from out of nowhere and begin to swarm at the PCs, greedily rubbing their feathery antennae across the Liberator’s weapons and armor. Wherever the things touch metal, the object crumbles to rust, provoking delighted chattering from the creatures. Dabus and Heydricus move away from them, and Prisantha summons a trio of lantern archons to attack the rust monsters, while Elijah draws them away, and leads them to the corpse of the half-orc cleric, covered head-to-toe in the finest enchantment-grade steel the Great Kingdom has to offer.
Just as the group is adjusting to their new foes, a trio of scaly, warty hands appear on the railing, and three foul trolls emerge, climbing onto the balcony. Dabus charges forward, beating them back but taking wounds from them in the process. He notices that their skin bulges where no muscles should be, and as might be expected of the servants of Maskaleyne, maggots drip from their mouths, and run from their eyes like vile tears.
There is another pair of popping sounds, and a strange group of creatures are teleported into the room. A large, stalactite-like growth appears very near Pris, Elijah and Heydricus, and as they watch, it releases several rope-like tendrils from its body that envelop Pris and Heydricus, and draw them toward its crystal-lined mouth.
A black dragon appears and tears across the room, already in a diving flight pattern, streaking toward Dabus. The creature is small for its kind – only 7 feet long – but is ridden by a heavily armored gnome, dressed rather incongruously in the holy regalia of the queen of Evil Elemental Water. The dragon hovers before Dabus, boxing him in, and lashing at him with its claws and tail. As it does so, the gnome on his back invokes clerical magic and calls a flame strike onto Heydricus and Elijah.
A lightly armored human woman becomes suddenly visible, as an arrow streaks from her composite bow into Prisantha’s back. Pris convulses slightly as the arrow’s slaying magic runs through her, but fortunately, Pris is tough enough to resist the necromantic energy, and does not die. Unfortunately, the roper is pulling her toward its gnashing mouth, and she is unable to turn to completely face her would-be assassin. She regards the woman over her shoulder, and with a wink, eyebites her. The assassin turns to flee, dropping her bow as she goes.
Elijah, meanwhile, is trying to get a volley of arrows through the roper’s rocky hide, but with little success. Heydricus strikes at the thing with his spear, and resists its pull somewhat, but is himself unable to break free. Fortunately, Prisantha is not without recourse, and with a gesture, she polymorphs the fearsome thing into a beautiful pink magnolia.
The gnome stands up in his saddle on the back of the hovering dragon, as the beast prepares to attack Dabus a second time. The gnome looks around the room, and yells, “Damn it all to Hell, we teleported upstairs! We’re freaking upstairs! I quit this chickensh-t outfit!”
“I’ve got your pink-slip,” Heydricus mutters as he disentangles himself from the decidedly un-fearsome flower, and moves toward the gnome, his holy undead bane spear in hand.
But Dabus is even quicker, and surrounded by foes, he utters the Sacred Word that Tritherion greeted his deific companions with upon his first return from Hell. The holy word immobilizes the trolls, and paralyzes both the dragon and its rider.
As the sacred reverberations fade into silence, the party finds themselves without any foes, staring out the window at an elaborate botanical garden, delicately illuminated by the warm summer sun.
There they see Maskaleyne’s servants, fleeing the grounds at a run, their arms filled with everything they can steal.
Last edited:
Joshua Randall
Legend
(contact) said:
Hmm. Maybe this scry-buff-teleport thing really is effective.
Awesome update, (contact). Awesome fight.
Now, who's summoning all the monsters? Methinks either the held child (using metamagicked spells) or an invisible caster somewhere.
incognito
First Post
whaaaaa, whaaaa...(sniff)...my NPCs are dead...
I now offically hate Clerics AND Paladins.
On the plus side:
Teleport scroll to Hommlet: 1,125gp
A nights stay at Grandma's Hotel: 10 sp
extra hot bathwater for Anon: 1 sp
Taking away Pris's...um...unicorn friendship: Priceless
There are some things a girl with gold pieces can't buy; for everyting else, there's Heydricus
I now offically hate Clerics AND Paladins.
On the plus side:
Teleport scroll to Hommlet: 1,125gp
A nights stay at Grandma's Hotel: 10 sp
extra hot bathwater for Anon: 1 sp
Taking away Pris's...um...unicorn friendship: Priceless
There are some things a girl with gold pieces can't buy; for everyting else, there's Heydricus
Zaruthustran
The tingling means it’s working!
My god. This is so rich.
Gawrsh.
It's like this story hour is the ultimate in self-aware, self-mocking fantasy humor. Like a Kevin Smith adventure, but funnier.
Nice work contact. Keep it coming.
-z
ps: incognito, you rule.
Gawrsh.
It's like this story hour is the ultimate in self-aware, self-mocking fantasy humor. Like a Kevin Smith adventure, but funnier.
Nice work contact. Keep it coming.
-z
ps: incognito, you rule.
Last edited:
(contact)
Explorer
JERandall said:
The appearing monsters were the "away team" that the half orc mentioned when Pris was scrying him. They were a well-drilled team of high-level adventurers trained to buff-scry-teleport-kick ass on anyone scrying Maskaleyne. *
Rd 1: Pris scrys.
Rd 2: The half orc orders his away team into action.
Rd3: The away team's spellcasters (some of whom haven't yet appeared in the story) begin buffing the team.
Rd 4: The away team's wizard scrys "the person scrying Maskaleyne", while others scry.
Rd 5: The away team's wizard begins teleporting people to the scene. (He was using a variant teleport ability from a prestige class I have in my game.)
The away team, was of course, in the basement of Maskaleyne's mansion, well away from hearing range of the fight upstairs. The liberators popped in and killed Maskaleyne on round 3 -- one round before the wizard scryed them, and started teleporting his guys to the fight!
-----
*All credit for the away team and their concept goes to Incognito, who built and designed them. I am the one who under-played them and got them all pimp-slapped, but c'est la D.
Similar Threads
