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  #841  
Old 03-24-2019, 05:14 PM
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Old 03-24-2019, 05:14 PM
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  #843  
Old 03-27-2019, 02:32 AM
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Rohekk Woundsong
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The sickly sweet metallic scent of blood still filled his nostrils as he ruminated upon the word just brought to him. Pafe had penetrated the Carrion King's domain, and now dared to threaten his majesty. The poor unfortunate soul who'd brought the news now lay at Rohekk's feet, their warm blood spilling onto the cool stone floor of the temple. Rovagug would be pleased.

Dark tidings can only be met with a firm hand, and Rohekk's hands were firmer than most.

Gripping his tattered robes, he wiped the blood from his gauntlet, and extended a hand. Temple acolytes moved like lighting, knowing the price of tardiness. The High Priest felt the heavy hilt of his great axe slip into his metal-encased hand and smiled, his fingers curling around the haft. The time for veneration was now done. The true worship of Rovagug was about to begin, and it was time for the High Priest himself to lead the sermon. If pafe had truly come this far into the Carrion King's domain, then there was only one response that was suitable. Rohekk Woundsong, High Priest of Rovagug and devoted servant of the Carrion King, must take the field himself, and ensure that proper destruction was wrought upon His Majesty's foes.

Storming from the temple like a force of nature, acolytes and temple-goers alike scattering before his wrath like scurrying insects, Rohekk made his way through the labyrinthine tunnels of the Carrion King's hold. Already the sounds of battle reached his ears, and he snarled angrily. How could it be that his own initiates had not sent word to him that battle had already been joined? That was a shortcoming he promised to rectify, once he'd gutted these infidel pafe. Someone would pay for the oversight. The thought of it made Rohekk lick his lips in anticipation.

Eventually the High Priest found his way to the Carrion King's magnificent chamber, emerging from the shadows of the neighbouring hallways to enter the room. He moved slowly, purposefully, like a creeping avatar of death. The little light of the room dancing off his dented and battle-marked plate armour. His bloodstained robes hung from his shoulder, billowing out behind him with every stride he took. His face, set in an ever present snarl, only seemed to grow more menacing as his blood-red eyes surveyed the situation and took stock of what was happening.

That gutless rodent Rokova. Of course he would order retreat. That he had wormed his way into the Carrion King's good graces was abomination enough, let alone that he deigned to call himself a High Priest when he was nought but a heretic witch. Yet here the cretin was, ordering those who would defend the Carrion King to retreat. It was an affront to the King and to Rovagug. This was the King's seat of power, and no ground would be given. Only death and destruction awaited those who dared to defile this place. Never retreat. Never a single, backwards step.

As he stepped into the room, one of his very own initiates had begun to fall back, obviously heeding the word of the Carrion King's advisor. Reaching out a gauntleted hand, High Priest Rohekk Woundsong gripped the initate's arm and squeezed it so hard that he felt the skin beneath the fur split, and hot blood begin to seep from the tiny wound. The initiate begins to howl in protest, but as their head turned and their eyes fell upon the one who had grasped them, any protest died within their throat.

With a snarl, Rohekk's fiery glare fell upon the initiate. ""Retreat one step further, and I will tear you apart."Grrrlllakh, rakh rakh, barrowwwwll yakh garruff.."

His tone is dark, dangerous and savage, making the already harsh tongue of the gnolls seem even more violent and bloody. Letting go of the initate's arm, Move to V 39he moves forward slowly, his steps purposeful and deadly, the sound of his heavy plate armour scraping against itself only enhancing his presence. As he enters the chamber proper, he raises his axe.

""Ignore that cowardly command. To ME! Destroy these scum-blood Pafe! Initiates form up and bestow the blessings of Rovagug upon one another. Prepare to slaughter the enemies of the Carrion King"Arrrooowl, yip rakh grrrrlll. Yakh AKH! Rughk aish ip grrrrlakh! Gnashh akh akh, yip grrrakh, grrrrrufh ufh Carrukh-Rexsh!"

Raising his other hand, in which the holy symbol of Rovagug is held, Rohekk begins to chant in his own right, his eyes glowing a bestial scarlet as he beseeches the Great Destroyer's favour. As his chanting fades, a mighty Great Axe, shimmering with unholy energy forms at his side, Casting Spirtitual Weapon, which will hover beside him (V38) without a viable target.hovering in the air beside him and awaiting the chance to shed blood in Rovagug's name.

Now all that remained was for the cowardly pafe to be done with their tricks, and quit hiding behind shadows so that true battle might be joined.


 


 



 


 
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Last edited by Arkaon; 03-27-2019 at 05:03 AM.
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  #844  
Old 03-27-2019, 08:30 AM
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Carrion King
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Blood was spilt in the pit and the Carrion King's sniffed and laughed with maddened glee. How long had it been since the prospect of battle had filled these halls? How long since anything but panic and dread had permeated the air of this inner sanctum? How long since anger had blossomed and violence followed in tow? It was like cold water to a thirsty soul and the Carrion King gobbled it all up.

The rough laughter turned into a snarl as the king of the gnolls turned his yellow eyes on his advisor, intruding and commanding the gnolls to give flight at the outset of a promising fight. Rokova might offer guidance or recommendation - but to presume to give orders in the king's presence? The gal!

"You will NOT deny me my sport, Rokova!" the Carrion King barked, claws tightening around the elven maid's throat as the massive gnoll imagined choking the neck of his advisor. "These Pafe are sacrifices to Rovagug now and the Unmaker does not like waiting for his sacrifices."

The elf in the gnoll's grip was starting to gasp for breath now and eyes were beginning to roll back in her head as instinct kicking in to keep the maiden alive despite the brutal ministrations of her captor.

As mist filled the room and hid his quarry, the Carrion King leaned his head back and let out a roar for the rest of the gnolls to hear. "Kill the Pafe. Kill them all! I will feed any who runs to Thkot-Tal in fist-sized chunks!"




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  #845  
Old 03-27-2019, 11:29 AM
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Thkot-Tal
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A strange fog. Obscuring. Cannot see.

The creature clicks its pincers, as if irritated, but interested. It hopes for more. It does not respond to its name. It does not have a name. It has hunger. Hunger is the heart of it. the soul of it. The being. There is eating. There is nothing else.

The bodies below shift, and the creature struggles in the sea of bodies. Standing still, even, it requires extreme muscle strength, strength that food cannot understand. Food like the hideous ones. Food like the tasty ones.

Food like in the mists?

The mists.

Irritation.

Giving out a screech, more a hiss in the tongues of centipedes, the creature hears something, feels something, lashing out at it, and strikes in that direction, a deft blow, a powerful blow, a biting one.

Because hunger is the heart of the matter.
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  #846  
Old 03-27-2019, 05:07 PM
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Ekk-Lakk
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Ekk-Lakk grunts and nods at the priest who blessed his greataxe. He is about to charge toward where the delicious pafes were emerging from the pool of the dead when the priest Rokova issues the call to withdraw, cutting off Ekk-Lakks howl of excitement. A low growl rumbles deep in the gnoll's throat as ears point toward the Carrion King. Surely he would not approve such cowardice—not when there were food-beings ripe for the eating. As if on cue, the Carrion King roars his response:—"Kill the pafe!"—and the wicked grin quickly returns to Ekk-Lakk's face.

A second priest receives a similar nod for extinguishing the torch that would have forced Ekk-Lakk into the light. As he creeps around the corner, the gnoll makes a beeline for the fog cloud. Food beings seemed to like hiding in their magical fog—to the point that when it appeared, it was the first place Ekk-Lakk went to look. True, it made the pafes hard to find and harder to hit, but to Ekk-Lakk, that just made the hunt more fun and his eventual meal more enjoyable.

Another thing the fog did was block the food-beings' vision. He couldn't see in, but they couldn't see out, and this too was an advantage for Ekk-Lakk; it gave him a rare chance to use one of his favorite hobbies in the hunt. Although many of the lesser languages were difficult for gnolls to articulate, and some were even considered impossible, Ekk-Lakk had, in one case, found a way. Personally, he found it undignified, but it rarely failed to confuse the pafes, and sometimes it gave them enough of a fright to make their meat extra tender when it came time to eat, and this was worth looking a little silly, especially when such a big meal had wandered in.

In the top of his throat, in a register normally only used by the youngest gnolls when they cried and howled, Ekk-Lakk began to sing in a high-pitched whine, badly butchering much of the melody he had overheard some of the King's elven slaves singing one night. They had sung some garbage about a forest or something, but Ekk-Lakk just made up his own words. They were automatically better, because he was a gnoll.

"When you come into our home
Ekk-Lakk comes to kill you
Pafes you cannot run or hide
Ekk-Lakk comes to kill you
Carrion King said we could
Ekk-Lakk comes to kill you
Fog makes your skin-meat so moist
Ekk-Lakk comes to kill youuuuuuuuuuuuuu"

The song trailed into another howl as he was almost to the cloud. Ekk-Lakk was so close to his next meal. He hefted his axe and licked his lips, tasting the paint that had begun to dissolve from around his mouth.

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  #847  
Old 03-30-2019, 04:48 PM
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Start Ro3

Token--------Character--------Init020304
(F)Fandrik17xo-
(D)Dullen14xo-
(B)Gark-the-Goblin14xo-
(V)Drusilla14xo-
(G)Grak'ark14xo-
(H)Hector13xo-
(01)Abd al Bari12xo-
(16)Rraelliarh16xo-
(19)Rokova16x--
(Crown)The Carrion King10x--
(Centipede)Thkot-Tal08x--
(11)Trevis08x--
(14-15)Carrion Guards07x--
(17)Ekk-Lakk05x--
(18)Rohekk Woundsong05x--
(01-05)(12-13)Carrion Initiates05x--
(06-10)Elven Slaves05x--
o = open to post
- = don't post yet
x = posted already

DM Summary
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House of the Beast: Day 2
Gozran 13 4710 – Moonday

Sunrise 6:30AM | 8:00PM Sunset
(07:09AM)

Light Bearers
Dullen, Holy Symbol (20' normal / 40' shadows)
Abd, Fandrik's Stone (20' normal / 40' shadows)

Darkvision
Grak'ark (60')
Remkah'ar (60')
Fandrik (60')
Gark-the-Goblin (60')




House of the Beast: The Lower Temple
[DiCE]
Fandrik Nature Knowledge (DC18) to identify centipede: Rolled 11


 


Room 2: The Maggot Throne


Rok feels panicked for some reason. He feels like a sparrow caught in cat's mouth. The raven drops only for a second as his black eyes survey the room from above. He sees the gnolls closing in onto the people he chose to accompany in his mission to serve that distant evil, a blanket of cloud hiding them. The raven stretches his wings wider and soars higher, collecting the wind, and hangs right to keep the circle. Trevis's torch below gives him just enough brightness for his low-level light vision to see by. He swings close to the wall to the north and glides by a collection of brown skulls, nearly four hundred years old, embedded into the wall nearly 60' feet up. All untold stories of horrors that the King has made sure to be audience to his reign bought from their pain. The raven is just intelligent enough to know the skulls and walls are decorated with small pentagon stars of different sizes, as if this room represents the cosmos.

The raven drops and sees that the room is painted with teeth closing in, long and thin, as if the whole room is being swallowed. This whole chamber is the Beast's maul, the pool of dead his tongue. And everyone inside? They are the morsels.

Rok ignores this, not understanding what he is seeing, and instead turns his attention back down. The fog twirls and curls slowly on the western bank, lit like a cloud before the sun from the magical light in Dullen and Hector's possession. The enemy cannot not see in. Nor can the heroes and escaped slaves see out.

Those rusty gears of battle we are all so familiar with by now begin to slowly turn again.







DM Notes
left-aligned image

  • Drusilla, Hector, and Fandrik are all sickened
    The character takes a –2 penalty on all attack rolls, weapon damage rolls, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks.


  • Corpses:
    - Depth is 10 feet.
    - Swim (DC15, full or move action) check required to wade through the dead.
    - PCs require a move action to reach the surface.
    - Climb (DC15, move action) is need to climb the wall out of the surface of the dead. The wall is 10'.
    - Moving normally on top of the dead is considered rough terrain.


  • Darkness:
    In an area of dim light, a character can see somewhat. Creatures within this area have concealment (20% miss chance in combat) from those without darkvision or the ability to see in darkness.



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Old 03-30-2019, 04:48 PM
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Old 03-30-2019, 04:48 PM
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  #850  
Old 03-30-2019, 04:48 PM
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  #851  
Old 04-01-2019, 11:24 AM
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Gark
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The diabolical cackle of a goblin fills the air as the chosen of Grandmother Nightmare prepares for the battle. This fight that was an important one and was the reason Lamashtu had sent him to this place. It was not the time to try new tactics, but instead to fight in the manner the goddess had taught them.

His plan would not fail. The goddess was with him.


Last edited by Squeak; 04-02-2019 at 03:34 AM.
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  #852  
Old 04-01-2019, 01:20 PM
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Fandrik, there and back again
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Fandrik silently cursed Kasziver for his lack of instruction as the massive maw missed and he danced back, using the fog and rapier to cover his movement. "You should stick to the dead, beast! The living is not so slow - Ha-HA!"

The motion in the lake of dead gave away the centipede's next intention. With a jump, he avoided the tail and propelled himself off the creature's bulk to spin back where the fog swallowed his small form.

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  #853  
Old 04-01-2019, 04:54 PM
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Hector Grimm, Abd and Rok
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Something stirred not far away. Hector felt the slow-rolling waves of dead bodies and their organs spilled out lapsing at his lower body. Whenever he didn’t move, he sunk down into the pool and had to carve and haul himself up. This constant feeling of being sucked down all the time was teasing with Hector’s sanity. He cursed under his breath and felt a sensation of dread as he felt the curse of blindness giving him handicap.

A voice so fine and full of vigor drifted through the haze, "You should stick to the dead, beast! The living is not so slow - Ha-HA!" So the colorful halfling was still alive and out there, fending off the foes with tiny weapons and larger-than-life courage. Hector grinned. There had never been a stronger legend than that of a live hero.

Beside him, Al Dari’s slime-covered hands flailed against rough stone, hoping to find purchase. Hector’s gnarled hand found his shoulder and drew him closer, whispering his idea for their approach on the Carrion King himself.

High above, Rok circled and circled the dome, black eyes darting from portrait to portraits and overlooking the grim scene of a masterful design. Surely, not made for or by gnolls. It would take a certain kind of artist for such a commission - and one would have to look long and hard for the right designer. These thoughts never found way to the bird brain though. Rok was just patiently waiting for the feast to be laid out... which would be soon, he sensed.







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  #854  
Old 04-01-2019, 11:31 PM
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Drusilla Vanadici
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It is all so familiar.

The thick white mist that rises from nothing, concealing everything not immediately adjacent to her, is both boon and bane—how well Drusilla knows this truth from yesterday's battle. She is hidden from the enemy, just as the plucky halfling's heroics against the giant centipede are now hidden from her. From much, much further back, over a year ago in Kelmarane, she remembers seeing a horde of reinforcements rushing after her, their fangs drooling with jinni yunwa, that insatiable bloodlust peculiar to gnolls—she sees this in her mind as clearly as if it were yesterday. Of course the fog now blocks her view, but she can hear that ominous chant, the same one that taunted her from the Battlemarket while she listened from her dismal cell, a prisoner chained to the floor like the pitiful elven slaves kept by the Carrion King. She remembers it all. Her lip curls ever so slightly. She remembers how she escaped, then returned to kill her captors.

Time to get to work.
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  #855  
Old 04-05-2019, 06:49 PM
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Dullen is actually surprised. He knows Trevis well and for him to stay silent after mentioning the light of his life, Yesper now deceased and yet no reaction. “Trevis, your silence is deafening brother. It proves that you have fallen far. Not out of reach, but far. The inner turmoil you feel is the doubt in your so called god. Rovagug knows no forgiveness or love. I pity you. Yes, I pity you.”. Dullen’s words were meant to Diplomacy
Dice Roll:
1d20+6 (13)+6 Total = 19
goad him either toward reckless abandon or possibly salvation. Either way, he will be ready for the challenge.

Dullen moves northward as instructed by Drusilla varying his Stealth
Dice Roll:
1d20+6 (5)+6 Total = 11
1 dex+5 Visualization of the body
position slightly. His movements are catlike and purposeful. He readies himself for someone to enter within striking distance to feel the wrath of the instrument of Irori. In his stance, he looks as though a cobra ready to Unarmed Strike
Dice Roll:
1d20+8 (1)+8 Total = 9
3 base+4 STR+1 Amulet
strike his prey, the family sword waivering like a tail. This will be a difficult fight indeed, but his faith is his rock, his strength.





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