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  #886  
Old 05-01-2019, 05:04 PM
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  #887  
Old 05-01-2019, 05:05 PM
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Old 05-03-2019, 08:35 PM
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Grak'Ark
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Grak’Ark was neither surprised or saddened when the gnoll decapitated Abd. He knew the some of the weaker willed in his pack would mourn the loss, but Grak’Ark believed the slave had accomplished his purpose. He had slowed down the onrush of the gnolls and deflected a blow that may have killed or injured someone important.

Yes, he had helped delay the gnolls - and now Grak’Ark had an open path to the Carrion King. But the others would not get there so quickly - they would be slowed down as they waited for the weaker and slower of the pack to catch up.

We must take the Carrion King on as a pack. he realizes, his mind flashing back to his encounter with the Growler. Together we are stronger. Together we will win

With a snarl of frustration at being delayed from his true prey, the mutated cooshie takes out his anger on the giant centipede, tearing into it with reckless abandon. Tooth and claw rip out large pieces of the beast’s flesh, as the canine dances backwards, spitting out a large chunk of vermin flesh.

 




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Old 05-05-2019, 02:51 AM
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Drusilla Vanadici
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What was that? Wide-eyed and wary of yet another foe joining the battle, Drusilla glances about nervously, unaware that the screeching bolt fired at Dullen is the source of her trepidation. Everything is falling apart for the Chelish warrior: her strength is still sapped by the gnoll's poisoned arrow, and she can feel her muscles stiffening thanks to whatever venom was injected by the centipede's stinger; a river of blood flows freely from her back, gushing from where she was stabbed by the monstrous vermin; her stomach continues to contract involuntarily from her swim amongst the dead, threatening to overwhelm her with nausea and bile; and now her mind has been assaulted by some magical fear.

Stop it! Think!! Clenching her jaw, she subjugates her nerves, drawing upon years of training to suppress her emotions with the cold, uncaring intellect demanded from a true daughter of Cheliax. The familiar calculations of battle occupy her mind, helping to distract her from the gnawing unease in her gut. She quickly surveys and assesses her surroundings: the confused chanting gnoll is irrelevant for now; the prone gnoll is surprisingly still a threat, having stabbed Hector with his rapier; the painted gnoll, the one who beheaded Abd with a single vicious swing, is particularly deadly—beware this one; another caster threatens them all, especially the halfling, but he remains out of reach for now, so he is momentarily dismissed; and of course the centipede looms over everything like an ominous portent of doom.

Multiple targets. Though she still feels overshadowed by anxiety and fear, she quickly adjusts, knowing that she will simply have to fight within her limitations. Instead of trying to slay the enemy with one massive blow, Drusilla utilizes a cagier approach. Centipede first. With a controlled, level strike she lashes out at the armored beast with her bardiche, allowing her momentum to spin her almost completely around as she follows through. Gnoll next. Spinning and dancing, she slips away from the many-legged monster, sliding behind Hector for protection as her right hand reaches back to pluck an arrow from her quiver. But instead of fitting the projectile to her bow her arm continues to flow forward at the gnoll sprawled before her, the arrowhead thrusting down in a violent stabbing motion. Unfortunately the fighter's innate fear for her own safety holds her back, and the arrow point plunges harmlessly into the ground before the gnoll.

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  #890  
Old 05-05-2019, 03:14 PM
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Hector Grimm and Rok
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Hector feels shame when he swallow the bile rushing his throat and retreats from his failed attempt of putting down a gnoll. A gnoll who had given up on defenses. A gnoll who was about to die a miserable death. A gnoll with a mask and thus limited sight.

Then his head snaps to Abd just in time to see the man he had urged on with this fool’s errand, get cut down and decapitated by a monstrous specimen of the gnoll. Guilt take over the shame. How is it, that regardless of the amount of men put under his command, he cannot guide them to safety, guide them through the perils and make them come out victorious on the other side? He commanded near four hundred men and women wielding arms, in Sorn, before he was tricked and had to abandon them all. Here... he didn’t even command Abd Al Dari, but he had abandoned him nonetheless and this was the result. Painted sucker gotta’ pay.

Gaah! Real pain shot through his ankle. The gnoll he had regarded as dead for an instant ago had managed to stab through flesh and draw blood just over his stolen boots. The anger welled up inside him like a overflowing vulcano and Hector looked around in near panic to find a suitable target to vent his fury at.

He felt how Drusilla came up behind him and knew what they needed to do. He caught the black shape of Rok above them and called it in the infernal tongue, harsh and direct, Rok! Here. Protect us.

The black bird folded its wings and darted downwards in an instant, flapped out wings and circled around the danger until it was so close to the warrior woman that she could feel the the beating of the wings and smell the souls it had eaten.

Just then, Grak, in his canine form, moved away and Hector allowed his black energy to soar in that direction where the monstrous centipede was. It was dark material, twisting and bucking and spiralling outwards from his hand, as they flew from his grasp and left his old gnarled hands blackened like charcoals, the darkness turned into a flurry of feathers. Thousand black shapes shooting off towards the monster.

That had given him a cooler head and he now needed to move into a position from where he could control and kill. As he had shot the suppressed darkness off, the same absence of color had leaked from the bird behind Drusilla, enshrouding them all in a supernatural darkness. The bird, the Chelaxian and the gnoll on the ground and now Hector circled around Drusilla, his hand gripping her on the shoulder as he move past her, The darkness here is a brief pause for recovery. Let us consolidate our position.

As he took in position on the other side, the dark mist was total in a bubble sphere rising from the ground. Hector knew somehow that Rok had these powers, but he had never seen them in effect before. While no one could see any finer details of him, inside the darkness - even those close by - he grinned and enjoyed the display, knowing full well that this was the work of his enemies souls when the bird turned up the mental torture he inflicted upon them.






Last edited by Dressedtojazz; 05-05-2019 at 03:15 PM.
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  #891  
Old 05-06-2019, 11:09 AM
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Dullen cringed slightly as he realizes that the floor he is standing on is trapped and could collapse at any time. His Redeye training has taught him to expect the unexpected, to reach out with his feelings and become one with the Iroricloriants that is all around and penetrate all things. In his mind’s eye, he felt the danger before he encountered it. He must work on making that something more active, if only his teacher would be able to help him tap into it.

The crossbow bolt zings by him causing a shrieking noise is a distraction but his training to enhance his concentration bypasses any ill effect. Dullen keeping his martial Snake Style..
Dice Roll:
1d20+15 (4)+15 Total = 19
.. Die role or 25 whichever is higher
stance moves quickly utilizing soft footwork on the floor and one handed Acrobatics to avoid AOO from #15
Dice Roll:
1d20+10 (18)+10 Total = 28
Acrobatics to avoide AOO from #13
Dice Roll:
1d20+10 (2)+10 Total = 12
Acrobatics roll to avoid Centipede
Dice Roll:
1d20+10 (10)+10 Total = 20
backflips to get away from the snarling gnolls that are close. His brother is his focus. He lands on the other side of his brother. As he lands, “Brother, that is a very cowardly weapon, a noble death is what you deserve. One that is brought by my hand to bring you peace. I thought you could be saved, it appears I was wrong. So be it.”

The sword was waving behind him like a snake’s tail and now comes around in both hands in a practiced strike overhanded Attack Roll
Dice Roll:
1d20+9 (19)+9 Total = 28
3 bab+4Str+1 MW+1 Channel Vigor. Damage
Dice Roll:
1d8+6 (3)+6 Total = 9
. POSs Crit
Dice Roll:
1d20+9 (11)+9 Total = 20
Crit damage
Dice Roll:
1d8+6 (4)+6 Total = 10
strike.

Dullen yells to Grak’ark, “The floor is trapped and could collapse at any moment. Get clear! “




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Last edited by ShinobiMaster123; 05-07-2019 at 03:44 PM.
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  #892  
Old 05-06-2019, 11:49 AM
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Fandrik
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Taking a small cut from the hovering axe, the halfing spun around it to face those rushing in. Fan thrust his arms wide as the coat tails of his once-fine coat danced behind him like a performer on stage with small blue butterflies on the inside of his coat. High-pitched accents of the gnoll tongue barked at the priest that stayed in back. "Are your men so much stronger than you, priest, that you must hide behind them? Ha-HA!" The words would not only be a taunt for the cowardly gnoll as they may sow doubt in the others. Gnolls did not usually lead from the back.

Fandrik's eyes flicked to the painted gnoll as he decapitated Abd, the grin freezing on his face. The man had been a slave. Yet he died with honor, in battle with his captors. No more glorious death could be asked for and the man had not suffered. They would make his death worthwhile.

Without his eyes moving from the dripping rainbow gnoll, the rapier jabbed upwards in a flash to pierce the left eye of the gnoll who hunched protectively around his crotch. The move was made almost casually, a life for a life. The daring rush of gnolls and the sacrifice of life brought fresh adrenaline to Fandrik's heart. Today would be the day of the slaves.

Leaping backwards, the halfling sprang off his empty hand and tumbled away. Towards the enormous centipede.

"Catch me if you can cowards! Ha-HA!"

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Last edited by Jarl11; 05-06-2019 at 06:56 PM. Reason: Taking the 3 dmg
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  #893  
Old 05-07-2019, 05:38 PM
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Ekk-Lakk
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Ekk-Lakk sees it in their eyes.

The staring.
The frozen expressions.
The first realization that this is the end.

Yes, Ekk-Lakk sees it all, and it fills him with a crazed glee. The now-deceased (as they all will soon be) pafe went down with one swing. To be sure, there will be some leakage where the food-being's head used to be, but the body is otherwise intact, meaning lots of delicious, delicious blood for Ekk-Lakk. Nothing went better with pafe meat and pafe bones than pafe blood. Really, the only way that could have gone better was if the pafe had seen it coming. Something about instantaneous horror at the moment of death made the food beings taste that much more satisfying.

Then, without warning, a small pafe committed the ultimate sin. Its attack on a lesser gnoll was forgivable, as was its weak attempt at taunting its betters, but its audacity in using the gnoll tongue for such a thing was not. As it tumbled away (or perhaps a freak gust of wind caught it; it was awfully small) Ekk-Lakk chose to bear the indignity of responding to the outrage, intentionally butchering or omitting the silly formalities required. Your speech pattern gives you away...halfling. Yes, I can tell you pafes apart. Stay still, kneel down, and die willingly. We can and will catch you, and it will be much worse for you if you make us prove it.

Redirecting his talents, Ekk-Lakk now translated a different pafe's words. "The pafes continue to show their cowardice by running from fog to this magical darkness, all while saying to themselves, 'The darkness here is a brief pause for recovery. Let us consolidate our position.' You ought to know what to do, and if you don't, then stay out of my way." Further driving the point home, the Painted One does some taunting of his own. "Stop hiding, pafes! Or have you finally realized you are in the presence of your betters? I'll say it again, in words you all will understand: Stay still, kneel down, and die willingly. We can and will catch you, and it will be much worse for you if you make us prove it."

As he spoke, Ekk-Lakk had been digging through his pocket for another potion. The vial was dwarfed (mmm...dwarf...) by his furry, blue-and-red hand, but the liquid inside was still plenty potent, as shown by the painted gnoll's sudden increase in size when he drank. As he reached his finak height of 14'6", Ekk-Lakk took a step back, shaking the room.

THOOM

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Last edited by Ytterbium; 05-07-2019 at 05:42 PM.
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  #894  
Old 05-08-2019, 01:46 AM
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Rohekk Woundsong
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The shrill yapping of the halfling offends Rohekk, the pafe scum daring to defile the tongue of his people. Offering up little more than a snarl, Rohekk deigns not to answer the vile little wretch. His answer would be apparent soon enough. All the halfling achieved with his obvious, and crude, attempt to bait the High Priest was ensure that his broken corpse shall hang above Rovagug's altar once the fighting was done. He would serve as a reminder to all the price of arrogance.

Rohekk moved steadily, with a dark sense of foreboding, past Ekk-Lakk as he reaches into his pouch to retrieve some sort of flask, which he then imbibes. The action prompts a sneer of contempt from the High Priest. Whatever the fanatic had consumed, it was clearly not divine. More witchcraft. A crutch, and nothing more. Only those who lacked the favour of Rovagug had need to rely upon such paltry measures.

Not Rohekk. As Ekk-Lakk's form bulged and grew to monstrous proportions, Rohekk spat with contempt and pressed on. Rovagug's mighty will guided his hand, his destiny. He had no need of witchcraft, for he was a weapon of the divine. He was the harbinger of his patron's rage, and he would exact that ire upon these worthless Pafe.

He presses forwards, the initiates moving before him like a wall of death creeping slowly towards the Pafe. Rohekk ignores the barbs of the halfling. Rohekk would swing his axe when the time came, but it would hardly be for the loud mouth half-man. That tiny creature was far beneath him, and hardly a worthy adversary. Already, as his initiates began invoking the power of Rovagug to unleash upon the halfling, Rohekk's eyes turned towards juicier prey beyond.

No, he would not be taunted into acting foolishly. He would first tighten the noose around these Pafe, then he would show them what a true avatar of Rovagug was capable of.

Licking his lips with a flash of slightly yellowed fangs, Rohekk raises his holy symbol once more towards Fandrik and chants loudly. Crackling crimson energy builds first, then unleashes towards Fandrik.

"No more running, runt. Die, so that your betters might meet one another in glorious battle."



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  #895  
Old 05-18-2019, 07:24 AM
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Start Ro7

Token--------Character--------Init060708
(F)Fandrik17xo-
(D)Dullen14xo-
(V)Drusilla14xo-
(G)Grak'ark14xo-
(B)Gark-the-Goblin14xo-
(H)Hector13xo-
(01)Abd al Bari12xo-
(16)Rraelliarh16xo-
(19)Rokova16xo-
(Crown)The Carrion King10xo-
(Centipede)Thkot-Tal08xo-
(14-15)Carrion Guards07xo-
(17)Ekk-Lakk05xo-
(18)Rohekk Woundsong05xo-
(01-05)(12-13)Carrion Initiates05xo-
(11)Trevis05xo-
(06-10)Elven Slaves05xo-
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]
Nil


 


Room 2: The Maggot Throne


The hideous and terrible Grak’ark looks south to see what is going on with the Carrion Tribe beyond but it is outside of his darkvision of sixty feet. All he sees is the back of Rokova as he guards anyone coming to the Maggot Throne to help.

Oh in his day.

In his day the Kulldis would have descended upon the intruders for a lust like no other, like in the day of the bloody Battlemarket Massacre. But Rovagug makes them weak. Makes their flame burn bright but fast. Suicide, destruction, absence of growth. None of the prodding patience that Mother has taught Grak over the years as he has systematically destroyed his betraying brethren with Drusilla by his side (he won’t mention Omacui or even Dullen unless forced).

But the tribe still chants that 'ole chant. “Murder-murder. Kill-kill.” Poetic? Not all. To the point? As always. He remembers it at night as a gnoll cub when his mother would return after a sacrifice to the Kulldis pits. Some things never change, even if the religion changes.

Unbeknown to him, the Carrion Tribe sees their King on his throne but pass no further. The King is just within range of the front line’s darkvision. They are worked up and chanting the ancient gnoll battle cry yet the advisor to the King keeps them from joining. The King sits there hunched, staring right at his old friend with a horrid weight like an anvil. He has no idea what has gotten into his old ally but the King can take what ever is being dished... no problem. An explanation from the priest/mage will have to be made but he must have his reason.... or is there? His rotted mind tries to digest betrayal on this level. "I'll root this treachery out, root and stem, if it comes down to it.'

The worked up tribe grabs fresh bones from recently sacrificed and eaten victims and smash them to the ground, cracking the white casts in beat to their chant- clack, clack, clack. Someone throws a vertebrate bone at him, sharp from being broken in half, and Rokova ducks in time. The priest is wide eyed and realizing that he can't keep this rabble back forever.

They beat the bones and scream their chant, louder than ever. The temple shakes from it.

Qatal, qatal clack clack clack-clack -qasamna, qasamna!
Qatal, qatal clack clack-clack!!! -qasamna, qasamna!



With the rustle of robes the rusted, razorsharp axe shears off stone as the #12Carrion priest tries to hack Fandrik in half (make him half-again) but he's too- damn- fast! "Ha-HA!" the swashbuckler goes low and darts to the priest's flank. He hears Woundsong call for the forces to come for him. "Are your men so much stronger than you, priest, that you must hide behind them? Ha-HA!" Rohekk Woundsong snarls as he loses sight of the little man, his spiritual weapon Spiritual Weapon: Caster lost sight of target, weapon returns to castermagnetizing back to his presence.

The Carrion Initiate's mask gets in the way and he doesn't see but feels Fan's Crit | Dmg 6blade rip open his gut. "Whooof" AoOHe swings again but Fandrik is already rolling away towards Thkot-Tal with a bloodied blade. Never did the fatara that brought Fan here (playing Toss the Halfling on the way) would have thought he would have done so much damage to their tribe as he zips in calculated randomness to his destination.

AcrobaticsAnother axe comes in, misses, and Fandrik bounces up just in time as the great pet comes down bites down onto rock, AoObuying the others a few seconds of time to do their job and plow the enemy. Grak'ark has to duck, arching back and bowing head, as the heavy exoskeleton nearly crushes him.

With the halfling's cover Dru, Grak'ark, and Hector all pivot south and become a unison fist against Thkot-Tal. They knock it back like no other in it's entire measly life.


Drusilla is the first to open Thakot-Tal up, make the pathway into it's wet innards by peeling back it's plates with the badriche and then rip it off (Dmg 10). Pulsating, purple flesh with fibrous strips of nerves are revealed in long sticky strands. She doesn't even see it as she's already backing off and feels the prone gnoll draw close to nip her thigh and down the warrior with one slash along her tendon. She slashes with the arrow but it's way off as Thkot-Tal emits one of the ear piercing shrills.


Eeeeeeeeeee----eeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaHHHHHHHHH!


The Druid of Lamashtu, as always, does not care as he reaches up from his low bow and chews and claws into Thkot-Tal's innards left open by the peeled plate. Powerful jaws, enhanced by magic, are incredibly strong as he pulls out the crop and gizzard in one tremendous pull (well above the intestine and septa) and the digestion just empties onto the floor as the dog backtracks like a domesticated pet pulls a rope from it's master in game.

Different degrees of digestion just breaks apart from Thakot-Tal and splatters onto the ground (Dmg 26). A head of a troglodytes, half digested, slides and hits Fan's foot while broken limbs and torso nearly liquid to the point of green-black. The trog's eyes pop into juice onto Fandrik's feet and he keeps his eyes on the giant insect to make sure nothing surprising happens. Drusilla and Fandrik spit puke (now it's clear liquid with nothing left in their bellies) as the scent is so much worse than the rotted pit of the dead. The halfling is in worse condition than when he swam through the dead. Yellow stomach acid and fat drips from his shoulders as he stands right below their attacks.

Drusilla feels slugish, the needles in her back rattleing together and sending bolts of pain into her joints. Why is everything so venmous is this damnable trap of a temple?


Eeeeeeeeeee----eeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaHHHHHHHHH!


Stomach acids sputter from Thakot-Tal's midrift in an explosion.

Grak'ark pulls the innards out and uses his claws to pull out even more as the centipede whips about, trying to fold inward and attack Grak'ark but finding the angle impossible. Thkot-Tal pulls back, furious, and looks down and smells something delicious. It doesn't realize that is smells it's own glorious innards. It retreats just a bit, hanging just off of the edge of the platform and sees the little one just within reach, the double-dog moving back. Gore belching from the midrift as if tries to snap onto the slimy halfling but Fandrik slides one way and then another. "Ha! HaHA!"

The whole time Dru and Grak were cutting Thkot-Tal in two, Hector was circling north- his form a gray haze (Elusive Shadow), his greatsword still at hand. There is a gnoll there (#14) looking confused still, just staring at the bow and arrow still in his hands as if he's reading a difficult scroll. Captain Grimm comes to a stop and does not see the skulls packed up against the wall on a table rattle. A heap of blackened and cracked gnoll skulls quiver and eject streams of green acid at Hector's back and he they burn right into his shoulder blades and hair. He cries out in pain and surprise and reaches back to wipe it off, only to spread it to his fingertips. His fingers sizzle as the acid dissolves (Dmg 4). He checks to see if the grinning bones do anything else but they just stare back empty and mocking. Teeth clenched he uses the pain to reach into that steel core in the middle of all his hate and pull out the trick he summoned yesterday against the witch and her demon daughter. Black feathers begin to circulate around his injured fingers and slide around his wrist. With that sight he catches glimpse of Rok far above and calls for the companion to come down and protect them. Rok lifts high and then suddenly drops right for Hector in a nose dive, using Fandrik's light around his neck as a guide.

Pain violates Hector's hand as he unleashes his black energy to soar at Thkot-Tal just when the Grak'ark steps back.

Cracks race everywhere to his left, he hears it, and he distracted as the cracks grow underneath his own feet (?!) His startled and his energy soars in the wrong direction but, unluckily for the insect, it is so large that it's an easy target to hit (touch attack). The black energy turns into thousands of cutting black feathers. Like a tornado it swarms around Thkot-Tal, sliding over the plates they can't cut but finding the small soft spots between the plates and spines. It's eyes are slit into ribbons and many of the feathers find their way into it's opening, funneling in like water, and blast the innards with rolls of black glossy feathers (Dmg 20). Thkot-Tal thrashes in pain as it's gizzard is filled to capacity with rotten food and feathers, a few of them even hiccuping from it's mouth.

Despite this group effort, Thkot-Tal is mighty and takes all of the damage and releases another glass shattering screech, otherworldly and brain numbing.

A bloom of gray haze explodes near Hector's light as Rok comes flapping down, expending some his power from collecting souls (Gloom 10' radius). The Devil on the other side of feels the call and is willing to give some his own power to help the bird. The circle of power is thick and you can just see Hector's white and thin air blow to the front from the ability.




The hole left behind by Trevis grows more and more. The confused gnoll (#14) does not notice, he just keeps looking at his bow as he tries to piece together the situation, the cracks growing under his feet. The gnoll knocked down by Drusilla keeps his eyes trained on her, sword held up defensively as he barks a useless warning to his fatara. "The ground is breaking fool!"


crack


Dullen presses Trevis back further after Thkot-Tal screeches, the axe of the gnoll behind too slow for his speed. “Brother, that is a very cowardly weapon, a noble death is what you deserve. One that is brought by my hand to bring you peace. I thought you could be saved, it appears I was wrong. So be it.” The sword of their father cuts open more of the banded armor in flicker, Trevis much too slow and still hindered by Hector holding onto his soul like a marionette (Huntman's Curse). "Damn you." Trevis curses again as the snake-form of Dullen brings a world of pain (Crit Dmg 19). If only it was just him and his brother, he could have stood a chance, but these escaped slaves were an unexpected addition.


crack!! the hole grows bigger


His own sword in hand, Trevis steps back and pulls out a vial made from a pugwampi skull. He squeezes and the skull pops open like a cork, blue liquid fizzing out. Hurt badly and limited in action, he steps back from Dullen as he does this and drinks it (cure moderate wounds, healed 11). 'I just have to wait out this curse, just a few more moments...' He can already feel his body come back under control as Hector releases a tsunami of feathers some twenty feet away. He winces as he steps back, blood dripping, blocking the way to the throne.


CRACK!


right-aligned image
The double-dog Grak'ark is backing away to Dullen's spot but the all-seeing monk, watching everything transpire in slow motion, throws a warning too. Dullen yells to Grak’ark, “The floor is trapped and could collapse at any moment. Get clear!" Grak'ark diverts and gets between Dru and Fan instead. Dullen keeps his eye on the Carrion Initiate creeping up to from behind (#13).

The confused gnoll (#12) drops his bow in a clatter and peers at his arrow instead. It's fletched from vulture feathers and the stem is bone, the arrow a sharpened chunk of random metal. With Grak's garbled word still rattling his brain, he sees Rovagug and blessed escape through the point. Without hesitation, as many Carrion tribe members are trained to do, he jams the arrowhead into his throat. "For gaagraaaaaa" he tries to scream 'For the Beast!' but it just comes out in a bubbling, red foam as air and blood squirts from the self inflicted injury. "Haaaggrraa" he says to the double-dog staring at him with evil eyes when Rovagug opens up his embrace the and the floor fully opens up. The gnoll goes circling head over feet into darkness where he lands below with a sucking sound, but not a thud for some reason. There is no scream.


That was all one side of the battle. Now to the West.

From the West comes the wind of death in the form of the grisly Painted One (#19), axe still bloody from the escaped slave, and the passel of Woundsong's priests sweeping in to bring doom, nipping at the heels of our heroes.

The torrent of feathers have passed and Fandrik's peeks out of one eye to view the aftermath when he hears a hoarse halfling voice call to him. He is startled to see that it is the Painted One speaking in his own language!! "Your speech pattern gives you away...halfling. Yes, I can tell you pafes apart. Stay still, kneel down, and die willingly. We can and will catch you, and it will be much worse for you if you make us prove it."

A clutch of masks and two cruel gnolls are all staring at Fandrik, of all the enemies to choose from. He drew all attention to him like the siren in the Battlemarket Massacre (he wouldn't know about that but we won't hold it against him) and his talents have worked well.

Ekk-Lakk directs the Woundsong Priests to come together or stay out of his way. And --

THOOM


left-aligned image
The painted gnoll just doubles in side, well over the heads of the priests as they flood forward. Through the thrashing body of Thkot-Tal the heroes see another giant enter the battlefield and Rohekk begins to lead a prayer to Rovagug despite Ekk-Lakk's 'witchcraft'. All of them grab their holy symbols and praise their dark god.

Just then, Rok squawks loudly and gloom balloons to protect their enemy, the raven momentarily stationary as he beats his wings. Ekk-Lakks sounds as big he seems. "Stop hiding, pafes!" his voice booms over the priests. He continues to taunt them in his new form as Woundsong(#18) begins leading a prayer to Rovagug underneath the Painted One. "Take our minds, so that thy hear your wail!"

The other priests hear this and follow right after, knowing what their master is commanding and wanting. They follow suit, grabbing their holy symbols and the prayer intertwines with the ancient gnoll chant to the south. A rot begins to crust the air with every word. "Take our hearts, so that thy pull the veil!" The air in every direction begins to curl as if burned at this point. Rovagug's spirt is drawing near, they can smell it.

A green glow expands onto anyone with flesh. Anyone and everyone- human, halfling, gnoll, and even insect. They ALL feel the damning effect of Rovagug as blight ripples and challenges Rok's bubble, turning bright green with every inch. The green field pushes through and consumes the west side of the battle.

"Take our souls, so that thy prevail!"

The burn, this blight, passes from every priest as they hold up their symbols (Channel Negative Energy from five priests). The air bristles and bubbles. Damage ignites within range and they all feel the pain, yet they keep praying, taking pleasure in it even. Wounds already had begin to grow and fester. Old scabs, even peeled skin at their cuticles, begins to back away to reveal raw pain underneath. Even the hair on top of their heads shrink follicles and fall out as if giving up (Dmg numerous and spread out, an average of 7-14).

But the head priest keeps praying, his words now a whisper to his own self and his God only. He's damaged by the channeling of their god but to him it's all wonderful acceptance for being an avatar to destruction. His brown eyes focus onto one: Fandrik. Yes, that special mustache is all that matters in this case, even as a titan insect tries to eat the little one.

No, he would not be taunted into acting foolishly. He would first tighten the noose around these Pafe, then he would show them what a true avatar of Rovagug was capable of.

He draws closer to Fandrik, his spiritual axe floating near him, and gets next to one of the Initiates assigned to guard the King. This confused gnoll (#12) from Grak'ark One Word (Confusion) looks down at his axe. He knew what he was doing before... but that halfling stabbed him in the gut!! Where is here? There he is, right in front of him this whole time. Now it's time to repay the attack. Look at him just laughing back at him, right within range, wiggling his perfect mustache! The priest chops down and feels that satisfying sound of crunched bones and... it's not Fandrik. The confused gnoll had just chopped in half one of Woundsong's priests (#2)(Dmg 14), his own axe and holy symbol in hand. What... where is the halfling?!

The other priests, especially Rohekk, dosen't even notice.The air bristles and bubbles. Everyone within range feels their skin itch and then peel all at once (Channel Negative Energy), even the priests as the spirit of the Beast comes near. Wounds grow and fester and the skin under their nails peel back. Hair falls from their head and tears of pain flow. Fur in falls beneath their robes onto their feet, Thkot-Tal's open wound grows, Grak's boils along his back pop. The confused gnoll stabbed by Fandrik feels the blade wound to the gutt let go like a reflux and everything grows dim... and the gnoll falls over, dead, from the negative energy before he even knew what got him.

The bubble of negative energy pushes it's self against Rok's Gloom. The gray protective bubble around Rok and snap and it rushes in, roasting Hector and the raven. Rok screams as the negative energy tears the bird apart. "Gwwwaaaaaa! Gaaaaa! Save me-!" but it's too late, the small animal, a gateway to places parallel, falls dead at Hector's stolen boots. It looks like Hector will have to reap souls alone for now on.

Places ParallelNadia's crimson eyes snap open in bed, lying with Tahir. Her heart is hammering in her narrow chest for some reason. She looks around, both of them sleeping late well into the early afternoon, but she sees no danger- just the long white and sheer curtains blowing in the wind. She slides out of bed and begins to pace, short of breath, when a stab hurls through her body and she falls to the ground with a cry, waking Tahir from his own slumber. He asks her what is wrong, over and over, but she has no answer.

The princess has lost connection with her coven for good. Now it's just her alone and both her mind and body can't take it.

-----

The Devil in Cheliax squints his eyes in the darkness as the portal closes, trapped in here with a handful of gnoll spirits in his grasp. Such a shame. But there will be others.



Front of the force, licking his lips with a flash of slightly yellowed fangs, Rohekk raises his holy symbol once more towards Fandrik and finally chants loudly for all to hear. "Take our bodies, so their neck feels your flail!!!" Crackling crimson energy builds first, then unleashes towards Fandrik. He speaks gnoll, knowing the halfling understands. "No more running, runt. Die, so that your betters might meet one another in glorious battle."

Raising his fist once more, Rohekk releases it and hurls it towards Fandrik. The divine energy hurls towards Fandrik and the halfling, wet from the insect innards, gasps as he feels his heart squeeze and body grow ridgit as if wrapped in heavy blanket (Hold Person).

This is the same spell that nearly did Drusilla in yesterday, but it won't for Fandirk. Not today! He grits his teeth and pushes past the wicked prayer. All it takes is the ability to move something, anything, and the spell is broken. 'Wiggle your toes, anything!' he warns his self. With every fiber he wiggles his big toe... nothing. He does it again, savagly as the robed and masked preists coming rushing closer after burning everyone with prayer, and YES! He feels his toe move. The spell breaks (Will Save Successful) and Rohekk sees the lucky halfling get away with one more small victory...
















DM Notes
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  • 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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Drusilla Vanadici
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The strange sound of a gnoll’s guttural voice butchering the high-pitched halfling tongue jolts Drusilla out of her shaken condition. Halfling, Common … likely Elven too she thinks, recognizing the voice as similar to the one that had howled some made-up song in Elven. She eyes the source of all these tongues and finds that she has to look up at a now gigantic gnoll, the same one she had earlier marked for killing Abd with just one blow. Strong and intelligent she muses with a hint of worry, wondering how to deal with this threat. Fortunately the painted gnoll has, for some unknown reason, retreated back a pace or two from the battle—and perhaps even better, responded to the halfling’s taunts with some modest parley. If words were weapons … “Call off your troops first.” she shouts up to Ekk-Lakk, purposely using the gnoll tongue so that ‘his’ troops—and the Carrion King—would understand. “If we surrender, it’ll be to you alone.” Based on what she had heard earlier, there is already some dissension amongst the gnoll ranks. Time to sow a little more.

Surprisingly, the multiple waves of negative energy actually elicit a whisper of a smile. True, the Chelish warrior winces and clenches her teeth against the searing pain: her flesh feels like it is being burned away from the inside, and her wound seems to double in size as it oozes with a greenish pus. But eventually her lips curl, knowing that the enemy is lost to their own destructive tendencies: they are only killing themselves with this malignant energy. Gnolls killing gnolls, gnolls killing themselves—she sees this theme playing out all over the battlefield. Yesterday she might have been concerned, but today they have Dullen, and she knows that his healing will easily undo the harm caused by the Carrion initiates. “I’m fine,” she glances over at the cleric, reassuring him that it is his martial skills she wants now, then glances down at Rok, who is definitely not fine.

She never really understood the raven, nor its connection to Nadia or Hector. Sometimes it acted like a literal birdbrain; other times it could be surprisingly useful, like just a moment ago, when it had enshrouded them in a protective gloom. Now? It’s just a dead bird, not worth another thought. There are more pressing matters to deal with—like the armored centipede, still standing despite splattering half its guts all over the place. They need to press their advantage while they still can. “Finish it!” she urges the others, pointing at the grievously injured beast. From the expectant look she gives Hector it’s clear that she doesn’t fully understand the limitations on his supernatural ranged attack—all she knows is that the dark swarm of feathers is a devastatingly effective weapon that should be used as often as possible. “Then …”

Drusilla hesitates, not wanting to openly reveal their plans—switching tongues is the obvious solution, but she remembers the multilingual gnoll. It takes a moment for her to come up with a way to outsmart the painted giant. “Then go around the pit,” she continues in the everything in the DarkOrchid color is Infernaltongue of devils. She glances at the gaping, newly opened hole, wondering why the gnoll who fell didn’t land with the crunch of broken bones. No matter—for now, it’s enough to avoid the pit … and the skulls that just sprayed Hector with acid. With a practiced eye she quickly examines the table against the northern wall. “Whole thing’s trapped,” she adds, warning the old man with a nod towards the C38-43long table of skulls, before calling out to seemingly no one in particular. “Rem, spiked pit once they’re close enough.” Her cold grey eyes flicker towards the painted gnoll, challenging him to decipher her words.

Only when her strategizing is complete does she act. Though she sorely wants to cleave through the centipede’s exposed flesh, the monster lies just beyond the range of Hector’s light—yesterday the shadows caused her to miss one too many times, so she shifts to a closer, more visible target. The prone gnoll beside her is too worried about defending himself to be a threat right now, so she lashes out against the nearest would-be cleric instead. Her bardiche slices right across the gnoll’s midsection, cleaving its way cleanly through flesh and bone like a giant surgeon’s knife, cracking ribs and bisecting a kidney. Yet the gnoll still stands, so she angles her blade back for another blow. But the centipede’s venom continues to pump through her veins, and though she has masked its effects so far, she can do so no longer. Her arms feel sluggish and uncoordinated; her movements are stiff and awkward, unable to control the trajectory of her weapon. The axe head thuds clumsily against the far wall, chipping the rough stone but doing no other damage.

 


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Hector Grimm
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In Hell, all birds are black.

When Hector had been outsmarted and beaten by his enemies in Sorn, he had been picked up by one of Eiseth’s dangerously beautiful minions. An angel with a grip so fierce he thought his bones would snap from her embrace. When she spread those marvellous black wings and shot through the roof, his heart beat at double pace and he felt the panic and exhilaration churn into ecstasy. She had held them there, suspended high above Sorn against the purple of the night sky and the dusty grey of the moon. She had taken him in his naked state and given him sexual stimuli that could have lasted years, but she withdrew it all as he fulfilled his part of the act and in turn for his own, received her seed. A darker and much more powerful seed. Just then, before she had swooped down to let him crash to the floor, she had whispered, in Hell, all birds are black.

Hector’s hand was a buzzing of energy and agony, but he had seen its devastating effect on the monstrous centipede and he felt he owned the power now. He would find it in his core again and do more, but first...

Gaaah! the burning sensation of the acid made him thrash around. It came as a surprise and he knew not what it was. Had he known it was a trap he would have bitten through the pain, but then again, he probably wouldn’t have entered the trigger mechanism. As he swung around, the darkness of Rok’s gloomy presence came to him and somehow eased his mind. Then it turned green and then the pain erupted in his head. Somehow, with the bird so close and its powers manifested so clear, he felt a connection with it and he saw how it shriveled and died and it flared his hate to overcome the damage.

They had stripped him from yet another ally. It was a stupid bird, yes, but when facing such terms as these, every little help counts. You! He snarled, pointing over at the gnoll with the axe in hand, You will suffer for my loss. Then in a fluid motion, heeding Drusilla’s sharper eyes for how the trap was working, he stepped into proximity with the gnoll he had chosen. He could smell its stinking breath and feel the heat radiating from its fur. Dragonwing sung and carried the momentum of his former rush around the Chelaxian woman. The chest of the gnoll exploded in a spray of blood where the sword went in. Hector followed it all the way through, so the speckled fur tickled his hand and he was inches from the face of the gnoll, Watch me! Watch me, dammit. The light dimmed in the eyes of the gnoll, even as doubt and fear crept into the very core of its soul.

Aah! He withdrew and the long black blade followed. He had no interest in the gnoll. It could die or live haunted forever after. Instead he snatched the reins of soul harvesting, now that Rok was not here anymore, and tugged tight on his bond with Trevis, the gnoll behind him (#15) and the massive insect.

Master Dullen? That man needs to be finished now. Hector had seen him draw a vial and he knew that whatever the fool intended to drink, it couldn’t be anything good. He knew that his curse on the man was running out and he was worried that mercy or brotherly love prevented the priest to finish Trevis.

Drusilla was right, but Hector felt doubt creep up on him. Would he find his last allies slain when he turned to face the horde of gnolls?






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