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  #901  
Old 05-21-2019, 10:26 AM
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Grak'Ark
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Grak'Ark was the twice touched, the chosen of Lamashtu. He had given everything he had and everything he was to the Mother of Monsters. He had plucked out his own eye to show loyalty to the goddess. He had destroyed his entire family for turning away from his queen. He had lost packmates in his quest to destroy the enemies of Lamashtu. He had given her his very soul.

But despite his loyalty to Lamashtu, he found himself chanting aloud in unison with priests of Rovagug. "Qatal, qatal -qasamna, qasamna!"

Had her priests heard the heathen words coming from the mouth of the gnoll, they would have assuredly branded him a heretic. Had his mother, a priestess of the dark queen, heard the profane chant, she would have torn her offspring in half. But Lamashtu herself simply looked down on her servant and smiled.

Grak'Ark had fully given himself over to the feral nature of his new form, he was transformed - body, mind and soul - into a feral beast with but one goal. Murder and kill. "Qatal, qatal -qasamna, qasamna!"

A savage roar escapes the beast's lips as he steps forward and tears into the colossal creature before him. His left claws rip into Thkot-Tal's carapace, ripping through the beasts chitin to pull out massive clumps of flesh. "Qatal, qatal -qasamna, qasamna!"

His right claw digs even deeper into the beasts body, pulling out internal organs in a spray of ichor. "Qatal, qatal -qasamna, qasamna!"

He did not worry about remaining safe from the poisonous stinger of the beast as he plunged even further into it's body. His plunges his head into the inside of the beast, his teeth grasping vermin flesh. His head shakes violently as he attempts to tear out more flesh, the fury of his attack nearly splitting the massive arthropod in two.

"Qatal, qatal -qasamna, qasamna!"


 


Last edited by Squeak; 05-21-2019 at 10:49 AM.
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  #902  
Old 05-21-2019, 07:30 PM
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ShinobiMaster123 ShinobiMaster123 is offline
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Sharpen cuts deep into Trevis and sees his brother suffer. The family blade starts to vibrate more as if it anticipates the demise of Trevis. Dullen hears a voice clearly in his head, and has heard it before, he just can’t remember where, “You couldn’t save your father, but you may save your brother, strike him down and keep his soul from the HectorHarvester....”

”Damn you!” he hears Trevis say and he recoils from the devastating strike he just received.... it triggers a memory of old.
___________________________

Dullen was finished with his studies with the temple of Irori and saw Trevis training his brothers and sister using the family longsword. His studies with Irori only trained him to focus his fists to become weapons utilizing the ancient teachings handed down by generations. He longed to be be closer to his family.

Trevis saw Dullen with a longing on his face as he expertly used the Sharpen on the training dummies and then moved to spar with Brotis. Brotis was stronger, but Trevis was more skilled. Trevis looks over at Dullen, “Come brother, be one with the sword and be one with the family. I will teach you.”

More memories flash as he spars with Trevis, getting more and more skilled, til the fateful day when he utilized his teachings from Irori combined with the skill of the sword trained by his brother. Upon sparring with Trevis, he activated the Touch of Law consecutively and his aim was true and flawless. Trevis parried several strikes but Dullen was able to nick his right cheek on the last attack.

Trevis smiled and said two words, “Damn you!”
_______________________________

The memory fades as he sees his brother’s face with that fake surgically permanent smile on his face with blood dripping down the side of his right cheek.

Dullen sighs as he knows now what must be done. May Irori have pity on his soul. Dullen maintains his martial form but foregoes the possible insight info for the opponents around him. His left hand glows blue as he touches his chest, “Let order Touch of Law - Swift Actionreign!”

Dullen 5’ move to f41moves to face his brother, “Sorry, brother. I know there is good in you but I need to do this to save your soul.”. Holding Sharpen in both hands he thrusts forward forward and Attack: 11 (Touch of Law)+3 BAB+ 4 STR +1 Channel Vigor +1 MW = 20. Damage
Dice Roll:
1d8+6 (7)+6 Total = 13
drives the blade deep into Trevis. Sharpen trembles in his hands sending vibrations up both forearms. Trevis’s eyes flutter and start to close, he lets out a gasp and an almost inaudible, “Thanks brother.” as he takes his last breath. His body falls backwards and slides off Sharpen and the blade starts to glow a divine white. Trevis’s soul begins to rise out of his body but before Hector can react to devour Trevis’s soul, it enters the glowing blade.

“That will keep you safe til I can properly prepare your soul for the afterlife. You deserve that, brother.”

The divine energy surging through his body would allow him to attack another close by but alas no target remains. Dullen quickly assesses the situation and reaches into his robes and Drawing ammunition - Free actiondraws a master crafted shuriken and Attack Roll: 11 (Touch of Law)+3 BAB+1 Dex +1 Channel Vigor +1 MW = 17. Damage
Dice Roll:
1d2+4 (1)+4 Total = 5
throws it at one of the Carrion #13Initiates behind him.




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Last edited by ShinobiMaster123; 05-22-2019 at 02:25 AM.
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  #903  
Old 05-24-2019, 06:47 PM
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Ekk-Lakk
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As he lets the magic behind the potion finish its work on his growing body, Ekk-Lakk notices Rohekk's spitting and knows what it means. He does not care. The priest was good enough at his job but for some reason had a hairball up his tail about using any and all available tools—especially magic not specifically drawn from Rovagug—to finish a job. It was the reason Ekk-Lakk had already killed a pafe, while the priests—working together—had killed a bird. He ignored them all for the moment while he picked his next target.

One pafe seemed eager to volunteer. Displaying a typical food-being's uncanny ability to be simultaneously wise and foolish, it offered to surrender, but inexplicably not to Ekk-Lakk's lord and master. "Foolish, cowardly pafe!" he thundered. The Painted One took the pafe's position in the far back as a sign of weakness while remaining oblivious to his own similar stance behind all the other gnolls. "You will surrender to the Carrion King!"

Fortunately for Ekk-Lakk's rising bloodlust, the pafe quickly revealed it had no intention of dying properly. That much was apparent from its eyes, at least. As for what it had actually said, that was less clear. The strange words had obvious roots in the lower planes, but there was... distance... and... rigidity?... and it was infuriating. Ekk-Lakk got off on being able to understand his meals' pleas for mercy, and it had been a long time since a lesser life form had spoken in a tongue he didn't know. His roar of frustration came in response. "You'll suffer, x***!" Whatever Ekk-Lakk had just called the pafe, it was an I picked Abyssal instead of Infernal. Grr! Well played, ekidnu. Abyssal curse so foul, no translation was possible.

The pafe would die for this sin, and so would everything else that wasn't a gnoll.

Actually, gnolls might die, too. X*** it.

Just in-control enough to spot other food-beings attacking the Worm, Ekk-Lakk is about to step up behind one of the priest's initiates, when he spots the pafe-who-spoke-the-unknown-dark-tongue charging across the throne room toward one the lesser gnolls. The Painted One dashes up next to the initiate the pafe attacked and makes a mighty swing straight down. He will see this pafe split in two. Qatal qasamna.

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Last edited by Ytterbium; 05-24-2019 at 07:23 PM.
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  #904  
Old 05-26-2019, 05:19 AM
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Fandrik
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Fandrik Ergyle Nar'Danglestump dove under the giant centipede maw. Twisting, ducking and twirling, the halfling spun like one of the famed whirling dervishes in tales from his childhood. The blue cape lashed out behind him while a stylish rapier parried in front, managing to throw off gnolls and axes from hitting his actual body.

A burning sensation washed over his skin like acid and was gone another moment later. It seemed to affect everyone around him in a shudder that paused the battlefield. Before he had a chance to dwell on it's source, another force pressed upon him. Dark and unseen, the force tried to hold him steady, to snare him like a rabbit. Time slowed as that teasing butterfly fluttered at the edge of his vision. His eyes followed. Then his toes. Then the rest of him broke free and the savagery around crashed back in, resuming time in the speed of a chaotic battle.

His free hand caught hold of a spike from the monstrous centipede as it shifted by and suddenly he was dragged into the air, away from the ferocious gnolls for a brief moment. Finding balance on the shifting plates, Fandrik jumped from spiked scale to spiked scale, using his rapier to punch between the creature's armor as an ice climber might use his axe, the free hand gripped spikes. Riding on Thkot-Tal, with a grin as large as his mustache, the halfling was a mouse on a horse. A mouse with sharp teeth and claws. Pulling the spiked plates and kicking off spikes, stabbing with the rapier and leaping from place to place - the mouse could make the horse buck and rear.

Guts and viscera poured over his head, coating the dashing little figure in slime and semi-digested body parts. For a second the smell and texture over-whelmed him and his stomach clenched in a dry heave. The heroic blessing of Desna tingled in his blood to counter the effect and, as he breathed in once more, fresh adrenaline electrified his body. The intense battle, sickness, danger, movement - this was living. Fandrik had never felt more alive.

"HAHA-HA! Tally-ho, my friends! Down the kraken of the Carrion Tribe! Ha-HA! Take this! Where is your mother now! HA!"

He felt the tip of his rapier slide deep between two scaled plates and come away bloody. Fandrik raised the weapon from Thkot-Tal's back to herald the reckoning they would bring this day. They would win this day if only he could inspire his colleagues. He felt like a hero already and seemed to completely ignore the gnolls in his excitement.

Grak continued to rip and shred the beast so Fandrik flipped down to hang on a spike from the centipede's side near the druid and, in so doing, pulled Thkot-Tal's reigns hard to the side.

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  #905  
Old 05-26-2019, 08:32 AM
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Rohekk Woundsong
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Anger boils up from within. He could not fathom how here, in the seat of power of the Carrion King, at the hands of Rovagug's Avatar, the runtling still ran free. The power of Rovagug had come to him so easily, and yet it had failed.

Very well. No more tricks. No more stalking at the edge of the battle. It was clear what his patron wanted, there was no mistaking what was demanded of him.

The High Priest himself must wade in amongst the pafe, and tear the flesh from their limbs with his own hands. He would join the battle personally, and he would show them what it meant to defy the will of Rovagug. He would show them the price to be paid for threatening the Carrion King.

But first, the runtling.

Extending his hand, he directed the ethereal axe floating by his side once more towards the halfling. Clenching a fist, the weapon struck out towards the hated little beast. He snarled as the strike went wide, and glared. What heinous abomination of fate was it that lay it's protective mantle over this little beast. How could it be that despite all efforts, the snide little wretch evaded all harm.

His blood boiled, and with another gesture, he cried out to the Carrion Initiates.

"You useless wretches! Forwards, upon the scum-bloods! CRUSH! KILL! DESTROY! Throw your lives at them, so that you might be of some worth!"

He closed his eyes then, ignoring the death throes of the mighty Thkot-Tal, and once more beseeched his God. Rovagug appeared to be in a fickle mood, but Rohekk was not surprised. The Lord of Destruction had no interest in who triumphed here, only that it all descended into glorious slaughter.

"Very well then... If it is destruction you wish, then fill my body with your strength, so that I might deliver it to you, Great Devourer."

Once more the holy energies surround Rohekk, as his form is infused with the volatile, rage filled strength of his God.



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  #906  
Old 05-30-2019, 12:00 AM
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Start Ro8

Token--------Character--------Init070809
(F)Fandrik17xo-
(D)Dullen14xo-
(V)Drusilla14xo-
(G)Grak'ark14xo-
(B)Gark-the-Goblin14xo-
(H)Hector13xo-
(16)Rraelliarh16xo-
(19)Rokova16xo-
(Crown)The Carrion King10xo-
(Centipede)Thkot-Tal08xo-
(14-15)Carrion Guards07xo-
(18)Rohekk Woundsong05xo-
(03-05)(12-13)Carrion Initiates05xo-
(17)Ekk-Lakk05xo-
(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)
Hector, 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]
Dullen Wisdom Check VS Hector: Rolled 17
Hector Wisdom Check VS Dullen: Rolled 8
Drusilla Engineering Check VS DC 25: Rolled 25
Blobog Climb Check (DC15): Nat 1
Blobog Climb Check (DC15): Rolled 2


 



Room 2: The Maggot Throne



Dullen moves slides closer with the blade beginning to glow blue. Trevis (#11) tries to back off but he grips his heart as Hector remains firmly latched to his spirit. He grips his heart, panting, backing off, and then fumbles for a weapon.

“Sorry, brother. I know there is good in you but I need to do this to save your soul.” Sharpen hits with both hands. The sword trembles in his hands with the blow, plunging through the heart. Trevis eyes flutter and Dullen sees beneath the horrid mask of a face, past Rovagug, past the pesh addition. “Thanks brother” whispers Trevis as his last breath wheezes out. His body falls backwards, sliding off of Sharpen, which begins to glow a divine white.

The Carrion King stands up, applauding the death, ruining the moment. “Good job, boy!” He yanks at the chain holding one of his slaves, plants one giant hand on the side of the Maggot Throne, and with one shove he pushes over his throne to make room for battle. The sour bits of muscle and bone over the century slams against the floor, remains intact, and slides into the ghoulish pit where it finally shatters. The head of the throne was decorated with gnoll chiefs that were the last ones to challenge him early in his reign. But now it’s all just mixed in with all the other victims of the House of the Beast. The Maggot Throne is no more… now he has new heads and bones to use to build his seat of carrion. He signals Dullen over. “Your brother was weak, an easy toy for me. Now he is out of the way. Come. Come to me. Defeat me…”

He sweeps his hands to the roaring tribe to the south.

“… and my tribe gives up…”

“COME TO ME! Come to me and win the WAR. Or are you a coward like your brother?”





Hector is warned by the ever-perspective Drusilla to stay away from the rows of charred skulls, swiveling his head, when he notices a masked Carrion Initiate (#13) starting to stalk Dullen as he finishes off his brother. Hector, his rage almost at it’s full height, startles the priest before he could surprise the Man or Iroi. “You!” He snarls, 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 steps into proximity with the gnoll he had chosen. He could smell its stinking breath and feel the heat radiating from its fur. Dragonwing sings and carries the momentum of his former rush around the Chelaxian woman. Dragonwing flies, he can smell the gnoll’s rotted breath and he enjoys the very thing that Ekk-Lakk appreciates: fear the dying of light in one’s eye. “Watch me!” he screams in in taldan then in gnoll “Watch me, dammit.” The chest of the gnoll explodes in a spray of blood where the sword goes in (defeated). Hector follows it all the way through, so the speckled fur tickled his hand and he was inches from the face of the gnoll.

He tugs tight on his bond with Trevis (#11), the gnoll behind him (#15) and the massive insect and notices something is wrong with his grasp. He is about to warn Dullen to finish it when he sees Dullen hovering over his brother, sword aglow in a way Hector doesn’t find comfortable. His collection of souls are strung by some sort of strange vibration.




That baleful hold from Woundsong is broken and the lashing slide of Thkot-Tal passes by, plate-spike-plate-spike-spate-spike. Spike after spike passes overhead and the halfling reaches out. Fandrik’s free hand catches hold and he is drawn up from the gnolls like grasping a runaway horse by the saddle strap (Underfoot Assault rules, fluff showing him riding the beast instead of underneath). Heart beating like a dwarven warhammer in his rib cage, he it up twenty feet in the air in mere seconds and his feet find a slippery purchase. He braces his self and achieves a balance on the shifting body, Fandrik jumps from spiked scale to spiked scale, using his rapier to punch between the creature's armor as an ice climber might use his axe, the free hand gripping each spike. Riding on Thkot-Tal, with a grin as large as his mustache, the halfling was a mouse on a horse. A mouse with sharp teeth and claws and the weight of a stone tavern. Pulling the spiked plates and kicking off spikes, stabbing with the rapier and leaping from place to place - the mouse could make the horse buck and rear.

Thkot-Tal tries to shake off this annoying mouse when Grak’ark takes the opportunity, racing in with teeth and claws to drag out more guts, gullet, and all that mess. He finds a nice flap, dives into the hole, and pulls out more (Full Attk | Dmg 14, Dmg 19, flanked). Fandrik holds onto the monster, whipping back and forth. The air is a hot rush and it’s exhilarating, life-like even, as he tears through the dark night. Skulls on the wall glide in a blur and then back to the darkness above the battle and he has to keep his nerve to know who is where in a smear of moving sight. Some glow is from Dullen amd Hector, what is that from this mighty height?! To be so alive and see so much other will never see!!!!!

"HAHA-HA! Tally-ho, my friends! Down the kraken of the Carrion Tribe! Ha-HA! Take this! Where is your mother now! HA!" He hears a chant swerve in and out as the wind rushes past his ears ”Qatal, qatal -qasamna, qasamna!" from somewhere below, not knowing it’s the growl from Grak’ark.

The halfling tips his rapier in between the plates as he swings around by one hand and a bit of blood spurts out onto his already acid flecked face (1 dmg). A little more mess? No problem! "Qatal, qatal -qasamna, qasamna!" the growl comes from below as the halfling grips onto another spike, head spinning, and sword held out in the air in victory. The monster admits that hear piercing screech.

Eeeeeeeeeee----eeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaHHHHHHHHH!

Fandrik hears the scream but it’s only because the monster’s intestines are being pulled out by that damnable gnoll druid that… that hates other gnolls or something? Even from this height he hears that strange chant "Qatal, qatal -qasamna, qasamna!" Murder and kill. Murder-murder -kill, kill.

Eeeeeeeeeee----eeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaHHHHHHHHH!

Murder

Murder

Kill

Kill

Hector ducks his head as Drusilla is watching both side, accessing, accessing. Her breath is heavy but steady, controlled and harsh. He feels her power and confidence over the situation and feeds upon it. Grak’ark is screaming not too far away with guts in his teeth. "Qatal, qatal -qasamna, qasamna!"

Hollow chest heaving he looks back to where his soul collection is being pulled and sees Dullen’s swords gleaming brighter and he feels Trevis squirm in his menacing hold, almost alive. What is this? This has not happened before. The sword swells with blue light and he realizes what is happening. It’s already too late as Dullen has already claimed his soul. He feels all of his muscles pull at every fiber as he’s dragged towards Dullen in a painful tug of war. The soul of Trevis begins to pull back Capt Grimm eastward, a shocking laser show taking place over Dru’s head as she turns her attention to the avalanche of priests coming their way from the west.

His claim glowd a gray gloom and beats back against the blue of Irori. They challenge each other even as all of the is happening. Hector can’t stop now that it’s begun, even if he wanted to stop, and is also not not sure Dullen will understand this as Sharpen tries to capture Trevis into it’s magic.

The Carrion King laughs at this show and it’s sound is maniacal.

A sizzle grows as Dullen and Hector contest.






Rokova (#19) sees the the halfling/gnome slave Ride the Worm and the strange grey/blue glow that is blinking over Thkot-Tal~ swaying back and forth. He knows magic and steel is exploding. This is not exactly what he planned but he’ll go along with it.

Another item, pottery, hits his back and shatters in a hundred pieces. He turns around to duck as a brave arrow tries to take him down but he divers just in time. The Carrion Tribe has heard their King and they want to join! He moves northward past the pillars, quickly, and then slams a trigger with his furry heel that makes a giant guillotine slide out of the ceiling. It pierces the ground much like Fandrik’s contraption peeled into the earth back in the mines when he set traps- but much heavier and smoother. A few gnolls try to run in after and are chopped for the effort.

Other zealots run forward through the other pillars but hidden contraptions are also triggered, letting more guillotines slice downward and killing a dozen others, halting their full approach. Soon a whole metallic wall has stopped all of them from joining the room.

The gnoll high mage priest turns towards the battle, drops his normal weapon, and pulls another blade. It burns blue and yellow, white shards floating to the ground like snow. It looks furious and powerful.

Then… he is gone. Vanished. Like he was never there. Magical sword and all.

Even feint, the gnoll chant still echoes through the line of blocked guillotines that continue to fall one by one, blocking the way in.




Thkot-Tal feels it’s life ebb and attacks Grak for the pain. It’s dying but doesn’t understand it. It’s stomach is on the table dish and it doesn’t understand it. Thkot-Tal is dying but it killed thousands… literally thousands of slaves as offerings to Rovagug and has never suffered defeat in all it’s long years as the pet dog of the Carrion King.

But that nagging, mouse. That strange pain in the back of it’s head!

The Great Worm descends down to bite the twin dogs (Miss) trying to peel it’s flesh when the halfling stabs down right in time (1dmg) and makes it try to get him off. “Ha-HA!”

Eeeeeeeeeee----eeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaHHHHHHHHH!

left-aligned image
The battlefield rattles at the Worm shatters the ground. A poisonous tails raises up like the spear of a devil, dripping, and it comes driving down to impale one of the twin dogs (Copycat, aimed at the correct Grak’ark). It drives down and in the last second Fandirk peels back the spines from above in a painful fashion. The poisoned tail misses Grak’ark by a hair, slamming into the ground. The last gnoll warrior of the Mother of Monsters was just saved by the bravest halfling in the Brazen Peaks.

Tissue rips and shreds as Grak’s paws scrape against the stone, it burns his ragged paws but he holds as hears the tear sing in the air and more mass vomit from the wound. A music of glory and scent in his evil druid ears and nostriles.

The Great Worm bends down and drinks the rich protein from it’s own wound like a drunkard at the wooden bar, slurping it’s intestines like noodles. With a loud crunch it breaks it’s own organs and munches on it’s damage to see Grak’ark start to move off from the attack. Glee with a shudder of it’s spines. Thkot-Tal arches it’s body to pick up the dog in the brain with its mouth and Fandrik again bends the spines again to pull the beast back. The bite misses by a single hair- Grak’ark would have been struck if not for Fandrik.

Eeeeeeeeeee----eeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaHHHHHHHHH!

Not able to handle much more pain, the Great Worm rolls backwards to get away from Grak. Fandrik feels the huge body start to roll backward so he hops off and lands in the square below, landing smack back to the ground level on both furry feet. Thkot-Tal returns to his nest of the pit, away from their reach so he might attack from the distance (falls 10’ into the fit with 5-foot step). Dead parts splash upward from the heavy impact.

Fandrik looks around, thrilled by the ride, and sees Woundsong’s (#18) spiritual axe come for him again as the head priest repositions across the chasm. Fan's eyebrows speak his surprise and he ducks and the white axe swooshing thick hot air that was once where his head was. He saw it coming but it’s hard to concentrate with so much happening in all directions. He skids back, glancing at the priest who just won't stop, won't stop ever, trying to kill him. The great and evil Woundsong gives him a wild smile in response.

Then a great voice, as loud as the Kings', cries above all. Ekk-Lakk and the priests of Woundsong push on.




Among all this the Carrion Initiates attack on mass. Drusilla sees them coming before they even knew they were gonna move and her first attack stops the beginning of the wave, her cold voice sending mixed words to the gnolls (the Painted One specifically, he is very dangerous this one) so the warrior sees if she can control the battle with strategy and feints. She goes for the first gnoll to reach the revealing light from Hector (#1) and it bites hard. Her bardiche slices right across the gnoll’s midsection (Dmg 9), cleaving its way cleanly through flesh and bone like a giant surgeon’s knife, cracking ribs and bisecting a kidney. He clamors backward at this disgrace but the damage is so great his ego can't compete. Slosh! Hide armor and vestment can't compete as his guts collect with centipede's days collection of digested foods.

She swipes again, slips (miss), and the next attack doesn't fall the priest. He heaves under his mask of two lambs (the fool actually took two lambs to make a larger mask, pointing in opposing directions, and the gnoll peeks through the eyes of both eye holes sewn together), and collects his self to keep going, as hard as that might be.

Hector didn’t know the history between Dullen and Trevis but now that Dullen is pulling at his soul it’s already too late. The energy builds as the will of Dullen colides with the will of Hector. The soul of Trevis is pulled between a blue stream from Dullen’s sword and a gray haze from Hector’s fist. A couple of seconds pass and the gnolls descend upon them. A flash of light sparks and slams outward, revealing the rows and rows of skulls on the northern wall in a momentary flash. Hector grimaces as his foul magic pulls from Dullen's sword, one of the many puppet strings he has handled thus far. The thing that helped Dullen defeat his brother is also the thing that is pulling away what the holy monk came for.




"Foolish, cowardly pafe!" thunders the Painted One as he observes the pafe's position in the far back as a sign of weakness while remaining oblivious to his own similar stance behind all the other gnolls. "You will surrender to the Carrion King!"

The King is more than a little jealous at Ekk-Lakk and his sudden seizure of the battle but, as quick as he was egoticily angry, forgives the solider when the Painted cries the King's name in battle. A slight curl in thie cruel face dims the evil only for a second as the gnolls join the battle under his pet centipede he met here long ago when he was just a cub.

In all the chaos the Painted One, Ekk-Lakk (#17), cleaves through the strange garbs of priests and makes a direct line straight for Drusilla, seeing her calculated positioning as cowardly, rebuking to her his threats. He could see her ("it's") cold gray eyes and he searched for fear or regret, the dessert from which he feeds in combat. He found none of this in her eyes even as his crazy colored bulk surged above her and rose his axe high. "You'll suffer, x***!" The course word chokes the room as he swings the axe straight down like a strike of lightening.

Qatal qasamna.

Drusilla was busy with the Rovagug cleric when she senses Ekk-Lakk's axe coming down. It was lost in the darkness because of the monster's great height and only a single, sole, gleam gives it away in the last second. Too late (Hit 17 | Dmg 30).

The impact and bite of Ekk-Lakk is like the mouth of a red dragon. His sawed, rusted axe cuts her from the neck down to her stomach snapping every bone along the way and opening vital organs to the exposed, foul air. The pain is so big, so overwhelming, it overrides all of her sense of being. Ekk-Lakk, the sweet stench of sweat all over his colorful fur, soaks in her pain and ultimate shock. Grak'ark hears her make an utterance of pain he has never, ever heard from the Lady of Death in all this time of knowing her. The sound of it is almost worse than seeing her fall to the terrible Painted One. Drusilla never even knew she made such a sound.

Drusilla, Lady of Death, Cheliax Warrior of Katapesh, former Hellknight- has been defeated for the first time in her long adventuring career and she never even knew what happened. The priest she nearly killed (#1) seizes the moment. "She's mine!" he raises the axe to finish her off with a goodbye from the House of the Beast.

The priest wrenches his axe up, eyes wide behind his sheep heads mask ready to behead Drusilla before Ekk-Lakk can take full claim. He hopes his master, Rohekk Woundsong, can witness his glory. He screams those ancient words as he winds his axe up high.

"Qatal qas-!!!!!!"

BOOOOOOMM

Hector has lost so much, more than Dullen even, but his psyche can't take it as his fingers uncurl and he finally lets go of this contest (Wisdom Checks: Dullen 17 VS Hector 8).

The priest with the double lamb mask lets his axe plummet (#1),

Moment of TruthHit 8 (Melee attacks against a helpless target get a +4 bonus)
Helpless: Original AC14 - Flat-footed= AC10
Melee VS Helpess get a +4 bonus (prone): Hit 12
Drusilla: 52 dmg | Sickened | 8 DEX dmg | Unconscious and Dying (HP48) -4hp | Dead at -12hp


The energy between Dullen and Hector explodes and knocks skulls from the wall, which come crashing down in a pouring shower. The Rovagug priest misses his mark by two inches and wedges in caked mold and stone, the blast saving Drusilla's life for one precious second (Hit 12 | Dmg 7 | 1 hp remaining before DEATH). Her short almond hair, covered in gore, is quickly dipped in her red blood as it pumps out of her body in sheets as her nicked heart works hard in keeping her going. Bones litter her face and body as her steel eyes begin to close but she sees just a bit as the world is sucked down into the hole of Rovagug. She tries to talk, to give one final command, but fate is not so kind for melodrama. Her life blood splashes upon her lips for this one final moment.

Drusilla has one final moment, one round my friends, to either say goodbye or leave this game forever.

The vibrating, glowing spherical object that Dullen and Hector battled over zips straight into Dullen’s sword as it loses it's glow. “That will keep you safe til I can properly prepare your soul for the afterlife. You deserve that, brother.” Dullen hears the King talking to him but and also notices that Drusilla is possibly slain. What does he do now?

What do they all do in the face of so much overwhelming evil?

This terrible battle continues.

[CENTER]Murder

Murder


Kill

Kill









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.



Combat Modifiers
 

Maps
 

Last edited by PIG; 06-01-2019 at 06:22 PM.
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Old 05-30-2019, 12:08 AM
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Old 05-30-2019, 12:08 AM
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Old 05-30-2019, 12:08 AM
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Old 05-31-2019, 10:10 AM
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Ekk-Lakk
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The pafe never saw it coming.

Ekk-Lakk, the Painted One, the second—in his own mind, at least—only to the Carrion King himself, slices the future meal almost completely in two, leaving bones, stomach, and heart exposed to the beautiful darkness. Ekk-Lakk would never know what it had said in that strange, rigid tongue it used to taunt him, but this pafe would never defy a gnoll again. Re-shouldering his mighty axe, Ekk-Lakk watched the pafe's heart fight against the inevitable. Something about the moment of death was special, whether it was an insight from Rovagug or simply the pleasure of a victory over a lesser life form combined with the anticipation of a fresh meal. Whatever it was, it—"She's mine!"

What is this? He dares interrupt my kill!? As the lesser priest shoves his way between Ekk-Lakk and his kill, the Painted One is momentarily stunned by the sheer brazenness. Or was it stupidity? Or was it the sudden explosion? He would have to kill whatever caused that later. Unfortunately for the priest, Ekk-Lakk's shock doesn't last, and his teeth are now fully bared for the first time today. As demeaning as it was for Ekk-Lakk to speak to pafes at all, let alone in their own tongues, it is a gnoll who offends his misguided sensibilities the most.

"You dare steal my kill? What did I say?" Ekk-Lakk glares down over his muzzle at the priest. The red in his eyes is unmistakably not paint.

"What. Did. I. SAY?" His words further shake the room, which is still ringing from the explosion.

Ekk-Lakk doesn't give the priest even a moment to answer. He simply steps closer and brings his axe down square on the priest's head. The priest had already been bloodied by the pafe (in a rare instance of a pafe being accidentally useful before it died), and the blow from Ekk-Lakk crumples the priest's body into a puddle of shattered fur, bones, and goo barely fit for licking off the floor, making his previous target look like the picture of health by comparison (in spite of the massive axe wound and exposed innards).

Momentarily ignoring the rest of the pafes, Ekk-Lakk turns his massive head past them to snarl at the head priest. "Woundsong! Keep your lackeys out of my way or I'll kill the rest of them, too!"

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Old 05-31-2019, 03:17 PM
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Fandrik
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Fandrik wasn't thinking. He didn't have time. Instead, he felt the ebb and flow of the chaotic battle, much as he felt and anticipated the movement of the huge plated centipede. Trusting to Desna, the halfling slipped right off the side of the beast and laughed as it backed off the ledge. Fandrik's feet hit the stones and he whirled, miss AoOslashing at the over-sized worm though it was already several feet away. It was still a dashing twirl.

Spinning back to the gnolls and his friends, the halfling arched over backwards just in time to avoid the hovering axe which had unfortunately found him once again. He straightened, about to dart left when eyes saw Ekk-Lakk's bloody axe and noticed the pool of blood. By feet that belonged to Drusilla.

"DRU!"

The words burst from Fan's lips as he cursed himself for ever leaving her side. She had needed him and he wasn't there. Just like his cousin Ditch when slavers had attacked their ship.

Jab stepping to the left, Fandrik 22 to hit for 4 dmg on gnoll 5punched his rapier into the nearest gnoll's belly without looking. He didn't care about the resulting wound, only that it would divert and attract attention. The rapier slid free as he dove forward, rolling before coming back up in a sprint that zigzagged unpredictably. The next gnoll was nat 20 on acrobatics vs #4entirely oblivious as Fandrik ran right past, sliding between the huge Ekk-Lakk and his fallen friend.

"Did you forget about me, bonehead? You said you'd kill me! I bet you're a liar like Rovagug too!" Ekk-Lakk was way bigger than the small halfling. But coming from the enormous Thkot-Tal, he didn't appear very big at all.

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Last edited by Jarl11; 05-31-2019 at 03:18 PM.
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  #912  
Old 05-31-2019, 10:47 PM
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Grak'Ark
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"Qatal, qatal -qasamna, qasamna!". The chant fills the air as the transformed gnoll revels in the blood and gore that surrounded him. He felt the life force from this monstrous beast starting to fade and reveled in impending death. The chosen of Lamashtu was so lost in the beauty of bloodlust that he didn't even notice the weakened beast's gargantuan stinger as it came down to impale him.

But the halfling slave did. The obnoxious and impetuous former slave leapt onto the massive worm's back and diverted the poisoned blow. This was the second time Grak'Ark had seen the insane halfling throw himself into mortal danger to save someone. And this time, that someone was Grak'Ark.

His name is Fandrick. And he is no slave. He is pack he said to himself, shocked that he could feel so much respect for a bite-sized swashbuckler.

"DRU" the haflling shouted, his words causing the cooshie's head to swivel towards his former hadis.

Grak'Ark's world explodes as he sees Drusilla's body on the ground, a massive gnoll with a painted face standing over her with an arrogant leer as he argues over who got the kill.

His mind flashes through his history with the dead woman. He does not dwell on their recent argument, but instead focuses on how the burly woman had taken him in when he had no pack. She had led the others into the attack to defeat his traitorous kin. When he had fallen against the Growler, it was Drusilla who stepped in and defeated him. She was his hadis, his leader, his friend. And now she laid there, dead.

All thoughts of the impending death of massive worm fled from his mind. He no longer cared if Thkot-Tal lived or died. He didn't care if it's stinger pierced his flesh or it's teeth tore into his hide.. There is only one thing that matters. The oversized gnoll must die.

"SHE... WAS... PACK!!!" the beast rages as he leaves the bleeding entrails of the worm and launches a furious attack on the massive gnoll, enchanted paws and teeth tearing into the one who had killed his hadis.

 

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Old 06-01-2019, 12:02 AM
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Gark
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The goblin looked at Grak'Ark with awe as the transformed gnoll ripped into Thkot-Tal with a savage fury that could only come from Lamashtu. A tear trickles from his eye as the sheer beauty of the gory moment, as he knew the powerful beast of Rovagug would soon be dead.

But his jaw drops when the transformed form of Grak'Ark turns away from his giantic prey to focus on a gnoll that had killed the human pafe. Not only had the gnoll left a certain kill, but he had left himself completely open to the attack of the massive vermin. It was insanity, stupidity he had never seen from Grak'Ark.

His shock at the unnatural moment is broken by the sound of the Carrion King, who chuckled at the spectacle. He was laughing at a chosen of Lamashtu. Laughing!!!

It was a that moment Bloblog understood the reason for Grak'Ark's uncharacteristic manoeuvre in turning away from a certain kill. It was Lamashtu that had allowed Drusilla to die, it was Lamashtu who had pulled him away from the battle.

She did it in response to Ghartok's laugh. Rovagug and his minion needed to be put into their place. They needed to know that Lamashtu had sent not one, but two of her chosen ones, powerful servants that would not fail. The needed to know fear before they died.

And Bloblog was the other chosen one. I will not fail you, my queen. the goblin vows, his faith giving him the courage he needed to take action.

The goblin's knives drop into the mass of dead bodies around him as he rips out his crossbow. He takes careful aim at the vital organs exposed by the cooshie's brutal attacks as he takes aim.

"Lamashtu!!!" the goblin's high pitched voice screams as he launches the bolt, his form winking back into visibility as soon as he pulls the trigger.

A smile crosses his face as the bolt connects with the beast's flesh, tearing through veins and vital organs. He had lost the protection of invisibility and was now vulnerable to the attacks of his enemies, including the massive worm. But Bloblog was not afraid. He had all the protection he needed.

He had Lamashtu.

 
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Old 06-01-2019, 03:53 PM
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Quote:
He speaking in Gnollishsignals Dullen over. “Your brother was weak, an easy toy for me. Now he is out of the way. Come. Come to me. Defeat me…”

He sweeps his hands to the roaring tribe to the south.

“… and my tribe gives up…”

“COME TO ME! Come to me and win the WAR. Or are you a coward like your brother?”
Dullen hears the taunting of the Carrion King, anger starts to build from his words and that anger festers and almost forces him to rush to do combat with him alone. Dullen continues to focus on his Maintaining Snake Style - free actiontraining , slowly crouching as he about to launch himself forward.

Dullen suddenly feels a disturbance, a shift in the Iroricloriants in the air. He quickly glances about and sees the axe falling down on Drusilla. The wound is devastating. He sees her ragged breaths and notes she may only have seconds to live. The rage building subsides instantly. He speaks in Gnollish, "Hold that pose, I will be with you shortly.".

Dullen becomes a blur of e41 - 5ft, d40- 5ft, c39 - 10 ft, c38 - 5 ft., c37 - 5 ft.movement purposefully entering the large gnoll's reach to provoke a Snake Stance - Sense Motive
Dice Roll:
1d20+15 (12)+15 Total = 27
reaction. He then bends down and calls upon the gifts of Irori, "The strength you have given me Irori, bring forth this warrior from the brink, her help is still needed.". His hand glows a translucent Sacrifices Magic Vestment for Cure Serious Wounds - no Roll due to Healer's feat.. 29 HP restored.blue and touches Drucilla on the shoulder. The glow shimmers over her entire body healing up a good portion the the axe wound that was delivered by the enlarged Gnoll. He watches as her eyes flutter open. "Sorry, Dru. That axe wound you received is gonna leave a nasty mark. That's two you owe me." Dullen says with a little chuckle.

Dullen prepares himself for the oncoming attacks that he is sure to follow.





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Last edited by ShinobiMaster123; 06-01-2019 at 05:02 PM.
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Old 06-02-2019, 03:29 AM
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Drusilla Vanadici
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Everything is black: blacker than night, and darker than the blindness she endured yesterday. Everything is black, for there is nothing but a yawning void as black and empty as death.

In the far distance there is a wink of blue. It reminds her of the end, of that sudden crackling flash of cerulean fighting against ebony over one soul, an abstract struggle that nonetheless blasted skull after skull after skull from the adjacent wall. Against the backdrop of that colorful explosion her body had crumpled lifelessly to the ground.

The pinprick of blue grows, in both size and intensity. Slowly, she begins to remember. She sensed the axe before she saw it, but for some reason her muscles were frozen, too sluggish and rigid to react, unable to even scream as the axe sliced through flesh. She remembers the razor sharp edge bathed in a crimson fountain, a silhouette of death against a backdrop of blood.

Somehow everything is blue now, an eternal sky coalescing into an azure hand that reaches for her very soul. Protective and strong, the hand encloses her and pulls her back from the brink ...

Drusilla finds herself flat on her back, looking up into Dullen's kind, chuckling face. A good portion of her most recent wound has been healed, but she remains motionless, not wanting to draw any attention in her weakened state. Her eyes silently observe the surrounding chaos--only when she sees that the painted gnoll's focus is distracted by another gnoll does she quickly scamper to her feet, abandoning her bardiche as she runs to safety. There is no other choice--she is clearly not strong enough to stand on the front line. She will not allow her companions to risk themselves any further for her sake--as she sprints around the pit, she tugs her sledge hammer and its attached rope into her hands, opting for a weapon with even more reach so that she can contribute without endangering herself and her friends.

 


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