RPG Crossing Home Forums Create An Account! Site Rules & Help

RPG Crossing
Go Back   RPG Crossing > Games > Hall of Fame > Hall of Fame Games > Legacy of Fire
twitter google facebook


Thread Tools
Old 06-04-2019, 09:14 AM
Arkaon's Avatar
Arkaon Arkaon is online now
Community Supporter
User Statistics
Last Visit: 06-17-2019
RPXP: 2694
Arkaon Arkaon Arkaon Arkaon Arkaon Arkaon Arkaon Arkaon Arkaon Arkaon Arkaon
Posts: 1,730
Rohekk Woundsong
right-aligned image
Rohekk, lingering behind and directing his initiates, saw fully the triumph of one of his acolytes over the pafe woman. The High Priest failed to recall the initiates name, but he watched with a malicious approval the manner in which the young cleric honoured the Beast with his victory over the female. His cruel gaze fell upon the initiate, the crimson eyes burning with a lust to join battle himself, yet for the briefest second there was a flash of something else in Rohekk's eyes.

It was something that seemed dangerously close to approval.

It was a good kill, a solid kill, and Rohekk knew that Rovagug would be well pleased. Yet barely had the moment been savoured when Rohekk's gaze was drawn to a movement, a flash of steel, and he could do nothing but watch on as the Mad One's giant blade came crashing down, obliterating the initiate in it's moment of triumph.

Slowly, Rohekk's harsh, blood red eyes moved slowly to lock eyes with Ekk-Lakk. He said nothing, gripping his axe tightly as he began slowly to walk forward, the furious rage-strength of his patron setting every muscle in his body on fire. Their locked gazes seemed to last an eternity, though it could hardly have been more than a second or two. Finally, Rohekk's lips curl upwards, his long, sharp fangs exposing in something that looked like a horrible snarl.

A moment later, the High Priest threw his head back and emitted a harsh, bark-like hacking sound that rocked his shoulders. Rohekk's initiates looked back at their master, their expressions showing clearly that they had no understanding of what it was that afflicted their master.

That was, until he suddenly stopped, his head whipping back and turning to face his initiates with a savage glare. It was then that it became clear. The High Priest had... laughed.

"Now that, scum, is a glorious offering to the Beast! THAT is a death worthy of Him. If there was any chance all your deaths would be so worthy, I'd throw every last one of you at the Painted One!"

It had been glorious. The initiate cutting down the pafe woman had been one thing, but then to be struck down at the moment of elation. Triumphant over the pafe woman, and receiving rare praise from the High Priest in one moment, struck down by Ekk-Lakk the next. Rohekk was overcome at the beautiful destruction of it all. Rohekk could almost feel the tangible presence of his Patron's approval.

"You're mind might be addled, Painted One, but you are clearly blessed in the eyes of Rovagug!"

Yet again, in a glorious orgy of death and destruction, Rohekk had no time to savour the beauty of Ekk-Lakk's culling of the initiate, as the pafe counterattack saw the over-sized form of Ekk-Lakk fall. Immediately, Rohekk's eyes whirled to fall upon the scum-blood that had dared to strike the mighty Ekk-Lakk. He had expected to find another loathsome pafe, but was surprised to see that it was no pafe at all, but instead a gnoll. Flashing his teeth and clenching his fist, Rohekk extends his arm and points at the traitor, screaming in a near frenzy at his initiates.


Rohekk's blood was up, and he had been ready to surge forth into battle himself. Yet this orchestra of destruction to honour the Beast and protect the Carrion King could not go further without the mighty Ekk-Lakk. The Painted One would die, probably here in this very room on this very day, yet it was not now. Not while so many of the Pafe still drew breath.

So, fighting back the urge to crush the treacherous gnoll himself, he leaves that to his initiates and instead makes his way over to Ekk-Lakk's prone form. He offers up another prayer to Rovagug, this time beseeching his master to close Ekk-Lakk's wounds, and reaches out to touch the Mad One with his holy symbol.

"Your dance is not over, Mad One. Arise again, so that you might bring more glorious destruction upon our enemies. In the Beast's name!!"

With that, the High Priest turned and glared at the pafe. With the Painted One restored, it was time for Rohekk to show these infidels what the price for defiling the Carrion King's domain truly was. He'd been distracted enough! Now his blade would taste pafe blood.

And it would be a glorious slaughter.

Vini. Vidi. Vici.
Join Tug of War!
Reply With Quote
Old 06-04-2019, 05:22 PM
Dressedtojazz's Avatar
Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz is online now
Community Supporter
User Statistics
Last Visit: 06-17-2019
RPXP: 17653
Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz
Posts: 8,508
Hector Grimm
right-aligned image

With chaos reigning on all sides, the treachery of the, otherwise seemingly agreeable, initiate of the Open Hand was a hard blow to the old Ustalavian. Years of whispers, corruption and fake appearances had given him a knack to see when he was robbed unfairly of something that was rightfully his. Never, since he had turned to Eiseth for powers, had he encountered anyone capable of denying him the souls from which he thrived and grew stronger from. Hector fixed the priest on the other side of the pit with his steel gaze, his mind running double speed to understand what the effect was and if it had anything to do with the familiar bond the two men had shared.

There was a wet sound just behind him and Hector turned to see Drusilla fall. His mind calculated the dangers quicker than his rage could surface and it was his wits that won over his urge for revenge. He swung his blade around, to clear the nuisance of a gnoll, lying between him and the Chelaxian woman. He had removed his attention from Dullen for a second and even so, the man was there, zipping right past him, dancing past the acid-spewing skulls like they were not there.

Dragonwing cleaved the back open of the prone gnoll and Hector started retreating with Drusilla, almost not able to fathom how quickly it had all happened and how the fate had changed so much. Dullen’s powers were formidable and some of them, obviously, a danger to his achievements.

In a blur, taking deliberate care to stay on a straight path, Hector swooshed around tugging tight on new souls and refilling his cabinet of power, the nearest initiate, the soon dead Ekk-Lakk and the craven King behind his elves were all feeling their souls locked tight in the grasp of this old man - his wrath tangible through the bond.

Coming to a stand beside Drusilla and seeing her readying a weapon anew, Hector barked words he knew they shared and which held good opportunities for being unregistered by the gnolls, I need clear sight of the big one.

Last edited by Dressedtojazz; 06-04-2019 at 05:22 PM.
Reply With Quote
Old 06-12-2019, 06:10 AM
PIG's Avatar
PIG PIG is online now
Big Piggy Pig Big Pig!
User Statistics
Last Visit: 06-17-2019
RPXP: 26154
Posts: 18,749
Start Ro9

(18)Rohekk Woundsong05xo-
(01-05)(12-13)Carrion Initiates05xo-
(06-10)Elven Slaves05xo-
(Crown)The Carrion King05xo-
o = open to post
- = don't post yet
x = posted already

DM Summary
left-aligned image

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

Sunrise 6:30AM | 8:00PM Sunset

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

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

House of the Beast: The Lower Temple


Room 2: The Maggot Throne

Thkot-Tal is falling into pieces as it drags back from the battle, gushing guts in a trail as it withdraws, and Fandrik feels a shiver down his spine (Sickened) from the site as obvious humanoids and animals drool from it's midsection along with broken plates from the overgrown instect. But he still has his luck close by, gripping it like a handle (Maintain Archaeologist's Luck), and just goes along with the chaos. He sees Drusilla and calls her name, drawing everyone's attention to her fallen body.


With disregard to his own safety, he races to her. In a twirl his sword flashes and misses the priest creeping upon him (Miss #5) and pivots north. Thkot-Tal sees this and instinctively moves in for the kill like a praying mantis. Fandrik hears the enormous thing shift towards him and feints right (Acrobatics 28 | Failed) and doesn't turn around in time to feel Thkot-Tal strike hard (he doesn't know by what, it could be so many enemies) and it throws him forward. Spine needles stick into this right waist and the venom slides into his blood stream like it did with Drusilla. He glances up to her dying body and she's a red blur. Nonetheless he keeps trying to reach her, to protect her like he protects Hector.

The priests see the halfling struck and weak and continue to throw their axes (Acrobatics AoO | Miss | Miss) and Fan barely notices as he easily hops away, trying to keep his mind steady, rolling on the floor. He rolls to a stand when a great voice, feminine but as sharp as a cat's tooth, blinks through his brain in Abyssal 'Watch above'. Fandrik looks above right on time to see Ekk-Lakk's saw-toothed axe descend in a fell swoop and he has just a hair to move before getting cut in half like Dru. He was slow, slow because of the venom (Acrobatics Rolled 21 | Miss) but the voice saves him and he ducks. Whooooooof, it just misses. Hector notices in that same moment that the light shining from his rock around his neck flickers and then shines again as if even the bard’s magic knew he would (should) be dead right now but some outside force reconfigured the situation.

Both Grak'ark and Fandrik hear it simultaneously. Grak knows the voice of his goddess all too well. Both of them lock eyes for a moment (Hero Point: +2 Acrobatics) and there is an understanding in that brief half-a-second. That venom almost sealed his fate with that attack if not for the Mother of Monsters. Grak will make sure he never forgets this as Fandrik slides protectively over Dru. Grak'ark wonders, was it to save Fan or Dru? Mother is patient, so it is hard to tell. Either way it made a maddening chill go his body, standing up his short hair, tingling his six nipples.

Despite all of this, Fan's bravado echoes through the chamber even as he feels his body grow sluggish. "Did you forget about me, bonehead? You said you'd kill me! I bet you're a liar like Rovagug too!" HaHA! Yes! Another day, now and always. He glances back again and worries about the state of the downed warrior as Dullen speeds toward them around the pit. He passes the skulls and ducking the acid as if on a tightrope (Trap Hit 16, 6 | Both Miss) and slides in a kneeling position before the Carrion Guard on the ground can even bring around his rapier to stop him, worried about Hector right over him. Dullen moves so fast, so smooth, that Fandrik couldn’t make sense of who it was for a moment before he sees Dullen’s hand glow blue. The Hand of Irori. With Dullen near it all feels like they might pull through this once and for all.

Drusilla is pumping blood from her chest. Her skull is split and some light gray material from her head, opened up by that last axe from the Carrion Initiate before the strange explosion comes through. Is that brains? Bones and skull litter her body from the wall and blast. Fandrik's waist screams from the puncture and his body feels like two day old honey, covering Dullen and Dru together.

Fandrik pivots back to the enemy, letting the monk do his job.

The murderer is distracted for a moment. "You dare steal my kill? What did I say?" The Painted One turns and just completely destroys the same initiate that nearly killed Drusilla. His body goes in eight differ directions.

Good, they needed that. The damage is really bad, Dullen can see it, but the slice on her head (smaller yet dire by far) is the worse thing. Dru’s ribs are revealed and broken upward like the fingers of a lich. The blue and gray lung pokes up through her deflated breast that hangs over to the side like a wet pillow, yellow fat upside and nipple hidden by mounds of damage. He ignores all of this. The year of healing people at his temple has perfected Dullen's ability (Healer’s Feat) and he knows to focus on her skull first. The brains vanish back to where they came from and her skull seals. Her ribs fold inward and a sick suckling sound is admitted as her torso seals back up, his hand gleaming from magic. A great big scar from her right shoulder, down her right breast, to her belly is still there and her bones are still broken, but the major organs are put back together and her skin is sealed (healed 29 hp). Black liquid leaks from the scars in dribbles- foreign gunk: rot and dirt from the temple forced out from her body cavity by Irori’s healing magic to make sure she doesn’t suffer inner infection.

Hector looks back and sees one of his soldiers nearly fall and die to the blade. His old eyes continue the scan to examine everyone else during battle and glazes over everything else~ soft eyes. Watch everything at once, not one thing at once. He doesn't know Drusilla and it's just another fallen comrade in his mind, so many men under his command. Years of ugly revolt and war within treacherous Ustalav pass his mind, how so much can happen all at once during combat. A hiss of acid makes him turn, his reflexes making sure he doesn't get burned again, and sees the robed priest Dullen speed past with his glowing sword by his side. Blood squirts as Dullen chants and heals Dru. Grak'ark attempts to pull down the big painted gnoll that killed Abd (the young fisherman means a tons more to the captain than Dru at this point). He still feels the souls within his grip and the lost one to Dullen. His mind whirls, processing, processing, adding the math as seconds pass with each though. Tick. Tick. Tick.

In one second Hector makes sense of what just happened with that explosion and the sword. Dullen is one of the many of followers of Irori that are both clerics and monks (Spellcraft DC13). If he fights with a longsword, a non-monk weapon, that means he is a Redeye Knight (Spellcraft DC20) in the lore of battles long ago when they used to roam the Inner Seas as representatives of the East. It was said that Redeye Knights pass on their ability linearly in bloodlines, from father to elderly son, and it is through their heirloom weapon. This... human monster Trevis called Dullen a brother at one point. He suddenly understands that Dullen is caretaker to this bloodline and is protecting his lineage (and the brother he still loves) using some sort of magic in that very heirloom that glows over Drusilla as he prays above her. He's not sure what the others know about Dullen but he suddenly understands, especially after all this drama, some of Dullen's mission better than anybody.

The Carrion Guard (#15) knocked to the ground by Dru 30 seconds ago sees Hector digesting this information and takes it as if he is freezing under pressure. "That's right, pafe. You're all done." Those are his last words on this world of Golarion as Hector turns his attention back to him, blue eyes flaring like fire, great sword falling like Lady Death. Shhhhhhluuuck. He doesn't even have a chance to blink when Dragonwing divides his brain into two, one of those eyeballs making a nose dive into the pit and falling into the chemical hell where it hisses and roasts as if in a clay oven. The whites of the eye peels yellow and the brown iris curls inward by what lies within.

The shadows grow around Hector as he grips more souls.

Then Drusilla sucks in air.

She is awake.

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 Drusilla 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.

left-aligned image
"What. Did. I. SAY?" His words further shake the room, which is still ringing from the explosion. Dru's steel eyes flutter open, alive and wild from the incredible threat of that voice. That wildness is gone in a final flutter. Her hard, calculating stare is back in a mere moment from her years of training near to Hell. She is about to get up when she decides she needs to wait for the right time with the Painted One towering above them. This painted gnoll clown/jester… is death incarnate. He looks like nightmare in all his strange painted colors and lethal weapon (Delay to Initiative 5) as he murders the priest that brained Drusilla. Whack! It's hard to describe the carnage that follows as his body is blasted in different directions. Brittle bone and sloppy parts fly in every direction.

Ekk's axe cleaves the cleric in two, neck to naval, and he flies apart like pottery without even knowing that he was sent to Rovaugg. His insides pouring out. Rohekk suddenly stops, his head whipping back and turning to face his initiates with a savage glare. It was then that it became clear. The High Priest is now... laughing.

"Now that, scum, is a glorious offering to the Beast! THAT is a death worthy of Him. If there was any chance all your deaths would be so worthy, I'd throw every last one of you at the Painted One!" He screams this to the intruders, this as his holy blessing. The hyenas, these gnolls, are all making a strange manic sound and Hector and Fandrik are confused. Dullen, Dru, and Grak are not- it is the sound of gnolls laughing. It is the sound of Katapesh. "You're mind might be addled, Painted One, but you are clearly blessed in the eyes of Rovagug!"

But if there is anyone that can match the evil of the enemy gnolls it is the Jackal: Grak’ark Once of the Kulldis.

Ekk-Lakk raises his axe again as Thkot-Tal rises from the pool of dead. Woundsong and his priests comes with their rain of axes. The Carrion King laughs. He has to make a choice.

Grak'ark chooses Ekk-Lakk. He dives for Ekk-Lakk and leaps for the throat as his arms are busy raising his axe again. Two dogs leap up like twins (Copy Cat), with those powerful teeth, so much stronger than natural with magic (Bull’s Strength, Wildshape) and gets Ekk-Lakk right in one of the Painted One’s weapons: his voice box. Teeth try to sink into the gnoll’s giant adam’s apple and tries to rip it out, forefeet reaching up and dragging downward, but a greenish shield (Shield of Faith) blocks it (bite miss, would have taken him prone if not for that spell). His claws come up instead and both rake downward in a beautiful display of hatred. Blood blooms out like curtains blown by an errand gale (Dmg 16 | Dmg 14). Ekk-Lakk bubbles a roar and it pops in Grak’s face like streams of hot water which he laps with his tongue since he can't bite it. The dog wrenches down and the great Ekk-Lakk roars back as if underwater. "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. Whether she likes it or not: she'll always be his hadis.

But the high priest is not done. He commands them to descend upon the twin dogs:


Rohekk's blood is up, and he was ready to surge forth into battle himself. Yet this orchestra of destruction to honor the Beast and protect the Carrion King could not go further without the mighty Ekk-Lakk. The Painted One would die, probably here in this very room on this very day, yet it won't be now while he still working for the King if he can help it. Not while so many of the Pafe still drew breath. He sends his priests into the slaughter, axes drawn, and they all gang up on Grak'ark as he pulls back from Ekk-Lakk. An axe pinches deeply into his back with loud hacks, another misses entirely, while yet another goes for the twin for good measure (Copy Cat). The illusion of the twin pops out of existence as Grak yelps while the lone priest wrenches his weapon out of his body and drives it back down even harder, bloody. He pulls away with minimal damage; considering (Dmg 14 | Miss | Miss). His speed and trickery has saved him a lot of damage, the Carrion Tribe not realizing that they are facing Grack'ark the Jackal and that he's far from finished in this battle.

The evil Woundsong sees his followers taking down this rabid dog that harmed the Great Painted One so badly. What enchanted or shapeshifted creature is this? Is it summoned? He moves up behind Ekk and touches the bottom of his chain shirt (powdery with dried green dye) and prays. "Your dance is not over, Mad One. Arise again, so that you might bring more glorious destruction upon our enemies. In the Beast's name!!" (Cures 13hp). The throat damage heals instantly, though a lot of it's still there, but he can still speak (all fluff, no game rules). The High Priest smiles as he hears Thkot-Tal coming right back, wounds healing. He looks at his paw for one breif moment and sees faded paint of green.


right-aligned image
Like a chain drawing up the gears of a drawbridge, the enormous centipede curls to rise high after slashing Fandrik. It curls around it's self like a snake to cork screw upward to make another attack (a function of being 6 tons of exoskeleton and needing to find a center balance to attack again). A goat and camel head (eyes filmed white) tumble out of its opened insides as the last of it's digesting contents smack heavily onto stone, the rest is just yellow jellied acid as the last contents are wrenching up. The old Thkot-Tal is weak and slow from all it's damage but still incredibly dangerous.

Thkot-Tal sees Grak'ark as the injured non-gnoll that might function as food. It has some vague memory of the twin dogs pulling out it's guts but now there is only one now so... it's time to eat and fill it's now empty stomach. It' simple mind does not ponder on why it's so hungry all of the sudden.


It draws forward in a surge, forcipules sliding wide open to finish off Grak'ark, when there is a small shrill cry from behind. The Carrion King perks up from his torn down throne to look west. "What is that?" he asks the mute elves. They don't answer as all of their beautiful eyes (purple, green, blue, brown) look to the death pit without an answer. One stands up, eyes wide, with long tufts of hair in her clenched fists. The Carrion King stands up straighter, eyes wide, nose sniffing something wrong. He searches the dead pool for new enemies but sees nothing. But something is wrong. Really wrong.



Bloblog grins as he pulls the trigger and the bolt flies across the thick hot air. His aim is right for the soft spot on the spine, away from all the others so they can't reach, only the lowly and kicked around goblin knows about this secret access. It glides upward, arches down ever slightly by a millimeter, and hits directly behind the plates where Fandrik already stabbed several times as he rode the beast. The spine drinks the bolt deeply and it hits the core nervous system built around the spine, a knotted black bulge deep within that has pulsated for decades in the name of Rovagug. The bolt slides through, cutting it in two, and Thkot-Tal releases one last ear piercing scream.


The centipede jolts to and fro, left and right, spraying insides in every direction until it falls heavily to one side, sending a mass of carcasses into the air with a slam. Everyone, pafe and gnoll, are sent in the air by the fall as the ground shakes, and they have to catch their selves as they fall back.


The Carrion King watches as his pet falls dead into the pile of unwanted dead. This is impossible. This is the creature sent by the Beast to give the King so much power. This is impossible.

His crazed gaze pivots to the source so see some long eared, green creature with a crossbow in the dead. Tingling rage rises from his gut to his mouth.

"Move." His whisper is full of loathing and denial. He reaches into a pack and finds a snake to pull out. The snake hisses angrily at him, pointing it's head for something to bite as a red tongue snips out for scent (Retrieve Item).


The two elves in his way (#6 #7) suck in breath as the King shoves his huge body between them. They fall back, terrified (5-foot step) and the chains to their throat collars are pulled taunt (5 foot range from their linked square to the floor). One elf sucks in her stomach to stifle her airway, to control her breath, while the other that pulls out her hair and covers her face and lets him push her to the ground. He raises the slithering snake in the air the snake becomes completely rigid and straight like a spear, the head the spearhead.

The venom pumps through Drusilla's heart as she passes the pit, glancing down and distantly wondering why they heard no fall into the darkness, but glad to be alive. Fandrik admits a laugh as he covers her retreat "HaHA!" (stand up from prone, soft cover). The blood pumping through her veins now reactivates the venom from the centipede's spines and it blocks the cells in her body starved for oxygen, thus slowing her movement. She keeps from the edge, breath wheezing, sick from the temple dead and venom, but still alive. Dru looks right at the King making sudden movements as she gets out of the way, passing Hector as he stands over a dead Carrion Guard he just downed. The Carrion King has a glittering, squirming snake in his grip, pushing the elves out of the way, and she recognizes it as a weapon from the Salamanders right away! The snake straightens into a spear and then she is sure. The Carrion King has all her equipment she lost yesterday. She even catches sight of the amulet she used to wear from way back.

Even as almost all of her current weapons and equipment are stolen from the mines of the Middle Temple, she is still equipped nontheless. Drusilla; ever the adapter. Adjusting to the moment with the tools available. A miner's sledge hammer, rusted from usage over the years, swings from a rope as her chest shred from her broken ribs underneath, a pain she can deal with. The sledge hammer swings in both hands, her teeth clenched tight till the grit between grinds, the metal hammer dashing back and forth for the next enemy, tick-tock tick-tock tick-tock. The sound of battle when down to the second.

The Carrion King raises his stolen snake spear high as he steps up and sees Blogbog down there, holding the weapon that killed the one the monster that has been with him since the beginning of his power. This enrages him. Before all gnolls, before everyone, Thkot-Tal has always been there. Then this ~CREATURE~ (Blobog) that stands before him and just downs this legacy. This creature and all the other pafe.

The King raises the snake and attacks Bloblog in a rage. Gark-the-Goblin sees it coming from the roar and ducks it easily (Nat 1) and the snake spear strikes a matted mess of unidentifiable bloated fur next to him. The snake-spear pulls from the carcass, head covered in rot, hisses, and senses it's master. It turns into shade and snakes back to the Carrion King as a shadow, building back to it's new master's hand and reshaping around his fist for reuse (Spear of Return +1).

Blogbog notices as the Carrion King watches him with crazy eyes and raises the spear another time to finish the job.

The battle continues.

DM Notes
left-aligned image

  • 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

PIG's Next Legacy of Fire Post: Wednesday May 8th

Last edited by PIG; 06-12-2019 at 11:03 PM.
Reply With Quote
Old 06-12-2019, 05:39 PM
Squeak's Avatar
Squeak Squeak is online now
Of the Fartnocker Clan
User Statistics
Last Visit: 06-17-2019
RPXP: 33172
Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak
Posts: 11,825
left-aligned image
The bolt connected with the massive centipede's spine, shattering it and sending the unthinking beast into whatever hell awaited it in the next life. The taste kill was a sweet one, although the words of shock that came from Ghartok's mouth were sweeter still. "No."

The smile of the goblin only widened when the Carrion King hurled an enchanted spear at him, the pathetic attempt doing little more than mangling one of the dead bodies that lay next to him.

His look of elation turned to one of awe when he heard the familiar voice entering his mind. It was a word of warning, one that saved the life of the crazy halfling.

The reality of the moment came crashing down heavily on the goblin as he realized he was wrong. There were not two chosen of Lamashtu here, there were three. The halfling had received the touch of the goddess!

"Three!!! Three!!! Three!!!" the goblin's shrill voice shouted in excitement as he stepped forward and into the concealment of the mist.

"Three chosen!" he shouts, his chest puffing out in pride. The devotion and faith the goblin rang out from his holy symbol, manifesting itself in the form of an unholy wave of energy that tore into all who were near.

Reply With Quote
Old 06-12-2019, 10:00 PM
Squeak's Avatar
Squeak Squeak is online now
Of the Fartnocker Clan
User Statistics
Last Visit: 06-17-2019
RPXP: 33172
Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak Squeak
Posts: 11,825
left-aligned image
It all happened in a flash. The massive beast behind him fell, a single crossbow bolt from a goblin laying the beast low where his ferocious onslaught had not. Dullen had stepped over and healed Drusilla, bringing his former hadis back from the gates of hell itself. The painted warrior before him was suffering from his powerful blows, and while he was still breathing, it was clear that ekk-Lakk would soon be introduced the eternal damnation waiting all who worshiped Rovagug.

Yet none of these things was remarkable compared to what happened to Fandrick. Grak'Ark saw the painted warrior's axe descent on the oblivious halfling and knew he was doomed. Fandrick had pushed his luck too far and would soon face the ultimate price. But before the blow fell, a single infernal word floated through the air, giving the diminutive swashbuckler the warning he needed to get out of the way. And while Grak'Ark did not understand the word, he recognized the voice. It was Lamashtu.

The combination of Lamashtu’s newest chosen, the smell of death and the lamentations of Ghartok brought a chuckle to the gnoll’s lips, even after the murrin launch their pathetic attacks. One of the heathens dismiss his mirror image right before it expired, while the other connected, the blow digging deep into the druid’s flesh. But rather than wince in pain, Grak’Ark reveled in the pathetic attempt to kill him, the pain of the blow only making him feel more alive.

The mutated canine’s claws slash with a euphoric joy, their unnatural strength eviscerating the painted warrior before he shifts his deadly intent on the hapless murrin that had the misfortune of standing next to him. The scent of fear fills the air as Grak’Ark tears through the battlefield like death incarnate.

From her home deep in the abyss, Lamashtu looked at her chosen ones and smiled.


Reply With Quote
Old 06-12-2019, 10:23 PM
ekidnu's Avatar
ekidnu ekidnu is offline
User Statistics
Last Visit: 06-16-2019
RPXP: 28566
ekidnu ekidnu ekidnu ekidnu ekidnu ekidnu ekidnu ekidnu ekidnu ekidnu ekidnu
Posts: 6,968
Drusilla Vanadici
left-aligned image
With the yawning pit safely between her and the gnolls, Drusilla takes a moment to properly assess the ongoing battle. One eye watches Grak’ark fend off a rabid flurry of attacks while the Rovagug cleric heals the giant painted gnoll; wiping the blood out of her other eye, she warily observes the Carrion King’s first attack, a hasty spear throw undone by his rage. Her gaze flows down past the elves, pausing only long enough to dismiss them as too terrified and weak to help, then slightly stuttering again as she Are these regular chains (5 HP, hardness 10) or are they different?
Dice Knowledge (Engineering):
1d20+8 (8)+8 Total = 16
notes the chains binding them. Finally her eyes rest upon the walkway to where the maggot throne once sat, instinctively
Dice Perception to notice traps:
1d20+8 (10)+8 Total = 18
inspecting the floor for any more traps—surely there is a reason for Ghartok to wait, trapped on his little peninsula?

The magical returning spear does not go unnoticed. “He’s got my gear,” she warns the others, silently cursing herself for her overconfidence yesterday. That’s twice that she has escaped certain death, but what that means and what the gods have in store for her are matters to ponder some other time. Right now she pushes thoughts of deities and fate from her mind—the battle, the fight, is all that matters. It is all that has ever mattered.

“Wait for Grak.” she responds to Hector, remembering how the one-eyed gnoll had savagely disemboweled the centipede—the centipede that no longer exists except in a widely scattered spray of spikes and plates and innards. With any luck, the same fate would befall the oversized gnoll, in which case the old man should save his deadly ranged attack for someone else. “Kill the healer,” she adds once her instincts are proven correct. Even while speaking she slips around the bitter Ustalavian, her gaze fixed firmly on the gnoll flanking Grak’ark’s backside. “That one’s mine.” The druid is a powerful engine of destruction but he is not invulnerable—a series of bloody wounds testifies to that. In her weakened state she knows that her best strategy is to protect Grak and Hector from any lucky blows by the rank and file.

The Chelish fighter labors her way along the edge of the pit, slowly whirling her sledgehammer around in easy circles, then hurling it across the pit at the gnoll harassing Grak from behind. With the sledge tied to the rope as a counterbalance, the rope loops snugly around the gnoll’s legs—hopefully it is snug enough. Leaning back with all her weight Drusilla digs in hard with her feet and pulls, her biceps and quadriceps straining as she tries to drag the gnoll away from Grak and Tug of War: Go Downers!down into the pit.


Travel season: No posts during Jun 20-27, Jul 13-19, Aug 9-23, Sep 4-25
Distorted Keep | Carrion Crown | Legacy of Fire | The Lost Coast
The Art of the Two Paragraph Post

Last edited by ekidnu; 06-13-2019 at 09:37 AM. Reason: add links
Reply With Quote
Old 06-14-2019, 12:54 PM
Ytterbium's Avatar
Ytterbium Ytterbium is online now
Best Atomic Clock
User Statistics
Last Visit: 06-17-2019
RPXP: 29451
Ytterbium Ytterbium Ytterbium Ytterbium Ytterbium Ytterbium Ytterbium Ytterbium Ytterbium Ytterbium Ytterbium
Posts: 6,887
Ekk-Lakk, the Painted One
left-aligned image
Ekk-Lakk is about to snark back at the laughing Woundsong, when the irritating voice of the small, bouncy pafe pipes up from about ankle-level. He considers reminding it that all it needed to do if it really wanted to be the first to die (well, third, after the pafe he had beheaded as he emerged from their Cloud of Cowardice and the newly asunder one that spoke the Infernalrigid lower language) was stand still, but it was in reach right now; might as well give it what it wants, especially while it continues to suffer from the Worm's poison.

With a mighty heave, Ekk-Lakk brings down his massive saw-toothed axe. The swing is soon past the point of no return; the small pafe can't possibly dodge it, yet a word in that same rigid tongue comes from nowhere, and somehow (somehow?!) it does. No matter; it is right where I want it, and I won't miss again. He spots two others rushing his way. The traitor leads, roaring that the downed pafe was "pack." Before the Painted One can retort "She was," (to say nothing of demanding answers to the obvious questions) the traitor makes an impossible leap for Ekk-Lakk's throat. Although the teeth are deflected away by magic, the traitor's claws leave deep wounds in his chest. It is a pain the likes of which Ekk-Lakk has not felt in a long time, but it does not deter him from his endless talking.

"Foolish traitor! Do you really think your tiny claws will stop me? Every single paint mark on my body covers an old wound—a mark given to me by something that—without fail—ended up as my meal. Without fail!" Ekk-Lakk was spitting in his overconfident rage. "The cuts you gave me will be nothing more than something else to paint long after I've sh** out the last fragments of your skull! In fact, I—WHAT IS THIS?

The pafe they called Drooo was no longer bleeding to death! It was back on its feet, in one piece, and returned to its place of hiding behind the others!

Ekk-Lakk growls. What rational thoughts had remained in his mind were gone. These three standing before him—the small and bouncy pafe, the traitor, and the healer who had killed the Carrion King's pet Kelishite—would die at his hand now. No more talking. No more teasing them in their own tongues. No more potions. No more delays. As if to confirm that it was time for the battle to end, the Painted One felt healing energy from Woundsong entering his body. It was possible the priest had even said something encouraging, but it was lost on Ekk-Lakk. Even whatever the Carrion King was saying from across the room wasn't penetrating anymore. The traitor first.

Ekk-Lakk's greataxe is already in motion when the traitor dodges around it and makes another leap up to his chest. This was typical battle strategy for those who relied on their claws, and Ekk-Lakk was about to counter-move when the traitor twists himself in mid-air to dig both claws into the wound over Ekk-Lakk's heart. The first claw breaks a rib, causing Ekk-Lakk's aim to falter. The second claw tears the Painted One's heart in two; he is dead before he can speak again. The rusted, saw-toothed axe that had caused so much terror this day falls from his hand, clattering loudly on the floor before Ekk-Lakk's corpse, already returning to normal size as the magic fails, slumps down on top of it. A stream of urine stains the Painted One's ragged pants before trickling onto the floor. It is the last thing this body will ever do.

* * * * *
In The Abyss:
right-aligned image

A new larva pops into existence. Where am I? What am I? I was just... somewhere else? I can't remember. I need to eat.


The larva is showered with small pebbles. Can I eat these? It manages to catch one pebble, but the rest have disappeared to a place the larva cannot see. No. I cannot eat this. I need something else. But what?


Another shower of pebbles that disappear quickly. Where does that sound and these small uneatable bits keep coming from? Is it... rain? No rain is when something else falls from the... up? I don't remember. This is coming from down. The larva attempts to twist itself to see what the source is, but it has never been a larva before and is soon precariously balanced.


The third rock thrown hits the larva square in its eye, knocking it from its perch. This is... pain. I do not like this. I cannot see. And now I am... falling? Can I... fly?

The larva is caught by something with hands and roughly turned around. I do not like this, either. With its remaining eye, it sees two horrifying, emaciated faces. They are so much bigger than the larva is.

"Brand new! Used to be a gnoll, by the looks of it! Hmm... Mostly murder, mixed with a false faith. That's a good combination!"

"The best! Also, you smell that? It totally pissed itself as it died!"

"Ooh, yeah! I think we've found our lunch!"

I know that word! I want lunch, too. The larva does not understand at first, although it learns in its final moments of existence.

* * * * *

Rovagug the Destroyer is pleased, but not overly so, and before another second has passed, Ekk-Lakk is forgotten forever.

Ytter is away July 2-7.

Become a Community Supporter

Last edited by Ytterbium; 06-14-2019 at 04:02 PM. Reason: So many typos...
Reply With Quote
Old 06-15-2019, 08:35 AM
Dressedtojazz's Avatar
Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz is online now
Community Supporter
User Statistics
Last Visit: 06-17-2019
RPXP: 17653
Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz Dressedtojazz
Posts: 8,508
Hector Grimm
right-aligned image

There had been no escape and until this day, souls he had claimed to be his, would never have strayed on their path to be bound in endless turmoil within his dark pulsing heart. Yet, Dullen had stepped in and ‘rescued’ his brother’s fallen and corrupted soul. There was a gnawing hole in Hector, where that lone soul should have been and yet he found that his knowledge on the Redeye order somehow justified Dullen’s soul heist.

The giant gnoll smashed one of their own and Hector felt his claim connect and the soul surged to him. He grinned as the tide turned, soon the ancient centipede lost its life too and even its flickering spirit of its soul was writhing as the physical bug had done, as it came to him.

Drusilla answered with hesitance - a feature Hector was near oblivious about when the wrath had him locked down - and he took her words for self precaution which was natural for someone who had walked the ridge between death and so recently. He moved with her and past her, even as he saw Grak’ark fell the monster of a gnoll, a mad smile formed as he felt another tug-of-souls taking place. Between Captain Hector Grimm and Rovagug, the Unmaker. This time Hector got what was his. The morsel of a soul would have a very special place in a very dark and very gruelling imprisonment.

As he surged past Drusilla, he barked an insurance, Next is the King. In four bounding strides he was zigzagging past the Redeye Knight and the bravest little halfling Pale Mountain had ever seen, until he slid in before the gnoll priest, Woundsong, was it? A bad day to be standing in the back, hiding. Hector flexed his grip on Dragonwing, You get to see your host of allies get cut down like feeble peasants. The black sword sang, THEN YOU DIE! In one strong hack, the sword sunk into the gnoll and Hector revelled in the spray of blood that squinted from both sides of the blade, speckling his pale face. Then he turned his back on the priest and dragged the sword after him, first accompanied by a sucking sound as it left its bloody scabbard of flesh and then scraping over the pavement.

Hector Grimm was coming for the King.

Reply With Quote

Thread Tools

Posting Rules
You may not post new threads
You may not post replies
You may not post attachments
You may not edit your posts

BB code is On
Smilies are On
[IMG] code is On
HTML code is Off

All times are GMT -4. The time now is 09:42 AM.
Skin by Birched, making use of original art by paiute.(© 2009-2012)

RPG Crossing, Copyright ©2003 - 2019, RPG Crossing Inc; powered by vBulletin, Copyright ©2000 - 2019, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd. Template-Modifications by TMB