Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Rudha-an and Bayern are talking to the tattooed Dwarves they’d just saved.
Orestes is cleaning his weapons and Niema is counting out the treasure they’d discovered.
She had been badly hurt in that battle.
Vogir had seen her, bloodied and exposed.
It would have been a simple shot. Given the time he’d had, he could have easily sent an arrow straight through her demonic heart.
Instead he had charged and killed the Orc harassing Rudha-an.
Perhaps it’s the absence of the darkness that had so recently permeated his soul.
Perhaps it’s the uncertainty of her true goals.
Perhaps it’s just the fact that she could still prove useful in assuring his own survival.
Cautiously emerging from the stairwell with the stench of battle between the cult of the Shadowed Chain and the orcs so fresh that the blood still dripped off the walls, the party found two orc archers wandering the caverns. Although Niema and Vogir stole a march on them, the tables were quickly turned as they found themselves facing an Orc Troll Shaman and his pet Ogre while somehow becoming surrounded on all sides by more of the bow wielding orcs.
The situation was stranger than that though. It quickly became clear that the area was the scene of a massive cultish ritual. Surrounding a central pit were two altars and four magical circles of different colours.
Orsestes was quick to engage the Shaman and then the Ogre. His force of will drew the battle to him and Bayern drew on all his gods power to shine divine prophesy and might upon the huge ogre. Huge damage was inflicted on the creature by both Vogir and Orestes with the help of the cleric, but the Shaman was dealing big blows himself with phantom claws striking from distance dazing all they struck with their shadowy touch. What was more, it quickly became clear that the mask of the blackened troll that the shaman wore was no mere ornament, but endowed him with the ability to regenerate from his wounds.
At the same time, Niema and Rudha-an were moving through the other side of the cavern dealing with the menace of the archers. Niema was dealing efficiently with her quarry and even found time to cast her devils shadow behind the shaman to give him something extra to think about. The druid however was not able to find his feet - his spells repeatedly missed their target or simply couldn't find their natural power among these cold stones.
However, the straight-forward fight was about to be thrown into confusion. As was becoming familiar, the earth shook as though mighty fists were beating against it. This sent everyone flying off their feet and being thrown in random directions across the floor of the cavern. That no one fell into a brazier, or worse, the pit was a miracle.
Soon the battle started to turn in the party's favour. A few of the archers fell and they were even able to fell the ogre - the luckless Rhuda-an landing the killing blow. They had also discovered that the magic circles endowed those standing in them with enhancements to either their fighting abilities or even to heal their wounds and they were able to manoeuvre the orcs from them and themselves into them.
But the cleverest manoeuvre of the fight was still to be played out as Orestes danced as he fought pulling and pushing the shaman until, at the edge of the pit he was pushed over and into the pit to his death.
His Safewing amulet saved him from the fall, but Vogir kicking a brazier down to shine light on him sent arrows thudding into the Shaman, dropping him dead.
Or not. The troll-like shaman simply got up and continued fighting. But this time the earthquake's aftershocks drew their most comic picture as both Vogir and Orestes, damaged as they were were shaken into the pit, 40 feet down nearly to their death.
But this, of course spelt the end for the Shaman as he was burned by a brazier being shoved into his face as he lay dying.
With the battle over the party found more orcs waiting for them, but bloodied as they were they soon were able to kill them and find the rest of the Shadowed Chain dwarves that were holding out against the onslaught.
(more on this in the next post!)
Monday, December 13, 2010
The Tiefling near its feet trembles and throws itself prostrate.
“What is wrong Master?”
The massive Demon looks down, fury painted like a mask across its broad features.
Snatching up the wretched Tiefling, the Demon raises it to its face.
“THE FEY GODS HAVE STOLEN MY PRIZE!”
“Do you mean the Human: Vogir? Surely he’s not worth this much anger?”
“NOT WORTH? NOT WORTH!”
Forcing himself to calm down, the demon takes a rattling breath.
“NOW THAT I AM TRAPPED HERE AGAIN, VOGIR WAS MY BEST CHANCE OF DEFEATING THE TREACHEROUS THEREANTHOR.”
“But surely Master, his mission hasn’t changed…”
“TRUE, HE WILL STILL SEEK OUT THE DRAGON, BUT HE’LL DO IT OF HIS OWN FREE WILL. I WILL GAIN NO SATISFACTION IF HE’S NOT A TOOL OF MINE!”
With that, the Demon bites the head off his unfortunate underling and tosses the remains aside.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Concentrating, he sees a ghostly image appear before him…
“Daelagor?” Asks Vogir incredulously, “Is that you?”.
The fey ghost smiles, but a look of sadness washes over his translucent features.
“Only now that I am dead, can I see why you’re the way you are. Fate is conspiring against you as it did you Grandfather before you.”
Vogir looks around him, but his companions seem frozen in time.
“I’m here to offer you salvation. Sever the ties that bind you to the dark demon whose fingers already twist around your soul and instead take an oath to the lords of my realm. They will protect you from hellish reprisals and allow you to strike back against both the Dragon AND the Devil!”
With nodded agreement, Vogir feels the darkness torn from within him and the void replaced with something otherworldly but uplifting.
With the veil of darkness pulled from his eyes, Vogir realises that, not only has he been freed from the doomed path he’d found himself on, but that he owed a debt to the very Eladrin he’d let fall.
While working out Vogir’s 5th level changes, I noticed that I’d accidentally cheated.
Apparently you have to have a 13 Charisma to multi-class into Warlock.
I’ve corrected it but it buggered up my chosen pact and my HPs.
Gripping his bow, he waits about two hundred feet back down the tunnel from the others.
The plan was a simple one: Break the group up and trap them in the fortified Dwarven control room.
Still they had decided that some of the Orc horde might run straight past.
It was Vogir and Bayern’s job to stop them.
They waited as the sounds of battle echoed down the giant corridor.
‘Perhaps we should go help them?’ Volunteered the Dwarf.
‘Not yet. They’ll call if they need us.’
It’s a good fifteen minutes later when Rudha-an appears out of the gloom.
He is bloody but intact.
With a grave face he asks, ‘Are you two alright? How many came this way?’
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Monday, December 6, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
Sven’s ‘Team Apocalypse’ won a surrender from Josh’s surviving two Warpigs.
It was down to a brutal initial assault that scored the victory.
The Warpigs made it a hard won battle though.
So Team Apocalypse climb the ladder to second place. Two more victories and they’ll go top!
Who’ll Sven challenge next?
Dag’s Denim recruits or Assif’s Knighty knights?
As for my Hellrazors…
Scott, Hagen, fancy a kick about?
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
The fight with Francis Bacon had taken its toll of the two primal swordsmen. Death had just managed to stand up again after a blow from the Warpig's defender had knocked him unconscious. Clearly less in rage he had managed to get back to full health with Pestilence's help before another hit of the cleric had injured him again. Francis Bacon who likewise was kept alive by his cleric also had just come back to life again after War's fire hawk had knocked him out. All fighters seemed to get tired and the attacks less powerful but apart from aching muscles Famine was still without a scratch and his thundering attacks still hitting hard. Famine looked over his shoulder to War who seemed to move in on the cleric. Good! Somebody had to get the dwarf busy or they could be here till after sunset playing knock-the-fighting-tumbler-down.
Famine looked at Death again. He had been afraid that his friend could have bitten off more again than he could chew, but the Barbarian looked healthy and focused again. With the help of Pestilence's eagle spirit they would be able now to deal ever increasingly strong blows. The seconds of the fighter should be counted! He could feel the primal power building up behind him again. Pestilence was still going strong and with her the spirit. A combined attack again should be enough to finally end this battle and keep the cleric for dessert! With the help of the primal power emanating from the spirit, Death's sword rose again and the well-known smile came back to his face when he looked down onto his prone opponent.....
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Grinding to ‘life’, the creature lumbered over to the giant lever in the centre of the room.
Not waiting for further instruction, Ghanash then ran back down towards the blocked corridor. Vogir and Rudha-an in close pursuit.
The Dwarf would have to catch up, as would the elusive Tiefling temptress.
Standing back from the slowly rising block of stone, Vogir smells the stench of orc before he hears the grating sound of their voices.
With longbow in hand, Vogir starts to drop back down the corridor.
Monday, November 22, 2010
‘I don’t understand why you are being so generous Master. The Human is contemptuous of your gift. He takes it and laughs at you behind your back.’
The voice above him chuckles.
‘You think he only laughs ‘behind my back’? Why Vogir isn’t at all shy about sharing his feelings for me.’
The Tiefling shivers. His Master is horribly unpredictable but powerful enough to end his life with but a thought.
With a massive but slow gesture, the huge demon spreads his arms wide.
‘Ever since his Grandfather unwittingly freed me from this prison, I’ve waited for an opportunity to corrupt him. His Great grandfather Estaban was eminently corruptible, but his Grandfather Mendez was too noble to fall to me. The Human even had the nerve to challenge me while I remained on his realm!’
‘Is that why you want his soul Master?’
The Demon is silent for a moment. ‘Yes. Well, mostly yes. His Father didn’t venture from the family so I couldn’t claim him, but young Vogir has enough hate in him to fall.’
‘But how will you do it Master?’
‘Simple. I’ve given him a small taste of my power. Soon he’ll want more, but this time it’ll cost him.’
‘No. Not yet. Let’s see if he’ll swap some of his hard earned skill for some easy eldritch energy?’
Unbeknownst to the Tiefling, his master’s grin widens frighteningly.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Pestilence just moved round the corner to look at the first dead opponent when she could see the wizard appearing behind Death in the distance. A magic force orb hit death from the side who roared with rage. Famine started to run around the corner towards the Deva and could also see War moving the same direction. The Deva had made the mistake to stay away from his comrades and presented an easy target.
A javelin shot past Famine's face and he could see the Goliath appearing in between the trees together with the cleric. He could see Pestilence's eagle darting down but the Deva managed to avoid its claws. Famine just thought that they have to get to the Wizard before his friends could when he heard a roar from behind coming closer. Coming closer very fast!! Famine smiled when Death flew past him with a roar while bringing down his sword, planting his fullblade deeply in the Wizard's body. Before Famine could catch up, Death had brought his sword down three times, the Wizard's body lying shattered on the ground in front of him. Famine could see the Deva was still breathing and quickly finished him off with his broadsword. "My kill!"
He smiled at Death who had his blade still raised above his head for the final blow, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Famine in disbelief!
His attention was only diverted when a divine burst from the cleric exploded around Death. Both fighters looked towards the already retreating dwarf and saw Francis Bacon charging towards them. His weapon missed Death who still tried to shake off the effects of the clerics attack. Death demonstratively ignoring the attack from the massive fighter looked over to Famine "This one is mine!" Famine bowed and pointed his hand towards the attacker.
"Be my guest! There seems to be enough meat for both of us!"
[Warpigs lost the rogue and the wizard who both only got one attack of which only the wizard's hit Death. The cleric is 15 squares away, the Goliath is next to Famine and Death with Pestilence and War in range . Team Apokalypse is fully healed again next turn and apart from Pestilence all still have their action point and most major powers remaining. Chances are, they won't be late for dinner! All get a turn before the fighter's turn....]
"I'm sorry you had to see me like this. The blood of my ancestors is running deep in my veins and sometimes it is difficult to control in moments of anger. I apologise for losing my temper and hope you can forgive me!"
She brushed down her coat to get rid of the last signs of her transformation and started to bow towards the still speechless adventurers
"You fought with much skill and valour and I'm honoured to be allowed to travel with you!"
While coming up again, her hope was that the Dragonborn didn't see that the bow was directed mainly at the Half-Orc. Despite all her training in deception, she still could not force herself to bow to one of them.
When Verlorien's face appeared over the edge of the crevice she walked towards them and in a low voice and lowered head said "I'm very embarrassed that you had to see me like this. I would be grateful if we could leave the others blissfully ignorant? It is not the side of me I necessarily like others to know about!"
She respectfully nodded to both of them and following the shadow link between Ghanash and Velorien to step out of Verloriens shadow at the top.
The giant spider lies dead at his feet.
He was lucky. It was killed before he'd even had a chance to defend himself from its freakish leap.
One of his companions was responsible for the help, and although he hopes it was Bayern, he somehow knows it was the Eladrin.
Being indebted to a ‘Tourist’ makes it that much harder to hate them.
Especially when that 'Tourist' is obviously mourning his dead cousin.
After making sure everyone else is safe, Vogir checks his supply of arrows.
Only two encounters in and he’s already burned through nearly half of his original three quivers worth.
It’s obvious now, that his Grandfather was right. A Longbow and enough distance will make for an easy battle.
The only problem is, that you have to be able to carry an infinite supply of arrows.
Muttering to himself, Vogir scans the gloomy tunnels, looking for any of the arrows that missed their target.
Some of them may still be usable.
(Vogir recovers 3 arrows.)
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Putting his hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder to prevent him going further toward the massive opening, Vogir leans down again.
‘I realise Dwarven architecture is often overblown, but that’s ridiculous. An ancient Dragon could easily wander in and out of there without even furling its wings!’
Realising that he might offend the healer, Vogir presses on anyway.
‘This looks more like it was made by the hands of giants. At least originally. ‘
And then just to annoy the Dwarf, Vogir pushes on further.
‘And is it possible that Dwarven over mining has undermined this entire region?’
With a smirk, Vogir strides off before Bayern can make a gruff retort.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Death had to chuckle because of his own joke and looked to Famine
"Maybe you won't be hungry anymore after tonight, brother!"
With this sentence he burst out in laughter and took a deep breath when Famines elbow buried itself deep in his side.
Pestilence looked over to the opponent's corner. "Don't underestimate them. There is a Deva amongst them and the dwarf looks like he is a healer"
"We might have to shave him before the roast, you won't be able to get all the hairs out of your teeth!" Pestilence gave War a sharp look who immediately shut up.
"Ok, everybody knows what they have to do. Stay together and do what the spirits have taught us! In the name of the great spirits: Let's move!"
With the command by Pestilence the group started moving towards the ruins. The battlefield had been changed since they'd last been summoned and it now granted more cover. They moved quickly through the ruins, out of sight of the enemy. Pestilence closed her eyes and called forth a spirit of an eagle to fly though the open areas and look for the enemy who also had vanished. Soon she spotted them behind trees moving upwards. She waved the others to stop and whispered "They move up north! But I can only spot three of them. The small one is missing!"
She looked around a bit more and suddenly the eagle spotted the Halfling just on the other side of the wall. She'd just tried to signal Death and Famine when the Halfling came through a doorway and looked into Death's smiling face. The small rogue staggered back and tried to attack Death who just shrugged it off, his smile widening. Before Death was able to lift his massive fullblade, he could see War's firehawk appearing above the opponent's head, attacking with his claws. The hawk was trained to hover above its opponent after the strike and attack as soon as another opportunity presented itself. Death had his fullblade above his head and prepared to run when a massive blow from Famine, who had charged through the building, almost took the Halfling off his feet.
Death looked annoyed! He had found the Halfling! Feeling the rage building up inside him, he darted forward, his sword in full swing..........
[Day one over, mostly moving until the rogue encountered Team Apocalypse in the ruins and unfortunately far away from his friends. He managed to survive an at-will range attack by War and a charge by Famine but already took damage (14 I think) and the chances of them coming to his help before Death is upon him are slim to none]
Thursday, November 11, 2010
"Get up boys! The spirits have spoken to me and I can smell bacon in our near future!"
Death raised an eyebrow and looked at Famine who looked confused as well.
A skull of a ram came through the small door at the back of the room, followed by the rest of War.
"Bacon? Did somebody say something about bacon?"
Pestilence started smiling "Now that I have your full attention: We have been challenged again! After these devils got away with a draw last time because of War's failure to dodge a few blasts and Death's inability to hit a barn with a fullblade, the Gods give us another chance to finally show the spirits that we are worth their trust!"
Death jumped up and darted towards Pestilence the fullblade in full swing. Pestilence turned her head and looked towards Death. "Yes?"
"I thought so!"
The fullblade's tip dropped to the ground and the massive shape of Death trudged back to the table, the dislodged skull of the lion on his head hanging on one side. Pestilence could hear him mumble to his sword after he sat down again with his sword on his lap. "Yes, I know she is wrong, but do you want to speak up against her?" She smiled.
"So get ready. We will be summoned soon and I promised the spirits that we will put the new powers to good use!"
"But what does all of that have to do with bacon? And what are the challengers called?"
Pestilence looked at War and started smiling
Five minutes later she could still hear the laughs thundering through the forest. Time to look for a good recipe......
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The dwarf definitely was the one to stay close to. His spells had been useful and a healer is always a good thing to have around you. She would have to be careful to keep him on her side.
The Eladrin seemed to be a powerful fighter who had the ability to use teleportation which made him a useful tool but was also a bit reckless at times. The death of his cousin still seemed to affect him and maybe kept him from keeping a clear head for the fight.
Celestes, well, was a half-orc and for that had fought well. Niema didn't think much of orcs. They made good meat shields but needed a strong hand to lead them. Jumping into the river into the middle of the fish was an, lets say, interesting choice. The type of choices that get you killed quickly! But it enabled herself to move around almost freely behind his back.
Her gaze fell on the Dragonborn. He hadn't been there when she first met the group and had only joined again later. Niema hadn't talked to him yet. Dragonborns long ago had fought her race and were responsible for her people being nomads now and the hate was still rooted deep inside her. Her diabolic blood was boiling every time she looked at him. But the group seemed to think highly of him, so her options of getting rid of this nuisance without losing the group were slim. But as expected, he was a lousy fighter. He took the most damage and had to run from the attackers and hide behind a shed. So maybe this problem would solve itself soon.
While she was thinking about Ghanash, Vogir had joined the group again and gave her a probing look. Although being a male human, the type of people she normally had no problem manipulating, he seemed to keep his distance from her. His arrows had taken down the Hippogriffs and he clearly was the best ranged fighter in the group. He surely couldn't suspect anything! She couldn't afford to have him as opponent. She brushed down her dress and went straight for him with an enthusiastic voice:
"And here comes the hero who took down the Hippogriffs all by himself with his arrows! I haven't seen anybody for some time who was that proficient with a bow and made it look so easy! I'm honoured to have such an talented protector by my side!"
Examining his injuries, he waits for Bayern to cross the bridge and administer some aid.
Those Hawk/Horse creatures were tough but thankfully as stupid as the fish.
Shaking his head, he wonders about the twisted concept of bravery the others seem to share.
The Dragonborn Ghanash, acted in a way as to be expected, and the Orc Orestes too. But the others…
Velorian, seemingly lost without his cousin, acted rashly. He actually attempted to teleport up to the Hippogryph while in flight.
The following fall could easily have killed him…
Perhaps he’s feeling a bit suicidal?
The Tiefling: Niema is literally too dark to be trusted.
What was she doing in the dungeons of Winterhaven? She was certainly no sacrificial virgin, regardless of what she said… And she has magic.
Only the Dwarf Bayern has proven himself totally trustworthy. He ably supported the others with his encouragement, strong arms and healing spells.
Still, wading into the water after fish. What were they thinking?
Why don’t any of them have bows?
Sighing, Vogir wishes Zahig and Rudha-an had joined them. At least they know how to stay away from an enemy.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
She followed the activities of the group - focusing particularly on the human Vogir and the powerful but impressionable dwarf - hoping that they might have some interesting leads for her. But they were sedentary and wrapped up in the death of two of their friends. More weakness.
She had almost given up and gone her own way when she had heard that there was talk of the Stonefang Pass in the Ironwall mountain being reopened. Probably didn't mean much to the peasants around here, but it was a most significant connection to the rich lands beyond the mountains. Moreover, it was where she NEEDED to be.
A word in the ear of the squat cleric about the wonders of the dwarven work and the possibility of treasure in the mountains was all that was needed to set the group in motion - not just her group, but a vanguard - her personal army. Still, the army was lacking a little as there was no obvious fighter. Another small problem that it was easy for her to resolve ;)
It was not a funeral, as the Eladrin's body had already been returned to his grieving mother and the Paladin had no earthly remains over which to mourn. Still, it was what the friends wanted. Ghanash had returned for the wake along with Velorian who had returned not wanting to stay near his aunt and her somewhat violent grief.
When it was over Vogir thanked Bayern and went to talk to Ghanash to see if he was going to hang around for a while now that his other business had finished: The party needed a battle-leader now that Egil had passed.
Zahig, the boy wizard, however immediately caused further concern as he announced that he would be leaving for some time. He had been contacted by a friend of his old master - the man who showed him how to use magic to make life on the streets so much easier, and had let him study in his private laboratory and library. He had said that the old man had died and Zahig was to come to the reading of his will prepared for a long journey. Not two funerals for the boy but three.
A month has passed since that fateful day and now the adventurers, no longer satisfied with the boredom of everyday life, looked for their next challenge. Bayern wanted to head west beyond the Nentir vale towards the great mountains that lay far beyond the Stonemarch. His only reason was to find out more about the legendary dwarves that built epic structures in the great mountains known as the Ironwall.
Nobody could come up with a better idea, and it was certain that the further west they went, the more chance there was of finding sport of some kind.
Before they left they replenished their travelling stocks and were about to leave when the strange woman who they had saved from the maul of the terrible beast stopped them and asked if she could come along on their little trip. Niema argued that they would need someone who could scout and lookout for danger and knew a little about the country west of the Nentir vale. She could fight too - although none were willing to take her word on that one - where would you hide a sword in that dress!
But, she also offered another boon: she knew of a half-orc fighter that was looking to join a party of adventurers and that he would provide all the muscle that anyone could need.
So it was that Vogir, Bayern, Ghanash, Velorian, Niema, Rudha-an and Orestes walked into the town of Timbervale. Tucked close into the Ironwall mountains the party was sure they would find news of the ancient dwarves and their amazing structures. What they found though was not a thriving town at the hub of the most important trade-route in the region, but a dying community utterly cut-off and at the edge of the known world.
What had happened? What of the ancient trade route through the Ironwall Mountains? Maybe there was something to be done here after all!
Monday, November 8, 2010
With blinding speed, he slings his bow over his shoulder and in a fluid motion, pulls both his swords from their sheaths.
It would be impressive were it not for the fact that the blades keep going. Escaping his grasp, they embed themselves in the wooden wall and floor.
With a grimace, Vogir yanks the blades free and prepares to try again.
4th level Vogir learns the ‘Quick draw’ feat.
No more gathering up his dropped belongings after each skirmish.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Despite using his corpse as a counter weight while riding down the rope, it’s only now that Vogir actually realises that Daelagor is dead.
He had been so angry at his own failure to support the Eladrin, that he literally lowered himself into death’s maw.
He had been wounded by the two opportunist skeletal creatures even before he’d managed to reach the bloody ground.
Unsurprisingly, it had been the noble Egil that was the first to follow him down.
Equally unsurprising the Paladin had been the next to die.
Mostly everyone had joined in the melee by then but the enemy were too powerful.
Kalarel seemed impossible to hurt and his undead minions unnervingly strong.
It was only Vogir’s own magical armour that kept him alive through blast after blast of necrotic energy.
Egil had managed to keep the evil priest occupied while the rest of the Party concentrated on his followers. By the time that Egil was lost, only three men, a dwarf and Daelagor's failed bodyguard: Velorian stood between Kalarel completing his rituals and freeing the thing writhing within the portal.
Egil lost to the tentacles of the monstrous creature itself!
Bayern, Zahig, Velorian and Rudha-an turned their attention to Kalarel, enabling Vogir to dispatch the last of his underlings. Then the battle became five against one.
Good odds it would seem, but the cursed Priest refused to concede defeat.
Spell after spell battered the Party and all seemed lost when a sudden sword thrust found its target.
In the confusion, it was hard to tell who’s hand had been on the hilt of the killing thrust, but Vogir allowed himself the tight-lipped smile of revenge.
With a screech of rage, the portal collapsed and Winterhaven was saved.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
The winged messenger had left a few moments ago with her answer and Niema looked at her notes she had taken while studying the parchment again. This one would take a lot of preparation but the parchment already contained names and locations of contacts to get started. Ever since she got promoted and initiated into the current circle, the offered assignments were all long term. She sometimes missed the assignments she got on the lower levels. You left the building at dusk and were back before dawn. No preparation. No infiltrating complex organizations to even get near the target. Life was easy back then. But admittedly also boring once the excitement of the adrenalin rush made way for experience and routine.
She closed her small notebook and stepped over to the fire where she watched the small parchment burn until only small black flakes of ash were left. She turned around and looked at her naked body in the mirror. Her gaze went over the tattoos stretching from neck to ankle on her right side. Over the years, the black-inked pictures and symbols had become more and more numerous and intricate and had merged together over time to form a complex web of icons and scenes. She touched the picture of a raven taking off from a branch just above her waist. It was one of her first but still her favorite.
Putting on the black leather vest and the skin-tight shorts, she checked the position of the dagger underneath her left arm and made sure the quick release was working. While she was thinking about the first steps for the assignment she washed her face and the horns that curled back from the top of her skull to underneath her ears. She looked into the mirror. A cult of Orcus. It won't be easy to get in.
She took the silken black cape from the hook and looked at the prayer to the Raven Queen that was embroidered all along the edging in intricate silver letters. Her grandmistress had given it to her in the initiation ceremony. Brushing over the fabric with her hand she could see the shadows dancing over the surface between her fingers. She closed her eyes to feel the connection, feel the shadows. A calming feeling was spreading out though her body while she interacted with the shadows in the room, touching them, forming them.
A knock at the door pulled her out of the peaceful state. "Mylady? The breakfast is ready as you've requested!". She smiled, threw the cape over her shoulders, adjusted her long black hair to fall over the black surface of the cape which emphasized on the blue shimmer her hair always had and opened the door.
"Good morning, Liseri! Could you please ask the stable boy to get my horse ready? I'll be leaving after breakfast."
"I will tell him right away, Mylady! May I ask where you are going?"
"Winterhaven. And I won't be back for a while"
Still within the realm of the evil Blue Dragon, but only just.
The people here were the ones driven by a fierce need for independence and a thirst for freedom.
It’s a mostly Human frontier town, but the occasional Dwarf, Halfling or Elf aren’t that uncommon.
Vogir quickly found his place within the town. He was quick with a sword and had the strange confidence of someone who knew he had an ace up his sleeve.
Strong-arming and smuggling seemed natural to him.
Baron Redcloak was the minor noble in ‘charge’ of keeping order and collecting the taxes.
Typical of his type, he is money hungry, power hungry and without a shred of compassion for the people he’s meant to represent.
Still he isn’t as corrupt as some and he manages to keep the agents of the Blue dragon away from them.
Vogir had been there over a year before his reclusive life was so rudely interrupted by an Eladrin tourist and an over protective Dragonborn.
Other adventurers soon joined them and after successfully saving the children of the town, Vogir’s life took a turn toward danger and perhaps revenge…
Monday, November 1, 2010
‘Do you really think they’ll come in after us?’ whispers Belial.
‘It would be a massive mistake on their part’ responds Mastema through gritted teeth.
Seconds turn into minutes and Vorland call over the wall offering another chance of surrender.
It’s possibly that it’s this that alerts the sharp-eared Eladrin to their position.
He’s there in a moment, but as soon as Mastema sees him, she rushes forward.
It was only a glimpse, but screaming in rage, she barrels through the gap in the ruined masonry.
As soon as sees the Eladrin though, she’s hit by a blast of draconic power as the tiny Sorceress takes her opportunist shot.
Fortunately Mastema’s saved by her own demonic protective wards.
In a blind fury she sends two blasts of power at the startled looking Warlord. The first misses, but the second does not.
Belial sees her go and also charges forward.
He sees the Halfling and the Eladrin but not the Half-Orc…
A single arrow glances off his own magical protective shell.
The distance is quite far so he’s forced to run, but as soon as he gets to them, he summons up a void to Hell, passes through it and leaves the two Denim recruits to enjoy the following implosion.
Then Vorland sprints forward.
Two more blasts of energy leaves the Eladrin down!
All three of the attacking Tieflings feel their bodies lighten and float back out of danger.
Not to be left out though, Azazel rushes forward into the space left by her teammate’s sudden departure.
She fires her most powerful spell at the still standing Halfling.
The hellish witchfire should throw off her aim…
Her second blast finds it’s target though and the sneering little Sorceress goes down…
Floating back in misty form, Azazel hears the Half-Orcs angry voices.
Puffing and wheezing from the exertion, Vorland realises that, despite the loss of half their team, the Orcs still have the advantage…
Hoping that they’ll be reasonable, he offers the ‘Draw?’
Thursday, October 28, 2010
She felt humiliated though that he was able to capture her so easily. She had underestimated his magical powers and he had known her own powers too well. Shackles and chains, pah!
Suddenly a scream from Kelarel and the Shadowfell creature got her out of her thoughts. With an inaudible noise, the glimmer emanating from the magical circle on the ground around her vanished. So Kelarel was dead. One problem solved! She got up and peaked over the base of the statue to see the attackers. All male and a dwarf! Perfect! She went back down on the cold stone, adjusted her suit and the shackles, brushed off some dirt from her tattooed dark red skin and gave off hushed sighs.
Nothing happened. She rolled her eyes and started to breath loudly and in quick succession as if nervous.
Again nothing. She looked over the edge again and saw them healing and searching only the immediate area for now. She sat back down and shook her head. Well, she had to take what she could get. She took a deep breath and with the most helpless voice she could master started to speak...
Orestes whirled around, parrying the blows from his assailants. They had almost surrounded him now. Soon they would bring him down by sheer force of numbers. Trying to concentrate, he matched his opponents’ attacks, his blades blocking their blows. His breathing was calm as his mind recited the teachings of his master. “To strike at the enemy is not to kill him. To parry the enemy’s blows is in itself not to kill him. Every movement not intended to bring about the death of the enemy is wasted movement.”.
“Orestes!”, the sound of his Master’s voice boomed across the field. “Deny them movement! Push them aside! Drive them to place of their deaths! Where they see chaos, you must see patterns; where they see confusion, you must see purpose. Within the tempest is an eye of calm, find it!”
Orestes, pondered this, almost absentmindedly stepping back from the onslaught. A blow connected with the side of his head, sending him reeling, silvery slivers of pain piercing through his skull from his temple. He fought to control his anger. Lifting his blades, he drove his longsword in a wide arc, scattering his enemies while his short sword stabbed repeatedly, denying any attempts at stepping back into his reach. He spotted an opening. It was the bastard who had landed the blow! Orestes leapt forward, his rage giving him power as he rammed the sword into the exposed neck. His enemy staggered backwards, falling as Orestes’s sword connected again, his rage powering his blow. Orestes leapt on top of his helpless enemy raising both swords to strike….
There was an explosion of pain followed by darkness.
When Orestes opened his eyes, he saw his Master’s face staring sternly down at him.
“You are nothing but a disappointment!” The master landed a kick in Orestes’ groin. Ignoring the groan of his student, he continued, “There is too much of your grandmother in you! What are you, a common orc? You could have won, but instead you gave in to your rage. Striking out at an enemy that was no longer threat, ignoring those around you, ignoring the one that simply walked up behind you and gave you a little slap!” Orestes stirred, trying to sit up, while his master continued his tirade,
“Why did your grandmother’s tribe perish? Was it because they were weak? They weren’t, they endured great hardships. Was it because they were foolish? They weren’t, they were cunning opponents? Was it because they were cowards? They weren’t, they showed great courage against overwhelming odds. They perished because they acted on their passions, they perished because they mistook yesterday’s enemy for the enemy of the now. They perished because they struck without understanding why! They perished because they were, in the end, nothing but orcs, fuelled by hatred when they should have acted on duty. They had a duty to their living children, a duty to your mother, which they failed. Will you fail as they did?”
Orestes sat up, shaking his head. “No, Master, I will not. I act on duty, duty to the world and duty to the situation at hand. I know that all circumstances have their prescribed actions.”
His master turned his back to him. “I am done with you. Your duty and your nature are in conflict, only by leaving this place and going into the world can it be resolved. If you are successful, you will repay the debt of your ancestors to this twisted world, if you fail, you are just another orc. Now, leave me!”
Confident that the echoes provided by the ruins will disguise his position, he calls over the wall to offers the annoying Halfling tart another chance.
‘If we cannot arrange a draw, then we’re at an impasse. Our Warlock magic can’t compete with the range of your bows and you're no match for us close up.
So it comes down to this. If you wish your deaths, by all means, keep moving forward, but be fully aware that we’re happy to wait here all day.’
The Rift is closed. Winterhaven and beyond have been saved.
But at what cost?
Daelagor lies dead in the temple above and Egil was last seen pushed through the portal, roaring in defiance, never to be seen again.
Searching Kalarel's body reveals that his Rod of Destruction was merely a means for channelling his filthy arcane powers. He was, however, carrying a wickedly magical (+2) dagger (+2 to hit and damage, and +1D6 damage on a crit) presumably employed in his grotesque sacrifices.
The suviving party members also find a cache of gold behind Kalarels altar which divides (conveniently) into six 150gp piles.
Having defeated Kalarel the party lick their wounds and return to Winterhaven - carrying the corpse of Daelagor with them. Velorien wonders how he will explain this to his queen...
Upon arrival, the scholar Parle Cranewing is waiting for them - having made the journey to Winterhaven himself on hearing from his colleague that the party had set off for the ruins. In return for the painstakingly drawn maps that you have accumulated he gives each of the six surviving characters 250gp for their trouble.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Azazel looks amazed.
‘They don’t want the draw?’
Belial looks bemused.
‘They’re going to chase us down?’
Mastema looks muddled.
‘They think they can win?’
And Vorland looks vexed.
‘Fuckity! This is the longest any of our battles have ever lasted and we’ve only fired a single crossbow bolt between us!’
Azazel stops to think.
‘It’s that Halfling bitch. She’s actually got a plan and they’re sticking to it.’
Vorland grinds his teeth.
‘I hate it when the enemy actually thinks things through and doesn’t rush straight in. What kind of freaky Orcs are these?’
Mastema hoists her generous bosom.
‘If I’d known it was going to last more than three rounds, I would have put in more training. I’m buggered.’
‘Not now baby, I’m a bit busy. Maybe later if you’re a good girl.’
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
‘It’s OK Vorland. You’re OK.’
Azazel whispers to them (despite being several hundred feet away from the Denim recruits and behind cover). ‘What are we going to do? They’re just standing there… With bows!’
‘I know!’ barks back Belial. ‘Cowardly bastards have retreated to the far corner!’
Vorland props himself up onto his elbows. ‘We can’t stay here though… That is, unless we want to call the draw?’
Friday, October 22, 2010
‘What’s wrong pookie’, asks Mastema.
‘It’s our next opponents. They’re a group of non-human Strikers.’
‘So… That’s our advantage gone!’
Azazel and Belial join the conversation.
‘Are they all spell casters?’
‘No, but two of them are Rangers. We were lucky to beat the last two.’
‘Two more Rangers!’
‘What of the other two?’
‘Well, one’s a Sorceress and the other’s a Warlord.’
‘A Warlord? Warlords aren't Strikers!’
Vorland’s face brightens.
‘Damn, you’re right! What was I worrying for?’
With beaming smiles, the four naked Tiefling’s joyously return to their prior fornication.
Monday, October 18, 2010
The Denim recruits!
Destructive girl: A psychotic looking Halfling Sorceress.
Prince of the Rodeo: A camp but frightening looking Half-Orc Ranger.
Sailor man: Another camp but frightening looking Half-Orc Ranger.
Denim demon: The campiest and possibly most scary mary of them all. An Eladrin Warlord!
Personally, I feel sorry for the Apocolypse dudes.
Friday, October 15, 2010
I give you an outlaw band of fierce rebels, attacking authority in all possible forms,
in particular that of other rebels. They are punkier than thou, and so cool that even the
halfling can pull off leather trousers. Not that they would ever wear such apparel, nothing
but blue denim can contain their swelling magnificence!
First out! Here is the DESTRUCTIVE GIRL!
This halfling Sorceress is the true leader of the gang.
She is a nasty piece of work whose only endearing trait is her love of meat-pie. Abandoning
her former romantic entanglement with an anthropovoric hill giant to pursue her love of
destruction, she rules the gang with an iron fist, tempered with the velvet of maternal love
and home-baked sentient-creature pies.
Second the two half-orc ranger twins: The..Prince...of the Rodeo, and...The...Sailor Man!
The Prince of the Rodeo abandoned his name and clan and travelled the wastes of Fissa,
seeking to prove his manhood by taming the mighty beasts of the world. His filial love
was reignited during his attempt to bludgeon the mighty sea leviathan into submission
using only his unnatural weapons. Unaware of this struggle, his brother, The Sailor Man
was busy committing a one-man mutiny against the crew of a Seawellian Man-o-War. While sages
speculate as to the outcome of this epic battle, these speculations were rendered moot by
the leviathan smashing into the ship and gobbling up the crew. As the brothers mounted
the leviathan and set sail for the Furnace Coast they swore never to be apart again.
And last, but not least we have....are you ready? We have...THE ONE....THE ONLY....DENIM DEMON!
This former noble Eladrin Warlord tried to be part of the Eladrin Court Scene, but his love of coarse fabric made him an object of ridicule amongst his effete, fabric-softener loving fellows. His loneliness and despair focused his mind and now he is back with a bang, with his own denim gang, and while not all of them are men, he is going to make denim come back again!
See them and despair!
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
But, they were not expecting the sheer ferocity of destruction and evil meted out by four of hells lieutenants. Un-earthly aberrations blood-thirsty and cowardly.
As the friends approached the battle field, they saw the evil degenerates at the far corner. To the right were trees, to the left massive ruins. The cowards, of course made their way to cover and the friends decided that they should engage them sooner than later.
This was the first of their mistakes. The warlocks clearly had been here before and moved around the space with ease. The brothers Rip and Van moved slowly but Winkle and Twinkle moving quickly did not want to leave their hearts behind.
Soon they found themselves in an poor position, their movements hampered by the walls and lakes. Still, as soon as the demons were espied the girls fired arrow after arrow at them in full assaults. The dogs responded and the brave ranger Twinkle sadly took the full force of the eye-bite and witch-fire and was soon unconscious. Winkle managed to respond and take down one of the demon-seed-females, but to her horror the spiteful evil cowardly devil spawn struck again at her dying sister.
Seeing his lady go down, Rip was incensed and managed to get in a strike at the razors. However, his valour was to be repaid with pain, and his brother's healing hands were not enough to keep him going.
Each time brave soldiers channelled Kord's divine might into massive damage, the Tiefling would down another potion and be healed. Likewise Winkle. - their efforts were not enough as their enemy skulked around the battle field never engaging in valiant combat as should be right. Soon Rip was down too.
Van eventually succumbed to the assault in the most evil manner. The hell-spawn of dogs' most cowardly tactic? To move to engage the honourable paladin, then immediately step with a demon stride away though another plane to reappear far away, leaving a bolt of fire to rend him asunder; without any opportunity to strike back. Utterly Evil.
Winkle eventually found herself alone with just two of the slime remaining standing - maybe she still had a chance. But before she could do anything more, they had healed each other and were about to descend on her.
She knew then, it was all over.
At the opposite corner, far in the distance, they can see their opposition.
Two heavily armoured Dragonborn Paladins and two lightly armoured Human Rangers.
Female Human Rangers…
He likes Human Females.
Beautiful and they taste like chicken.
Running as fast as they can, the Hellrazors charge toward the cover afforded by the stone ruins. They can’t allow those two archers to use their range advantage.
Fortunately the Dragonborn Paladins are slowed down by their armour and the Rangers don’t seem to want to separate themselves from them.
Creeping forward and running between cover, Azazel is the first to spot the enemy.
‘Hmmm, Ranger or Paladin?’
It’s a dilemma. The Paladins have the ability to heal with a touch, but the Rangers can score massive damage from miles away…
Ultimately it comes down to competition.
That Human bitch is far too pretty and she saw Belial's look of desire.
‘Die Bitch!’ Azazel screams as she releases a burst of psychic energy.
Unbelievably, considering the skill she has and the short distance, she misses.
Soon the battle is joined by the Dragonborns and the other archer.
Azazel, Belial and Mastema are all hurt by multiple arrows, but they manage to stay out of the way of the Dragonborn Paladins.
Then the archer targeted by Azazel in the beginning is hit from three blasts of arcane energy. With no will to resist, she falls to the ground only to be blasted again by Vorland.
Vorland’s brow creases for a moment before he smiles broadly.
‘Die puny mortal!’
Her team-mates are enraged and the Dragonborns blast several of the Hellrazors with their acid breath as they close the distance.
The other archer takes advantage of the confusion and shoots multiple arrows at Azazel.
The Rangers skill is phenomenal and the sultry Warlock goes down, pieced in several places.
‘Bitch!’ Screams Belial. ‘No-one pierces Azazel but me! ... And Vorland!’
He tries to retaliate but Dragonborns block his way and the surviving archer has cleverly positioned herself to be out of range.
The Dragonborns stifle any attacks against them and frustratingly, constantly heal themselves throughout the battle.
Finally Mastema is able to put one of the durable Paladins down permanently but as she does so, she exposes herself to the Ranger.
It’s only for a moment, but it’s enough. Mastema is hit by several arrows and collapses.
Belial stops in his tracks. ‘That bitch has killed our bitches!’
He runs up to the last Dragonborn and just as he reaches him, teleports towards the last Ranger. The void left behind implodes and takes out the last noble Dragonborn.
‘Brace yourself bitch. Daddy's coming!’
Seeing the evil intent in the Warlocks eyes, she drops her bow and raises her hands…
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
‘The Knighty knights?’ ponders Vorland out loud as he spies the next challenge.
‘Sound like Paladins to me…’
Looking around, Azazel licks her plump lips and responds.
‘I’ve heard they’ve got a couple of archer Rangers as well.’
Belial looks up.
‘Archers you say? Our previous opponents have all been melee-based combatants. That gave us a strong advantage…’
Mastema’s eye’s start to well up and, looking to their leader, she asks.
‘Are we in trouble?’
Vorland smiles as he answers.
‘Well if we’re to die, does anyone fancy another quickie?’
Monday, October 11, 2010
It takes several heavy blows from Egil’s sword to smash it down but before he can charge in, Zahig steps into the breach and summons up a floating ball of fire.
With nowhere to run, Hobgoblin after hobgoblin are horribly burned.
Seeing his cause lost, the War chief tries to dispatch Daelagor but he’s stymied by the heroic efforts of Bayern and Egil.
After a few healing words are uttered by the Dwarven cleric, Daelagor wakes in the dim light to the smell of burning flesh.
The Hobgoblins are clever though and (dragging Daelagor behind them) flee from Vogir's line of fire towards a side room.
Running up as quickly as they're able, Egil and Bayern struggle with the metal portcullis until Vogir drops his bow to aid them.
Slowly the bars bend apart until even the Dwarf can slip through.
It’s too late however.
The Hobgoblins have made it to the next chamber.
It’s a simple pressure pad that releases the portcullis slightly ahead.
Deftly jumping over it, Daelagor enters the empty room.
Vogir is halfway down the corridor when the ambush is sprung.
The Eladrin is rushed from three directions by at least a dozen hidden Hobgoblins.
He tries to slip back past them but is cut down before Vogir can even release an arrow in his defence!
The Hobgoblin War chief looks up towards Vogir and signals his ‘men’ to press the attack.
Instinctively Vogir stamps down on the pressure pad at his feet.
The portcullis slides into place with a clang, separating Vogir and the rest of the Party from the Hobgoblins and the heavily bleeding Daelagor.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
The slavers only had covered a few feet when Daelagor started to turn and head for the mechanism when he saw the weapon coming towards him from the left. Unable to dodge it, he could feel it penetrating his shoulder just a second later and now noticed also the other three opponents, storming out the door to his left. He tried to parry the next two attacks but - with the first sword still constricting his movement - failed. Now that his body had a chance to catch up with the recent chain of events, the pain started and darkness started to take over.
He could feel the rays of warm sunlight on his face and opened his eyes. Lying in soft, mossy grass he looked up where the rays broke through a canopy of white leaves far above him, bathing the forest around him in soft light. It was reflected from the silvery bark of massive trees. Never had he seen such majestic trees! Even the most beautiful white trees of Senaliesse, the home of the summer queen Tiandra, seem pale in comparison to them. His hands felt the warm grass around him and with his eyes now getting accustomed to the bright light he could make out the chrystal-like buildings and hanging bridges in the tree tops. While trying to lift his upper body, unbearable pain suddenly started to cloud his mind......
Pain! He again opened his eyes in the midst of a raging fight. Directly above him he could make out the dwarf Bayern standing over his chest and being surrounded and attacked by three opponents, fiercely defending his position. Just when Daelagor tried to make sense of the scene his eyes could see, it blurred and the darkness came back.
Walking on the soft grass he reached out for the silver bark of the tree in front of him. How did he get here? The bark was sleek and flawless and he looked up the tree which was at least 10 feet wide with branches only starting in the far distance. He could feel the power of nature radiating from the tree up his arm and through all the cells of his body. He turned around and for the first time noticed the silky white robe he was wearing. It was of outstanding quality and he only had seen comparable fabric at the court of the Eladrin queen. Still feeling the fabric with his hands, he noticed the woman standing near the next tree, watching him. She was also wearing a perfect white robe which seemed to play with the sunlight hitting its surface and Daelagor could make out the bottom of a staircase behind her. He started to walk slowly towards her and opened his mouth to speak....
The loud noise of metal hitting metal next to him made him open his eyes and the face of Egil occupied almost his whole field of vision. He could feel the paladin's hand on his chest and felt a warmth emanating from it as if life was streaming back into his body, attenuating the pain. Within seconds his head was clear again and his trained senses took over. The hobgoblin warchief was standing between Egil and the dwarf and despite their attacks the slaver seemed to try to attack Daelagor. The hobgoblin's sword scratched along Daelagor's arm while he was getting up and before leaping out of the danger zone Daelagor's dagger just missed the open spot within the armour of his opponent. Just seconds later Daelagor could see the hobgoblin going down and the noise of battle dying down. Daelagor looked at Egil and Bayern who were standing over the now dead body of the leader and piecing together the few memories of this battle he realised, that without these two companions he would be dead by now. A debt that he won't take lightly! He could also feel a image of majestic trees and a woman slowly fading away. Before he could make sense of it and it was gone.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
The Knighty Knights!
Two Dragonborn Paladins and two Human Rangessess...
Assif's named them...
Rip: The Dragonborn Paladin in Red.
Van: The Dragonborn Paladin in Blue.
Winkle: The red-headed Female Ranger
Twinkle: The blond Female Ranger.
(Edit: Redrawn and replaced because even I was offended by the lazy copy/paste/flip.)
Sunday, September 26, 2010
There are no rules!
Apart from the 'Draw' rule.
This can happen if both parties agree to it (in the case of both players thinking a loss is looming) or if neither side take any aggressive action for three consecutive rounds.
(e.g. One Party hiding in the woods while the other party refuses to follow them in.)
Also I have one query...
Taking a Potion is a Minor action but does that include drawing it out?
We went for two Minor actions when I played Sven but when I played Josh we went for just one.
What should we settle on?
One seems a bit easy to me and takes away from the Clerics and the Paladins etc.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Sven's Team Apocalyse
Pestilence: A Female shaman, tendriled in poison ivy.
War: Male druid, dressed in the fur of a wild boar.
Famine: Male warden, wearing the fur of a winter wolf.
Death: Male Barbarian, wearing the fur of a lion and wielding a massive fullblade.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Only the Deva Wizard plus his two Fire elementals.
Still emboldened by this, all four of the Hell razor’s rush to finish him off.
Mastema is the closest but Belial and Azazel aren’t far behind. Even the badly hurt Voland can’t resist blasting the heavily outnumbered Deva.
Eldritch blast after eldritch blast rain down on the hapless Deva, yet somehow he’s able to resist.
Resist AND retaliate.
Blasts of frost knock them off their feet and hamper their movements.
Bolts of lightning tear away their overconfidence.
The fire elemental scorches Belial and in his rage he teleports over to the helpless Goliath and finishes him off with a spiteful blast.
It is the injured Voland however who ends the battle with an oddly lucky shot.
From the furthest away and with the clever Deva using cover, his eldritch blast catches him across the temple.
As he losses consciousness, the Deva swears that he’ll learn from this bitter lesson.
The last sound he hears however is the cruel laughter of the four Tieflings.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Using their abilities so conceal themselves and to teleport around the battlefield, The Hellrazor’s manage to mostly evade the War pigs attacks and still blast the Halfling Rogue. Despite his natural elusiveness, he can’t long avoid the multiple blasts of eldritch energy. It’s Azazel who finishes him off. ‘Best to make sure’ she sniggers as she appears over him in a bust of brimstone. The poor Halfling hasn’t a chance.
The Hellrazor’s leader: Voland is in trouble though. The massive Goliath: Bacon, won’t let him escape and he’s only still on his feet due to his now shattered ‘Armour of Agathys’.
He won’t survive another blow from the War pig’s defender.
Electing for the cowards way out, Voland ‘Otherworld strides’ as far from him as he can. His instantaneous departure however causes an implosion of sorts and the Goliath and flame warrior elemental are hurt.
Sensing weakness, Belial rushes back to exploit it. Another blast of eldritch energy is enough to send the mighty Goliath reeling to the ground.
Unbelievably the massive Fighter is still only unconscious.
'He's not dead? Inconceivable!'
Friday, September 17, 2010
The War Pigs!
Francis Bacon the Goliath Fighter.
Bubba Hamilton the Deva Wizard.
James Porkins the Dwarven Cleric.
Reggie "saw's edge" McGammon the Halfling Rogue.
I'm guessing you can work out who's who, but just in case... it's in height order.
Three blasts of Eldritch flame burn the tiny figure where he stands.
He collapses to the floor still smoking.
The huge Goliath wades in and attempts to reverse the tide of the battle, supported by the Deva Wizards fire elementals.
Three of the Hellrazors are soon hurt and seem powerless against the massive, bizarrely tough Fighter.
Worse, the Deva Wizard moves over to the presumed dead Cleric and administers a healing draft.
The Dwarven cleric’s heavy eyelids flutter open.
Realising that the battle may be turning against them, the Warlocks do what they always do in times of stress.
They flee from trouble and blast the helpless.
The three confronted by the Goliath Fighter teleport away while the unmarked Mastema blasts the just rousing Dwarven Cleric twice in rapid succession.
This time there can be no doubt that he’s gone to the Dwarven underworld.