Just across the bridge, Bruq suffers his first hit of this combat. The sharpened piece of wood finds its way between his lower ribs, almost ignoring the resistance his leather armor provides. With his glaive in both his hands, swinging from left to right, he doesn't plan to stop his sprint to the cackling ogre.
“Die, goat! Die!” She claps in her hands as grief makes way for mania.
(19 versus AC) (Spell save DC 13 versus dexterity 15)
While the satyr keeps running, trying to pry the javelin loose, Mero throws another tiny ball of fire at Korga. She tries to fight the fire off again with the same arm that got burned before, but it only scorches it even further. The air around her fills with the macarbe smell of burning flesh. As she looks over her charred limb, she notices the dark scaled dragonborn trying the same magic trick as before, bestowing a painful light of holiness upon her. As quickly as her frail body allows her to, she takes a few steps sidewards and the glow of divine intervention misses its target.
“There's no point in fighting for your life”, Dargothoth shouts at Korga as the half-elf runs passed him, ready to strike down this wicked foe. “You have nothing left to live for. It’s better to end this quickly than to prolong your suffering… I kind of like it, but it’s becoming a bit of a drag. Just like you, a drag.” The cleric speaks these words as he walks up to her with an easy pace, not feeling any rush to blunt her meat beneath his sceptre.
“Cook you first”, she shouts as she slides her hand across her mouth to sweep away the saliva. “Chipping scales as you screams!”
(Spell save DC 15 versus wisdom 3)
Dargothoth chuckles. “She is a feisty one, fighting for her life long past her welcome in this world.”
Lyssa, who walks beside him, does not smile. “I’ll give her something to cry about”, she says and tilts her head slightly forward. She stares the ogre straight in the eyes so intensely that she can’t help herself but to look back. As she begins to speak, her voice sounds dissonant, almost mimicking how nails crawl across blackboards or sharp cutlery scratches a finished plate of dinner. Although her companions can hear her speak, their minds seem to ignore the message, as if only Korga is meant to suffer the rather cheerful rhymes she’s singing.
“Your boy is dead, your boy is dead.
I’m going to paint the whole town red
With his blood, his guts, his skin, his head.
I’ll paint your graves and corpses red.”
This lullaby echoes within her head, trying to cripple any motivation to continue fighting or living. The tremors of her head intensify into a livid shaking, accompanied by tears for her murdered son.
(11 versus AC) (Natural 20 versus AC)
“You a monster!”, she cries and gets caught in a blind frenzy. Without taking any precautions she runs up to Bruq, scratching the air in front of her as she goes, hoping to claw out an eye as he comes within reach. Her carelessness is her worst enemy. The satyr easily ducks out of the way and stabs his glaive upward into one of her hairy armpits. He twists his weapon as he pulls it back. He apparently striking one of her nerves as her entire arm falls down, resulting in a limp limb dangling beside her with blood rushing down from it.
(7 versus AC) (22 versus AC) (20 versus AC) (21 versus AC)
They all close in on her and everything goes very quickly from that point. Oslando reaches the easy target, swinging his black longsword and missing her completely. Still recovering from his own nearly fatal experience, he's too exhausted hit her.
Mero, who is not about to change a winning strategy, throws another bolt of fire at her and burns the wrinkled skin of her distasteful belly.
She crouches, covering the burned stomach with her one working arm, making it very easy for Dargothoth to strike her right in the face. The swing he makes is a large one and the effect is audible. They can all hear bones break on the moment of impact.
The shot from the siren’s blunderbuss is from up close. The blast almost pushes Korga off her feet while a gaping wound oozes blood from her chest.
(18 versus AC)
“My… boy”, she stumbles, blood spewing from her mouth as she cries over her losses. “I was... no good mama. Protect son is only task. Korga… wants to die.” She surrenders, falling on her knees and lowering her head. It halts the actions of the fighter, the bard and the sorcerer, but not of the other two.
“As I predicted”, the cleric laughs, but the other remain silent. Dargothoth stops and grimaces.
“Now I feel sad”, Lyssa says, lowering her gun in complete contrast to her stance mere seconds ago.
Bruq shakes his head. “A sad being and a sad end.” She looks up. The trembling increases as she tries to gain eye contact. “Quick… No pain.”
He nods. “Quick, no pain.” He raises the glaive and holds it in the air, creating the dramatic scene of an executioner ready to perform his daily duty.
She looks at the maimed corpse of her son and starts crying louder. “Mama… is coming. Mama…” She is silenced by the singing of the metal blade, the ripping of flesh and bone and the thud of her head vanishing in the tall and concealing grass.
maandag 31 december 2018
zaterdag 29 december 2018
Chapter 2.4: The Enochian Tower
(20 versus AC)
The ogre’s thundering voice echoes and with every laugh he pushes more of his instentines outwards. The devastating blow he dealt to the bleeding half-elf gives him enough joy to numb the pain. Gruukh doesn’t pay attention to the satyr who found his way close to him, just within strike range. He jams the glaive upwards, piercing the throat of the hunchbacked ogre. His laughing stops and makes place for a gurgling sound. Blood slowly drips down the polearm. Bruq pulls it back and leaves a gaping hole in his neck.
As Korga cries at the sight of her sweetheart dying, Gruukh’s eyes roll back and he collapses sideways. His head crashing into the water, creating a faint red stream within the otherwise clear river.
(17 versus AC) (18 versus AC)
“My child! Why do this, smallfolk? Die, smallfolk!” Her impaired knowledge of Common is followed by laments in Giant. Tears stream down her face. She runs - or at least she tries to - and hurls a spear at the sea witch who keeps shooting her. Unlike her previous throws, this one hits and it hits good. Although it doesn’t go completely through, it pierces the flesh of her arm, right before she can take the next shot. A scream of pain leaves her mouth and she drops the blunderbuss to pull out the spear.
“Lyssa!”, Mero shouts and he turns to the crying giant. “Stay away from my friends!” A small orb of orange flames forms on the palm of his hand. He throws it at the old ogre to return the favor on behalf of his pirate companion.
Korga lifts up her arm to shield herself. The spell scorches her flesh and cinder bounce off right on her greasy hair. Her ranting persists in the same gibberish sounding language.
Feeling like his head is going to explode, Oslando gets on his hands and knees, trying to make the dizziness go away and return to battle.
“That’s a nasty wound, half-elf. Stay still.” Dargothoth kneels down next to him. The sharp pain accompanying his breathing withholds him to question the dragonborn. Oslando observes him up close, noticing the different shapes of draconic scales on his face and the assiduous gaze Dargothoth studies the wound with.
“Deep breaths. Exhale. You’ll be fine.” He follows the priest’s instructions and as he breathes out, Dargothoth pushes his hand firmly on the wound.
“It hurts”, Oslando says, his teeth grinding.
“But only for a second”, the cleric responds and lifts up his arm. His touch, although cold at first, takes away the worst part of the pain. It closes up the skin where it was torn. It leaves something that vaguely resembles a scar, scars that the half-elf notices aplenty across Dargothoth’s scales as well, spread across the entirety of his arms. If he had the time, the half-elf would wonder how many times he had to magically aid his own wounds.
Behind them, Lyssa is too distracted to channel her vocal source of magic to heal herself. The javelin she pulled out left a nasty cut, ripping some muscle fibers apart. Too impatient to try and regain her focus, she pulls out the wand of healing and presses the knobby end into the gap in her arm. A low-pitched grunt helps her overcome the pain. She slowly pulls the rod back after it closes up the injury completely.
(24 versus AC)
Back on their feet they all eagerly run towards Korga, all more than willing to deliver the final blow. She stopped crying. Only the expression of vengeance remains as she throws her last javelin, a rather small pike compared to the others, hitting her nearing enemy dead straight in the chest.
The ogre’s thundering voice echoes and with every laugh he pushes more of his instentines outwards. The devastating blow he dealt to the bleeding half-elf gives him enough joy to numb the pain. Gruukh doesn’t pay attention to the satyr who found his way close to him, just within strike range. He jams the glaive upwards, piercing the throat of the hunchbacked ogre. His laughing stops and makes place for a gurgling sound. Blood slowly drips down the polearm. Bruq pulls it back and leaves a gaping hole in his neck.
As Korga cries at the sight of her sweetheart dying, Gruukh’s eyes roll back and he collapses sideways. His head crashing into the water, creating a faint red stream within the otherwise clear river.
(17 versus AC) (18 versus AC)
“My child! Why do this, smallfolk? Die, smallfolk!” Her impaired knowledge of Common is followed by laments in Giant. Tears stream down her face. She runs - or at least she tries to - and hurls a spear at the sea witch who keeps shooting her. Unlike her previous throws, this one hits and it hits good. Although it doesn’t go completely through, it pierces the flesh of her arm, right before she can take the next shot. A scream of pain leaves her mouth and she drops the blunderbuss to pull out the spear.
“Lyssa!”, Mero shouts and he turns to the crying giant. “Stay away from my friends!” A small orb of orange flames forms on the palm of his hand. He throws it at the old ogre to return the favor on behalf of his pirate companion.
Korga lifts up her arm to shield herself. The spell scorches her flesh and cinder bounce off right on her greasy hair. Her ranting persists in the same gibberish sounding language.
Feeling like his head is going to explode, Oslando gets on his hands and knees, trying to make the dizziness go away and return to battle.
“That’s a nasty wound, half-elf. Stay still.” Dargothoth kneels down next to him. The sharp pain accompanying his breathing withholds him to question the dragonborn. Oslando observes him up close, noticing the different shapes of draconic scales on his face and the assiduous gaze Dargothoth studies the wound with.
“Deep breaths. Exhale. You’ll be fine.” He follows the priest’s instructions and as he breathes out, Dargothoth pushes his hand firmly on the wound.
“It hurts”, Oslando says, his teeth grinding.
“But only for a second”, the cleric responds and lifts up his arm. His touch, although cold at first, takes away the worst part of the pain. It closes up the skin where it was torn. It leaves something that vaguely resembles a scar, scars that the half-elf notices aplenty across Dargothoth’s scales as well, spread across the entirety of his arms. If he had the time, the half-elf would wonder how many times he had to magically aid his own wounds.
Behind them, Lyssa is too distracted to channel her vocal source of magic to heal herself. The javelin she pulled out left a nasty cut, ripping some muscle fibers apart. Too impatient to try and regain her focus, she pulls out the wand of healing and presses the knobby end into the gap in her arm. A low-pitched grunt helps her overcome the pain. She slowly pulls the rod back after it closes up the injury completely.
(24 versus AC)
Back on their feet they all eagerly run towards Korga, all more than willing to deliver the final blow. She stopped crying. Only the expression of vengeance remains as she throws her last javelin, a rather small pike compared to the others, hitting her nearing enemy dead straight in the chest.
donderdag 27 december 2018
Chapter 2.3: The Enochian Tower
(20 versus AC)
Bruq smiles. “Ogres are notoriously stupid creatures”, he shouts, sharing his knowledge with the others, and he pulls back the string of his bow. “I don’t think they’ll pose much of a threat. Just don’t get hit.”
He releases and his arrow screams as it splits the air before piercing the ogre’s chest. The giant's pace gives Bruq not enough time to take another shot. He drops his bow and pulls the glaive of his back. “Come at me”, he says and he walks to the nearing danger.
Mero, startled by Gruukh’s primal roaring, looks at the ogre and makes the first hand gesture he can think of. He hurls three small purple glowing bolts of energy from his fingertips and they bash against the ogre’s thick skull.
Gruukh shakes his head to make the pain go away. He isn’t slowing down and he shouts in a combination of the Common tongue and Giant tongue. “Ma, they hurts me!” He almost sounds childish, but his size doesn’t fit that of a child. He’s three times taller than the animated puppet who just hurt him. Even newly born ogres would use him as a rattle.
(8 versus AC)
“No touching, baby boy!”, she screams and tries to stand up straight. She squints her eyes, her head shaking more as she tries to keep it still. She launches her javelin, hoping that the rigidity of her body and her cloudy vision will not impair her shot. She hopes in vain. She hurls the wooden harpoon into the fence, just a couple of yards away from Lyssa. “Goblin shit”, she shouts angrily.
(Spell save DC 13 versus dexterity 3) (19 versus AC)
“Let’s take that bitch down”, Dargothoth says and he smiles at the siren.
Lyssa aims her blunderbuss and tries to keep her aim steady as the ground trembles a bit with every step the ogre takes. She fires and the scrap projectiles launch with incredible speed. They bury their way into the ancient flesh of Korga and the giant wails with agony. Her lament grows louder as the cleric calls down a bright, white light, scorching her with divine radiance.
“Nice shot, captain”, he hisses with a grin on his face. She doubts if he is impressed with her. He probably just likes the sight of blood.
(21 versus AC) (13 versus AC)
Running head first into battle isn’t Oslando’s preferred strategy, but waiting for the ogre to strike first is even worse. With his ebony longsword and trusty dagger drawn he runs up to the stampeding monstrosity. The ogre roars and smacks down his club with an extensive sweep. It’s such an obvious attack that the half-elf has time to spare to evade this boorish swing.
“No move!”, Gruukh shouts, filled with anger. He stomps his feet on the ground in a tantrum, making himself an easy target. Oslando buries his dagger in his heel and jabs his longsword upwards, disappearing for a short moment beneath the cloth of bovine skin and reappearing covered in blood. “Die, die!”, the ogre cries, hopping on his unharmed foot.
(8 versus AC) (18 versus AC) (9 versus AC)
The satyr runs up to Gruukh and he presses his glaive forward, but his action is rushed. He misses the skipping ogre and needs to recover himself, leaning forward too much and almost falling onto his own weapon.
Standing behind him, Mero can easily make the shot. He point his hands at the head of the giant. A thin and cold ray of energy hits him, creating a new kind of headache as Mero tries to freeze his skull. He looks pleased with the result, only to change his expression as another javelin flies through the air. He follows it with eyes open wide and sees how it lands right in front of Lyssa.
“Piss!”, Korga screeches and takes a few shuffling steps forward, her flappy skin dancing as a gust of wind passes her. The greasy strands of hair are pulled off her forehead and the smudges of blood dry as the air travels across her wrinkled face. “Gruukh, smash smallfolk!”
(21 versus AC) (12 versus AC)
Lyssa takes aim again, while Dargothoth focuses his attention on the nearby ogre. He runs up to him and smashes him with the sceptre, its gem glowing a fiery red.
Gruukh ignores the bludgeoning of the cleric. The ogre is more focused on the bastard that caused him to bleed.
The continuous growling and swearing in the Giant tongue is drowned for a short moment by the exploding cry of the siren’s gun. Korga gets hit in the shoulder and presses her spare hand on the wound to stop the bleeding. “Whore!” Her voice booms across the field and she reaches for another javelin, strapped to her back. Lyssa tries to ignore the insult in the heat of battle. She has been called that many times before and she can't help but be reminded of the darker days of her past.
(Natural 20 versus AC) (Natural 20 versus AC)
The half-elf watches the moves of the hulking foe carefully and strikes at exactly the right moment. He cuts open his abdomen, causing strands of intestines to dangle out of it. Gruukh, even more infuriated, raises his arms, holding his club with both hands. Doing so, a piece of his exposed colon is swept up against Oslando. The half-elf gags with disgust and tries to shake of the nauseating feeling.
The ogre crashes down the spiked club, just missing the fighter’s head. The metal pierces his armor and the weight of the blow smacks him down against the ground. He can hear his own blood gushing as the world around him begins to spin.
Bruq smiles. “Ogres are notoriously stupid creatures”, he shouts, sharing his knowledge with the others, and he pulls back the string of his bow. “I don’t think they’ll pose much of a threat. Just don’t get hit.”
He releases and his arrow screams as it splits the air before piercing the ogre’s chest. The giant's pace gives Bruq not enough time to take another shot. He drops his bow and pulls the glaive of his back. “Come at me”, he says and he walks to the nearing danger.
Mero, startled by Gruukh’s primal roaring, looks at the ogre and makes the first hand gesture he can think of. He hurls three small purple glowing bolts of energy from his fingertips and they bash against the ogre’s thick skull.
Gruukh shakes his head to make the pain go away. He isn’t slowing down and he shouts in a combination of the Common tongue and Giant tongue. “Ma, they hurts me!” He almost sounds childish, but his size doesn’t fit that of a child. He’s three times taller than the animated puppet who just hurt him. Even newly born ogres would use him as a rattle.
(8 versus AC)
“No touching, baby boy!”, she screams and tries to stand up straight. She squints her eyes, her head shaking more as she tries to keep it still. She launches her javelin, hoping that the rigidity of her body and her cloudy vision will not impair her shot. She hopes in vain. She hurls the wooden harpoon into the fence, just a couple of yards away from Lyssa. “Goblin shit”, she shouts angrily.
(Spell save DC 13 versus dexterity 3) (19 versus AC)
“Let’s take that bitch down”, Dargothoth says and he smiles at the siren.
Lyssa aims her blunderbuss and tries to keep her aim steady as the ground trembles a bit with every step the ogre takes. She fires and the scrap projectiles launch with incredible speed. They bury their way into the ancient flesh of Korga and the giant wails with agony. Her lament grows louder as the cleric calls down a bright, white light, scorching her with divine radiance.
“Nice shot, captain”, he hisses with a grin on his face. She doubts if he is impressed with her. He probably just likes the sight of blood.
(21 versus AC) (13 versus AC)
Running head first into battle isn’t Oslando’s preferred strategy, but waiting for the ogre to strike first is even worse. With his ebony longsword and trusty dagger drawn he runs up to the stampeding monstrosity. The ogre roars and smacks down his club with an extensive sweep. It’s such an obvious attack that the half-elf has time to spare to evade this boorish swing.
“No move!”, Gruukh shouts, filled with anger. He stomps his feet on the ground in a tantrum, making himself an easy target. Oslando buries his dagger in his heel and jabs his longsword upwards, disappearing for a short moment beneath the cloth of bovine skin and reappearing covered in blood. “Die, die!”, the ogre cries, hopping on his unharmed foot.
(8 versus AC) (18 versus AC) (9 versus AC)
The satyr runs up to Gruukh and he presses his glaive forward, but his action is rushed. He misses the skipping ogre and needs to recover himself, leaning forward too much and almost falling onto his own weapon.
Standing behind him, Mero can easily make the shot. He point his hands at the head of the giant. A thin and cold ray of energy hits him, creating a new kind of headache as Mero tries to freeze his skull. He looks pleased with the result, only to change his expression as another javelin flies through the air. He follows it with eyes open wide and sees how it lands right in front of Lyssa.
“Piss!”, Korga screeches and takes a few shuffling steps forward, her flappy skin dancing as a gust of wind passes her. The greasy strands of hair are pulled off her forehead and the smudges of blood dry as the air travels across her wrinkled face. “Gruukh, smash smallfolk!”
(21 versus AC) (12 versus AC)
Lyssa takes aim again, while Dargothoth focuses his attention on the nearby ogre. He runs up to him and smashes him with the sceptre, its gem glowing a fiery red.
Gruukh ignores the bludgeoning of the cleric. The ogre is more focused on the bastard that caused him to bleed.
The continuous growling and swearing in the Giant tongue is drowned for a short moment by the exploding cry of the siren’s gun. Korga gets hit in the shoulder and presses her spare hand on the wound to stop the bleeding. “Whore!” Her voice booms across the field and she reaches for another javelin, strapped to her back. Lyssa tries to ignore the insult in the heat of battle. She has been called that many times before and she can't help but be reminded of the darker days of her past.
(Natural 20 versus AC) (Natural 20 versus AC)
The half-elf watches the moves of the hulking foe carefully and strikes at exactly the right moment. He cuts open his abdomen, causing strands of intestines to dangle out of it. Gruukh, even more infuriated, raises his arms, holding his club with both hands. Doing so, a piece of his exposed colon is swept up against Oslando. The half-elf gags with disgust and tries to shake of the nauseating feeling.
The ogre crashes down the spiked club, just missing the fighter’s head. The metal pierces his armor and the weight of the blow smacks him down against the ground. He can hear his own blood gushing as the world around him begins to spin.
zondag 23 december 2018
Chapter 2.2: The Enochian Tower
The glass mimics the sight and sounds of a whirlpool. The gate to the newly created entrance is swirling, accompanied by the deep and magical vibrations that feel like a rising storm.
“You thought that the Way of Oppression sounded better than the Blood one?” Lyssa looks at him, shaking her head in disbelief. The wavy surface of the mirror smoothens in a growing silence.
“I’m more surprised we are carrying a portable gateway for Hadriel. If I’m entirely honest… I'm curious what's on the other side.” The siren agrees with Dargothoth.
“It makes me want to sing”, she says, followed by some excessively loud scraping of her throat. Oslando makes a stern hand movement, silencing her.
“You don’t know what’s at the other side. Singing could lure something this way. I’d rather have the upper hand.” With his hands on his weapons’ hilt he takes a couple of steps towards the gateway. “Do you think it’s safe?”, he asks, looking at the little sorcerer standing next to him.
(Arcana 16)
“The magic feels stable”, Merodius speaks as he places his hand on the mirror’s surface, creating a small ripple beneath his smutched white glove. “We can step through without harm if I’m correct. Look.” He makes an almost cartoonish step forward, disturbing the glass even more as he proves his point. He looks backwards and gestures the others to follow.
“For a guy his size he has a whole lot of nerve”, Bruq says as he and Lyssa follow the others through the portal.
(Performance 27 versus persuasion 15)
“I don’t think he has any nerves at all”, she laughs and she pokes her elbow in his side> Bruq doesn't laugh. “Being a construct and such… They don’t have nerves. He doesn’t have nerves. Do I need to explain the joke? Are you going to laugh or what?” He tries to keep his face straight, but breaks into laughter as the siren starts rambling. Oslando shushes them.
The glass behind them solidifies and the dark hallway expands. The walls move back and the ceiling disappears. The sunlight seems to greet them from above. The warm light reveals a plain covered with lush grass, surrounded by an almost endless fence. As they look up to the blue and orange sky, the fence keeps going, towering far above them and making climbing over the fence impossible.
(Perception 8) (Wisdom 7) (Survival 13)
There are no clouds. The sun is setting. Water calmly runs down a stream.
"What is this place?" Lyssa whispers to not disturb the serenity of this place.
"I have no clue", Oslando answers, "but we can find out later after we know if we are safe."
This place smacks the tranquility so blatantly obvious in their faces, they would almost not hear the deep murmur coming across a small wooden bridge by the narrow river. They can’t quite distinguish if the sound is man or beast, but Bruq can't find the inner peace to wait it out. With his longbow in his hand and an arrow at the ready, he steps forwards, creating a gentle clip-clop as his hooves touch the pebbles in the high grass.
“Who goes there?”, he says, blowing any cover they might have had. “We have come to retrieve the crystal.”
Mero runs up to him. “Bruq, what are you doing?”, he asks with a nervous vibrato in his voice. “I know you like to go head first into an encounter, but this is just stupid.”
The satyr shakes his head and looks down at the sorcerer. A shadow falls over his face, matching his blackening eyes and fitting the lugubrious demeanor of his partially corroded face. “Something doesn’t feel right. The fence, the grass, the trees; they all feel out of place. It gives me the creeps, Mero, and you should feel it too.
(Arcana 14)
“Now that you mention it, I still feel the same magic as inside the room with the mirror. Maybe it’s an illusion?” Illusion or not, the sound that triggered the hunter grows louder, accompanied by boorish sounding footsteps. It takes just a few seconds to see what creatures walk towards them, revealing themselves from behind the big trees at the other side of the river.
"Show yourself", Bruq repeats.
Two dull orange skinned, hulking figures, both ten feet tall, slowly stomp their way towards the bridge.
“Me and mama Korga goes here”, the one of them says. It’s an ugly man with only a ragged loincloth around his waist, showing off his fat belly and the superficial thick veins that crawl over his chest and arms. He holds a wooden club, the head covered with metal spikes. Fresh blood is dripping off the tips.
“Look, Gruukh! Talking food!” The voice of the woman creaks as an old door with weary hinges. She has the same fat belly as the other monster, but she lacks the muscles. She is almost as bald as the one she called Gruukh, only having a couple of straw-like strands of grey hair to spare. She put down a big leather sack behind her and leans forward on a javelin, swaying her saggy breasts as her body shows the tremors of old age. “You kill. I cook. We feast!” And the male ogre starts running.
“You thought that the Way of Oppression sounded better than the Blood one?” Lyssa looks at him, shaking her head in disbelief. The wavy surface of the mirror smoothens in a growing silence.
“I’m more surprised we are carrying a portable gateway for Hadriel. If I’m entirely honest… I'm curious what's on the other side.” The siren agrees with Dargothoth.
“It makes me want to sing”, she says, followed by some excessively loud scraping of her throat. Oslando makes a stern hand movement, silencing her.
“You don’t know what’s at the other side. Singing could lure something this way. I’d rather have the upper hand.” With his hands on his weapons’ hilt he takes a couple of steps towards the gateway. “Do you think it’s safe?”, he asks, looking at the little sorcerer standing next to him.
(Arcana 16)
“The magic feels stable”, Merodius speaks as he places his hand on the mirror’s surface, creating a small ripple beneath his smutched white glove. “We can step through without harm if I’m correct. Look.” He makes an almost cartoonish step forward, disturbing the glass even more as he proves his point. He looks backwards and gestures the others to follow.
“For a guy his size he has a whole lot of nerve”, Bruq says as he and Lyssa follow the others through the portal.
(Performance 27 versus persuasion 15)
“I don’t think he has any nerves at all”, she laughs and she pokes her elbow in his side> Bruq doesn't laugh. “Being a construct and such… They don’t have nerves. He doesn’t have nerves. Do I need to explain the joke? Are you going to laugh or what?” He tries to keep his face straight, but breaks into laughter as the siren starts rambling. Oslando shushes them.
The glass behind them solidifies and the dark hallway expands. The walls move back and the ceiling disappears. The sunlight seems to greet them from above. The warm light reveals a plain covered with lush grass, surrounded by an almost endless fence. As they look up to the blue and orange sky, the fence keeps going, towering far above them and making climbing over the fence impossible.
(Perception 8) (Wisdom 7) (Survival 13)
There are no clouds. The sun is setting. Water calmly runs down a stream.
"What is this place?" Lyssa whispers to not disturb the serenity of this place.
"I have no clue", Oslando answers, "but we can find out later after we know if we are safe."
This place smacks the tranquility so blatantly obvious in their faces, they would almost not hear the deep murmur coming across a small wooden bridge by the narrow river. They can’t quite distinguish if the sound is man or beast, but Bruq can't find the inner peace to wait it out. With his longbow in his hand and an arrow at the ready, he steps forwards, creating a gentle clip-clop as his hooves touch the pebbles in the high grass.
“Who goes there?”, he says, blowing any cover they might have had. “We have come to retrieve the crystal.”
Mero runs up to him. “Bruq, what are you doing?”, he asks with a nervous vibrato in his voice. “I know you like to go head first into an encounter, but this is just stupid.”
The satyr shakes his head and looks down at the sorcerer. A shadow falls over his face, matching his blackening eyes and fitting the lugubrious demeanor of his partially corroded face. “Something doesn’t feel right. The fence, the grass, the trees; they all feel out of place. It gives me the creeps, Mero, and you should feel it too.
(Arcana 14)
“Now that you mention it, I still feel the same magic as inside the room with the mirror. Maybe it’s an illusion?” Illusion or not, the sound that triggered the hunter grows louder, accompanied by boorish sounding footsteps. It takes just a few seconds to see what creatures walk towards them, revealing themselves from behind the big trees at the other side of the river.
"Show yourself", Bruq repeats.
Two dull orange skinned, hulking figures, both ten feet tall, slowly stomp their way towards the bridge.
“Me and mama Korga goes here”, the one of them says. It’s an ugly man with only a ragged loincloth around his waist, showing off his fat belly and the superficial thick veins that crawl over his chest and arms. He holds a wooden club, the head covered with metal spikes. Fresh blood is dripping off the tips.
“Look, Gruukh! Talking food!” The voice of the woman creaks as an old door with weary hinges. She has the same fat belly as the other monster, but she lacks the muscles. She is almost as bald as the one she called Gruukh, only having a couple of straw-like strands of grey hair to spare. She put down a big leather sack behind her and leans forward on a javelin, swaying her saggy breasts as her body shows the tremors of old age. “You kill. I cook. We feast!” And the male ogre starts running.
vrijdag 21 december 2018
Chapter 2.1: The Enochian Tower
Every opening out of the stone temple disappears. The walls transform into a smooth and glistening surface of silver-like metal. The five adventurers get down to prevent falling down as the ground starts to move and tiles shift beneath them.
A white light, bursting out the mirror’s glass, breaks the darkness abruptly, making the new and changing environment visible. Five copper-coloured hooks hang on the wall and the polished marble floor is almost as reflective as the Enochian Mirror, that lied in the middle of the room. While the ceiling was almost within their reach before - Dargothoth would have bumped his head if he stood up straight - now it towers far above them, several stories high.
“What in name of Pelor’s piping hot privates just happened?”, Bruq shouts, slightly deafened by the ruckus of the changing temple. He keeps circling to observe his new surroundings, the glaive singing as it splits the air with every quick turn.
“The Seraphim trapped us here, for sure”, the half-elf speaks, his head owned by vertigo, as he picks up his longsword. “Since there is no way out of here I presume we have to find the Enochian Crystals he mentioned. The question remains how we are supposed to do this.”
Lyssa, silent since the revealment of Dargothoth’s eerie secret, nervously puts her finger on the trigger of her trusted blunderbuss. It may not be the prettiest of weapons with its rusted mouth and weather-worn wooden parts, but it never truly failed her. She can count on it and that’s what she needs in her life. Something she can trust.
“Did he say “child-eating worshipper of malice”? I just want to be sure. Child-eating?” Her voice has lost all its pleasant properties. No charming melodies or soothing words. Only cold remains.
“He did say that, yes", Dargothoth says slowly. Merodius, still beside the speaking cleric, looks up to him and he takes a step back.
“Why did he say that?” Mero looks worried. “Why would he say that?”
(Persuasion 11 versus insight 10)
“I presume the angelic fiend has a personal gain by driving a wedge between us. His intentions - apparently - aren’t as celestial as he presents them. Don’t overthink it. My experience is that minds are easily twisted and fooled. Hadriel is trying the same on us all.” He tries to smile politely, but his sharp teeth and maleficent appearance ruin his attempt. Before Merodius really has the time to process his words, Dargothoth walks away towards the mirror.
(Perception 21 versus stealth 17)
From his pocket he takes out a small golden amulet, unable to hide it from the observant fighter of the group. “Isn’t that the talisman of the cult leader? Why do you have this?” Oslando, his face riddled with concern, walks up to him to inspect the trinket, checking if he is right.
“That is correct”, Dargothoth says calmly as he dangles it above the mirror. “I hoped to somehow activate this mirror to get out of here, but this thing doesn’t seem to work without the right incantation.”
(Arcana 8)
The easiness with which he speaks disturbs the others. “I can feel its magic and it doesn’t feel right”, Lyssa pleads. “You took some demon summoning amulet without us knowing and now you are trying to use it? That is sketchy to say the least, Dargothoth.” Lyssa puts her hands on her hips and crooks her neck. White locks of hair fall in front of her big eyes. With a dramatic movement she whips her hair backwards, looking him straight in the eyes in an almost sassy manner.
“I don’t trust the angel, my captain. I want to have some kind of leverage.” Before Oslando can reach Dargothoth, he puts the amulet away again. “But I will respect your wishes, for now”, he adds, looking at his companions, one at a time.
The half-elf shakes his head. “Only this will not do. You can't bring this kind of magic with you. It endangers us all. We will discuss this after we escape this transformed temple.”
(Investigation 6) (Investigation 15)
Bruq observes the room with a confused expression. He mainly focuses on the ceiling, far away from him. The darkness above him tells him nothing. It merely makes him aware that he is trying to find a solution where none can be found.
“We need five stones and there are five hooks on the wall”, Bruq says and he walks to the mirror, joining the cleric, who is observing the magical glass. He sees his own reflection, but something doesn’t feel right. It is almost as if the reality becomes very subtly distorted within the glass. “Let’s hang the mirror on one of the hooks.”
(Perception 20)
The sorcerer scans the hangers and notices something the others didn’t spot. “Read the texts”, he says as his head keeps turning to observe different parts of the wall.
While the rest is squinting, Mero walks up to the silver wall and points upwards to a small line of words, just out of his reach. He would have to jump if he wants to tap the sentence, but he doesn’t. “This one reads “Way of Blood”. The puppet still sounds very cheerful as he speaks these words. “Maybe we should check the other ones first.”
Lyssa and Oslando also start reading, while the satyr and dragonborn wait near the mirror, ready to pick it up when they need to.
“Way of Treasure”, Lyssa almost screams, clapping her hands once to show off her enthusiasm. Bruq shakes his head.
“Way of Justice.”
“Way of Woods.”
The priest, growing impatient with Bruq aloud reading, walks to the hook nearest to him and reads it. “Let’s hang it here”, he says to the hunter, catching him by surprise as he starts lifting the Enochian Mirror on its own.
Bruq aids him almost immediately, but not to be friendly to Dargothoth. He is scared the mirror might drop. He doesn’t want to be trapped here forever, especially not with him. Carefully, they tilt the relic and place it against the wall, slowly lowering it, waiting for the moment the hanger takes away the weight on their hands.
(Perception 11)
They take a few steps back and observe the glass surface. They all see how it starts to ripple ever so slightly and, as the waves grow larger and become more restless, an opening appears, revealing a small corridor.
“Gods be damned”, Lyssa whispers as she looks with eyes wide open, struck with awe. “What did you read on the wall?”
The satyr shrugs. “Dargothoth read it. Ask him.”
The siren shifts her attention to him and receives a parsimonious and ominous smile.
“Way of Oppression.”
A white light, bursting out the mirror’s glass, breaks the darkness abruptly, making the new and changing environment visible. Five copper-coloured hooks hang on the wall and the polished marble floor is almost as reflective as the Enochian Mirror, that lied in the middle of the room. While the ceiling was almost within their reach before - Dargothoth would have bumped his head if he stood up straight - now it towers far above them, several stories high.
“What in name of Pelor’s piping hot privates just happened?”, Bruq shouts, slightly deafened by the ruckus of the changing temple. He keeps circling to observe his new surroundings, the glaive singing as it splits the air with every quick turn.
“The Seraphim trapped us here, for sure”, the half-elf speaks, his head owned by vertigo, as he picks up his longsword. “Since there is no way out of here I presume we have to find the Enochian Crystals he mentioned. The question remains how we are supposed to do this.”
Lyssa, silent since the revealment of Dargothoth’s eerie secret, nervously puts her finger on the trigger of her trusted blunderbuss. It may not be the prettiest of weapons with its rusted mouth and weather-worn wooden parts, but it never truly failed her. She can count on it and that’s what she needs in her life. Something she can trust.
“Did he say “child-eating worshipper of malice”? I just want to be sure. Child-eating?” Her voice has lost all its pleasant properties. No charming melodies or soothing words. Only cold remains.
“He did say that, yes", Dargothoth says slowly. Merodius, still beside the speaking cleric, looks up to him and he takes a step back.
“Why did he say that?” Mero looks worried. “Why would he say that?”
(Persuasion 11 versus insight 10)
“I presume the angelic fiend has a personal gain by driving a wedge between us. His intentions - apparently - aren’t as celestial as he presents them. Don’t overthink it. My experience is that minds are easily twisted and fooled. Hadriel is trying the same on us all.” He tries to smile politely, but his sharp teeth and maleficent appearance ruin his attempt. Before Merodius really has the time to process his words, Dargothoth walks away towards the mirror.
(Perception 21 versus stealth 17)
From his pocket he takes out a small golden amulet, unable to hide it from the observant fighter of the group. “Isn’t that the talisman of the cult leader? Why do you have this?” Oslando, his face riddled with concern, walks up to him to inspect the trinket, checking if he is right.
“That is correct”, Dargothoth says calmly as he dangles it above the mirror. “I hoped to somehow activate this mirror to get out of here, but this thing doesn’t seem to work without the right incantation.”
(Arcana 8)
The easiness with which he speaks disturbs the others. “I can feel its magic and it doesn’t feel right”, Lyssa pleads. “You took some demon summoning amulet without us knowing and now you are trying to use it? That is sketchy to say the least, Dargothoth.” Lyssa puts her hands on her hips and crooks her neck. White locks of hair fall in front of her big eyes. With a dramatic movement she whips her hair backwards, looking him straight in the eyes in an almost sassy manner.
“I don’t trust the angel, my captain. I want to have some kind of leverage.” Before Oslando can reach Dargothoth, he puts the amulet away again. “But I will respect your wishes, for now”, he adds, looking at his companions, one at a time.
The half-elf shakes his head. “Only this will not do. You can't bring this kind of magic with you. It endangers us all. We will discuss this after we escape this transformed temple.”
(Investigation 6) (Investigation 15)
Bruq observes the room with a confused expression. He mainly focuses on the ceiling, far away from him. The darkness above him tells him nothing. It merely makes him aware that he is trying to find a solution where none can be found.
“We need five stones and there are five hooks on the wall”, Bruq says and he walks to the mirror, joining the cleric, who is observing the magical glass. He sees his own reflection, but something doesn’t feel right. It is almost as if the reality becomes very subtly distorted within the glass. “Let’s hang the mirror on one of the hooks.”
(Perception 20)
The sorcerer scans the hangers and notices something the others didn’t spot. “Read the texts”, he says as his head keeps turning to observe different parts of the wall.
While the rest is squinting, Mero walks up to the silver wall and points upwards to a small line of words, just out of his reach. He would have to jump if he wants to tap the sentence, but he doesn’t. “This one reads “Way of Blood”. The puppet still sounds very cheerful as he speaks these words. “Maybe we should check the other ones first.”
Lyssa and Oslando also start reading, while the satyr and dragonborn wait near the mirror, ready to pick it up when they need to.
“Way of Treasure”, Lyssa almost screams, clapping her hands once to show off her enthusiasm. Bruq shakes his head.
“Way of Justice.”
“Way of Woods.”
The priest, growing impatient with Bruq aloud reading, walks to the hook nearest to him and reads it. “Let’s hang it here”, he says to the hunter, catching him by surprise as he starts lifting the Enochian Mirror on its own.
Bruq aids him almost immediately, but not to be friendly to Dargothoth. He is scared the mirror might drop. He doesn’t want to be trapped here forever, especially not with him. Carefully, they tilt the relic and place it against the wall, slowly lowering it, waiting for the moment the hanger takes away the weight on their hands.
(Perception 11)
They take a few steps back and observe the glass surface. They all see how it starts to ripple ever so slightly and, as the waves grow larger and become more restless, an opening appears, revealing a small corridor.
“Gods be damned”, Lyssa whispers as she looks with eyes wide open, struck with awe. “What did you read on the wall?”
The satyr shrugs. “Dargothoth read it. Ask him.”
The siren shifts her attention to him and receives a parsimonious and ominous smile.
“Way of Oppression.”
dinsdag 18 december 2018
Chapter 1.15: A Reflection of Angels
A silver light bursts from the palm of Hadriel’s hand and shines a magical light onto Alexander. His white cloth is torn from his body and his flesh turns into ash, floating away from him in the restless air. He screams while his voice deepens and he starts to grow. With his pale skin gone, his metallic grey scales reveal themselves to the other heroes in the temple. They just stand there, gazing in awe at this theatrical spectacle. Alexander’s eyes turn blue and his short blond hairs rise up in smoke. Dargothoth is revealed.
“What did you do to him?”, Lyssa asks with terror in her voice. She observes the eight and a half foot draconic man, chest heaving and leaning on his knees.
“I did not make him this way, insolent sea witch”, Hadriel’s voice thunders. “I merely revealed what he was hiding for you, for the world. This child-eating worshipper of malice has been playing you.”
The cleric holds his sceptre firmly, its gem coloured with a swirling red storm inside its precious walls. He growls. “I do not hide, angel. I merely choose a preferred form. In this state I tend to scare people and prevent cooperation.”
The emotions on their face reveil everything while observing the intimidating presence. Confusion, fear, anger. “You are not wrong, priest”, Bruq says in a stoic manner. “This certainly reveals a form that suits your personality more than the previous.” His grip around his glaive tightens and his eyes turn black.
(Persuasion 18)
“I don’t believe this appearance makes him evil”, Merodius says as he walks up to Dargothoth. “He aided me when I was wounded retrieving the Enochian Mirror. He has known me for just a couple of hours and already he cares enough to help me. I wouldn’t dare to question your knowledge, holy Seraphim, but maybe we should be less prejudiced.”
With a stern look on his bright face Hadriel stares deep into the artificial eyes of the sorcerer’s mask. “I don’t share your gullibility, puppet. Remain silent until you are spoken to.” His animated face is unable to hide the hurt caused by being put back in his former place as a slave.
“You can call me Dargothoth, sorcerer. Alexander is the name of my human appearance, but I have no need for it anymore.” He turns his attention to the burning angel again. His eyes ache from the angel's radiant presence. “Tell us what it is you want. I have no interest in participating in this charade for much longer.” He roars his words with jaw clenched.
“Maybe it would be wise to calm down a bit”, Lyssa suggests carefully. “He just blew away your cover by only pointing a ray of sunlight at you. Who knows what will come next?” She doesn’t know if she’s supposed to be more frightened by this form of betrayal or by the anger of Hadriel. Probably the latter.
“Even though I can’t fully agree with Dargothoth”, the half-elf speaks with emphasis on this newly learned name, “I would like to know what lies ahead for us. I want to be prepared for whatever awaits.”
The Seraphim remains silent, thinking about what he will do next. “You will retrieve the five Enochian Crystals to fully restore this mirror. And even with the preposterous behavior of your allies, I will spare you for now. We do have the same goal after all.”
This statement frustrates Dargothoth beyond belief, but he finds the power in himself to remain silent, wisely.
“Get them quick and hand them over. I could get them myself, but what would be the fun of taking away the challenge for the heroes of prophecies?”
“So, we don’t have to do this? It is just for the amusement of angels?” Bruq stares at him with disbelief, while Mero still doesn’t dare to speak again.
Oslando takes a step forward, feeling the heat increase as he comes closer to the Seraphim. “I thought this was not a game, Hadriel, but a way to save this world from perishment. Why do you speak with such contradicting riddles? We are here to help, not to be fooled with.”
Hadriel shakes his head. “It is all part of your trial to become the heroes the prophecies speak of. Fetching these five crystals is part of your growth.” A smirk appears on his radiant face. “Besides, you don’t have a choice”, he says and he claps his hands together. He disappears in a bright flash and the building starts to tremble as everything around them goes dark.
“What did you do to him?”, Lyssa asks with terror in her voice. She observes the eight and a half foot draconic man, chest heaving and leaning on his knees.
“I did not make him this way, insolent sea witch”, Hadriel’s voice thunders. “I merely revealed what he was hiding for you, for the world. This child-eating worshipper of malice has been playing you.”
The cleric holds his sceptre firmly, its gem coloured with a swirling red storm inside its precious walls. He growls. “I do not hide, angel. I merely choose a preferred form. In this state I tend to scare people and prevent cooperation.”
The emotions on their face reveil everything while observing the intimidating presence. Confusion, fear, anger. “You are not wrong, priest”, Bruq says in a stoic manner. “This certainly reveals a form that suits your personality more than the previous.” His grip around his glaive tightens and his eyes turn black.
(Persuasion 18)
“I don’t believe this appearance makes him evil”, Merodius says as he walks up to Dargothoth. “He aided me when I was wounded retrieving the Enochian Mirror. He has known me for just a couple of hours and already he cares enough to help me. I wouldn’t dare to question your knowledge, holy Seraphim, but maybe we should be less prejudiced.”
With a stern look on his bright face Hadriel stares deep into the artificial eyes of the sorcerer’s mask. “I don’t share your gullibility, puppet. Remain silent until you are spoken to.” His animated face is unable to hide the hurt caused by being put back in his former place as a slave.
“You can call me Dargothoth, sorcerer. Alexander is the name of my human appearance, but I have no need for it anymore.” He turns his attention to the burning angel again. His eyes ache from the angel's radiant presence. “Tell us what it is you want. I have no interest in participating in this charade for much longer.” He roars his words with jaw clenched.
“Maybe it would be wise to calm down a bit”, Lyssa suggests carefully. “He just blew away your cover by only pointing a ray of sunlight at you. Who knows what will come next?” She doesn’t know if she’s supposed to be more frightened by this form of betrayal or by the anger of Hadriel. Probably the latter.
“Even though I can’t fully agree with Dargothoth”, the half-elf speaks with emphasis on this newly learned name, “I would like to know what lies ahead for us. I want to be prepared for whatever awaits.”
The Seraphim remains silent, thinking about what he will do next. “You will retrieve the five Enochian Crystals to fully restore this mirror. And even with the preposterous behavior of your allies, I will spare you for now. We do have the same goal after all.”
This statement frustrates Dargothoth beyond belief, but he finds the power in himself to remain silent, wisely.
“Get them quick and hand them over. I could get them myself, but what would be the fun of taking away the challenge for the heroes of prophecies?”
“So, we don’t have to do this? It is just for the amusement of angels?” Bruq stares at him with disbelief, while Mero still doesn’t dare to speak again.
Oslando takes a step forward, feeling the heat increase as he comes closer to the Seraphim. “I thought this was not a game, Hadriel, but a way to save this world from perishment. Why do you speak with such contradicting riddles? We are here to help, not to be fooled with.”
Hadriel shakes his head. “It is all part of your trial to become the heroes the prophecies speak of. Fetching these five crystals is part of your growth.” A smirk appears on his radiant face. “Besides, you don’t have a choice”, he says and he claps his hands together. He disappears in a bright flash and the building starts to tremble as everything around them goes dark.
zondag 16 december 2018
Chapter 1.14: A Reflection of Angels
“If you hold it there, I can pick it up here and we can carry the thing outside without breaking the glass.” Oslando, still limping a bit from Simion’s nasty attack, stands ready to lift up the mirror, waiting for Bruq and Lyssa to aid him.
“I will lead the way”, Merodius says cheerfully, completely aware of the fact that he’s too small to provide any efficient kind of assistance.
“I will join this important task”, the priest speaks with an obvious sarcastic tone, “just in case we stumble upon more of these heretics. We can hold them off temporarily, while you brute forces lay down this artefact and head off into battle.” The half-elf doesn’t like to be called a brute, implying only power is an asset of his, wits and tactics aside. Bruq and Lyssa couldn’t care less.
As they leave the church, the air becomes more pleasant to breathe in again. Fresh air without the moldy smells and dusty tastes.
The ominous red light of the relic disappeared as soon as Simion died. Even though it is a rather large mirror, it takes little effort to pick up. It's almost as if some peculiar spell was cast on it to make their task a whole lot easier.
“What’s up with these five holes?”, the satyr asks. He lifts up his part with one hand and uses the other to caress the edge of the mirror. Unreadable symbols are carved into the frame only to be interrupted by five evenly distributed cavities. Having the mirror so close to them gives them the opportunity to observe more details. The most peculiar one is the glass itself. As they move the mirror around, it almost looks like the glass is liquid and not solid at all.
“I don’t think Hadriel’s masters would purposefully disrupt these glyphs if they didn’t have any purpose. They're probably magic.”
(Investigation 17)
The siren joins his observations in silence, only to interrupt it as soon as she finds the answer to his question. “You see the scratches at the edges of the holes? They are thin and have merely damaged the surface. It looks like gemstones or something like that are supposed to go in there.”
Merodius looks over his shoulder, but he’s unable to see what she means due to the current level of the mirror. “Do you think the angel has the stones?”, he asks with a childish squeak in his voice.
“Judging by the drape around his waist as his only piece of clothing, I don’t think he has any stones, at least not on him.” Bruq makes himself smirk due to his cleverness, while Lyssa just plainly bursts into laughter. “Don’t let him hear you. Who knows what the wrath of his divine rod may call upon you!”
Their journey back to the stone temple doesn’t feel as long as they anticipated. They can already see how the building starts to crawl onto the red horizon. “What do you guys think happens next?” Lyssa’s question breaks the silence. Tired of only hearing their heavy breathing and shuffling footsteps, she continues. “I can’t imagine our brief adventure stops here.”
Alexander, usually not participating in smalltalk, slows down his pace to walk beside the carrying allies. “It troubles me. This task seemed very simple. I mean, they could have hired ten mercenaries and be done with it. If we are the heroes of prophecies, this is a rather short prophecy. It feels like he isn’t telling us everything.”
Even though he doesn’t want to join in any paranoid ideas, Oslando agrees. “I think we will hear the sequel to our first quest as soon as we deliver Hadriel the mirror. Let’s just focus on the task at hand.”
The satyr lets out a short bleat, gently shaking his goatee as he does so. “Afraid I will drop the mirror if I get distracted?”
(Dexterity 13)
As he says so, he stubs his hoof against a stone, but catches himself from nearly falling. He looks at the siren. She tightens her lips. “Don’t you dare laugh. I swear I will kick you.”
They are met with divine warmth as they enter the Seraphim descendant’s hideout, almost blinded again by his radiant presence. He looks visibly pleased with their return. They wonder if his joy comes from seeing his mirror again or if he's pleased they returned mostly unharmed. They feel revitalized, as if all their pain is taken away. Strangely, it almost feels as if they have grown. Their bodies feel strong and their fatigue fades away. They can't really describe the exact feeling, but it's a pleasant one, for sure.
“Well done, heroes”, his many voices echo. His presence feels like it’s more than his current body shows, as if it reaches far beyond what this temple can hold. “I am pleased to see you have fulfilled the first part of this quest without dying.”
They carefully place the mirror against the wall, creating an almost unbearable sound of the scraping of metal versus stone.
Lyssa smiles. “Hopefully just as pleased as we will be when you give us our reward”. If you just listen to her voice, it seems like she is making a joke, but her face reveals her eagerness to start counting the coins of her deserved treasure.
“You will receive your rewards soon, after you help me complete the mirror. You may have noticed it’s missing its five seals. After you get me these, you are free to go and live with your greed in solitude.”
While some of them can temper their impatience, Alexander clearly isn’t one of them. “You speak of treasures, angel, promising us everything we want without showing us anything in return. You better not break your vow. I don't like being tricked into working for free.”
Hadriel grows angrier with every word the cleric speaks, right up to the point Alexander raises his finger at him. “Enough!” The deafening shout demands silence and the flames from his eyes grow larger, giving off an immense heat. “ I have grown tired of your blasphemous insults, deceiver. Prepare yourself for divine intervention.”
“I will lead the way”, Merodius says cheerfully, completely aware of the fact that he’s too small to provide any efficient kind of assistance.
“I will join this important task”, the priest speaks with an obvious sarcastic tone, “just in case we stumble upon more of these heretics. We can hold them off temporarily, while you brute forces lay down this artefact and head off into battle.” The half-elf doesn’t like to be called a brute, implying only power is an asset of his, wits and tactics aside. Bruq and Lyssa couldn’t care less.
As they leave the church, the air becomes more pleasant to breathe in again. Fresh air without the moldy smells and dusty tastes.
The ominous red light of the relic disappeared as soon as Simion died. Even though it is a rather large mirror, it takes little effort to pick up. It's almost as if some peculiar spell was cast on it to make their task a whole lot easier.
“What’s up with these five holes?”, the satyr asks. He lifts up his part with one hand and uses the other to caress the edge of the mirror. Unreadable symbols are carved into the frame only to be interrupted by five evenly distributed cavities. Having the mirror so close to them gives them the opportunity to observe more details. The most peculiar one is the glass itself. As they move the mirror around, it almost looks like the glass is liquid and not solid at all.
“I don’t think Hadriel’s masters would purposefully disrupt these glyphs if they didn’t have any purpose. They're probably magic.”
(Investigation 17)
The siren joins his observations in silence, only to interrupt it as soon as she finds the answer to his question. “You see the scratches at the edges of the holes? They are thin and have merely damaged the surface. It looks like gemstones or something like that are supposed to go in there.”
Merodius looks over his shoulder, but he’s unable to see what she means due to the current level of the mirror. “Do you think the angel has the stones?”, he asks with a childish squeak in his voice.
“Judging by the drape around his waist as his only piece of clothing, I don’t think he has any stones, at least not on him.” Bruq makes himself smirk due to his cleverness, while Lyssa just plainly bursts into laughter. “Don’t let him hear you. Who knows what the wrath of his divine rod may call upon you!”
Their journey back to the stone temple doesn’t feel as long as they anticipated. They can already see how the building starts to crawl onto the red horizon. “What do you guys think happens next?” Lyssa’s question breaks the silence. Tired of only hearing their heavy breathing and shuffling footsteps, she continues. “I can’t imagine our brief adventure stops here.”
Alexander, usually not participating in smalltalk, slows down his pace to walk beside the carrying allies. “It troubles me. This task seemed very simple. I mean, they could have hired ten mercenaries and be done with it. If we are the heroes of prophecies, this is a rather short prophecy. It feels like he isn’t telling us everything.”
Even though he doesn’t want to join in any paranoid ideas, Oslando agrees. “I think we will hear the sequel to our first quest as soon as we deliver Hadriel the mirror. Let’s just focus on the task at hand.”
The satyr lets out a short bleat, gently shaking his goatee as he does so. “Afraid I will drop the mirror if I get distracted?”
(Dexterity 13)
As he says so, he stubs his hoof against a stone, but catches himself from nearly falling. He looks at the siren. She tightens her lips. “Don’t you dare laugh. I swear I will kick you.”
They are met with divine warmth as they enter the Seraphim descendant’s hideout, almost blinded again by his radiant presence. He looks visibly pleased with their return. They wonder if his joy comes from seeing his mirror again or if he's pleased they returned mostly unharmed. They feel revitalized, as if all their pain is taken away. Strangely, it almost feels as if they have grown. Their bodies feel strong and their fatigue fades away. They can't really describe the exact feeling, but it's a pleasant one, for sure.
“Well done, heroes”, his many voices echo. His presence feels like it’s more than his current body shows, as if it reaches far beyond what this temple can hold. “I am pleased to see you have fulfilled the first part of this quest without dying.”
They carefully place the mirror against the wall, creating an almost unbearable sound of the scraping of metal versus stone.
Lyssa smiles. “Hopefully just as pleased as we will be when you give us our reward”. If you just listen to her voice, it seems like she is making a joke, but her face reveals her eagerness to start counting the coins of her deserved treasure.
“You will receive your rewards soon, after you help me complete the mirror. You may have noticed it’s missing its five seals. After you get me these, you are free to go and live with your greed in solitude.”
While some of them can temper their impatience, Alexander clearly isn’t one of them. “You speak of treasures, angel, promising us everything we want without showing us anything in return. You better not break your vow. I don't like being tricked into working for free.”
Hadriel grows angrier with every word the cleric speaks, right up to the point Alexander raises his finger at him. “Enough!” The deafening shout demands silence and the flames from his eyes grow larger, giving off an immense heat. “ I have grown tired of your blasphemous insults, deceiver. Prepare yourself for divine intervention.”
vrijdag 14 december 2018
Chapter 1.13: A Reflection of Angels
“You are a sad excuse for a witch”, Alexander shouts and he clenches his fist. “I’ll burn away your pathetic eyes!”
(Spell save DC 13 versus dexterity 4)
A bright white and yellow flame appears out of nowhere and comes down on her, smoldering strands of her greasy hair as it starts to blacken her already dark skin.
“You kobold fucker!”, she screams at the top of her lungs as she slaps her face to make the fire go away. “Release the hound! Kill him!”
The warrior releases the chain and the bloodthirsty dog starts the hunt on his prey. His owner roars, making his violence echo throughout the corridor. He runs towards them, swinging his axe with anger.
(Spell save DC 15 versus wisdom 5)
The siren closes her eyes, seemingly ignoring the massive demon nearing her, as if he doesn’t want to rip a limb of her body or bury his axe in her skull. Her lips move rapidly, creating nigh inaudible whispers that shoot through the air, traveling faster than her blunderbuss can spit out bullets. The bitter tones enter the demon’s ears and fill up his brain. He stops mid-sprint, drops his axe and covers his ears with both of his hands, trembling.
“The ship, it sways across the sea,
It nauseates your head.
The sickening will never stop
And make your eyes go red.”
Her words claw at his brain as he runs away from her. The vertigo makes it impossible to walk straight. The cultists become distracted for just a moment as the demon stumbles their way with bleeding eyes.
“The ship is resting near the docks.
Just take an easy breath.
One more step and you are safe.
Just fall towards your death.”
And the warrior, disorientated and shouting to outscream the whispering voices, takes one more step and falls, stiff as a walking plank, on his head. His screaming stops and they hear the loud crack of a breaking skull. A small stream of blood leaves his head for his last thoughts to set sail on.
(6 versus AC)
The hungry beast, indifferent to the death of its master, leaps at the nearest piece of flesh it can find. The furry skin of the satyr remains unharmed as Bruq blocks the gnawing teeth of the hound, but it does not give up. It takes all the strength in his body to hold him down. Veins bulge on his forehead and sweat drips down his neck.
(15 versus AC)
As Bruq keeps struggling to fight off the monstrous pet, Mero gets back on his feet and comes to the rescue. He gets up to the creature and claps his hands together, creating a thunderous wave that crushes the body of the hound. As his body flings down the hallway, it leaves an almost unseeable trail of bits of its head.
Simion evades the flying corpse by a few inch. “That’s it! This just proves how worthless minions are if you want to achieve something!” With leaps he moves towards the intruders. With every step his red man bun shakes furiously and his muscles heave.
(19 versus AC) (17 versus AC)
With his weapons at the ready, the half-elf goes forward to meet this foe and give him a quick death, not caring if it will be painless or not. He expected Simion to strike him with fist, but he dives towards Oslando’s legs, ripping the skin of his right calve with the sharp, hooked spikes of the plates on his shins. Oslando falls on one knee, but doesn’t let Simion get away unharmed. Just before he gets out of reach, he lashes with the dark blade, creating a deep cut across his stomach and chest. His blood mixes with the redness of the painted symbols as a stream begins to seep from the laceration.
“I will tear you limb from limb, half-breed! Rowynna, strike this fool down!”
(21 versus AC)
But she is occupied with her own target: the heinous priest that nearly blinded her. “This one first!”, she shouts disobediently and a blue, loud crackling lightning bolt connects from her risen hand to Alexander’s chest. Just as he hurt her before, she returns the favor. The electricity jumps around his body and eats away at the white robes. She closes the distance between them, laughing maniacally as another zap of lightning hits him with every step she makes.
(16 versus AC)
With the little strength he has left, he grabs her throat and squeezes. “I’ll show you real power, witch!”, he snarls in pain and a black ripple crawls through her skin, just like how a stone would disturb a quiet pond. Her skin pales, her lower jaw drops and her eyes roll upwards. The lightning disappears as she loses all tone in her body and collapses. “Serves you right”, the cleric says as he falls onto his knees in agony.
(8 versus AC) (17 versus AC)
“Give up, mutineer”, the female captain shouts as she takes aim. Simion, moving around faster than she can follow, quickly dives forward, evading the shot. He didn't realize their satyr hunter has set his pitch-black eyes on him as well.
“Surprise, asshole”, he grins and he pushes the glaive through his chest. His attack is met with eyes wide open and a bleeding, gurgling cough. He falls backwards, sliding off the metal.
“Are you guys alright?”, Lyssa asks, still pointing her weapon at the cult leader to prevent any nasty surprises.
“I will outlive this flesh wound”, Oslando says, observing the results of the barbs on his mildly bleeding leg. “How are the others?” As he turns his head, he sees what the siren sees as well: a seriously wounded sorcerer tending to an even more damaged Alexander.
“Lyssa, can you bring the wand?”, he moans, his voice betraying his pain. “Before I faint, if you could.”
She shakes her head, making her long hairs wave as the unpredictable sea that cradled her to sleep during her restless nights. “With the immediate threats gone, I have some magical powers left in me to restore your vitality.” She produces the purest tones they ever had the pleasure to hear. A high pitched vibrato fluctuates through the air, clear as crystal and yet as soft as feathers. A pleasant warmth spreads through the electrocuted body of the cleric, making the pain slowly fade away. When she stops her song, he crawls back up and nods to her. “We can continue now”, Alexander says with a less pinched voice.
(Stealth 17 versus perception 14)
With their weapons still in their hands, they walk on to claim what they were supposed to retrieve. With the attention drawn by the shimmering mirror, no one notices the priest ripping off the amulet of Simion’s neck and picking up a scroll lying beside his body.
(Spell save DC 13 versus dexterity 4)
A bright white and yellow flame appears out of nowhere and comes down on her, smoldering strands of her greasy hair as it starts to blacken her already dark skin.
“You kobold fucker!”, she screams at the top of her lungs as she slaps her face to make the fire go away. “Release the hound! Kill him!”
The warrior releases the chain and the bloodthirsty dog starts the hunt on his prey. His owner roars, making his violence echo throughout the corridor. He runs towards them, swinging his axe with anger.
(Spell save DC 15 versus wisdom 5)
The siren closes her eyes, seemingly ignoring the massive demon nearing her, as if he doesn’t want to rip a limb of her body or bury his axe in her skull. Her lips move rapidly, creating nigh inaudible whispers that shoot through the air, traveling faster than her blunderbuss can spit out bullets. The bitter tones enter the demon’s ears and fill up his brain. He stops mid-sprint, drops his axe and covers his ears with both of his hands, trembling.
“The ship, it sways across the sea,
It nauseates your head.
The sickening will never stop
And make your eyes go red.”
Her words claw at his brain as he runs away from her. The vertigo makes it impossible to walk straight. The cultists become distracted for just a moment as the demon stumbles their way with bleeding eyes.
“The ship is resting near the docks.
Just take an easy breath.
One more step and you are safe.
Just fall towards your death.”
And the warrior, disorientated and shouting to outscream the whispering voices, takes one more step and falls, stiff as a walking plank, on his head. His screaming stops and they hear the loud crack of a breaking skull. A small stream of blood leaves his head for his last thoughts to set sail on.
(6 versus AC)
The hungry beast, indifferent to the death of its master, leaps at the nearest piece of flesh it can find. The furry skin of the satyr remains unharmed as Bruq blocks the gnawing teeth of the hound, but it does not give up. It takes all the strength in his body to hold him down. Veins bulge on his forehead and sweat drips down his neck.
(15 versus AC)
As Bruq keeps struggling to fight off the monstrous pet, Mero gets back on his feet and comes to the rescue. He gets up to the creature and claps his hands together, creating a thunderous wave that crushes the body of the hound. As his body flings down the hallway, it leaves an almost unseeable trail of bits of its head.
Simion evades the flying corpse by a few inch. “That’s it! This just proves how worthless minions are if you want to achieve something!” With leaps he moves towards the intruders. With every step his red man bun shakes furiously and his muscles heave.
(19 versus AC) (17 versus AC)
With his weapons at the ready, the half-elf goes forward to meet this foe and give him a quick death, not caring if it will be painless or not. He expected Simion to strike him with fist, but he dives towards Oslando’s legs, ripping the skin of his right calve with the sharp, hooked spikes of the plates on his shins. Oslando falls on one knee, but doesn’t let Simion get away unharmed. Just before he gets out of reach, he lashes with the dark blade, creating a deep cut across his stomach and chest. His blood mixes with the redness of the painted symbols as a stream begins to seep from the laceration.
“I will tear you limb from limb, half-breed! Rowynna, strike this fool down!”
(21 versus AC)
But she is occupied with her own target: the heinous priest that nearly blinded her. “This one first!”, she shouts disobediently and a blue, loud crackling lightning bolt connects from her risen hand to Alexander’s chest. Just as he hurt her before, she returns the favor. The electricity jumps around his body and eats away at the white robes. She closes the distance between them, laughing maniacally as another zap of lightning hits him with every step she makes.
(16 versus AC)
With the little strength he has left, he grabs her throat and squeezes. “I’ll show you real power, witch!”, he snarls in pain and a black ripple crawls through her skin, just like how a stone would disturb a quiet pond. Her skin pales, her lower jaw drops and her eyes roll upwards. The lightning disappears as she loses all tone in her body and collapses. “Serves you right”, the cleric says as he falls onto his knees in agony.
(8 versus AC) (17 versus AC)
“Give up, mutineer”, the female captain shouts as she takes aim. Simion, moving around faster than she can follow, quickly dives forward, evading the shot. He didn't realize their satyr hunter has set his pitch-black eyes on him as well.
“Surprise, asshole”, he grins and he pushes the glaive through his chest. His attack is met with eyes wide open and a bleeding, gurgling cough. He falls backwards, sliding off the metal.
“Are you guys alright?”, Lyssa asks, still pointing her weapon at the cult leader to prevent any nasty surprises.
“I will outlive this flesh wound”, Oslando says, observing the results of the barbs on his mildly bleeding leg. “How are the others?” As he turns his head, he sees what the siren sees as well: a seriously wounded sorcerer tending to an even more damaged Alexander.
“Lyssa, can you bring the wand?”, he moans, his voice betraying his pain. “Before I faint, if you could.”
She shakes her head, making her long hairs wave as the unpredictable sea that cradled her to sleep during her restless nights. “With the immediate threats gone, I have some magical powers left in me to restore your vitality.” She produces the purest tones they ever had the pleasure to hear. A high pitched vibrato fluctuates through the air, clear as crystal and yet as soft as feathers. A pleasant warmth spreads through the electrocuted body of the cleric, making the pain slowly fade away. When she stops her song, he crawls back up and nods to her. “We can continue now”, Alexander says with a less pinched voice.
(Stealth 17 versus perception 14)
With their weapons still in their hands, they walk on to claim what they were supposed to retrieve. With the attention drawn by the shimmering mirror, no one notices the priest ripping off the amulet of Simion’s neck and picking up a scroll lying beside his body.
vrijdag 7 december 2018
Chapter 1.12: A Reflection of Angels
Although nothing about the light feels right, they all can’t help but to look at it. The enchanting crimson rays are accompanied by the distant sound of a deep voice chanting in an unknown language. It almost sounds like a song with muffled echoes coming their way through the dim hallway.
“He knows we are coming, doesn’t he?”, Lyssa whispers softly.
Oslando nods. “Be ready”, he says as his grip around the newly acquired ebony sword tightens.
As they silently approach the room, the chanting stops and is immediately followed by a swirling sound, like the growl of a violent whirlpool at sea, ready to swallow any pirate that comes within its all-devouring reach. “How can I serve you, Father Simion?”, they hear a deep male voice mutter.
(Perception 21)
Even though there is still at least twenty feet between them, the heroes can hear someone else in the room, someone that wasn’t there before.
“You are here to help me postpone something. Look down the hallway.”
Their eyes widen as they hear how the command is followed by slow footsteps, undoubtedly coming in their direction.
“Fuck, shit, arse, fuck, fuck”, Bruq keeps repeating in an almost compulsive manner and picks up the pace. The others follow his example immediately, but two seconds later they all stop moving.
“He knows we are coming, doesn’t he?”, Lyssa whispers softly.
Oslando nods. “Be ready”, he says as his grip around the newly acquired ebony sword tightens.
As they silently approach the room, the chanting stops and is immediately followed by a swirling sound, like the growl of a violent whirlpool at sea, ready to swallow any pirate that comes within its all-devouring reach. “How can I serve you, Father Simion?”, they hear a deep male voice mutter.
(Perception 21)
Even though there is still at least twenty feet between them, the heroes can hear someone else in the room, someone that wasn’t there before.
“You are here to help me postpone something. Look down the hallway.”
Their eyes widen as they hear how the command is followed by slow footsteps, undoubtedly coming in their direction.
“Fuck, shit, arse, fuck, fuck”, Bruq keeps repeating in an almost compulsive manner and picks up the pace. The others follow his example immediately, but two seconds later they all stop moving.
In front of them stands a demonic humanoid with a deep purple skin and two small horns sprouting from his skull. He holds an axe in one hand and a short metal chain in the other, connected to the other source of sound. A three foot tall hound starts barking at them, breathing small flames with every growl he makes. The beast is skinless, showing off his pink, muscular anatomy, and his eyes are as black as ink. He looks just as vicious as his master. Both Rowynna and the cult’s leader, Simion, join him.
“These vermin are here to take the Enochian Mirror”, Simion shouts. “The angels will not have it!” He clenches his jaw, spitting these last words from behind his grinding teeth. “Listen, puppets of those who call themself divine, this relic is not yours to take. It belongs to us, to him!” He makes a wild hand gesture to the summoned demon, whose thumb is stroking the handle of his double bit axe. The light of the mirror reflects off the cutting edge, showing the signs of previous battles. If the weapon could speak, it would beg for replacement, to be laid to rest.
“What do you mean? It is an angelic artefact, not something infernal.” Alexander points his sceptre towards them, but they don’t seem to back down.
“This object was stolen from my homeworld”, the horned demonic warrior says, holding back the jolting hound, who is eager to sink its sharp teeth into the appetizing meals in front of it. “The angels cursed it so we couldn’t travel between realms, making it impossible for us to escape when they attacked.”
(Insight 10)
“I don’t know what to make of this”, Oslando says to the others, looking over his shoulder to make sure the cultists can't overhear him.
Lyssa nods cautiously. “I find it difficult to believe the statement of thieving, bloodthirsty fanatics over what Hadriel told us. If I wanted to trick us, I think I would serve you the same goblin shit story.” She clears her throat, making sure she is prepared to use the hexing effects of her siren voice if needed to.
“But even if that were be the case”, Mero says as he takes a few steps forward, “you shouldn’t have stolen it. You could have asked for it. You don’t have to use all this violence. That’s just - well - not nice.” His naive words silence them all for a second.
(Spell save DC 13 versus constitution 11)
The black gnome takes a step forwards. “I’ll show what it would look like if we were not nice”, Rowynna exclaims and she stretches her arm out, fingers spread and her palm facing the ground. Her hand grows cold for just a heartbeat, right before it emits a serpentine-like ray of a sickly green light at the sorcerer. Before Merodius can act to try and deflect this foul and toxic beam, he is hit straight in the chest and falls backwards, making a dull thud as his weakened body hits the stone floor.
“These vermin are here to take the Enochian Mirror”, Simion shouts. “The angels will not have it!” He clenches his jaw, spitting these last words from behind his grinding teeth. “Listen, puppets of those who call themself divine, this relic is not yours to take. It belongs to us, to him!” He makes a wild hand gesture to the summoned demon, whose thumb is stroking the handle of his double bit axe. The light of the mirror reflects off the cutting edge, showing the signs of previous battles. If the weapon could speak, it would beg for replacement, to be laid to rest.
“What do you mean? It is an angelic artefact, not something infernal.” Alexander points his sceptre towards them, but they don’t seem to back down.
“This object was stolen from my homeworld”, the horned demonic warrior says, holding back the jolting hound, who is eager to sink its sharp teeth into the appetizing meals in front of it. “The angels cursed it so we couldn’t travel between realms, making it impossible for us to escape when they attacked.”
(Insight 10)
“I don’t know what to make of this”, Oslando says to the others, looking over his shoulder to make sure the cultists can't overhear him.
Lyssa nods cautiously. “I find it difficult to believe the statement of thieving, bloodthirsty fanatics over what Hadriel told us. If I wanted to trick us, I think I would serve you the same goblin shit story.” She clears her throat, making sure she is prepared to use the hexing effects of her siren voice if needed to.
“But even if that were be the case”, Mero says as he takes a few steps forward, “you shouldn’t have stolen it. You could have asked for it. You don’t have to use all this violence. That’s just - well - not nice.” His naive words silence them all for a second.
(Spell save DC 13 versus constitution 11)
The black gnome takes a step forwards. “I’ll show what it would look like if we were not nice”, Rowynna exclaims and she stretches her arm out, fingers spread and her palm facing the ground. Her hand grows cold for just a heartbeat, right before it emits a serpentine-like ray of a sickly green light at the sorcerer. Before Merodius can act to try and deflect this foul and toxic beam, he is hit straight in the chest and falls backwards, making a dull thud as his weakened body hits the stone floor.
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