Chapter 2.19: The Enochian Tower

(7 versus AC) (14 versus AC) (15 versus AC)
Although only one of his zombie minions remains, the gnoll shaman seems very confident. He marches forward, stomping his quarterstaff on the ground. The gnoll skull on top of it shakes with every step. He looks at the heroes with his eyes wide open. Lyssa attacks. He sees the red bullet coming from a mile away and evades it with ease. It crashes into a tree behind him.
Easily distracted as these hyena-like demons are, the shaman looks at the flames for too long. The puppet and satyr fire away, simultaneously hitting their foe with an arrow and a bolt of orangy fire.
(Natural 1 versus AC) (18 versus AC) (18 versus AC) (Spell save DC 13 versus dexterity 12)
Oslando can’t help himself but look at the shaman while trying to fight the witherling. Both swings with his blades miss his target completely. He makes himself an easy prey for the undead gnoll. A quick jab with the spiked spear pierces through a weak spot in his armor, but - luckily for Oslando - only wounds him superficially.
Dargothoth, seeing the debacle happening, switches his focus from the shaman to the witherling, casting down a white radiance. It burns the foe’s few fleshy parts, engulfs him in fire and kills him.
The white gnoll has a big frown across his forehead. He is displeased. As soon as he is close enough to the half-elf, his guttural speech fills the air. He puts his free hand forward and spreads his fingers. Multiple red beams of fire shoots from his fingertips to Oslando. The flames are like hungry, blood-coloured snakes closing in on their prey, but instead of eating the brave fighter, they envelop him in magical fire.
(16 versus AC) (natural 20 versus AC)
He cries out in pain as he runs towards the laughing monster, who is still trying to set his hair and skin ablaze.
“You’ll pay for this”, he shouts, jaws clenched so his tongue isn’t exposed to the flames. Traversing the scorching heat, Oslando stops the shaman by chopping off the hand casting the spell and jamming his smaller blade in his armpit.
The half-elf breathes heavily. He is just inches away from the howling face sees the foam of his frenzied state dripping from his mouth. Both of their eyes are filled with anger. Neither has much power left in their worn-down bodies.
“Oslando, get on your knees”, Lyssa shouts and she closes one eye as she aims her blunderbuss. She holds her breath and it almost feels like time slows down. The half-elf drops to his knees, while she gets a clear sight on what she wants to hit. She pulls the trigger and one heartbeat later the bullet buries itself in the gnoll’s skull.
Oslando looks up, seeing the absent stare in the shaman’s eyes. His lower jaw hangs down toneless. Directly after impact, her new type of bullet explodes. His skull is blown to smithereens, covering the crouched down half-elf with blood and pieces of fur, skin and other undefinable body parts.
“Ha”, Bruq says mockingly as he lowers his bow, “you almost look like a witherling yourself.”

“Thanks for saving me once again”, the childish voice speaks in the mind of the satyr. While the others tend to each other’s wounds, he picks up the gem and looks at it with sadness in his eyes.
“No, Elaith, I didn’t save you. If you are in this crystal… I’ve failed your family.” He doesn't let his allies hear his broken voice.
“I am at peace”, the elven boy speaks and a reassuring glow emits out of the Enochian gemstone, apparently a prison for the soul of the recently deceased.
Bruq fights back the tears, while the lump in his throat prevents him from speaking words of comfort.
“There is no need to be sad. You did everything you could. It was impossible to stay around forever and protect everyone in the Echoing Grove. That is not your task. It never was, but you always took it upon yourself. You need to let this go, before it consumes you.”
There couldn’t be a bigger contrast between the adult wisdom of his words and the prepubescent voice he speaks with.
“You were family, Elaith. I… I don’t want to lose any more family.” The burning sensation in his eyes produces a single tear that runs down his hairy cheek.
“No, you haven’t lost me. I will become one with the shadow of the forest as soon as I am released from this stone. The shadows will follow you everywhere, Bruq. Don’t let me live on in grief when there was so much to be grateful of. You are my hero, the hero of the Echoing Grove.”
And the light dies. It becomes painfully silent in his mind. He puts the crystal away and grabs his chain. He rubs his thumb shortly over the wooden soldier, scaling off the paint even further. He takes it off the cordon with a decisive tug. With another tear he lays the toy to rest against the tree and walks back to the others.