PrP: Godbusters
Like so many other adventures, this one starts with a simple note on a scrap of parchment tacked to the notice board at the guild of Explorer's. "NEED MONSTERS KILT. GOLD REWARD. ASK FOR TOMAS AT THE UNSTAUNCHED WENCH." The inn is about as crusty as you can get, a boarding house/tavern for sailors coming in and out of port near the docks. Tomas himself is easy enough to find.
A middle aged peasant with the stink of marsh about him, talking up some toothless barmaid before being approached by the likes of ya'll. He beckons you up to his room and motions for you to come to the back where card and dice games are played in the evenings. "I reckon you come to kill muh monster fer me?"
Anurak never envisioned that his decades of training would lead to this. Looking entirely out of his element in such a
place, the elf is nevertheless forced to pursue such oppportunities for nature's sake. Saving the wilderness doesn't pay for itself. Half naked and with his leonine companion sitting in the doorway, he looks upon the questionable employer with just a hint of skepticism. Oh, /humans/.
"You reckon appropriately," acknowledges Anurak, his tone weary.
"Oh, my. It's come to this, I suppose. Well, it's the economy, you know," Abrahil says to an uncaring patron as he makes his way in. He's proceeded by his stomach, of all things, a great and proud creature that wobbles in the air in front of him. He wears clothes that could fit him better, though are stylishly up to date. ...it's more as though the tailor had taken a look a nd in a moment of despair realized there wasn't possibly that much cloth to be had in all of Alexandria. "...I...oh, excuse me..." and somehow, this blob of a creature manages to near-float over the multi-colored orange spill upon the floor. With the chunks within it.
Craft is less bothered than some by seedy neighborhoods, even though his arm could probably buy this bar twice over. He is a silent presence, the income he gets from his rather unsuccessful stall not giving him enough to pursue his work of invention and crafting all but he most mundane of arms and armament.
The tall Egalrin stands quietly off to the side. He too was here to answer the call for help, as mercurial as it sounded. For all he knew, these monsters may be a threat to everyone, and not just a problem for this particular 'employer'. Plus, it was yet another step forward on his ever mysterious path to enlightenment. He nods his confirmation to the stinking human, and then offers his own acknowledgement after Anurak. "Yes. I am here to aid with your monster problem as well."
The Unstaunched Wench.
Really.
Upon reading the note, Garrin had pulled his hat down over his face for a moment to keep the outright laughter that threatened to burble up from becoming too obvious but he does eventually turn up at the place in question. He doesn't seem bothered by the seedy nature of the place himself but, rather, more amused than anything else. He adjusts his hat somewhat and then adds, "Yeah. That's what we're here for. If I don't keep up a monster killing quota, Faiza is going to beat me. In the face."
"Oh, you know Faiza? I do believe I met her once. ...you could feel her glare from across the room," Abrahil demurs. And he pauses then, and looks up over the rafters of the place, the cobbles and tables, the... "Though now that I recall, we met in a place just like this--such adventure we had! Such...well, there was the glaring," he admits. And after a look at one of the stools, decides, well. He folds his hands across his paunch.
It's Shakespearean, that makes it a good name for a tavern. Shut up. In any case, Tomas looks the lot of you over with no small sense of awe and fear...It's hard being a first level commoner in a city peppered with player characters. "Ya'll do, I'm certain. My name is Tomas, like the note I writ sed. I gets nutria, muskrats, gators, beavers, lil bit of darkwood when I can find it. Off this little marsh island hamlet 'bout five days 'way called Ratwater. Anyways, this giant snake monster came and started massin with muh boat. Bit my oar right in half, nearly capsized it if I didn't throttle up the steam and gottha hell on outta there. I needs ya'll to kill it."
"Oh yeah. I know Faiza! I brought her to Alexandria in the first place. Well, kidnapped, really. Except it was the 'dashing, adventurous kidnapping' sort of deal. She was pretty eager to get away from her family. For, er, obvious reasons, I'm sure you understand. You know, those glasses are pretty great looking." He pauses for a moment. Then he looks at Tomas. "A giant snake monster. Messed with your boat." He says this, as if wanting to make sure he heard it right in teh first place.
"How many limbs?" Craft's metallic, almost hollow voice asks. "Or the normal amount, for a snake?" Quick and to the point, that's Craft.
"Oh, yes. ...well, it's rather like a dirty habit, isn't it? Running about in the grub. ...looking for adventure! Why, I turn every one of these into stories. ...though, sometimes there's a little cleanup to be done," Abrahil says delicately, as he eyes their employer. And he coughs once, and settles his hands against his paunch again, which proceeds him rather proudly. And then with a blink or two, he reaches up to adjust his rose-colored lenses. Tink. Tink.
"Name's Numbers, by the way. Or Garth. Whichever ya like more." Garthos had introduced himself to the rest of the mottley crew when they'd met up and figured out they'd be working together for the day. Or, at least, potentially working together.
That was after he'd asked if the lion is tame, or at least tame enough not to be biting and mauling him. Cause, you know. Lion. Now, he's sort of standing in the back of the group, with his arms crossed, eyeing Tomas and listening to the conversation as pleasantly as tall, burly men can manage.
And NO, he is not (yet) carrying the gnome on his shoulder like a shoulder-mounted spell cannon.
Anurak suffers through this ordeal as best he can. To him, a marsh with giant snakes ain't sounding so bad right about now. "It would be a terrible tragedy if you weren't able to rob the land at your leisure," the elf assents, perhaps a touch sarcastically. "What business does a snake have in a marsh, after all." He takes in a calming breath as he leans to one side, favoring his staff with his weight.
"Well, it must be larger than an alligator," Abrahil reasons amicably. "Our good friend hunts them, after all. ...that.../is/ what you do, isn't it?" he asks. His hand twitches towards his pocket.
Kanyk's intense features do not waiver with the man's story. Giant snake monster? That sounds rather strange, indeed. He was not knowledgeable of the different beasts and monsters of the area. He wasn't even completely in the know about all the beasts in his homeland, either, for that matter. His hands hang idly at his sides, and he looks the human over with an inquisitive stare. "I trust you did nothing to upset it's natural habitat. For if that were the case, then I am not surprised that it accosted you. I imagine we shall find out soon enough." He pauses. "But if it's you who is to blame for agitating the beast, then it is you who needs resolution, not the animal."
With a sigh, Garrin mutters something that sounds like 'druids' under his breath in an almost long-suffering way before he turns towards Tomas and says, "I'm guessing this wasn't just an -ordinary- big snake for you to have called us all the way here."
Tomas flashes a brown-toothed grin at the elf, the sarcasm at least mostly coming out over his head, "Ain't no robbin involved. Swamp, she put up a fight for every last bit I get out of there to make a honest living. Gator bit this thumb clean off, and a nutria chawed my toe off." He offers up the ragged stump of his left thumb to show before he turns his attention back to Craft, "Well, it's a snake...y'know...Ain't got no limbs. But it was damn big. Big enough to swallow me whole, it gotta mind to, had a hateful look in its eye. You so smart 'venturing folk, how long you thing 'fore it eats up all the critters in that swamp, messes er'thing all up? It just showed up, y'know. I woulda seent it in the last twenny years trappin them swamps if it was 'round before then."
"Oh, yes. I can imagine it would be quite traumatic. Why, this large snake appearing from nowhere!" Abrahil takes a moment and rearranges his hands on his paunch, his broad face concerned as he looks at Gaptooth. "It must have been something out of a nightmare, I'd imagine. ...where...were you when this happened? It would help us if we knew where to begin to look. The swamp /is/ quite large, you know."
Craft gives a nod, and looks to the others, particularly Anurak. "It is natural for organics to hunt others for nourishment, is it not?" He considers for another moment. "However, one creature eating all the others would be problematic."
"Overlarge snake. Sounds almost too borin' to be true of this region." Garthos says, but a grin's on his face nonetheless. He'd perhaps enjoy boring after all the insane and weird stuff he's witnessed since he chose to come to Alexandria. He nods at the beachball- er, that is, Abrahil's inquiry. "Got a map or somethin' that would help showin' where this snake went after ya?" he adds to it, addressing Tomas. Maps help. Swamps suck. Especially when you get lost in them.
Anurak turns his attention from Tomas, perhaps to some measure of relief, only to find himself addressing a war golem. If
there's one thing he just loves more than city folk, it's unnatural automatons. "Most 'organics' do eat things of an organic nature, yes," the elf replies, opting to enlighten the unsettling entity. "We have no reason to believe that the snake is overhunting the marsh, but I suppose's it's worth a look. I would obligated to deal with any threat upsetting the survival of the local fauna." With half lidded eyes, he adds of the innkeeper, "If they're eating /your/ various ... parts, the snake may have been driven out for lack of surviving prey. I suggest we hurry."
"You have good reason to look anyways," says Garrin to Anurak, "If it's attacking humans, then sooner or later it's going to kill one. And then you'll have a whole bunmch of less discerning humans going off to kill it -- especially if it happens more than once. So, yeah. Let's have ourselves a look." He puts his hat back on the top of his head and turns to go, himself. He pauses, glances over his shoulder, "Some of us may know the land fairly well, but do you have any reccomendations for a guide or a map as to where you saw it? I presume we're going to need to rent a boat ourselves.."
Kanyk was no Druid. He did, however, harbor a deep respect for the land, as did most Egalrin. At Tomas's response, the Monk merely nods his head. If the snake -was- capable of upsetting the balance, then it was worth investigating. Something told him, however, there was likely to be more to this situation that meets the eye. But that was just instinct. He decides to remain quiet for the time being, his gaze shifting briefly to Anurak and then to the Golem.
Tomas guzzles down some greasy watered down ale from a chipped mug while you talk amongst yourselves, setting the cup aside once he's addressed once more. "I take ya'll and guide you round them parts. There pretty good bit of the swamp you can walk in, the rest my boats cut right through. Here's fiddy up front, another fiddy once it's done. And you can have the carcass, betting it'd fetch a good price once it's skint. We can leave tomorrow morning, gotta load up on enough coal to get us there."
"The...oh, how generous," Abrahil says weakly. "The carcass. Why, master Tomas, you are...too kind," And he prepares to follow the the old trapper out.
Craft nods. At least it's a more direct way of finding food for the dog.
"I would be terribly remiss if I were to let a human be killed," says Anurak to Garrin. "There are so few left." The druid, having receiving final instructions from Tomas, inclines his head midlly and then goes to rejoin the lion seated just outside of the tavern. Rotuk, as the beast is called, gets to his feet and nudges Anurak's hand with his head. How could he have left him alone with these stanky cityfolk?
Garth nods at Tomas' words. "That'll handle both issues, then." He seems pleased enough with that. He nods to the rest, too. "Morning, then, yeah?" And with that, he too is on his way out. He gives the gnome a reassuring clap on the shoulder (gently, cause, well - big brawny man, tiny round gnome) on the way, since he's the one that doesn't look like he'll handle the swamp too terribly well, what with the posh glasses and attire and all.
"It isn't about the humans. It's about what the humans will do," replies Garrin to Anurak, calmly. "I would know, you know, being human." He rolls his eyes after Anurak departs, though, and then mutters under his breath something about *elf* druids before he says, "All right. That's great, then. We're good to go. We'll see if we can take care of this business for you. Maybe we can relocate the creature with all deference to the druid, but I'ma guess that isn't likely given the nature of the attack on you."
The next morning finds you down by the docks, ready to disembark on Tomas' ship. It's not a massive craft, but it's enough for everybody to take a seat while the steam-powered boat chugs along. Not much in the way of a below deck save for a bit of cargo space and a hold for the coal to be stored before it's shoveled into the furnace. With Alexandria disappearing behind you, Tomas sighs after he shuts the hatch to the furnace and folds his arms, "Yeah, I gots a confession. I ain't the one hiring you." the old swampman admits, and then raps on the deck three times with his shovel, while gauging your reactions.
"You ain't," replies Garrin, giving Thomas this more suspicous look. "So you're bringing us out here under some false pretenses, then? Who exactly is hiring us?" He pinches the bridge of his nose.
Craft seems curious about the furnace, paying it more attention than his fellow adventurers. At Tomas's revelation, however, he looks up, then quickly looks around for some sort of hatch into the underbelly of the boat.
Anurak, having finally coaxed Rotuk aboard, stands in silence upon the deck. That is, until their colorful guide reveals that interesting tidbit of information. "And you waited until we'd set sail to inform us," reasons the elf. "I gather we may not be entirely pleased to hear our true employer's identity."
Abrahil's bushy brows look ready to climb up into his hairline. "...is that so?" he asks. Inch, inch, inch go the eyebrows. And the round gnome makes a little movement of his fingers which he tries to hide beside his generous paunch. Sort of like sprinkling a touch of wine onto the ground. "Well, at least...this is your boat, isn't it?"
Garthos peers up at Tomas. Just... peers. "Well, then, spill it - if you're not, who is?" he asks, simply, eyes only narrowing slightly. He doesn't seem inclined to do any violence, at least? For now, anyway. His massive arms cross and he waits for an answer. The reveleation! THE TRUTH! Or however you wish to put it.
Kanyk was the picture of calmness and serenity, until Tomas indulged them with his confession. His tense features turn to look at the man, and his arms raise up to fold over his large chest. "Falsification of your intentions can easily be construed as the intent to cause harm, or inconvenience. Neither of which will end in your favor, I assure you. So please, dispense with the facade."
"Mish, get on out here." Tomas calls down to the coal hold. A few seconds later, a goblin extracts himself from underneath a pile of coal, looking like he's in blackface from the soot. From the looks of him, this isn't a city gob. Leather armor made from furs and gator skin hangs from his shoulders, with a necklace of teeth, ears, and fingerbones hangs from his neck. He clutches a makeshift spear made from a sharpened chunk of cast iron lashed to an oak shaft. Tomas clears his throat and looks to the goblin, gesturing to the rest of you, "Mishka, these the folks we hired. Folks, this is Mishka. He's a hunter for some goblin tribe down the ways a bit. Used to give us a bit of trouble, but our militia scrapped with em and won enough to teach him to find better targets. He checks my traps at night for me so the gators don't eat 'em and he gets the meat and I gets the skins. Worked well enough, but he's the one hiring you for this snake...snake-monster. I ain't even seen it before. Ya'll willing to listen or I am gonna turn this boat 'round?"
Anurak looks from the goblin to Tomas, and then back to Mishka. "I will listen," states the elf. Peculiar one, he is.
Kanyk was always willing to listen. One didn't become a monk unless they were. One could not truly be considered wise
unless they were willing to listen. His arms drop softly to his sides, his hands clasping together in front of him. He casts a
quick glance to the elf, and then his attention falls back on the man, Tomas, and the goblin Mishka.
Craft is silent as he watches the Goblin, but doesn't object. His heavy, steel-covered body watches, magicite eyes dim.
"'Course I'm willing to listen," replies Garrin, giving an eyeballing to the goblin, though, for a moment. "Hello, Mishka. I presume the snake monster is trying to kill you and your tribe?" He takes his hat off agian, giving him once more once over. "Hey, as long as the threat is real, I'm willing to check it out. Goblins are people too. Even tribal ones." He flashes a quick grin.
"I...oh, my. Well, I see why you would have been cautious, with the rumormill as it is." Abrahil adjusts the rose-tinted lenses as he looks over the goblin-in-leathers. "Nothing against you, certainly, was it...Mishka? Yes, Mishka. I've met a few of your people, from time to time. A few more, now that the hobgoblins have moved...into town."
Garth's eyes narrow some more, but after a moment of deliberation, he nods. "Appearances ain't everythin'. So, yeah, I'll hear what ya got to say." he says with an easy grin and more relaxed posture. Seems he's quite okay with it.
"I want you kill god." Mishka spits out in broken Common, returning Garrin's grin (or mocking it) revealing needle sharp filed down teeth. He squats and eyes the lot of you. "One hundred moons ago, when I only youngling, Krasmuldin* come. mean Three-Snake in true tongue. It eat our shaman and throw idol into fire. It takes over tribe and become our new god. Elder makes deal. Every ten moons, we give our firstborn and offerings of meat and shinies. The next blood moon is only two moons away and my woman is swollen with child. New medicine doctor says shall be only child since the sickness take me two months ago, I am last of my blood. I will not give Krasmuldin my child. I have seen it bleed. Many moons ago, venturer come to kill our god. He made it bleed but it tore him in half. I sneaky, be chief hunter, I watch. I find venturer sack with many stinky potions. I give them now to Toh-mus, he sell and use to hire you. You kill god, we will find new God."
Anurak furrows his brow mildly as he listens to the goblin's tale. Something about it clearly troubles him. "Krasmuldin," echoes the elf. "Does your 'god' have more than one head, Mishka?"
"..okay. That's not good at all," is what Garrin says with a look on his face that says 'uh oh'. It's very much 'uh oh'. "Oh, dear. Well, that's just dreadful, isn't it?" Abrahil starts to reach out to pat the gobber's hand, and aborts the gesture, adjusting his lenses instead. "I can see why you might need some help. But...oh, dear. Oh dear." A pair of worry-lines appear between the gnome's brow.
The Egalrin monk is silent for a moment. He stands there, listening to the goblin's words carefully. He appears to be contemplating something. His arms refold over his chest and he turns away from the group for a moment as he starts to comb through the knowledge in his head. Has he heard that word before? Krasmuldin?
Craft remains quiet, looking over at the others who seem to have more idea what's going on. In general, he's only knowledgable about the stuff he's actually run into, and even then, only the features he's witnessed first hand. Showing more tact than is usual for the Golem, he doesn't get into a philosophical/theological discussion with the goblin.
"Huh. Krasmuldin." Garthos repeats. He actually pronounces it semi-correctly. "And it's forcin' ya into servitude, is it? Yeah, at this point I'm definitely thinkin' this snake of yours might need some solid swordwork performed on it." He glances at the other adventurers. "Way I see it, if we don't, it might make 'em do more than worship it and feed it children, and that in itself's bad enough." Like get back to their old ways of raiding villages or something.
"Three heads, yes. I see three head come out of water, not see rest of it. I was hidden when god first come to village. Elders not speak of it. Say many things. Wing of bat, many scars, breath that dissolve and melt warriors, giant claws. I do not know. It has red glowing eyes, scales blacker than night, I see that first. Left head speaks your doom, middle head speaks prophecy, right head gives blessings some times. You will kill god, yes?" Mishak continues to rattle off in excitement. Thomas, still leaning on his shovel looks up, "Well, what's it going to be, folks? M'I turnin this thing around or ya'll going to go kill this god of his?"
"Well, it will be an adventure, won't it?" Abrahil says. And the round gnome does his best to screw up his courage, then. He gives a firm nod of his head, and goes to look towards the front of the boat. Just like in the stories, when the heroes... "An adventure...oh, dear..."
Kanyk does not move, but he does speak. "I can not speak to the intentions of everyone else, but... I would like to see this creature before I decide whether or not its extermination is for the best. There are too many variables for me to confirm my involvement. Nonetheless, I shall go with you all and offer my assistance if it is needed."
With a groan, Garrin says, "Well, this isn't good. Does it breathe fire or anything?" He asks, a little worriedly, "I hear some things do that. Like dragons." He looks worried. Some dragons have multiple heads, you know! That's what the legends say! He clears hsi throat, then adds, "You want us to kill it. Are your tribesmen on board with that?"
Anurak turns his attention toward the water beyond the boat's desk. "That is not a giant snake," observes the druid. "No
matter how large they grow, their minds are what they are. Certainly, they do not speak and demand tribute. A strange sort of hydra, perhaps?" Such a troubling mystery. In any case, he resolves, "Your god is a pretender of some sort, using the flesh of your tribe for nourishment. I would take no issue in removing it from the environment, lest its presence upset the balance. As the Green Voice, my opinion is that your tribe would be a better steward of the marsh."
"It sounds like it's extermination might be for the best," Craft remarks. "However, I am unsure just what it might be." He turns, then, to Garrin. "A dragon?"
"Yeah, I reckon we'll see what we can do 'bout your Krasmuldin, either way." says Garth to the feral goblin, pronouncing it even more correctly this time. He's getting the hang of it! "Gonna be fine, old-timer." he asides to Abrahil, gently, with a bit of a grin. "At least Mishka's confirmed swords work on it. Could be a lot worse."
"NO!" cries Mishka, brandishing his spear. "Tribe knows not. Will not know. They will find body, see Krasmuldin dead, and find new god. Is best for tribe." He calms a little, setting his spear to rest back on the deck, "Krasmuldin live far from tribe, lives deep in swamp. We go around not see my tribe."
"There are three-headed creatures. The cerebus...but it has a face like a dog. Three of them, now that I recall. ...oh, I wish I had my books with me." Abrahil looks up from his morose melancholy to blink at Garth. And he pushes his lenses back up the long, proud gnose. "I just fear they'd wilt in this sort of weather. But I doubt we'll be needing those...antitoxins. I just hope we can be quiet about...killing a ravenously...large...beast..." a look back at Mishka.
"This from the guy who was entirely willing to leave it to devour humans until a short time ago," remarks Garrin, dryly, at Anurak's statement. He nods his head. "Just as long as they won't get in the way, you know? That was my concern -- I don't wanna kill a bunch of scared goblin tribesman operating under orders from their 'god'. You know?" He runs his hand over the top of his head and puts his hat back on. "Okay. I'll try to blind its heads, I guess. It might not leave the water and we can't follow it in, so.."
Kanyk remains quiet for the time being. He stands there upon the bow of the boat, looking outwards. His arms remain folded over his chest. His piercing gazejust stares straight forward. He was on board for the ride now, and he wouldn't back out of this situation anyway. He listens to the conversations going on behind him, taking note of what sounds relevant.
"I could," Craft theorizes. "Follow it into the water, that is, but... I would not wish to do so alone."
Anurak tilts his head just slightly to the right upon catching Garrin's remark. "His people live in harmony with this place," notes the elf, "whereas humanity builds machines to conquer the land. It's also a matter of fairness. These people have been feeding their young to the beast, whereas humans shame rabbits in their ability to breed." He digs his fingers into Rotuk's mane and scratches lightly, content to remain silent until they approach their serpentine foe's domain.
"Good idea. Got bad experiences with swamp lakes already, don't need to rake up new ones." Garth asides to Garrin. He does. He really, really does. "I admit, though, I ain't good at quiet killin' of things." he says to Abrahil. Combat's noisy. "But. We'll do our best, eh?" Another friendly grin. And then he quiets, for the journey onwards.
"Oh, combat is. You know, Clang and Bang Resoundment was one of the harder parts of the curriculum. I'd so wanted to learn it, though. So many Myrrish plays feature the heroic thunder across the fields! It's so exciting!" Abrahil gives a shiver and clasps his hands together over his paunch before smiling. "Why...I suppose there might be a play about this, some day. Death into Darkness, I might call it." "Whose, precisely?" Craft asks of the bard.
"Well, I would hope the idol's," says Abrahil, with a shiver. "Such a dreadful thing to hear about. ...you know, I recall a tale about the dark gods taking guises. It could very well be something like that, you know."
The trip is fairly uneventful, though it's a long five days. Mishka sleeps in the hold during the day, then does his best trying to fish at night from a moving boat. Which isn't easy. Thomas spends most of his time guzzling rot gut when he's not piloting the boat. But after five days of hugging the coast and then a quick plunge out into the ocean for a few hours, you find yourselves ashore on the island. Specifically Tomas' dock, and then to his cabin. After a bit of time to get your land legs back and settle down, Tomas takes the lot of through the main river that leads deep into the island, and then up a tributary. Then finally you are led to ground. Mishka guides you along a few game trails for most of the day, but as the sun hangs low on the horizon, you find yourself in a large clearing of swamp. Trees pushed over, plant life dead. On primitive spears sit the skulls of various humanoids and low rent swamp monsters, along with the scattered bones of countless goblin childrens. A single long dead tree sits the water's edge, with tiny shackles hammered into the wood, surrounded by water on all sides except for a thin strip of swampy land, and a large cave just out of the swamp water ahead of the tree, big enough for a massive creature to dwell in.
<OOC> Marek says, "http://img98.imageshack.us/i/swampmap.jpg/" <OOC> Marek says, "Quick sketch of the area. Brown is the skanky swamp water, grey blob is the cave, green circle is the tree, white circles on the heads on a steek."
Kanyk remained separated from the group for the most part, during the voyage. And the same was not untrue now. He walks behind the group, hands held close to his body, wings brought in as tightly as he could bring them, so as not to scrape against foliage and such. Once in the clearing, he separates a bit further, looking around the area. His eyes fall upon the dead tree, and he slowly begins to approach it with an inquisitive look in his eyes.
Garthos is now more rugged-looking than ever! He clearly hadn't expected this trip to take so long.
Nevertheless, when they arrive at their final destination, his greatsword is pulled free and into his hand with a slow but deliberate motion, accompanied by that gentle sound of the metal scraping against the scabbard. He's been wearing a dark scowl on his face in place of his usual friendly smile ever since they first saw the shackles and the bones. Goblins they may be, but they were still children. He's trying to remain quiet - it isn't terribly easy with all the metal on him, though.
Anurak approaches the clearing with a measure of hesitation, no doubt wishing to avoid an ambush. His lion friend follows close
at his side. Upon sighting the scattering of goblin bones across the fetid terrain, the elf takes pause and looks ahead, his attention favoring the cavern. "I'll not be venturing underwater," declares Anurak, showing no shame in drawing that particular line. "Mishka. Do your people use some sort of signal to summon the cre- the god?"
The druid takes a few steps closer, but no more. Even with the marsh soil being as moist as it is, he somehow leaves behind no
signs of his passage.
Craft, for his part, minded the engine, five days of little activity rather rough on the golem who's so used to keeping busy. He takes point, as usual, letting his metal, repairable body take the lead unless anyone takes offense. He's actually got the shield on for this one, fighting an unknown creature actually making him a bit nervous. He leaves large dents in the soft soil, the swampy surface more than happy to try and eat his feet.
Mishka is lingering in the back, refusing to go further than the first skull. He is obviously terrified, but not so much as to be entirely nonsensical. His eyes never leaving the water, he shakes his head, "No. Krasmuldin come out when we left children. Make noise if you wish him to come."
And Garrin has his crossbow out. Because, you know, just in case. "So we just yell for him and he'll turn up?" He asks, after a moment.
GAME: Anurak rolls Perception: (20)+11: 31 GAME: Abrahil rolls perception: (8)+3: 11 GAME: Garthos rolls Perception: (16)+3: 19 GAME: Kanyk rolls perception: (17)+10: 27 GAME: Craft rolls perception: (19)+3: 22 GAME: Garrin rolls Perception: (2)+5: 7
After five days in the swamp, Abrahil misses soap. Beautiful soup. Soap that prevents him from smelling like a... "Oh. Oh, my. Well...I suppose I could do that," he says. And he steps forward as cautiously as someone his bulk might do. The movement of his feet is difficult to see, at least.
Anurak has the rare pleasure of being in his element for this particular job. Subtle changes in the environment are less likely
to escape his notice, particularly those coming from the lair of an evil baby-eating snake god. "I believe we may have already attracted some attention," notes the elf, who secures his grip upon his staff as he steps back, urging Rotuk to do the same with a pat upon the lion's back.
So Garrin is like, "Huh," and waiting. And looking around. He's got his crossbow out and he's looking pretty leery. You know.
Garthos' eyes widen. He reaches out, making to grab the back of Abrahil's now-stinky shirt and pull him back a moment. He lifts that hand, then - the other has the sword in it - and points his index finger into the distance. "Right there. See that? Right in front of the cave mouth." he whispers to the poor gnome. Must be the glasses. "Water ain't still." He's not about to let their mage waddle right into the monster alone like that!
"I...oh, dear. ...you know--" Abrahil looks around, and then the elderly gnome points off to the side. "I think we should get to the sides, m'dears, and hurry!"
GAME: Kanyk rolls stealth: (15)+8: 23 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+11: (19)+11: 30 GAME: Garrin rolls Stealth: (18)+7: 25
Craft looks at Abrahil, and the ripples. While everyone shifts into whatever position they think best, he tries to stay as central to the group as possible. The thing has 3 heads, and their description is somewhat lacking in size. He shifts his hammer to his side, pulling out the artificed torch of his.
Kanyk stands near the base of the tree. He was looking at the tree itself, but noticed the moving water about the same time Anurak did. "Yes. Something stirs beneath the surface of the water. Prepare yourselves." At this, he moves away from the tree, and back alongside the Druid. He casts a sidelong glace to some shrubbery, and he moves over to it, crouching down behind it, hoping to mask his presence from the creature as it comes out of the water.
Krasmuldin finally makes his appearance, three massive serpentine heads poking forth from the murky water. And just as Mishka said, three pairs of glowing red eyes stare at the lot of you. The creature(s) begin to speak, each head picking up where the last leaves off for an unnerving stereo-esque effect.
"WHY DO YOU DISTURB THE SLUMBER OF KRASMULDIN, MANLINGS?" "IT HAS BEEN LONG SINCE I HAVE GAZED UPON A MORTAL THAT WAS NOT A GOBLIN." "DO YOU WISH TO MAKE OFFERINGS AND SUPPLICATE YOURSELVES BEFORE ME?" "OR DO YOU WISH THE BLESSING OF A SWIFT DEATH?"
Mishka at this point has bolted to hide in some foliage far far away, staring from the bush with his beady little gob eyes.
Pap-pap-pap go Abrahil's tiny, buckled feet in the water. He hurries along, his face red and puffing as he rushes to what he views as safety. Relative safety. And the gnome does the absolute best he can possibly do to squeeze his bulk behind one of the poles and send out the message that HE IS NOT THERE!
GAME: Abrahil rolls stealth: (14)+6: 20
Garrin is doing his best to hide along with everyone else. At the sight of the creature, though, his bladder feels, y'know, a little strange. Like its wanting to drain. "Holy *shit*," he utters.
GAME: Craft rolls knowledge/arcana: (1)+8: 9 GAME: Abrahil rolls knowledge/arcana: (12)+10: 22
Craft's magicite eyes glow brighter as the creature breaks from the water, it's demonic red matched by Craft's more subdued, peaceful blue. He grips the torch tightly, trying to disguise it as he tries to figure out which head could benefit from a blinding flash the most.
Anurak spreads out along with his lion friend, keenly aware of the breath weapon mentioned by Mishka. Acidic snake breath doesn't
rank high on his list of ways to go. Still, here in the heart of the creature's territory, he realizes that attempting to hide may serve little support. From behind a half broken tree at the clearing's edge, the elf declares, "I offer no supplication to a fraud. As the Green Voice, and on behalf of the Green Word, I have come to rid these environs of your unbalancing influence." There's but a moment's pause, no doubt as he awaits his impending doom.
Kanyk stares through the bushes at the huge creature. He stands slowly from his hidden position, staring upwards at the beast in contemplation. He knew, then, that this would more than likely end up in violence, even if he didn't wish it. So then began his plan of attack... the best place to attack? His gaze shifts over the creature, watching with much interest.
"... Whoa. Okay. Not good." mutters Garthos. His hiding skills aren't... terribly good. Shiny, clanky armor and weaponry. Also, he has NO idea what it is. He... leaves it to the others to make introductions, grip tightening a bit on the handle of the greatsword. He siddles, though, discreetly, for a bit of cover, as Abrahil had suggested. He's not a fan of being trampled, you know! Or breathed on. Or whatever.
Abrahil fusses with his pickets, and with the rush his lenses almost fall off. He straightens them, too. And blinks at the creature as though not believing what he's seeing. And stares at the creature as though not believing what he's seeing. And GAPES at the creature as though not believing what he's seeing. "...oh, dear. Oh...bippity-boppity--hippity-hoppity!" comes out the shaking gnome's voice, and colorful sparks light the air. Multi-hued, they almost resemble faeries. And then, well. Time speeds up.
And then he totally tries to hide. I AM NOT HERE!
GAME: Abrahil casts haste.
Krasmuldin's many heads snarl at Anurak, who has chosen to defy the would-be goblin god, the ridged fins on each head popping up as some sign of aggression.
"OBLIVION IT IS, THEN." "LET US SEE IF YOUR BLOOD IS AS GREEN AS YOUR VOICE, ELF CREATURE." "YOUR SKULLS SHALL MAKE FINE ADDITIONS TO MY ALTAR."
And with that, the creature lurches towards the shore!
Anurak rolls initiative: Roll: 9 + Bonus: 3 = Total: 12 Abrahil rolls initiative: Roll: 15 + Bonus: 6 = Total: 21 You roll initiative for Krasmuldin: Roll: 10 + Bonus: +2 = Total: 12 Garthos rolls initiative: Roll: 11 + Bonus: 2 = Total: 13 Kanyk rolls initiative: Roll: 2 + Bonus: 3 = Total: 5 Craft rolls initiative: Roll: 1 + Bonus: 1 = Total: 2 Garrin rolls initiative: Roll: 14 + Bonus: 3 = Total: 17
Current Initiative Order ====
21 Abrahil
17 Garrin
13 Garthos
12 Anurak
12 Krasmuldin
5 Kanyk
2 Craft
============================
GAME: Abrahil casts displacement. GAME: Garrin casts Shield.
"..oh dear god its comin right for us. Tarien, please don't let me die. In fact, let it trip and put a piece of wood through its eye and die horribly." He clears his throat, casts a spell, his hands weaving arcane gestures quickly. Soon, he's surrounded by a shimmering, pink shield.
"*Very funny," he says wit ha glare upwards.
"Oh my...bippity-boppity, hidus-fidus!" and Abrahil adjusts his lenses again. The image of Garthos blurs and fades, and after a moment the man reappears, though a few feet from his initial location. By now the gnome is red-faced and puffing, and he looks around--and makes a dash, wedging himself behind the dreadful tree. And coming eye to eye with a...
Dead...gob...
He didn't need to see that. He really didn't.
GAME: Garthos rolls 1d20+2+4+1+1+1-1: (2)+2+4+1+1+1+-1: 10 GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (61): 61 GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (71): 71 GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (85): 85 GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (97): 97 GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (97): 97 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (5)+8: 13 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (20)+8: 28 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (11)+8: 19 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (19)+8: 27 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+6: (10)+6: 16 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+6: (2)+6: 8 GAME: Marek rolls 1d8+5: (4)+5: 9 GAME: Marek rolls 2d8+10: (13)+10: 23
Anurak briefly reconsiders the wisdom of having called an evil snake god a fraud. Still, following a peek around the broken tree he and his lion use for cover, the elf sees the inevitability of the assault. He begins to whisper a lengthy chant in the druidic tongue, building in intensity as the strange phrases echo toward the murky waters.
GAME: Marek damaged Garthos for 9 points. 14 remaining. GAME: Marek damaged Garthos for 23 points. -9 remaining.
Garth nods his thanks to the little gnome as his form becomes indistinct and difficult to pinpoint. He marches right on forward, because that is what folks with large swords do, jogging, his feet sinking into the muddy ground, then into the swampwater. Slosh, slosh! This is where he trips on SOMETHING underwater, and his sword just sort of... ineffectually scrapes against the monster's hide. "..." Yep.
Krasmuldin slithers his way to the shore, snapping wildly at his would be attacker head on. The first bite goes towards the phantom warrior, while the second sinks it's teeth into his side. Unfortunately this lines the third head up to take a chunk out of Garthos' shoulder and neck, flinging his body ragdoll body into the marshy grass. But he's alive! You can tell by the blood still spurting out of his neck. Then out come...the claws? Two musclar limbs ending with razor-like claws come into view, along with two ragged scars to left and right of the trio of heads. The body of the creature continues on like that of a large snake before the tail dissappears into the water. Mouth bloodied, the third head glares at Anurak and hisses a taunt.
"YOUR GREEN GOD WILL NOT SAVE YOU. SUBMIT AND DIE QUICKLY."
GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d20+4: (8)+4: 12 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d20+4: (20)+4: 24 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d20+4: (3)+4: 7 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d20+4: (8)+4: 12 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d2+4: (1)+4: 5 GAME: Craft rolls 1d20+2: (7)+2: 9
The Egalrin Monks' hands are ablaze, his left arm dipping beneath his robe and flinging out towards the monster, the right arm following in a similar motion, and his left arm doing the same once more time. In this flurry of motion, the Monks intent was obvious. He just threw three shurikens towards the head that was taunting Anurak. He was not mindful of whether or not they hit, but he does step towards the monster rather swiftly, in an attempt to close the distance. He is mindful to stay behind the head's line of sight though... not wanting to provoke the beast into attacking him directly before he can get within striking distance.
GAME: Abrahil rolls 1d20+7: (9)+7: 16
Third head it is. Craft aims the device at the bloodied mouth and launches off a brilliant flash of light. Which... just sorta... goes poof. Wow. Craft turns his head to look at the device for a moment, slipping it back into his apron before grabbing the hammer, gripping it tightly.
GAME: Garrin rolls 1d20+4: (17)+4: 21
"Oh, my, oh dear. I've got it, I've got it...!" Abrahil squints at the creature as though by the Power of Squinting Alone he could force the arcane through--and the lights dance, slipping through the creature's defenses...until whatever he was doing pops! almost inaudibly, and the gnome slumps, and wipes at his sweating brow. "Oh dear..." he rasps.
GAME: Garrin rolls 1d20+3: (8)+3: 11
Sneaking closer to it, Garrin then shoots a ray of pure energy in its direction! At one of the heads. Nothing happens.
"Oh hell," is what the flopy-hatted human says.
GAME: Anurak rolls 1d20+6: (2)+6: 8 GAME: Anurak casts Summon Nature's Ally II. GAME: Garthos rolls 1d20+3-9: (8)+3+-9: 2 GAME: Marek damaged Garthos for 1 points. -10 remaining. GAME: Anurak rolls 1d20+6: (3)+6: 9 GAME: Garrin rolls Will: (15)+4: 19 GAME: Craft rolls will: (17)+7: 24 GAME: Marek rolls 2d8: (4): 4 GAME: Kanyk rolls will: (6)+6: 12 GAME: Anurak rolls Will: (4)+7: 11 GAME: Abrahil rolls will: (5)+5: 10 GAME: Marek rolls 1d4: (4): 4
Anurak completes his chant in time to address the serpent's more verbose head. "The Green Word is not a god, but a cause," replies the druid, "and we find allies wherever nature thrives. Even in the domain of a 'god' such as yourself." He then resumes his chanting, remaining behind the broken tree.
The water behind the creature begins to ripple in time with Anurak's warning, and from below, an entity seemingly formed of
the swampy deep rises. It brings its liquid arms overhead and slams them toward the scaly hide of its designated foe. Though the blow misses its mark, it may well get Kras' attention.
GAME: Marek damaged Craft for 1 points. 40 remaining. GAME: Marek damaged Anurak for 2 points. 20 remaining. GAME: Marek damaged Abrahil for 4 points. 35 remaining. GAME: Marek damaged Kanyk for 4 points. 10 remaining. GAME: Marek damaged Garrin for 2 points. 30 remaining.
Krasmuldin is assailed by attacks from all sides, ineffective as they may be.
"YOUR MAGIC WILL NOT SAVE YOU!" "BREATHE DEEP AND DIE, MORTALS!" "I WILL EAT YOUR HEARTS" The trio of roars and taunts reveberate through the air and the three heads open their mouths, and a black gas seeps out, filling the air with a miasma of EVIL. It stinks real bad and makes you hurt the more moral you are. :(
GAME: Kanyk rolls acrobatics: (9)+8: 17 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (6)+8: 14 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d20+1+4+1-2: (8)+1+4+1+-2: 12 GAME: Craft rolls acrobatics: (2)+-5: -3 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (1)+8: 9 GAME: Craft rolls weapon1+3: (17)+8+3: 28 GAME: Craft rolls 1d8+3: (8)+3: 11
Kanyk is weakened by that beast's last attack... he feels sick to his stomach, and his vision is blurred. His joints all hurt. Luckily, he has trained in similar conditions. He rushes forth, now that he is to the back of the beast. Channeling his energy into one attack, he spins swiftly and launches a powerful kick into the beasts side.... and he stands there, in awe, as the punishment is absorbed and the beast takes absolutely no damage from it.
Craft just rushes the monster now, hardly even bothered by the black mist, stomping through with only the slightest mistep. He tries to do it gracefully, but a golem of his size, armor and the conditions simply don't allow it. It, apparently, is still enough to make the Hydra miss, and Craft punishes the beast immediately, sweeping up with his hammer, catching it square in the jaw, sending the head snapping back as the golem closes the rest of the distance.
Almost frantically, Abrahil fumbles through his pockets. He comes out with a neatly folded piece of paper. He unrolls this with his thumb, and blinks at the lettering. "Fe, fi, fo fumb! Grow me to size gargant...oh, dear. ...yes, yes, yes. More fee-ing and fie-ing. Signed, Fanatical Eddie." Abrahil sighs, and tosses the paper into the air where it burns quickly to ash. ...and the magic arcs, striking Craft.
GAME: Garrin rolls 1d20+4: (10)+4: 14 GAME: Garrin rolls 1d20+3: (10)+3: 13 GAME: Garrin casts Scorching Ray. GAME: Garthos rolls Constitution-10: (7)+3+-10: 0
"Where's Spike when we need her?" Garrin pauses for a moment and then says, loudly, "FAPPO," and points his hand at it. A few more arcane words and a concerned glance at Garthos' fallen form and a blast of scorching fire rakes across the side of the serpent. Nothing happens.
"*Fuck*," he says.
GAME: Marek damaged Garthos for 1 points. -11 remaining.
Garthos lies there, motionless. There's one hell of a huge puddle of blood all around him now. He's not dead yet - the heart still beats, that's why the blood is SPURTING like that at moments from the horrible wounds inflicted on him.
GAME: Anurak rolls 1d6: (2): 2 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (11)+8: 19 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (12)+8: 20 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (17)+8: 25 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (12)+8: 20 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+6: (9)+6: 15 GAME: Marek rolls 1d8+5: (8)+5: 13 GAME: Marek damaged Craft for 13 points. 27 remaining.
As the water elemental suddenly submerges itself, Anurak's chant resonates throughout the grove, as if his words were being
carried by the fetid waters and the looming trees. Then comes the chittering, the squeaking, the slapping of tiny paws against wet earth. A mass of something black and grey swims up behind the serpent god, and then ...
Rats. Hundreds of rats, all crawling up on the serpent, little teeth gnawing futilly at the scaly hide they've been called to
assault. Anurak continues whispering throughout, as if to sustain the interest of the vermin.
Kras, still hounded from all sides from myriad attacks and actually hit hard enough to hurt for the first time in a long time, just loses his shit. He quits taunting the lot of you and focuses all of his attention on destroying Craft. Which doesn't seem to be working as tooth after tooth shatters on the golem's armor and claws scratch ineffectively against the armor. One head does find purchase, and crumples the plates in, damaging the inner workings of arcane automaton.
GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d20+1+4+1-2 again?: (15)+1+4+1+-2 again?: 21 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d20+1+4+1-2: (12)+1+4+1+-2: 16 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d6+2: (5)+2: 7 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+9: (11)+9: 20 GAME: Craft rolls weapon1+1: (19)+8+1: 28 GAME: Craft rolls weapon1+1: (6)+8+1: 15 GAME: Craft rolls 1d8+3: (2)+3: 5
Craft keeps his shield up, deflecting as many of the incoming blows as he can. At the one that hits, though, and crunches his steel plating, the golem's eyes flash and he starts swinging, catching the Hydra in the skull again, but hardly doing damage, the second swing missing as the Hydra pulls it's head back.
GAME: Garrin rolls 1d20+5: (4)+5: 9
Casually, very casually, Garrin looks over at Garthos' fallen form. He pauses, then quickly darts, circles around the creature before moving in behind it. His brilliantly gleaming rapier glances off scale. "..crap," he says.
GAME: Garthos rolls Constitution-11: (3)+3+-11: -5 GAME: Marek damaged Garthos for 1 points. -12 remaining. GAME: Anurak rolls 1d6: (1): 1 GAME: Anurak rolls 1d20+6: (7)+6: 13 GAME: Anurak casts Shillelagh. GAME: Anurak used a Potion of Magic Fang.
Garth bleeds. He's not in a position to do anything else. There's less and less blood oozing out of the horrible gashes now, mostly because there's less and less of it in his body for his weakening heart to pump, and more on the grass and in the swampwater, leaving black blotches in the murky liquid.
GAME: Anurak rolls 1d20+8: (16)+8: 24 GAME: Craft rolls weapon1+3: (14)+8+3: 25 GAME: Craft rolls 2d6+4: (4)+4: 8 GAME: Anurak rolls 1d6+4: (4)+4: 8 GAME: Anurak rolls 1d6+4: (3)+4: 7 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d20+10: (4)+10: 14
Anurak's hundreds of rat friends provide enough of a distraction for the water elemental to quietly return. It rises up from the
muck to lash at the serpentine creature with murky tentacles, battering its scaly hide. Meanwhile, the druid speaks a less involved incantation, this one wreathing his staff in a green aura as it sprouts twigs and vines. Prior to moving out from cover, the druid also persuades his lion to imbibe the contents of a small wooden flask.
Beset by all sides and now blind, Krasmuldin is not a happy goblin gobbling gory god. With a low shriek, everybody in reach of the reptilian creature is showered in black ichor as a pair of massive black bat wings burst from it's back and begin to flap wildly, lifting it into the air. Which also exposes it's underbelly, leaving it free to rain in several blows. Screeching in pain and frustration, Krasmuldin shrieks something in goblin, something that ends in Thulsmuldin.
You paged Abrahil with 'Now I become Five-Snake! is what he screamed.'
Kanyk watches as the creature sprouts wings and takes flight. This, of course, is after he begins wiping ichor off his face. He instantly begins searching for the fallen member of their party. Finding him, the Egalrin quickly closes the distance and kneels next to the fallen warrior. Perhaps he has a potion on him? Rummaging around, Kanyk finds a potion and uncorks it. He gently empties its contents in the wounded man's mouth, and sits there, waiting for it to take effect.
GAME: Garthos used a Potion of Cure Light Wounds. GAME: Garthos rolls 1d8+1: (3)+1: 4 GAME: Marek damaged Garthos for -4 points. -8 remaining.
Garth's still badly mangled, but as the magical liquid trickles down his throat (and a bit right out of that gaping wound on his neck), there is a shimmer and some of the wounds mend as if by magic. Because it actually IS magic. He's not awake, no, but the bleeding has been stopped, at least.
Craft catches the hydra as it flies up, but it's quickly out of his reach. Craft takes another swing, in total vain. "Land, you pitiful excuse for a god. Land so that I can crush your neck like you crushed my armor!"
GAME: Craft rolls 1d8+2: (2)+2: 4 GAME: Craft casts Repair Light Damage. GAME: Marek damaged Craft for -4 points. 31 remaining.
INTERMISSION
GAME: Abrahil casts major image.
"I...oh, dear. Alright, everyone, I'm...I'm going to try and buy us some time! Don't--well, try to keep quiet a bit..." Abrahil pushes up his sleeves, and dances his hands in the air. Their images begin to shimmer--and then, to the outside world, appear to vanish as an empty image of the small enclave is placed over them.
So Garrin stares at it. It has wings. That's so not fair. He begins backing towards Gartos fallen form, raising his crossbow and firing off a shot at it. It goes sailing in to the sky before arching back down and landing in the ground at, say, Abrahil's feet. Oops! He hunkers down.
Garthos is not profusely bleeding anymore, thanks to the potion! The blood just sort of... ponderously, very slowly drips from the yet-unhealed portion of the ghastly wound. He still lies, there, though, all motionless and torn up. But at least he's breathing?
GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+4: (3)+4: 7
Krasmuldin, blinded and wounded for the first time in a long time, thrashes wildly in the air, unable to currently appreciate the fine illusion crafted by Abrahil. What he does do, however, is guide his left and right toothy maws onto the neck of the other, fangs gnawing and clamping down, his middle head roaring in pain. When all is said and done, the creature is left with two bloody stumps as two gnawed off heads fall to the ground.
GAME: Marek rolls 1d4: (2): 2
Kanyk's steely gaze pierces upwards at the beast as it mutilates itself, and then to the Gnome as it seems to be slinging out more arcane magic to help with their current situation. He wasn't sure -what- the Gnome did, but all the same, he decided now might be a decent time to get the wounded man and fall back to a safer climate. Monks know how to pick their battles, after all. He bends down, and with a bit of what passes for an Egalrin grunt, he hoists the bleeding man up and onto one shoulder.
GAME: Craft rolls 1d8+2: (7)+2: 9 GAME: Marek damaged Craft for -9 points. 40 remaining. GAME: Craft casts Repair Light Damage.
Craft watches the monster chew off it's own heads, magicite eyes not leaving the creature as he slowly backs towards the others, pulling out another device, placing it on his damaged body. It springs to life, looking like some sort of clockwork metalsmithing tarantula as it scrambles over his body, repairing much of the damage, until the golem's looking almost as good as new. Maybe the hydra'll just keep eating itself?
"Oh, my. I'll hold it up as I can...buy us a bit of time, you know. ...is he still bleeding?" Abrahil asks as he glances backwards. His small hands continue to weave the pattern to keep the illusion maintained.
GAME: Garrin rolls 1d8+1: (8)+1: 9 GAME: Garthos used a Potion of Cure Light Wounds. GAME: Marek damaged Garthos for -9 points. 1 remaining. GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+4: (11)+4: 15
"Hey, wake up," says Garrin, "Stop dying already!" It's a hissed word. He quickly pours the potion he fetched from the warrior's pack down his throat. It seems to do the trick. "Stop DYING." He says this very hurriedly.
That's one potent potion. That wasn't one of Fanatical Eddie's for sure. The wound seals itself - not entirely, and it'll probably become a scar later - but Garthos gives a grunt of pain and... awakens. "Angoron's balls." are the first words out of his mouth, quiet and very, very hoarse.. "What happened? Is it...? Oh. It's not dead." Nope, it's up above hissing and screaming. He drops to the ground from Kanyk's grip, bending down to retrieve his weapon. He's sore. Really sore. He's barely moving - but, he IS moving. "What's the plan?" he asks his companions, quietly, noting how Garrin's being quiet himself.
GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+4: (4)+4: 8
Krasmuldin tears his remaining face, wiping the last of the golden particles from his eyes, now brimming with rage...and sees nothing. "WHERE ARE YOU, MEATLINGS! YOUR TRICKS CANNOT SAVE YOU! YOUR LEGS CANNOT CARRY YOU FAR ENOUGH TO ESCAPE MY WRATH!" booms the now singular voice, though the burbling noises from the two oozing stumps would indicate he will soon be joined. The hydra dives downward, slamming into the tree and sending flinders and broken branches raining everywhere as the reptile coils his tail around the tree, looking too and fro to find his opponents, screaming more insults. Were he calmer and the ground not already soaked with blood, he might perhaps hear or smell you, but his own anger is working to your advantage...for now.
GAME: Abrahil casts protection from evil. GAME: Abrahil casts glitterdust. GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+5: (12)+5: 17 GAME: Marek rolls 1d6+3: (5)+3: 8
Garthos strikes a defensive pose with his sword, his eyes narrowing. He's worked in teams before. The really smart folks will say when it's time to go. And then, then he'll go and give it a jolly good shot, even though he's on the verge of unconsciousness again and drenched in his own blood.
GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (13)+8: 21 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (9)+8: 17 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (4)+8: 12 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (15)+8: 23 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (19)+8: 27 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+6: (1)+6: 7 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+6: (18)+6: 24 GAME: Marek rolls 4d8+20: (16)+20: 36 GAME: Marek rolls 1D8+2: (3)+2: 5
Anurak, having been struck and concussed by a falling branch clambers atop his lion companion. Blinking through the blood and the head trauma, he directs his summoned companion to attack once more and the the water elemental surges onto the swampy shore, driving an aquatic psuedopod against Krasmuldin's flesh in a vicious blow. This damages the would-be god, and more importantly, further draws his attention while you prepare for one last assault against the creature. Krasmuldin's wrath is devastating with the addition of four new heads that disperse the elemental to nothingness.
GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d20+3+1: (6)+3+1: 10 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d20+3+1: (3)+3+1: 7 GAME: Craft rolls weapon1: (13)+8: 21 GAME: Craft rolls 2d6+4: (5)+4: 9
Kanyk notices that the Gnome magic-user has casted some sort of spell on him. Not entirely sure what it was that was cast on him, but noticing that he is encased in a barrier. Kanyk pays no mind to it for the time being, and his hand dips beneath his robe. He pulls it out and throws two shuriken at the beast swiftly, and the razor-bladed stars fly towards their target. However, a strong gust of wind blows them way off course, and they end up sticking out of the tree near the hydra.
GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+4: (2)+4: 6
Craft pops out of the illusion, hammer held high, bringing it down squarely on the demonic beast's body, it's thick hide eats most of the blow, but it's still gonna hurt. Plus, a 10 foot tall golem popping out of nowhere to hit you with a hammer the size of a small child can't exactly be pleasant for anyone's morale, no matter how many heads it has. He looks almost as good as new when the hammer impacts.
"...alright. Well, this is one of my favorites," Abrahil pauses, "Always has been, you know. So here we go--ready when you are, everyone!" and as the shurikens ring out and Craft's sword swings down, Abrahil raises his hands. Sparks and light shoot forward. Faerie-lights, dancing and weaving and striking at the creature's five sets of eyes.
GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+4: (18)+4: 22
".. I'ma try to web him," says Garrin, after he finishes making Garthos HUGE. "Good luck, man," he adds. His hands go up, weaving an intricate pattern before he hurls a small, rapidly expanding web in the direction of the giant monster. "..pleasediefast," he utters, more in prayer than out of any conviction.
GAME: Garthos rolls 1d20+2+4+1+1-1+4: (7)+2+4+1+1+-1+4: 18 GAME: Garthos rolls 3d6+10: (14)+10: 24
GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (20): 20 GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (1): 1 GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (71): 71 GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (56): 56 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+6: (13)+6: 19 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+6: (3)+6: 9 GAME: Marek rolls 1d8+2: (3)+2: 5 GAME: Marek damaged Garthos for 5 points. -4 remaining. GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (82): 82
Garth edges around the webbing, around the blind monster, whilst Craft's attacks distract it. He says nothing, just focuses on making it hurt. Lots. He brings the now-enormous sword in an overhead slash, and although the blade is not magical it plunges deep into the flesh of the creature. Blood spurts from the wound, adding to the already considerable amount of it on Garth.
GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (36): 36 GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (47): 47 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (20)+8: 28 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (4)+8: 12 GAME: Marek rolls 1d8+5: (7)+5: 12 GAME: Marek damaged Craft for 12 points. 28 remaining.
Krasmuldin roars in pain and anger, heavily wounded for the first time in years, and unable to see. The beast slides across the tree, splitting its attention toward the direction of the two attackers. When all is said and done, Craft is wounded once more and Garthos' chest is clawed open, rendering the warrior unconscious. The grevious sword wound and hammer mark are starting to heal and fade.
GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+4: (6)+4: 10 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d20+4+1+4: (19)+4+1+4: 28 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+9: (2)+9: 11 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d6+4: (6)+4: 10 GAME: Craft rolls weapon1+6: (2)+8+6: 16 GAME: Craft rolls 2d6+4: (7)+4: 11 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+6: (8)+6: 14
Craft brings his hammer up high, keeping the pressure going. While the creature is still reeling from Kanyk's skillful blow, the hammer comes down. It's not the greatest swing in the world, but with the mass of blind heads, stunned and it distracted on top of that, it still connects solidly, leaving a pretty nasty bruise at the base of one of the necks.
GAME: Garrin rolls 1d20+5: (6)+5: 11
The round fellow straightens as much as a beachball might. And he even puffs out his chest! "You...you...monster!" and then darker-lights fly towards the tree the beast sits on, and coat it. Yet, the beast keeps its footing, and the gnome looks deflated. Fffffffbbbbbbb goes the punctured beachball!
GAME: Garrin rolls 2d6+1: (7)+1: 8 GAME: Garthos rolls Constitution-5: (10)+3+-5: 8
The lightly glowing rapier, now, is drawn from Garrin's side as he rushes back over towards it, discarding his crossbow. He sinks the tip of it deep into the creature's side. "DIE ALREADY," he yells.
GAME: Marek damaged Garthos for 1 points. -5 remaining. GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d20+4+1+6: (5)+4+1+6: 16 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d20+4+1+6: (4)+4+1+6: 15 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d6+4: (3)+4: 7 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d6+4: (5)+4: 9 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+4: (11)+4: 15 GAME: Abrahil rolls 1d20+5: (17)+5: 22 GAME: Abrahil rolls 1f20+7: (14)+1f20+7: 21
Garthos does what he's been doing best around this particular beastie - bleeding. Yes, again. This time from the claw wound. Poor fellow. It's really not his day!
Kanyk moves like lightning, his Egalrin body taking him into an attack position rather swiftly. He had already begun channeling his energies for one massive punch - and once he is in position, he attacks, and hits! The force of the blow causes vibrations to run through the beasts body, and through his own as well. It was like punching a brick wall after all. After everyone else has their go at him, Kanyk is in motion again, sending two more snapping, quick punches in towards their target, both of them hitting as well.
GAME: Craft rolls weapon1+4: (1)+8+4: 13
Craft swings, the hammer promising to do some serious damage to the blinded creature. Just before the hammer pegs it in one of it's many heads, however, the head moves out of the way and Craft quite nearly loses their footing as the swing hits nothing but air.
GAME: Garrin rolls 1d20+7: (11)+7: 18 GAME: Garrin rolls 2d6+1: (10)+1: 11 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+6: (17)+6: 23 GAME: Garthos rolls Constitution-5: (5)+3+-5: 3 GAME: Marek damaged Garthos for 1 points. -6 remaining. GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (87): 87 GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (49): 49 GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (63): 63 GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (37): 37 GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (51): 51 GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (1): 1 GAME: Marek rolls 1d100: (20): 20 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (1)+8: 9 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+8: (15)+8: 23 GAME: Marek rolls 1d20+6: (14)+6: 20 GAME: Marek rolls 1d8+5: (2)+5: 7 GAME: Marek rolls 1d8+2: (6)+2: 8 GAME: Marek damaged Garrin for 15 points. 17 remaining. GAME: Garrin casts web.
So Garrin is up there, now, with that rapier. ANd he buries it all the way up to the hilt in the creature's neck. One of its necks, anyways. He yanks out his rapier, savagely, eating a spray of blood in the process. He looks paniced.
Struggling to stay conscious, on the tree and out of the web, Krasmuldin is having some difficulties. Beset by all sides and being hurt faster than he can heal, the hydra fights now like a cornered rat rather than a god-made-flesh. Jaws snap and claws rend impotently at the three attackers, though only a single head and a claw finds purchase in the flesh of Garrin.
GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d20+4+1+4: (8)+4+1+4: 17 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d20+4+1+4: (10)+4+1+4: 19 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d6+4: (3)+4: 7 GAME: Kanyk rolls 1d6+4: (1)+4: 5
And again, the Egalrin monks blinding speed takes off. His wings spread out as wide as they can, making him appear much larger than he was before. He jumps upwards, finding the head that Garrin had injured earlier and hitting it with a nasty uppercut. He spins his body just in time to face another head that was coming his way, and as he spins, his left leg arcs upwards and snaps right across the chin of that particular head, snapping its neck. He falls back to the ground, his wings folding back in to his form, and he looks up at the dying beast...
"If it was a god," Craft wonders, his irritation giving his hollow, metallic voice a rough quality, "what does that make us?" Just to make absolutely sure, he drives his hammer down on the creature's back, a loud, messy cracking noise accompanying the blow. Yeah, you can grow back heads Mr. 'God' but how do you feel about lower body paralysis! The lack of blood flowing from the wound confirms Kanyk's kill, though.
Garthos lies there. Still bleeding. Drenched in his own AND the hydra's blood. It's a wonder his body HAS any blood to let out still. And bits of swamp, too, mostly mud cling to him. He'd celebrate, but you know how it is.
"I...oh, dear. Oh...well, what an adventure this has been, hasn't it?" Abrahil pulls out a handkerchief to mop at his face. Flushed like a cherry, he huffs and puffs as he waddles over that way. "...and no. It was ...it was a creature. A sort of hydra, perhaps but. I've just never seen its like." Abrahil's voice is briefly filled with wonder as he makes a sort of bending...bending...! motion, and reaches down with the handkerchief to--well. Bind one of the papercuts on Garthos' hands. Gnomish handkerchiefs. Tiny.
GAME: Garthos rolls 1d20+3-6: (6)+3+-6: 3 GAME: Abrahil rolls heal: (3)+1: 4 GAME: Garrin rolls Heal: (12)+1: 13
The kerchief. It does NOTHING! The blood flows freely. Garthos, still unconscious. Totally unable to appreciate the care. Bleedbleedbleed. "...I think we might need a bigger handkerchief," murmurs Abrahil.
"I do believe I saw Garrin carrying around a rather dainty selection a few days ago. ...Garrin, do you still have those?"
GAME: Craft rolls heal: (14)+3: 17
The limp form of the would-be deity slides slack on the greased tree, slumping down into the water as it takes a finishing blow from Craft. Mishka dashes from his hiding place, spear held high in victory, "You do it! You kill god! You are true warriors! May you make many childrens and honor your tribe!" He stabs his spear at one of the self-decapitated heads, hoisting it up with a grunt. "I take this to my tribe, I become next chief when they see this. YOu...you have treasure!"
Craft walks over to the other giant, looking his wounds over. He digs in his apron, and finds a cloth that he usually uses for polishing armor. He tilts his metallic head slightly to one side, and wraps the oily, dirty rag around the worst of the wounds, as if trying to plug a machine leaking oil. He stands up, and nods at his handiwork. There, leak's stopped!
WIth the thing *dead*, Garrin is immediately looking down at Garthos and trying to staunch his bleeding. And failing. He pauses when Craft manages to suceed where they've failed. He looks shocked. A little.
Amazingly, it's a job well done on the first aid front. The blood flow is staunched and it doesn't take long before Garth's heartbeat
and breathing are stable enough for him to be able to be carried without danger of bleeding to death. Hooray!
He's still out, though. Someone get him a souvenir from this thing!
Abrahil wriggles his fingers, and a series of lights spring into being. Dipping and weaving, they proceed in front of the party, leading the way out. ...and giving poor Garth's pale pallor an unfortunate greenish hue!
Oh yeah. Garth also weighs a little over one thousand pounds now. Waiting for the spell to expire is almost certainly necessary.
Having succeeded at first aid where the people with actual anatomy failed, Craft takes Garthos's sword and proceeds to see about gathering body parts. Maybe they're worth something.
The lights change to orange. Now he looks like a hobgoblin. A large, fat hobgoblin.
Once you patch up Garthos and Anurak as best as possible, it then comes down to a search of Krasmuldin's lair. You find lots of X, and maybe even some Y, depending on whatever the treasure roll for this PrP is, and you finally are guided back to Tomas' cabin for the trip home.
Meanwhile, as you sail towards the sunset, the rest of Mishka's tribe descend to look upon the god. Chief Gulmak looks at the broken body and uses his blade to hack one of Krasmuldin's heads off, using his filed teeth to tear a massive mouthful of raw flesh off and wolf it down. The elderly goblin closes his eyes and shudders, savoring the taste, and when he opens them, they glow red.
DUN DUN DUN!
To Be Continued...