PrP: The Fire Dance
Log Info
- Title: The Fire Dance
- Emitter: Lenore
- Characters: Virton (Art2)* Charlotte (Swb4)* Landau (Clr3)* Alexander (Ftr2)* Vala (Wiz2) Mandor (Dru2)* Ga'Elian (Rgr2)*
- Place: Western Forest - Alexandria
- Time: Apr 20, 2016
- Summary: A community of indigionous peoples in western Alexandria has the same festival every spring, beckoning the heat and bounty of summer to make their crops strong and plentiful for the harvest in the fall, known as The Fire Dance. This year, apparently something went wrong. The missive issued to the Adventurer's Guild has given very little in the way of details, but suggests that one of the 'performers' was not what they claimed, and has brought upon them a most unexpected result.
- APL: 3
- Encounter 1: 2 Rasts, CR 7
ST
As always, there has been a wagon, or mounts provided for the brave adventurers that have answered the troubled pleas of the nearby regions of Alexandria that the city guard simply cannot extend its services to. The journey has been uneventful, the weather has been a pleasant spring-time affair; it meanders down trade routes through the forest to the west, and the newly blossoming flora provides both beautiful scenery full of colour and motion, and the fresh scent of sweet blooms and damp earth the entire way there -- which is, admittedly, quite a distance.
By time the group gets near to the tribal community that had put out the call for aid, it's already evening, and they're still hours by the most generous estimation from their goal. The forest comes alive as soon as the light begins to dim; paper lanterns with colourful tassels aglow, the thrum of drums in the distance that carry even through the mire of woodland like a calm heartbeat, and brightly dyed banners of flame-themed sheer silks twist and flicker in that aromatic breeze.
It's actually quite idylic.
"Might wanna make camp, ey? Been ridin' a while, and my old bones just can't take anymore tonight, eh heh-heh, mighty sorry, folks." The elderly gentleman that had been sent by the guild to get you to your location hops down from his perch where he's been leading the horse from, hobbling down to retrieve the pack that's been lashed over this beast of burden this whole way. He goes about readying himself for an evening under the stars, soothed to rest by mother nature's rumbling pulse still humming on the distant winds. The horse leans against a tree nearby the old man, covered up with a ratty old blanket, freed from his harnass. Looks like you're going to either have to get some shut eye, or hoof it on your own if you want to go any further tonight.
"Vinceeent, ooh, Viiiincent..." The man tips his hat over his eyes, and crosses his arms behind his head, starting to sing. "You're such a beautiful boooy, you bring an old man jooooy, VIIIIiiiiN-CEENT," His voice cracks in his crooning, causing the horse to whicker, its head shaking from side to side.
"Oh, hush. You ain't never complained before. Don't be shy on account of them, now. Shoot." The codger grouses, chewing momentarily on nothing, smacking his lips before going silent.
Charlotte can't help but smirk at the old man. "he loves his horse, it seems." She says as she looks towards the road and where they were going. "mmmm........"
Mandor looks around for a moment, focusing on the others. "All creatures have different rest patterns. Rest is currently not necessary for this form, do the rest of you require us to pause our journey to recharge your bodies?"
When the guild representative that has been leading them to their destination calls for a stop, Alexander is not one to protest, especially when it's time for a break. It appears that the human adventurer has no plans to hoof it himself unless circumstances dictate otherwise. He is already dismounting and guiding his horse to an open area so it can be properly tethered, to a stake is necessary, before he begins the task of unsaddling his pack and setting up camp. When another adventurer in the group speaks up though, the human warrior pauses in his task and looks over to Mandor, "Well, he is our guide and unless there is extreme urgency, no need to tire ourselves or our horses. Plus, the roads can be more dangerous when it's dark."
"Camp?" buzzes Virton. There's a pause from the golem, as it takes a moment to exhale a puff of exhaust fumes from the pipe that 'hangs' (see: directly attached) to the corner of its mouth. The pale orange glow brightens once again as the golem talks. "I daresay that there be a dang fine idea. I'm guessin' folks gotta have some aches an' some hungerin' in them there bellies of theres. Dang fine music for folks to get restin' to as well."
The lanky Golem heaves itself from the wagon with a hiss of pistons and the clicking of gears getting into motion once more, the *tink-tink* of spurs as booted feet thud onto the ground, and he straightens himself upright, mechanised hands dusting off the stained and rather tattered poncho - with small hints of the fabulous colours it used to be. "I don't fancy leavin' no old partner to be sleepin' off in the woods, man was kind enough to ride us all out this far -- seems mighty unfair to go on an' leave him dozin' here. Folks round these parts know there's always somethin' up to no good in the woods at night." A pause. "Speakin' of woods," He buzzes, "Anyone got some firewood? I could rustle up some beans." Says the Golem. Who doesn't actually have a mouth for eating. Or a working digestive system. "What the good man said", in reference to Alexander.
A man singing to his horse in the darkened forest has never betokened bad luck. Ever. Vala takes this all in stride at the pace of her meandering mount, a veiled and cloaked presence of no particular note swaying slightly to the mare's steady gait. Though at the moment, the horse stops to crop the grass, pulling it out by the roots from the earth. This is where, then, they are forced to stop. "Quite lovely for a choice," she murmurs in a heavily accented voice, betraying its Sildanyari origins for any familiar with the cant. She considers for a moment, putting a hand to the horn of the saddle and swinging her foot over and figuring out the best way to get down gracefully.
A pleasant (if strictly neutral) expression apon his features, Landau has traveled on horseback with utter equanmity although the genteman's solo extolling the virtues of the unknowable Vincent nonetheless cause a faint smile to touch his lips. The cleric (or at least pious, if his elunite holy symbol is anything to go by) lets out a breath as he clambers down to the ground from the mount, and rubs his inner thighs gingerly as blood begins flowing back into flesh,"I think a campfire is called for, I shall begin preparations." he states easily, his teak colored skin beginning to match the skies more as dusk begins to intrude.
ST:
With everyone agreeing to settle, the old man is snoring away in no time, his boots occasionally twitching as he snorts with a start, and hums himself back into comforted slumber. Seems he trusts the group to do as they must, and to keep him safe, this close to the trail.
Firewood is easy to come by, even with the damp lingering of Springtime's earlier showers, tinder and kindling simple to find by any adventurer that has any experience in him. There are clearings beneath the thickening canopy that would do more than well enough for a camping ground just away from the trade route they've been traveling -- in fact, it's quite likely that this is a common stop for those making their way out into the deeper wilds.
That wind, so calm, so refreshing that has been lingering about the party, carrying with it that pounding rush of drums has begun to grow stagnant, bitter. The leaves have stopped in their delicate whispers, giving way to the pulse of the music from far beyond. The more perceptive of the group might notice, however, that the pulse is, in fact, quickening as though in excitement; Mandor and Alexander specifically seem to be rather in tune with the rhythm, for whatever reason -- maybe it's the druid's connection to nature, perhaps the fighter has learned what it feels like in the ominous moments before ambush. Whatever it is, something has begun to feel... off.
With the general consensus being to stop for the night and the old man already going to sleep, Alexander returns to the task of setting up his bedroll and was about to start removing his armor for the night when the beat of the drums changes. Despite not seeing anything odd in the immediate area of his vision, he stops in his steps and a frown appears on the fighter's expression. Usually he would not go above and beyond what is necessary, but this may be related to their assignment, which means it could affect their pay. "Something's wrong." He announces to no one in particular but loud enough for all to hear. Alexander continues to try to puzzle out what is bothering him.
Mandor finds a spot to simply stand and watch, not really requiring any sort of rest himself. He turns now and then, facing different directions, finally stopping and focusing on the direction of the drums. "It appears that the music created in the distance has an odd quality to it. We may need to relocate to do further investigation."
Charlotte lifts her head and looks to Mandor and Alexander. "You guys hear something?" She says standing up and starting to look around...
Virton takes little to no time in getting a fire started, probably due to the fact that when he scrapes his hands together fast enough, the friction causes tiny sparks from his fingertips into the tinder he's packed around it. He makes an attempt at blowing on it -- which is a static buzzing noise until he remembers he doesn't actually breathe, so instead he fans it with his hands gently until the firewood is going. "That there is some good firewood you went pickin', partner." He buzzes in appreciation towards Landau, carefully waving his fingers to ensure any excess heat in the metal fades away. "Huh? I dun hear nothin'. Cept' them insects that come out buzzin' at night.." He does, however, begin to rise up to a fully standing position, obviously not ignorant enough to ignore someone's concerns out of hand. "But you might have better hearin' receptors than me, partner," He states that towards Mandor. "Mine are all fulla soot."
Looking up from the campfire the skin twixt Landau's brows crinkle somewhat, concern or confusion it all lends to the same course of action,"Or prepare to be met." he offers before delving into ponderings,"One might hazard the judgement that this instance is not unrelated to the matter we have been tasked to solve." he stands with some gingerness, using his staff to ease himself onto his feat once more and prudently begins strapping a buckler onto his forearm
ST:
Odd quality, indeed.
The beat continues to pick up, so thundrous and insistant that some might find that their own heartbeat attempts to join it, insinuating the coming of something exciting... or dangerous. The wind once again picks up, as the fire is lit; it stirs the embers and emboldens the blaze that Virton had managed to get going with the aid of Landau's assistance, causing them to spiral upward in a flickering dance of sparks and fiery specks against the rapidly darkening canopy above. It's distracting, it's bright, it's warm.
Too warm...
The lamps that hang from the trees suddenly turn vibrant, the paper burning away from a few of those along the brink of the forestry that surrounds the camp, bursting into balls of fire that launch themselves forward in a river of gouting flame, from which spring two bulbous creatures comprised of what appears to be bubbling, seared flesh and a great gaping maw with jagged fanglike teeth, black as soot, screaming like a kettle left to boil too long.
Charlotte wastes no time as Alexander covers Landau. Drawing her rapier, she rushes forward and slides to a stop as it focuses upon Alexander, sliding the blade deep into the 'thing's' ribs.
When his 'sixth sense' proves to be true, Alexander utters out a curse as reflexes kicks in after one of the paper lanterns burst into flames, resulting in the foul creature that is intent on harming whoever is apparently closest. His right hand quickly reaches back to where his sheathed bastard sword is and pulls it free with a clear ring of steel. The shield remains secured on his back, apparently preferring to fight with a two-handed grip when not overwhelmed. The human fighter quickly advances on the closest creatures and delivers a nice, downward overhead cut that slices into seared flesh, no doubt doing some damage to it.
Holding his buckler defensively, the Cerenzan cleric circles the firepit with some alacrity placing it between himself and the... creature, whatever it is. He begins chanting in The Divine Language as a light blue aura begins to form around the holy symbol he clutches in his free hands, the quarterstaff left behind. The prayer complete an iridecent blue star knife coalesces out of starpoints of light, and lances right into the side of the thing that has lurched into the comforting dome of sight that the fire provides. It is a solid hit, no ifs nor buts about it, but at this juncture not quite enough to fufill its purpose.
Ga'Elian draws his bow with two arrows nocked, and... releases, but misses with both.
The war golem druid looks around for a moment, focusing on the creatures. "Your presence is a disruption to the local ecosystem. You should be returned to your natural habitat or eliminated." He then tries to stab a spear towards the creature, but misses.
"Gosh darnit, I was gonna make some dang beans!" cries the buzzing voice of Virton, who, by virtue of having soot in his eyelenses, his ears, and everywhere else, most likely resulting in him being almost dang blind. It does not stop him from bringing up the cannon-like device on his shoulder, dirt kicking up as he spreads his feet and brings both mechanised hands up to grasp the cannon, bracing it. A bolt of red lightning shoots from the radar-dish dome, striking the side of the second rast and leaving a violent electrical welt on its form. "Take that! Hooaah!"
ST:
The nearest thing to the lamp, and thus the nearest to the first floating blob of malformed, torched skin and blackened fangs is Mandor; mindless seething ignites in the thing's eyes, a difficult thing to do when they're as pitch as onyx tempered as it lunges forward to dig teeth into magmatic cracks, gritting down with an audible grind of stone to stone, sparking up little embers of their own. It's a sort of magic. Though it does manage to score a hit, little is done to that stalwart frame of his, aside from new grooves that only add to the authenticity of his chassis. It sputters and gnashes, floating back a scant few feet as it snarls out its distaste, only to be rammed with a glowing weapon of the spiritual variety to great effect, the Rast taking in a great gulping breath before letting out another ear-splitting whistle that washes hot steam across Alexander as he comes in to score his devestating blow. Its great maw of fangs seethes, drooling out a molten flow as tiny little claws raise up as though it would do some damage of its own.
And then, Charlotte.
"EeeeEEEEEEEEE!" It's like an air-raid siren, causing the old man to jump to wakefulness as Charlotte slides that slender blade where the sun don't shine. ... Or does. It's hard to say, there's a lot of glowing going on. By that, of course, I mean that the old man snorts, rolls onto his side, and pulls a thick fur hide up over himself, waving a hand harshly, irritably in the direction of the fighting group, 'Blasted.... mmng... youngins 'n their crazy musicsnnzzz...' And he's out again.
With the siren of the first Rast shredding the serenity of this place, the second comes barreling over, screaming the same, talon-like blackened claws stretching forward to jag their way into the Swashbuckler's shoulder, digging deeply, curling within, ripping and tearing at her form with wild abandon, that deafening shriek disorienting so very near, the air around them heating up like a sauna.
The spear that Mandor thrusts toward the first goes wide, almost hitting the second, and skimming by Charlotte narrowly -- it looks really cool, but it's entirely ineffective. Just the same as the arrows that go whizzing by the second, drawing its attentions only momentarily as it snarls away, glaring across at the ranger fellow as though to say 'oh no you di'unt'.
Just in time to be zapped in the face by Virton, its bubbling skin scrunches up in some sort of expression, much resembling a puckered anus that's had a lemon stuffed up it, complete with two bulbous black growths for eyes, a steamy hiss given off as the charring razes across the magazine-ready visage.
... All together now:
"...EEEERRRREEEEEEEEEKKSSSSS!"
As the creature blows hot steam over him, Alexander can't help but flinch for a moment before gathering himself, though by that time the creature has already moved on and taken a bite of Charlotte. With a growl, the human fighter closes the distance with the same floating blob and swings with his full might. The problem is that as he focuses on strength over finesse, the heavy blade goes wide and cuts nothing but air.
Ga'Elian takes aim with another arrow, but sadly the shot is no match for the creature.
Charlotte's getting hit pretty hard too. Thankfully, they're getting her NON-sword arm as the bites tear into her shoulder. She even says a few unlady-like things to....whatever these things are and tries to poke them again. Unfortunately, the poke becomes a slash and a rapier is not a slashing weapon.....
Having a spare moment to assess the situation, the Elunite squints at the molten beasts, eyes widening as he recognises them from a description he once read. A yell of pain is his call to action however and breaks Landau out of his reverie as he moves to support a comrade in arms and presses a hand to the swashbuckler's back deftly so as not to interfere with her footwork... healing energy passing between them to assuage some of the wounds afflicted. Thank Elune for omniscience, the spiritual 4-pronged knife keeps on hacking away at the Rast tended to or no, spinning and twisting to slice and tear otherworldly flesh.
Mandor continues to do his best with the spear, he doesn't really seem to be extremly skilled, but sometimes luck is enough. He manages to pierce the creature and it starts to collapse in on itself. "Return to your habitat."
"Oh dangit." buzzes Virton, in a tone of both annoyance and a tiny smidgen of fear as the floating creature advances towards him. The lithe-looking Golem hops backwards, barely managing to avoid being gnawed upon by the creature. The Golem sweeps his poncho up and over his shoulder, bringing what must be one of those Thunderbelchers up. The weapon pulses with purple flares of mana and electricity going through it, humming as it reaches a full charge. With a pull on the trigger, the weapon gives out an awful clap of thunder as it expels a thick cloud of buckshot -- which peppers the Rast, but sadly only seems to leave superfiscial wounds. "... Dangit!"
ST:
"Fssss! Hasss, grrsss..." It gurgles in attempted speech, rancid burning flesh filling the senses just moments ago awash in the glorious bounty of springtime, turned sour and odourous by virtue of the wretched creatures that assail Charlotte as though she owed them money, or didn't do her chores on time. Failing its attempts at communication or threat, it simply lunges forward, the ichor that oozes from it spotting over the swashbuckler's form as it wavers, biting down on the arm that doesn't extend to strike out at it again with retributive pains.
That is to say: Omnomnom.
Alexander's heavy-handed attempts at drawing the orb of nasty away from Charlotte barely even get a shift of its attentions, though it does unlatch its fangs from her flesh to shift away from the strike -- and that's something! Alexander the Great, standing for what's right (for him)!
That blasted glowing knife is still proving to be a bother, wisping about like that, jabbing and scoring against its blistered hide, causing more growls and hisses of aggrivation that keep its attention long enough for the cleric to offer some much needed healing to Charlotte, knitting up seeping wounds that nearly mimic those that she's given to the Rast. This, of course, enrages the thing that looks as though it's about to give another go at reopening those cauterized gaps, before they've even lost that ... new scar smell.
Cheeky smirk.
The spear that stops it, however, has it look even more akin to a blistered anus as it collapses; certainly, there should be a medical documentary that might explain what is happening, and why it looks like this, but for now only one thing need be certain: It is dead. Squealing, shrieking, farting out fine mist -- dead.
The second Rast, on the other hand, has screamed off to attack Virton as though he'd made a derogatory comment about its mother -- presumably also an anus with teeth and thus rich for the mocking -- and skrees its fangs toward that colourful poncho of his, coming up with a mouthful of cloth, leaving sooty, streaky slimy drool all over it. When he steps back, pulling his poncho free of its mouth, it opens up again like a surprised muppet, to get a mawful of buckshot, which has the Rast making retching, horking noises as it spins and reels backward.
Before Alexander can take a second swing on the floating blob that was biting Charlotte, someone had already deflated it like a foul balloon, leaving a nasty cloud behind. This has the human fighter moving on, either motivated to help kill off the second creature or just to get away from the corpse of the first, he unleashes another powerful blow and this time his strike is spot on. The steel edge from the bastard sword slashes upwards with a strong stroke and delivers a brutal wound on the blob.
"HA!" Landau makes a extravagant motion with his hand, as if he were throwing the blue glowing star knife from a distance with the blade of his palm, his brown eyes following its path as it flies to find a home in the body of the remaining molten Rast. He isnt wasting much time however for even as he directs the weapon his lips move in prayer, bringing forth the power of his godess to aid them apon this battlefield whlst his tailed waistcoat flares around behind him after his stop.
With her arm hanging by a thread, despite Landau's healing, Charlotte stumble over and plunges her blade into the other creature....apparently getting it through the heart when she does. It goes down and....Charlotte's arm comes off. It doesn't freak her out as much as one would think. "That's.....disturbing. I wonder if I could keep fighting...disarmed."
Ga'Elian was readying another double shot when the last creature expired.
Mandor looks to Charlotte, "Few creatures can continue when the loss of a limb occurs, shock sets in quickly. Humanoids tend to be able to overcome such issues, thus it is logical to assume you could continue to fight despite the lack of an apendage."
With the last blob creature dispatched, Alexander is breathing hard at this point, more from the adrenaline pumping through his bloodstream at this point than from being exhausted, looking as if he is ready for more. However, without another threat presence, his gaze looks over to the other party members before looking at Charlotte, surprised at how she is able to stay composed when she loses a limb. "Your... arm." It isn't clear if he is more shocked at the loss of an arm or the horrible pun that was delivered.
"You could get a metal one put on, I reckon." offers Virton, now in the process of reloading the thunderbelcher - by way of a tube that extends from his right forearm and inserts into the side of the weapon, feeding it a resevoir of essence and mana from the Artificer's core. The other hand idly slots in another huge buckshot shell, before snapping the weapon shut. "I reckon you best git that seen too, mind. You want an injection of Reos' curatives? Put a spring in yer step an' all that." He doesn't seem too eager to go near the Rast that went for him, though - a wide berth is given to it. And the other. He stands close to the fire. "Dangit, my poncho.."
Chest rising and falling with the adrenaline of combat, Landau takes a moment to centre himself,"Now this can be used, I lack the control at present to utilise it so frivously in combat." the Cerenzan taps into another facet of his faith and begins channeling positive energy, the effect of which is a translucent wavelike pulsing effect on the backdrop of reality, mending damaged bodies.
ST:
Stab! Slice! Bwargh!
The second bloodblister fartbubble with fangs pops like an engorged zit on the arse of the forest, properly bathing Alexander and Charlotte both in some oozing, foul concoction that was once its inards, with an audible 'pock! Splewsh!', and the sickly slap of its remains hitting the dirtied ground below, now sizzling on a rock that's by the fire that had, at one time, been thought of as a place to make dinner.
Beans will never be the same.
With that, the old man sits stock upright, his wiry white hair going this way and that, bleary blue beady little eyes staring across the path at the adventurers, "What?! Ey?!" He glances back and forth, leaning forward, squinting, leaning back and opening them wide. Nothing seems to help. "Quiet down, wouldya?! Harumph! No respect fer an old man's... sleep... Vincssnnzzzentmmng..." He flops back down into the furs, booted feet kicking up, and flopping back down again.
The night continues on with no further interruptions, and the party is free to converse about the evening's happenings amidst themselves. However, whatever they get up to until the morning, when they make their way toward the tribal community that had put out the missive for aid that brought them to this place, the real mystery begins.
There is nothing. Nobody. No signs of any civilization.
Somebody sent that cry for aid to draw the adventurers out here with unknown motives, but one thing is as certain as the fact that those things were disgusting: It certainly wasn't for a festival inviting the summer's bounty.
Will our companions find the culprit? Do they care who set them up? Do they still get PAID?!
Join us next time, same fartblob time, same fartblob channel!
~Fin