Snow Crash
Log Info
- Title: Snow Crash
- GM: Landslide
- Place: The Checkered Arms, Alexandria
The Checkered Arms, late afternoon.
A heavy snow has settled in around Alexandros, blanketing the farmlands and city alike in a fresh pile of wet yuck. Visibility is downright bad outside, and the wind coming down out of the Redridge Mountains to the east side of the city helps matters not even slightly. It is, quite simply, a miserable day to be out and about, and nobody is outside who doesn't have to be. Even the guards on the walls are huddled around their portable furnaces in the watchtowers, and not so much walking the walls.
The lot of you find yourselves in the Checkered Arms, a relatively new beer joint nestled against the far westward wall of Alexandria, just steps from the doors of the mighty Colosseum. It's got alcohol, chairs, and a roaring hearth fire, and a relatively quiet inside. The chairs and tables are well-used, the place in need of repair, but for now, it's snug enough.
Aside from you, there is one drunkard asleep in the corner by the bar, and at the bar is a thin woman, wrapped up in a fur pelt of indeterminate provenance. When she isn't serving drinks actively, she disappears into the kitchen in the back, which is serving a bland chicken stew. The focus appears to be on quality beers and wines from all over Ea, and one whole wall is devoted to kegs and casks.
Aragos has lost count of the number of drinks he's had. He's not entirely sure how he even got here in the first place. He stares off into the middle distance, and a strange sound leaves him. It's so peculiar that he doesn't recognize it. In fact, he looks around a bit to see if someone else made it. Nope. It's from him. He had giggled.
The black-armored paladin of Vardama stares in disgust at the beer in his hand as though it's betrayed him. Then it happens again, and appalled he covers his mouth. Something is wrong with him. He needs another drink so he waves his hand for another. Surely that'll help.
GAME: Aragos rolls Constitution: (15)+2: 17
The bronze war golem, albeit shaped to look more like a mannequin in a garment store than some others might, known to some as Gramarye, enters the establishment. Obsidian eyes scan the environment, her head pivoting as she looks at everyone and everything. Gramarye wears the blue scholarly robes of a mage that would be cold on a person of flesh and blood in this season--but she is not. There are some benefits to being metal and bolts.
"Father," she announces in a neutral tone, before making her way to Aragos. "I have located your person. Inquiry: are you at a level of intoxication that is unsuitable for public interaction?"
A new tavern or alehouse in the city was excuse enough to find one's self in an unfamiliar place, and what was better than going out for new experiences? There was always something to be learned in a new place, and so a large egalrin steps inside of the building, looking much poofier than usual as they stop to shake out their large hat through the door before daring to step in further.
Reithak steps to one side, before finding her way to the counter. "The weather outside there is positively frightful!" She bemoans to no one in particular, glancing around at a few of the people present, lingering on war golem nearby and the person they seemed to be addressing. "Still, it's a bit of a wonder how much a cold drink can warm you up, you know?"
In the wake of the very-tall-egalrin, a smaller hunched over figure slips in. Quietly, the snow-coated cloak is pulled away and put aside, revealing... many more cloaks. The hooded figure glances around, and slowly makes their way over the counter as well, rolling a coin off their fingers.
"Ale. Warm, please." A deep, bass like voice says; and the black corvid egalrin looks around carefully. In an eyeblink, several notepads pour over the countertop; and Crik quickly brushes off the quickly melting snow off them; black eyes looking around the room as if he was about to be caught doing something illicit.
The slight figure of the half-sil Merith is sitting at one end of the bar, a warm ale in one hand and a gentle smile on his face, looking out towards the other patrons and the door, quietly observing them and their drunken antics. He ponders the rest of his ale, downs it and then decides it's about time to get involved in the merryment.
He strolls over to the Paladin and introduces himself with, "You look like you know how to have a good time." and an offered handshake.
The barkeep eyes the corvid egalrin with beady, wary eyes, but eventually she grins at him, an expression that blooms across her face. "I know your pain, friend. Coming right up. And for you, honey?" She turns that eye on Reithak, pointedly ignoring the goings-on down at the end of the bar. As long as he keeps paying....
A howl of wind batters the shutters holding the windows tightly closed.
After a moment, another of Aragos' chosen poison comes sliding down the polished bar-top in his direction.
GAME: Gramarye rolls Perception: (6)+6: 12 GAME: Crik rolls perception: (2)+11: 13 GAME: Merith rolls perception: (10)+8: 18 GAME: Reithak rolls perception: (3)+13: 16
Deftly, Aragos catches his drink as it slides down the bar. The haze of being drunk it seems, has done nothing to affect his reflexes. Gramarye's voice draws his attention and a crooked smile slips across his face. "When am I suitable for that sort of thing?" He snorts and waves at her. "I'm having another."
However his effort to 'have another' is forestalled by a stranger striding up and offering their hand to him. The paladin stares at the hand. Then at the one who holds it out. Then at the hand. A great deal of consideration crosses his face and then he snorts again. The hand is taken by a gauntleted fist and Aragos shakes it a little more firmly than is strictly polite. "Do I then? That's not something I hear often. You drinking?"
Gramarye's obsidian eyes remain dormant until she speaks again, the light in her eyes the only visual indication of speech, given that her faceplate cannot move. "Please remain mindful of your intoxication levels, Father. Otherwise I will be forced to escort you home manually, as I have done on an average of three point five times per week since we began to cohabitate the same living space."
However, her head pivots in the direction of the ceiling. "Anomaly detected," she announces. "Inquiry: is there a problem with the plumbing in this structure?"
"I'll have whatever you feel like recommending, dear." The larger egalrin hums, glancing to one side and spying another Egalrin there. "Heya Crik, good to see you! You following me around, or just happened on this space too? All your papers in order?" They greet, reaching to pat the other egalrin on the head before some other commotion gets her attention. "You doing okay there? If you need some help walking them back, well, they're looking awfully spiky." She offers to Gramarye, tilting her head back up and tilting slightly. "You heard that too? Sounds a bit loud to be pipes, and more on top of than under, you know? I'll be back for that drink barkeep, but I think it'd be good to take a look at that. Don't want your roof caving in on a day like this, you know?"
Merith grins widely and attempts to match the vigour of Aragos' shake. He gets out, "I am, yes!", a louder than his normal speaking voice, before he quiets, and looks up.
After listening for a few seconds, he shouts to the barkeep, "Hey, does this place have roof access?" and then shifting his attention back to the conversation around him, he addresses the golem, "You're calling him father." and then the paladin, "Does that make you some sort of craftsman or inventor type?", as he considers following the larger elgarin's slightly quicker reaction.
Crik was already raising his hands up when the barkeep stares at him, several objections and apologies forming - but then there's that grin, and he freezes. "Yes. It is pain to peel wet paper." The notepads are all given frisk shake before he is given a pat on the head, elicit a surprised 'caw' from his beak. He looks up at Reithak, down at his hands, then at Aragos, then at the offered hand from Merith, then back at Reithak. "No." He answers her question. Or one of them, at the very least.
The two thumps make him look up, but he doesn't comment on it - instead, his hands slide around the countertop, pooling back up all the notepads, and they briskly disappear.
The phrasing of Gramarye's request earns the war golem a very perturbed and strange stare from the barkeep. "No plumbing," she answers shortly. "Privy's around back next to the wall." Clearly, she hadn't heard anything out of the ordinary.
"Right you are," she turns then to Reithak. I've got a nice dark ale that just came in from the miner villages. It's got a kick, but it's rich and hearty like good khazad ale should be. I'll pour when you get back inside, you'll be wanting it if you're planning on going back out in all that. You too," she adds to Merith. "I just bought this place, they're supposed to repair the ladder up, but it's not done yet. Unless you can fly," she gives Reithak a meaningful look, "don't know how you're going to get up there."
Aragos flashes a grin at Gramarye. "Sounds like I'm doing alright then." He even is polite enough to wave the bartender down for another drink for the stranger at his side though the man seems distracted with something that he heard. Not that Aragos heard it. Seems that Gramarye did though. The paladin thinks for a moment. "What's this about plumbing? Like the sewers?"
He shudders at the thought and takes a drink from his cup. "I'll be having none of that if you don't mind. Been there more than enough. Besides... I'm meeting someone and I don't want to smell like decay." Aragos watches as folks drift with interest toward the sound they'd heard and shrugs.
"Father is not an inventor nor an artificer," Gramarye responds to Merith nearly emotionlessly. "He is my second Father. First Father was the one who rebuilt me from scrap that was brought into his shop. He is in the Halls with the goddess that Father serves now."
Gramarye's eyes 'blink' in between words as she focuses on Aragos. "Inquiry: who are you meeting? You do not engage in social meetings. I do not believe, from the description provided, that we are engaging in a sewer assignment. The description is more consistent with a roof repair."
She turns on her heel to face Reithak. "I would like to be of assistance to the repair," she says. "I am Grace Reason Amity Miracle August Revelry Young Earnest--designation GRAMARYE. I am capable of assisting in repair and maintenance tasks."
"I didn't think so, but you gotta rule it out, you know?" Reithak chuckles. "That drink sounds wonderful, I'll take you up on that when I'm back."
The larger egalrin glances to Crik, and back to the bartender, flexing one wing, and sighing. "Wish I could say I'd be up in a flash, but Ceiwen and Cernan haven't felt I'm ready for their blessing. 'fraid my wings aren't good for that, just warmth, hugs, and making sure I don't faceplant if I jump off something I'm not supposed to."
Reithak looks back to Gramarye, and nods. "I think they have the right of it, he, she, any preference, Gram? If we can repair the ladder, that might be our best way up, the sooner, the better. What's wrong with it?"
Merith interjects with, "No, the roof, there's someone on the roof. Or maybe 3 someones. Or one and a half? Anyway, I'm reasonably confident they shouldn't be there, it's got to be unsafe for someone."
He turns to the other two and adds, "Pleased to meet you. That's quite an impressive name, I'm Merith." as he just sort of slots himself into the group of investigators.
Crik pulls out one of his smaller notepads and quickly scribbles the length designation down, eyeing Gramarye. He looks down at the paper, then after a moment, adds few more words ('confused familial relations'), before he slaps the pad shut. "I have hooks and rope." The corvid offers, stepping with the crowd. "Could be the snow falling." His beak opens. "Could be the dark calling."
"... can we take the ale to go?" The corvid then asks from the barkeep, with a tilt of his head.
Another drink for Merith is forthcoming at Aragos' wave, again deftly slid down the polished barton with enough practice to suggest that the barkeep is far from new at this task, however new the establishment. "If you drop the coin before you leave," she responds to Crik. She glances up at the roof, since everyone seems so interested in it. "Better be just their imaginations," she mutters to herself, and once all drinks requested are passed out, she turns, and a shiver seizes her as she heads back into the kitchen.
It's at that moment, though, that a loud keening noise is audible above everyone's head. Everyone hears it this time, and a single, white-hot line, no more than half an inch across, appears on the rafters. This goes on for maybe a couple of seconds before there is a sickening crack, the rafter gives way, and the entire ceiling crashes in in a shower of wet and dry wood, some of it rotted, old shingles, heavy snow, and half a dozen -
What are those things? Crafted of some metal that isn't silver and isn't steel, traced through with cracks in the hull that glow palest blue beneath the surface. Each one is the size of a hunting hound, but with four spindly, bent legs like a spider's that ends in a sharp claw-like appendage. From its body extends one final arm, two of which are glowing white with something that crackles beneath.
GAME: Gramarye rolls Reflex: (19)+3: 22 GAME: Reithak rolls reflex: (13)+5: 18 GAME: Merith rolls Reflex: (11)+1: 12 GAME: Aragos rolls Reflex: (6)+5: 11 GAME: Landslide rolls 1d6: (4): 4 GAME: Landslide rolls 1d6: (5): 5
The sudden crashing of the roof around them makes Reithak squawk in alarm, and prove another use for flightless wings, as ducking into cover and shielding herself with the large appendages saves them from the worst of the debris. Peeking out of a wing, they take stock of the situation. "Everyone alright? If anyone's badly injured, let me know!" She calls out, before seeing several new bodies.
"Lady of inspiration, light a fire in our hearts, and lift us to the heights you know we can reach!" they pray, reaching for something underneath their tunic, and filling her allies with divine strength. "Make sure the barkeep's safe, too!" <Auran>
GAME: Crik rolls ranged-4: (4)+7+-4: 7
Crik's cloaks shuffle as he bows his head. "Of course. I wouldn't to a bartender - it is bad luck." Though he leaves out what he wouldn't. Handing out the coin and reaching out for his ale - the building starts to come down. He lets out a loud and shrill caw as the roof is torn apart!
Like any reasonable person in that situation with a warm ale in their hands, the corvid springs to action! Stepping around, his many cloaks fluttering, he throws - and the glass of ale goes wide and over the bar, before the egalrin is hiding behind one of the spindly creatures next to Gramarye.
GAME: Landslide rolls 1d5: (5): 5 GAME: Landslide rolls 1d5: (4): 4 GAME: Landslide rolls 1d5: (5): 5 GAME: Landslide rolls 1d5: (2): 2 GAME: Landslide rolls 1d5: (2): 2 GAME: Landslide rolls 1d6: (4): 4 GAME: Landslide rolls 3: (17)+3: 20 GAME: Landslide rolls 3: (18)+3: 21 GAME: Landslide rolls 3: (10)+3: 13 GAME: Landslide rolls 3: (11)+3: 14 GAME: Landslide rolls 3: (5)+3: 8 GAME: Landslide rolls 1d3-1: (1)+-1: 0 GAME: Landslide rolls 1d3-1: (1)+-1: 0 GAME: Landslide rolls 1d3-1: (1)+-1: 0 GAME: Landslide rolls 2: (5)+2: 7
These - whatever they are, immediately scramble to their appendages and scatter, one nimbly dodging the flying mug of ale. Two converge on Aragos, a claw ripping a hole in his cloak, another goes after his new drinking buddy Merith. Those claws are uncomfortably sharp, just barely scraping down the skin, in a move that'll likely hurt if it connects properly. Another one goes for Gramarye, another for Reithak, and the last one sprays a single ray of some sort of sizzling mix of fire and electricity that sears its way past the egalrin's wing and slams into a chair, leaving bits of chair to crumble into a smoldering heap.
GAME: Landslide rolls 3: (20)+3: 23 GAME: Landslide rolls 3: (1)+3: 4 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Landslide rolls 1d3-1: (1)+-1: 0 GAME: Gramarye casts Bull's Strength. Caster Level: 4 DC: 17
Something odd happens with Gramarye when she's assaulted. Her obsidian eyes turn red. When she speaks again, it's an octave lower. "Initiating combat module. Objective: Neutralize threat. Assist Father."
She quickly turns to join Aragos, taking another attack from the strange assailant that'd been in her face, but she doesn't seem to much care. She joins Aragos behind him. "Initiating spellcasting. Augmenting Father with strength."
Arcane magic leaves Gramarye's hand and flows into Aragos with the touch of power.
GAME: Merith rolls weapon1+1-1: (4)+4+1+-1: 8 GAME: Merith rolls weapon1+1-1: (7)+4+1+-1: 11
As the falling ceiling draws cuts along Merith's arms, he heaves his greatsword off of his back. Then as the as the pointy metal creature attempts ineffectively to stab at him, he calms down a little and attempts to cut it in half with his sword, swinging across it's midsection, and, due to the strange angle, completely bouncing off of the unusual creatures frame.
GAME: Aragos rolls 1d20+6+1+2: (2)+6+1+2: 11 GAME: Aragos rolls 1d20+6+1+2: (2)+6+1+2: 11
Aragos stumbles as a piece of the falling ceiling hits him as it comes down. His shoulder feels a little numb, but pain is beyond him when it's this passing. However irritation is not. Seeing his drink - and the one from the second order spilled in the fall of one of the rafters his eyes narrow at the culprits. His blue-black blade slides into his hands and angrily he swings at the creatures before him. His arm however... has other ideas and the swing hardly lifts from the floor. "YOU!" He growls. "YOU SPILLED MY DRINK!"
GAME: Reithak rolls 1d20+3+4+1+1-2: (15)+3+4+1+1+-2: 22 GAME: Reithak rolls 1d20+3+4+1+1-2: (2)+3+4+1+1+-2: 9 GAME: Reithak rolls 1d6+3: (3)+3: 6
Reithak has to hop a bit out of the way of the blows, and with the seemingly mechanical creature back up in her face, they thrust deep in with their dagger, finding purchase in and on the way out. "We will not allow you to harm any here, be judged, stand down if you understand and will do so!" The egalrin barks, perhaps a bit too late. She manages to spare a glance at the drunkard in one corner, deciding it was better not to rouse them, as the foes didn't seem to be targetting them for the time being.
GAME: Crik rolls weapon1+1+2: (18)+8+1+2: 29 GAME: Crik rolls damage1+2d6: aliased to 1d4+1+2d6: (3)+1+(9): 13 GAME: Landslide rolls 0: (4)+0: 4 GAME: Crik rolls reflex: (7)+8: 15 GAME: Reithak rolls reflex: (12)+5: 17 GAME: Landslide rolls 2d4: (2): 2
While Gramarye distracts one of the uninvited things who ruined a completely fine roof and spilled so many innocent drinks, Crik flops over a white cloak over himself and sidles past.
Then, the white appears - along with a fat and short knife. It is raised and for an instant, it gleams in the light above the important thingamobs and widgitywidgets, before it is brought down right where it hurts.
A moment later, the creature explodes. The corvid hops back with a loud shrill cry, hands over his eyes. "They are walking bombs!"
GAME: Landslide rolls 3: (13)+3: 16 GAME: Landslide rolls 3: (12)+3: 15 GAME: Landslide rolls 3: (9)+3: 12 GAME: Landslide rolls 2: (13)+2: 15 GAME: Landslide rolls 1d6: (5): 5 GAME: Landslide rolls 2: (14)+2: 16 GAME: Landslide rolls 1d6: (5): 5
The voice that responds to Reithak is flat, mechanical, unyielding, speaking a single word that is unintelligible, moments before Crik's strike causes it to explode. The others continue as they have been, and while those claws seen sharp, they don't seem especially effective with them. Two of them, though, fire up thar strange, blue-traced arm protruding from their backs again, spraying Crik and Gramarye with a line of white-hot, crackling - not a liquid and not a solid something. It's hot, though. Very hot.
GAME: Gramarye rolls Craft/Artifice: (3)+14: 17 GAME: Gramarye rolls Craft/Artifice: (8)+14: 22 GAME: Gramarye casts Hydraulic Push. Caster Level: 4 DC: 16 GAME: Gramarye rolls 1d20+4+5: (17)+4+5: 26
"Enemy partially identified." Gramarye's voice is still that lower octave, the red eyes locked onto the enemies in combat with Aragos. "Constructs, not mindless, that employ plasma that is half electricity and half fire. They cannot fire plasma constantly and must recharge."
She lifts a hand and intones again, "Assisting Father. Initiating spellcasting--"
Water blasts from her hand and slams one of the constructs in front of Aragos into the far wall. The water that's left in its wake is exposed to the elements, quickly beginning to freeze over.
GAME: Merith RAGES!, gaining +2 to melee attack/damage/Will saves and 4 temporary HP GAME: Merith rolls weapon1+1-1: (3)+6+1+-1: 9
Merith is annoyed, not so much by the creatures intrusion or violence, as by the fact that there are several new cool people around and his contribution to the fight so far has been unimpressive. He reaches within himself for more power, and his expression changes to a snarl and he quickly brings his greatsword down, just a couple of inches to the left of the creature he's fighting. This doesn't help his mood.
GAME: Aragos rolls 2d6+7+2: (7)+7+2: 16 GAME: Landslide rolls 0: (19)+0: 19
Aragos doesn't much in this moment care what these things are, though their description from Gramarye is confusing to say the least. Where had they come from? Why are they here? Whatever their reason, source, or purpose, their intent is clear enough and Aragos brings his weapon to bear and swings far more accurately the second time. The thing crumples and the light inside it dies to nothing. "I suggest bashing. That seems to work well."
GAME: Reithak rolls 1d20+3+4+1+1: (18)+3+4+1+1: 27 GAME: Reithak rolls 1d20+3+4+1+1: (19)+3+4+1+1: 28 GAME: Reithak rolls 2d6+6: (7)+6: 13
Reithak squawks as she's covered in burning liquid, and the large egalrin shoves off her jacket into some of the snow. "Noted, Gram!" She shouts to the golem, looking around and spying one off by itself for the time being. The inquisitor charges in, landing one solid thrust directly through the body of the creature, almost piercing through to the other side. "Doing something different over here! Should we try to get one still functional?" She calls over to the others.
GAME: Crik rolls weapon1+1+2: (5)+8+1+2: 16 GAME: Crik rolls damage1+2d6: aliased to 1d4+1+2d6: (3)+1+(7): 11
Crik lets out another screech as he is swiped at by those rays, burning the corvid good. He discards a cloak and then pulls out another grey one, eyeing the chaos. A moment later, he hops and half runs over Merith. As the other man was slamming down that greatsword, the egalrin rogue slides his knife in. "Duck!" He calls out as he attempts to repeat the destruction from before. Which doesn't happen, so he straightens and tilts his head, curiously. "... not?"
GAME: Landslide rolls 1d2: (2): 2 GAME: Landslide rolls 3: (19)+3: 22 GAME: Landslide rolls 1d3-1: (1)+-1: 0 GAME: Landslide rolls 2: (7)+2: 9 GAME: Landslide rolls 3: (20)+3: 23 GAME: Landslide rolls 3: (17)+3: 20 GAME: Landslide rolls 2d3-2: (3)+-2: 1 GAME: Landslide rolls 3: (6)+3: 9
Of the ones remaining, two are badly damaged, and these two aim claws at their tormentors. One finds purchase, scraping a bloody line down Merith's leg that he likely barely feels, but the second is twitching badly, and entirely misses Reithak. Another plasma torch screams past Gramarye's hand and slams into a snowy, collapsed rafter, leaving smoking holes in the snow piled atop the cracked rafter. The last scurries up to Aragos - they're fast - and slams a couple of claws into him, drawing something red that might be blood and might be alcohol.
All the while, snow begins to swirl into the room from the hole in the roof, and the snug warmth is quickly escaping.
GAME: Gramarye casts Shocking Grasp. Caster Level: 4 DC: 16 GAME: Gramarye rolls melee+3+1: (17)+4+3+1: 25 GAME: Gramarye rolls 4d6: (19): 19 GAME: Landslide rolls 0: (13)+0: 13
"Father!" Gramarye exclaims, in a break from her usual lack of emotion when she sees the construct come forward to attack Aragos. When it scores blood--
Gramarye steps forward. "Delivering arcane spark," she says, before driving a hand full of sparking magic into the construct. It convulses. Fidgets. Writhes.
And then it goes dark. No more.
"I protect you, Father," Gramarye intones.
GAME: Merith rolls melee+1-1+2: (16)+6+1+-1+2: 24 GAME: Merith rolls damage1+2: aliased to 2d6+5+2: (6)+5+2: 13
Merith watches the smaller eglarin approach, succeeding where he had failed so far. After a quick scowl in their direction, he turns around and takes off towards the only remaining undamaged creature. Raising his sword above his head and charging through the falling snow, he runs through the crumbled remains of the tavern's roof and cleaves down his greatsword once more, finally connecting with a satisfying crunch.
GAME: Aragos rolls 1d20+6+1+2: (8)+6+1+2: 17 GAME: Aragos rolls 2d6+7+2: (6)+7+2: 15 GAME: Landslide rolls 0: (8)+0: 8 GAME: Crik rolls reflex: (18)+8: 26 GAME: Landslide rolls 2d4: (8): 8
The paladin touches the gap in his armor through which he was struck, his fingers trembling. His sword makes a harsh sound against the floor as he rushes forward almost blindly attacking the next. Aragos isn't sure really that he actually manages to hit what he intends to hit until he feels the blade cutting through that unfamiliar body.
His eyes are dazed and his expression twisted into rage mixed with despair. "YOU HAVEN'T KILLED ME!" Aragos rages against the machine as its broken body combusts, the resulting explosion blasting him with force and flame that he still can't feel. "I can't feel it."
His sword lifts again, his numbed gaze spilling out in search of another foe, but the world is lines of uncertainty. Aragos doesn't know where he is. Maybe Vardama's taken him already.
GAME: Reithak rolls cmb: (5)+6: 11 GAME: Landslide rolls 3: (3)+3: 6
"Hey, nice one, there! That's the ticket, I think your electricity didn't make it explode!" Reithak calls over in a brief moment before she darts to one side, grabbing the back arm of the creature and one of it's legs, struggling a bit to hold it in place. "Almost gotcha!" The inquisitor grunts, doing her best to hang on long enough. "Any of you got a rope?"
GAME: Crik rolls weapon2+1: (20)+7+1: 28 (THREAT) GAME: Crik rolls weapon2+1: (10)+7+1: 18
Another one explodes in Crik's face, leaving the corvid even worse off. Black feathers were poofed and his beak was open in confusion. "Why aren't the others exploding?" He momentarily fumbles with his sleeves - before he pauses for a second. Then he drops his hand crossbow and aims it one of the loose constructs; the bolt flies true and shuts down the creature.
"... why aren't the others exploding?" Crik continues to wonder by himself. Reithak's call makes him twist his head and he answers, "I have rope! Are you arresting it!"
GAME: Landslide rolls 2: (9)+2: 11
The remaining who-knows-what-it-is attempts to fire a searing ray at Reithak, to no avail. All of the others lie either dark or in smoldering ruin.
GAME: Gramarye casts Magic Missile. Caster Level: 4 DC: 16 GAME: Gramarye rolls 2d4+2: (5)+2: 7 GAME: Landslide rolls 0: (16)+0: 16 GAME: Crik rolls reflex: (4)+8: 12 GAME: Landslide rolls 2d4: (5): 5
"Objective: neutralize threat. I will neutralize." Gramarye gathers magic in her hands and cultivates it for a moment, before it explodes into two darts that slam into the last remaining construct in Reithak's grasp.
Which explodes.
"Exiting combat module," Gramarye intones, before the crimson falls from her eyes and they return to obsidian once again. Her voice returns to its normal register. "My apologies. I had not intended collateral damage. The risk assessment was too great to consider keeping it alive. Constructs are typically programmed with a mission in mind and will not accept alternatives to the objective."
She looks to Reithak. "I had also not answered your earlier question. I am female. I am Father's daughter." In other words, 'she'.
The silence in the wake of the last plasma explosion is deafening, leaving the group standing in falling snow, amid destroyed furniture, wood splinters, snow and ice, spilled alcohol, fragments of metal, and mugs littering the floor. Snow mingles with burn mingles with booze mingles with ozone in the nostrils.
It takes a minute, but from out of the back, the landlady peeks out. "What - MY TAVERN!" she fairly screeches. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!"
Merith starts advancing menacingly towards the remaining creature, sword at his side before he starts mouthing something and his voice quietly rises saying, "Eight, Seven, Six. Phew, sorry about that, things..." and then it explodes. "...tend to get a little heated when I fight things", he continues, then turns to Gramarye. "I thought we were trying to restrain it?" he adds, some annoyance coming through in his voice, as he starts to work on catching his breath after the exertion of the last few moments. He takes a seat on a large segment of the building's destroyed rafters.
None of the creatures remain. Not one. Aragos slams his sword into the body of one of the downed bodies and the small act of violence appeases him somewhat. He wants to keep fighting. The haze of alcohol is all but faded, and the thrill of the fight is so quick to leave him.
Gentle hands, a warm smile.
Blood spilled on hardwood floors.
The sound of a stranger's voice draws him from his thoughts, and he sees someone standing just a little too close to Gramarye. Questioning her. The words sound louder to him than they actually are. His blade grates against the ice and wood as he steps toward the war golem, his purple eyes flat and haunted. "Don't talk to her like that." The words are a threat of violence that Aragos clearly wants to spill out. "She told you why so leave her be."
Crik gets final set of splinters all over his face - leaving the corvid quite heavily burnt, scuffed and quite shocked looking. He takes yet another of his ruined cloaks and drops it onto the floor, leaving him with now one deep red one. There still seemed to be quite a lot going on, but he had to take a moment to clear the ringing from his ears.
Slowly, the corvid hops along and forward, cautiously moving towards Aragos. His head tilts towards Merith. "We still might have to restrain something." His head runs around the room, before it narrows on the screaming landlady. His head turns back towards Merith. "It might be very expensive and painful to stay here."
Gramarye puts a hand on Aragos, keeping the man from launching himself into another fight. "It is well," Gramarye informs Aragos, not looking away from Merith nor the landlady. "When I begin combat, I default to an objective based on my assessment of the situation. Unless Father commands otherwise, I do not change my combat objective. As I explained, lesser constructs are trained on an objective that they do not typically have the intelligence or ability to stray from."
Her head pivots in the direction of one of the constructs that hadn't exploded. Three in total did not explode. "We should bring one or more specimens to the Artificers' Guild. They may be able to analyze them and ascertain why they attacked this building."
It's then that she has a bright idea, looking at the landlady. "Inquiry: what purpose or business did this building have before you moved in?"
"Electricity, electricity!" Reithak shouts, only too late, as there is literally nothing that can be done to stop the missiles from hitting the creature, leaving the egalrin covered in burning liquid again. The inquisitor tosses off the vest they were wearing, and quickly rolls over on some of the snow nearby. "I'm alright, I'm alright! Are you all okay?" They call out, a bit muffled by the snow.
She sits up, and the egalrin sighs. "Noted, and it's alright. That guy there, he's not injured is he? I've got healing if they got hit by anything. Might've slept through it all, lucky guy.
"Really sorry, we didn't have anything to do with the damage here. These things fell down here, and we had to fight them off. Small comfort to you, but I'll do what I can to help clean up before any repairs."
The woman slowly, one step at a time, much like a cat venturing out after a thunderstorm, comes out as far as behind the bar, and stares at the extent of wreckage. "Well, you did say you heard something on the roof-" she says very, very slowly, staring. "What in - did those get out of Clunk's or something?" Suddenly, her eyes narrow. "Those damned gnomes. I'll wager this is their doing. The Artificer's Guild'll pay for the damage, right enough. You didn't -" She stares at the wet floor, now turned to slushy ice as the fire in the hearth is losing its battle with the elements. "Now I know they didn't do that. You lot have some cleaning to do. I'll grant you you probably didn't make those things -" Gramarye gets a skeptical look - "and you didn't make the roof fall in, but the ice has got to go."
"Before I moved in?" she snaps out to Gramarye. "Probably another tavern. Why?"
Merith watches Aragos' approach with a hint of fear, then turns to Crik as he's addressed, and then to Gramarye in much the same way. Then he just sighs, lies down on his back and says, "Give me a minute." before closing his eyes, paying no mind to the barkeep yet.
Aragos falls still at the touch of Gramarye's hand. The stranger lays himself down and Aragos snorts eyes flashing toward the barkeep. "Clean it yourself. You should be thanking us for your life not demanding we clean up your mess for you too." He waves a negligent hand and pulls a few coin from his belt to lay on what once was the counter. "For your trouble, I'll be sending my own bill along through the guild."
He grabs Gramarye by the arm and starts pulling her toward the door, not paying any mind to anyone else or what they might have to stay on the matter. "Come on Gramarye. We're going home."
"I see," Gramarye intones. There's a blink in her obsidian eyes. Blink. Blink. Blink.
"The likelihood of an artificer engineering these constructs and sending them after a tavern in a grudge is highly unlikely. I would be happy to--"
Gramarye's head pivots to Aragos when Aragos takes her by the hand and starts pulling her away. "--to send more patronage your way. I must accompany Father." She is, after all, a good daughter who doesn't fight with her father.
Reithak takes some time to take their slightly smoldering vest out of the snow, and shake it out several times. "Good news is, that's just dye, not blood. Bad news is I don't think that's salvageable." The egalrin sighs. "We did everything we could to minimize damage, didn't use any destructive magic other than water at one point I believe. I'll do what I can, you got a broom in the back I can use?"
Blink, blink. The egalrin glances at Aragos, and away. "You okay Crik? I'm gonna stay here and help, but I don't blame you for taking off. And Gramarye, dear, if you want to hang out after now, you're welcome to join me, doing something." They state, leaving an open offer in the air, just in case.
Crik holds up a hand over his eyes as Reithak removes the vest - and then offers her one of his cloaks. "Yes, clean. We will start with the remnants, take them to the Guild." He rapidly nods his head up and down. He was not planning to come back.
The egalrin watches Aragos and Gramarye stomp off with a tilt of his head, and he flips open his small notepad again. They just seemed to appear out of nowhere, at times. Finally, he moves to add to his earlier statement, 'difficult and confused familial relations'.
Merith opens his eyes and is sad to see Aragos and Gramarye have gone. He'll have to catch up with them some other time.
Addressing the barmaid, he adds, "Yeah, most of the damage after the fight started was from them exploding unpredictably. That's pretty hard to account for." then to the other two, "Okay, how can I help?" as he joins the cleaning efforts.
In the end, the landlady grumps and swears, but provides those who offer to help with the requested broom. It takes some time in a room that is getting increasingly cold and snowy, and in the end, there's no keeping up with the snow. Ultimately, the parts of the remaining ones are retrieved, the fires are put out, the drunkard dragged out, and the ruins either swept up and set aside or left on the floor if too heavy to move. The tavern quite simply isn't habitable at the moment, and she grumbles about having a word with the artificers of the city and how they'll be footing the bill for this - ALL of it. Notably, though, she isn't really grumbling at the people who stayed, and after a while even asks what happened.
The snow is left to accumulate, in the end, amid the wreckage, when they finally kill the fires and lock the door behind them, a CLOSED sign getting tacked to the door with a splinter.