Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe] — Legacy Forums

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#161

Don't worry, Muro. I never forget such perfection as that name. :twisted:

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#162

Somnak had stood wordlessly with the group, letting his fierce expression and Qullan trophies do the talking for him; besides, Melior could talk for all of them. The half-orc had never met a person who spoke like the Half-Elf: He talked so much, yet said so little. He gave little more than a second glance to the bare-chested elf woman; elves were all bone and no frame, and this one held little interest to him.

More than once, however, Somnak's eyes returned to the cyclopean figure standing some distance back. That unblinking eye unnerved the Half-Orc somewhat, though he revealed no physical sign of that. Indeed, it reminded him in a small way of the floating orb which assaulted the shipwreck survivors when they first landed!

Before he entered the gates of the city, Somnak found he DID have one question. He lacked the tact and grace of Melior's wordsmithing, so he went straight to the point, addressing Dzarij:

"What is... that?!" He pointed directly at the Single-eyed humanoid with his free hand and stared unashamedly at it.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#163

"That--err, i mean He---" Dzarij was equally taken aback by the half-orc as he had been by the elf, but for very different reasons. This hirsute one made Dzarij nervous, not to mention the Qullan-skin drum he was sporting.

"---is the Seneschal of the Watching Egg. He is our guide and high counselor. He alone speaks with Great Eye and we hear our god's words through him. He is of an ancient race, one of the last of his kind. Though he may appear fearsome, he is in fact very wise. In his travels he found the Watching Egg and saw him for what he was, a god, and saw in him his salvation. The same salvation as we see with our tiny two human eyes---"

Dzarij almost went off on a polemic, when he caught the glare of the Seneschal from afar, and paused in his speech. "But come, friend" he began instead, "Come let us fete you for your vanquishing of the Qullan. We extend all hospitality to your and your companions! And before you leave, may the Watching Egg grace you with his divine stare! "

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#164

Demon-Moon

Four hours later…

As the luscious moon swept over the Tepui that night, the four companions realized that this was the highest they had ever been.

(That is to say, this was the highest elevation they had ever spent a night upon.)

The villagers, pious though they were to their Watching Egg god, knew how to throw a party. By sundown, antelopes had begun spinning on spits over flames and wild-pigs had been buried in charcoal fire-pits. Wild atrioc-root liquor, a clear but potent substance, was imbibed liberally and offered freely to the companions.

The men and women all took turns dancing beneath the stars in wild frenzies and in various states of undress. Musicians played instruments the companions had never seen or heard before. And then there were the drums Somnak noted, his head nodding to the beat despite himself. Six energetic young men pounded the skins of their drums with bamboo rods, each drum the size of a beer barrel.

Only the one-eyed Seneschal seemed grim and unhappy. He stalked the outer edges of the celebratory fires, watching the strangers and frowning. He also seemed to be looking into the mirror at the end of his staff a lot. Surely, this grotesque being could not have been vain. Finally, ignoring the festivities entirely, the Cyclops stalked off, his white robes flurrying in the night breeze, behind him.

Melior and Meleana conversed deep into the night. Who could blame them, elves were rare enough. The wizard was nearly besotted with his jungle counterpart. Who could know of what they spoke? What whispers pass between those who live half-a-thousand years?

And who cares anyway, Thorgir thought, belching loudly and looking away from Meleana's gauze tent, where she was entertaining Melior and apparently a squadron of suitors. Her python was hypnotically swaying to the drum beat, casting a primordial shadow on the tent wall.

Would Qullan have villages? Thorgir pondered, slightly inebriated, as he quaffed the local spirit happily. Drunkenness heals all wounds, his grandmother had always said. Or were they nomadic? His thoughts were interrupted by two nubile young women who had sidled up on each side of him by the fire and grinned dumbly, desiring to share his company. They spoke not a word of common. One extended a large sea-shell to him, which was filled with a milky substance. The other indicated with her hands, that by drinking it, his wounds would heal quicker.

(ooc: home-brew healing “potion.” Thorgir recovers 15 HPs, +6 for 3 nights of rest)

Lumori sat and stared at the licking flames, his eyes reflecting the dancing fire. He was lost in his thoughts, and paid little attention to the festivities around him. Finally, becoming restless, he got up and wandered the village aimlessly, eventually nearing the palisade on the opposite side from where the companions had earlier entered. He meandered towards the gate and climbed the ramparts to get a view of the moonlit night. Far, far ahead, he could make out what looked like a purplish, throbbing, light, somewhere in the deep jungle.

“Intruder!” someone shouted then and suddenly drunken spear-men began mobilizing.
“What is it?” Lumori asked a youth.
“An obsidian-skinned, white-haired demon!!” came his answer.
The guard looked mystified, even as he said it.

At that moment, Brin had finally reached the palisade. It was near midnight now, but the obese moon and the light coming from inside the village walls, illuminated the darkness.

Men ducked down from the ramparts as they looked upon her. Spears appeared above the wooden walls.

She stood there, looking up, and listening to the pounding of the drums and celebration.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#165

Somnak watched the drummers pounding along with the other musicians; It was a structured tune, premeditated and practiced and entirely unlike the soulful, spirit-possessed drumming which welled from the Half-Orcs own being. Nevertheless, it was invigorating, and the drummers were energetic at their task.
Yet Somnak could not sit contentedly, for something was on the edge of his thoughts, and walking on the outskirts of the festivities: The sight of the grim Seneschal, peering into his mirrored staff and watching the party suspiciously did not please Somnak.
When the Cyclops stalked off, Somnak nudged Thorgir and stood, "I must go look into something. Keep an eye out." With that, he gently pushed his way through the crowd of revelers and stalked off into the darkness, in the same direction as the massive humanoid.
Somnak kept to the shadows.

Sneaking! Trying to follow the Cyclops!

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#166

Be she human, or demon-kin? A fair observer might note that it was a fair question, as Brin melted forth from the deep shadow of the jungle into the light of the moon, as if she were a tiny fragment of the night given life. Her stark white hair gleamed silver in the moonlight, as if the milky ribbon of stars that crossed the night sky had deigned to caress her jet-black face, fine of feature, and well more than passing lovely. For a moment, she simply stood there, and let herself be looked upon, her hands clasped before her, before she allowed them to spread apart, holding them flat and open, away from her shoulders, as she smiled to the guards above that leveled spears in her direction.

"You need not, friends. I come in peace, a mere pilgrim to these shores. I came to offer a welcome to this world to the Watching Egg, late though I may be."

Her smile was serene and quiet, her face readily trusted. It was not her preferred aspect of her lord, but this little she was capable of, of making herself trustworthy, of encouraging others to want her company. She could not force it, as other disciples of those aspects might be able to. But she could make it so very easy...

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#167

Somnak

Somnak paused between two tents, smoke and shadow temporarily blocking the white-robed figure he was casually stalking.

Suddenly a voice that sounded as if it was gargling glass said:

“You seek me out, my son?” It was the hunchbacked cyclops standing only feet behind Somnak, who whirled around instinctively.

“You are a child of the Oorr’kha,” he burbled in jagged baritone, “And also, a child of humans. You are neither. You are a cur. You search for meaning, my son. You seek to belong, child, do you not? You wish to be loved.”

The Seneschal studied Somnak with his baleful eye, as if he was preparing to dissect the half-orc and was gauging the best entry points for his sharpened instruments.

"Come, my son. Look upon your self in the soul-mirror," the Seneschal raised his staff. Moonlight caught the surface and gleamed. "Do not be afraid, child."

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#168

Somnak snarled in shock at the Cyclopses voice resonating behind him and he flung around and took a step back. The White-robed figure stepped forth though, maintaining the closeness between them. The accuracy of the beast's words mystified the Half-Orc, and perhaps foolishly, he did not draw any weapon. "I seek..." Somnak trailed off - the Seneschal's words rang true in his ears, though he would vehemently deny such longings to the grave.

Within his temple his blood throbbed like the beat of a drum, *Pa-thum, Pa-thum* and a trail of sweat ran down his cheek and beaded amongst the stubble on his chin. With the drumming still resounding back in the village, the smoke and darkness swirling and dancing through the night in equal amounts, the cryptic, insightful words of this 'Seneschal of the Watching Egg' and the generously partaken of atrioc-root liquor bubbling in his mind, Somnak felt tranquilized, as though he were in a dream-state. He could almost see the spirits of the island partnering with the smoke and shadow, dancing and twirling in the dark.

In his head, the throbbing increased, *PA-THUM, PA-THUM*. The spirits of his ancestors screamed and hammered at the walls of his skull and the Demon's Dance swelled, amplified by the fiery touch of the potent alcohol.

Somnak stared at the great, unblinking eye of the Cyclops, "How do you know me...?" In his head he was suddenly taken aback to the Night of Great Smoke, so many years ago. The trees were aflame and the tribe was dancing to victory and paying homage to their Fathers' Fathers. A sickly old Orc lay inside the walls of an opened tent, next to a brazier which was aglow with coals of red and yellow. Magic herbs smoked atop the coals, their trance-inducing fumes permeated the shaman's abode. This was where Somnak sat, being drawn to the tent by forces unknown. The Orc grabbed Somnak's wrist and held it tight, growling words to him; many unintelligable.

The throbbing in his head was near unbearable now, pounding on his skull like drummers with bamboo rods *PA-THUM, PA-THUM*. in rhythm to this beating the words of that old, trance-induced Orc Shaman repeated over and over in his head.

"The Isle will know, The Isle will see..."
*PA-THUM, PA-THUM"
"The Isle will know, The Isle will see..."
*PA-THUM, PA-THUM"
"The Isle will know, The Isle will see..."
*PA-THUM, PA-THUM"

"Arrgh!" Groaning in spite of himself, Somnak's eyes faltered.
He peered into the mirror.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#169

Lumori

The light was dim enough it was hard to make out the newcomer's features from atop the wall. Once the newcomer spoke, however, Lumori made his way to the palisade where the ebony-skinned "intruder" was being greeted at spear-point.

"That's not a demon, you drunken fools, it's just a woman. A demon would be breathing lightning and shooting fire from its ass. Let the pilgrim in to join the festivities."

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#170

Meleana D'Trel reclined in her pavilion with her most recent acquisition Melior beside her. She had been both impressed and delighted at how the tables had turned back in her hut. The ancient game was on, and this time she might even be playing for keeps. As the calls for the intruder sounded, she casually remarked.

< "A most eventful day it seems. Another friend of yours? Tell me, what brought such a handsome man here. What is it you came seeking, Melior Tarquinius Superbus Scipionus... Sabinus?" >
She let her index finger glide along the length of his arm as she spoke, her violet eyes glittering in the bonfire light. She couldn't care less about any lone intruder, or that the pesky seneschal was hovering around them like a dog at a dinnertable, tonight was her night.

During their little discourse in her hut and throughout the evening, Meleana filled Melior in about the mining of shiny stones her people do for the Watching Egg and had promptly warned him about the seneschal, she also filled him in on the credo every villager lived by;
1. Do not leave the village
2. Work hard for your god (mining shiny stones)
3. Obey your god, via the Seneschal in all matters
4. Salvation in paradise shall soon be yours.
And that the Watching Egg rarely leaves its pyramid, instead preferring to communicate through the mirror staff the seneschal carries.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#171

His wounds greatly aided by the drink, Thorgir smiled and did his best to emulate another great barbarian of legend, perhaps forging some of his own...

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#172

Somnak glanced into the mirror…

He glimpsed himself as expected but then the image blurred and he saw himself in mid-battle amidst smoke and fire...
The forces of the Orcs had been temporarily beaten back, but continued the fight bravely, perhaps foolishly even, against the vast and vile elvish forces. Somnak was riding upon a great war-chariot, pulled by the largest of snarling war-bears. He was pounding his drums in near-hysteria, eyes rolled up in his head, blood and saliva flying from his bared fangs. The spirits of a thousand orcish chieftains of past ages were within him now...

PA-THUM-PA-THUM
PA-THUM-PA-THUM

And the tide of battle suddenly turned. Shouts and cries rang out from the orcs! Rage and valour coursed through their veins anew! The drumming of Somnak was their drug, their banner, and their honor all in one! Likewise the elven legions suddenly waned, their archers missing their marks, their lancers faltering and their mounts sputtering beneath the raging orcish onslaught of spear and axe.

His drumming sounded even in the halls of the Orcish gods! Glory!! Victory!! He was the tribe, and the tribe was his! THIS DAY WAS HIS!!!

PA-THUM-PA-THUM
PA-THUM-PA-THUM

Somnak felt a sharp pain in his head just then, and involuntarily squeezed his eyes shut. The pin-prick jolt was gone now. He opened his eyes again, and glanced once more into the mirror…

Iniquity itself stared back at him through the mirror surface. A horror from another dimension, a floating hideous ball of rubbish and refuse, with a giant scarlet eyeball centered on its turgid, grotesque body. Countless centipede-like stalks erupted from its spherical form, each one capped by a gloopy, puss-filled eye. A cavernous maw opened then, almost as wide as the creature body’s, filled with a thousand needle teeth and full of bile.

“Kazz’reh-Ghrozzod-Grussh!” The Great Eye roared in some unfathomable, sonorous tongue, obviously enraged.

Somnak tore his glance away from the mirror in horror. When he looked back a moment later, it was once again his reflection in the plain mirror.

Suddenly a cry of “Intruder!” rang out and the Seneschal’s eye looked away from Somnak and towards the gate.

“Wait here, my son!” It commanded, annoyed at the interruption, then stalked off, toward the disturbance by the palisade. By the time the Seneschal reached the gate, it had been opened and there stood a bizarre human woman, her skin and hair of unnatural hues.

Enough, thought the Seneschal. No more strangers. They were too close now for any disturbances or inconveniences.

He spoke, since Dzarij and many of the other revelers were still back at the fires…

“What do you wish here?” The Seneschal garbled. “Begone!”

“She is a pilgrim, Seneschal, seeking to heap homage upon the Watching Egg.” Cried out one of the guardsmen, repeating what he had just heard.

“Oh?” The Cyclops grunted something beneath his breath, and fixed his eye upon Brin.

“No.” he intoned. “This is a deceiver. An enemy! She comes to harm the Watching Egg! She comes to harm your god! Kill her!” the deformed Seneschal roared now, all pretenses at civility gone.

The confused spear-men hesitated. Somewhere in the night, the feast raged on.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#173

Somnak shook his head painfully, his mind slowly clearing as the Cyclops left: he could see clearly now - no creature could offer him belonging and acceptance without it being a farce - he knew what he was. In fact, the creature said it himself: Somnak was a cur. Somnak was a vile mockery of two races, considered too weak by one, and too monstrous by the other. He would never belong.
A rage boiled within the Half Orc at the empty promises of the Seneschal and his demonic master! He stalked behind the Cyclops, following his steps to the wall. While the beast was distracted giving an execution order to a newcomer that Somnak had not yet seen, the half-Orc raised his Qullan bone club high. "Do not sell me your falseties, monster! To the pit with you and your master!" With a mighty swing, he aimed the weapon's head directly at the Mirror in the Seneschal's staff.

Natural 20!

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#174

The force of Somnak's blow not only shattered the mirror into a thousand shards, but knocked the staff from the Seneschal's grasp.

"FOOL! Half-breed fool!! What have you done?!" the monster, for surely this was a monster masquerading as a priest and prophet, bellowed.

(ooc: Initiative for Somnak, Lumori and Brin. Cyclops rolls 6.)

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#175

Turning, he sped through the crowd, checking to see if Meleana was coming. (If she does, I help her through the crowd. If not, then I just go through the crowd) He started off through the crowd, trying to fight his way through the humans who, knowing that something good was about to happen, had started circling up to watch.

Assuming combat's starting, also assuming I cannot affect the combat/whatever happens next until the idiot bard, the murderous thief, and the angry priest try to kill things. When I do get in, I roll a: (22:25:23) Minion: caesar193 rolls 1d10 and gets 10. for initiative.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#176

"I'll die a half-breed fool if it means i am free, monster!" Somnak rounded on the horrid Cyclops, swinging his club once again, this time at the beast itself!

attack roll: 11 hit!
damage: 7!

the club swung true! It whacked the Cyclops in the chest with a resounding 'thummm'!

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#177

As the club struck true upon the cyclops, that dark intruder, accused of demonhood, drew herself up to her full height, her blood red eyes flashing in the firelight, boring into those of the one who appeared to command the spearsmen. If she would be accused of the supernatural, then she may as well use it. The strike against the Senesechal was certainly to her advantage, the shattering of his mirror-staff and the club strike upon him. She would take their confusion, hone it into anger at her own foe. Using every trick she had learned of the voice, she did her best to inflame the Spearsmen's ire, though not against herself, this time. "Mortals! See the priest of a false god stumble, for the unjustness of his lash! See how he has fooled you!" And then, the holy wrath poured out of her, as she sent it to fill the vessel she had chosen, an imperiously divine command, a single word bolstered with the divine voice of her Lord and Master. "REBEL! Slay the one-eyed charlatan!"

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#178

< "What? Wait! Whatever it is, I'm sure the guards can handle it!" >
Meleana was perturbed, he would leave her just like that!? What could possibly be more important than her?! She frowned at the sound of commotion, the feast dying all around her as heads turned to the disturbance.

< "Wait up!" >
She started after Melior. How undignifying, this had better be worth it, she thought.

I haven't donned any gear, so I won't be much use in a fight, but I guess I'll roll initiative all the same; and I got a 9.

As Melior and Meleana reached the scene, she saw something she could never have prepared for, a horror sprung from the deepest fears and hate of her ancestors' stories, it drowned out all other perceptions. < "Drow!!!" > She screamed in elven, but the word carried weight in any tongue. She halted to pick up a dropped coconut shell and flung it at the obsidian skinned devil.

I have no idea how THACO works, it doesn't really matter in this case, it's more a logical dramatical gesture.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#179

Thorgir sat up when he hear the scream. He had no idea what it meant, but it sounded disturbed at least. He had already been distracted by other shouting, but had been loath to react.

Then he heard the unmistakable smack of club on flesh and he was committed. "Sorry ladies," he said, pushing himself clear and reaching for his gear. He had little more than his loincloth and the huge razor-edged Quallen sword when he stepped out of the tent, snatching his small shield up as an afterthought.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#180

"Hhorfft!" grunted the Seneschal as Somnak smashed the cyclops with his club.

The creature was more surprised than hurt, yet its ribs resonated with the strike.

"Insufferable Oorr'kah!" the Seneschal cried again then dove to the ground for his staff while chanting in a horrifyingly guttural tongue. His eye had been intent on Brin, but after being assaulted by Somnak, the cyclops now had his eye on the half-orc as he cast his spell.

"REBEL!" came the Command from Brin and the spearmen leader's eyes clouded over. The warrior was about spear the priestess with his weapon at the Seneschal's behest, but suddenly changed his aim and thrust the spear at the Seneschal instead! Only a half-moment of hesitation later, his five fellow spearmen hurled their weapons at the cyclops as well, in utter and sheer confusion.

The Seneschal groaned in agony as he tore the spears from his own flesh, and yet still cast his eldritch sorcery!

Meanwhile, a coconut husk came flying by Brin's face missing her by inches. Cries of "Drow!!!" just added to the general mayhem.

(Somnak did 7 dam to cyclops. Six spears in total were thrown at the cyclops as well--11, 9, 15, 18, 20,11--3 hit for 3,4,6 (13) additional damage. Next round all bets are off with the guardsmen as Brin's "command" on their leader will be defunct. What they do is anyone's guess.)

(Lumori is up. Then Cyclops' turn :twisted:. Then initiative for everyone except Thorgir who will be here following round. Melior and Meleana are "here" now instead of almost here.)

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#181

Lumori

Well that escalated quickly, was the thought that went through Lumori's head as he snuck around for a better position behind the Cyclops. As the Seneschal had begun his tirade, the thief had stepped back and faded into the deep shadows of the night, so that by the time, "Kill her!" was uttered, he was well out of sight. Everyone of the less-than-legal tradecrafts knew how to read a situation, and those who survived for any length of time developed the tendency to scurry rather than flinch.

When Somnak yelled his defiance and attacked, that sealed the determination. Companions take precedence over cultist leaders every time. An arrow nocked on his bow, Lumori began creeping through the shadows to cover his companion like a hidden cloak. The half-orc was quite capable within his skill set, but covering his own backside was apparently not one of them.

Hiding his shadows for sneak attack/backstab damage next round. Since Somnak is focused on the Cyclops, Lumori will be pin-cushioning anyone that tries to take advantage of his distraction.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#182

The Seneschal was glaring at Somnak as it went down but its magic was surprisingly not directed at the half-orc after all. As the wounded cyclops completed his guttural arcana, the moon-and-bonfire lit night turned impenetrably black. An ebon darkness of nightmare enveloped the fray.

Somnak, Brin, the six spearmen, and the cyclops itself were caught inside the arcane darkness. No one within could see anything or anyone.

Outside the spell's radius, Melior, Meleana and Lumori were free to act but could see naught but the impenetrable bubble of black before them.

The spearmen panicked and began screaming! Chaos reigned.

Thorgir was almost there, and could hear the commotion. He nearly hesitated as he saw the eldritch darkness ahead, but ran on.

(Initiative. cyclops got a 5, val rolled a party initiative roll in chat. Also 5. If you're dexterity is 16 or higher (Melior, Lumori, Somnak) you're move! If not (Meleana, Brin), need a re-roll please 1d10. Beat a 6. Needless to say, anyone "attacking" in the darkness will do so with large penalties. Same goes for anyone attacking "into" the darkness from without. Thorgir is in next round.)

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#183

The darkness swallowed Somnak and the others, and the Half-Orc snarled in fury, Yelling into the night, "Coward! You may have blinded us, but the Dance needs no sight!" With that, he leapt back into the night to gain some distance from the Cyclops and returned the club to his belt. He may not know where his foe is, but he knows exactly where his drum is. The blackness that surrounds them would surely need a clear mind to navigate: Somnak began a slow, light beat, stuttering and confusing in rhythm, which served to focus the minds of those who aid the Orc, and yet confound those who sought him harm. *Dum-dum-thum-thum, Dum-dum-thum-tum* The soft, thin Qullan-skin required a more delicate touch, but Somnak was a master of his instrument.

Qullan-Skin Drumming! +1 to ally rolls, Chance of confusion for foes!

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#184

Lumori

Dum-dum-thum-thum, Dum-dum-thum-tum... The sound of the drums and Somnak's cry of challenge issued forth from the cloud of supernatural darkness, and Lumori felt the world begin to settle into crystal focus as the sound washed over him. He loosed a shaft into the darkness at the Cyclopean seneschal, but his breathing hitched as the tide of bloodrage rose within his chest and he had to fight it down. Only by the purest luck would that arrow meet its mark.

Attack roll: (01:04:19) Minion: Chaosmark rolls 1d20 and gets 9.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#185

Meleana tugged at Melior and directed his attention to her distress. < "Drow! Drow! Shoot her, kill her!" > At the point of hysteria she then glanced the rest of the scene. < "Wha...What are your friends doing?! You fools! If you attack the seneschal, the watching eye, he...my sister! He would! ...The whole village!" > She released Melior and backed away, grasping her head. She turned and ran back into the village, heading for her hut.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#186

There were really only three words that the dark priestess knew in the most common elven tongue. Yes, No, and Drow. And the third she found exceptionally irritating as a false accusation. But that irritation was a discordant note in her focused anger. And, as the darkness descended, Brin could no longer spare a even glance for the dim elf. Enlightenment would have to come later. Rather, she raised up the bloody spike that hung from her neck, and called out, "None may hide from the anger of the righteous! Lord of Passion, Light our Way!"

And even as she did so, the amulet lit brightly with pulsating, violet light, violently tearing at the darkness, slowly ripping it away...

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#187

Melior cursed. Apparently he'd have to fix everything once again. If only some of his comrades grew this wonderful organ commonly known as a brain.

Still, he considered the situation carefully. Someone who might be a drow, and who Meleana wanted Melior to kill, and who apparently had some magic at her disposal. A cyclops, who was the cult leader of this village and who's death would probably lead to them getting kicked out of the village. And his idiot teammates, who apparently thought with their emotions and their weapons. The best course of action would be to either stop the fighting somehow, but the only spell that he had to do that wouldn't take out the cyclops as well.

Options... as far as he could see, there were four courses of action. Kill the cyclops, kill his comrades, kill that drow, or simply stay out of the fighting.
Let me see. Dice, what should Melior do? (22:18:10) Minion: caesar193 rolls 1d4 and gets 1. Fine, dice gods. You win

Melior sighed. He had heard somewhere the phrase "bros before hoes." Apparently, that was how things were to go. Maybe he'd be able to salvage things with Meleana after the events of tonight. Perhaps if he made it look like an accident on his part, and really all his comrades fault...

He intoned the words to the spell 'magic missile,' and directed both missiles at the cyclops.

Damage:
(22:23:01) Minion: caesar193 rolls 1d4 and gets 3.
(22:23:07) Minion: caesar193 rolls 1d4 and gets 2.

Both add one, for total damage: 7

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#188

Meleana raced past a throng of confused suitors who had been left behind, she brushed them off and hurried inside her hut. She headed for an ancient chest, tugged it open and accidentally ripped the rotten lid off the base, she absently and hurriedly threw the lid aside and dug through her belongings. She donned her leopard hide armor, and strapped the sheaths holding her bone-scimitars to her hips, stringed her longbow and swung it and its accompanying quiver on her back. She wasn't sure yet what she was doing, or how she would yet act, but she knew she'd better figure it out soon. Frantically she left her hut, almost bowling over in her hurry, running full speed back to the scene of battle. Friend or foe, that was the question.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#189

(ooc: Lumori's first arrow missed)

*Dum-dum-thum-thum, Dum-dum-thum-tum* echoed the darkness...

Melior fired his missiles into the ebon bubble, just as Brin was peeling away its layers with her divine light. Melior sneered as the blackness gave way. His magical shafts, which never missed, had missed!

After all, as the darkness was banished, the only ones who could be seen now, was the drumming Somnak and the bewildered-looking guards! The Seneschal was no where to be seen! It was as if the darkness had swallowed him up. Poof!

The five spearmen meanwhile, were huddling in a circle, spears set against the darkness, only a few feet from the drumming Somnak. As they re-appeared, they blinked their eyes, not comprehending what had just occurred.

By now almost the entire village had gathered to witness the chaos, led by Meleana, hide armor donned, bony scimitars in hand, and Thorgir, ready to smash.

Cries and shouts rang out from the crowd..."Drow!!""Intruder!" "Where is the Seneschal?!" "What sorcery this?!" "What just happened?!" and so on.

Chaos reigned.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#190

With the seneschal gone, Meleana was spared the choice. That left only one immidiate threat.
< "There! There is the drow, bind her!" >

She then stalked over to Melior, pointing at him with one of her scimitars.

< "And you. Why did your pig-man friend attack the cyclops?! You come to us bearing gifts and then you doom us all?!" >
Her violet eyes were wide, unbelieving and begging for anyone to make any sense of this.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#191

Melior smiled at Meleana and said:

"'Once, when trying with chin against a well-curb / I discerned, as I thought, beyond the picture, / Through the picture, a something white, uncertain, / Something more of the depths—and then I lost it.' Roberthus Frostbloom wrote that."

And with that he climbed on top a log, to serve as his stage, and intoned the spell for 'Flaming Sphere' as loud as he could. Casting it the full range straight up, he made the sphere's entrance as flashy and showy as possible, and made sure it landed in a safe spot

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#192

To the crowd which had gathered - and also his companions - he yelled, "The Seneschal is not what he seems! He uses trickery and black magic to bend you all to his will - he tried this on me but I will be no puppet!"

The vile Cyclops had disappeared! But Somnak was not so sure he was truly gone - he peered carefully across the area, and listened intently for any footsteps that might betray an unseen foe.
Perception roll: (12:26:34) Minion: Shadoweagle rolls 1d20 and gets 6.

And spot him he did! Somnak's nostrils flared as the scent of the Cyclops passed him - He noticed a shift in dirt and prints leading out the gate. "And now the coward runs!" Quickly, Somnak scooped up a handful of those mirrored shards and placed it in a piece of left over wax wrap from his rations.

Somnak ran out the gate without considering his actions - The beast may be too powerful for him, but the Half-Orc wanted his blood! Somnak ceased his drumming and instead drew the great Qullan sword from his back. It's keen blade gleamed in the moonlight, hungry to sink it's long tooth into flesh.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#193

For a moment, Brin looked towards the gate, scowling. She could smell the beast go as he passed her, but it was too open for her to locate him and light him up, enough to draw a word from her. A single word bestowed upon her some years ago by the Lord of the Passions. It was not a kind word, for her dominant humor was choleric. It was the sort of word that spoke of committed hatred, of the intent not just to kill, but to shatter, to obliterate, and to scrub the very fabric of reality of its target. Her intention so declared, she turned back to the town and the dim-witted elf, reaching up to ensure that her face was readily visible, her short hair clear of her very human ears, her strong shoulders square. As the crowd drew nearer, it was clear - she was no elf.

Her voice, when she spoke, was clear and raised, and laced with the magic of Enthrallment. It was tricky magic, to turn away the ire they might feel towards her, to stoke it in the direction that she desired. Tricky, but with the Lord Atarkhul, control was possible. "I am Brin, servant of Atarkhul, Lord of the Passions. My Master has sent me with a message for the Watching Eye - He is to know that the Gods have noted his pretensions! For this, his false priest has assaulted me, and now, he flees under unholy, unsavory illusions, for he has nought but lies with which to threaten!" With this, the woman gestured in the direction of the temple, away in what she felt was the direction that the Seneschal had fled.

"Mark this, oh people, he flees because he sees within me the wrath that the Gods carry for falsehoods, for thieves, for slavers! Atarkhul demands of him atonement - Atonement of blood! Atonement for what he has taken, Vengeance for those he has threatened and killed in his lust for power! For this atonement, He has empowered me! Empowered me not to harm men, but to slay monsters!"

At this claim, one more gesture, as she drew the bone hook of the beast she had slain, slamming into the dirt like a spear as proof of her claims. "I go forth from here, not in fear, but to fulfill the purpose of the Gods! I go to slay the false priest, and holy justice follows with me, born upon the spears of heroes! Follow, to destroy he who lied to you! Follow, oh heroes, to justice! WE GO!" Turning, then, she spun on the balls of her feet, following after the half-orc drummer. It seemed he had picked up the trail without her even prompting, and that was a divine boon to be used well.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#194

Thorgir sighed. He did not know why he followed the half orc into the darkened jungle. Perhaps the promise of battle called to him.

No matter, he ran, bearing blade and shield. Hopefully the tribemen would at least mind their own business.

And then he heard the word of the Elf, and it was good. So he stood and listened, and then followed.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#195

"There! There is the drow, bind her!"
"HOLD YOUR PEACE, SO WE CAN DETERMINE THE TRUTH AND BESTOW JUSTICE!"
"The Seneschal is not what he seems! He uses trickery and black magic to bend you all to his will - he tried this on me but I will be no puppet!"
"Stranger! Come forward, and let us determine your true nature. For suspicion and fear have killed more than truth and honesty."

Confusion reigned. Then something started to make sense to the gathered masses. Something the obsidian-skinned stranger was saying...

(villagers saving throws vs. Enthralled spell: Murometz rolls 100d20 and gets 1,6,15,4,8,20,19,6,17,5,19,18,16,11,7,9,5,16,10,17,15,7,14,1,17,1,5,11,8,4,6,1,7,8,10,6,5,1,4,14,17,5,10,15,1,9,11,12,10,1,8,16,3,9,15,3,15,5,14,6,2,1,3,13,2,11,12,9,9,1,6,19,13,7,13,20,7,11,2,16,7,7,4,9,1,10,17,12,20,13,3,14,6,4,3,4,16,17,1,5. 9 saved. 91 didn't. Thorgir and Lumori needs to save as well I'm afraid [Thorgir rolled. And failed]. Meleana is 90% "immune". Roll percentile please. Melior also [rolled already and is immune.] Somnak took into the jungle night, after the "spectre" of the Seneschal, right before the "speech" by Brin began.)

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#196

Melior Saves! Elven blood for the win!

He felt the grip of magic slip past him. Ha. No godly magic such as this mere human could be given could effect him. Of course, it may have something to do with his elven heritage, but Melior preferred to think of his resistance of being born of his innate awesomeness.

Still, he watched silently as the crowd he had even used magic to calm slipped through his fingers. There was no use cursing the gods. That is, there's no use cursing the gods while you're still unable to challenge them in a fight.

He sighed, and hopped down from his perch. He supposed that he should go save his comrades from whatever powers the cyclops wields. Honestly, could he not have one moment to himself? That is, alone with only Meleana for company? Torn for a moment, Melior decided that he could always say that the human's enchantment proved to strong for himself to resist. And so he disappeared into the jungle, on the heels of the bard, cleric, and warrior.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#197

Brin considered as she ran out of the gate…it had taken her four hours to reach the village palisade, from where she emerged from the Tepui, beside the pyramid. Obviously, the demented one-eyed priest was heading to the alien structure. Where else? Or did he have some other, faster way? There was no way to know…

Somnak stalked the night. His blood boiled and so the half-orc went, yet his chances at finding his quarry were slim, he had to admit. The Seneschal had vanished from sight, and the night was dark and full of terrors…

Thorgir and Melior almost got in each others way but not quite. The agile barbarian averted bumping into the fast-moving elf, and they both took off into the jungle on the heels of Somnak and the snow-haired stranger.

Somnak paused. He sniffed the air. That was something his human kin could not do, their powers of scent lacking. Breathe in information…

The Seneschal was close, but Somnak could not tell where he was. A persistent night breeze blew just then, and Somnak was losing the scent. Palm fronds and broad bush-leaves swayed. Tracks were impossible to track in the jungle. Curses!

The beast was silent and hidden, every muscle tensed and quivering with anticipation. Usually it hunted the wild-pigs of the jungle, but this night, a new kind of prey made its way beneath the canopy. The feline sniffed the air. The prey did not smell of the usual scent. Somewhat like hog, somewhat like hoofed creatures, and somewhat like long-pig, the smell of humans. The leopard silently leapt onto its target’s back. One of its claws sank into flesh as if the flesh was butter; the other just missed a swipe at the half-orcs neck. Nature’s perfect killer then sank its yellowed fangs into the spine of Somnak, growling demonically as it did.

(ooc: Leopard “surprised” Somnak (and itself), and unsure but hungry, attacked. Murometz rolls 1d6 and gets 1. Murometz rolls 3d20 and gets 17,5,16. Murometz rolls 1d3 and gets 1. Murometz rolls 1d6 and gets 3. Somnak takes 4 points of damage from a shocking leopard pounce-attack onto his back! Next round the leopard’s bite damage [1-6] will be automatic, no hit required. Somnak's turn.)

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#198

Somnak screamed in surprise at the unanticipated attack! The sting of tooth and claw burned through his flesh. The half-orc was in a rage which intensified at his own lack of care.
The Tribal mongrel spun around with all his strength and flung the Leopard from him, which tumbled to the ground on its back. The giant cat was a great predator, but it lacked the Demon's Dance and the fury which boiled within its foe. Blood pumping in his head, Somnak let his Orcish ancestry take over him. A lust for blood and violence overwhelmed the man! He thrust a boot on the Leopard's stomach, holding the cat in place on the ground where it squirmed, and using both hands, thrust the Qullan blade downwards in an almost sacrificial manner.

Attack roll: (15:26:24) Minion: Shadoweagle rolls 1d20 and gets 17. +3 Qullan blade, +2 Str bonus
(15:27:05) Minion: Shadoweagle rolls 1d8 and gets 7. +3 Qullan blade, +2 str bonus.
Damage: 13. Leopard HP: 12.
Bad Kitty!

The keen Qullan blade tasted blood as it sunk into the bit cat's heart, but the vicious orc was not done. He wrenched with all his might, filleting the creature's flank and spraying blood and gore all over him. Somnak arched his back, head to the moon and Roared with all his might into the night as he was baptized in the predator's blood; the fury of his voice washed over the sneaking Seneschal, the comrades which made their way to his location and even all the villagers gathered back in town at the gate.

The pull of his ancestors had overfilled his cup, and inside his head, the never-ending drumming pounded as Somnak struggled to fight back the lingering hold of his Orcish blood to regain his senses. The Half-Orc felt the blood inside of him, and felt his foe's blood running all over him. He felt the sting of the Leopard's wounds on his side and back, oozing his own crimson liquid, and a devilish smile curled on his lips.
His father would be proud.

Finally, he fought back the intoxicating pull of the Orcish Blood-lust and regained control of his senses and emotions. Another time, he would have stayed to harvest the hide, meat and bones of this creature, but now, he was on a mission - the Seneschal must be found! Somnak put his nose to the air.

Perception roll to pick up the trail of the Seneschal once more: (15:47:00) Minion: Shadoweagle rolls 1d20 and gets 20.
Hah! Somnak is a MACHINE!

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#199

Melior had lost his mind. That was Meleana's first thought as he started off on his rant. It didn't exactly help that he was speaking in common, but she had been around enough suitors to recognize the cadence of a poem in any language. His flashy spectacle made everyone gasp, for a while there Meleana thought he really had gone mad and was about to burn down the whole village. Perhaps he was a demon in disguise. But his words rang out and regained him some credibillity.

Then the pig-man yelled something and pointed to the jungle, into which he subsequently dived, followed by the rest of the strangers, even Melior followed suit.
Noone was given a chance to react, those who had approached the "drow" were confused to see human ears crown her head. But Meleana wasn't fooled, she could feel a wave of magic washing over her, obviously the drow was using magic to disguise her true self, and the worst part was, most of the villagers seemed to adjust their attitudes towards her even though most of them didn't even speak common. The drow ran off unmolested.

She was about to pursue when she was stopped by one of her suitors, Khalak. He had thoughtfully packed her leather sack for her. She quickly kissed him for his thoughtfulness and followed into the underbrush. She hadn't had time to adjust, noone was making any kind of sense, and it was one surprise after the other. But she knew she had to witness this, she needed answers. Her boa almost choked her, surprised by the speed in which her mistress suddenly moved.

Re: Tales of Misadventure [Isle of Woe]

#200

And the hunter shall be hunted in turn. And as he bears down upon his quarry, another shall bear down upon him. Somnak remembered a passage from an Orcish Saga he read as a youth, as he continued after the unseen Seneschal into the gloomy jungle, blood-lust boiling up inside him.

Hunt the jungle by night, and the jungle will hunt you, Meleana remembered the words of her sister, as she stood over the eviscerated corpse of a leopard the pig-man had just slain.

The night held no sway over the elven druid. She could see the others plainly ahead, the barbarian leaping over roots and following the maddened half-orc, who was pausing periodically to sniff the night air.

The human-eared drow stalked the night as well up ahead, though not at the pace of Melior the elf, who like Meleana could plainly see the world before him with his infravision.

A pleasant night breeze caressed Meleana's cheek, as she surveyed the jungle ahead. There was too much noise with the hunting party crashing through the foliage, so her eyes would have to serve. Her boa flicked its forked tongue into the air, aiding his mistresses search...

(ooc: Melior and Meleana perception rolls with -2 penalty please)

Meanwhile back at the village conversation raged on, as Dzarij and the other elders debated the words of the stranger. Several bold youths, spears aloft, took off into the jungle, others hesitated, still discussing what had jut transpired.