Let It Rest Already!

Log Info

• Title: Let It Rest Already!
• Emitter: Jinks
• Characters: Paenitia, Faranmidahn, Lysos, Skielstregar, Vaera
• Place: Dragonier
• Time: Monday, July 25, 2022, 5:45 PM
• Summary:

The Dame Paenitia Snapdragon del Harana, Knight of the Pillar and Paladina of Tarien is cursed! After a disturbing rescue mission into Heth-tainted lands and a close encounter of the ethereal kind, the cavalier has been tormented by waking visions and night terrors. While the knight's ghost has not been seen within the walls of Alexandria he never seems to be far from the lucht woman's side.

Save for vague dreams of rocky, wooded locations and lasting images of the fallen night himself, Paenitia has soulborne tether pulling her towards the north. Attempts had been made in-the-moment to identify the ghostly man-at-arms but all had failed; thankfully, Alexandria has no shortage of academics and more than one that owes the dame of favor.

Nantuilith, the afflicted academic, was still being sheltered from the world at large in the grounds of the Society for Progressive Arcanists. Calling in a favor to consult with the brain-in-a-jar was a simple enough matter and he was happy to lend his near-limitless expertise. The heraldry was simple enough to identify: a heart half-eclipsed by a folded wing belongs to none other than the Dragonieri Scalesworn, men and women that had been subordinates to the once-great Dragon Knights.

Sadly, there was too little topographical information to provide a narrower target that "fallen Dragonier" but there was more than a vague hope that the draw the dame felt could serve as a sort of dowsing rod.

Next it was simply a task of finding transportation into (and out of) a fallen nation swarming with the undead and demi-god monstrosities with an eye for ascension and world conquest! Again, the paladina's history of deeds done was equal to the task and the crew of the Distant Horizon was eager to answer her call for succor. Jaemeigh and Aehrick, both, are self-described as being forever indebted to a handful of adventurers for their work in breaking the Oddskeeper curse-- having an opportunity to return the favor was something that would jump at the chance for!

A healing and a restoration has kept the little lucht knight from being incapacitated by her quest. She is still plagued by dreams of being separated from allies as a tide of death overtakes the land, fighting shadows in a forest. During the day, her hauntings are limited to seeing the knight approaching meanacingly from the corner of her eyes, sudden screams as she passes through doorways, and similar things.

So now you ride on your third day set out from Alexandria aboard the airship Distant Horizon. The state of the ship is a far cry better for those who've been aboard before; the mana-engines hum smoothly and the ozone smell is milder and confined to the poop, the deck is clean and polished, the bladders bulge beneath their rigging plump, a pleasantly-uniform sky blue. Most remarkable, the hull of the ship is a reflective silver-- practically mirror-like in this quality. Jaemeigh is quite proud of this upgrade: mithral-laced paint that makes the ship harder to spot from below!

The crew is in surprisingly good spirits in spite of the destination. A muscled hobgoblin, a pair of androgynous lucht twins, the gobber-and-gnome engineering team, and a handful of Oddskeeper cousins to round it out. Their aptitude for their roles was displayed in full on the second day: a planar storm over the Vast was expertly navigated and any and all damage to the ship avoided.

The Horizon is held to a north-northeast heading by the helmsman as directed by the questing paladina, away from Khazad Duin and over the Blud. The blasted-black, skeletal grey, and verdant green patchwork of the Dragonieri forests begin to speed past beneath the ship. Even this high up, the air takes on a sickly sweet smell of rot. Writhing things best left unnoticed blink into and out of shadows below...

Lysos shudders once when she looks down upon the cursed forests; easily unnerved at the best of times, the oft-times weak of heart tsuran quickly averts her gaze back up to the skies as she stands a self-imposed vigil up on deck near one of the railings. She's tied off, of course; though knowing her luck, if she actually needs the rope, it will be frayed in the absolute worst of places and will choose that moment to let go.

Paenitia stands at the prow of the airship, watching the rotting lands slide by below. Behind her, Brave Ramirez sits hunched on the deck. The little paladina holds onto both rail and foreleg of the hippogriff. Encased as always in her concealing armour, and behind her mask, her demeanor is difficult to determine at the best of times.

Here, while she still sounds cheerful there is often a delay before she speaks, as if she's summoning the energy to be chipper. "The Dame Betrys would have want to come to this. I think, or perhaps not. To see her homeland in ruin again."

"This is the stuff of dreams, and the not good ones." Her head shakes.

Travel into an undead filled land requires a bit of muscle, as well as some first-hand knowledge of the creatures. Or... really, really first hand knowledge.

Skielstregar, a half-undead, shiny silverscaled makari, agreed to go along with this venture with the paladina. She's had his back many times, as well as vice versa. So it was a no brainer for him to agree to come with. Besides, perhaps being as he is, it could offer a cover or front for the rot below.

A stench that he's all to familiar- and used to.

He too looks over the deck. "But perhapssss we can make the ruin jusssst a tad lesss, no?" he offers in some support in his rumbling tones, dead silver plastered to the landscape below.

The Knight of Spiders, for her enthusiastic response to Dame del Harana as is proper for what she considers the proper kinship of Knights, is faintly subdued during the days aboard the Distant Horizon.

Sir Waywalker's eyes rarely sought the spread vistas beyond the portholes, though when such gazes happened to occur, her eyes were introspective rather than fearful. Much of Faran's time was in the hold, where she tended to dear Torrent's peculiarities, as her beloved and brave Huntsman is... ill comforted by the ship's sway and mechanical vibrations.

Plus, no one aboard knows how to feed or groom him.

Now, though, she stands with her worthy companions, hair streaming wildly behind her as that introspection holds sway over her once more.

A look toward her fellow Knight and a wan smile precedes her own words, "I have not had the pleasure of meeting her, but... I imagine you are right. How... Magnificent these lands must have been...."

Vaera had been brought along for the ride, so to speak. If not to help the paladina with her problem, then to not have Skielstregar wandering into undead infested territory without her.

The red makari was off to one side of the deck with her gaze turned down to the forests, in case anything nasty decided to come up to meet them.

"I am aware of where we are going, but you have not exactly told us why we are going here yet or what we are looking for, Dame Paenitia." She chuffs. "What are we hoping to accomplish in coming here to be rid of this apparition?"

A gaunt Mourner in matte scalemail and faded blue livery climbs the deck to join the rest. His curly black hair, tired eyes, and red-tipped nose a darkened by the grey cowl of his robes and the clack of his runed staff falls in time between his heavy boots. A brass kopesh hangs from one side of his belt, a heavy prayerbook from a chain on the other.

"We put a man to rest," he offers in his clipped manner of speaking as he blinks against the bright light and raises one hand to shield his eyes. He offers a perfunctory smile, too, but quickly quits the gesture. "And free the dame of her curse."

The last member of the fellowship, as it were: mourner Berunal.

Berunal has been around, mostly keeping to his cabin and skulking belowdecks. He's not the most sociable of clerics but he has been helping Paenitia cope with her curse.

"As he say," The paladina nods, "when we go into the desolation for Mama Bula, I find the cursed ghost knight. He give me the quest to find his remains and put him to sleep."

She laughs, "The joke on him, this I would do without the geas, yet he give it. The nightmares are strong, and I am in much need of healing and restoration from the Temple of Tarien, so haunted are the days and nights."

"I see him, in the corners of the eye, angry rushing at me. Rotting. The comments, 'why I am not done with this yet'."

She gestures over the edge, "there little to go on, little to see, but I describe the visions and the scholars have give us a place to start. We find the bones, and the Mourner give them rest."

Having been there when it happened... more or less... and being the bearer of what she sometimes believes is a curse of her own, Lysos felt somewhat obliged to join Paenitia on this quest of hers. And, as usual, the promise is always easier made when in the safety of a tavern or the city or any place, really, where the denizens and land itself isn't trying to actively kill you.

Still, she puts on a brave face as she turns away from the railing to face the others, the two halflings and the two dragonkin. "Sounds easy enough! What could possibly go wrong?"

GAME: Lysos rolls diplomacy: (16)+16: 32
GAME: Paenitia rolls diplomacy: (10)+10: 20
GAME: Faranmidahn rolls diplomacy: (4)+10: 14
GAME: Skielstregar rolls diplomacy: (10)+2: 12
GAME: Faranmidahn casts Endure Elements. Caster Level: 10 DC: 15

Berunal is a survivor of Dragonier and volunteered for the mission. He's actually considerably older than he looks, likely due to his Eldanar blood. He's exceptionally coy about his surname. Playful in a very dry/flat sort of way. He volunteered for this rather-risky mission but little else. He's a pretty quiet/reserved fella, who doesn't like spiders.

Skielstregar nods along with Vaera, him putting an arm around her as he chuffs out a gout of frozen air. "Lay ssssomeone to ressst, Deathsinger. That, we can do," he intones after Paenitia. A gaze to Lysos. "... nothing absolutely can go wrong," he says dryly.

"It is a good thing we do, comrades." Faran smiles up to the tallfolk, granting a bow toward the Mourner as he takes up post close to hand.

The albino's eyes half lid long enough to chase a thought back to it's corner, even as her hand lifts in silent support to clasp lightly at Paenitia's shoulder.

Her eyes, now quizzical, turn toward Miss Lysos, "If you have to ask, you probably don't want to know."

"Mourner Berunal, I thank you again for the coming along with." Paenitia says, gazing up at the guant eldanar, "It is the good thing we do, as much as the sight of your glorious homeland make the heart ache and the eyes wet. I am sorry for the loss, and we shall bring relief to one still stricken and held unwillingly by this land."

She laughs, "maybe we become friends and bond over this, yes? You will share your last name then, ha ha! I make no expectations."

"Well, ghosts usually have tragic origins. Not that that excuses their actions." Vaera chuffs. "Still, if exorcism is not an option, and this is the only way to help, then so be it."

The red makari leaned in the arm, and turned to watch the others. "We will not let things go wrong, that is not an option. But it would be foolish to assume things will go smoothly without issue, yes?"

Lysos grins briefly at Skielstregar, then nods to Faranmidahn. "I generally don't," she says, agreeing with the spider knight. Then she shrugs. "Oh, things will go wrong. They always do." There, she gives truth to the front she'd put on earlier. She turns her gaze towards Berunal. "But somehow we pull through, right? Even when things go bad."

"The last name I was given was 'mourner.' 'Berunal,' the first." Answers the cleric without looking down at the flamboyant little knight. It might be a joke if it weren't delivered in such a distracted and out-of-hand way. He nods without looking away from the blighted lands spread out below the ship and wraps his second hand around his staff.

"I will calm the spirits with prayer so we might collect the remains." He explains as the destination grows nearer still. "We can inter him in Alexandria until Dragonier is reclaimed and cleansed and his family lands located.

"Should I fall, my pack contains funerary oils and holy water; burn the corpse and sprinkle the ashes with the purified draught." He turns, scales clattering as he eases to rest his back against the ship's railing. "The fallen deserve better but that should be enough to put the spirit to rest."

A gruff clearing of the throat interrupts the conversation and draws attention to the greybearded shape of the ridiculously-attired Jaemeigh Oddskeeper. The multicentenarian's bright red scarf flaps madly in the wind in his wake and his wide, shaded goggles obscure his squinty eyes. His leather flight coat has all manner of homemade patches and bulges with sheepskin lining.

"Hello!" He greets in a raspy, reedy, and high-pitched voice. "Any updates, paladina? Spotters have enemy fliers low and to the west... so it would be fantastic if you don't need us to turn that way!" He grins to show off a mouthful of wooden teeth.

"Sometimes, death strips a soul of all but their pain, and a madness." Faran replies gravely, "I have... in the past run afoul of such poor souls, but no one among us could set them to rest so kindly as the Mourners can."

She gives a shake of her head toward Vaera, "Accounting for no outcome but suceess -is- silly, yes, but I've found if you feel the need to ask, you probably haven't already considered the possibilities already."

She pats at the tallwoman's arm as she chimes in with the morale, "That's the spirit!"

Ahem, "I only have one spell that can answer a manifested spirit if things do go awry, most of my arcane talents are of a more coporeal slant."

Skielstregar listens to the Mourner and nods his head along, keeping that information in mind. To Fara, he murmurs."Thisss one underssstandsss such pain very, very well..." he sighs, rubbing at one of his fangs. But, he looks aside. "This one can, uh, manifessst a ssstate where they can rend spiritsss asss flesh. If need be. Hopefully not."

"Haha Captain! I have the update, and the direction is good. Keep us to the North, North East." Paenitia says, cheefully enough, although she rests one hand low on her plate armour, "yes, we are getting close. I feel the butterflies of fear."

"And do not worry, Mourner Berunal, you will not fall. On my honour as a Knight I pledge we will survive this task." This is followed by a genuine chuckle at Skielstregar, "who knows, perhap he want the last fight against the friend dragon to go out. It is the way of knights!"

Beyond the edge of sickly black earth and bonewhite-bleached trees lies a clearing strewn with bloated, rotting corpses and a road muddied with blood and viscera. The path leads up a lazy ascent to a clifftop keep abutting a sheer drop into a dark lake below. To call it a 'keep' is to cling to the past; the ruins are a chaotic tumble of grey stone, scree, and ashen powder. A shattered tower peaks out just above what's left of a wall and its upper floors and other piled rubble stick out of the murky water hundreds of feet below.

Portions of the ruins seem to've been melted and congealed into a pockmarked bowl before resolidifying.

Dame Snapdragon feels the pull to this place and a sinking sense of deja-vu. In this miserable place of routed hope, amongst the festering offal and buzzing insects must be the corpse of the unquiet knight.

Jaemeigh accepts the information with a stoic not and informs the crew. Aehrick has crawled into his titan's armor and stands resplendent on the poop in polished mithral with an extra quartet of spidery, stabilizing legs. The arvek nar twists a huge-headed axe. The two halflings are below and the gnome covers the steering gobber with a cobalt-barreled thunderbelcher.

There's a warning cry from the gobber at the helm as she eases a lever forward and the ship begins to sink, throwing your stomachs up into your throats. The mana engines whine change to a higher pitch and a halfling voice rings distant out of a bell-shaped tube near the ship's controls. Another lurch or two and the ship is low enough; a rattling clatter and an earthen crunch announce the anchor's landing. The hob walks to the edge of the deck, gives the ground below a good looking-over, and then tosses the rope ladder out.

"Ready," he grunts, turning to the adventurers.

The airship is hovering. Twenty feet of rope ladder to descend.

"We are ready, into the breech. Ramirez! I mount" Paenitia orders, her peacock-andalusian extending his wing for her to ride up onto his back. She settles into the saddle. "Sir Waywalker, it is time for you to coax Torrent out. I do not know if he partake, but the field is ripe with the corpse flies."

It's a strange sight, her quiet survelience of the scene from behind her ever grinning mask. Resplendent in red, with the mirthful white face, she seems like a rider of the apocalypse, one unnamed from the usual four.

"They are too fresh to have be from when Dragonier fall." She observes, "New horrors have pull them to their death. Draw weapons, comrades, advance as the wary squad, the battle may come to us as we walk amongst the slain."

Faran swallows a dry knot in the back of her throat as she sees the ruin left as Heth's food bowl, a horror of fire that tickles a scar in the back of her mind.

A horror of ice.

Even as she ship is cued to descend, Sir Waywalker manages to make way belowdecks to settle Torrent down.

Whatever means she uses, it's after the lurch of the landing that she emerges in the armoured spider's saddle, swinging her visor down into place.

"They may help settle his tummy!" she retorts with something like her normal life, something to be said for the familiar. <halfling>

She readies her lance, then, and with some tugs to the reins, and soft kicks with either of her fluffy feet, steers the Mastiff sized arachnid out toward the blasted land beyond.

Lysos finds herself clinging to the rail as the ship is maneuvered into a position for disembarking; she still clings even after it settles into a somewhat stable parking position and the rope ladder has been deployed. It takes her a moment to peel herself away, then untie herself from the lifeline. It's when she's dusting her skirts off that she finally registers what Paenitia has said, then looks over the rail to see for herself.

Corpses. Not exactly fresh, but recent in the way that bodies being eaten, picked at and decomposing can be. "Stars above.." she whispers... coming face to face with that moment she struggles to move past every time.

Her feet simply do not want to move, her eyes do not want to relinquish the terrifying scene below. Her hands to not want to release the railing they are once more clutching at. "Are you certain we can't just do it from here?" she asks. "Drop fire or something from the air?"

GAME: Paenitia rolls perception: (7)+8: 15
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+6: (20)+6: 26 (Ramirez perception)
GAME: Faranmidahn rolls perception: (11)+4: 15
GAME: Faranmidahn rolls 1d20+3: (13)+3: 16 (torrent perception)
GAME: Skielstregar rolls perception: (6)+12: 18
GAME: Lysos rolls perception-2: (19)+13+-2: 30
GAME: Vaera rolls perception: (15)+12: 27

Skielstregar perks up as their navigation grows closer and closer, him moving over towards a hand rail to hold on to. Quelling the stomach butterflies. He steels himself, glancing back towards Vaera and giving her a nod as he pulls his halberd. "... thisss one agreess. Too fressh," he murmurs. The weapon slowly drips a black ichor. It doesn't vanish. The death was too dense here. He looks aside to Lysos, and his footsteps settle near her. Big guy next to unsettled folk. Perhaps that might help ease her nerves. "Stay alert..."

Lots and lots of corpses. That look surprisingly fresh considering.

The big HALF UNDEAD guy definitely gonna settle nerves!

Paenitia dismounts the airship in the expedient way by having Ramirez hop over the rail and hover as the others descend the ladder. The down-wash of his wings stirs up the flies, raising a small cloud of them and an accompanying stink. The Ivory bird-horse makes an unpleasant 'ruaaaah'.

"I know. I look for the safe place to land. I see nothing solid, just the flesh of the dead." The dark lucht makes a small lurch, her words cutting off with a gasp. "This is not sung of in the ballads. We must seek quickly. The Knight was abandon by his fellows, cut off and fighting to the death."

Her head raises to look at the melted keep, "there, I think there."

Berunal makes an observational grunt that might border on annoyance but his closed fists are white-knuckled and shaking at his side. He's close behind Paenitia, using the railing to make the first steps onto the rope ladder and then descending steadily but with great care. On the ground he takes his holy symbol in hand, wrapping the leather thong necklace around his forearm so he's sure not to drop it. His magic staff hangs from a loop on his back and his blade still at his hip as he takes the first few steps out.

Vaera chuffs and walks over to the edge of the ladder, and the red makari gazes down. "This place is still being used. The bodies are too fresh, yes. How they managed to gather so many is, worrying."

"And whatever it is, either is incredibly dangerous, or a scavenger with a cruel sense of decoration. Something hung up the head of a dragon at the gates. If they are an opportunistic scavenger though, I think they will find their own head swiftly removed from themself." She half growls.

GAME: Faranmidahn casts Detect Magic. Caster Level: 10 DC: 14

Torrent scuttles along the ladder in that creepy way of his kind, his mistress scanning about, her jaw set as the true outset of their grim task begins.

Too fresh, indeed, the eldritch Knight agrees, infusing a bit of mana into the tip of her lance, even as she begins to cycle through a quick set of peculiar gestures as she whispers under her breath, "Magic forces sweeping earth to sky, reveal your flow to my focused eye.Faranmidahn" <hafling>

Her irises now solid disks of pink light, she scans the area for any mystical signs of ill-tiding that may stave off an ambush.

Glaring through torchbright eyes, the little knight affirms, "Agreed. Be wary and take no shadow or angle for granted."

"Wait, there is the dragon head hung on the gate?" Paenitia interrupts, "in the land of Heth, the dragon head may be his watch-ward. The eyes might work, worse, the breath weapon too, be ware."

Ramirez seems on alert, from something, but by his demeanor, a thing that is not a threat. His head turns watchfully from side to side.

"Hah. Hah." It's not really humour that's driving Lysos's short laughs. Half panic, maybe. Skielstregar looming next to her has.. well, it has an effect. Maybe not entirely the intended one. But Lysos does manage to disengage herself from the rails to ready herself to disembark. "Dragonskull. Hah. Castle Dragonskull. Whoever did that's probably has a great deal of Power, don't you think?" She seems to realize she's just working herself up again, however.. and seems to come to the conclusion that making people wait for her might be worse than whatever's in there.

Thus Lysos carefully makes her way down the rope ladder. Because she was careful, she only misses the second bottom rung, and the only bruising she gets is her pride when she's picking herself up off the ground.

The albino sorceress winces with a gasp, "Magic!" followed by rapid blinking as of acclimating to a pronounced shift in light, "Lots of it!"

Not to be taken unprepared, she infuses her lancetip once more, and starts to sweep her ensorcelled gaze about in a methodical scan, "I'm.... still trying to discern all the sources. Can anyone sense anything?"

The advisory about the head puts a rock in her tummy, but she turns her attention toward the grim decor for a more focused examination.

Skielstregar blinks as the effect he has seems to be the opposite of what he was trying to be: reassuring. He sighs and shakes his head, slipping forward to go down the ladder last after everyone.

He stops behind everyone. Blinks at the paladina. "... what."

He rubs the side of his head, huffs, then steps in closer towards them. "Just... b-be careful.." he murmurs.

The man flinches as Lysos hits the dirt. But he wordlessly bends down to hold out a hand to aid her getting back up.

The warning just makes him all the more tense as he swivels his head around.

"I can't see any sources yet. But be wary. And yes, careful." Vaera chuffs, hopping the railing and clambering down the ladder. "Pull that up and be ready to drop it if we need to leave. But don't give anything a chance to board the airship before we need to leave." She warns.

"They would enchant is as a guard? I would think the undead have no shame, but that is just as bad. We should offer rites to that one as well, if we can."

Perhaps it's the crash of the airship's anchor landing that stirs them. Or the sound of nervous voices exploring dark possibilities. Maybe even the smell of living things on the air.

Whatever it is, the dead stir. A helmet clatters off a pile, bouncing and rolling until it finds a dark, wet patch of mud and settles with a squelching splash. A low moan is joined by a staggered chorus as more and more of the festering dead disengage from their piles and struggle to stand once more.

Dragonieri men, women, and children. Some soldiers, certainly, but mostly civilians who sought shelter in the keep. All are restless and forsaken. All are hungry.

GAME: Paenitia rolls perception: (20)+8: 28 
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+6: (2)+6: 8 (Ramirez Perception)
GAME: Skielstregar rolls perception: (10)+12: 22
GAME: Lysos rolls perception: (8)+13: 21
GAME: Faranmidahn rolls perception: (20)+4: 24
GAME: Faranmidahn rolls 1d20+3: (9)+3: 12 (Torrent Perception)
GAME: Vaera rolls perception: (2)+12: 14

There's a voice from within the ruined keep!

<OOC> Vaera says, "I guess I'd like to try to identify what these are"
GAME: Vaera rolls knowledge/religion: (19)+2: 21
<OOC> Vaera says, "alright I guess I'll just try to shoot one of the zombies"
GAME: Vaera rolls 1d20+7+4+1-2: (2)+7+4+1+-2: 12
<OOC> Vaera says, "probably worth rerolling"
GAME: Vaera rolls 1d20+7+4+1-2: (13)+7+4+1+-2: 23
GAME: Vaera rolls 1d12+1+1+4: (5)+1+1+4: 11

Vaera had barely hit the ground when the dead bodies had come back up to meet them. Which wasn't entirely a surprise, but it was still unpleasant. the red makari took the firearm they had ready on their back, and took aim at one closest to Faranmidahn, a loud crack breaking the unsettling noises around them and sending the creature back to the ground. "Zombified corpses, as far as I can tell. Slow and not particularly intelligent, if you can stay out of their direct line of sight, there is little they can do." She calls out.

Still, there were too many to avoid all of them, entirely. "Should we retreat back and find another way to rid the spirit?"

A primordial roar echoes from below. Something massive crashes. There's another roar that carries over the moaning, stumbling, and stirring of the assembled corpses.

<OOC> Jinks says, "A roar from the distance. Kn.Arcana, anyone?"
GAME: Lysos rolls knowledge/arcana: (20)+10: 30
GAME: Faranmidahn rolls knowledge/arcana: (18)+11: 29
<OOC> Lysos will quicken cast shield, move to 6,19, and then cast firesnake. 
<OOC> Lysos says, "I should be able to hit all of the zombies in the pile that includes 7,16."
GAME: Lysos casts Break Enchantment. Caster Level: 12 DC: 24
GAME: Lysos casts Fire Snake. Caster Level: 12 DC: 24
GAME: Lysos rolls 12d6: (41): 41

Lysos is hauled to her feet by Skielstregar; she flashes a brief, if tremulous smile, then slaps her rear a few times to try and dislodge the dust and dirt and muck. And then she freezes... the clatter of the helmet wasn't enough to warn her, but the low and growing moan is enough to possibly make her wet herself as she slowly turns and.. to her horror.. sees the bodies begin to rise.

A small voice in Lysos's head tells her she really ought to have expected as much.

With what's becoming a habit of late, Lysos almost immediately taps into the sea of mana.. drawing power to fill herself with what some might argue as a false sense of confidence. A refuge behind a power larger than herself. A small amount is released to form a protective barrier about herself as she says, "Defendarus!", and then somehow she finds herself moving behind Torrent. The fear is still there, but it's quieted, almost lost in the raging, surging crashes of the sea of mana in her ears. Flames begin to lick and writhe around her arms.. and she sets her sights on the closest pile. "Flamblazek!" she intones, her voice oddly hollow.. and the flames unleash, spearing forth in a weaving pattern akin to a serpent, devouring the shambling corpses in its path and leaving behind crisped husks.

The Keep is above, the path leads up but its a shallow enough incline that it's not difficult terrain. The roar is coming from over the edge of the cliff.

<OOC> Skielstregar says, "begin casting enlarge person on myself and five foot step towards 5,19"

Skielstregar stiffens as there's a veritable hoard of undead before them all. He shudders, flinching some as a terrifying roar echoes throughout the land. Please don't be Heth, please don't be Heth...

He shifts out of the way of Vaera's line of fire as he gets behind the knights, and gives an appreciative nod towards Lysos's manner of searing out most of them. "Cleanssse them! Thisss one isss going to make themssselves big while we have the time!" he announces.

Black ichor seeps from betwixt his scales. But unlike usual, the dripping ink doesn't waft away. It pools around him as the glimmer of his scales is coated in night. "Come... on...!" he huffs.

<OOC> Faranmidahn says, "fireball to 3.5*11.5"
<OOC> Faranmidahn says, "and using arcane armor mastery so i don't lose the spell"
<OOC> Faranmidahn says, "mention the dragon"
<OOC> Faranmidahn says, "and move torrent to 9/19 to prepare for a charge"
GAME: Faranmidahn casts Fireball. Caster Level: 10 DC: 17
GAME: Faranmidahn rolls 10d6: (21): 21
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (18)+0: 18
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (1)+0: 1 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (14)+0: 14
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (12)+0: 12
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (2)+0: 2
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (13)+0: 13
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (14)+0: 14
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (13)+0: 13
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (9)+0: 9
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (9)+0: 9
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (18)+0: 18
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (19)+0: 19
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (18)+0: 18
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (9)+0: 9
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (1)+0: 1 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (7)+0: 7
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (1)+0: 1 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (7)+0: 7
<OOC> Jinks says, "OK! A couple are still up (1hp!) but you nuke a ton."

The rising dead isn't the surprise for Faran that it might have been before Alexandria, at least in so many numbers, but now...?

With a grim shake of her head and a soft, "Gods, be kind." the albino Lucht lets the reins drop to the saddblehorn as she begins her chant, "Ravenous warmth and piercing light, I free thee now from Order's Cage, yield yon power to mortal fight, and Unleash now-!"

Even as she speaks, her voice gains a deep reverberous resonance, and a golden pinprick of light is encompassed by a ball in her raising hand, which then hurls it off amidst the scattered clutters of unquiet dead bringing their bodies to their door with her crescendous shout, "- thy deadly rage!." <halfling>

It explodes in a flash of bright flame a deeper, less incandescent spectacle than her arcane companion's willwork. Even still, a good number of the sullied corpses are rendered to tallow, bone and ash, though others are simply hideously charred.

The reins seized, she steers her mount to a better angle for a riding charge, though she blinks in dismayed surprise at the answering roar.

Hunter, see us through....!

"DRAGON!"

GAME: Paenitia rolls knowledge/military theory: (12)+11: 23
Jinks pages: in a game of chess, the pawns go first
<OOC> Paenitia says, "waiting to hear what Faran says, although I can hear a voice inside the castle"
<OOC> Paenitia says, "well I'd like Ramirez to fly and land on the gate, so I can look inside the castle."
<OOC> Paenitia says, "Also follow any feelings/memories of where this knight fell"
<OOC> Paenitia says, "the point of being on the gate is being high up enough the zombies couldn't attack Ramirez"
<OOC> Paenitia says, "assuming I can see something, swift to challenge it"
GAME: Paenitia rolls perception: (15)+8: 23
<OOC> Paenitia says, "A diplomacy, offering surrender as part of the challenge"
GAME: Paenitia rolls diplomacy: (13)+10: 23
<OOC> Jinks says, "That'll fail but it was a nice gesture!"

A clang, a squelch, a tearing of cloth. The rising horde draw the Red Knight's attention, her head turning as the pile of fresh corpses assemble to attack. The pit of her stomach drops as she sees children stand.

She will have to steel herself, to attack those.

Fire goes up, courtesy of Lysos and Sir Faranmidahn, leveling many of them. She hears the rumbling below the cliff. And something else...

"In the game of Chess, the pawns go first." She draws her lance, "the knight does not move in straight lines. They are to bog us down. Advance quickly quickly!"

She nudges Ramirez with her knees, and the peacock-andalusian surges into the air. His great white wings easily carry him to the gate, where he lands, perching absurdly on top of it.

Beyond, the Red Knight spots a pale human in a fine, silken dress. The gown's cut is far from modest, and reveals sections of black scale on her neck, shoulders and forearms. She turns, regarding the dark lucht with yellow, reptillian eyes.

"Hola the Castle, and the Princess of the Castle. I am Dame Paenitia Snapdragon del Harana, Knight of the Pillar and Paladina of Tarien. I offer you quarter. Should you refuse, the mercy of the swift death. Tell me the name you will be remembered by."

<OOC> Jinks says, "Alright. Two charges on Lysos. Two on Skiel. BRACE YOURSELVES!"
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+4+2: (10)+4+2: 16
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+4+2: (13)+4+2: 19
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+4+2: (5)+4+2: 11
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+4+2: (20)+4+2: 26 (THREAT)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+4+2: (7)+4+2: 13 (Not Confirmed)
GAME: Skielstregar rolls charisma+bloodrager: (20)+2+8: 30 (Concentration - Success!)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d6+4: (5)+4: 9
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d6+4: (5)+4: 9

The zombies gain momentum, disentangling from their corpse piles and struggling through the blood and gore and mud to get to the tasty, living creatures disembarking from the airship. They crash against the adventurers with their stink and sloughing flesh, a small handful managing to swing clumsily at Lysos and Skielstregar. Two connect! The massive sith-makar bludgeoned on the chest while another slams down atop Lysos' shoulder.

<OOC> Jinks says, "Berunal will channel."
GAME: Jinks rolls 4d6: (16): 16
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+3+2: (14)+3+2: 19
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+3+2: (13)+3+2: 18
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+3+2: (8)+3+2: 13
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+3+2: (11)+3+2: 16
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+3+2: (7)+3+2: 12
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+3+2: (7)+3+2: 12
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+3+2: (9)+3+2: 14
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+3+2: (17)+3+2: 22
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+3+2: (15)+3+2: 20
GAME: Paenitia rolls will+1: (18)+6+1: 25 (+1 Lucky Lucht)
<OOC> Jinks says, "Rraedtrocus will fly."
<OOC> Jinks says, "And cast a Quickened Web that'll hit Berunal, Vaera, Skiel, Lysos, and Fara. So Reflex saves!"
GAME: Skielstregar rolls reflex: (14)+6: 20
GAME: Faranmidahn rolls reflex: (19)+7: 26
GAME: Lysos rolls reflex: (1)+12: 13 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+5: (10)+5: 15
GAME: Vaera rolls reflex: (7)+9: 16
<OOC> Jinks says, "Skiel and Fara are OK! Lysos, Berunal, and Vaera fail. To keep things moving the four zombies will fail."
<OOC> Jinks says, "She does a little bit of the ol' monologuery."

"You invade the sovereign lands of the great Void Dragon, tiny," the woman snarls back. Acrid runs dance across her glistening black scales as she gestures towards Paenitia. The dame is better than the spell, however, and she manages to shake away a momentary bout of confusion; now is the time for Questing!

The woman gives a hiss and flicks a forked tongue, surging into the air and to the south, over the chasm as she scans the mercenary forces. The fine-boned human is of indeterminate origin, her pale skin covered with thick patches or black, reptilian scales. Her silk dress flaps around in the open are and her yellow, snakelike eyes narrow in challenge.

The runes flare again across her form and she flicks her fingers. A gobbet spirals through the air and lands amongst the troupe set out from Alexandria. It lands with a splat and explodes, covering a goodly-sized region in thick, grasping webs.

There is the sound of large, leathery wings flapping to the north.

GAME: Vaera rolls cmb: (14)+8: 22 (Success!)
<OOC> Vaera says, "I'll stay where I am"

Suddenly the area around the group is covered in sticky webs, with Vaera and Lysos seeming to get the worst of it. Vaera struggles to pull herself free of the webs, tearing some away where she stood, but they remained surrounded by more of them. That was alright, they still had a good view of the surroundings to strike from.

"Fine words from an invader." Vaera chuffs. "Do not worry, you will not need speak many more."

<OOC> Lysos says, "Freedom of Movement"
GAME: Lysos rolls 1d20+12+9: (19)+12+9: 40
GAME: Lysos casts Freedom of Movement. Caster Level: 12 DC: 23
<OOC> Lysos will move to 9,20 and cast quicken scorching ray on her.
GAME: Lysos casts Contagious Flame. Caster Level: 12 DC: 25
GAME: Lysos rolls 1d20+10: (5)+10: 15
GAME: Lysos rolls 1d20+10: (4)+10: 14
GAME: Lysos rolls 1d20+10: (4)+10: 14
<OOC> Jinks says, "15 hits."
GAME: Lysos rolls 4d6: (11): 11

The fear remains a tiny voice in the back of her mind as Lysos keeps an open gate to the Sea, power continually flowing into her. "Libertos." Word and gesture, and the webs holding fast to her suddenly curl away, releasing her. Then she walks, the webs seemingly repelled as she wades through them to get closer to the new foe, the dragon lady. She whips a hand forward and three solid beams of white fire spear forward into the sky. "Flambo!" ONly one of them strikes the flying villain, and it diffuses quite suddenly upon contact.

GAME: Skielstregar casts Enlarge Person. Caster Level: 8 DC: 13
<OOC> Jinks says, "https://external-preview.redd.it/uOWkFkTbv30B-kCndcIMOOOPFaS40rTIcmpMc7QzUNo.jpg?auto=webp&s=eae9e63adeafb4e8a5f7c185e2f33408b33901e9"
GAME: Skielstregar rolls 2d6: (11): 11
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (3)+0: 3 (reflex versus DC 18 for half - fail)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (11)+0: 11 (reflex versus DC 18 for half - fail)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (20)+0: 20(reflex versus DC 18 for half - Success!)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (9)+0: 9 (reflex versus DC 18 for half - fail)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (14)+0: 14 (reflex versus DC 18 for half - fail)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (16)+0: 16 (reflex versus DC 18 for half - fail)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (7)+0: 7 (reflex versus DC 18 for half - fail)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+0: (18)+0: 18 (reflex versus DC 18 for half - Success!)
GAME: Skielstregar rolls cmb: (14)+15: 29
<OOC> Skielstregar says, "get to 5,14 and get all the zombies attention"
<OOC> Skielstregar says, "swift action arcane strike, and get mad"
GAME: Skielstregar RAGES!, gaining +2 to melee attack/damage/Will saves and 16 temporary HP
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+4-2: (1)+4+-2: 3 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+4: (16)+4: 20
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+4: (12)+4: 16
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d6+4: (2)+4: 6

Skielstregar weathers a hit as frost is building up along his maw, grimacing as his attention holds. A dragon?!?! No no, focus, focus...!-

WEB WEB WATCH OUT! his head all but yells as he gets out of the way, falling to all fours to keep.. keep... keep...

The black ichor consumes him. A figure swells out of the web, and bursts it with a splash of necromatic ichor in all directions. His eyes gleam red, scales tarnished with ink as he bellows, "EVEN THE DRAGONFATHER's LIGHT CASTS SHADOWS! THISS ONE ISS THE PENUMBRA!"

Massive lungs suck in air, and a wave of flash frozen air carpets the ground, snapping limbs and crumbling undead flesh to shards of ice.

He pounces forward, getting in the thick of it to draw the undeads' ire to buy time for the other to situate themselves.

<OOC> Faranmidahn says, "torent will take a power attack chomp on 8, 18, and if that pans out, i'll drop a nuke at 8, 13"
GAME: Faranmidahn rolls 1d20+5-2: (15)+5+-2: 18
GAME: Faranmidahn rolls 1d6+1+6: (3)+1+6: 10
<OOC> Faranmidahn says, "ok, so that worked, AAM so i don't bork the spell"
GAME: Faranmidahn casts Fireball. Caster Level: 10 DC: 17
GAME: Faranmidahn rolls 10d6: (33): 33

The sudden splortchy flash of sticky strands is familiar in principle to the Eldritch Knight, though her own manifestation is much more elegant (if she does say so, herself), but both she and Torrent manage to evade the snare.

Faran calls out a sharp, "Lunge!" to which the arachnid rears back and, with all the fury of nature behind his fangs, surges forward to skewer the juicy jerky pressing them so, leaving the creature inert and stewing in his juices. <halfling>

He's her very goodest boy!

With their immediate assailant dispatched, and the others handling themselves to various means and aplomb, Sir Waywalker once again begins her invocation, hurling another fireball into the throng of zombies to more decisively obliterate many of them, leaving only those too close to risk the blowback.

"I hear WINGS!" she calls as she eases Torrent out of the web and tries to keep track of goings on.

<OOC> Paenitia says, "Ramirez should end with his upper left corner on 15,17, if possible."
<OOC> Paenitia says, "+4 spirited charge, +3 she attacked someone else."
GAME: Paenitia rolls weapon4+4+3: (20)+13+4+3: 40 (THREAT)
GAME: Paenitia rolls weapon4+4+3: (5)+13+4+3: 25 (Confirmed)
<OOC> Jinks says, "So your charge is 3d6 (1d6 lance +2d6 for charge). A crit is 1d6 for lance and +2d6 for crit. So you don't multiply them or re-use the base dice. So 1d6 for lance +2d6 for charge +2d6 for crit."
<OOC> Lysos nods.
<OOC> Jinks says, "And then x5 all your numerical boni"
GAME: Paenitia rolls 5d6+50: (15)+50: 65
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d20+9+2: (18)+9+2+1: 30 (Ramirez attack, +1 AoMF)
GAME: Paenitia rolls 1d6+4: (3)+4+1: 8

"The Tiny of the Void Dragon, okay, that is how you will be known." Paenitia calls cheerfully, as the woman soars into the air. This is followed by laughter, her own, even as she hears the thunderous flapping of leather wings. She tells the north, "Wait the turn."

"Ramirez! Charge!"

'Ruaaaah!' The ivory hippogryph's screech fills the air, the rasp of a predatory raptor coming with the force of a wild horse. He launches off the gates, surging through the air and over the chasm as the red knight lowers her lance tip.

She aims between the shoulderblades, a good target for a flier, though less effective on one using magic and not wings. Her point slams home!

The tip of the lance bursts out through the scaley woman's chest, the plunging neckline of her dress saving it from injury, but not blood. It's a stunning, crippling blow that would have destroyed a lesser foe.

Paenitia missed the heart. Understandably, as Rraedtrocus' is tiny, shriveled and hard.

Ramirez sees a neck, scales. Snakes are one of his favourite foods, he snaps quickly with his beak, tearing a stripe from her shoulders. That dress will be ruined. If she survives.

Paenitia pulls her lance free.

GAME: Skielstregar uses an AoO! 0 remaining.
GAME: Skielstregar rolls weapon26: (16)+15: 31
GAME: Skielstregar rolls damage26+2: aliased to 2d8+12+2: (8)+12+2: 22
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+4: (9)+4: 13
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+4: (19)+4: 23
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d6+4: (5)+4: 9
<OOC> Jinks says, "Berunal takes a thump."
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+4: (15)+4: 19
GAME: Jinks rolls 4d6: (14): 14 (Berunal Channel)

The zombie numbers are dwindling. Only a handful remain and two struggle within the webbing. One makes to charge the overgrown sith-makar and is brutally cut down in the process. The other is close but can't manage to connect. The final zombie does manage to reach across and slam the mourner in the flace. Berunal reels, unable to brace his nose as he's trapped in webbing.

That doesn't stop him from calling upon the divine energies of Vardama, however, and the haunting melody of the goddess spills out with grey energy that sends the shambling creatures back to their rest.

<OOC> Jinks says, "Rraedtrocus, Casting defensively."
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+22: (20)+22: 42

The flying dragon lady turns invisible.

<OOC> Jinks says, "Vaera! You are not grappled. There is one zombie threatening Skiel. The evil lady went invis."
GAME: Vaera rolls 1d20+7+4+1-2: (17)+7+4+1+-2: 27
GAME: Vaera rolls 1d12+4+1+1: (3)+4+1+1: 9
<OOC> Vaera says, "And I'll try to move to 3,16"
GAME: Vaera rolls cmb: (12)+8: 20

Vaera, now free of the webs, is once again able to take aim at the dwindling undead. She fires off a quick shot at the undead near Skielstregar, sending it toppling back as whatever bones were keeping it upright still snapped.

Vaera picked her way through the webs, trying to avoid being constrained. She manages to reach the edge of the spell, and take stock of the situation, or lack thereof for the moment.

<OOC> Lysos says, "Breath of the Void."
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+13: (15)+13: 28
GAME: Jinks rolls 2d6+6: (6)+6: 12

It appears with another roar! A black-scaled dragon swaddled in clinging shadows of the Void breaks above the cliff's edge in a tight spiral, short neck and barbed tail stuck out straight on either side. It arcs through the air in a backwards roll that points its wicked maw towards the party. With another powerful flap of its leathery wings is speeds ahead, unnaturally graceful for a creature of its size.

"BREAAAAAAATH OF THE VOOOOID!" It screams, distant and raspy as it tears past Skielstregar and takes a piece of the sith-makar along with it. <draconic>

<OOC> Lysos says, "Okay. Not an interesting choice, but hopefully a contributive one."
<OOC> Lysos says, "Going to cast scorching ray and quickened scorching ray upon it. Then move to 5,21"
GAME: Lysos casts Contagious Flame. Caster Level: 12 DC: 25
GAME: Lysos casts Scorching Ray. Caster Level: 12 DC: 21
GAME: Lysos rolls 1d20+10: (5)+10: 15
GAME: Lysos rolls 1d20+10: (18)+10: 28
GAME: Lysos rolls 1d20+10: (10)+10: 20
GAME: Lysos rolls 1d20+10: (12)+10: 22
GAME: Lysos rolls 1d20+10: (7)+10: 17
GAME: Lysos rolls 1d20+10: (3)+10: 13
GAME: Lysos rolls 20d6: (80): 80
<OOC> Jinks says, "Kersplat."

Lysos is invincible! The clubbing she received less than a minute ago from the zombie is a distant memory, the pain buried underneath the warmth of riding in the sea of mana. As the void dragon flies overhead, raking the giant Skielstregar, she merely tracks it with eyes that are almost aglow with the infusion of magic power she's drawn into herself. As it begins to bank, she raises her hands. "Flambo." Six lines of white fire lance out, five of them briefly connecting her to the flying menace... punching through it and igniting the miasma that makes up its flesh. As the lines of fire disappear, leaving a brief after-image for anyone having looked directly upon them, the burning and charred husk bursts apart and tumbles to the rocks below.

<OOC> Skielstregar says, "is the airship hovering or landed"
<OOC> Jinks says, "It's about 5' off the ground, the deck is 20' up. It's anchored and the rope ladder is down."
<OOC> Jinks says, "3,18 you'd be fine but further W or S from that you'd need to squeeze."
GAME: Skielstregar rolls cmb: (4)+15: 19 (vs Web - Fail)
<OOC> Jinks says, "You're webbed. :("
<OOC> Skielstregar says, "im rpping that"
GAME: Skielstregar rolls cmb: (7)+15: 22 (success)
<OOC> Skielstregar says, "move to 4,17 on my SW corner, standard action to try and break the guy out"
<OOC> Jinks says, "Alright, Go ahead with another CMB"
GAME: Skielstregar rolls cmb: (17)+15: 32 (break Berunal out)

Skielstregar stumbles as a chunk is taken out of him from the dragon, him spinning around to regain his footing. What was..-

His slitted eyes dialate. "YOUR VOID ISSS FALSSSE," he snarls back, cocking his weapon back, coiling, reading to-

It suddenly combusts. Lysos is looking smug. He blinks, slowly uncoiling his stance to burst into breakneck speed and batter bark abreast to beat down a baddie. "... did you really just..." he grumbles, almost knocked out of his state before shaking his head and stomping into the web once more. A claw reaches down and cuts away the webs holding the Mourner back. "Come on, Deathsinger, get out," he hisses, him keeping an eye out for the being that vanished.

<OOC> Faranmidahn says, "ok so, fangyvanished, lysos erased the dragon and all the zombies are wiped out?"
<OOC> Faranmidahn says, "gonna cast haste"
<OOC> Jinks says, "Or Torrent can move and you can hit everyone except Paenitia."
GAME: Faranmidahn casts Haste. Caster Level: 10 DC: 17

With the stunning display of martial might sending the fetid spellweaver into hiding, Faran wracks her brain trying to figure out a countermeasure within her means, though the arrival of the Void dragon forces a rapid change of focus.

Even as she wheels about, set to begin her own cast, Lysos simply, utterly, annihilates it.

A blink back toward the sorceress, and a smile, as Vaera and Skielstregar handily sort out the remaining troubles amongst the strands.

She moves Torrent to a new position, trying to push the limits of her spell's reach as she invokes, infusing most of the group, save her sister Knight, with a sudden arcane celerity.

<OOC> Paenitia says, "well I'm unlikely to make a DC40 perception check."
<OOC> Paenitia says, "So fly in a U shape like a big target and back up to 18,6"
<OOC> Paenitia says, "have a look around for the knight's bones we're after."
GAME: Paenitia rolls perception: (9)+8: 17

"Ole! Tiny! You quit the field." Paenitia shouts, then chuckles. "It is okay! I will take on the Void Dragon that is your master."

She turns, barely in time to see the beast charred to cinders by Lysos' spell. Overwhelmingly so.

"Ah, I am Tarien's little joke." Less cheer in her voice this time, as she banks Ramirez in the opposite direction and circles vainly northwards seeking the true object of her quest. Random luck might put the scaled lizard-wizard-woman in her path, but it does not. They return to the ruined castle.

Landing, it is clear to her that the rubble is part ossuary, part home, and part workshop. "Comrades, I find Tiny's nest. There is the gold, jewles, bones and the grisly trophies. Many bones, many runes in them."

"I do not see the remains I seek, but that does not mean they are not here."

Nothing in the wanna-be dragon's next seems like the lost Knight's remains.

<OOC> Jinks says, "Berunal will 5', attempting the CMB."
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+5: (2)+5: 7 (CMB - Fail)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+10: (12)+10: 22 (concentration check - fail)
<OOC> Jinks says, "Well, he tries to cast Air Walk on Skiel but loses it."

The Mourner attempts to cast a spell, but fails. He is too caught up in the web.

<OOC> Jinks says, "Vaera, Skiel, Fara, and Berunal need reflex saves!"
GAME: Skielstregar rolls reflex: (15)+6+1: 22 (+1 from haste)
GAME: Vaera rolls reflex: (9)+9+1: 19 (+1 from haste)
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+5: (7)+5+1: 13 (+1 from haste)
GAME: Jinks rolls 13d6: (42): 42
GAME: Faranmidahn rolls reflex: (5)+7+1: 13 ( +1 from haste)
GAME: Faranmidahn rolls 1d20+5: (14)+5+1: 20 (Torrent, +1 haste)
<OOC> Jinks says, "And then a quickened MM at Berunal, defensively. Fudgin' Vardamans."
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+22: (5)+22: 27
GAME: Jinks rolls 5d4+5: (12)+5: 17
<OOC> Skielstregar says, "quickened doesnt provoke aoos"
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 |     Name      |  CHP (T) |  HP  |
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 | Faranmidahn...|   21     |  63  |
 | (C) Torrent...|   -9     |  33  |
 | Lysos.........|   46     |  55  |
 | Paenitia......|   97     |  97  |
 | (C) Ramirez...|   67     |  67  |
 | Skielstregar..|   62     |  91  |
 | Vaera.........|   19     |  61  |
 | (C) Wyrmere...|   45     |  45  |
 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
<OOC> Jinks says, "Berunal is dead now."

A wet crunch of bones and rotted meat signals the arrival of the flying sorceress. There's hardly a moment to react before she blinks into view, fang-filled maw stretched impossibly wide as her neck flexes out blue-green frills and she vomits a violent spray of acid.

The group is bathed in the vile stuff, burning and sizzling, and both Torrent and Berunal go down to twitch and smolder.

The woman spits, forked tongue flicking again as she looks down her nose as the fallen mourner. "The time of your god has passed."

She extends a blackscaled hand that ends in claws and five black balls of energy spiral forth, stilling the fallen form of the cleric.

GAME: Vaera rolls 1d20+7+4+1+1+1-2: (1)+7+4+1+1+1+-2: 13 (EPIC FAIL)

Vaera grunts as the acid drenches her, searing through clothes and armor and scales in kind until it could be wiped off, or vanished. The caster, right next to her, was more important. The red makari snarled at them, and hopped back to aim at them, but the acid had melted the feeding mechanism shut, and ther was nothing to be done. She tossed the weapon aside. "you are unlucky, woman. A thunderbelcher would have been merciful, you have left me no choice but to rip out your spine with my bare hands. You disgrace your blood with your actions." Vaera growls.

GAME: Lysos casts Telekinesis. Caster Level: 12 DC: 24
GAME: Lysos rolls 1d20+12: (20)+12: 32 (vs Spell Resistance - Success!)
GAME: Lysos rolls 1d20+12+9: (13)+12+9: 34 (Telekenisis CMB - Success!)

Lysos turns as the acid breath washes over everyone behind her, just in time to see the dragon woman's magical darts slam into the already hurting Berunal's body. She notes an odd.. detatchment from what appears to be his death. She watches Vaera step back from the suddenly appeared sorcerer, notes the jamming gun... then Lysos raises a hand, then curles her fingers as though she were taking hold of a doll while uttering, "Forzaratus." Magical but invisible bands of forth take hold of the scaled arcanist, holding her fast.

<OOC> Skielstregar will five foot step NW, "and smash"
<OOC> Jinks says, "+1 to hit for haste. +1 attack for haste"
GAME: Skielstregar rolls weapon26+1: (16)+15+1: 32 (power attack, furious focus, arcane stike)
GAME: Skielstregar rolls weapon26+1-3: (19)+15+1+-3: 32
GAME: Skielstregar rolls weapon26+1-3-5: (15)+15+1+-3+-5: 23
GAME: Skielstregar rolls damage26+2+9: aliased to 2d8+12+2+9: (8)+12+2+9: 31
GAME: Skielstregar rolls damage26+2+9: aliased to 2d8+12+2+9: (2)+12+2+9: 25

Skielstregar staggers back as he's blind sided by acid searing his side, him whirling around to spy-

Vaera, sizzling and searing, looking terrible.

From his vantage point, the Deathsinger exhaling their last breath.-

He swivels back, interposing himself between her and his mate. He hefts his halberd. It's stopped leaking. A reflection of silver gleams on the blade.

With a calm unbefitting of his state, he utters, "As the redscale says, your spine issss forfeit."

One jab forward impales her into the ground. The weapon lays there for a moment before melting into ichor.

The sorceress chokes out a wet laugh from where she's fallen on the ground, the glossy black of her scales standing in sharp contrast as what little color she had drains from her pale skin. Her fanged mouth opens and closes wordlessly and both sets of eyelids flutter around her slitted pupils as she stares into the sky.

Skiel spinning around as the miasma travels to him and up his arms, reforming above as his weapon comes down with one fell, executing cleave. Bisecting them in twain from hip to hip.

"Mine... and the mourner..." she coughs, spraying blood and causing her internals to slough out and onto the ground next to a severed legs. "... to the... Void..." she laughs, weakly, as her skin turns ashen and scales crumble. The laughter catches as she sputters and her tortured scream carries on the wind with her disintegrating form flies madly towards the heart of fallen Dragonier.

The wind surges, too, and the sickly-sweet smell is overpowering before it settles suddenly.

The mounds of meat, the corpses, the scattered offal all desiccate in the blink of an eye. The road dries and the clifftop is now covered in scattered bones decades old.

The night of the Test comes back to her in a hissing, sizzling rush of agony....

The albino, like her mount and companions, is engulfed in the vile spew, and yowls in pain as Torrent collapses to the ground beneath her.

Eyes squeezed shut to spare them caustic damage at first that leaves her smouldering in it's wake, the stillness under her slips into her awareness even as she takes in her first post-scream breath.

One that plaintively catches in her throat, "Torrent....!"

Jostle, "Torrent... c'mon boy...." this a note more desperate, laced with a sickening and looming dread.

....

"T-torrent...? Torrent!"

And Sir Waywalker's awarenss of anything beyond the still smoking form of her longest, dearest friend fades to nothing, "H-he's not... he's not.... !"

This last a wail, "S-Somebody help meeeeee....!" <halfling>

The mourner, alas, does not respond to Faranmidahn's call for help. Berunal lies crumpled and motionless in the shadow of the airship. A quiet sizzling and acrid smoke rises from his stilled form.

The sounds of battle draw Paenitia's attention and a gleeful, "Oh! You are still here? I come." The little knight digs in her knees and her mount alights to the sky, soaring over the gate of the castle towards the airship.

To a sight that shocks her, in only a few seconds the landscape changed, burnt clean by acid. Vaera's weapon reduced, Skielstregar gleaming and bright in his battle fury.

The Mourner, dead. Torrent, fallen.

The words of the sorceress as she meets her end, meets her ears. The Red Knight stares as the corpses, the rot, the stench, all fade into nothingness. The wail of her fellow knight cuts through her.

She would despair, should Ramirez fall.

Silently, the pair glide and land beside Faran. Paenitia slides down the wing, potion in hand, feeding it to Torrent, a gauntlet under his head, tipping it up so she can pour into his mandibles.

Vaera was bluffing anyways, and the dragonspitter that had appeared in her hand suddenly had just as quickly vanished, and the makari stoops down to pick up her thunderbelcher and sling it over her shoulder. She didn't dare storing it properly in case the mechanisms were further damaged by the acid.

"You should get off of them, Faranmidahn. It will be difficult for them to stand up after they recover with your added weight." She suggests, before looking around and sighing. She moves to pick up the cleric, and look at Paenitia.

"You are too impulsive, little night. The first time you rushed into the fray nearly left Barclaiigh and myself dead. This time your impulsiveness left the cleric who came to help you fallen."

She shrugs and turns away, preparing to carry the body up to the airship.

Faranmidahn, half bald and badly burned by the acid herself, is seemingly at a loss for how to save her friend, while tears streak her face. It's one of haunted, hopeless desperation, the look that meets the Dame's smiling mask, a desperation that lags her mind in taking in the paladina's intentions.

Once the thought connects, the Blue Rose carefully disengages what remains of the crumbling saddle, and tries to help raise her good boy's body to make it easier to get the potion in.

The chidings may not be noted in her current state, though, in the aftermath of the potion being applied, Torrent's distinctive breathing comes with slightly less labor, though he is yet unconscious. It's some breaths later, that stability, and hope trickles back into the equation, and she can process more of the world than dear Torrent's dreadful wounds, and she looks about as if to do a head count...

Big, forgotten Skielstregar takes a long breath in, then shudders as the undead features abate, him falling to a knee to regain himself. About to get back up to help Fara and Torrent, but the little Knight has that covered. He could understand the grief wholeheartedly.

A glance glance from Vaera to Pae. "Her wordsss aren't unfound," he rumbles quietly, "But we'll discuss thisss later. Vaera, hold, we need somethingsss from him. He gave usss directions to follow."

He follows after Vaera, scoops off his bag with a talon, then deposits it next to the small knights.

The Red Knight waits as the potion trickles into the arachnid, waiting to see the effects. She remains silent, and by the cant of her head she is staring at the Mourner's body. The leering grin of her mask suggests one thing, her silence another.

A silence that is maintained as Vaera places the death of Berunal on her. She accepts this. She has broken her vow that all will return safe.

There is no hint of humour in her voice, only sadness and determination. A stark contrast to the fixed grin she presents. "You are correct, Friend Dragons. I endangered you, endangerd all, cause the death of the Mourner and near death of Torrent."

"This tasks the ghost knight set to me alone, and I should have handle it, alone, and perhaps not come back. This mistake can be rectify. Take the airship. Go. There is nothing to discuss. This is not your quest; I must attone."

She turns, resting a hand on Faranmidahn's shoulder, watching Torrent recover.

Aehrick comes to the edge of the ship, his mithral titan's armor smeared with cloying, oily darkness and his face bloodied. Clean, blue light bleeds out from between the plates as the extra legs carry him over the railing and down the side of the ship. He's clutching a massive wrench that appears to be fused with the artificer's death ray.

The Khazadi man looks around from beneath a jeweled visor, taking stock of the battlefield. He clears his throat, awkwardly, and comes to rest on the ground in six metallic legs.

"We got hit with a silence spell right before some shadowy fiend landed on the deck. It's done and dead but opa is hurt. I made sure he's comfortable..."

The dark-haired man looks down at the broken cleric and then across at Paenitia. "Opa wouldn't hear of that, dame Paenitia. You folk do what you came to do... but hurry, please. Oddskeepers are rich because of what you did for us; a little magic and we'll have you fellow up again. Forgefather's Oath."

Lysos releases her hold on the dragon sorceress as Skielstregar and Vaera deal with her quite soundly. But still the magic rages within her. She hears Faranmidahn lamenting, wailing, crying upon her fallen friend and ally. She frowns, but finds it hard to...

The tsuran givs her head a shake. The sea roars in her ears. But then her eyes go wide, and with an effort she cuts herself off. As she lets go of her magic she staggers, then sinks down to her knees. And all of it comes rushing in. The terror of the fight. The void dragon. The dragon sorceress. The undead horde. The very place that they are now. "I.. I can't..." The dead mourner. The dead or dying giant spider mount. "Oh, stars," she whispers.

Somewhere, though, she finds something to hold on to. Peripheral awareness of the conversation going on not too far from her. The accusations. Lysos stands back up. "Hey.. " she says, then repeats it louder as she starts taking steps towards the warriors gathered around the fallen spider. "Hey! Take a breath! This.. this isn't anyone's fault! Or maybe it's everyone's! The mourner dying isn't on the knight... and neither are our wounds. All of us made a choice to be here, okay? And if any of us thought this couldn't happen.. then maybe we need to reconsider this line of work."

"You are misunderstanding what I am saying." Vaera chuffs. "Ah, right. Take the supplies. I'll be back shortly."

The red makari stops and turns back. "I am not putting their death on your shoulders. I am simply stating that you need to be more mindful of those around you. Perhaps yes, talking later would be best."

"I am not saying not to rely on others, or to go off to die. That is equally, if not more foolish." She finishes, before helping to load the body onto the airship.

Aehrick will accept the body after the pouch of supplies are taken. He works with Vaera to place the mourner over his shoulder and then steadies Berunal around the legs. With one last nod, the Khazadi artificer's armor glowers a little brighter and the spidery legs carry him back up and onto the ship.

Faranmidahn sniffs, squeezing her eyes shut tight for a moment before her hand, blotched and bereft of lace, rises to clean her face, "You saved him, sister.... Thank you..." <halfling>

That hand lowers to carefully stroke the ravaged shell, "We'll get you taken care of, I swear..."

Somewhere, half a continent away, a middled aged Lucht woman is trying to calm a rodent sized coconut spider who's franticly dancing in her web.

Here, though, the words cut through the fog and she catches up on the situation, looking to the paladina, then puts a now-bald foot under her, "No... we see this through, together. The rest..."

A sigh, "The rest can wait until we're back in friendly skies.

She considers her companions, resolving to try and see to their in the aftermath during the trip back.

Skiel squints at Paenitia's words, them only further narrowing from the other's comments, only to Relax as Faranmidahn calms. He swishes around his mouth and spits an ice ball into the spot of the black scaled caster. A hand gestures towards Vaera, seconding her opinion before he adds in a more honeyed manner, "Don't be defeatist, Warrior Paenitia. Let us sort this ghost knight, then share words later. Here, the bag. Finish what we started," he rumbles in that loud, deep tone of his enlarged stature. Sounding tired, but wanting to push forward as he nudges the bag. "Come, thisss one can move heavy thingsss for a time."

"No, You are right, Friend Dragon. I am not the leader of Men I think I am, not the clever tactician. My attack and my words do not fell the sorceress, my choice to do so leave you vulnerable, and you pay. Berunal pays. Torrent pays. This is not the work line for me." The Red Knight says, her words grim. She looks up, after Aehrick, the shading of her helmet brim keeping her eyes in shadows. He's gone.

"It my folly to ask for aid. Better to go off and die than to lead others to death and destruction, and you rightfully criticize me. There is naught to discuss." She waves her hand, and faces Faranmidhan. The other small knight can see past her mask. "It is not your quest, it is not your folly. I hear the rip in your heart and know I am the cause."

She picks up the bag, attaches it to Ramirez's saddle then swings herself up. "Go. Do not follow."

EPILOGUE

The journey hasn't been without cost but there's still a task to be finished. The fallen Mourner was a practical man and had a contingency in place should he fall; constant consideration of one's own mortality must be a common trait among worshippers of the Queen of the Dead. A pouch with supplies for an anointed fire. Perhaps not the rites the fallen knight deserves but a sufficient gesture to free his spirit into the afterlife.

The ruins are part ossuary and part workshop as well as a spartan home. Heth's sorceress had collected piles upon piles of skeletal remains from those that died in and around the keep, employing them in the creation of token, trinket, and fetish. Scrimshaw and scrivener's tools are found next to a stained and repurposed saddle draped with an equally-defiled Dragonieri rider's cape. Larger dragon's bones are arranged neatly and chiseled with arcane runes; grissly artifacts created in service of the Void Wyrm. The squatter had spent countless hours using the saddle as a bench, stripping, bleaching, and carving the remains of the noble creatures into scrolls.

The knight's body is finally located, posted precariously near to the cliff's edge. The remains are inverted, staked, and tied to a dangled beam, left to swing and rot facing where the sun sets each and every day. Collecting them is a delicate matter as little connective tissue still holds the aging skeleton intact. His once-fine armor is chewed, battered, and piled to rust, ruined, amongst the rubble of the wall nearby.

The somber pyre is made and the oils applied. The fire is hungry and burns quickly, smelling strongly of alchemical agents meant to hasten and assure the thoroughness of the flames. The bones are consumed and reduced to a blackened powder. After they're sprinkled with the holy water the rite is done.

The chain over the gate snaps and the heavy dragon's skull falls and shatters.

At the top of the broken tower the spectral knight climbs atop the ghostly form of his fallen draconic companion and the pair take flight, disappearing up and into the blazing sun.

OOC

Map
https://www.mipui.net/app/index.html?mid=m42yc6twlp6
<OOC> Jinks says, "So the red blotches are the assorted corpse piles. The grey/black is the edge of the cliff. I have the fog of war down to dilineate the drope. The NE corner would be the sheer fall to the water below."

 ===================== Current Initiative Order - Round 1 =====================
 ---Init--Name------------AOO-Notes--------------------------------------------
     26   Rraedtrocus         
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     21   Vaera            1  Flat-footed (0 rnds active)                  
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     16   BotV                
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     15   Lysos            1  Flat-footed (0 rnds active)                  
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     10   Skielstregar     1  Flat-footed (0 rnds active)                  
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     8    Faranmidahn      1  Flat-footed (0 rnds active)                  
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     6    Paenitia         1  Flat-footed (0 rnds active)                  
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     4    Piles And Piles     
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