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Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Ander Windrivver
Ander stands up, brushing himself off and straightening his armor.
I was sent here for heresy. I had learned that the highest levels of the Church of Light's leadership had been corrupted, infiltrated by agents of Azguloth. I went to the Basilica of Light to ascertain the truth and, if necessary, purge the leadership.
Ander begins to walk as he talks, setting small motes of light around their position.
There, those'll allow us to see a little better and ward us against any other demons that may be lurking around this level. Anyway, so I rode into the Basilica resplendent in my shining armor and billowing cloak and confronted the cardinals.
He hangs his head and sighs.
They were ready for me, and imprisoned me within a cage of unholy magic and packed me off to Ironheart. And so I here I have wasted away for the past ten or twenty years, I don't really know how long, while they bled me for their insane rituals. I'm afraid that they may finally have succeeded and are about to unleash an unspeakable evil upon this earth.
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Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Korram sizes Ander up. "Very well then, what are you doing now that you're free? Ah, hold that thought. We haven't been properly introduced. I am Korram Alstan, the Firebrand, this is my daughter, Katrina, and this is...Seraph." Korram's arm sparks angrily. "And that's Calcifer. Now, what are you going to do?"
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Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Ander Windrivver
Ander leans up against the wall.
I'm heading up. Before I was captured, Miriam and Athelion had given me a number of gifts to help fight the agents of Azguloth and I believe that they are still in the fortress treasury. After that, I'll be heading back down as fast as I can to try and stop whatever it is that's going on under Ironheart.
How about you three? Most sane people would be heading up and out of this place but you seem to be heading down.
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Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Korram nods. "I see. We are indeed heading down. Seraph's wife is down in the lower levels, and she is apparently going to be sacrificed in a very important ritual. Seraph wants to get his wife back. I just want to throw a wrench in the plans of these demon summoning b****es."
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Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Ander Windrivver
Ander nods solemnly.
Be careful, I saw the Warden heading down below the maximum security cells. Apparently we're not the only escapees because he's released another prisoner, a woman by the name Katashiko Mistress of Earth, to hunt down some escaped prisoner he was afraid would mess up the ritual. She's deadly in hand-to-hand so be careful and she can probably manipulate earth and probably metal judging by the bodies of several guards that were embedded in the iron walls. So if you see a woman with symbols branded all over her body, be extremely careful. There's also a unit of elites at the guard station when you get down to the next level of cells. I was able to convince them that I had been ordered by the Warden to initiate one Captain Delran's evacuation protocol so it's likely that some of them will be spread out checking cells before they all head up. Again, be careful. If they've discovered that I've escaped then they'll be on high alert.
He clears his throat.
What's the situation on the upper levels?
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Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Korram smiles, a horrible sadistic smile that even Ander can't help but shudder at. "Just follow the scorched bodies. The path should be clear. We just made a mess of the Torture Chambers, and the Efreet didn't help either. That may be the only real danger left: if you see a big scary demon on fire, run very fast the other direction. Me and Seraph combined could only ward it off, and that is saying something."
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Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Ander Windrivver
Ander throws back his head and laughs at Korram's final comment. A full, hearty belly laugh like he hadn't laughed in decades.
Ah, Korram, you really don't realize who you are talking to. Trust me when I say that I have been fighting demons since you were sucking at your momma's tit. Thank you for the warning, I will be careful, but I can handle an efreet.
He takes a moment to regain his composure.
Thank you for your help, and for not killing me when you had the chance. Time, however, is ticking away and I must get up to the treasury. If there is nothing else, I really must be on my way.
If neither Seraph nor Korram have anything else to say, Ander will head off and hustle in the direction of the guard post.
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Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Korram laughs. Hard. "Don't get cocky, Ander. I like you, so I'll give you a little warning: you've atrophied in your time here as a prisoner. Seraph would have killed you had your fight continued, and he wasn't even fighting full force. If you battle something like that Efreet, it will kill you."
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Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Voth
Slowly getting up and facing the cowering girl, Voth gives her a sad smile. "I'm sorry you had to witness that. Truth be told I was possessed by a demon. He's gone now, however I have little time to live as a result. I must make my way down into the deeper chambers of this forsaken place. Will you help me? Please?"
The plead is mirrored in Voth's facial expression, a face of pure regret for his past actions.
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Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Ander Windrivver
Ander nods sagely at Korram's remarks.
He took me by surprise, yes, but I was fighting defensively, was distracted by a grafnir, and hadn't held a sword in your daughter's lifetime. So, while that gave your friend the advantage, I am confident that I would have been able to overpower him had the fight continued longer. Yes, a mortal imprisoned for ten or twenty years would have atrophied, but I am no mortal prisoner. I am the Chosen of Miriam, infused with the powers of her and Athelion I am no longer human, but a celestial being. I do not tire, I do not hunger, I do not thirst. As long as I have a connection to the godhead, I do not need to worry about the infirmities of a mortal body.
He takes a few more steps before turning back for one final remark.
And besides, after you die once, death no longer scares you like it used to. Believe me.
With that, Ander hustles off down the hallway in search of the next guard station.
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Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Korram holds up a hand. 'Wait. I have something that you may find useful." Korram's arm ignites, and he strains for a second before a small ball of flame emerges. Korram cools his arm before heaving the ball at Ander. "Catch. If you ever need it, and I do mean need it, throw that ball far away from you and say 'Korram sends his regards'. I'm sure you'll find it useful."
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Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Ander Windrivver
Ander catches the ball of fire and stows it into a belt pouch.
Thanks. You know what, I have something for you guys too. Let me see your weapons.
Ander moves from weapon to weapon (most of them Seraph's), blessing them as he goes.
There, your weapons now carry the blessing of Miriam the Valkyrie. You will find that they are now even more deadly against evil beings, demons in particular. Unfortunately for you Korram, I cannot bless your arm. However, I can give you this.
Ander conjures a mote of light which quickly solidifies.
This Shard of Athelion will pulse with light as servants of Azguloth approach, getting brighter as they get nearer. If you throw it, it will explode with holy energy. Use it well.
I really must go now. Time is slipping through my fingers as we speak.
He smiles just as he is about to run off down the hall.
If we get though this alive, meet me at the Hairy Boar Tavern up north. Ol' Elkwin brews one of the finest ales I've ever tasted.
With that, Ander finally turns to run down the hall toward the next guard station.
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Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Askov
“Your hand…”
I turned back to look at Tattoos. “She doesn’t look to be in a position to be making jokes. And if she wanted us dead, couldn’t she have just let those ghost things in here? Or she could have decided to not wake us up from that dream. I really think she is being square with us, in her own way, but still …. I think we should do as she asks.”
“Besides” I continued, “How is this crazier than anything else we have faced in the past day or so.”
I reach down to the bed, and feel the skeleton below the vision of the body. Her right had she said… There was hardly anything left other than old dry bones. Snapping the wrist joint should be no problem.
“Here goes…..” I say as taking a deep breath and start to flex and pull the hand up and against the wrist manacle, using that for leverage.
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Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Incom Morgan – Trapped in a prison of metal
Listening to the cultists accept the death of Akor Incom mentally sighs with relief. He was confident that the cultists would see reason, however there was always the chance that blind devotion could have led to his death at their hands. As the lead cultist goes over the functions of the suit that he is now trapped in Incom nods along, and smiles slightly as he sees that they managed to recover his hammer.
As they lower the helmet over his head Incom closes his one good eye and takes a deep breath.
”Thank you for this gift. I hope that despite the past you will aid me in this struggle, fight with me and repair the armor as needed for far too soon shall I be in combat once again.”
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Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Amidst the wreckage of his coffin and the fallen acolytes, now little more than smears of blood on the floor, the Herald glared at the Hierarch. “YOU. Did you think I had forgotten who it was that slew me?”
Nonplussed, the Hierarch stared back at the Herald
“I was indeed the one who took your life. And now I have returned it to you.”
Now a smile returned to the Herald’s face, a leering grin that revealed his two main fangs along with his rows of smaller ones.
“That was most assuredly a mistake. Blood can only be repaid with BLOOD!” A single stroke of the Herald’s massive wings was sufficient to carry him forward and aloft. A moment later and he began to descend towards the Hierarch, scythe held high. As the Herald’s blow landed, however, the Hierarch melted away, dissolving into a thousand pieces that shifted to reform several feet away.
“Hmph. Well that’s new.” The Herald grunted as he spun his scythe around for another attack.
“Yes. I have been reborn in the Master’s image.” This time instead of fading away the Hierarch stood his ground and caught the scythe in mid-swing with one hand. The two former rivals then engaged in a test of strength, each seeking to wrest the weapon away.
“I’ve seen this trick before. Pity you’re in front of me now instead of behind, hmmm?” The Herald grunted, releasing his weapon to jump back with a powerful beat of his wings as the Hierarch drew a sword from inside his robes with his free hand. It was difficult to tell where the withered hand ended and the blade began, for both were covered in a thin layer of scabious skin that glistered with mucus. Wielding both his sword and the Herald’s scythe now, the Hierarch stood ready as he shook his cowled head.
“Fool. I do not have time to indulge your bloodlust against me. I can just as easily put you down a second time and take what I require from your corpse, but then you would be denied the privilege of watching as the Master is loosed from his prison at last.”
The Herald again flashed a toothy smile at the Hierarch, but relaxed as he sullenly answered, “A prison that you and your sister put Him in, but alright. Fine. I see that some things – such as your cowardice – never change. But I would like to watch this world burn once more, so for now our own squabble is postponed. Know that I am the Master’s servant, however, and not yours.”
“Of course.” Even the Hierarch’s normally monotone voice now held a note of disdain. “But in the Master’s absence, you will obey my commands. Millennia of planning has gone into this day, and much remains to complete. And there are yet those who would try to deny us victory.”
Here the Herald sighs contentedly as he stretches and looks upward. “Mmmm, I can feel them. Elandra, Marisiel, Ysora, and a dozen other bright souls burning brightly above us. Have they come here to try and stop us?”
“No, they are all just ghosts or pale shadows of what they once were. They are no threat to us now, and the others are weak prisoners brought here as sacrifice: the opening banquet for the feast to come. Yet in their clueless folly, some may yet bumble through the chaos when they are least welcome.”
“Hmph. You want me to play exterminator, is that all? I certainly don’t mind the chance to wreck a little havoc amongst the sheep but surely you didn’t bring me back just for that.”
“For once you are correct. You will be needed for the final ritual to release the Master, which is the only thing that justifies your continued existence. But since you’ve agreed to cooperate, perhaps you can also eliminate any dangerous complications. First however, you get to remove the unwanted waste that has festered here for far too long.”
The Herald’s combative behavior returns as he realizes the meaning of the Hierarch’s words. “You want me to take out the trash? Perhaps you should kill me now if you are going to insult me!”
“Perhaps, but your revival has also left you weak. The consumption of a few dozen souls should return a modicum of your strength. They are nothing but pathetic spirits, bound to the locations where their bodies died. It was necessary at the time but now they’ve lost all usefulness. It is difficult to permanently remove such spirits for they are quite resilient, but not so resilient as to resist one who can consume souls.”
Although more contemplative, the Herald was still incredulous. “You want my first act upon returning to this existence to be eating a bunch of ghosts? Hmph, most spirits are too far gone over to the other side to prove interesting prey.”
“Elandra is among them.”
“REALLY? I had thought something was different about her aura. I suppose that makes this first assignment tolerable. I think I will save her for last, so I can torment her with the knowledge that there will be no reward save annihilation for all those fools who followed her into death.”
“As you said earlier, as a mere spirit she is perhaps too far gone to truly appreciate your cruelty. But it is nonetheless a fitting end to the Harlot. If you should discover her sword in your travels, however, please retrieve it and return it to me. It is required for the final ritual.”
“And you can’t use the Dayblade for this ritual?”
The Hierarch raises the flesh-covered sword up slightly, as if to examine it critically for the first time. “No. The Duskblade is not. Only the Dawnblade is usable for the ritual. Like my own blade, it has undergone certain . . . changes . . . over the millennia that make them more suitable for their current tasks. It is imperative that we locate the Dawnblade, for we cannot conclude the final ritual if we do not. And one of those insignificant souls brought here to die seems to have made off with it.”
Here the Herald cackles with sadistic glee. “Excellent. Perhaps I will get to exterminate a few living souls as well then while I put these undying souls out of their misery. I will depart immediately.”
The Hierarch extends the scythe towards the Herald, but with a smirk and small gesture from its real master the scythe blinks out of existence to reappear in the Herald’s hands. The Herald gives the Hierarch a jauntily salute with the blade before lifting off the ground with several savage beatings of his wings. Once airborne, the Herald swept down towards the corridor, leaving the Hierarch behind to watch his departure.
The Spires: Ironheart Research
Voth
The girl looks at you with incredulous fear, but slowly nods her head. Nodding more vigorously now, the girl says “Um, okay!”
Pushing herself uncertainly back up onto her feet, the girl rubs her undoubtedly throbbing head. “I’m not sure how I can help you though. Like I said the guards don’t value me so you can’t use me as a hostage, and I’m don’t know much of the layout of this place beyond this tower and a few parts of the Central Tower. How are we going to get through all the guards between here and down there though? And why do you want to go deeper into the prison? I thought we were going to escape?”
The Main Tower
Lonna
(Yes it is, and Pyrene slips ever closer into becoming a mass-murdering monster. Eggsaladent! :smallbiggrin: P.S. Is this bad enough stuff for you now? :smalltongue: )
After a brutal and desperate fight you put both elites down for good, wounded both physically and spiritually. For a moment the thought that you deserved to be in here, that you really were just a monster with a pretty face, flashed through your mind. But as pain throbbed brutally through your thigh and hand, that thought was quickly shoved to the back of your mind in return for thoughts of sheer survival.
First you examine your injuries, which thankfully are not crippling despite their severity. You had been very, very lucky with the crossbow bolt: Maxwell had buried the bolt only partially into the back of your hand, and the head was not even fully embedded in your flesh. If the head had been, you would have faced a difficult decision thanks to the savage barbs protruding from the back of the head.
Those barbs were positioned and shaped in such a way as to inflict the maximum amount of trauma possible when directly removed, and you likely would have temporarily, if not permanently, reduced your hand to a mangled claw. In order to avoid that, you would have had to do something drastic like push the bolt the rest of the way through your hand, preying it didn’t get caught on one of your bones or sever a major vein on its way through, and then snapped off the head before pulling the broken shaft back out of your wound. The very thought of doing so made your stomach start to churn, a dangerous prospect given the pain-induced nausea you already felt. Thankfully the bolt’s head wasn’t all the way in, and you didn’t have to worry about that.
It still hurt terribly, and you could see the bolt slowly working itself in deeper as you carefully moved and flexed your hand to determine the extent of the injury. That meant that the bolt clearly couldn’t remain in your hand, but pulling it out was potentially dangerous as well – you had heard many stories of stab wounds bleeding profusely once the weapon was removed from the wound. This wasn’t quite a stab wound but you were sure the principle was the same.
Looking back at your thigh, you nearly faint as you see the ragged disgusting tear in your flesh. In his fury, Samuel had managed to bite all the way through your dress, tearing a large hole in your silk dress as his teeth continued on through to your skin. A mouth-sized chunk of flesh had followed, and the hole in your leg was clearly visible. Around the wound itself several patches of skin had also been torn off as the chunk of flesh pulled free, adding blood and mess to the wound but not particularly adding to the severity of the injury. Blood was rapidly flowing down your leg, and it was clear that while the bite didn’t seem to go down to the bone at least one major vein or artery had been severed. Some of the muscle also had been removed or pulled out of position, and your normally extremely flexible leg didn’t quite bend or twist as well as it usually did.
You struggled to hold back the tears as pain continued to race through your body, as you couldn’t afford the blurring of your vision right now. The next few minutes would be critical to determining your very survival, as there was a very real possibility of bleeding to death here in the hallway beside the two elites.
Your first objective to treating your wounds was to get free of Samuel’s manacle. A quick search of his belt turns up a key in a small side pouch, which thankfully matches up with the keyhole of the manacle. Although you have significant difficulty in manipulating the key sufficiently well enough to open the lock with your injured hand, you finally manage to push the key around with the back of your thumb.
With both hands free, you are now able to take stock of your situation and perform a quick but thorough search of the two elites. You find that each is armed with a crossbow, longsword, dagger, set of manacles with key, and equipped with a thick suit of chainmail, a set of golden-colored steel pauldrons over their shoulders, and a thick red silk sash. Also, mercifully, and perhaps proving beyond a doubt that the gods were for some reason looking out for you after all, you find a pair of healing potions, one each tucked away in another side pocket on each elite’s belt.
You immediately uncork one and suck the bitter concoction down, feeling slightly better immediately. Your bleeding slows somewhat, but clearly does not stop either. You doubted that the other potion would be able to heal your wounds completely either, but it bought you slightly more time.
Reluctantly, you admit to yourself that the time had come to treat your hand, and quickly pull the crossbow bolt clear before tightly wrapping your hand up in one of the elite’s sashes. Using your teeth and other hand you pull the cloth as tight as you can bear, whimpering as the cloth digs into your open wound. You work a quick knot into the fabric to hold it, as that would have to do for now while you attended to your leg.
The other elite sash, although with strips of cloth from either your dress of the elite’s own clothing, would have to be sufficient bandages for your gaping injury. Unfortunately, you didn’t think that the bandages nor even the healing potion together would be enough to stop your leg’s bleeding. You would need to cauterize the wound with fire somehow, but neither of the guards had torches or anything else you could use in that regard.
Looking up however, you could see an easy cauterizing tool: only a few feet away from your current position a lantern burned from its wall hook. You would be unable to reach the lantern from the floor, however, which meant either knocking the lantern down somehow and risking a fire or dragging yourself up onto your feet and lowering the lantern back down to the floor before collapsing.
And then you’d have to somehow get the oil lamp out from the glass casing, and use it to burn the sizable hole in your leg until the bleeding stopped. And you would have to do this all quickly, as already you were starting to feel a tad light-headed.
The_Snark Theater
The_Snark
Brother Roderick Corwin, the guard said, and a little knot that had been in the back of Mar’s head since the vision came undone. The priest had been Daddy, with a younger face! And red hair. How funny; he must have been young. That surprise takes up an inordinate amount of her thoughts, because the visions made her uneasy. Quite aside from what happened to the person in them, there was something about them that made her not want to think about them. It would be easier not to do that, not to wonder, but they keep coming back.
She flinches at Julian’s questioning look, looking down instead of meeting his eyes. ”He’s—I… I’m… wrong. Not right, not how I’m supposed to be, sometimes. A lot of the time.” Like now. Oh, how wrongheaded she was being right now. Oddly, the guard’s presence doesn’t make this harder to say at all, she was used to agreeing with the guards. Julian made it hard enough. Her lips are dry, and she licks them. ”He tries—he’s trying to fix that. To fix me.” Why did he make it hard to admit? She never liked thinking about what was wrong with her too much, was too cowardly to think about it much, but why did his presence matter?
She sits abruptly, her legs folding underneath her into a cross-legged position. ”It isn’t working,” she whispered to nobody in particular. Herself. Julian. She couldn’t remember when Daddy had started, couldn’t remember not being awful and disappointing him. But nothing was changing. That much she remembered. Maybe it had been her mother, wanders a thought across her mind, distracting. Maybe in the visions she was her mother, who had been brought here like her daughter. Had her mother been like her?
DM
Julian's expression is one of mute horror as you explain. He is silent as you finish and sit down on the floor. Everything was wrong and mixed up now. You didn't know how you should be feeling, or what to think of your pain-filled visions and the people in them. Could it be possible? Was Daddy really in your visions just now, looking far younger and completely different from the Daddy that you recognize? No, perhaps not completely different, as you mentally age and wrinkle the face from your visions it comes to match Daddy's face perfectly.
But who was this winged lady that you associated yourself with in your visions? Someone else who had been bad, and that Daddy had tried to correct? Your mother maybe? There was some sort of familiarity that you felt with the woman in the visions, but the two of you looked nothing alike. And you certainly didn't have wings. In any case, your thoughts are interrupted by Julian.
He kneels down in front of you, tucking his legs underneath him as he reaches out to put both his hands on your shoulders, looking into your eyes. His expression has turned hard again, but his eyes are shining with emotion. "No no no! I refuse to accept that there's something wrong with you Mar! Your Daddy's the one who's the freak for torturing you! You saved my life, and that is good! There's nothing wrong with you if you can do that!" Julian bows his head as tears begin to flow from his eyes. "I owe you my life. I can't accept that you're broken and need fixing. I won't."
From his position over by the wall the guard begins to laugh again. "How . . . touching. But tears . . . won't change the fact . . . she really is broken. Poor naughty little Mar. Maybe . . . maybe you ought to try . . . hitting her? She'd . . . believe you then."
"S-SHUT UP!" Julian shouts.
Dorizzit
You are unable to prevent the demon from snatching up your daughter and swinging off into the darkness, but neither are you incapable of doing something about it. However, as you begin to prepare several thin lances of fire to send shooting off into the darkness, you receive a shock of your own.
A moment after the demon has disappeared into the darkness, a high-pitched scream echoes through the hallway. It is not coming from your daughter, however, for it has an unearthly component to it that could only come from the throat of something not human. The sudden sound aids your own aim greatly, and you send your lances streaking off into the darkness and manage to hit the demon with all but one of them.
As is the case with most demons, this one seems to be somewhat resistant to fire and has a thick hide. However, in the dim lighting provided by the fire lances you are able to see that several deep gashes have been ripped into the demon and that most of its innards are now hanging outside. You can also see your daughter, hanging from the remains of the demon’s chest by two thick tentacles that are wound around the creature’s torso. Using a blade of some sort, your daughter cuts another deep gash into the demon’s chest with an arc of blood and squeal from the demon. The tentacles then loosen and fall off, carrying your daughter with them into the darkness beneath the demon as your fiery lances bore into the wounds running along its side and flash cook what’s left of its insides. The demon explodes into a shower of gooey flesh and a brilliant flash a moment later, revealing your daughter briefly as she slowly picks herself up off the floor as the flesh rains down. An ichor-covered and sheepish looking Katrina staggers back into the light of your lantern a few moments later, looking relatively unhurt.
Your daughter clearly safe for the moment, you turn your attention to Seraph’s opponent. After tackling him and bringing the confrontation to an end with a threatened fireball to the head, you learn that he is apparently a prisoner much like yourself. One who’s suffered here even longer than you have if his memory is to be trusted.
“If he’s a disguised elite, it is a poor and confusing ruse that we have no time to figure out now.” Seraph grunts, sheathing his sword and giving a slight bow of respect to the man. “You are a skilled combatant Sir Ander. It would be interesting to spar with you should the opportunity one day present itself when we could both fight to our full potential with no distractions or disadvantages.” Seraph then allows Ander to bless his weapons, which takes a considerable amount of time given the equally considerable arsenal that Seraph is carrying with him. Seraph looks somewhat uncomfortable with someone touching his weapons as Ander bestows his blessing upon them, and clearly wishes to press on as quickly as possible.
Ander likewise seems eager to press on, but clearly intends on going in the opposite direction. For a moment your thoughts turn to the Countess, hopefully somewhere else in the fortress that was a bit safer, but nonetheless in need of rescue after nobly surrendering herself to the guards. But then you push her to the back of your mind as you refocus on the more immediate issues, such as helping Seraph rescue his own damsel and protecting your daughter.
Ultimately you and Ander part ways, exchanging potentially useful gifts for the road ahead before moving apart. Following Ander’s directions, you swiftly reach the steps leading down into the guard post. The demon-detecting crystal flares a few times during your journey, but doesn’t glow particularly brightly – how bright would it get when a demon was directly on top of you? You didn’t really have any idea until you put it to the test, and by then you’d likely have a slavering denizen of the Hells to deal with.
Echoing faintly up the stairwell to you, you can hear the elites that Ander warned you about, evidently still down there but preparing to move out. Silently, Seraph hands the lantern off to you as he removes his cloak once more. Before the two of you can discuss plans on how to deal with the elites, however, the demon crystal suddenly flares brightly.
At the intersection where you had met Ander, a black shrouded figure appears, surrounded by a dozen small cavorting demons that appear to be mere imps. Although he stops, the figure does not seem particularly intimidated by the three of you. A moment later, he begins to speak, croaking in a thick voice that would be disturbing even if his topic of speech were not so macabre. “Three sacrifices located. One angelic human male, severing the spinal cord or removal of the heart will result in death. One –“
The strange humanoid creature is interrupted in its monologue by a crossbow bolt from Seraph, burying itself in the thing’s chest to seemingly little effect. Calmly, the creature removes the crossbow bolt from its torso, snapping it apart before allowing the pieces to fall to the ground. It does seem irritated, however, as the next words out of its mouth are: “Tear their hearts from their chests for the glory of Azguloth.”
As one screeching herd the twelve imps surge forward towards you. They make such a racket that the sound apparently carries down to the elites below, as you hear them suddenly go on alert. In response Seraph draws his bastard sword and a hand axe, flexing his black wings angrily.
“All mine.” He whispers as he gestures at the approaching mob with his (blessed) sword. He then nods down the stairwell. “All yours.” Turning his back towards you, Seraph advances out to meet the oncoming gaggle of imps, leaping forward at the last second to sever one with a flick of his wrist.
Baerdog7
Distracted by the swordsman, you unfortunately lose sight of the grafnir and all hope of pursuing it as the young man continues to press you. Finally manages to drop your lantern safely, you manage to grasp the hilt of your own sword with your off-hand and now match the man in strength and leverage. Focusing your entire attention on the opponent currently in front of you instead of the demon about to snack on a potentially innocent girl, sadly, you manage to switch to offense.
As you force the man back towards the wall however, his eyes flash strangely and seem to glow. His movements then seem to speed up even more, his arms becoming a blur as his parries your blows and responds with several counterattacks that stall your current advance. Unfortunately, you don’t get a chance to come up with a counter to this new ability of your dangerous opponent, as the other man tackles you to the ground and holds a ball of fire up to your face.
From there things actually take a turn for the better, surprisingly enough, as you manage to introduce yourself and explain that you are not an elite. Various pieces of information are exchanged, and you quickly find yourself with if not allies then at least comrades in arms. Like you Korram and Katrina appear to be prisoners, although their stints in Ironheart even added together are nowhere near the length of your own stay. As for Seraph he seems to be an enigmatic outsider, breaking into Ironheart to rescue his imprisoned wife of all mad things.
Seraph does, however, compliment your fighting technique with a slight bow of his head as he sheaths his own weapon. “You are a skilled combatant Sir Ander. It would be interesting to spar with you should the opportunity one day present itself when we could both fight to our full potential with no distractions or disadvantages.” He then allows you to bless his considerable array of weapons, although he is clearly uncomfortable with the idea of someone else touching his gear.
Eventually however you part ways with the trio, exchanging gifts that would hopefully be useful in the journey ahead. And you apparently had quite a journey ahead of you if you were going to go up, collect your gear, and then return back down to the depths of the fortress in time to stop this dark ritual.
You do not have far to go before you encounter your next hurdle. As you round a corner, you watch as a black-clad figure leans down and snaps a fallen guard’s neck. As if it had sensed you, the figure immediately turns to face you, its own face hidden by the cowl drawn far up over its head. Black tendrils of energy begin to flow out from the bottom hem of its robe as it seemingly begins to describe you in a croaking, gravely voice.
“Intruder detected. Divinely enhanced human. Removal of the heart or extreme exposure to unholy magic should result in death. Removal of the head will prevent any potential regeneration. Threat assessment high, proceeding with caution.”
As it was speaking, the dark tendrils lashed out to suffuse the six nearest crumpled bodies to the figure. As one they began to moan and move once more, apparently transformed from corpses into zombies by the figure in a matter of moments. Getting to their feet the six zombies began to shuffle towards you, while the figure leans down to retrieve a fallen longsword, softly chanting over it as it began to glow with an increasingly malevolent light.
Someplane Else
OverWilliam
Recognizing the click for what it was, your mind struggles to give action to the thought. But you are too exhausted to move with the speed necessary to warn your elf ally in time. All you can do is watch helplessly as the door swings incrementally wider, time seeming to slow so that your eyes could catch every horrible second of the impending catastrophe.
Sure enough, after the door is pushed several inches wider, there is a loud thwack as the trap discharges. This sound even Teareal cannot miss, and with a nervous speed born of too much pent-up adrenaline and anger, he manages to react where you cannot. Throwing his weight back, Teareal drags the door with him, slamming it closed once again as the elf tumbles onto his rear in the sickly grass a few feet back from the door. An instant later you hear a series of loud impacts strike against the door, which your trained ear numbly recognizes as an excessive number of pointed and bladed projectiles. All or none of them may have been poisoned, a moot point your brain also acknowledges a moment later since the only thing that the projectiles struck was the inside wood of the door.
Turning to Teareal, you can see that he has an unreadable expression on his face, judged to be some sort of perverse mix of elation at having survived and sheer terror at what almost happened. For some reason you find his expression incredibly funny, and break into a chuckle for several moments. Then you feel extremely light-headed, and your vision starts to go dark as exhaustion overcomes your at last, the stimulants lose sufficient effectiveness to keep you awake, and you crash into sleep.
------------------------------------------------
You awaken some indeterminable amount of time later, finding yourself curled up on a hardwood floor. A blanket has been draped over you, which you identify has being made out of numerous strips of soft leather weaved together by some sort of strong silk. Fortunately your still half-asleep mind doesn’t think further on where such a construction likely came from, and you idly throw it off of yourself as you slowly wake up. You dimly remember your dreams and that they were not particularly peaceful, but neither were they horrifying enough to drive you out of sleep either. (Feel free to make up a mildly disturbing dream that Tare does remember, if you so desire.)
Looking around, you find that you are alone in a small side room of some sort, shelves full of small dusty jars filled with various half-seen contents that nevertheless start to set you on edge as your mind becomes more fully awake. Although you could probably do with some more sleep, you were no longer significantly tired and felt that you would be able to operate for a number of hours before needing sleep again like a normal human being should. From under the doorway off to your right the smell of delicious hot meaty soup comes wafting over to your nose.
The Catacombs
Burrito
Tattoos throws his hands up in the air and turns away, his facial expression clearly one of submission but quiet disapproval. With his grudging consent and the ghost’s clear desire to have you do this, you move over beside the ghost woman.
Reaching down, you quickly find the skeletal hand lying beneath the ghost’s own, and work it free using the nearby manacle for leverage. The hand is very dry, but surprisingly not brittle so that it thankfully doesn’t come apart in your own hand as you pull it free. With a dry crack what little remains of the woman’s tendons snap free, allowing you to pull the relatively intact skeletal hand free. Like the ghost’s hand, the skeletal version is missing its two lowest fingers: the pinky and ring fingers.
“The result of a wound sustained during my attempt to rescue my brother from a horrid fate. The Goddess warned me but I refused to listen: is this then the punishment for that crime? Oblivion for all!?”
Bloody tears begin to emerge from the dark corners of the woman’s missing eyes.
“I cannot accept that for those innocent of the crime. Therefore kiss me and take your leave, for you have a world to fight for. Take my comb with you: the ghosts outside cannot approach that which is holy and between what remains of my hair and my hand that should be enough.”
“Kiss her?” Tattoos says, turning back to look at the two of you, before throwing up his hands again and turning back to face the door. “Go ahead Askov, kiss the crazy ghost lady. I’m sure there won’t be any consequences for it, just like taking her hand.”
ubersquid
The ghost looks somewhat annoyed but nods. Figures: he was already dead. He probably couldn’t get tired. “The ghosts can’t enter this sacred ground, so we should be safe for the moment. But soon enough none of us will be safe anywhere. Recover your strength quickly.”
With these words of partial encouragement, you lie down on the pew and allow yourself to relax enough to fall asleep. Sleep comes quickly enough, and despite every horrible thing that you had seen today your dreams are rather uneventful. The last one, however, you remember vividly upon waking and it leaves you feeling quite uneasy.
You seem to be standing on top of a hill, a chapel standing on the pinnacle behind you and the crazy ghost woman – Elandra – standing a short distance away. She is no longer wounded or blinded, and is quite stunning now with the faint nimbus of light that seems to surround her. Marv is also there, sitting on the steps leading into the chapel, holding his head in his hands.
Down the slopes of the hill, you can hear the sound of fighting: the clash of weapons on shields; shouts of anger or pain. You can also hear another sound, one that is much more familiar to you: the quiet hiss of a scythe as it chops through grass. This sound seems to get louder as its source gets closer, working its way up the way the hill through the battle.
Finally, a man crests the top of the hill, if such a creature with large bat wings and protruding fangs could be called that. He is wielding a scythe dripping with blood, and he raises the blade to his lips for a lick with an insane smile. “Ah, there you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
He begins to advance towards you, licking his now bloody lips, but Elandra moves to position herself in front of you. Looking over her shoulder at you, she smiles sadly. “Oblivion comes.” She then flings herself at the bat-man creature, falling into his arms. He grins widely and then bites down on her neck, and as he does this Elandra fades back to how you last saw her: eyes missing, blood pouring out of her chest, and transparent and insubstantial. She gradually continues to fade away, until at last nothing is left. Then the creature looks up into your eyes. “And now for you.”
You awake with a start, feeling somewhat rested but clearly not having received a full night’s sleep. Marv is still sleeping, although he now tosses and turns as much as the narrow pew will let him – clearly his dreams like yours have taken a turn for the worse. The ghost appears a moment later, reforming into your sight by the altar. “Are you ready yet to move on? And before you leave here is there anything else I could share with you that would improve your understanding?”
The Labs
Iethloc
Omega is still where you left her, bound to the table and held intact by your spell.
Hurry.
Moving over to her and as close to the top of her head as you could – the head of each bed was flush against the wall – you begin. Although Omega’s skull is significantly thicker than a normal human, between the knife and your magical attitude you manage to open it without resorting to massive blunt trauma that definitely would not have helped things.
With her brain now revealed you can see that you may be in trouble after all: Omega’s brain is clearly human but significantly modified. This confirms your initial suspicion that Omega was originally a fairly average human girl until various demonic additions were made. Omega’s brain is no different than the rest of her body, as you can identify a few demonic bits here and there, but most of it is unfortunately human. Worse still, it is clear that the human brain has been heavily altered: entire sections of it are missing or removed and tacked back on elsewhere. Ribbons of demonic tissue connect various sections of the brain to each other or serve to anchor tacked on sections.
Although you probably would have been unable to locate and fix the problem simply given Omega’s brain, thankfully you have the guide of blood. It seems that Omega’s brain itself is hemorrhaging now, the result of several blood vessels and strips of demonic tissue rupturing between one of the demon sections and the rest of Omega’s human brain.
Be careful with that – it is the organ that grants me telepathy and pryokinesis.
As Omega speaks to you through her mind, you can see the glob of demonic brain matter pulsate, sending a brilliant stream of blood arching upward momentarily before it settles back down to a slow trickle.
Sanctuary of the Prophets
WhiteKnight777/MrEdwardNigma
Emboldened by Umber’s refusal, Mellita tactfully adds, “And we’re also vampires, in case you had forgotten. Up unquestionably means sunlight at some point, and we would prefer to avoid that if possible. Down at least holds the possibility of escape tunnels that lead far away from this place before opening to the surface.”
Mellita pushes herself away from the wall. “I think we have dallied here long enough, Lord Umber. More of the tentacled ones will undoubtedly be coming to avenge their slain comrades soon enough, and there seems to be an unending tide of them. I for one would prefer to be far away from here when that tide comes back in.”
At this point Cassandra reenters the room, carrying a relatively intact black cloak in her arms which she spreads open while nodding at Victor to start dropping books inside. While she waits for Victor to finish loading books, she turns to Mellita with a disdainful smirk. “And do you even know where these magical tunnels of yours are? I was given to understand that they were “oh, somewhere, over there.” At least Victor knows more or less where he’s going, having already been there.”
“And you’re certainly welcome to go back right the way you came, all the way back into your cell if you so desire. As for myself and Lord Umber, I believe we would prefer to go our own way and hold our survival in our own hands. Now, Lord Umber, if you are ready to depart then so am I. Let these humans find their own way out of this rat trap.”
Mellita turns to walk out the door, but is stopped as Sara suddenly bursts into tears. “Please . . . don’t go!” She manages to choke out. “We have to s-stay . . . stay together! Whatever happens, let’s face it together. I . . . I can’t s-stand another . . . good-bye right now.”
(And the award of most wasted waterworks ever goes to Sara! Congratulations! :smallwink: Note that it’s perfectly acceptable for you two to split up or stay together. You probably should decide who’s going to take Sara, however, or if you’re both just going to leave her behind to the wolves to cover your retreat. :smalltongue: )
The Lair of the Dragon Cultists
Pwenet
As the cultists lower the helmet down over your head, momentarily blinding your sight as the metal faceplate crosses over your eyes, you are sure you hear the door to the room slam open. Then the faceplate is fully in position and you can see out through the tinted glass of your eye holes, but find you still can’t really move to turn your head to see whatever it is that you can see the cultist looming over you is staring at in horror. But then you hear an all too familiar voice, and you know what is going on.
“Hello friends. Looks like you’ve managed to find Prime all on your own. Running another one of your experiments on him?” Arguile asks.
“Y-yes. Allow us to f-finish and then we can d-discuss s-settling your account.”
“I’d rather you didn’t, to be honest.” Arguile replies, with the cold sound of his repeating crossbow sliding a bolt into the firing chamber.
“What is the meaning of this!? You are our hired subordinates! We no longer need you to hunt Incom down for us, and given all that’s happened here today I would think you’d be trying to leave this place instead of coming here to threaten us!” One of the other cultists chimed in, only to be knocked off his feet by a crossbow bolt to the chest. Arguile’s crossbow clicks again as he readies another bolt.
“We’ve gotten a new deal, and a new employer.” Arguile shouts over the screams of fury and fear from the two surviving dragon cultists. “And our first assignment was to hunt you down and put you out of your misery. We were only too happy to accept!”
Another bolt shoots out, striking one of the two remaining cultists in the neck. As he falls and Arguile reloads the third cultist leaps towards you, securing your helmet and apparently whispering a few words of power, for your suit thrums to life a moment later. A bit too late for him, however, as a third crossbow bolt takes the cultist’s life just before you find that you can move again.
“Hmph. Well that’s the last of them, so I guess now we’re down to you Prime. He wasn’t specific about you, so let’s just say that this one is for old time’s sake. You’ll probably appreciate being put out of your misery at last, won’t you?”
Arguile’s crossbow ***** again as a fourth bolt enters the chamber, and you can hear footsteps approaching as the other six members of the Malevolent Seven close in, chuckling to themselves. The laughter stops after you sit up, turning you helmeted gaze to focus on them at last. Although dirty, covered in blood, and baring a few slight wounds of their own, all seven members looked heavily armed and ready for a fight.
“Well, I guess this really will be like old times then with us putting you down like a rabid dog instead of a sick one. Come on Prime: think you’ve got one last good fight in you?”
-
Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Korram laces his fingers up and cracks them before smiling. He reignites his arm, otherwise not moving as the Elite's charge him. "You poor fools. Once, you were a threat. Once, you were serious enemies, ones who I would have needed to devote all of my energy to defeating. Perhaps here I would have died, killed by you all." As the Elites get near him, Korram casually slides his open palmed hand in an arc facing them, and they hurl back as a blast of superheated air launches them away. "Once you F****** were a real threat. Now? Now you're just food for Calcifer." Korram thrusts a fist forward, an incinerating blast of flame filling the hallway and shooting down, charring the Elites down to the bone. Calcifer, I'm truly impressed. You weren't kidding when you said 'great and powerful'. Of course. Those little punks, the dragons, thought they were the masters of flame. HA! They couldn't even approach our might, even if Dragonflame does exhibit some unusual properties. But I guess that their current population attests to their power. Korram quenches his arm before turning back to Seraph and Katrina. If Seraph needs any help, Korram goes to assist.
-
Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Voth
"Unfortunatly, things have changed. I now have 24 hours to release the being that brought me back to life. If I do not... I die." Voth pauses before continuing. "Also, the demon that was inhabiting my body has plans for this place and this world. They must be stopped, and for that I need all the help I can get."
Can you hear me?
Yes. Faintly. I do not believe this connection shall hold out much longer.
She has a point. How will we get past the guards down to where you are held captive? And how will we find you once we do?
-
Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Sohssal
"You might not want to talk a lot during this..." he said as he looked over the spot where the stream of blood originated. Then, somewhat slowly and definitely cautiously, he used what little mending magic he had to see how well he could put it back together, trying not to ruin it in the process. "Is that better or worse?" Sohssal asked after he finished trying to work on it. Then he took an even closer look, and, drawing upon his knowledge of demons, tried to figure out just what demon these sections of brain were taken from. "You know, this seems like a somewhat haphazard setup. If we had my lab, I would've been able to make a better one...with time..." he explained, half-bragging.
-
Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Victor von Ravenstein III
"The girl is right. You are fools. Look, I'm not too fond of this whole cooperation thing either, but we're clearly much stronger together. Too many of us escapees die alone. Look at what became of the dragon as soon as he left our company... I say we all head up. As Cassandra said, at least I know the way. The catacombs and tunnels beneath Ironheart may well be endless, and surely full of horrors. They hide the most dangerous beasts below, you know. No, we have a much better chance if we simply continue as we were going. As for that sunlight thing, maybe it didn't occur to you, vampiress, but we do have nights half of the time. I think you'd welcome a breath of fresh air after being stuck in this hellhole for so long"
Victor packed the most interesting looking books and left the room, leading the way up. He held Sara by her hand as he did so and tried to console her, but he wasn't very good at it. His new arms weren't made for shoulderpatting. They were made for crushing things.
Victor sighed.
"You know, Vampire, I wasn't proposing a trade. I was asking you, as a friend"
-
Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Umber
Umber laughed quietly, a long, slightly chilling sound as he eyed Victory, shaking his head a little Friend? we've known each other for so short a time.. certainly, you've proved honorable so far.... but I would not call us friends yet, Victor. I do not trust easily - too much treachery in my history, I suppose - and frankly, I don't know what your plans are. As for dangers... well, I'm guessing they already know we are lose, and I would not be surprised if they unleash the monsters below on us anyway. At least if we go downward it will not be the expected direction. You are welcome to come with me if you like - but I simply think going below is the least expected and safest route.
-
Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
"Not expected?" Victor snapped, "You think they'll be expecting us to head up through three levels of guards and a bunch of cultists even after I made my way down through those same cultists? You think they'll be expecting two vampires to run up to the sun? You think it won't come up that those vampires might prefer the dark, damp tunnels near their cells that lead out of the dungeon and have next to no guards? Fool! Splitting up will kill us, and so will heading down, most likely. You simply need to look at the statistics! The numbers don't work, bloodsucker! God, you'd think that ages of experience would have made you a wiser creature"
Victor's fingers cramped up briefly, as if strangling an invisible throat. He then relaxed somewhat.
"C'mon, Cassandra, Sara, we've got a long way ahead of us. we're heading up"
-
Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Umber
Against Victor's rage, Umber merely shrugged and smiled, his eyes locked on the Alchemist's Perhaps... we shall see what we shall see. I do not think any road out of here will be a safe or unhindered one... perhaps your path is the wise one, perhaps mine is. But I will take my chances, and wish you good fortune. Perhaps we shall meet again. Milleta, lead on. He said at last, nodding to the vampiress.
He looked over at the crying girl and said nothing for a moment, before at last speaking Do not worry yourself, girl... I'm sure the alchemist will lead you to safety. Besides, it is probably best if you and your charges part company with us. We are not entirely safe for you to be around ourselves. He chuckled again, giving a grim little smile.
-
Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
~Tare
Tare lets the sensations of reality wash away those of unconciousness, welcoming even the little short of evil surroundings that replace them over the phantasms and irrational fears of his dreams. The memory of his trip through his mind's own creation of horror fade quickly, but Tare still shudders at the taste in his mouth and what he knows it to be, the only part of his dream that followed him to the refuge of lucidity, refusing to be dissolved so easily.
Tare takes a moment to note how foreign the smell filling the room is, so pleasant in this, most loathsome of surroundings. In fact, it is easily the most inviting thing in the room. The shelves of wood, likely from the trees outside, never having been alive and yet still not dead even in their current forms, growing slowly in twisted knots that resemble knobly fingers and panicked eyes; the floor, black, but a certain quality of black that promises that it was stained that color, by what he shudders to think; the ceiling and walls, constructed of some kind of clay-veined mud, or perhaps a wood that startlingly resembled packed mud, but all covered so thickly with webs and dust that it has turned a dark shade of gray, the brightest color in the room; and then the many jars, the contents of which too terrible to describe, most of formerly living things, or parts of formerly living things, but some containing even more vile than that. Tare shook off the cover over him, not even wanting to question what exactly it was made of, and stood. He wandered toward where the smell was coming from, hoping without daring to hope that it was not his mind playing evil little games with him.
-
Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Incom Morgan
Watching the last cultist slides down his armor, the crossbow bolt scratching against the metal armor Incom tries to detect some trace of pity within him, but fails. The years of torture, the agony and the suffering makes the death of a cultist something that he only mourns in that he has no allies.
Standing up he clenches his fists of flesh and sand and smiles under the helmet as he hears the metallic clinking noises of his armored gloves. Turning his head to crack his neck he looks around at Arguile with his crossbow, Jape holding two swords and striking a masculine pose, Walters towards the rear and Cuso standing next to Arguile, holding a heavy warhammer. The others standing in the background are too new for Incom to have memorized their names yet they also look to be spoiling for a fight. Turning his head to look at Arguile Incom softly speaks.
”My fate is to be in misery. I have accepted this. What is your fate besides being last?”
Clenching his fists the retractable blades deploy as the artificial wings expand behind him. He debates about firing off all the explosive bolts, yet such a action would be foolish considering that the cultists are all now dead. Looking down at the ground he sees the Warhammer of Ross laying on the ground near his armored feet. Leaving it on the ground he starts walking towards the Malevolent Seven.
Boom.
Boom.
Boon.
Each heavy footstep echoes throughout the chamber as Incom strides confidently towards the cultists. Arguile and two of the extras raise their crossbows and fire as one at him. The heavy bolts fly through the air and shatter against the Adamantite armor of his chest piece. Not breaking stride Incom hears one of the other extras rush towards him with a long spear with the tip glittering of Adamantite and a liquid that burns the air. His left arm flashes out just past the blade and grabs the haft of the spear and pulls forward and flexes his shoulders. The extra wearing a armored chestpiece painted in red expression takes on an expression of shock as his eyes look down at the tip of the wing digging into his neck.
”You. Die First.”
Another flex and the wing cuts all the way through sending the Red-Suited Extra head flying off, his mouth open in a silent scream as his eyes wander about as he bounces along the ground leaving a trail of blood on the ground.
Yet there is no chance to celebrate over the easy victory as the other two Extra’s fire again, their bolts shattering against his armor.
“You fools! Aim for the joints!”
Arguile orders rip through the air as he takes aim. Yanking the spear about the dead hands of the red-armored extra Incom turns and throws it with all his strength. Arguile curses and pulls one of the Extra’s in front of him as the spear strikes, penetrating the armor of the Extra and out the other end. Screaming in pain the Extra drops to the ground clutching the spear now imbedded in his guts. The final Extra screams out and Incom smiles as he notices the similar armor and facial features between the two, leading him to suspect that they are brothers. Pulling out a sword the final Extra slashes at Incom who intercepts the blade with his. Twisted sharply Incom shatters the sword of the Extra before taking a rapid step forward and stabbing his blade on his other hand in between the seams of armor and yanks out various pieces of internal parts that the Extra will miss.
Leaving the Extra to wither in pain on the ground Incom looks at the remaining Malevolent Seven. Arguile has pulled out his sword and shield, Cuso glares at him, Jape twirls his blades around and Walters watches as he pulls out a spellbook. They all ignore the screaming Extra with the spear in his guts.
Raising one of his hands Incom points at Arguile.
”You. Die Last.”
Flexing the wings Incom leaps forwards towards Walters, then beats his wings and slams himself into Cuso. Grabbing Cuso’s Warhammer Incom yanks it out of his hands, for even the strength of a half-giant pales in comparison to the strength of a Dragon. Spinning around he throws the heavy Warhammer at Walters and turns to face Cuso only for Cuso to do the most stupid thing possible, hit Incom’s helmet with his bare fists.
Flesh splits and blood emerges however this does not faze Cuso as he starts yelling out curses in some language and continues to strike at the helmet. Each blow painfully echos within the helmet and Incom notices with a curse that the helmet is starting to dent from the force of the blows. Taking action Incom right hand flashes up and catches the fist. Squeezing he feels the bones within the hand shatter as is explodes within his grip. Ripping the hand back the remains fall apart towards the ground. His other hand flashes through the air and the claws dive into Cuso’s eyes.
Kicking Cuso back Incom notices Jape rushing towards him. His hand flies through the air and he grabs the side of Jape’s head and slams it into the side wall. His claws fly out and he stabs them into Jape’s stomach. As he gasps in pain and drops his swords Incom leans in slightly.
”Now you don’t need to worry about women anymore.”
The blades rip downwards and out and Incom turns to face the last member of the Malevolent Seven, Arguile. Tilting his head at him, his blades and wings dripping blood that splashes on the ground while the moans of the dying fill the chamber. Looking at each other Arguile rushes forward with his broadsword and Incom launches himself forward as well. His wrist blade flash and catch the broadsword and the wings flutter and blood erupts from Arguiles left arm as it flies away.
Disengaging Incom jumps back and watches Arguile.
”Who hired you? Why are you doing this?”
-
Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Ander Windrivver
Ander's eyes widen for a second as he takes in the scene in front of him.
Cultists? Here? Gods damn it, we are in a whole lot more trouble than I thought.
Despite his surprise at seeing a cultist here in the bowels of Ironheart (rather than the bowels of Hell, although Ironheart really wasn't too far off anyway), Ander confidently strides forward to battle.
With one hand, he produces the enchanted holy symbol he "liberated" from the acolyte earlier and holds it aloft. Chanting a divine litany, beams of holy power shoot from the symbol and pierce each zombie. As the zombies crumble to dust, Ander summons three globes of holy energy with his other hand. They orbit his head, illuminating the hallway like miniature suns while Ander draws his sword and charges the rest of the distance to the cultist.
Finally, battle is joined! Ander's holy sword and the cultist's unholy one trace intricate patterns in the air as they dodge, parry, thrust, dodge, parry, thrust. Like Ander, the cultist is tireless and a dance like this could go on forever. Switching to a two handed grip, Ander uses his superior strength to press the advantage, backing the cultist into a wall. Slice! Clang! The cultist's sword goes flying down the hallway as Ander severs its arm at the elbow. Relentless, Ander pierces the cultist's chest, his holy sword slicing through flesh and bone like a hot knife through so much proverbial butter. The cultist screeches in agony, lashing out at Ander with it's extra arms. Ander backs away, propelling one of his holy globes at one arm, ruining it. The cultist charges, swinging wildly, leaving angry red gashes all along his arms.
Go back to Hell and tell Azguloth who sent you! Ander shouts. Tumbling behind the cultist, he severs the last two arms with a powerful downward chop. The demonic parasite, seeing the battle is lost, flees it's ruined host. Ander propels one of his other holy globes at it, roasting it in midair before it has a chance to disappear around a corner.
Still high on the rush of battle, Ander turns on his devil counterpart. You are going to tell me what that cultist was doing here, and you are going to tell me now. Don't even think about lying to me. Ander growls, menacing the devil with is remaining holy globe to illustrate what might happen if he should give Ander an unsatisfactory answer.
-
Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Mar
"Be quiet," Mar mumbles at the guard right on the heels of Julian's exclamation, sounding resentful. Her voice is too hesitant to really be angry. He was being nicer to her than anyone had been in a long time, except maybe Joseph. Even if he was wrong about her, and said things about Daddy. She didn't want to try to tell him that again, and she certainly didn't want the guard doing it.
"You don't have to say things like that. You're just saying them to be hurtful." Her head dips into her hands; her voice is weary. Weary physically, weary of hiding, weary of people hurting her—she wishes she could melt into the floor, invisible and safe, or at least sleep a little while. She might be tired enough not to dream, if she was lucky. "You're hurting too. Why are you trying to hurt us?"
-
Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Elkwin - Catacombs
Elkwin rubs his eyes and looks tiredly at the ghost.
"Directions... A map of this forsaken hellhole... anything that would help me recognize the one I should entrust the sword to under the pile of sinners and rapists and murderers..."
He sighs smilingly, not expecting much. Then he walks over to Marv, looks at him for a second and adds silently "A companion I can fully trust."
He grabs Marv on the shoulder and gently shakes him until he snaps out of his nightmare.
"We need to go. Adventure awaits."
-
Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
The Spires: Ironheart Research
Voth
The girl immediately adopts a worried expression, but she nods. “I’ll help however I can. Just . . . let me know how.” While the girl continues to brush herself off and look nervously up and down the hallway, you contact your savior. The voice is much quieter and weaker this time, little more than a whisper as its source is clearly having trouble maintaining the connection between you.
In the darkest depths of this fortress, below even the prison levels where your kind is held, there is an ancient temple. I believe my captors intend to offer me as a sacrifice, and will be coming to take me there shortly. As for making your way down here, I can sense the taint of countless demons in the fortress now. Many of the guards will have been slain or busy fighting for their own lives against these foul creatures, which should diminish the organized resistance you will face on your descent. Of course, the demons won’t take kindly to your presence once they notice you either, so you must be careful. I can sense a few bright points of light standing out in the darkness as well – heroes who have been brought here to die but now struggle to break free of their prison. A few are even in the towers with you, including one particularly bright light that seems to be slowly ascending towards you. Perhaps if you encounter one of them you can enlist their aid? I – I must go now. The befouled ones approach my cell.
This time, the presence fades from your mind completely, and you realize that at least for the moment you are alone save for the collaborator girl. Alone in a tower high above a fortress-turned-prison that is apparently infested with demons waging war against anything that moves including the guards. But at least for the moment your choice is simple: back into the Spire that you can from and started in, or ahead back into the Spire full of keys?
The Main Tower
The_Snark
The guard greets your question only with a bitter laugh that quickly turns into weak coughing. “I’m a guard . . . you’re prisoners. It’s my job . . . to hurt you.” The guard raises his shoulders slightly in a shrug. “And . . . because it’s . . .fun, giving you . . . scum a little taste . . . of the torment that awaits . . . you beyond death.”
Julian looks over at the guard in disgust. “Scum? How many innocent people like myself or Mar have been sent here to suffer needlessly!?”
Again the guard shrugs. “The same . . . number as those . . . truly guilty? . . . More? . . . Doesn’t matter. . . we don’t bother . . . worrying about such . . . things. If you’re here . . . you’ve been sent for . . . a reason.”
“Reason!? There’s no reason in the madness here! Come on Mar, I’ve heard enough. The demon’s probably gone by now – we have to leave and keep moving.”
Julian stands up and offers you a hand up. Although his voice was harsh just now, looking up into his eyes you can see only concern and pity. Concern for himself most likely – generally the only time you had seen concern was in the eyes of those guards who had realized who you were just after they had struck you, and knew that Daddy allowed no one to punish his daughter except himself. But the way he was looking at you was the same way Joseph the nice old man had, and he had, nonsensically, been concerned for you. Daddy was never concerned for you – only interested in what you had done and whether or not you needed to be punished for it. Stupid bad girls like you didn’t deserve anyone’s concern. But Julian didn’t seem to think you were a bad girl.
You were so confused now. And tired. And the wound across your back was starting to itch and burn as it slowly began to scab over – you always managed to heal quickly from Daddy’s punishment no matter how severe. But Julian seemed to want to keep moving even though he was clearly tired too. Even though you were safe here, for the moment, except from the dying guard’s caustic comments, but his breathing was becoming shallow. He wouldn’t be around much longer, you could tell. Perhaps you should stay then? You didn’t know. You didn’t know anything anymore.
Dorizzit
As the elites confidently rush up the stairs towards you, readying weapons as they come, you greet them with taunts and a wave of flame. The blast of fire knocks the ones in the lead back down the stairwell, screaming as their faces and other exposed flesh blisters and peels from the intense heat. No one screams as you send a second, white-hot blast of flame down the stairwell that instantly incinerates everything in the room below.
Your powerful display is not quite without cost, however, as pain ripples up through your arms from your outstretched hands. Looking down in shock at your limbs, you watch in horror as the flesh covering your own arms blackens and cracks, allowing small gouts of flame to burst up into the air. Mercifully, the pain is only transient, and fades as your skin slowly seals back up and begins to regenerate back to its normal hue.
As always, however, your weak flesh inhibits the full extent of my power. Fortunately our joint . . . accommodations . . . allow me to repair that flesh as easily as stoking a nearby flame. But you might still want to be careful as I can’t do both at once. Of course, if we merged essences into a singular being your pathetic watery flesh would no longer be so easily destroyed. But then again, I doubt you’d want to return with me to my own home, considering how important this “daughter of yours” is to you. I will never understand your disgusting methods of replication.
Clearly finished with the elites as the last tongues of flame fade away to leave behind only a thick layer of black greasy ash, you turn to see how Seraph is faring. You turn just in time to see the last imp be slashed apart almost as an afterthought as Seraph leaps into the air and kicks off the wall to propel himself towards the cultist.
Even despite Seraph’s rapid leap, the cultist is able to avoid his thrust by pivoting away and then slapping Seraph’s blade aside as it arcs up for a follow-up slash. The cultist then retaliates with a backhand that snaps Seraph’s head around and knocks him back a step. The skilled swordsman recovers quickly, however, twisting with the remaining force of the blow to spin around and deliver a scything kick to the cultist’s head.
This time it is the cultist who staggers back as the cowl previously obscuring his hideous visage falls away. Holding up the now-smoking hand he (it?) had used to swat Seraph’s holy-enchanted sword away with, the cultist creature croaks out a curse.
Angelic filth! There will be no place for you to hide upon the Master’s release! You will writhe and scream alongside all those you seek to protect!
Even with his back to you, you can sense the grim smile on Seraph’s face as he retorts, “Who said anything about hiding?” With a snap of his wrist, he then hurls his handaxe at the creature before shifting up to a two-hand grip on his sword. Propelled forward by a powerful beat of his wings, Seraph rockets towards the cultist. As it swats Seraph’s handaxe out of the air with what appears to be a sneer of contempt, Seraph arrives and delivers a fast slash at neck level.
Although the blow doesn’t prove fatal as the cultist races a bare arm to block the attack, neither does the cultist escape without serious injury. The blow is turned aside from the creature’s neck, but the holy enchantment on the blade causes Seraph’s sword to slice through the cultist’s forearm with just the barest hint of resistance.
The foul creature reveals that it has a few more surprises, however, as a pair of massive tentacle arms equipped with long claws explosively emerge from the back of the howling cultist’s robes. Even Seraph seems caught off guard as he struggles to recover from his last attack in time to mount a defense.
Seraph’s usually incredible speed is not enough this time, as one of the clawed tentacles slams down into his arms, the impact tearing his sword from his hands. An instant later and the second tentacle slams into his chest, propelling him back against the wall and pinning him there. Seraph struggles to pry the tentacle’s claws open enough to slip out of its grip, but this only causes the cultist to tighten his grasp as his other tentacle rears back for another blow.
Before you can step in, however, you see Seraph grimace in anger, his eyes flashing and then literally beginning to glow. A brilliant aura of golden light snaps into being around him, concentrating down into his fists. Raising his right arm high above his head, Seraph gives a wordless battlecry as he rams his shining fist down into the tentacle holding him to the wall. To the cultist’s clear surprise, the tentacle is torn apart by the impact, its clawed tip falling lifelessly to the ground as Seraph’s arm continues plunging down through the misty remains.
Kicking off of the wall with a beat of his wings Seraph again flies towards the cultist, leaving a blurry trail of light behind him. In desperation the cultist flings his other tentacle arm forward, which Seraph dodges with a slight course correction before turning to grab the tentacle about its middle. Bringing his left knee up into the mass of muscle Seraph repeats his trick of tearing the tentacle apart.
But this time he keeps a hold on the clawed end, spinning around in mid-air to drive the clawed end of the sheared tentacle into the chest of the cultist and driving him back into the wall before leaving him pinned there. Hovering in mid-air before the crippled cultist with steady beats of his obsidian wings which also seem to have a glossy reflection now, Seraph attempts to interrogate the creature. Like the rest of his features, even his voice seems to have changed, having acquired a booming resonance over the normally dry and terse tone.
“You must be the ones planning to sacrifice my wife. Tell me where she is. Now.”
In response the cultist attempts to continue the fight, cocking back his remaining human arm to throw a punch. Seraph blocks the blow, snaps the cultist’s arm, and retaliates with a crescent kick to the face that burns away most of the remaining flesh, leaving the skull exposed on one side.
“I’ll not ask a third time. WHERE. IS. MY. WIFE!”
Still, the cultist does not appear intimidate, breaking out into a harsh, wet laugh before it grates out a reply.
Your wife kneels before the Master, screaming in agony. But she’s not dead – yet. She gets to watch the Master consume your child first. And after the two of them, the Master will send you to join them in the oblivion beyond all existence!
Howling in rage Seraph drives his fists into the cultist’s head, vaporizing it, before proceeding to deliver a flurry of punches and kicks into the body of the creature. As the creature’s torso is tore apart by Seraph’s fury, a tentacled, mandibled eye erupts from the remains of the cultist’s head with an unearthly shriek. Seraph pauses in his assault on the cultist’s body long enough to swipe at the eyeball with a fist, but the creature manages to dodge before zipping off down the hallway, back the way the cultist had came.
By now breathing heavily from his exertions, Seraph floats down to the floor as the holy glow begins to subside. He sinks to his knees for a moment, but manages to prevent himself from falling further by planting both hands against the ground. He looks over at you for a moment, before staggering back up to his feet, stumbling over to his handaxe and bastard sword to retrieve them. With trembling hands he manages to sheathe both weapons, and takes a step back towards you before stumbling back down onto his knees again.
“That’s . . . all out.” Seraph grunts, struggling back up onto his feet again. “Takes a lot. Must keep moving though. Rose . . . my son . . .” This time, as he takes a few drunken steps forward Seraph steadies himself with a hand on the wall.
Baerdog7
After a difficult battle you manage to overcome the cultist, who seemed to be playing host to a demonic creature that you did not recognize. Still, holy energy proved effective against it, as your ball of holy light seared the creature to a crisp as it felt to the floor. You are quite surprised, however, when the remains of the creature liquefy and begin to move with a life of their own, twisting around and seeping down into the floor. Perhaps more disturbing than even that, however, are the cultist’s last words before you strike the final blow that convinced the demonic parasite to abandon its host.
Tell Him yourself when He comes for you!
These words are enough to convince you to confront your devil compatriot, threatening him with the last globe of holy light that you have. His tone is expectantly placating, and despite his devious nature you can tell that he doesn’t relish the thought of angering you enough to bring about your threat.
“L-Lord General, please . . . believe me when I s-say that I truly have nothing to do with what’s going on h-here. As s-such, I really don’t know what’s going on here. But! But! I do have a few theories. First, understand that your church has lied to you for generations. You’ve experienced their duplicity personally, but it goes much deeper than you know. You think that this whole sad war between good and evil is driven by Azguloth’s conflict with Miriam and Athelion. But um, well . . . it’s simply not true. The truth is . . . ah . . . your side won a long time ago. Azguloth was imprisoned somewhere deep in the earth, far beyond the knowledge of my kind. But, considering what I’ve been sensing and what I’ve just seen and heard during your battle just now, I’m going to have to propose that here, this place is where Azguloth has been imprisoned, and someone’s trying to release him.”
Even though you can’t see him, you can picture the devil sadly shaking his head back and forth as he continues.
“Quite frankly, I really shouldn’t be telling you any of this and instead be trying to rip out your throat right now since now you’re probably going to try to stop Azguloth’s escape. But, well . . . I’ve grown accosted to this body and don’t really want it seared away by holy light. I don’t think you’re going to be able to stop His escape, but either way I suppose it doesn’t matter. If you survive, you’ll probably go after the Church next and my duty will still be fulfilled, and if you fail, then none of my efforts will matter because your world will burn and it’ll all be meaningless.”
Someplane Else
OverWilliam
Following the out of place smell to the door, you can see a ray of flicking light coming in from the room beyond through a crack between the door and the bottom of the floor. It’s this light that dimly illuminates your room enough to find the doorknob – a bone white affair that looks very much like an animal skull. Willing your mind not to dwell on it, you grab the knob and twist, pushing the door open into the room beyond.
Beyond the open door you can now see that the source of the smell is a large bubbling stew pot with a small but brightly burning fire beneath it. Teareal is attending to the pot, while Adamè lies comfortably on a large bundle of skin blankets similar to the one you had. She is still comatose, but somehow looks better even in the dim freakish light of the fire. Unlike the storage room when you had been sleeping, there doesn’t seem to be anything particularly disturbing about this room although the ceiling is a tad low – you’ll have to stoop a bit to enter.
Turning to face you from his place by the pot, Teareal waves a large bone ladle at you before dipping it back into the brown meaty stew to stir it. Apparently satisfied with his efforts, a few moments later, Teareal picks up a large earthen bowl with his other hand and pours out a measure of the broth into it. He then dips the ladle into the pot again, filling up two more bowls with actual stew. One of these bowls he hands to you, before taking his own bowl and the bowl full of broth and crouch-walking over to Adamè.
“Dos crella.” He says, shrugging, before selecting one of the crossbow bolts and using it to spear one of the pieces of meat floating in his bowl. Looking down into your own bowl, you can see several large chunks of meat floating around in the brown broth along with what appears to be pieces of various roots. The smell is still delicious, but your stomach starts to become unsettled with the thought of where the meat probably came from.
The Catacombs
ubersquid
“Hmmm . . . I do not know how you will find one worthy of the sword. But, I do know that the sword can look into the hearts of men and judge what it finds. Perhaps you can use the sword itself to sort out the right wielder from underneath the scum who have been imprisoned here justly?”The ghost floats over to just in front of you, cocking his head up at the ceiling in thought.
“As for a map, we tended not to create such things in order to not allow our enemies to ever gain a full understanding of this place. I could draw you one now but unfortunately my ability to affect the physical world is not great enough for such an undertaking, nor can I venture beyond the confines of this cathedral in order to show you. But perhaps I can give you directions if you have a destination in mind.”
Moving over to Marv with the ghost in tow, you shake your fellow adventurer awake. Marv snaps out of his nightmare with a soft gasp, but he quickly relaxes when he finds himself in a considerably more peaceful place than he was a moment ago in his dreams.
“Oh, Elkwin. I think next time I’m going to take the ghost’s advice and hold off on the sleep. A few winks is not worth what I’ve seen in my dreams.”
Marv rubs at his eyes with both fists and yawns, but otherwise seems unaffected by his apparently horrific dreams. He swings his legs off the pew and gives you a tired smile as he rubs his lower back.
“Ugh, and these pews make for terrible beds! Anyway, are we departing then Elkwin? No offense to Mr. Ghost there, but I’m getting tired of sharing company with only long since dead people.”
Speaking of the ghost, you see him suddenly freeze and slowly turn towards the double doors leading into the cathedral. A moment later, the doors fly open again, revealing the solid semi-transparent green wall of the evil ghosts.
Let us in old friend. We just want to pay our respects to your dying god and to reclaim what is rightfully ours!
“I was not aware committing the sins of treason and murder entitled you to anything but death. You are not welcome here in this holy place! Leave!”
The ghost turns to you with a troubled smile. “Don’t worry, these pathetic traitors can’t enter . . . although I sense . . .” The ghost trails off as he turns back to face the door.
Following his gaze, you can see the ghosts pull back as if obeying his command. But as they rapidly pull back away, you can see that they’re not clearing out, but making way. Through the cleared path of ghosts, a man walks up to the threshold. No, not a man: something much less and yet much more powerful and with fangs, giant bat wings, and a scythe. The almost man from your dreams. The creature leers as it reaches the doorway and gives a low bow.
“No, they can’t. But I can.”
Rising up from its bow the creature takes a firm step across the threshold, pretending to wince and flail as it does so.
“Oh, it burns! This impotent holiness of a shrine dedicated to an equally impotent god! Oh wait, no it doesn’t.” The creature smiles wildly, barring its large fangs as it begins to now confidently walk down the aisle towards the three of you.
Concern evident in his voice, the ghost turns back to you as he draws his intangible sword. “Run. Both of you run right now. Take one of the blessed relics off of the altar and then leave here through the door in the back. In the next room is where our priests would dress in robes before ceremonies. There’s a trapdoor in the bottom of the center closet that will take you down a level and away from here. The signs written in our language should guide you from there, and the holiness of the relic should keep the ghosts from bothering you.”
“I CAN HEAR YOU! Good job telling me where to go next after I’m finished with you here. Honestly, I’d recommend the two of you just stay put so you have enough energy to scream, but I don’t mind if you mindlessly run for your lives either. Chasing you will help me work up an appetite again after having eaten all the stale remnants of the Knights of the New Dawn. There really weren’t many of you guys left at the end, were there? Just enough to make a good first course, with you three the second and your precious Elandra dessert!”
“Bastard!” The ghost shouts, charging towards the creature who was already halfway up the aisle.
Unphased, the beast holds its scythe loosely down at its side with one hand, while gesturing the ghost forward with the other.
“Come on. What are you going to do to me, anyway? Pass your incorporeal sword through me over and over again until I get bored?”
As the ghost reaches the creature, his sword begins to glow with a brilliant light. Raising the sword high over his head, the ghost brings it down with a shout. As it begins to pass through the creature’s head, there is a bright flash of light as the holy energy is released from the sword, causing the beastman to stagger back a step with a surprised cry.
“Go! Get out of here!” The ghost shouts again while the creature chuckles.
“Heh. Forgot you paladins can summon holy energy. But even if you can affect me after all, you’ve forgotten the most important part: I can affect you too.”
Grasping the scythe’s shaft with both hands, the creature whips it around in a powerful slash that sends the ghost reeling back a few steps even though he manages to block the blow with his sword.
“GO!”
The Labs
Iethloc
Focusing on the obvious wound, you manage to carefully seal it closed with what little mending magic you know. Fortunately it is enough and the flow of blood stops going in an unwanted direction – that is, out into the open air. Of course, there might be other more internal injuries that you could not see, and Omega’s brain might start hemorrhaging again if she used her abilities.
Better. My so-called father was a better surgeon than he was a demonologist. There were clear limits to his abilities, and as you saw a few fatal flaws in his intellect.
Looking over Omega’s brain again, you can see that her claim was probably true. Although not skilled in magic the doctor had been skilled with a knife and needle – at least with the human parts. He clearly didn’t have quite the same proficiency in handling demon bits, however, as you could see here and there what seems like an unnecessary piece of flesh still attached to a globule of grafted tissue.
You can see brain tissue from harborg, razz’zt, salvin, and several other more minor types of demons, all famed more for their mental prowess than physical might. The injured piece of brain matter, the one Omega claimed gave her pyrokinesis and telekinetic powers was definitely from a Balrof, a very powerful demon that was in the very upper echelons of the Hells, simply by virtue of standing on mountains made from corpses of lesser demons. Unlike most demons who simply sought mindless destruction, a Balrof was typically capable of devious behavior that rivaled most devils. How the doctor had managed to get the brain of one of those creatures was a complete mystery to you. In your past life as a mortal wizard you had dealt with a few such creatures, but only sparingly as they were far too dangerous to associate with for long.
Are you finished repairing my flesh? We need to be on our way before any more annoyances appear.
Sanctuary of the Prophets
WhiteKnight777
Mellita a few steps in the lead, the two of you depart the library. The alchemist, the monk, and the are left behind as they foolishly refuse to see that your plan is superior. but they are not important -all that matters is escaping this place before one arrogant dog or another drags you down and you're back in your accursed unr.
Speaking of arrogant dogs, shortly after leaving the library you have an encounter with the most persistent of them all. You are following a hallway that you had not explored yet and that led in the opposite direction of the chanting and shouts you had heard previously. As before Mellita was a few steps in the lead, which proved most fortunate for you as she rounded a corner in the hallway.
Seeing what was lying in wait around the corner, Mellita's eyes widen and she opens her mouth to shout a warning, but only screams come out as a crossbow bolt strikes her in the shoulder. The impact throws her back against the wall, with the head of the bolt apparently going all the way through her flesh and a few inches into the stone behind her as he remains pinned to the wall. Smoke beings to waft up from the wound along with a soft hissing as Mellita continues to whimper, feebly clawing at the shaft protruding from her shoulder with the one hand that could reach. You also hear another sound that you ahve have preferred not to the all too familiar sound of Ross's taunting voice.
"Let that be a lesson to you in the power of faith lass. I could have put that bolt through your heart but then you wouldn't have learned anything. And I wouldn't have been able to bring you back to the Ancients for punishment either. Just like that so-called Lord of Blood who's hiding beneath your skirts! Why don't you come on out now where I can see you, "Lord" Umber! We have a duel to finish! And speaking of which, I've come prepared this time in case you choose to hide behind your dragon freak friend!"
You hear a dull clatter as a heavy bag full of implements clatters to the ground a short distance down the hallway from the corner.
"Come on! Don't you want to see how your story ends? Or is the mighty immortal so scared of death that he's going to turn tail and try to save himself by running away?"
MrEdwardNigma
Although you had not fashioned your body for comforting a sobbing girl nor made a study of doing it, Sara still quiets somewhat as you lead her out into the hallway. The two vampires are already gone, having left the room just ahead of you to go dashing off into the darkness. Fools. But there was nothing to do now but press on towards your intended destination, up and out of this annoying place.
You make fairly good time going back the way you had come, but it seems the fortress wasn’t about to let you get away so easily. As you approach the cavern with the deep pit that apparently served as the cultists’ dumping ground for bodies and where you had slain the first of the beasts, you hear soft chanting ahead. Rounding the corner, you can see a pair of the cultists standing at the edge of the pit, carving elaborate gestures through the air as they continue to chant in their foul native tongue. From out of the pit a steady stream of zombie-like creatures crawl, although these don’t seem quite like the animated corpses you’ve encountered in your travels.
The primary difference seems to be the phosphorescent blue fungus glowing brightly as it clings in very large clumps in various places on each of the zombie’s corpses.
The zombies also seem to move with a direction, purpose, and unity completely unlike the usual reanimated corpses. There was a guiding intelligence behind their movements that had nothing to do with the cultists’ presumable chanted commands, and it was likely that while the cultists were still in charge these zombies were also capable of independent action. As you yourself learned the hard way, depending on how much intelligence remained, self-directing zombies could be very dangerous.
Fortunately, none of the zombies nor the cultists seem to have noticed you, Cassandra, or Sara as yet. That is small comfort given that the way back into the front foyer of the cultists was currently blocked by a column of moving corpses. But, that does still leave a third path open if you can manage to slip across the third of the room necessary to reach it. As you recall, the first cultist you had killed had come from that direction with a wheelbarrow and several zombies, so it’s unlikely going that way would keep you safe from further unpleasant encounters either.
But short of turning around and going back the way you had come, likely following in the footsteps of the damnable vampires, or waiting for this procession of the walking dead to cease and then following in their footsteps, it was really the only other option.
The Lair of the Dragon Cultists
Pwenet
After questioning Arguile over what his fate was except to die last, battle is joined between you and the Malevolent Seven. For most of the group, it is indeed their last battle as they are lying on the ground dead or dying in short order. Having killed the cultists personally and without the opportunity to reload given how rapidly you mowed through is comrades, Arguile is forced to abandon his crossbow and draw a sword. This proves to be a grievous mistake for while Arguile was an expert shot he was only an average swordsman and not a match for your armored fury.
With a pained grunt he staggers back from you, dropping his shield to clutch at his bleeding stump of a sword hand. His remaining hand does not stay there long however, dropping down to his belt to pull out a vial of liquid which he places between his teeth before biting down. The glass vial shatters, spraying liquid and tiny glass shards into his mouth as a small amount of the mixture dribbles down his chin.
Arguile coughs but smiles a bloody smile as the bleeding from his stump slows and the pain he was feeling clearly fades. He pulls himself back up to his full height – once impressive but now barely enough to put his eyes level with your chin.
“Who do you think hired me? The Baron did of course: both to ensure you suffered and to keep an eye on the dragon cultists. Clearly he was right to hire me since these pathetic fools were desperate enough to forgive even you killing their god in return for destroying the Prophets of the Last Age. I don’t know much about those freaks in the black robes myself, but I do know that the Baron values them greatly as an ally. So anything that gets in the way of their plans, even an insignificant fool who doesn’t know when to just die like you, needs to be removed quickly.”
Arguile draws a large dirk from his belt, but holds the weapon loosely enough that it’s clear he’s not threatening you with it.
“Clearly I failed at that task, but that’s okay. You still can’t stop whatever the black robed freaks are up to now – anything that summons swarms of demons as a side-effect is bound to be big. Bigger than me, bigger than you, and bigger than your little dragon cellmate that you supposedly dispatched. But let’s look at the small picture here for a second. You want to know why I’ve agreed to your own personal jailor and the Baron’s spy for so long? It’s really quite simple.”
Arguile taps the tip of the dirk against his chest and then gestures at you with it.
“Guys like you and me, where do you think we’re going to go when we die? It sure as Hells isn’t going to be sunny fields and golden meadows. But see, unlike you I’ve got a way out: the reward promised to me by the Baron. When I die, my soul will be called back into a new body from whatever dark place it was sent as punishment. You? If you think the last forty years were nightmarish just wait until you finally stop and your soul is sent on to its eternal reward. Given all the chaos going down around here, I can’t imagine you will have long to wait either. So I guess this is finally goodbye, Prime. Enjoy your stay in this Hell and the one that awaits you!”
Gripping the dirk firmly now, Arguile raises it up and plunges it into his chest in one smooth motion. His aim is true, as he only gasps once before falling down to the ground and he doesn’t breathe again.
-
Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Korram clenches and unclenches his hand contemplatively, thinking about this new development. He almost smiles at Calcifers continuing contempt at the existence of any race other than his own. Turning and watching Seraph's subsequent triumph, Korram's eyes widen at the full level of his ally's strength. After all is done, Korram shakes his head appreciatively and whistles. "When you said all out...you weren't kidding." Korram quickly moves to support the clearly weakened Seraph, allowing his ally to lean on him. A few slow steps later, he says: "This isn't going to work. Hold on a second, let me try something..." Korram mentally confers with Calcifer briefly. "Alright, Seraph, this isn't going to be easy for me, so let me know when you have your strength back." This said, Korram allows Calcifer to ignite his body...but only on the inside. The agony is intense, but Korram has learned to deal with the pain of burning over the years. Korram uses his enhanced strength to heft Seraph fully onto his back. Korram turns to Katrina. "Come on, let's go. If you see anything unusual, let me know." With that, Korram sets off at a full run, the Mote of Athelion held before him as a light.
-
Re: Escape from Ironheart (IC)
Umber
The vampire lord said nothing. He merely smiled, fading back into the shadows and the silence like a wraith, but not before taking a moment to wrench the bolt from the female's shoulder . On silent feet he slipped forward, drawing his plundered weapon with one free hand, his lips curling up in a snarl of contempt. This was it - he would kill this arrogant little whelpling and feast on his blood. He would never escape with this pathetic wretch dogging his every move. It had to end. At least he didn't have his hammer... still, likely he had rearmed himself, and there was no telling what tricks he had up his sleeve. So Umber moved cautiously, looking for Ross, trying to see what he had brought with him this time...