The Red Hand of Doom

[Incarnum3]

Gelu continues his ranged assault on the beast, firing another 3 arrows in quick succession, hoping to pierce the beast's thick hide and help bring it down.

Spoiler

Show

Rapid Shot.
Attack 1:(1d20+7)[16]
Attack 2:(1d20+7)[20]
Attack 3:(1d20+2)[12]
Damage 1:(1d8+2)[9]
Damage 2:(1d8+2)[7]
Damage 3:(1d8+2)[5]

[Miraqariftsky]

"Doom take thee, foul beast!" Laius yells at the abominable monstrosity in their path. As Dalor's axe slashes into its flesh and two of Gelu's arrows sink to the fletchings, Laius utters a swift prayer with words of the heart...

O Blessed Blade, desert us not
Preserve us in time of trouble...

[Djinn_in_Tonic]

The great beast screams in pain as Laius' sharp lance pierces the great hide, and black blood pours out in torrents. The creature staggers back...but only to find a firmer foothold, for it suddenly surges forward, striking the halfling a tremendous blow that flings him from his mount and sends him tumbling back with incredible force.

A wild roar of triumph rips through the monster's throat, only to become a shrill shriek of agony as Gelu's barbed shaft embeds itself in one of the creature's many eyes. It paws at its injured face frantically, trying to dislodge the lethal point, but to no avail.

Spoiler

Show

Laius, you take 8 damage and are dismounted. Sorry, mate, but that's one angry render, and you ran closest.

On a more positive note, the thing is obviously not paying any of you any attention at the moment...it's more concerned with the intense pain.

[Orran]

Phalius sees the beast roar in pain and decides to conserve his magical energy, willing only to waste a weaker spell on it. He gestures forward with his hand and 3 bolts of magical energy fly forward and hit the beast in the side.

Spoiler

Show

magic missile for (3d4+4)[13] damage

[kamikasei]

Varech is in a state of combat focus now, and Laius' unseating elicits no reaction from him but to run forward to cover the paladin as he recovers. He steadies his stance and shifts forward to drive the point of his guisarme into the beast.

Spoiler

Show

A little unsure of the positioning now, but Varech will either move between the monster and Laius or, if that doesn't make sense (if they're right beside one another) attack from the side to keep its attention away from the halfling.

Attack - (1d20+8)[10]
Damage - (2d4+4)[9]
Confirm - (1d20+8)[14]
Critical - (2d4+4)[7]

Not bothing with AoOs this time, will roll if any come up.

Status: 41/42hp, 17/17pp, ac 17, 15 ff, 12 touch.

[SamTheCleric]

"You aren't tha only beastie that can charge!" Dalor shouts before moving up to the Render and slashing with his axe.

Spoiler

Show

HP: 28/49
AC: 24, Touch: 12, Flat-Footed: 23

-3 for Power attack.
(1d20+8)[11]
[roll]1d10+10[/roll]

Add +2 to attack and -2 from AC if I was able to get a clear charge to it... otherwise just move and attack.

[Miraqariftsky]

For the briefest of moments, Laius blacks out as the beast's gnarled knuckles bash him in the centre of the breastplate and send him flying. His eyes fly open just as he hits the dust a few metres back and skids across the turf.

His breath is knocked out of him and he feels certain that some of his ribs have broken and a concussion seems almost certain. His kidneys hurt like the bloody hells and the heat inside his suit of armour is intense.

Groaning, he struggles to stand and spits some blood as he finds his wobbly balance. Laius then whistles to Truefang and the mastiff bounds around to the other side of the beast and lunges in, taking a bite of its foul flesh.

"You may not be tainted by Evil, wretch, but I shall have my revenge!" yells the enraged halfling as he drops his shield, grips the Longlance with both hands and charges, aiming for the beast's abominable heart.

Spoiler

Show

Laius'
(1d20+14)[29] (charging and flanking)
(1d20+14)[19]
(1d6+5)[8]
(1d6)[6]

Truefang's
(1d20+5)[7]
(1d20+5)[14]
(1d6+3)[4]

[Djinn_in_Tonic]

The monster cringes at the burst of arcane light that accompanies the spell, but to no avail, for the missiles strike true, leaving great patches of scorched flesh on the thick gray hide.

Varech moves into position, the tip of his guisarme darting in with lightning speed, only to be thrown aside as the beast, now cowering in fear and pain, swats aside the deadly point. The mighty blow whips around to catch Dalor in the chest, stopping him short and knocking the breath from him. Taking advantage of the momentary reprise, the creature shuffles rapidly backwards, painful whimpering accompanying every motion.

And then Truefang arrives. The great mastiff harries the creature, snapping at its legs and blocking off its retreat. The monster pauses, uncertain of what to do...

Dark blood fountains across the battered armor of Laius Longlance as he plunges his weapon into the beast for the second time in as many seconds. The halfling twists the weapon deep in the wound, and the bloody edges turn white from the biting cold. Wounded, battered, and beaten, the monster releases one last, agony-filled scream, and, with a quiet moan, falls to the ground. A soft coughing carries on the breeze, and the beast's mouth is specked with blood; its fury has been abated, and it is dying.

[Orran]

Is it really necessary to kill it? It was obviously scared at the end, can't we at least let it live? Phalius says while kneeling down next to the beast attempting to stem the blood loss. It seems to work as the creature's breathing returns to normal. "What should we do with it now though, if we leave it here it will surely become mere carrion for other creatures."

Spoiler

Show

Heal check to stabilize, DC 15(1d20-1)[18]

[kamikasei]

"Can it live? If we heal it enough that it can fend for itself, will it simply attack us again on our journey back?"

Varech is cleaning and sheathing his weapon as he speaks. "It seems needless to finish it, but half-hearted compassion is often little different from cruelty. Surely, we must either help it heal, or kill it cleanly.

"Gelu, Jorr, do you know anything of these beasts? Will it let us help it, or lash out again? I confess I do like the thought of leaving such a creature here, friendly to us, as an obstacle to the hobgoblins..."

[Miraqariftsky]

((Yo chief. Please kick me if I went too far here...))

Hot black blood geysers out from the beast's mortal wound, splashing all over Laius' head and upper torso, the life-fluids scorching both his body and soul, armoured though they be. Some of the blood spurts into Laius' eyes through the slits of his helm just as his lance, buried up to half its haft in the beast's body jerks out of his hands when the beast rears and then topples with a sick thud. It stirs up a dust-cloud in its death-throes, its formerly terrifying voice now seeming like that of a half-slaughtered ox begging for a release from agony.

Blinking furiously against the blood in his eyes, Laius is suddenly borne to his knees by a sudden unfathomable pain. He holds his helmet hard and hurls it away then rubs madly at eyes and temples but still the pain pounds at his head. He pants and grits his teeth but to no avail as a deep moaning wells forth from the depths of his throat. Truefang's harrowed howl joins the groaning of victor and vanquished.

Laius then opens his eyes but sees not the dry glade now stained with blood nor does he glimpse his comrades true. All is white, a burning brightness that slowly fades into cold, cold darkness lit by a few flickering flames. A dank stench of carrion, of mildew, of rotting wood and of brimstone permeates the foul air.

A sinister chanting drones. The air cracks with thunder. The very ether splinters into a thousand shards of unbearable agony as the chanting crescendos into a shrill and rasping climax.

He feels himself flowing out from the stone of the mountain, a hodge-podge of steel, stone, wood and dead meat merging into his body. Organs take shape and thick stinging blood and alchemical fluids flow through myriad cracks in his flesh of half-liquefied, near-amorphous stone.

A scream, a crunch... the taste of blood... the satisfaction of a vague sense of vengeance fills his now-massive maw. Silence reigns but for the crunching and the slurping as he devours everything in his tomblike nursery, seeking to quell the burning pain of a hunger that is not sated, the agony of feeling his non-flesh rotting and warping like so much blight.

A life of hunger and of pain flashes by. Of living in the wastes, hunted by many, feared by all. Days are spent in hunting, in eating... ever in rending and tearing and devouring all and sundry to fill that bottomless pit in his belly... Countless nights of cold, cold loneliness... A blight that bleeds from within and without... Dreams, hopes and memories...

...all these merge into one long unending nightmare broken only by the bliss of having another life beating and burning within. The agonizing ecstasy of birthgiving is the only lifeline in a world of fear and pain and hate. Countless times it happens, countless lifetimes lived, countless eyes brightening and dying with hopes for a better life dashed even from the very beginning...

Laius opens his eyes once more and blinks against the sunlight beating down upon his brow, blinks against the flood of sobbing tears that washes away the blood-spatters upon his face. The halfling paladin stumblingly stands and sways, feeling light-headed from his injuries. Paying his own pain no heed, he picks up a stick en route and scratches a circle around the dying beast. Truefang follows behind him, digging and deepening the trench. When the digging is done, Laius then slowly and carefully trickles a droplet of a healing potion as he walks the circumference, ending up with two empty pewter vials.

Finishing the preparation of the rite, he stands at the beast's head and then draws his scimitar. Sunlight scintillates on the bright blade, searing in its intensity. Shucking off and stowing away his left gauntlet, he draws the blade across his palm, letting the blood flow across the edge. As it gathers like a crimson tears across one unblinking eye of steel, Laius flicks the blood toward the beast and just as the droplets hit its hide, he brings the sword swiftly to his lips and kisses the pommel. Speaking swiftly, he intones a prayer,

"May the Blessed Blade so guide thee on the path of light
We have seen the darkness but now of shadows shall be free, our sight
Be well, little one. Rejoice of noontide and sing in the starlight
Thus I pray and so do banish all thy blight"

The blessed circle flares with hallowed flames. The lance in its chest shimmers then fades away into naught but motes on sun-mist. Hoping in his heart of hearts that the beast has achieved some modicum of peace and that the infant within might delve its way free of a dead womb yet knowing with his mind that his effort was naught but an exercise of righteous vanity, Laius, weeping, walks away.

He rasps to his comrades, "It was the spawn of some wizard's madness... abominable yet innocent. Innocent as a child, as one living in fear and pain and ignorance. And it was pregnant"

Donning his helm and shield once more and sheathing his sword, he mounts up again and sets a brisk pace away from the corpse that slowly yet swiftly seeps away into the ground from whence it once was so agonizingly wrenched. When they are a good distance away from the site, he calls to Jorr, "Where to now, good sir?"

[Djinn_in_Tonic]

The woodsman grunts and waves a hand toward the direction of the deep forest.

"This way. Come on...we can make it before nightfall."

The man is right, for the sun has just started to set into the horizon when a dark and haunting shape looms out of the trees. Fallen stones and moss-covered walls are all that enclose what is left of the keep proper, but a ruined tower rises up out of the aged fortress, cutting a bold silhouette against the rosy sky. A narrow and overgrown path winds off through the trees, apparently headed for the decrepit building.

Jorr spits on the ground at his feet and points at the grim shape on the horizon.

"Vraath Keep, gentlemen."

[Miraqariftsky]

((Were y'all waiting for me? Sorreh!))

Laius squints against the crimson glare of the westering sun and raises his shield against to protect eyes that cringe within their cage of steel for the sun's light, though waning, is all the more painful at his height and at this time. Averting his gaze from the burning eye of the heavens, turning away from the deadly beauty of twilight, he turns his gaze hither, towards where Jorr leads.

The forest is afire, every weeping leaf and every gnarled, crooked branch burning. The summer's sorrow surges in waves and melds together the agony of today and yester-age, turning what was once a lush field of arboreal verdance into a wasteland of burning, shrieking spirits.

The ruins are awash in scarlet sorrow, blood blazing upon every weathered stone of the old masonry. Broken blades and sundered spears sprout like grieving grass from the dust and sway in the breeze, their roots the hands of warriors long-dead yet still eternally screaming their last cries.

Beyond the crumbled crenellations of the outer wall, there reaches forth towards an unweeping heaven, what seems to be a dying man's arm and the spasming hand, the fingers holding onto harrowed hope long-turned to despair. The tower of Vraath Keep shudders in the dusty, searing zephyr, the very stones seeming to scream, to moan their grief of glory gone.

Despite the intense heat of the day, a shiver runs down Laius' spine. When he opens his eyes once more, the spirit that gave him that nightmarish vision has gone, leaving him with just the path, the forest and the ruins... but still that unfathomable dread remains...

The paladin turns to the woodsman and bows then says, "Our thanks, kind sir Jorr. If ever we can repay you for your help in guiding us hither, we shall do so, and gladly"

Speaking then to his comrades, Laius tells them, "This land remembers its blood and I sense here many spirits of sorrow. Beware, everyone and step lightly if you can. I suggest that we move forth in formation... Dalor, will you be our vanguard? Varech and I shall take the flanks and Phallius and Gelu shall be in the centre and rear... if 'tis well with ye..."

[kamikasei]

Varech squints at the keep in the distance. "That trail looks little-used. It might be better for Gelu to take the lead, if he could find traces of the coming and going of the hobgoblins, or head off any traps they may have laid against this approach.

"Jorr, is this the only route, or could they be getting to the keep from some other direction? If this path is truly abandoned we may be in luck as far as a stealthy approach is concerned."

[Djinn_in_Tonic]

The man shrugs, his whole body bunching up awkwardly.

"I 'spose they could be coming from any direction. It'd be harder, certainly, but if they've got a good scout there's no reason they couldn't take a different route. To tell the truth, I'm not right sure...I don't go up to the keep, so I can't really say more on the matter."

[Miraqariftsky]

Spoiler

Show

(2d8+1)[7] CMW (1d8+1)[3] CLW
(1d20+3)[10] Listen
(1d20+1)[21] Spot

Hearing Varech's wise words, Laius smiles ruefully and heaves a heavy sigh. Planting his lance's butt into a crack in the hard-baked ground, he reaches up with his right hand and undoes the fastenings of his helm. Doffing it, he places it on the pommel of his saddle then wipes his brow with the back of his hand.

As the hand comes back down, his gaze narrows when he sees that the sweat is scarlet-stained. Of a sudden, the pains of the previous encounters wrack his battered body once more.

Laius draws forth two wands of holly and passes them over his body. A divine warmth pulsates from them and the music of the spheres plays through the ears of his soul. Broken bones flow and fuse back together. Contusions and concussions throb with pain that swiftly ebbs away, leaving naught but still-massive bruises. Still, his breathing comes heavily and his arms ache to but move.

The last of the Longlance line then dons his helm but leaves the visor open. Bearing once more his ancestral weapon, he gestures with it and says, "Varech's right... and my brain is too battered to work as well as it should. Gelu, if ye please, take point and scout out the lay of the land. Shall the rest of us follow now, just some way behind or later?"

[Orran]

"When should we attack, and whats our plan? Do we even know whats in there?" Phalius says quietly, "if so might it help some of us to be invisible? Maybe Jorr and Gelu could benefit from it while scouting?"

[Miraqariftsky]

One imperiously tufted brow rises as Laius listens to the comments of his comrades while he taps one of the wands against his flesh once more before holstering both of then.

Looking up into the heat-harrowed heavens, the halfling hisses out with a sigh. "So then, comrades... Do we make camp here and scout the place out?"

Spoiler

Show

(1d8+1)[9]

[kamikasei]

"To approach the keep en masse, by night, sight unseen, would be unwise. I say we make our camp as near as we can find concealment, and see what Gelu's stealth and Orran's magics can discover for us."

[Orran]

"I agree with Varech, we should make camp somewhere safe and rest for the night, but I have little divination magic so theres not much I can do to help with that."