The Prodigious Mask

Log Info

• Title: The Prodigious Mask

• GM: Riptide

• Characters: Auranar, Dolan, Eztil, Harkashan, Rune, Silmeria

• Place: The Vast

Content warning: violence, gore, body horror

The Vast.

It's a place that people don't go if they can help it. Beautiful plains, yes, but plenty of magic, underground caverns holding unspeakable things, and... well, there's a reason why the people who do live in the Vast tend to do so in numbers and are their own forces to be reckoned with.

Reports have come to the Explorers' Guild from travelers and scouts in the Vast of a masked man who has taken up residence in one abandoned mine on the borders of the Vast, which also correspond with reports of travelers who have gone missing over the past two months. The reports vary from lost adventurers, to couriers, and to, heartbreakingly, whole families traveling with children that never made it to their destination. The dossier provided by the Guild states that the mysterious figure in question is almost assuredly someone known as Karan'taara, a necromancer infamous for nearly destroying the village of Emberline in Alexandros and for his connection to one Ainasse Son'doriel, a woman distantly in line for the throne of Llyranost who was incarcerated along with Karan'taara for kidnapping her stepdaughter--and was found dead in her cell after Karan'taara escaped from his cell in the Mythwood.

Which is why the adventuring group that has taken on the job is assembled before the mouth of the abandoned cave. The dark entrance lies in wait.

All it took was the name 'Karan'taara' on the Guild posting for Dolan to sign up immediately. It has been some time since he's taken a Guild job, but this one, he did not hesitate. He stands cross-armed, now, to one side of the mouth of the abandoned cave, fully kitted and, he hopes, ready for anything. He's even stuffed an extra wad of old sword rags in his belt pouch and a vial of some nameless substance purchased in Goblintown into one side of his knapsack for easy reaching, should the occasion come to use it.

Over the journey to the Vast, Silmeria has been carefully, diligently studying the dossier provided, committing its details to memory. More importantly, committing the names of what victims could be named, to memory. One does not, after all, disappear at the hand of a necromancer and have an excellent chance of turning up with scuffed knees and nightmares.

The children, she makes doubly certain she knows the names of.

To her fellow troubleshooters, the Speaker for the Dead is warm and genial, a font of easy chatter and whimsical-yet-morbid stories, a price of serving the Death-Singing Dragon. But when her bespectacled eyes find the dossier again, her easy smile smooths into a quiet, stony mask.

As the group assembles at the mouth of the cave, Silmeria takes in a deep breath, unlimbering shield from her back and pistol from its holster. "...So," she says, "How would you like to proceed?"

Harkashan has had but one encounter with the one known as the masked Necromancer known as Karan'taara. Between his strange knowledge of Rune's connection and her bonds - as well as the fact that he turned an entire village into the living dead... the Deathsinger was most unamused by the man.

At the talk that there is another chance to come at this person, Harkashan is fully prepared to deal with it. Even having gone so far as visiting a few alchemy shops to stock up on things.

As he stands at the mouth of the cave, he straps his buckler on proper and begins to prepare a few spells. "I do not believe we will get the element of surprise on this matter. So I intend to cast a spell of Light so some of our fellow softskins can better see." He rumbles, as a wave of pearlescent-red light pulses out from Harkashan's position. Casting a few spells in a row to enhance the group as a whole.

"When we get closer to engagement range, I intend to draw some of my more powerful spells. But we best go in there prepared." He remarks. Motioning for Dolan and others to approach so he can at least apply some things to start off with.

GAME: Harkashan casts Magic Vestment. Caster Level: 9 DC: 18
GAME: Harkashan casts Bless. Caster Level: 9 DC: 16
GAME: Harkashan casts Bull's Strength. Caster Level: 9 DC: 17
GAME: Harkashan casts Protection From Evil. Caster Level: 9 DC: 16
GAME: Harkashan casts Shield of Faith. Caster Level: 9 DC: 16
GAME: Harkashan casts Protection From Evil. Caster Level: 9 DC: 16
GAME: Harkashan casts Archon's Aura. Caster Level: 9 DC: 18
GAME: Harkashan casts Shield of Faith. Caster Level: 9 DC: 16
GAME: Dolan casts Shield of Faith. Caster Level: 9 DC: 14

The name of Karan'taara is not as familiar to Rune as it might be to others, but after a momentary reminder, she had quickly remembered which particular douche-canoe of the week they were talking about. In this case, one that had terrorized a village which they had to free from his undead shenanigans.

"Yeah. I've found sneaking up on this guy doesn't tend to work as well as you might imagine." Her lips are pressed into a thin line, weapons drawn but relaxed at her sides for the time being. "You can expect that he's probably ready for us, and that he'll probably try to make an escape while mustache twirling like an asshole the entire time."

Rune may not exactly be fond of those individuals who play into their villainous architypes.

GAME: Auranar casts Mage Armor. Caster Level: 8 DC: 15
GAME: Auranar casts Protection From Evil. Caster Level: 8 DC: 15
GAME: Harkashan casts Owl's Wisdom. Caster Level: 9 DC: 17

Auranar has been less than her usual gregarious self on this trip. It's hard to smile and talk of nothing when she knows what she's walking into. Her close association with the necromancer in question once long ago lingers like a stain on her memory. The list of those dead, likely at his hands only makes the situation all the worse. She can't imagine what they must have suffered. There's a taste like dust and iron in her mouth.

Harkashan's magic reminds her where she is and what she's doing so she lifts her own hands. Build the magic, mix it inside herself. A golden glow wraps around her, a shield against evil, a shield against everything. She's taking no risks. "Let us go, and quickly."

Eztli saw the posting, and that was enough to get the small makari on board. She had no clue who they were, but a necromancer was more than reason enough. Necromancers that practiced raising undead, at least. So it was that the small makari found herself in the Vast.

"As long as it isn't a lie to get us to harm someone that they make look with them, I hope everyone is okay with killing them on sight?" The sorceress growls, looking uncharacteristically angry. "We don't need anyone raising more undead, and they already escaped from jail once, so, I feel like it isn't that far of a stretch to just not try the diplomatic approach to begin with."

"Don't even bother talking to him," Dolan immediately tells Eztli. "The man is black evil as a sludge pool and crazier than a Goblintown soothsayer at a fire festival." He hasn't moved much, beyond invoking a shield or two of his own and nodding his thanks to Harkashan for the additional casting. "Anything you try to say to him is wasting your breath and wasting your time, and be damned sure he won't waste his. If he gets the drop on you, he's damned dangerous. Don't fuck around. Just smoke him, and don't give him a chance to cast."

GAME: Eztli casts Mage Armor. Caster Level: 8 DC: 16

"There is a very easy way to tell if our target is our target," Silmeria says. Her voice is gentle and light, but her eyes are anything but. "The average necromancer isn't known for the tidiness of their den." As Harkashan's blessings are distributed throughout the party, she dips her head in respectful thanks. "May the Death-Singing Dragon gather this filth under her wings," she says, then holsters her pistol long enough to rest a hand on Auranar's shoulder. The look she gives the sorceress is comforting, understanding.

"This far," she murmurs. "No farther."

And the gun comes out, and her voice is all business. "Mori: Wake. Prepare the usual cleansing protocols, if you please."

The traceries decorating her gun shimmer to silvery life, the light running down the whorls and curls as if in mimicry of breath. << ACKNOWLEDGED, >> the gun... says, somehow, in a sort of harmonized monotone. << GOOD HUNTING, SPEAKER. >>

Once everyone has gotten their blessings of the Death Singing Dragon from the lava-scaled Sith-makar, he takes a moment to take a deep breath. Casting so many spells in such a short period of time takes it out of him. He touches his chest for a moment, closing his eyes...

And then tilts his upper body forward ever so slightly and lets out a roar, as a set of ethereal-like wings splash out from his back. Half feather-like, half scale-like. Red with strange flecks of embers drifting off of them. He then looks to his wings for a moment, almost draconic in a ways, as they move to lay over his shoulders for the time being, guarding part of his chest and most of his back. His tail whipping at the ground.

"I am ready." He grunts, as he takes out his Khopesh from its scabbard and flurries it within his hand for a moment. He then glances aside at Auranar. That thousand mile stare did not go unnoticed. "Are you alright, Shaman?" He asks of her - before looking to Silmeria. She isn't one he is as familiar with, so he at least introduces himself.

"Harkashan." He rumbles, before stepping forward towards the cave-mouth.

GAME: Harkashan casts Angelic Aspect. Caster Level: 9 DC: 20

Stepping into the mouth of the cave proves that this was, at one point, an abandoned mine. It's comfortable enough for several individuals to walk through. Although it's...

It's not long at all before the stench of death hits the nostrils. Both fresh and lingering death, the scent of fresh blood overlaid on top of decay and rot. The more that one walks through these halls, the more it overpowers. The more it lingers in the nose. It's not pleasant by any means.

Blissfully--if that word can ever be used in the context of this places--it seems that there is only one way to go. Down, like the Hells that the man who resides in these caves should go.

GAME: Silmeria rolls perception: (3)+21: 24
GAME: Auranar rolls Perception: (20)+5: 25
GAME: Harkashan rolls Perception: (1)+6: 7 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Rune rolls perception: (2)+19: 21
GAME: Eztli rolls perception: (14)+5: 19
GAME: Dolan rolls perception: (20)+17: 37

Aura offers a small nod to Silmeria, her expression as blank as she can manage, but she's never been studied like some at hiding her emotions. She grips her bow tightly, her arrows strapped to her hip rather than her back, and she's dressed today in a short skirted dress with pants underneath it. The skirt tucked behind the quiver so that she can draw them more quickly. She's as ready as she can hope that she will be. Harkashan speaks to her and her eyes darken with determination. "He hurt my sister. I intend that he never get away from anyone ever again."

She strides into the cave, but stays to the back of the group. Of all of them she knows that she is the least capable of fighting anything head-on. But that doesn't make her useless. Not any more. Then, as they walk she comes to a stop, tilting her head and she manages to pale. It's a neat trick given the dark and the fact that her skin is far from pale. "Screaming." She touches the nearest person's shoulder, anguish on her face. "He's torturing someone!" It takes all of her will not to rush forward immediately. They can't take their time in this. Not with someone at risk! "Hurry!" She urges them. It's not like they've been quiet, like they are unexpected guests anyways.

Almost as Auranar speaks, Dolan stiffens, the stink of death and blood filling his nostrils and tickling a memory that is all too close to the surfaces, but he quickly shakes his head, pushing it aside and focusing. "His pets. They've been fed live meals before, it may be another one," he tells the others tersely. “I wasn't kidding about him being a rat bastard deserving only of the Knight's justice. Come on." Every line of him is tense, angry, waiting, and he gestures that they should continue.

Rune has no magic to bring into this fight, save for the bits and pieces that she wears on her body. There is a brief shift as she activates her amulet, a few dusky gray scales appearing on her form, but there is little else as she nods her readiness to the others and follows the group inside.

The stench hits hard, causing an immediate reaction to pull her mask up over her nose to avoid breaking into a fit of coughing. It's not the first time she has dealt with such horrific smells, but it is bad enough that she scrunches her nose.

One ear twitches, picking up some sort of sound that Rune tilts her head towards. Opening her mouth, it is just a split second too late as Auranar calls the sound out to be screaming. Perhaps it is too distant to make out fully, but the rogue trusts the senses of others. "Let's be quick then." She agrees, picking up the pace.

"Then he shall pay for that transgression as well." He won't say something as obvious as 'vengeance can cloud your judgment' or the like. He knows Auranar will keep a clear head.

The moment that scent of death hits Harkashan's nose, the Sith-makar breaths out, takes a breath from behind him, and then holds that breath as he begins to proceed in deeper. His brow furrowed at the stench around him.

And he proceeds deeper. Down. Touching the crystal between his horn to shine a Light...

A rather symbolic gesture in a way, for that crystal turned from remembrance into the light of Hope. Before spotting some of the blood on the walls. He seems distracted for a moment, touching along the walls. Furrowed brow.

"No corpses." He speaks with part of his held breath. "Only their viscera. He must have created something sizable." Before he picks up on people speaking of hurrying and... well... moves forward more quickly to stay with the team!

His tail is stiff and anxious. The Deathsinger has seen the domains of Necromancers before. But this is...

A tense anger burns within.

"Silmeria," the Speaker answers Harkashan's introduction, eyes flicking to Auranar as the sorceress describes the personal nature of this hunt. Nodding her understanding, she slips into the middle of the 'pack,' pistol pointed at the cave ceiling. And off they go.

The stench of rot and blood is, unfortunately, nothing new to the Inquisitor. Not pleasant, to be sure, but expected and accounted for. The high-pitched whine rising in her ears? Less so. Her head snaps toward Auranar, then to Dolan and Harkashan, as they paint with short words a horrifying picture of what they can expect.

"No time wasted," she says, quickening her stride. "If he has live captives, there are lives yet to save."

The moment the smell hits Eztli's nose,all the anger was still there, but the small makari froze up entirely, staring at some of the bloodstains and remaining bits of flesh. The sorceress closed her eyes, taking a few shallow breaths right before the sounds snap her back to focus with another low growl. "If it's what you say it is, then we go, now." The sorceress agrees, already running off down into the cave. "If he doesn't burn to death, then I'll tear his throat out myself for everything he's done, and will never do again."

The notion of stealth is abandoned. The screaming that's pointed out gets louder and louder as the group hustles through. The way that the mine's dug, it feels like a steeper and steeper incline into the earth, until one can faintly make out... two torches from a wider chamber--

And then the screaming stops with a crack. There's another horrifying sound. The sound of something like very young children burbling, laughing, except wrong. It gets all the louder as the group approaches the mouth of the chamber.

What is revealed is a scene from a nightmare.

A dark-haired half-sil man with a bone-white mask that covers the upper half of his face lounges in his throne, holding the hand of a young woman with dark waves of hair who is inconsolably sobbing. The corpse of an older man, his lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling of the cave, is being consumed, his body bisected and torn apart by his assaulters: children.

Except they are not ordinary children. They're rotting bodies that are the size of toddlers, sharp teeth pulling with razor-precision at freshly-rended flesh. There's five of them, and they all have bright-red eyes and move far more nimbly than they would have in life.

"Don't you worry, pretty thing," the man known as Karan'taara croons to the young woman. He leans in and pets down her hair. "I like you more than I like your father. You'll not endure that treatment."

And then he turns his bright blue eyes--eyes that don't seem to reflect the light of the torches that hang from his throne of bones--onto the group that approaches. "And it appears we have company. Mmm, I recognize a good few of you, too."

He hugs the young woman tightly to him. "Shall we begin our little dance, then?"

GAME: Silmeria casts Forced Repentance. Caster Level: 10 DC: 16
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+11: (3)+11: 14
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13: (19)+13: 32
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (18)+12: 30
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (3)+12: 15
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (7)+12: 19
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+5: (3)+5: 8
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+5: (1)+5: 6
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13: (16)+13: 29
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13: (7)+13: 20
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (19)+12: 31
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (8)+12: 20
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+5: (4)+5: 9

Upon laying eyes on the horrific tableau before the party, Silmeria's grim countenance flares into a mirror of the rage felt by Harkashan, Eztli, and Dolan. This is not simply perversion, but torture. The absolute, utter exsanguination of the soul. "Mori: Cleansing protocols," she says, voice hard. "Secondary target: Auranar."

A misty, glittering light limns the two ladies, and with purpose the Speaker strides forward, the air crackling fury with every step. As she reaches the edge of the bone pit, she levels her pistol at the necromancer.

"VILE DESECRATOR," she thunders, her voice ringing off the cavern like an honest denunciation from the goddess. "YOU HAVE PERPETRATED HORRORS UNCOUNTABLE, COMMITTED CRIMES TOO FOUL TO UTTER ALOUD. THERE IS NO SENTENCE BUT DEATH THAT WILL BEGIN TO BALANCE THE SCALES YOU HAVE TIPPED, AND THE ONLY MERCY I SHOW TO YOU IS THIS: REFLECT UPON YOUR DEEDS, AND ENGRAVE THE FULLNESS OF YOUR SINS UPON YOUR VERY SOUL. PRESENT THEM TO THE GREY LADY, AND PERHAPS WHEN THE LAST DRAGON ON THIS WORLD HAS DIED OF OLD AGE, SHE MAY CONSIDER ALLOWING YOU TO BEGIN YOUR PATH TO FORGIVENESS."

Two of the children laugh wickedly, their little voices warped from whatever foul magic that Karan'taara has used to make them this way. They take flight and go to act in defense of their master. One manages to claw at Silmeria with its claws, and the other sinks its teeth into the inquisitor's leg.

GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+8: (7)+8: 15
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+8: (4)+8: 12
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+8: (17)+8: 25
GAME: Eztli casts Fireball. Caster Level: 8 DC: 19
GAME: Eztli rolls 8d6+8: (32)+8: 40
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13: (17)+13: 30
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13: (13)+13: 26
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (12)+12: 24

Another child flies up to go to Silmeria, giggling madly, and like its kin, it swipes at the inquisitor, but neither its bite nor its claws strike true. Rather than make a sound of frustration, it just continues to giggle gleefully.

GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+8+1+1: (15)+8+1+1: 25
GAME: Auranar rolls 1d8+2+1+1: (1)+2+1+1: 5

Bursting on to the scene, the small makari freezes up again as they see the necromancer behind this, and the results of their actions. Fires flicker across their hand. Any angry quips the sorceress had on their lips died when they saw the undead raised by the necromancer. "Burn in the hells." Eztli growls as the flames grow into a small orb of condensed fire, which she begins aiming at the necromancer in a throw, only for them to be caught by some magic of her allies, causing her to switch course and send it hurtling into the group of undead, where it explodes into a cloud of flames for a split second. "Can anyone rescue her while he is indisposed? I don't want to risk harm to them." She asks quickly of the others. <Draconic>

GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13: (2)+13: 15
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13: (5)+13: 18
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (15)+12: 27
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (17)+12: 29
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+5+1d6+1+2d6: (4)+5+(5)+1+(8): 23
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6: (1): 1

Auranar nearly throws up when she sees the... The man is dead. They're too late to save him. A voice that she knows too well whispers that she failed again. But she knows the voice too well now. She knows it lies. That it's trying to sap her strength. Like the necromancer himself it's the voice of evil that ties to undo her. Silmeria's spell fills her with strength. Breathe.

Auranar turns her eyes from the necromancer; as hard as it is to do. She pulls her bow taunt and aims it at one of the abominations attacking her companion and focuses. Just like Grandfather taught you. The magic builds up in her arrow and it glows intensely as she lets it fly free. Just like Grandfather taught you. She will not allow them to kill any more.

GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13: (12)+13: 25
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13: (1)+13: 14 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (2)+12: 14

The two remaining children fly up and over the pit. One aims at Silmeria like its brethren, frenzied by their hunger, and finds its attacks as ineffectual as its kin. Another one, scalded by Eztli's flames, goes in search of other prey and finds it in Rune, sinking its teeth into her arm and drawing blood, revitalizing itself on her lifeforce.

Karan'taara drops to his knees. It's a low noise that comes from him at first. A horrible little giggle like those of his undead minions. "Was there ever a day that I wasn't indulging in myself since I left home?" he wonders aloud. "A day where I was not gorging myself on the forbidden delights of this world? It is difficult to remember. I've lost track of how many I'm responsible for at this point. All of them will follow me into the grave as my servants in the afterlife, just as He promised." He's laughing sharply now, the horrible sound of his voice bouncing off the cave walls.

GAME: Rune rolls bluff: (17)+20: 37
GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1-2: (20)+14+1+-2: 33 (THREAT)
GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1-2: (8)+14+1+-2: 21
GAME: Rune rolls weapon2+1-7: (20)+14+1+-7: 28 (THREAT)
GAME: Rune rolls weapon2+1-7: (4)+14+1+-7: 12
GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1-7: (7)+14+1+-7: 15
GAME: Rune rolls damage1+damage1+1d6+5d6: aliased to 1d6+1+1d6+1+1d6+5d6: (5)+1+(6)+1+(1)+(21): 35
GAME: Rune rolls damage2+5d6: aliased to 1d6+1+5d6: (3)+1+(22): 26
GAME: Rune rolls damage1+5d6: aliased to 1d6+1+5d6: (6)+1+(15): 22
GAME: Harkashan casts Blessing of Fervor. Caster Level: 9 DC: 19
GAME: Harkashan rolls 5d6: (19): 19

Harkashan glances directly towards Rune the moment they arrive down there. Between a child being in danger, and the horrendous deeds this man has done to the rest of them... he knows she will respond /very/ directly. "Be careful of those bone pits, Rune." Making sure she doesn't lose sight of what lies rather literally right in front of them.

"And make him pay."

As a wave of light ripples out. Everyone feels it practically enter their very veins. This red glow beneath their skin that reaches up from their heart across their bodies towards each extremity. Speeding up their bodies, their perceptions...

And not moments later, a wave of healing as Harkashan takes some time to draw a potion from behind his buckler. "Keep them busy."

As they step into the horrors that await them, Rune seems to freeze in place, her blood running cold at the sight that is laid out before her. Those who know her best are well aware that the half-sil is quite protective of children, and seeing them turned into such creatures is not only horrific, but also heartbreaking. It's obvious that she is stunned, even as the creatures who were once children begin to attack friends and allies.

It's quite possible she might have continued to stand there in that state of shock, but then one of the creatures charges for her, latching on to her arm. Gritting her teeth and only managing to quiet a cry of anguish, the pain seems to be enough to snap her focus back to the situation at hand.

A situation that includes a demonic, undead baby trying to gnaw into her flesh. "I don't know what you are, but you aren't a child anymore." Her voice trembles a little as she speaks, "Get the fuck off of me."

Rune shakes her arm once, dislodging the creature which gnashes teeth in her direction. In response, one blade moves out as if it were going to slash the creature, causing it to duck sideways, right into the other blade she has waiting for it. The attack is followed up by two more quick strikes with her blade, sending the flying corpse child to the ground with a resounding and disguising splat.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck." Rune's hands shake slightly, showing obvious signs of stress.

GAME: Dolan rolls weapon1+2+2: (20)+13+2+2: 37 (THREAT)
GAME: Dolan rolls weapon1+2+2: (12)+13+2+2: 29
GAME: Dolan rolls 2d6+6+2+2+2d6+6+2+2+2d6: (6)+6+2+2+(5)+6+2+2+(6): 37
GAME: Silmeria rolls 6d6: (20): 20
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (1)+7: 8 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (11)+7: 18
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (16)+7: 23
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (18)+7: 25
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13: (14)+13: 27
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13: (9)+13: 22
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (18)+12: 30
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (18)+12: 30
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+5: (2)+5: 7
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6+5+1d6+1+2d6: (1)+5+(5)+1+(8): 20

No. No, no, no. Good thing it's me and not Andie. Andie'd have fucking kittens, is the first thing that runs through Dolan's mind at the sickening tableau that unfolds before him. It's bad enough for him to look at. Karan'taara was twisted, he knew, and there is no solace in the knowledge that what he had told the group was nothing more or less than the stark truth.

It takes him a minute to clear his mind. Wash the stench of blood and death, the horror, from eyes and mind, and so he is slow to act, but when he does, the leather harness holding the greatsword to his back hits the floor, and it doesn't even occur to him to test his shoulder, firmly in its protective brace. "Silmeria, get out of there!" he shouts, breaking into a run that skirts around the reach of the not-children.

"The Sunlord's justice be your bane, you poor lost thing," he growls in a guttural, sharp tone as he runs. "Keep talking, shitbird. I've got one of these with your name on it next."

And then, the blade flashes with sunlight, and falls in one mighty blow that sends entrails and flesh flying in every direction, a blow that could fell a tree and nearly fells the twisted creature with the face of a child.

That'll be the stuff of nightmares later.

GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6: (1): 1
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13: (11)+13: 24
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13: (11)+13: 24
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (12)+12: 24

The first child flying to try and rend flesh from her bones is a horror. Then it does less actual harm to her then she expected. Then three of the others swarm her, but the result is less a horrific mauling, then the feeble attempt at murder, done by toddlers. In fact, Silmeria looks faintly put out by the lack of severity of her wounds, and the misty light around her seems to harden, into a shell of holy grace.

"Listen well, children," she says, sweeping flat eyes around the gathered swarm. "It's time to greet the gravedigger. Now, the gravedigger is very friendly, if you sing to him. Here, I'll show you how;"

Dig, dig, gravedigger!

Dig, gravedigger, dig!

Work that shovel with vigor, gravedigger,

'Fore the rigor mortis sets in, dig!

And on that last word, a blast of silvery light washes out from the Inquisitor's heart, scything away at the fell magics that keep the children's mortal shells intact.

The undead thing that Dolan had struck so hard decides to return the favor. One claw finds its mark, but it's the fangs that find purchase past a weak part in Dolan's armor, drawing blood and giggling around the wound as it pulls in that lifeforce.

The other undead child tries to throttle at Silmeria some more, but the magic that the inquisitor weaves keeps her safe from its attacks.

GAME: Eztli casts Fireball. Caster Level: 8 DC: 19
GAME: Eztli rolls 8d6+8: (28)+8: 36
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+8: (12)+8: 20
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+8: (19)+8: 27
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (2)+7: 9

Eztli keeps behind the others, as what is a feeble attempt for one, may not be so simple for another. Still, they seem occupied for the time being, and the sorceress conjures up another flaming ball, this time soaring over Silmeria and exploding in an airburst over the two undead near her, showering them in flames. "You there, miss? We're going to clear the way out of here for you, can you move on your own? Make sure to stay behind us!" She calls over.

GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13-2: (8)+13+-2: 19
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13-2: (10)+13+-2: 21
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12-2: (14)+12+-2: 24

One of the undead children breaks away from Silmeria, trying to find easier targets in the form of the other members of the party--namely one Rune. Claws and teeth fail to find purchase this time, however

GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+8+1+1: (20)+8+1+1: 30
GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+8+1+1: (1)+8+1+1: 11 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+8+1+1: (19)+8+1+1: 29
GAME: Auranar rolls 1d8+2+1+1: (7)+2+1+1: 11
GAME: Auranar rolls 1d8+2+1+1: (8)+2+1+1: 12
GAME: Auranar rolls 1d8+2+1+1: (5)+2+1+1: 9
GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+8+1+1: (11)+8+1+1: 21
GAME: Auranar rolls 1d8+2+1+1: (3)+2+1+1: 7
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (13)+7: 20

Tears sting at her eyes, her stomach roils with acid. She doesn't want to do this! She doesn't. She doesn't.

She watches the blades fly. Knows that one of them is drawing dangerously close to her, but her focus is solely on the little body. Tears spill down her cheeks, but her eyes don't blink. "Vardama save us."

Her arrow touches her cheek and flies true, golden light striking the one-time child and another flies just as quickly though not as solidly. "Please." She whispers the last.

GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13: (5)+13: 18
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+13: (3)+13: 16
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+12: (15)+12: 27
GAME: Dolan rolls weapon1+2+2: (16)+13+2+2: 33

Still focused on his target, Dolan almost doesn't see the second child as it attempts to fly over towards Rune. At least the sharp pain of the child's bite infuses him with sudden clarity, the blood trickling down his side an all too familiar feeling, and maybe it's that that lends him the unerring focus to lash out with the silver blade in his hands, severing the unlucky child in two before it really has a chance to move. "Oh no you don't," he growls.

"Do I regret any of it, you might ask," Karan'taara says between fits of gleeful laughter. Tears roll from underneath that ivory-white mask and down his face for everyone to see. "No, I don't. Not at all. My only regret is that I could not turn that Lupecyll girl into what I wanted. She would have made a beautiful corpse!"

The young woman standing by him is creeping away from him, but she stops as she realizes she's about to fall backwards into a pit of bones. She yelps.

And the undead children turn their heads in her direction.

GAME: Rune rolls bluff: (17)+20: 37
GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1-2: (1)+14+1+-2: 14 (EPIC FAIL)
GAME: Rune rolls weapon2+1-7: (4)+14+1+-7: 12
GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1-7: (10)+14+1+-7: 18
GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1: (16)+14+1: 31
GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1-2: (18)+14+1+-2: 31
GAME: Rune rolls damage1+1d6+5d6: aliased to 1d6+1+1d6+5d6: (3)+1+(6)+(21): 31
GAME: Rune rolls damage1+1d6+5d6: aliased to 1d6+1+1d6+5d6: (4)+1+(2)+(21): 28
GAME: Rune rolls damage1+1d6+5d6: aliased to 1d6+1+1d6+5d6: (3)+1+(4)+(13): 21
GAME: Harkashan used a Potion of True Strike.
GAME: Harkashan rolls Diplomacy+2: (17)+15+2: 34
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+7: (9)+7: 16

Harkashan tries not to 'take his time' on this. Taking the potion under his shield and using his claw to stab into the cork. Pulling it out with that black claw of his and then drawing the potion to his muzzle. Dipping back, drinking it down, letting a white glow drool down his gullet and into his body.

Tension rising within his body, as his wings suddenly open, and he throws the bottle onto the ground at his side. Rubbing his hand along his muzzle to wipe off any remaining moisture and removing the cork from his claw.

His foot-claws dig into the ground. Cracking the mine's solid ground slightly as he braces himself. A fierce shift of those half-bird half-dragon like wings, before he suddenly pushes forward. Leg muscles tensing, one step, two step, launching forwards and flying over to the other side of the bone pit in one fell movement. Red-pale light of the Deathsinging Dragon rippling behind his form.

Leaving Harkashan looming close to the Necromancer. Staring down at him. "Today, there will be no escape." He declares, before flicking his hand. A strange shimmer of a dagger of grey light flicking from between his fingers. "Today, the Death Singing Dragon sends me to ensure, you do not escape." The light of embers drifting down creating eerie red warping light across the Necromancer's form. Red eyes staring down into Karan'taara's. He doesn't expect this man to fear him. To fear death.

As he slowly approaches him. Wings spreading out. The light over his horns casting a slithering shadow behind him on the floor of a large set of wings behind him. He then notices the child almost stumble into the bone-pit and motions for her. "Move over to me. I will ensure he nor these bones will threaten you." Adjusting one of the wings into a half-curl to offer an inviting place of protection.

Having to strike down one undead child is enough to traumatize most people, but it seems that Rune is a glutton for punishment at the moment. As soon as one is dispatched, another takes their place, however Rune seems to be a bit more wary this time and manages to utilize the slowness borne from Harkashan's magic to her advantage, ducking back from the attacks.

She catches movement out of the corner of her eye, another of the creatures heading in her direction, but Dolan makes short work of it, much to her relief and anguish. Even so, Rune gives him a grateful nod of the head before turning back to the undead toddler that is still clicking teeth at her.

"This is beyond fucked." There is a little crack in Rune's voice as she steels herself for what she has to do. The sweep of weapons comes unnaturally fast, driven by magic. However, Rune can't even look at the aftermath, the sound of a small body sliding down the wall and to the ground.

Though Rune is no cleric, she still whispers a prayer to the Sky Singer wishing that the spirits of these children find peace in the land of dreams.

GAME: Dolan rolls weapon1+2+2+2: (5)+13+2+2+2: 24
GAME: Dolan rolls 2d6+6+2+2+2d6: (6)+6+2+2+(9): 25
GAME: Silmeria rolls ranged+2+2+2: (10)+10+2+2+2: 26
GAME: Silmeria rolls ranged+2+2+2: (19)+10+2+2+2: 35
GAME: Silmeria rolls ranged+2+2+2-5: (10)+10+2+2+2+-5: 21
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d6: (6): 6
GAME: Silmeria rolls 1d6+2+2+2d6: (5)+2+2+(5): 14
GAME: Silmeria rolls 1d6+2+2+2d6: (5)+2+2+(9): 18
GAME: Silmeria rolls 1d6+2+2+2d6: (1)+2+2+(5): 10

Meanwhile, Dolan turns his laser-focus back to his original target, his eyes narrowed, a crystal, focused clarity shutting out all thoughts of anything but utterly ending this poor thing's unlife and sending it to the Halls where it belongs. "Enough of you," he snarls, "Sunlord see you home, kid."

It's then that the blade slams down into it, cleaving it in two and leaving it a heap of no-longer-quivering flesh on the floor.

Blood streams from his side in an obviously deep wound as he turns his attention towards the woman and Karan'taara.

"Thank you, Dolan, everyone," Silmeria says as dead babies peel off the fight with her, and meet their grisly ends at the hands of others. "Now, give me a moment--"

Turning back to the final murdered child, Silmeria raises her gun, and thumbs back the hammer.

BLAM!
BLAM!
BLAM!

thud

"--and we should go support Mourner Harkashan. Best we all be prepared for when the filth finishes his speech."

Turning crisply away from the perforated husk of the murderous toddler, she prepares to circle 'round the pits.

GAME: Auranar rolls 1d4+4: (3)+4: 7

"Is it really repenting if you have zero remorse for what you're doing?" The Sorceress wonders to herself as she goes darts into the area between the pits. She glances to the necromancer, teeth bared, but there was still the matter of someone still alive there, that likely deserved to be.

"Just making sure you don't drop them, big guy." The small makari growls, attempting to steady her voice, and deciding against any smiling. "Hey, it's alright, this is Harkashan, he's a powerful cleric, and there are others here too to make sure you're safe. I trust him, and you can trust him to get you out of here, okay?"

The last of the battle is dying down, and her first instinct is to run across the battlefield and stab the necromancer in the throat. To pump his body full of arrows. Auranar blinks the tears down her face and strides forward instead. She is the child of the Feathered One. She does not act out of anger or fear or vengeance. She helps her friends. "Dolan... I'm going to heal you okay?"

She knows it's a moment of danger for her. He's a warrior in the thick of a fight, but she approaches with her bow and extra hand held up. She touches his wound gently and lets the pulse of light inside herself flow freely into Dolan. Closing the wound under her fingertips.

The young woman, a human girl of maybe eighteen, looks at Harkashan for a long moment, her brown eyes red in the scleras. She looks like she wants to cry but she's simply just run out of tears. Her gaze is somewhere between here and somewhere else.

"It's a dream, it's a dream, it's a dream," she murmurs. It has to be. Something this awful couldn't happen to her. To anyone. Could it? Yet she walks forward, slowly, trembling.

Meanwhile Karan'taara keeps laughing in spite of the girl's tears. "I only picked this girl because she looks like that Lupecyll woman!" he howls like it's the funniest joke. "Oh, but without those lovely violet eyes. I wanted so badly to see the color they'd turn when they glazed over from death!"

GAME: Harkashan casts Dimensional Anchor. Caster Level: 9 DC: 19
GAME: Harkashan rolls Ranged+1+2+20: (12)+7+1+2+20: 42

The winged Harkashan's feathersare suddenly touched by Eztli's magic. There's a tremble in those feather-like scales. A shake as they become more physical! Warping, growing into almost proper 'feathered' Dragon Wings. It gives Harkashan a moment's pause to look at them.

Followed by a set of small 'tail wing frills' to form at the end of his tail. Giving him more maneuverability. He closes and opens them a few times instinctively.

Something feels... 'right' about that. Something that makes the being within no doubt resonate with him more.

He then shifts one of those enormous wings - now that Eztli has used her magic - and wraps it around her protectively. "This will be over soon. You'll be safe." Harkashan remarks, as he throws that silver-glowing 'dagger' of light straight through the man's heart!

It may seem for a moment like he just tried to murder him. But there is no damage...

But that silver light, it remains. Flickering in his chest.

The moment that the prayer leaves Rune's lips, there is a feeling that seems to wash over her and offer some measure of calm. A warmth that seems to press against her chest beneath her armor, offering comfort in this time of turmoil.

However, as the voice of the necromancer continues his tirade, mentioning the death of one of her dear friends, Rune's blue eyes snap open and narrow with a menacing countenance. She darts with magic-driven speed to close the distance on the necromancer, blades still drawn, only stopping a short distance away with her lips set in a thin line and her expression determined.

"You sick, perverted fuck. You won't harm anyone else." It sounds like a promise. It seems like all that is holding Rune back is trying to respect the spell usage of her allies.

Auranar's gentle voice and warning makes Dolan pause, just long enough, and then sigh in relief as the worst of the wound closes. It's far from fully healed, but the dizziness that was starting to set in at the loss of blood fades, and his world, briefly fuzzy, sharpens again.

"Thanks, Aura," he breathes, then takes off in a painful sprint around the bone pit, harlequin face set with determination. "Too fucking bad. You couldn't have her then, and you sure as sunrise won't have her now. I'll see you straight to the Halls, you disgusting sack of shit."

As the others move off to approach the necromancer himself, Silmeria pauses, turning to give Auranar a concerned, searching look. "We're going to end this," she says to the elf. "Then no one will ever have to feel what you felt, ever again."

With that, she makes good use of the magics suffusing her veins to lope to Rune's side, her gun-arm closest to the rogue and her pistol gleaming in anticipation of doing Vardama's Will.

GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+8: (11)+8: 19
GAME: Eztli rolls 13d6: (38): 38
GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+8+1: (20)+8+1: 29
GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+8+1: (9)+8+1: 18
GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+8+1: (12)+8+1: 21
GAME: Auranar rolls 1d8+2+1+1: (7)+2+1+1: 11
GAME: Auranar rolls 1d8+2+1+1: (6)+2+1+1: 10
GAME: Auranar rolls 1d8+2+1+1: (3)+2+1+1: 7
GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+8+1: (7)+8+1: 16

Eztli blinks when Harkashan gets the dimensional anchor speared through Karan'taara, and the small makari huffs, and inhales deeply, causing flames to spill out of the sides of their mouth as the step forward, and spray a massive torrent of flame over the area where the necromancer was lying, attempting to scour them from the face of the earth.

GAME: Auranar rolls 1d20+8+1: (7)+8+1: 16
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+11: (10)+11: 21
GAME: Riptide rolls 1d20+4+11+7: (3)+4+11+7: 25

Auranar watches as Dolan leaves her behind. As everyone leaves her behind. She's alone at the edge of a pit of death. She steps closer to it and... She sees him enveloped by flames. She's forever out of reach. But Grandfather taught her for this moment. For moments like these. She can hear his voice reaching across the distance to her. She draws her bow and the feather touches her cheek as she breathes in. One more time.

The power pulses through the arrow and it flies true. Another right behind it but it glances off the first arrow. Pushing it slightly to the side so that it hits Karan'taara in the chest. One arrow for the price of two. It's not enough to kill the blasted man, but he's doomed.

GAME: Auranar rolls Spellcraft: (11)+13: 24
GAME: Harkashan rolls Spellcraft: (9)+14: 23
GAME: Silmeria rolls spellcraft: (3)+10: 13
GAME: Dolan rolls spellcraft: (18)+13: 31
GAME: Eztli rolls spellcraft: (11)+9: 20

Karan'taara, still on his knees, tears of laughter still on his cheeks, even as Auranar's arrow lands solidly in his chest. He's lost in his own madness, or so it seems--

Until those bright blue eyes turn onto Auranar. He murmurs a spell, but he fumbles on the words, wincing as he looks at Auranar with widening eyes--and then that gleeful grin.

"You're--you're just like her. You're just like the Lupecyll girl. The same mark, almost, on your chest, just like her--" And he laughs madly again. "Oh the things I could do with you!"

GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1+2: (3)+14+1+2: 20
GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1+2-2: (7)+14+1+2+-2: 22
GAME: Rune rolls weapon2+1+2-2: (10)+14+1+2+-2: 25
GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1+2-7: (19)+14+1+2+-7: 29 (THREAT)
GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1+2-7: (2)+14+1+2+-7: 12
GAME: Rune rolls weapon2+1+2-7: (7)+14+1+2+-7: 17

"The things you are unable to do with her." Harkashan answers Karan'taara instinctively. The fact that this man spoke of a 'He' for whom he was doing this has not escaped him. But clearly, the Necromancer's madness has finally gotten him into a spot whence he cannot escape.

What a pitiful man.

"Rune, he just tried to fully take away Auranar's mind and presence." He bids to the young woman.

GAME: Rune rolls damage1+5d6: aliased to 1d6+1+5d6: (4)+1+(13): 18
GAME: Rune rolls damage2+5d6: aliased to 1d6+1+5d6: (6)+1+(19): 26
GAME: Rune rolls damage1+5d6: aliased to 1d6+1+5d6: (6)+1+(20): 27
GAME: Rune rolls 2d6: (8): 8

Harkashan doesn't need to know what is about to happen. Right now, there is only the inevitable. His hand moves to cover the eighteen-year-old girl's eyes as Rune digs into the man. Eztli flaming him. Arrows zipping into his body.

His wing covering the sight, as he leans down a bit and lifts the young woman. "Hold on tight please." He rumbles, as he then pushes off, using those strong wings and that set of tail-'wings' to launch towards the entrance and help her out of this place...

And probably just let her have a good cry outside. Burning the corpses and hallowing these grounds will come later.

Madness is one thing, but this is something far beyond the scope of madness as far as Rune is concerned. This is cruelty at the deepest levels. The grip on her weapons is tight enough that Rune's knuckles are nearly white from the pressure. As the others close in around the mad necromancer, Rune seems bolstered by the presence of others, despite being in so near someone quite so ... unsettling.

One ear twitches as Harkashan fills her in on what that murmured spell had been intending to do. "Oh fuck no. Fuck that shit."

Rune moves forward and slashes out with her blades. The weapons dig in deep, but the laughing just continues in that same, mad fashion that has her feeling off-kilter and on edge. The fact that he's still alive after being stabbed multiple times has her taking a half step back, wary and uncertain.

"And the Grey Lady has heard your crimes," Silmeria says, her voice cold and heavy as a granite headstone. "And She knows well they are but a drop in the great black ocean of your corruption. It will not be a kindness we offer, to grant you death. It will be a kindness to the world, to expunge your stain from its weave. I name you Butcher. I name you defiler. I name you cancer, and declare that the only way for the land to heal from your festering wound, is to cut it away." Blazing eyes snap up to Dolan, and all of a sudden the Speaker stands at rapt attention, offering the Daeusite the honor of enacting justice. "IN THE NAME OF DEATH, WE BESEECH THE SUN-FATHER, SCOURGE THIS SICKNESS FROM THE SKIN OF THIS WORLD."

Dolan, on the other hand, has plenty of experience with madmen, and experience with Karan'taara in particular. Unyielding steel in the harlequin, half-frozen features and expressionless artificial eye - this time a black gem set into the steel and bronze ring - doesn't waver, even as Rune steps back, turning only towards Silmeria at her pronouncement, nodding once sharply in acknowledgement and acceptance. "The Sunlord's justice be done, by my hand," he snarls in.

Suiting actions to words, he brings the mighty two-handed blade down on the prone form, hard enough to chip stone. Stone chips fly amid the blood that bone that sprays over those closest, so vicious is the blow, and the black-haired head rolls away across the floor to rest at Silmeria's feet.

"Enjoy explaining yourself to the Gray Lady," he snarls. "Lucky for you I don't believe in doing what you did to others, no matter how disgusting you are."

Eztli was ready to burn the necromancer to ashes, but the others stabbing and slicing them left there nothing left to be done. The small makari took a glance back to the entrance, seeing Harkashan and the girl already being gone. "He was trying to destroy your mind, Auranar." Eztli growls as she takes a few steps over to where the head rolled away. "Please step away Silmeria." The small makari states firmly, waiting for the inquisitor to move, but still continuing regardless as one foot is brought down, hard, on the skull.

"YOU" "WILL" "NOT" "HARM" "ANYONE" "ELSE!" <draconic> The sorceress roars, punctuating each word with another stomp of their foot, not stopping any time soon, tears streaming down their face.

Auranar watches it all. With Harkashan moved from the area before the macabre throne, she can't not see it. She doesn't relax as single bit until his head rolls free from his body. She feels it then, the weight of everything that has happened. He'd hurt her sister. He'd tried to do the same exact thing to her. He'd killed so many people that even he had forgotten the number of them. By his own words he didn't regret any of it.

She touches the mark on her chest. The mark that binds her to her family. Her eyes harden. There's this tickling suspicion in her. That there's something more to this day than the death of one who deserved it so much. There's more to be done.

She takes the time to offer words of appreciation to everyone who came. They may not have come for her or her sister, but they will all get gifts of baked goods in return for their efforts and for being here in their time of need. Then she stands over the pyre that they build for the dead. Making sure that Karan'taara's body has a place of its own in a fire far from the one of those he killed. What remains of him anyways. He won't be coming back.

Not ever.

-End