Into the Temple - Part 12
Log Info
- Title: Into the Temple - Part 12
- GM: Whirlpool
- Place: Felwood
GAME: Bryn rolls weapon1+1+1: (4)+6+1+1: 12 GAME: Bryn rolls damage1+1+1: aliased to 2d4+4+1+1: (5)+4+1+1: 11
Bryn isn't sure how much she can do against demons, shadows, skeletons, or ... whatever the hell is going on now. Breaking stuff, though, she can manage. She continues her belted encouragements (though some of it may just sound like warcries) as she moves to the next mirror to smack it.
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Spellcraft: (2)+26: 28 GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Spellcraft: (16)+26: 42 GAME: Ravenstongue casts Disintegrate. Caster Level: 20 DC: 29 GAME: Ravenstongue rolls ranged: (18)+11: 29
Cor'lana puts her understanding of magic to the test. She scans the environment. The orb that's forming as the lich channels into it. The mirrors. "The lich is channeling power into the orb!" she calls out. "I can't dispel the magic; it's far too erratic and powerful! Wishing it away could kill everyone and everything. And the lich is immune to magic! We need to get--"
She turns to one of the last mirrors, the one that Bryn had cracked, and she finishes it off with a fired ray of green energy from her finger. "All the mirrors down!" she announces--
And then she's visibly woozy again as she sees a vision. She shakes her head, her feet unsteady for a moment as she sees someone. Something. "Vaire, was that you?" she asks in a fervent, reverent whisper.
The arrival of the 'dragon' certainly wiped away a whole lot of room for the shadows to grow. The loss of infernal power, too, surely had an implicit effect on the shades fueled by it. Unspoken, perhaps, but present all the same. Several shadows turn to dust -- quite literally -- ossifying and then collapsing into it unlike what you had seen before. One remains, in the end, but it seems to be grossly distending and swelling, as if accumulating some of the energy that's being loosed. Everyone can feel a sense of darkness lifting over the interior -- not just from the presence of the Holy Dragon summoned by Harkashan, but also the flight of the souls of demons back to whence they came.
Your skins each tingle and a sense of overwhelming connection threatens to overtake you, your skins tingling as magical energy circles and spirals through you. It's rapidly becoming intense enough to hurt.
GAME: Eztli casts Scorching Ray. Caster Level: 13 DC: 20 GAME: Eztli rolls 1d20+11+1+2: (11)+11+1+2: 25 GAME: Eztli rolls 1d20+11+1+2: (1)+11+1+2: 15 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Eztli rolls 1d20+11+1+2: (16)+11+1+2: 30 GAME: Eztli rolls 4d6+4: (11)+4: 15 GAME: Eztli rolls 4d6+4: (17)+4: 21 GAME: Eztli rolls 4d6+4: (15)+4: 19
With the final mirror shattering, Eztli was free to turn her attention to the last shadowy creature. Hopefully whatever energy was bouncing around would not transfer into the skulls or crystal with its demise, and properly incinerating it would solve the growing problem. The sorceress turned dragon rakes one clawed hand over the ground, conjuring a trio of flaming bolts that impact into the shadow, seeming to have some effect on it.
GAME: Silmeria rolls ranged+1+1+2+3: (19)+11+1+1+2+3: 37 GAME: Silmeria rolls ranged+1+1+2+3: (4)+11+1+1+2+3: 22 GAME: Silmeria rolls ranged+1+1+2+3-5: (15)+11+1+1+2+3+-5: 28 GAME: Silmeria rolls ranged+1+1+2+3: (14)+11+1+1+2+3: 32 GAME: Silmeria rolls 1d6+2+4d6+2+1d6+1+1+1d6: (1)+2+(15)+2+(3)+1+1+(5): 30 GAME: Silmeria rolls 1d6+2+4d6+2+1d6+1+1+1d6: (5)+2+(14)+2+(5)+1+1+(4): 34 GAME: Silmeria rolls 1d6+2+4d6+2+1d6+1+1+1d6: (6)+2+(13)+2+(3)+1+1+(2): 30
The mirrors are down. The demon wretches are no longer a problem. The lich itself is powering up some fell and terrible magic, and that cannot be borne.
Memento Mori, given speech by one of Vardama's own to aid her in scouring the world of undeath, levels upon the floating skull. "In the name of the Lady of Peace Eternal," she intones, "I say to you; it is time to shed your fears, your hatred, and accept the long dream awaiting you. Your thirst will be slaked, your hunger sated. Release your emptiness, and accept the cold nothing that is your due."
<<~~ IN THE NAME OF VARDAMA: PEACE BE WITH YOU ~~>> the gun itself intones, and three more times the gun bucks in Silmeria's hand.
A frustrated scowl mars her generally-serene features, however, as sparks ring before they hit the skull, blunting the worst of the bullets' impact.
"Oh for... GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP."
A dragon. Not just any dragon, either. A holy dragon. A messenger of the Gods amongst their servants. With all these eyes upon it, with the grace of Eluna shining down, with the siren-song of the Harpist almost audible, anyone would have to recognize that they're the villain in this scenario. These things do not align together in an array against you if you're not the villain.
Also, there's the fact that what's left of you is that you're a pair of co-located floating skulls powered by out of synch magic and these demons you found.
And yet, all of this does not appear to be phasing the skulls just yet, as if its eyes are somewhere else entirely, if it even has eyes. A mass of black opal seems to be build up from the ground around one skull, encasing it in a physical, humanoid construct at which the skull sits in its center. The other remains aloft -- and yet between them the point of swirling energy begins to grow, threatening to distort all around it. At the edges of your vision, things seem to be ... stretching out impossibly. When you change your viewpoint to look, it's normal, and the 'stretching' sensation is elsewhere. Just at the edges, like everything around you is being made thin and skinny and shredding apart.
... but just at the edges.
Finally.... you can hear it. It's speaking.
"...Let the equation of planar harmony be defined as where ???????? is the spectral function of the etheric weave, and ??????? are the runic coefficients of spatial resonance." Some of those words are ... words, all right, but they're no earthly words you can actually understand.
... except that you CAN understand it for some reason in the first place. "??? represents the conjugate waveform of the mana field ???????? if true encodes the decay rate of magical coherence across fractal subspaces.
"This constant recrafts within eternal cold, if cold is equal to the temperature of the aetheric sea, the world is colder now than it will ever be again..."
It reaches out and plunks a slender sliver from the orb, as if it were physical and it shapes into a longer, longer blade in his hand, wicked, curving, and absorbing power. It slashes it into the dragon, cutting away at it and pulling back with a spray of magical power from it.
GAME: Harkashan rolls Fortitude+1: (17)+24+1: 42 GAME: Carver rolls fort: (17)+7: 24 GAME: Whirlpool rolls 20d6: (65): 65
Carver looks over as Silmeria shoots, but no scores. She looks down to her bow. Frown. "Hey, Ez!" She'll wait until the smaller of the two dragons look over before shrugging. "Sorry, but the world looks like it's breakin'." The bow clatters to the floor and off she goes!
Lack of planning? Sure! Following any of that fractal mathematical musing? Nope.
She throws herself between the 'channeling' Lich and the receiving orb, throwing her arms wide as she slides into place like a fleshy shut off valve.
So, Carver steps into the beam.
For a moment, there are a LOT of Carvers. There's like a daisy-chain of Carvers, expanding into the infinite. Everyone can see it. Like Carver has spread out across the cosmos, expanding into the infinite.
... and then she snaps back to herself, vomits an enormous amount of blood, and collapses to the ground.
Apparently, absorbing a massive amount of magic is not good for you -- but for one shining moment, Carver was everything and everywhere.
GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1+1+1+4: (11)+27+1+1+1+4: 45 GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1+1+1+4-2: (11)+27+1+1+1+4+-2: 43 GAME: Rune rolls weapon2+1+1+1+4-2: (14)+27+1+1+1+4+-2: 46 GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1+1+1+4-7: (11)+27+1+1+1+4+-7: 38 GAME: Rune rolls weapon2+1+1+1+4-7: (12)+27+1+1+1+4+-7: 39 GAME: Rune rolls weapon1+1+1+1+4-12: (3)+27+1+1+1+4+-12: 25 GAME: Rune rolls weapon2+1+1+1+4-12: (3)+27+1+1+1+4+-12: 25 GAME: Rune rolls damage1+1d6+9d6: aliased to 1d6+4+1d6+9d6: (2)+4+(1)+(34): 41 GAME: Rune rolls damage1+1d6+9d6: aliased to 1d6+4+1d6+9d6: (5)+4+(4)+(32): 45 GAME: Rune rolls damage2+1d6+9d6: aliased to 1d6+4+1d6+9d6: (3)+4+(5)+(25): 37 GAME: Rune rolls damage1+1d6+9d6: aliased to 1d6+4+1d6+9d6: (3)+4+(5)+(32): 44 GAME: Rune rolls damage2+1d6+9d6: aliased to 1d6+4+1d6+9d6: (3)+4+(3)+(32): 42
Butterfly wings still keep Rune suspended in the air, the iridescent appendages flickering a bit at the edges as the world seems to warp at the edges of perception. The rogue draws back, looking towards the twin skulls. "By now, it's probably sinking in that you aren't on the right side of history..."
With one of the skulls still channeling, and then Carver tossing themselves between it and the power source. Having already had a taste of that power, herself, and just what it can do to someone's physical form, Rune is quick to jump into action to target that channeling skull. Seeing Carver fall, her priorities shift to trying to get the woman out of the way of danger. The only way Rune has of doing that... is through brute force.
Weapons flash, targeting that skull that still floats far too close to Carver for her liking. "We need a healer up here!" She calls out, using the advantage Carver had offered to continue to hack away at the skull.
GAME: Harkashan rolls 11d6: (39): 39 GAME: Harkashan rolls Knowledge/The Planes: (8)+28: 36
"On it!" Harkashan calls out, as a silvren light erupts out of him, the male looking exhausted, while listening to the mad ravings of the being before them. None of them make sense, even from an Old Magic side of things.
His steps are sluggish at this point, but he's still up. His resources being burnt away faster and faster by the moment.
"Oh Great Silver Dragon! Silence the Gravitational Anomaly for us!" He pleads to the massive thing being ridden by Rune and Aelwyn. "For Eluna stands at the pinnacle of magic, and the gravity between this World and the Moon is as much her domain as the distortion between the bodies of that mad would-be mock God!"
GAME: Aelwyn rolls perform/dance+2: (18)+15+2: 35 GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon11-4+4+1+1: (7)+19+-4+4+1+1: 28 GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon11-4+4+1+1: (6)+19+-4+4+1+1: 27 GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon11-4+4+1+1-5: (9)+19+-4+4+1+1+-5: 25 GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon11-4+4+1+1-10: (7)+19+-4+4+1+1+-10: 18 GAME: Aelwyn rolls damage11+12+1d6+1: aliased to 1d10+5+12+1d6+1: (7)+5+12+(1)+1: 26 GAME: Aelwyn rolls damage11+12+1d6+1: aliased to 1d10+5+12+1d6+1: (3)+5+12+(3)+1: 24 GAME: Bryn rolls fort: (10)+4: 14
Aelwyn could care less about history. He sees the rest of the party fighting, he sees a glimpse of Carver rushing in. He hears those cryptic, incomprehensible words.
The Dragoon stands atop the holy dragon, stretching his arms out wide. His burning glaive cuts the air. A finger is pointed at the reforming skeletal figure. "DO NOT." He seethes, "IGNORE ME."
The diminutive (relatively speaking) and very ruddy sith-makar then falls to hold onto the dragon he was riding, and in pleasingly aesthetic rhythm, he swings his weapon in between Rune's attacks. Unlike hers though, it was somewhat unsteady, sloppy work, even if he does hit the cadence of dancing blades.
Yet, after all, he was riding a dragon. Take that history.
One more mirror down, and one more vision up. After tripping the light fantastic for a moment (again), Bryn returns to the present. A present where there seem to be a great deal of... unravellings. Harkashan, and especially Carver. There are also alot of math mutterings. It is hard for Bryn to know which is worse.
"Da fu.."
She stops short as Carver may actually be onto something; interrupting the whatever-it-is beaming between the skull and the orb its powering up is probably a really good idea. Using flesh to do it... maybe not so good an idea. If only they had some energy-resistant stuff laying ar-
She doesn't finish that thought, either; not completely. Her eye looks down, looks back to the skull and orb (and the partly-reconstituted Carver). Then she does less thinking and more acting (which is probably more her forte' anyhow). A shard of broken focusing mirror are snapped up in each hand and then conjoined together in one hand, back to back, as she zooms her way to Carver and the beaming duo. The reflective pieces are jabbed into the Beam of Really Unpleasant Stuff... and it seems to work?
Whatever is being zapped by the skull at the orb is reflected back into its face. This causes large chunks of said face to melt off. That's a good thing.
Less good, the shards are not that large, maybe not as large as the beam, and she's holding them in her hand. A hand that rapidly begins to join the ranks of the unravelling to nonexistence. Which hurts. A lot. Enough to change Bryn's belted encouragement into more, well, screaming.
On the other hand, well... she still has the other hand, if need be!
GAME: Ravenstongue casts Limited Wish. Caster Level: 20 DC: 29 GAME: Ravenstongue rolls 1d20+20: (11)+20: 31
Cor'lana sees two of her allies horribly butchered by the laser, and her eyes widen in sheer horror. "Hold on! Please! I'll try and help!" She doesn't even know who she's saying 'please' to, really. Whoever's listening. Any deity that's out there. Ni'essa. Vaire. Even Caracoroth, if the Dread Wolf is listening.
Neutralizing magic is no easy feat. Especially magic that's old, ancient, and has been contained for a thousand years. It's why Cor'lana clasps her hands together, threading her fingers through the fabric that is the delicate intersection between magic and reality. It's earnestly terrifying how much Cor'lana's getting used to this. She never wants to get used to it. No one should.
"I have a small Wish to dispel the magic that is tearing apart my allies!" The magic leaves Cor'lana, sparking around her fingers, and then... The laser is suppressed.
And then Cor'lana feels something leaking down from her eyes. Blood. She only registers that's what it is because it feels thick and viscous on her skin. She suppresses the urge to scream in horror because the whole situation is horror. She just has to live through this. Surely... Surely she can.
GAME: Eztli rolls 18d6: (63): 63 GAME: Whirlpool rolls 1d20+13: (4)+13: 17 GAME: Whirlpool rolls 1d20+13: (8)+13: 21 GAME: Silmeria rolls knowledge/arcana: (20)+11: 31
Eztli did not have time to react to Carver shrugging and running off, or Bryn trying something similar. All the smaller dragon could do was let out an ear piercing shriek of a roar. At least Harkashan helped before the sorceress did something very stupid too.
"I WILL BURN YOUR GOD FORSAKEN BONES TO ASH AND SLAG THAT'S AS WORTHLESS AS YOU DESERVE!" Eztli roars again, accompanied by another ray of flames that seared the air around it, along with the two skulls that were causing so many problems.
GAME: Silmeria rolls 5d4+5: (10)+5: 15
There is so much horribleness all around her. The mirrors are shattered, but one brave compatriot places herself in the path of the magic, and very nearly dies instantly. Another tries to reflect it, and loses a hand. A third, toweringly powerful in magic, shuts down the link for a moment... and is bleeding from the eyes.
When arcanists speak in hushed, quavering whispers of That Which Man Was Not Meant To Know, surely, surely this is what they speak of.
And there, a mockery of life, a blasphemy of corrupted power. And there, yet another, a golem of unspeakable, unholy construction.
And in the middle, an orb. A focal point of cosmic magic, a linchpin of time, space, and reality, the focus of all this dark design.
There's always a linchpin, a small move that creates titanic ripples.
"...Mori," she says quietly. "Lock on. Force Dart, minimum spread. Target... track, put some Myrrish on it."
And she points the gun at the orb.
What.
But only for a moment, as the gun is twirled on her finger once, twice, three times, and falls you her side...
Then snaps up and across in a move akin to Rune's graceful slashes. And five glowing darts of silver light. Pure magic, made solid, flare out from the path tracked by the gun barrel, and lance toward the orb.
They don't land as one. It's a sequence, spanning less than a second, but each placed just so to make the orb spin from its place in the air.
If the object is a focus of magical gravity? If it is controlling where magic must go?
Then let the Moon receive what she is due.
A sacrifice.
A sacrifice of bone and blood, a sacrifice of taking on fears unasked for, taking on the heavy weight of foreknowledge, of taking on the burdens of the sin of the past. Each one present has, in some way, made a sacrifice. Blood oozing from their eyes, a missing hand, the sense of being torn apart on a fundamental level, of seeing futures not yet written but the horror of things that may yet be. The sacrifice of destiny written and unwritten, of fortune's favor turning old and new again, of pains multiplied and born into the soul. Sacrifices of bone and blood, of seeing dreams turned ash and nightmares bloom.
Each of these burdens has been born, each sacrifice seen.
The world seems to be stretching out into infinity all around you, tugging each of you, threatening to unravel for your senses, but then .... silence. The silence of the moon as it looks large over you, shining its light down. The silence that is brought by a dragon, as it brings its silver-hued-claws down towards the fractured orb of power, towards the magicite. A sense of power. A sense of order. A sense that all has been Seen, and the Sacrifice Accepted. That suffering need no longer be borne, and that the broken souls, twinned and bound to this place out of hope and sacrifice themselves need no longer be your burden to shoulder alone.
Everything shatters.
... and then everything resets.
The great dragon shines with the holy light of Eluna as it holds the great magicite between its forelimbs. The opal crack, splinter, and fall away as do the twin skulls, melting away in Eluna's healing grace.
All is calm, and perfect, and serene. A voluminous sense of beauty fills you, as shimmering auras of energy, two wounded souls, come together in embrace, long separated by madness, trauma, and ambition.
A single voice seems to resonate from deep within each of you.
ALL WILL BE WELL.
And you know that your choices, the risks entertained, the dangers undertaken, the choices made, have been Seen. Each action undertaken empowering the Moment -- and that Moment has now come.
A singular light gathers at the earth of the crystal, silver and pure, and this pillar of light beams into the sky above you, silver fire seen for miles around as the oppression of the Felwood is burnt away for miles around the Spire, a singular shadow that has long endured being banished further back than it has seen in centuries, and each moment of this unfurls before you in your minds eye, as if the ceiling and the walls that encase you for just a moment no longer exist. Demons burn away, cast back to the realms whence they came, shadows extinguished in Eluna's holy light.
.... and then silence. Graceful, serene silence falls over you. Wounded, marred, and weakened, but alive and ...somewhat whole.
You have endured.
All will be well.