Blue Moon
There's a full moon rising in Alexandria tonight, but one might not know it through the dusting of clouds in the sky offering a light rain to the thirsty earth and ungrateful mortals who are trudging through mud to reach the gates of Alexandria. An even colder wind slices through the night air, threatening coats and hats and one goes tumbling off a man's brow whilst he is unwary. He trudges unhappily after the rolling piece of fabric and the line moves a little closer to the gate. It's not a long line tonight, but there seems to be something of a hold up at the gates. Three men are casually talking to the gate guards. All of the unarmored men with the bearing of Stormgarde.
It's always nice to get back to town after a 'field trip' before night falls. It's easier to find a nice place to sleep for one, and all the accouterments that come with it. So when night falls and Taran /still/ hasn't managed to get into the city he is a bit... frustrated.
"Never going to get a decent inn room tonight." The charcoal skinned giantborn rumbles to himself, flipping the hood on his cloak up and pulling it around him as he waits in line to get to the gates and hopefully inside. Camping at the gates is a good recipe to get everything you own stolen.
Telamon finds himself walking down the streets after a late evening at the Chalice, cloak pulled around him, and his gyroparasol in one hand as he ambles nearer to the gates. His eyes glint, the dim light good enough for him to see by, as his boots tap at the cobblestones.
Catching sight of the holdup at the gates, he frowns, cocking his head as he studies the trio holding things up. Casually, he ambles a little closer, his free hand flexing as he purses his lips.
He hadn't made it back to the gates before dark.
An errand undertaken for the Temple of Daeus had taken Dolan to Wilderness Pointe, where he'd gotten caught up with particularly chatty locals. His procured herbs and tools are safely stowed in his pack, but it had taken him some time to get out of there, and a drink didn't help. So it is that he finds himself trudging through mud, more than a little damp, and with his traveler's cloak pulled around him against the wind and weather -
- and there's a holdup at the gates. Great. Not that such is unusual, but he frowns at the holdout, squinting at the gates. "Yeah," he nods to Taran. "My partner'll be wondering where I am, not to mention the person waiting for their stuff."
The light rain is not enough on its own to drive Verna to seek shelter. Combined with the fact that she completed her tasks outside of the walls, however, IS enough. Her customary cauldron conveyance was forgone this day in favor of more pedestrian propulsion. Her tasks appeared to have been floral; several sprouts sprout from her satchel, some herbal and green, others with petals.
Lysos is just making her way back to the road, having emerged from the treeline moments earlier.. and she certainly doesn't look like she meant to be out here. No cloak, no parasol, no real protection from the thankfully light rain.
An hour or so earlier:
"Oh for void's sake... that isn't her!" "What do you mean it's not her?" "I'm telling you, you got the wrong one." "Bah. Humans all look the same, am I right? Can't we just use her?" "No. He said it has to be her or no one. Argh. I should have known better than to send you.." And then Lysos was alone.
The present:
Lysos eventually managed to work her way out of the sack she'd been somehow smuggled out of the city in, and now has it draped over her shoulder as she ends up slotting into the stalled line heading into the city, ending up somewhere close to Taran.
Porter is off the road on a low rise nearby, his forepaws hosting what appears to be the thigh bone of a horse, cow, or similarly-sized animal. He's enjoying his dinner and paying little heed to the goings-on of the stinky bipeds milling about in their discontented herds. A light froth of spittle and flecked offal make his lighter snout glisten in the dark.
Barclaiigh, meanwhile, crosses his arms and mans an idle watch as he leans into the hefty shoulder of his bearfriend. The Khazadi druid glows in his usual fashion; red-orange embers and soft-green runes. His boar's tusk and token dangle at the end of his leather necklace and his auburn mane is wrangled into a loose-and-messy braid.
"... reckon if y'pace yerself you'd actually be able to taste the meat afore it's in onna yer twelve stomachs, fella," the dwarf idly drawls at his furry assistant.
The three from Stormgarde laugh at some joke and continue chatting with the guards in spite of the fact that it's holding up the line. There's a low howl like a wolf - but it comes from inside the city. The mournful sound makes everyone stop a second and then the men all laugh nervously. "Some dog aye?" Says one of the guards and everyone nods in agreement.
They go back to their conversation, which seems to be something about the weather and travel from Stormgarde to Alexandria.
Telamon glances back over his shoulder at the howl, bringing one hand up. Then, firmly, he lowers it again. Is it really paranoia when you know there are things out to get you? He approaches one of the guards on the inner side of the gates, quirking an eyebrow. "Good evening... no, no, I'm sorry, that's garbage. It's a lousy, wet evening, and I'm sorry you're out in it."
He tilts his head towards the gates, where the logjam has occurred. "What's the hold up? I'm surprised you haven't shut the gates for the night."
At the sound of the howl, Taran cocks his head to the side and looks at Dolan curiously, "Never heard a dog like that before." He admits but then snaps his fingers, "Right right, you were the one getting all sappy when I had that hangover. Knew I recognized you the other night." He chuckles, "At least you're returning to someone. I have to find a someone once I get into the city proper." He pauses and looks at the logjam of travel, "If I can even get into the city proper before they close the gates."
"Might not be a dog," Lysos offers, though the words weren't directed her way. She's just close enough to overhear, and having seen lines like this before.. usually getting jammed just as she joins them... well, she's found conversation is a good way to pass the time. She gestures up to the sky where the moon isn't exactly visible. "Eluna's full and bright tonight. Tends to bring the crazy ones out."
Verna's head tilts momentarily at the howl. "I would welcome that to be no more than a lonely pet..." Her attention shifts to Telamon as recognition sets in, aided by Dolan's mention. "Good evening. Is there a delay at the gates?"
"... oh, lookee," Barclaiigh grins, elbowing Porter when he spots a few familiar faces in line.
Porter grunts and bites hard, producing the sound of a thick tree branch snapping as he splinters the thick bone. Then the slurping begins in earnest as the bear goes after the good stuff inside. Familiar faces can wait; their delicious marrow is off-limits.
The dwarf looks down at the food-driven force of nature and shrugs, muttering a command in Khazdul and then slap-slap-slapping his way over. Both meaty pinkies go between curled lips and he gives a mighty whistle, raising a hand and waving hello to those stuck in line. "I'd wish y'all 'easy roads' but seems the gates are yer problem," he makes a quick, backhanded gesture at the city entrance. His toes and calves are muddy and moist but it doesn't seem to bother the wildman.
"Nice, refreshin' rain, at least!" The dwarf grins, likely alone in his good humor.
Not having heard Telamon, Dolan instead turns to those around him, looking Lysos up and down both curiously and with concern. "Maybe, but -" He shakes his head sharply. "Maybe I'm just paranoid, but _if we could hurry it along, nobody wants to be standing in the rain_," he calls, raising his voice to make sure he can be heard.
He says that, though, but removes that very traveller's clock from his shoulders and reaches to put it around Lysos' shoulders. "You look like you're freezing, miss. Here."
The guard turns toward Telamon, seemingly willing to add another to the conversation. "Gate is jammed." He explains succinctly. "Nobody else will be getting in tonight." He looks to the line and sighs. It seems he's not looking forward to explaining that to those that will be left outside for the evening.
There's a second howl from inside the city. Sounding like the same animal. The guard turns toward Dolan and shrugs at him. "No need to get upset sir. Nobody will be getting in tonight."
Another howl and this time the second guard spits. "Damned dog."
GAME: Telamon rolls knowledge/nature+2: (16)+9+2: 27
Telamon listens to the howl, and his expression changes. His eyes flick to the guards, and he says flatly, "That's not a dog." His voice is stern, as his fingers begin moving in practiced patterns, wrapping a shimmer of force around himself. "Akar irhandi. I -strongly- recommend you be on your guard, sir. With that full moon something may be afoot tonight."
GAME: Telamon casts Mage Armor. Caster Level: 7 DC: 17
Verna's frown returns at the news concerning the gate and looks to the guards. "Is there no possibility of repairs more swiftly than that?" Another howl. "I would not be so dismissive of howls within the walls. There has been no shortage of lycanthropic incidents in the recent past."
Lysos flashes a grateful grin at Dolan as she lowers the sack and pulls the offered cloak snug around her shoulders, holding it there. Must be one of her better days where she's alot more philosophical about her luck. "Thank you.." Then she falters a bit. Dolan's face is.. well.. it catches her off guard, though she does her best to recompose herself. The grin comes back in force. "Could have been worse," she assures, speaking with the surety of experience. Before she can say more, though, there's that howl.. she's looking back at the gates again.
GAME: Barclaiigh rolls Knowledge/Nature: (1)+11: 12 (EPIC FAIL)
When Lysos falters, Dolan's expression falls as well, and although he doesn't say anything, he immediately turns away and steps so that she is on his left, shielding the twisted ruin that is the right side of his face from her view. "You're welcome," he says, a little more gruffly than he perhaps intended. "Not tonight? Damn. Should have stayed for that second drink." A flash of a grin, then a scowl, but body language and tone suggests that he is not really angry.
And then the howl again - and someone says it's not a dog. "The lady's right," he calls. "There's a band of werewolves picking on the city. I've had three or four run-ins. Take it serious if you don't want to turn furry yourself."
"Werewolves?" Taran says with a frown, "If there are werewolves, then why hasn't the guard mobilized?" He starts to push towards the gate, "Excuse me, coming through." He diplomatically tries to approach the gates, to get to where he might get inside to help. "Anyone who is capable, we should be trying to get to them before they cause more harm!" He tries to rally people as best he can, because standing here and letting werewolves rampage just doesn't sit well on him.
"Got a spell're two might help..." Bar offers, fiddling with his fetish as he steps past the guard to eye the gate. "... ain't no reason t'leave folks stranded out here.
"Y'all figger out how it's stuck yet?" The dwarf wonders, squinting and inspecting the massive entryway. The boar's tusks and wooden carven clatter against his ensorceled breastplate as he twirls them in thought.
"Failin' that there's always rope'n climbin'," he pats the looped length of spider's silk he has dangling from his belt. "Them danged Garmites'll git what's comin' to'm..."
GAME: Telamon rolls perception: (3)+12: 15 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls Perception: (17)+13: 30 GAME: Taran rolls perception: (9)+9: 18 GAME: Dolan rolls perception: (12)+8: 20 GAME: Lysos rolls perception: (19)+10: 29 GAME: Verna rolls perception: (1)+28: 29 (EPIC FAIL)
"Because there's not!" Says the guard furiously, looking at the Stormgarde men furtively. They look a bit worried by this talk of werewolves. "Stop scaring folks would you?"
The second guard stands between Taran and the open gate. Placing his hand on the giantkin's chest and looking at him firmly. "NO ONE is getting in. The gate will be fixed in the morning. Come back then. There's nothing wrong." He looks at Telamon and Dolan firmly. "No... wolves. Just a few random dogs."
Nearly all of you can hear something though. Yelling. Screaming. Someone frantically banging on a door far away. It sounds like someone's in trouble, but the guards, the people outside the gate? They don't seem to notice.
GAME: Telamon rolls sense motive+3: (7)+12+3: 22
Telamon leans in close, dropping his voice down, and growls in the guard's ear. "You know damn well that's not a dog," he rasps. "And I can hear screaming. Someone is in trouble. I -strongly- recommend you reassess your priorities and duties. Sir." His voice is positively frosty, and this close stars can be seen in the depths of his eyes.
"Werewolves?" Lysos echoes. No, that's definitely not mounting panic in her voice. Just... apprehension. Maybe a little bit of tension. She glances sideways at Dolan, then looks at the sack in her free hand. "I suppose my luck was worse than I thought tonight." Then she takes a deep breath to steady herself. "Three or four moments," she tells herself.
When the man puts his hand on his chest, Taran looks down at it and then looks back up a bit so he can see the guards face, "Listen to him. There are people in trouble, either go do your job, or let us through so we can do it for you. If you're afraid, that's fine, I understand that, I'm afraid. I don't enjoy the thought of facing those things either, but we can't stand here and do nothing. At the very least, let, us, pass. Please."
GAME: Taran rolls diplomacy: (12)+8: 20
Having heard the cries from inside the gate, Barclaiigh steps back and shouts in his mother tongue. "LINK!" There's the briefest pause and bellowed complaint before the black bear comes loping down the low hill to stand next to the auburn-haired druid. Porter grumbles his complaint a second time before noisily licking the remainder of his dinner from his lips.
The bear looks this way and that, snuffling at the air with an upturned nose and pacing to stand with his flank protecting the druid's back. <khazdul>
"We'll finish yer meal later, boy," Barclaiigh consoles with a pat. He closes his hand around his tusks and chants. The wind gusts briefly, kicking up coats, scarves, and cloaks for just a moment before settling about the Khazad's sandals.
GAME: Barclaiigh casts Longstrider. Caster Level: 5 DC: 16 GAME: Telamon rolls diplomacy+3: (5)+18+3: 26
Verna is less intent upon the guards and gate than attempting to peer past all towards the sounds of potential distress. Following Taran's comment, her focus pulls back to the impeding guards. "I understand that you seek to protect the city from external threats, but it is not entirely likely that those threats are already past you. As he noted, we can investigate and assist, as required." She would also very much wish to return to her home this evening, but she does not mention that as a point of influence.
GAME: Dolan rolls diplomacy: (8)+9: 17 GAME: Verna rolls diplomacy: (19)+14: 33
Dolan simply _stares_ at the guard, crossing his arms across his chest. "I get it, but if I'm not mistaken, your threats already got through the gate, and now you're keeping out the people who can help. I've seen that group use delay tactics before, too. If you can't help, let us in and we will. If you don't want us to help, you may as well show yourself now."
The guard doesn't seem convinced. Not at first at least. The second guard is just as firm on the subject, but after a moment he relents and pulls away from Telamon with a short look. "I don't hear anything, but if you are willing to threaten a guard... Well it's probably serious. I'm trusting you guys to not be a bunch of werewolves."
The first guard sighs and nods to the other guard's words and pulls back from Taran. "Do as you will then."
The stormgarde men step forward as the guards back down. "You're letting THEM in but not us?" They flex their muscles and make an impressive show but when the guards just look at them they growl. "Well fine then, we thought you'd do your job when we busted the gate but clearly... We'll have to do it for you!"
Fur breaks out over the three men, black as pitch and the screaming inside the city falls silent. It's not a comfortable silence.
GAME: Barclaiigh casts Bull's Strength. Caster Level: 5 DC: 17 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d20+8+2-1: (7)+8+2+-1: 16 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (19)+1: 20 GAME: Taran rolls fort: (12)+1: 13
"Prune!" Barclaiigh growls, lip turned at the sight of the revealed abominations. The druid chants and rests a hand against the bear's flank. Porter, then, surges forward and bounds across the wet ground. The bear roars his his teeth glint a silvery-blue as he snaps at one of the twisted Stormgardians.
The slapping sounds of a Khazadi advance follow, Barclaiigh moving across the short distance to level his glowing spear at the creatures. <khazdul>
"Dang ol' filth comin' 'round where y'ain't wanted! Don't take kindly to y'all..!" the country dwarf drawls.
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d6+1: (2)+1: 3 GAME: Taran rolls 1d20+7: (18)+7: 25 GAME: Taran rolls 3d6+4: (12)+4: 16 GAME: Verna casts Blessing of Fervor. Caster Level: 18 DC: 21
When the men turn into werewolves, Taran blanches, stalled in his tracks. He was going to go in and help but he wasn't expecting them right here. When the Khazad rushes in with the bear, recognizing them both, Taran steels his resolve and launches himself forwards towards the ensuing melee. His long legs take him around and to the side but one of the werewolves nips his shoulder for his trouble. On his way he unslings that huge warmaul he carries and picks his spot...
The maul whistles through the air and lands with a loud crunch into the shortrib of the werewolf he's hit, a meaty thunk that would be painful for most anyone. As he pulls the warmaul back though Taran frowns, "Great..." And he looks pissed. His grip tightens on his warmaul, "Guess I'll have to paste it in one hit!" He shouts angrily, preparing to swing again, and uncaring that the wound he already dealt has... left little trace behind.
Verna expected trouble ahead of them, in the city. Instead, they seem to find it far, far nearer (and all but directly behind them). "They cannot be allowed in the city, nor to flee!" she announces for all before continuing with a beseechment to her Matron. "Harpist grant all boon to impart Your swift judgment."
GAME: Lysos casts Greater Thunderstomp. Caster Level: 9 DC: 20 GAME: Lysos rolls 1d20+9+7+2: (7)+9+7+2: 25 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls weapon3+2+2-1: (8)+7+2+2+-1: 18 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d20+8+2+2-1: (11)+8+2+2+-1: 22 GAME: Taran rolls 1d20+7: (2)+7: 9 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d8+8+2: (7)+8+2: 17 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d20+16: (7)+16: 23
Lysos recoils a little bit in disgust as the men transform into.. those. "So gross..." she comments, clutching the loaned cloak even tighter, as if that might slow the suddenly hyper heart beat she has going on. But then she's gathering power.. the sack gets dropped as she scurris a bit to get into a better position. Then she lifts that hand, palm up.. and thrusts it downwards as she raises a foot and stomps into the ground, shouting, "Krakow!" Instead of the usual form of the spell, the ground erupts in front of her.. then continues doing so in a straight, speeding line underneath the werewolves, tumbling two of them. "Hah! Werewolves? There wolves!" It's a weak attempt to cover fear with humor.. but it's an attempt. Then she looks Dolan's way. "Hey, you! Big man! If you decide you want to stab those things.. I can get you there quickly!"
GAME: Aftershock rolls ld20+1: (16)+ld20+1: 17 GAME: Aftershock rolls ld20+1: (10)+ld20+1: 11 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+6: (15)+6: 21 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+4: (4)+4: 8
The werewolves are making an effective distraction of themselves. Nipping and biting at the heels of the dwarf, the bear, and Taran. No one is hit this time, but it's a close call with Barclaiigh.
You hear more screaming.
GAME: Telamon casts Magic Missile. Caster Level: 7 DC: 17 GAME: Telamon rolls 4d4+4: (8)+4: 12 GAME: Dolan rolls heal: (20)+3: 23
Well, here's another fine mess Telamon's wandered into. "I still hear screams, friends! Let's dispose of this lot and deal with what's going on in the city!" He gestures elegantly, chanting, 'Izigi'edena zanzana,' and four flaring blue white stars fly from his hand, slamming into one of the werewolves, each arcane pulse wracking it. "Because I don't think these worthless curs are the only bad dogs we've got to handle!"
GAME: Dolan rolls weapon2+1: (12)+6+1: 19 GAME: Dolan rolls weapon2+1: (4)+6+1: 11 GAME: Dolan rolls 2d6+5: (4)+5: 9 GAME: Dolan rolls 2d6+5: (7)+5: 12 GAME: Taran rolls 1d20+8: (2)+8: 10 GAME: Taran rolls 1d20+8: (2)+8: 10
"Thanks, look to yourself!" Dolan shouts to Lysos. A glance at Taran, and he immediately takes on a focused look, the leather harness holding his sword to his back hitting the ground even as the wolves show themselves. The greatsword is between his hands, its fine make suddenly glinting in the mana lamps that light the walls. "Damn it, the giant's turning, look out!" He leaps into the fray with the massive sword point-down in both hands, lunging for the werewolf Porter is pinning down. "Thanks," he tells the bear, slamming the blade point down.
The first strike buries itself into the thing's shoulder and immediately begins to heal. "You furry little piece of otyugh shit, _hold still!_" *SLAM!* The second strike goes through its throat, putting an end to Porter's lawnchair for good. "Good boy, go get 'im!" he tells the bear.
The hammer isn't working. Even that huge warmaul didn't leave a lasting mark on the werewolf that Taran had smashed. Didn't even seem to phase it. Taran's red eyes make it hard to tell that they're even /more/ red now as the fury overtakes him. If it weren't for the nice clothing he's wearing, it would be easy to think the Giantborn was just another berserking barbarian. That's the amount of skill he's using right now. Nothing but pure unabridged power. He picks up speed as he attempts to break, no, crush the werewolf that had bitten him on the shoulder.
It wasn't even that bad a bite really, a graze that had barely manages to get past the chain shirt he's wearing under his tunic. Blood seeps into the fabric though, darkening it slightly around the torn cloth. He'll definitely be needing a new shirt after this.
Is that froth at the corners of Taran's mouth? Certainly seems to be. The first two swings are at least aimed. The ones that flail about afterwards are just pure anger and rage. Even those first two have nothing of the surgical strike that his initial swing was. Nothing manages to hit anything though. It's just dangerous to be /next/ to the werewolf now.
GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d20+8+2+2-1: (19)+8+2+2+-1: 30 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d20+8+2+2-1: (12)+8+2+2+-1: 23 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d20+8+2+2-1: (11)+8+2+2+-1: 22
GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d8+6+2+2: (6)+6+2+2: 16 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d6+6+2+2: (2)+6+2+2: 12 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 1d6+6+2+2: (4)+6+2+2: 14
"Y'all git! Porter'n I'll hold the fort down here." Barclaiigh points his spear through the gates with a glance over his shoulder. "Ain't nothin' these oily smears'a chicken turds got now that the big twigs got us all fancied-up!"
As if taking the cue, the black bear roars challenge and pounces at the remaining werewolves. The animal's teeth and claws flash like coalesced moonlight to tear through the unsuspecting Garmite. The creature begins to topple when a bite exposes the insides of its belly to the world. Then a one-two batting of claws sends the rent corpse bouncing across the ground.
The Khazadi man is falling to all-fours, auburn hair sprouting across his body and consuming his manufactured clothing as his face reshapes into a snout. The Barverine's teeth and claws, too, glitter silvery. Clearly, the druid's been preparing for this skrum.
GAME: Lysos casts Thunderstomp. Caster Level: 9 DC: 18 GAME: Lysos rolls 1d20+9+7+2: (13)+9+7+2: 31 GAME: Taran rolls 1d20+8: (12)+8: 20 GAME: Taran rolls 2d6+6: (7)+6: 13 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+5: (9)+5: 14 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20-3: (1)+-3: -2 (EPIC FAIL)
"Krak!" Another stomp, unleashing gathered power through the ground, and Lysos topples the werewolf again. Confidence seems to grow with the mounting successes, though the shouted warning.. reminder, really.. that something worse seems to be happening inside the city wipes that away quickly.
"Nightmare will stop you!" Growls the werewolf, snapping its teeth at Taran and biting his own tongue in the process. Things are not looking up for the werewolves.
GAME: Telamon rolls perception: (15)+12: 27
Two dead werewolves, and a third about to become wolf kebabs. Even with Taran in the grip of... well, pre-lycanthropy, he's pretty sure the rest of the heroes can manage things. Deliberately, he moves towards a nearby residence, casting as he goes. "I'iz mete gantir," he chants, and suddenly he's leaving afterimages. Multiple facsimiles of Telamon, shifting back and forth, a defensive spell as he walks towards it with a furrowed, worried expression.
GAME: Telamon casts Mirror Image. Caster Level: 7 DC: 18 GAME: Telamon rolls 1d4+2: (1)+2: 3 GAME: Dolan rolls weapon2+1: (13)+6+1: 20 GAME: Dolan rolls weapon2+1: (20)+6+1: 27 (THREAT) GAME: Dolan rolls weapon2+1: (15)+6+1: 22 GAME: Dolan rolls 2d6+5: (6)+5: 11 GAME: Dolan rolls 2d6+5+2d6+5: (7)+5+(9)+5: 26
"Don't see how," Dolan counters the snarling beast, with a dangerous casualness, bringing the massive greatsword down and around in two lightning-quick blows, the first one sinking deep, and the second one a mighty swing that severs head from shoulders and leaves the slavering snouted skull to bounce hideously into the dirt at the feet of one of the guards. "Taran, RUN! Before you hurt someone! Stay outside the walls where we can find you, we can get you help, but run!"
The werewolf at Taran's feet tries to get up and Taran in his fury is still swinging wildly. This time he manages to connect with bone crushing force but all it manages to do is keep the werewolf from rising to it's feet. The beastial being lashes out with fang and claw but the Giantborn manages to keep from being hit, stomping a booted foot at the things face, making it pull back and bite it's own tongue. With a wicked grin Taran lifts his warmaul, the earthbreaker going high for a powerful downswing on the headless corpse. Dead isn't dead enough and then it happens.
Taran catches sight of the full moon just briefly but it's enough.
He'd been bitten.
With not a roar but a scream the Earthbreaker slips out of his hands and thuds to the ground behind him. Taran's fingers clawing at his clothing, ripping at them, his eyes turn from rage to fear.
To pain.
The scream grows more shrill, turning his deep smoky baritone into something else altogether. His body tears and twists, dark skin sprouting even darker fur. Bones crack, tendons pop and rip, rippling under his skin as the curse takes hold. The pain and fear in the eyes turns to amber that practically glow and burn under the moonlight. The giantborn doubles over, falling to all fours as his spine bends in entirely inhuman fashion. Boots fall off and leather shreds as the giantborn suffers through the shift of lycanthropy and the head that lifts is no longer remotely human, powerful muzzle lifting to howl towards the moon.
Taran didn't have time to run.
GAME: Barclaiigh rolls Knowledge/Nature: (19)+11: 30 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls melee+2-4: (5)+6+2+-4: 9 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls melee+2-4: (20)+6+2+-4: 24 (THREAT) GAME: Barclaiigh rolls melee+2-4: (5)+6+2+-4: 9 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls melee+2-4: (16)+6+2+-4: 20 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls 2d4+6: (4)+6: 10
The Barverine chitters angrily as the last werewolf falls, folding low to the ground and preparing to dash into the city... only to see the gigantic, maul-wielding fella from the docks get a whole lot hairier. Beady black eyes go wide and he hops, turning in place, and nips at the overlarge creature's foot.
The transformed druid struggles with finding a hold that won't prove lethal to the sometimes-coworker. That is, until he manages to scamper up newly-minted lycanthrope's thigh and boop him fiercely on the nose. Silvered claws flash again and there's the sound of cartilage crunching under the force of the blow. The cursed giant's eyes go cross and he falls over!
GAME: Verna used a Scroll of Remove Curse.
To enter the city or not enter the city, that is the question. All seems reasonably well in hand... until hands become claws. More claws, that is. Verna does not get a step towards the infected Taran before the other (other) one of fur, teeth, and claws manages to subdue him. Obviously due to Barclaiigh's superior experience in such a state.
She now approaches briskly, drawing forth parchment from her robes. "I, and I expect he, are grateful at you quick reaction and restraint, both. I shall seek to cure him before he awakens and we can then move on."
As Telamon makes his way toward one of the residences, he finds his way blocked by a _massive_ black wolf. The thing is easily blocking the building he's headed toward. Drooling onto the ground. Snarling. The beast is bigger than a dire wolf. It makes bears look cuddly. Its teeth are longer than Telamon's arms.
Telamon's eyes bug out when he approaches the house only to be... interdicted. That... is not a normal wolf. It's not even a normal werewolf (for what difference it makes). And so, Telamon opts for the sensible option. "Son of a... OVER HERE! THERE'S ANOTHER!" Invoking the spell Verna laid on him, he immediately backs up, before running in the direction of the others. "Boy, I hope you guys got that giantborn fellow sorted out," he mumbles under his breath.
GAME: Dolan rolls weapon2+1+2: (2)+6+1+2: 11 GAME: Taran rolls fort: (8)+1: 9
The screams and roars from inside are enough - Verna's seeing to the fallen Giantborn, so Dolan turns and dashes inside, bloodied sword in hand, and it doesn't take him long to spot what Telamon is yelling about. "GET BACK!" he roars at the half-sil, charging in wildly in an effort to draw its attention. The swing, fueled by magic's spelled, is impossibly fast, and impossible to control, sailing well-wide of the massive creature.
Taran's career as a werewolf was very short lived, for good or ill. Probably good considering he wouldn't have had any choice but become a rampaging monster otherwise. Taken down by a badger of all things.
A /badger/.
After the scrolls magic does it's work Taran shifts back to his more humanoid form, the big fire giantborn laying there unconscious, with a broken bashed in nose. Thanks Barclaiigh.
He doesn't wake up.
-TBC