Lunar Eclipse
The Temple of Eluna is packed with people. Many of them restless, plagued by dreams they can not explain. Yet it's not the sleepless nights that have brought them here this eve. Though some of those who are most concerned do try to get the attention of the various clerics and paladins of the goddess. They however are preoccupied with looking up into the sky.
The moon is high in the sky, visible and glowing down at those who are waiting with shining light. It's a beautiful moon this night, and it eases the sense of tension that hovers in the air. People look up and sigh, and feel their burdens lessen. It's Eluna's blessing people whisper. Smiling. The only ones who do not smile at all, are the clerics and paladins of the goddess in service this night.
The dreams again. Those damned dreams. The only balm for Telamon has been not facing them alone, having someone to hold. He hasn't even been able to reach out to the Watcher. Holding Raven's hand, the pair stand at the outer edge of the crowd, side to side.
"I'm tired of this," he grumbles. "It's almost petty in a way. Like a child flinging pebbles at your window." He looks up at the moon, taking a deep breath, before glancing at Raven. "How're you holding up, dear?"
A massive, shiny silverscale man is amongst the crowd. He's in his full armor, clutching a dream journal in one hand as he stares up at the moon. He's none too far from Telamon, but his dead silver gaze is flicking from the one part of the moon, to the horizon, nervous little gouts of frozen air spilling from his nostrils.
Ravenstongue yawns a little, wearing a long black cotton dress with puffy sleeves and a somewhat deep-v neckline that fans a little in the night air--a dress well-suited for a spring evening, the feather mark on her chest playing a front and center presence in her choice of presentation for the evening.
She curls her arm around Telamon's and leans into his shoulder. "Mmmm, I'm fighting off sleep. I hope it starts soon."
"Snacks?" Pothy asks. He associates crowds with events, and events have snacks! Where is the popcorn? No, wait, they're in a temple of Eluna--perhaps there are moon pies about?
"No snacks, Pothy, it's a temple. Not a market." Ravenstongue yawns again and nuzzles her face into Telamon's shoulder. "Okay, goodnight." It's said playfully, but who knows.
Randolf is off a ways. He's a devout follower of Reos, after all, so the religious portion of the night interests him not. But a lunar eclipse is always a noteworthy event for students of arcanima, and so he's here to observe in that regard. He has a book open in his lap, pen and ink close at hand, his unlighted pipe clamped in the side of his mouth. He rubs at his eyes, which are once more saggy with dark circles, his shaggy red brows drooping heavily over them. "Och, if Lady Elune can do summat 'bout these thrice-damned -dreams-, why I'll hop up an' dance a jig," he mutters dourly around his pipe stem.
The Dreaming Goddess would likely draw a crowd given the expected celestial event, regardless; the recent unpleasant dreams likely only swell the numbers of those present. While Verna is not divinely tied to Eluna, she joins those who are with her current lack of smile. In fact, at present, she is not so conspicuously tied to any goddess, as her robes are absent in favor of simple work clothing that bears smears of mud, clay and similar signs of labor.
Standing as back and out of the way as one can in the busy temple, Barclaiigh leans against a back wall of the main room. A thick thumb wipes at the droopy eye that hasn't quite stopped misting yet, the other hooks on his wide belt. The Yggdrasil carving and edges of his darkwood armor glow and flicker furtively as if with some inner fire.
The Khazad-aul is more interested in the crowds than Eluna above and keeps scanning with his one good eye. Truffles sits watch, too, with the dead boar's tusks dangling atop his armor. Porter is still lost out there somewhere in the wilds.
Dolan's smile is faint, and like others has shown up fully armed - just in case, you understand. He rubs at his flesh-and-blood eye, yawning himself, sort of hovering around the edges of the crowd.
There's a moment, watching the moon, when the whole crowd tenses. The first sliver of darkness sliding over the edge of the circle of pure shining white. Everyone feels it. Not just the sight of the moon twisting with shadows, but something else. Like the edge of a nightmare come to life. That sensation that something is _wrong_.
Then it begins. One of the people in the crowd hits the ground and people around them gather in concern. Then another. And another. People falling like flies to the ground. Driven by some source that can not be seen. Someone screams and the sound is carried across the crowd. Screaming is suddenly happening everywhere and then a press of people pushing.
Those at the edges of the crowd will find it difficult to see what is happening, but its as if everyone has suddenly decided that being here is a terrible choice. Herd mentality hits that quickly and everyone turns to rush away from whatever it is that others are afraid of. More people are falling to whatever _it_ is.
The clerics of Eluna and their paladins turn to push into the crowd, but a few of them are going down also. Either pulled down by whatever force pulled down the original people, or are dragged in screaming for others to flee by whatever is driving the crowd.
Almost nobody notices now that the moon is growing darker.
GAME: Telamon rolls perception: (8)+12: 20
Telamon's eyes widen as suddenly the whole mood of the crowd shifts hard. "'Lana," he says urgently, tensing as people start to fall and others scream. "Heads up!" He reaches out to hook his arm in hers, his free hand coming up defensively as he tries to use his body to protect Raven's as a last resort.
GAME: Dolan rolls perception: (5)+7: 12 GAME: Randolf rolls Perception: (14)+9: 23 GAME: Verna rolls perception: (18)+28: 46 GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perception+2: (20)+4+2: 26 GAME: Skielstregar rolls perception: (8)+10: 18
"... th'drab gloves," growls Barclaiigh, head turning this way and that as people start to fall. The armored Elunites will have some protection against the scared and trampling horde but the common men and women do not. The Khazadi wildman's jaw clenches behind his auburn beard and he starts pushing into the crowd, head-down and shoulders forward.
With the number of fallen it doesn't take long to locate a downed and battered pair. The dwarf's sausage fingers wrap around jacket collars or the extra fabric and buttons on the front of the shirt, then he starts to drag them across the floor and out of the way.
GAME: Barclaiigh rolls Perception: (18)+11: 29
Skielstregar is shaking as he just sees the first parts of the moon fade away. From his height, he glances to the side as someone hits the ground, and as mass panic starts to spread.
He's properly rattled, breath shaky. "Remember what thisss one sssaid!" he mentions to whatever Silverguards were around as he follows Barclaiigh's lead to drag people out from getting trampled. "Keep watching the Father'sss daughter!" he says aloud, more focused on the waning moon than anything.
Well, that's certainly one way to wake up. Ravenstongue perks right up as the crowd suddenly becomes much more violent, folding herself into Telamon for safety's sake. "Tel, be careful," Ravenstongue says--
And then her violet eyes catch something in the crowd. Fur. Fangs. On people who didn't have them before.
"Werewolves in the crowd! They're attacking everyone!" she hisses. "We need to defend these people!"
Ravenstongue's already bespelling herself with magic, protective energy shimmering over her form. Meanwhile, Pothy crows, "Werewolves! Werewolves!" at the top of his little corvid lungs.
Hey, even he can be useful.
GAME: Ravenstongue casts Mage Armor. Caster Level: 7 DC: 16
Randolf startles, fumbling his book, pen, and pipe as the commotion breaks out. "Beards o' me fathers!" he helps, scrabbling to gather up his accouterments. But that panicked crowd has the burly dwarf's eyes widening. "What the -hell- is goin' on here?!" He stows away his gear as quick as he can, grunting as he starts getting jostled by panicked people. With a growl, he pulls his wand and starts bulling his way into the throng. "Animals! Oy! There's animals among 'em!" he hollers to his friends.
It's that shout that galvanizes Dolan, finally, frozen on the edge as he was with uncertainty as the crowd pushes towards him. His hand goes towards the harness on his back, but stops, and he looks around him quickly. "Werewolves! I don't have the right blade!" he calls to the Elunans near him, looking for one he can borrow or someone who can help him out.
So begins another cycle of renewal. Verna is mostly focused upon the moon and the dark shadow rolling across it. A sight that then becomes a feeling. A thought strikes that 'This would be a known potentially vulnerable time, thus a prime opportunity for-'
And then people are falling, screaming, running. The moon is no longer the primary concern as she witnesses forms altering. "More lycanthropes! Be ware! Protect those in need!"
The shouts of 'werewolf' REALLY galvanize the crowd, and they start shoving harder to get away from the temple. There's growls mixed in with the screaming now, and the werewolves are more visible but there's... too many of them. One werewolf grabs a woman and bites her and she immediately starts to change and suddenly... you know why there's so many of them. Everyone they bite is changing. Only a few has quickly become a handful. And a handful will quickly spread out further.
Barclaiigh will find that the pair he's got in hand are both changing. Twisting and turning and snapping their jaws at him. It's... not pretty. One of the paladins of Eluna hears Dolan's cry and throws a gleaming blade his direction but... there's no time for the man to see if it reaches Dolan. Instead he's taken down in turn by _two_ werewolves. There's more of them every second.
Telamon will find that he's having trouble standing in the wake of so many people pushing to get away. Ravenstongue as well. Maybe its the fact that Pothy is the one yelling 'werewolf'?
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Reflex: (17)+6: 23 GAME: Telamon rolls reflex: (15)+5: 20 GAME: Dolan rolls reflex: (20)+1: 21 (CRITICAL SUCCESS) GAME: Randolf rolls Reflex: (12)+3: 15 GAME: Verna rolls reflex: (13)+13: 26 GAME: Aftershock rolls 2d6: (8): 8 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls Strength: (12)+3: 15
"Fuck me," is Telamon's disgusted reply. "Of COURSE it's fucking werewolves, why not?" Bracing up against the fleeing civilians, he gestures deftly, speaking, "Akar irhandi!" Wrapping a shimmer of starlight around him into armor, he glances back at Raven. "By the gods, is it just me or are they multiplying like rabbits out here?" He looks wide eyed, tossing a glance upwards at the vanishing moon before keeping his eyes on the crowd.
GAME: Telamon casts Mage Armor. Caster Level: 7 DC: 17
Skielstregar's head whips over to Pothy's warning about werewolves. And his eyes widen, trembling as people near instantly transform from bites that normally take a while to manifest. His half dead heart is racing the fastest it's gone in a long while.
He was to be a Sunblade in the past. He shouldn't give into despair. But alas, he wasn't that.
"N-No, no, no...!" he stammers, staggering back and clutching the sides of his head. "S-Stay back!" Skiel screams.
He pulls his halberd free, and black bony wings wrap around him before it >pops< to an invisible barrier. "Not again..! I don't want to be a monster again!"" was the incantation.
He's given into the panic of the crowd.
GAME: Skielstregar casts Shield. Caster Level: 6 DC: 13
"Dang-- hey! Lousy... needle-teethed varmints..." Barclaiigh is running into issues with his rescue-ees not cooperating and jumps back when they begin snapping and swiping at his hands. He mutters to himself and catches up his fetish, whispering low and backing away.
The Khazad-aul seems to be joining the trend of folks going furry; his wavy mane grows thicker and longer and his hairline drops lower as his beard creeps higher. His corded forearms get a nice, full coat as do his sandaled calves and feet. A grumbling complaint can be heard as he starts bouncing back towards Randolf.
"Anchor under brewing kettles," insists the druid. He's got the green-rune spear in one hand and gestures for the other dwarf to stand up before taking up a protective stance between wizard and mob.
GAME: Barclaiigh casts Aspect of the Bear. Caster Level: 4 DC: 16
"Later!" Ravenstongue finds herself quipping to Telamon's first notion. "Right now, they're biting people and turning others into werewolves!"
She grinds her teeth together and--oh, there's Skielstregar. And there's Barclaiigh! And her new friend, Dolan! "Alright, let's put you all to work!" she says, keeping calm in the chaos. She weaves magic onto them to make their movements all the quicker in the process. "Knock down the bad hairy guys! Tel and I will keep you covered!"
GAME: Ravenstongue casts Haste. Caster Level: 7 DC: 18
Terror once again creeps into Dolan's mind, memories of monsters against which he was helpless as the beasts spread through the crowd like lightning, like wildfire. _No. No. I'm not ready for this._
Maybe it's because his mind is elsewhere in that moment. Maybe it's because his muscles are in charge, and they know better than his mind. Maybe it's seeing his benefactor go down in that instant. Whatever it is, a callused hand _grabs_ that flying blade out of the air as effortlessly as breathing, a flawless move. He is not alone. He is not helpless. And - the Knight calls him to strike back.
Lunging into the crowd, he grabs the top one off of a stack of meditation mats meant to be used by the holy pool, and *flings* it hard at a slavering beast, then following it with a sword swipe. Anything to distract, to draw eyes away from those who might be helpless in that pile.
It's his turn to fight for someone trapped.
Randolf is swept under by the tide of the crowd, tumbling over with a flailing of limbs. Not even his dwarven sturdiness can keep him on his feet as he hits the paving stones. "GWAAAGH!" He curls up into a boulder-shape, bellowing in pain as the mob swarms over him. But then there's his kinsman helping him to his feet. Only Bar is a great deal more hairy than even a dwarf has any right to be. Randolf's eyes go wide as teacups. "Bar? What the... how did... WHAT THE NAME O' REOS' BLOODY BLUE BALLS IS GOIN' ON HERE?!" he thunders in confusion.
Verna is not capable of dragging others out. Neither can she simply call magic about in a crowd. Corralling the growing numbers of lycanthropes also does not appear immediately viable. Instead, she steps towards the fur and fangs, but more specifically those in a panic. In this instance, said nearest is the known Makari. "Calm yourself, aid others to remain calm so that they may egress." Her stance before Skielstregar shall perhaps protect him. At least his knees?
GAME: Randolf casts Lightning Bolt. Caster Level: 8 DC: 17 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+2: (1)+2: 3 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Randolf rolls 8d6: (30): 30 GAME: Verna casts Blessing of Fervor. Caster Level: 18 DC: 21
Randolf looks around, his knuckles white around the grip of his wand. There's no containing this kind of chaos. With a panicked yell, he snaps his wand out. "RE EX RE INCARDO LEVINTAS!" There's a KRA-KOOM! as a blast of lightning leaps out, zagging between a knot of the werewolves. The poor souls drop with smoking patches on their torsos. The stink of burning fur and ozone rising to join the mix.
"Delay them! Contain them, if possible! This cannot be allowed to spread!" Verna calls to any and all. Two dozen lycanthropes are a problem. An order of magnitude more becomes something of an epidemic. "Stand firm if you would fight, flee if you cannot. The Harpist's Hall grant you reprieve in either." With the last beseeching statement, she empowers those about her to better fight or flight, as their individual predilections direct them.
The clerics of Eluna begin to chant in unison, holding their hands out toward the crowd. It's oddly as though they were prepared for some terrible event to take place. The paladins of Eluna similarly draw their weapons and step out to defend the clerics. Their eyes narrowed as the werewolves munch on more of the civilians who are simply not fast enough to get away. A fair number however find their steps sped, and thus are spared the werewolf bite.
GAME: Skielstregar rolls weapon12+2: (1)+12+2: 15 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Skielstregar rolls weapon12+2-2: (19)+12+2+-2: 31 GAME: Skielstregar rolls weapon12+2-2-5: (18)+12+2+-2+-5: 25 GAME: Skielstregar rolls damage12+6+2: aliased to 1d10+7+6+2: (5)+7+6+2: 20 GAME: Skielstregar rolls damage12+6+2: aliased to 1d10+7+6+2: (3)+7+6+2: 18
Skielstreagr nearly summons forth more of that necromantic energy to bolster his legs and flee. But his knees are blocked by a half-mul in front of him. He looks down at her.
He's absolutely terrified. But he gulps deeply. Swallows down the the rising bile, and shakily nods.
He lifts his halberd. And slowly nods.
A flinch goes through him as he sees the dwarf lightning bolt some of werewolves. "... I'm sssorry..." he whispers to himself. He gaze goes back to the Elunite clergy. "Remember what thisss one ssaid! She will return!"
He slips into the front lines, halberd lined with black ink as it falls down with transmuted speed. "Hold the line!" Swing swing swing, slice slice.
He's got tears in his eyes.
GAME: Dolan rolls 1d20+5+2-1: (18)+5+2+-1: 24 GAME: Dolan rolls 1d20+5+2-1-5: (2)+5+2+-1: 8 GAME: Dolan rolls 1d8+2+3: (6)+2+3: 11 GAME: Ravenstongue casts Glitterdust. Caster Level: 7 DC: 17
_I am not alone. I am not helpless._ It's a thing that Dolan, too, has to keep reminding himself of as the clerics fall back and the paladins fall back to defend them, leaving those who can to flee. _I can help,_ he reminds himself firmly, and with a shout of "Hey! Chicken-fucker! Over here!" The silver blade whistles down at an unsuspecting werewolf busy with a screaming middle-aged woman, spraying blood everywhere with unnatural, magic-fueled speed.
It's speed that he isn't used to, though, and his muscles move faster than his mind, his second strike going wide and nearly staggering him before he can draw back for the second round.
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+2: (14)+2: 16 GAME: Telamon casts Glitterdust. Caster Level: 7 DC: 18
"Rambunctious scree canyon," Barclaiigh advises Randolf, glancing back with a curt nod before he pushes ahead. He then takes his spear in a wide, two-handed grip and barrels into the changing, feral civilians. The furry Khazadi druid doesn't look that different (well, no claws or fangs) as he squares off.
The druidic runes glow across the dwarf's spear and he stands half-turned and en garde. He doesn't make any moves to cause harm but he'll try to keep the animals back from the others.
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+2: (5)+2: 7
Ravenstongue knows what to do. The boys in close quarters could handle things. Randolf could blast things.
She takes one look at Telamon. "Let's dust them," she says, arm still linked around his, and she conjures up glittery dust to blind and dismay some werewolves.
"Eat that, furballs!" Pothy crows with laughter.
Telamon begins gesturing in time with Raven as she casts, practically in unison even though their sorcerous talents are different. "Mulan ukum," he says, eyes flaring with the light of distant stars as he brings his hand out and around. Silvery dust spirals out of his palm, settling across another group of werewolves, outlining them in sparkles and blinding more of them.
"Keep them off guard and we can bottle this up before it gets to be a serious issue. Hopefully too many people aren't hurt or killed..."
GAME: Verna casts Wall of Stone. Caster Level: 18 DC: 22 GAME: Randolf rolls perception: (4)+9: 13 GAME: Randolf casts Ice Storm. Caster Level: 8 DC: 18 GAME: Randolf rolls 3d6: (11): 11 GAME: Randolf rolls 2d6: (6): 6
Randolf looks around with wild eyes. There has to be a vector for this madness. A source of chaos. But he just can't pick out the instigator. With a frustrated snarl, he sweeps up his hands. "RE EX RAYA AN GLACIA TEMPESTOS!" he thunders. A whorling arctic cloud appears over a group of the werewolves, sending great knobby balls of ice pelting down. The ice shatters apart, leaving the ground treacherous underfoot, while stinging sleet whirls in the area.
GAME: Verna rolls perception: (4)+28: 32 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (17)+1: 18 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (8)+1: 9 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (3)+1: 4 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (8)+1: 9 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d100: (66): 66
Verna considers her options and her prior statement. Containment remains a most critical course of action. Alas, her current repertoire has been focused on fiends and, more recently, home constru- of course. She calls upon the foundations of her Mistress' Hall to spring forth, stone forming and rising rapidly across the rear of the field in an impromptu partial 'kennel.'
As her eyes follow it around, she notices first Randolf's own scanning gaze and then another realization strikes: this did not spontaneous occur without an initial spark. So her eyes swing back to the lycanthropes. "One or more must have initiated this! It may be their calling to spread to all! They should be the priority. There! Those with fur like the eclipse, itself!"
The werewolves attack ferociously, but are largely pushed back both by adventurers and paladins of Eluna alike. None of them manage to turn any more of the people they're fighting into werewolves.
Then you hear it. A low, bell-like howl. It comes from... The market district? The thought fills you with dread.
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (11)+1: 12 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (12)+1: 13 GAME: Skielstregar rolls weapon12: (16)+12: 28 GAME: Skielstregar rolls damage12+6+2: aliased to 1d10+7+6+2: (5)+7+6+2: 20 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (15)+1: 16
Skielstregar looks back to Verna and chuffs out a gout of frozen air. "Got it!" The recent bell howl has him unsettled, but he shoves the two werewolves off of him to advance to and instigator. Polearm swinging high, he jabs it forward, lancing the beast with a mana ichor'd spear.
GAME: Dolan rolls 1d20+5+2-1: (2)+5+2+-1: 8
One takes a whack at Dolan, clearly looking for a little beef chow mein, but the cry goes up to look for the black-furred ones, and suddenly, this one isn't of a lot of interest. The howl unsettles him as well, but there's no time for that - there's a ebon one, mauling the Elunan whose sword he holds. Time for a little payback.
Unfortunately, his swing goes wild as he desperately tries to draw its attention, so he resorts to shouting, "Over here, you son of a bitch!"
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (2)+1: 3 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+6: (16)+6: 22 GAME: Ravenstongue casts Glitterdust. Caster Level: 7 DC: 17 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+2: (12)+2: 14 GAME: Telamon casts Glitterdust. Caster Level: 7 DC: 18 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+2: (1)+2: 3 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Randolf rolls Ranged+1: (1)+5+1: 7 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Randolf rolls Ranged+1: (12)+5+1: 18 GAME: Randolf rolls 4d6: (16): 16 GAME: Randolf rolls 4d6: (17): 17
The furred cloak of the druid bounces behind him as he moves in to fill the void vacated by the large makari warrior and one-eyed holyman. One big hand is closed around the haft of his spear closest to the enchanted point, the other at the middle, and he employs it like a shepherd's cane warding off unwanted critters. A bat of the claws here, a boop on the snoot here, and a jab to the chest to drive another back.
"Ah... who?" Werewolves have glommed on.
"Excellent work, darling," Ravenstongue says happily as she surveys their previous work. "Let's try that again, shall we?"" <Sylvan>
The glittery dust rains down onto one of the eclipse-colored werewolves next to Skielstregar, and Ravenstongue looks infinitely pleased with herself. "Let's keep them nice and ready for our friends in melee range," Ravenstongue says in her ancestor's language. "Catch all that, hun?" <Sylvan>
An odd time to practice language. Fey whimsy for you.
Telamon and Ravenstongue are putting on a fine show as a battle couple, as their glitterdust clouds continue to land on hapless werewolves. For Telamon, he targets the one attacking Dolan, and douses it so thoroughly it looks like it got some of the glitter in its mouth. Ew. "I think so, but don't let up just yet..."
He doesn't dare take his eyes off the melee, but the howl from the market district gets his attention. "Shit. I thought we had them all bottled up here!"
Randolf's eyes snap to one of the black-furred instigators as Verna calls them out. His eyes narrow, and he brings up his wand. "You mangy bastards! HAVE SOME O' THIS! RE EX RE ANU AKH ASCORIUS! HAH!!" He snaps out his wand firing two strobing beams of searing molten light, one after the other. FSHHHHHWW! The lycan goes up in flames as the searing rays sweep over its form. "AYE, THAT'LL TEACH YE, YE FLEA-BITTEN GIT!"
GAME: Verna casts Greater Scrying. Caster Level: 18 DC: 24 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+2: (17)+2: 19 GAME: Verna rolls 3d8+19: (15)+19: 34
Now that there are targets far less innocent, Verna has more options. Still, she is not an Evoker, and indiscriminate explosions still carry a risk. "You are not welcome here, and deserve Her judgment!" she notes to the five shadow-furred lycanthropes. Even as she calls the attention, and deft touch, of her Matron to them. A touch soothing for the dead, and far less pleasant to the living.
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (12)+1: 13 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (20)+1: 21 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (7)+1: 8 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (17)+1: 18 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+1: (6)+1: 7 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d100: (51): 51 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+6: (8)+6: 14 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d6+1: (2)+1: 3 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls Fort: (7)+7: 14
The werewolves attack en masse, but they are deftly held off. Barclaiigh feels one bite into his neck and the pain of the change begin to wash over him but... The Elunan's finish their spell in that moment and the people he's holding back are suddenly just... human. Nude, confused... humans. The remaining black-furred wolves flee. All but the one that's facing Dolan who stubbornly growls and tries to tear the man apart with his teeth, but to little avail as Dolan's armor rebukes the efforts.
GAME: Skielstregar RAGES!, gaining +2 to melee attack/damage/Will saves and 12 temporary HP GAME: Skielstregar rolls weapon12+2+2: (5)+14+2+2: 23 GAME: Skielstregar rolls damage12+6+2: aliased to 1d10+9+6+2: (1)+9+6+2: 18 GAME: Dolan rolls 1d20+5+2+1+2-1: (13)+5+2+1+2+-1: 22 GAME: Dolan rolls 1d8+3+2: (8)+3+2: 13
Skielstregar gasps as his target is brought down from the Deathsinging Dragon's power. He snarls, his fears abated some as the others flee, save for one standing up against Dolan. Now that he wasn't about to join the running crowd, he had a better hand on his emotions.
So it comes to no surprise to those that know him that a Forgotten makari rips across the halls of Eluna. Black ichor drips from him, as well as his weapon as he gallops on all threes towards the last werewolf.
He jabs the spear-end first forward, cold breath spilling out in plumes of ink laced miasma.
Suddenly, Dolan finds himself in an all-out fight as claws scrape nastily across his armor. At least he'd gotten its attention! And he's got some help, although the sight of the Forgotten makari will never not get a second, wary look from the man. He's seen it before, and Skiel's on his side.
Knowing that, he takes the borrowed sword in both hands and positively _slams_ it down into the black-furred one's chest, running it through as blade slides between bones and flesh, spraying him with blood and leaving him to lower the lifeless, bleeding thing to the floor.
He slowly pulls the sword out and, much less slowly, looks to the man he'd been protecting, praying that he's still alive.
The Elunan paladin who Dolan had been protecting looks up at him. Reaching with trembling fingers for him. He whispers something, the words a gurgle of blood, but almost understandable. "-h- f-l." His hand falls, and his breathing dims. The man is dying. There's more like him amongst the paladin ranks, but the clerics are untouched and they quickly bend knee to heal their fallen brethren. All but the one that Dolan stands over. It will be some time before he can be seen to... perhaps too late.
There's one last call from the sound of howling. This time by the front gate. Far away from here. Going. Gone.
The light of the moon returns, bathing the battlefield and the fallen in Her glorious Light.
There's a slow, shaky breath blowing from the heavy dwarf's considerable lungs as he feels the black fire recede back to and out from the transformed woman's bite. Barclaiigh glares at the wound suspiciously before checking his finger- and toenails to make sure they aren't claws. He runs his tongue over his teeth to make sure they aren't fangs.
Off comes the furred cloak and he drops it to offer some modesty to the fallen civilians, tossing a thumb to the scattered blankets and pillows meant for staring into the pool.
"Iff'n we find out who's breathin'..." Already, the druid is padding around looking for places to apply his limited healing magics. His sandals slap-slapping on the stone floor.
Randolf pants for breath as the battle ends. He looks around the battlefield, the color draining from his face. Many bodies lay with scorched patches on their torsos. His own handiwork. "Blessed Reos, what have I -done-?" he whispers hoarsely, starting to tremble from head to toe. His knees give out, and he sits down heavily right where he is, turning white as milk. He looks down to stare at the wand he holds, before hurling it aside with a clatter. He curls his fingers into his hair, rocking back and forth. "I killed them. Those poor people. I -killed- them. Oh Reos, raise up Yer hammer an' defend me," he whimpers.
Ravenstongue holds onto her fiance, panting a little as the battlefield is quiet. She lets out a tiny laugh--not because she thinks the situation is funny, but merely a 'we are alive and we're in one piece' sound.
She rises up on her tip-toes--as she has to; she's short compared to Telamon--and gives him a little kiss on the cheek. "We made it, Tel."
Then she looks down and realizes something. She's just fought an entire battle with her arm wrapped around her fiance's, casting the same spell almost in unison with him to disable the enemy. "Guess we really are more formidable together than apart."
Pothy rolls his blue eyes. "Really?" he asks in Ravenstongue's voice, before he looks out at all the wounded and fallen.
But the sorcerers aren't healers. All they have to offer is comfort to each other. And comfort they have in spades; at least for tonight.
GAME: Dolan rolls heal: (16)+3: 19 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+5+2: (12)+5+2: 19
With the end of the conflict, Verna takes a breath. She does not relax, however. Like the Seers, her thoughts promptly turn to the fallen; first and foremost, those not yet in the comfort of The Harpist's Hall. Death may be a part of the cycle, but that does not mean it is due for all right at this moment.
She moves swiftly for the nearest... though Randolf's drop and plea slows her. Long enough that a hand rests briefly upon his shoulder. "It was the option available, to curtail the spread." Though her statement is logical, the words carry a tone and weight of more than that alone. Then she is off to offer aid to those most in need.
"Don't try to talk." The bloodied, silvered sword clatters to the austere marble of the temple floor, leaving it blood-slicked, and Dolan drops to his knees next to the dying Silver Guard. "Don't try to talk. Damn it all, this is Andie's game, not mine," he mutters. working frantically to stem the bleeding. "Thanks for the use of the blade." Though if he'd known that the man would pay with his life for it, he wouldn't have asked.
GAME: Barclaiigh casts Stabilize. Caster Level: 4 DC: 14
Skielstregar's forgotten features fall away as he stumbles to a knee, panting. "Randolf..." he intones, managing to get a foot under him as he shudders out the last of the fear. "If we didn't there would be more dead..."
He sees the others going for the wounded, him digging into his pack and pulling out a healer's kit. Gulping, his head cranes to the sky once more to Her.
"... what are you trying to tell thisss one...?" he whispers.
The fleeting howl. Gone. There must have been another massacre like this one elsewhere. But he wasn't there. He was here.
And what he could do right now was help the fallen.
The silverscale jogs in to help with the tiage.
There are no shortage of wounded! Barclaiigh glances from the distress of his cousin to the heavily wounded warrior being seen to by Dolan. The sandal's slapping announces his arrival even before his bare knees thump down onto the ground. He grabs up his boar's tusk necklace and mutters into it in the druidic cant, leaning forward and drawing a smear of dirt on the wounded man's forehead. The bleeding stops.
The Khazad-aul stands, looking for his next target, even as he pulls a bundle off his belt and hands it over to Dolan. "Corked. Pen ringing forward," he instructs with a nod.
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perception+2: (16)+4+2: 22 GAME: Skielstregar rolls perception: (17)+10: 27 GAME: Barclaiigh rolls Perception: (1)+11: 12 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Dolan rolls perception: (16)+7: 23 GAME: Verna rolls perception: (7)+28: 35
-End