PrP: A Mystery To Us All
Log Info
- Title: A Mystery To Us All
- Emitter: Lenore
- Characters: Virton (Art3)* Aya (Mnk5)* Jokul (Ftr4)* Charity (Mnk3)* Ga'Elian (Rgr2)* Ikavod (Brb4)* Shagara (Mnk3)*
- Place: Deep Foggy Forest - Alexandria
- Time: April 25, 2016
- Summary: Who knows what's going on this time?! The Guild needs some heroes for... something!
- APL: 3
- Encounter 1: 4 Yeth Hounds, CR 7
ST:
Once more into the breach, our stalwart companions venture into the wild and untamed beyond to face the foes of the city of Alexandria and her peoples; once more they answer the call with blades drawn and the arcane warped and bent in service -- a never-ending carousel of beasts mundane and spectacular. But, which will it be this time?
The call to aid was rather vague this time around, with only a destination scrawled hurriedly on a ratty piece of paper in some charcoal-smudgy chickenscratch that suggests that the penner may, in fact, be a doctor of some sort or another. For those that can actually manage to read it, however, their intelligence seems suspect. That isn't to say one should eliminate doctors from the potential clientlist, but it does give some sort of insinuation as to the lack of what most city folk might call 'sophistication'.
The map provided corresponds.
Crudely drawn, but shockingly accurate, the map that the gathered adventurers has followed leads them out into the wilderness not particularly far from Alexandria, the path lit up with some fae-lamp artistry that suggests the druids have been by recently, leaving the night, and the creatures that lurk within, to hover at stygian brink staring in at our daring heroes.
But, for how long?
Night falls before its time, or so it would seem. It's as though dusk is forgotten, and twilight settles before the sun has even truly disappeared beyond thickening canopy, leaving only slivers of light to glitter across succulent leaf in the shades of purple and orange, the backdrop spirited away into a consuming blackness that is broken only by those firefly magics left in the wake of the circle's passing.
What they were doing out here is anyone's guess. Looking for something, perhaps.
Hunting...
Fleeing...
There is a thick mist that begins to settle, drifting silently from deep within the hollow copse that suddenly seems so much quieter than it had before; devoid of the birdsong, or the whisper of the wind, the movement of life. It rolls, this fog, creating a haze that brings with it a desolation uncommon to springtime's delicate charm. In the distance, something finally calls -- something certainly comes.
A low baying, so vacant and unearthly that it makes the earth itself crawl with its unnatural disturbance, a chilling of the lifeblood of man and machine; slowing the pulse, gelling hydraulics, freezing advances.
In the darkness, something watches. Something waits.
Virton walks with a very slow pace. Mostly because he stumbles and staggers, being a city and wasteland sorta guy, well, not a foresty sort of guy anyway. Especially not forests in the woods with thick mists and howling beasties and glowing faerie lights and to be honest Virton is pretty much wishing he was at home putting a new prism on his right eye - which still splutters with small sparks from residual damage not yet fully repaired.
The baying has the Artificer coming to a pause, idly petting the side of his Thunderbelcher as if it is going to soothe him. "I reckon there's somethin' out there that ain't too inclined to be nice to us.."
Ga'Elian is looking too intently at the map to notice his surroundings. His light warhorse just goes where directed... along the path.
The rather sudden skipping of dusk to darkness is welcome to Aya. She has nothing to fear from the dark, itself. "We are watched," she nods her head towards the dark foliage beyond the meager light, "and they want us to know we are watched."
Shagara was just as comfortable in the darkness as well, but she was keeping her eyes out, in general. She manages to not see anything....quite yet. But she was still new to most of the things around....but she was determined to learn....
Stylishing travelling upon his feet, mercifully for whatever mount he might find in a more mundane set of choices. As per usual, Ikavod carries bored-bladed glaive with incomplete, detailed etching working its way down from the base of the blade. The sound causes him to sigh and tilt his head to see if he can catch wind of anything else. No, it's just the sight before him that leaves him raising a meaty hand to bid the lot of the party to slow, stop, or at least collaborate and listen. "She's not wrong, I can see them as well. More than a few." he whispers as best he can without it dissolving into a gravelly mumbling.
"When ever is there?" Echoes Jokul after Virton with a brief clap of his free non-sword-occupied hand against the golem's back. "Just try not to topple over before we run int--" Except apparently they already have, judging from what the others are saying. So that calls for the oversized sword to be pulled from his shoulder to be held at the ready. "...Alright. How much more than few?"
ST:
There is a low snarling, a flash of light in the growing fade; that mist makes it easier to see the radiant red that watches the group, noticed only after the warning is offered from the more perceptive of the group. There is the thundrous pounding of a heartbeat, growing in intensity, rising in tempo like some wartide ballad wrought in nightmare; perhaps it is theirs, maybe it is yours -- whichever it is, it grows to a nearly deafening thrum that ebbs and flows like the breath that is held and tumbles free, visible in the sudden and growing chill that has swept through the weald with such withering that the leaves begin to fold like fiddlehead ferns upon themselves, as though they could hide.
...As though anything could hide.
In the dying light, bathed in flame and smoke, gnashing teeth slick with spittle glint in their revealing, gnarled lips pulled back as paws fall audibly on moss-thick ground, like knights into battle; hollow logs are beaten by those broad feet, heralding the sudden burst of movement that has those beasts break for the barrier, pounding their way out from between the trunks with a growling, whining snapping back and forth, carrying with it the echoes of their lunacy, but nothing so much as that horrid baying.
Again, it tears through the sudden and unnatual night. Once more it shudders its way through the senses, chilling and panicking the minds of those not ready for such creatures, hellish as they are. It howls, long and low, loud and hungry, calling to its brothers, bringing the pack frenzy toward the wayward adventurers.
Ga'Elian lets out an audible shriek, as he turns his warhorse fully about and gallops away at full speed.
Forged in the desert sands, on something of a familiarity with the nature of fire, perfectly bronzed in the sun, the giant of over seven and a half feet has dropped his 'trademark' weapon and began his flight directly back the way they had arrived. Looks like you're on your own, people.
"Oy, what are yo--" Jokul pipes out at the others -- apparently more concerned by their reactions rather than the DOGS OF HELL! directly in front of him. "Oh SOD IT!" He growls in frustration and stomps forward to meet the beasts head-on afterwards instead, oversized sword brought up from his shoulder and swinging in a diagonal arc... eeeexcept he judges the distance wrong, and so the sword smacks into the ground just IN FRONT OF the dog instead of... well, the dog. "...Shit."
"NOPE."
Is the buzzing cry from Virton, who promptly turns on a heel and flee's as if the Maker had came back to Unmake him. His armoured form goes crashing through the bush as if someone had set his poncho on fire and the only source of water was in the direction he was headed.
Shagara hears the grumbling and....the pack frenzy seems to shake Shagara immediately....and she turns and runs immediately.
As some of her allies turn and run in fear, one woman - one HERO of the DRAGON FATHER - steps in to intercede on their panicked behalfs. "Take heart! Or, a moment to collect your wits!" She calls behind her, as she lets out a roar and leap-punch it.
And now she's in the thick of things!
Aya watches as several flee. Jokul, she can respect for standing his ground. As for the baying hounds from the darkness, she scoffs. "Amateurs. There is only one thing to fear in the shadows..." As she mentions the word, the shadows are beckoned, and they obey. They gather to her, coalesce into something palpable beyond snuffing out the minimal star-, moon-, and magical light.
ST:
As Ikavod goes bravely bravesoning away like the wind through desert dunes, one of the snarling, snapping hounds turns and belts after him at full tilt. Claws dig into dirt, kicking up chunks as that harsh panting blows hot on cold heels -- so close to the giantborn, yet so far away. Its fangy maw lunges and snaps for his legs, trying to tear him down, bring him low that the pack might feast, but in his panic his feet are simply too fast for the poor thing to catch up. It does give it the old college try, mind you.
The baying of the first hound continues to echo through the horrified minds of those that fell victim, bringing about images of nightmarish reality that the others simply fail to see. Still, that sound, it creeps and claws at the back of one's mind, playing at a very natural and deeply seated notion; a need for survival, a drive to escape.
The sound of the baying is punctuated by Virton's clinking, jingling spurs as he fire-asses his way through the forest; the glow of his 'cigar' and the bright orange of his one remaining eye little more than a streaking sparkler amidst the shadows of the forestry as he heads back the way the group came, leading right back out into an opening that has the glorious rainbow of his poncho painting the way to a brighter future.
Or certain doom. Hard to say.
When Charity moves to strike at the beast that tears through the world to seek the prey that is Ikavod, his black-coated, inexplicably greasy counterbark is in quick pursuit. Thundering paws carry it like the skilled hunter it is toward the black-skinned monk, its maw already open before it manages to catch up, spittle and drool flying from twisted, hanging jowls before it makes contact. Her leap is half-interrupted by the digging of teeth into her meaty, muscled, terribly delicious calf; she might manage to make contact and deal a blow to the beast that was chasing Ikavod, but she's certainly gotten both of their attentions now.
Good thing she's a hero, and thus can take it!
And then there was darkness.
When Aya casts her shadows, there is a whining wheeze that chitters its way through the pitch; their eyes flare brightly, the red like bloody moons risen in twilight, their sight unhindered, but their beastly minds shaken by her display. One can only hope that their fear doesn't cause them to lash out in desperation.
Ga'Elian yells, "MOMMY!" as he continues galloping at full tilt away from the hellish beasts.
And still the Giantborn can be hearn stomping his way very much away from the site and very much more away from the hound on his heels. Through Ikavod's fearful state he makes the mistake of looking behind him. A sudden urge sends his hand up into his pack only to pull a goblin knife free and make a few swipes with it that do nothing to really hurt the thing before he just throws the knife at the creature... and misses that, too. This is going to be an embarassing story to tell if he ever gets drunk enough to admit it.
Shagara slides to a stop when she realizes nothing is chasing them. She shakes her head and looks to the others. "They're not following!" She yells before she runs back past them to get back into the fray....
Aya now attempts to further her point with a solid kick to one of the beasts, followed by a knife-hand and finally a fist. The latter two veer high, the last skipping off its hide. At least the kick caught it solidly.
Ever seen a War Golem run in terror? Now you have. Or haven't. It's dark in the forest. Virton charges through a small tree, practically bouncing off it as his chassis dents a bit. His hips articulate at a 180' degree angle, as he runs back a bit, and then promptly snap back forwards as he begins to flee forwards once more, this time around the tree. The buzzing noise escaping from his vocalizer is an approximation of terror.
Charity continues to swing in defense of another, her first swinging wide before her second swing connects. She turns, a rather artful - if ineffective - elbow spin flying wide, before one of the scary beasties takes a bite out of her, causing her to cry out, roughly and sharply, before slumping over, bleeding on the floor.
ST:
Not scary enough.
Must fly.
Yelping off Charity's well-placed fist, the hellhound chasing after Ikavod runs just that little faster, until claws no longer dig into dirt, but rather paws lift from the ground to gallop through the sky like a nightmare mount of some headless horseman, a red glow becoming visible within its panting maw, lighting up the row of fangs that await the giantborn just as soon as he can be caught.
Which is likely any moment now, given the hound is now faster without the burden of moss and rock, the sound of its breathing the only thing the fleeing barbarian can hear, drowning out even the pounding of his heart that assuredly continued to hum the song of his people, his glaive trilling out its warning calls as the wind rushes over it in flight.
In the darkness that surrounds Aya and Jokul is the singing of blades and the gnashing of fang; a battle wages within that none save the dogs can see. A sharp yelp is offered up when Aya's foot makes contact, however, giving the illusion that it goes well. In the distance, another baying howl echoes through the forestry, promising an evening of pain and panic to those that do not bring this to a close, and quickly.
The dog that attempted to stop Charity from giving chase has done just that, leaping and tearing with that starving, yawning, toothy portal as it digs in and peels away, burning like acid, festering like disease, bubbling and blistering with the immense heat that makes that biting so desperately devestating. Her blood dribbles free between its teeth, the glowing red seething beyond its teeth, a hissing sound slithering free as droplets of ichor are seared away. Though she does not fall, she faces now the grinning face of madness, so very pleased to see her.
And from the mass of shadows, suddenly bursts out a whirlwind of sword and growth-impaired beard. In case that isn't enough to hint to the audience what that is, it's Jokul, spinning with his steps to bring his giant sword arcing in a wide diagonal arc THROUGH the beasts that has gotten awfully close to bleeding out Charity. "Here, pup," the Aesir growls after the final spin ends with the spatter of blood and a loud smack of his sword blowing into the ground after the cut. "Try me."
Well, if things were not pride-shattering enough they only get worse as Ikavod continues to remain familiar with Pat and Ben- pattin' his feet and ben'ing his knees. He glances behind him and suddenly sees that his is no longer being chased. There's an exhale of relief as he turns his head away and is promptly bitten in the back of his neck. Ikavod snarls at the pain and looks behind him again to find out that he's still being followed in an even worse fashion. "That's cheating!" he barks, continuing to run from the animal, deftly clearing some felled trees like hurdles as he moves to get away.
Ga'Elian finally manages to shrug off the sheer supernatural terror. Accordingly, he calls "Whoa!" to his steed and turns it back the way it came. He spurs it back to a full gallop, this time saying, "Let's get back there and vanquish those fiends!"
Shagara is fast enough to get back to the fight. Running with a sword never seems like a good idea....until Shagara begins to spin like a top the last couple of feet to the yeti, cutting it deeply in the back.....and making it howl in pain.
Battered, bitten, bleeding out, and PISSED AS HELL, Charity's eyes fill with a red rage as she staggers on her feet. She roars, and delivers a YATATATATATATA of light taps to the Yeti-beast-man, before staggering and falling over, in a groan and whump of an exhalation. "D-dragon father... preserve..."
The creature she tapped a bunch explodes in a shower of gore, apparently. It's pretty awesome, also apparently.
Aya did not like getting bitten. The biter gets a snap kick to the jaw that cracks teeth and possibly its neck. It drops in a heap of unfrightening beast. She hasn't forgotten the other, either. Again, her knifehand misses, but the fist after does not. Her arm immediately folds with the follow-through to snap her elbow into the same spot as her fist.
ST:
Bacon, bacon, bacon, BACON!
Yet4 is consumed with the burning need to eat the fleeing Giantborn, flying through the air like some furry, flappy-faced smartbomb, spittle flying every which way from the wind-whipped jowls that hang like curtains of blackened, slickened beef from its face. A whine is forced out through its nostrils as it gains just those few extra feet -- so close, so tasty, yes... he must be brought down!
It's at the shoulder that fangs find purchase, ripping into the swole physique with all the pent up aggression of an isolated prisoner just freed from a decade of solitary.
It's -hangry-.
At the taste of blood in its mouth, it howls out a victorious bellow into the night, still pursuing the fleeing figure, apparently unconcerned with the unfairness of this new flying-hellbeast reality it has imposed.
The beast that was kicked by Aya now decides it would like revenge -- it bites down on her leg, urged on by the resounding victory that is cried through the night by its pack; it seems that all things are relative, and either side now believes that it's winning.
As Shagara comes in from some unknown corner to assault the creature that had torn Charity asunder to draw that mournful howl, it turns and growls, arched up as mangy skin hangs loose and ligaments reveal themselves, stretching and binding, bloodied by split muscle and torn flesh. Still, it drools -- still, it stands -- as though starved, desperate, ready to fight again. As it is surrounded, it grows desperate, and turns to lunge for Charity in a last-ditch effort at bringing her down -- for good this time.
And then it explodes.
Nobody's really sure how it happens, but such is the magic and glory of THE FIST.
What should have been teeth and fury is now... fur and chunks that wash over the monk in a wave of stringy gut-bits that don't look like anything she's ever seen -- it even makes an obligatory 'pfleh!' noise, to add to the satisfaction. Those innards sizzle and steam as they blanket the downed Oruch, in a variety of colours and consistancies that seem to be the kiss goodnight for every little warrior princess; like pixie dust for badass bitches.
Happy thoughts now, Charity.
No tears, only dreams.
In the shadows, Aya does her thing -- secretly, Ayastatically, invisibly. Such is her way. Her victory is assuredly imminent, and her prowess is unquestionable as she fells one, and moves right on to the other. The long hairs on the hunch of its back stand up like one might expect of a halloween cat, or ornery porcupine, but their threat dwindles with every passing moment.
"DAMNIT," is the profane input that Jokul offers when Charity goes down, bloodied and covered in bites, and the full weight of their current situation dawns on him. His eyes flick to the distance where the howls are echoing from, over int othe ball of darkness, down to Charity again, and... "DAMNIT. You!" He points to Shagara with his left hand after it briefly leaves his sword. "Get her out of here! I'll catch up! GO!" And before even giving any room for any further tactical discussion, he's pouncing back into the darkness to... attack the darkness? Basically, yes.
Ikavod could not, honestly, remember the last time he had run this long. It was a great work-out except for the huge bit of 'NO' right behind you. Memory fails to serve if he has ever actually been this unnerved by a creature. Unnerved to a point where he just can't get a grip on the greataxe at his hip or the earth-breaker upon the other. For what he could tell he was alone... mercifully out of the sight of others.. Even as he ran he was spinning a farce about how this had 'actually' happened.
Ga'Elian , returning toward the rest of the company, he catches up to Ikavod and the hound at his heels. Ga'Elian brings his destrier to a halt and lets two shafts fly from his beautiful bow. While the first arrow misses its mark, the second strikes the foul beast, but even as the arrow pierces its skin the arrow is shrugged off and the wound seals itself.
Charity dreams only of glory, and her mouth is filled with the taste of nothing but dirt.
She continues to bleed.
Shagara takes a breath as she watches the creature fall. She turns and runs into another creature, slicing it pretty deeply, but it seems to be hard to cut....
Aya will be content to see one more fall. Namely the one before her. Kick, knifehand, and fist. The rapid series of blows strike, but the creature refuses to be cooperative and fall. Frustrated, she growls, and her snap of elbow after the punch is overshot and throws her off-balance.
ST:
It hungers...
FOR MORE!
The flying hairless glowy-mouthed shoulder-biting bitch dog continues to hover on after Ikavod, snapping its jaws at his shoulder for another love bite, but missing. In result, drool trickles hotly over his bronzed flesh, leaving a teasing trail that grows cold in the gusty romp; you could juice an orange on his nipple right about now. It's pretty epic.
An arrow bites into it, and now wobbles with every gravitiless motion of its galloping body, as though waving to the elf that fired it. Mockingly.
Yoohoooo!
Then, back at the farm...
Yipe!
Auu!
Aya's having her way with yon purgatory pup(tm), fists and feet flying all over the place, drilling deep, touching organs -- it's been quite a night for these beasties. Another bay in the distance counts down a warning, nearer than the last time, tearing through the muggy mute of the night. Shagara's blade draws blood, and coaxes little more than one last snarl from the beast as it staggers in shadows, tongue lolling out, trickling blazing blood as its eyes glow feriously.
RUNNING RUNNING RUNNING RUNNING..
.. Wait. Why am I running? Virton comes to a stop, watching as Ikavod is being chased down violently by a flying.. rat.. mongrel.. Thing. If he could purse his lips. He could. He cannot. Cause he don't got lips. He does, however, have a shoulder cannon.
.. Which blazes a bolt of red lightning that strikes Yet4 in the side, leaving an angry red welt.
Despite having a sword bared on the yeti hound, and it being really friggin dark, Shagara whirls around, punches the hound, then snaps it's neck with a boot to the head. "Think there's one left, Aya."
When Ikavod manages to take a solid grip on the Earthbreaker at his hip he frees it of its harness and roars from deep within his chest. The sprint ends when Ikavod suddenly digs in his heel (well, he skids more than stops) into the ground, using the weight of the weapon as he suddenly whips around with both hands tightly on the grip of it and with a roar borne of frustration the heavy instrument comes around as ghostly flames roll up along the length ot to engulf the massive head of the weapon. The weapon itself crashes intensely into the creature's side and those ghostly flames ignite on himpact, taking on actual color instead of their transluscent nature.
It would seem, however, that the eruption of flame did nothing to harm the creature. "You're dead!" Ikavod bellows with astonishing volume. It was clear he was playing the long con with this beast, making it, and everyone else, think he was actually afraid. There's no way he could be scared of something like that. Hopefully his stature would give him enough room to make that sound believable.
Finally. "These beasts are too stupid to know when to die," Aya offers to Shagara as she convinces one to do just that. She looks across the field, sees that the last is quite distant and occupied, as well as the fallen associate far nearer. She moves to the latter and looks to the worst of Charity's wounds to bind them with strips of cloth. "You are as stubborn as they are." Maybe Aya respects that.
ST:
The welt ain't the only thing that's angry!
The arrow may have gone unnoticed, but that bolt of lightning that scorches over hairless flesh certainly gets its attentions. Yet4 stumbles over nothing in midair as it tries to stop to redirect to Virton, only to be absolutely wrecked by an earthbreaker, which it practically wraps itself around with a sharp, trilled yelping that ends with a gurgling froth of bloody spittle. Still, it remains, and the biting doesn't end. It is, however, hindered by the rather copius levels of sudden stoppage that has occured, and is little more than a half-hearted snap, thump as its body meets the ground and it staggers back to its feet.
Never give up. Never surrender!
Insult to injury: an arrow sticks into its battered hide.
It sighs. Hard.
Elves.
The darkness has consumed those two beasties that snapped and tore at Aya for so long, and the combination of combatants has finally found victory in the shadows.
- Vroop* *Vroop*
The alarm goes off on Virton's shoulder cannon, as it beeps at full charge. The battery overcharges, and the discharge from the weapon is singularly more powerful than the Artificer is normally capable of. Rather than a bolt, it's a thick beam of red energy that sears through the air, leaving Virton having to recalibrate his own optics in order to see properly.
The beam simply encompasses the flying yeth hound, leaving nothing but a few scant ashes in its wake.
"Goddang."
ST:
PFLEH!
Lasers, hammers, arrows -- this thing has seen it all. With the arc of that last shot from the deathray, however, it's likely for a scant moment, it also saw the future; in its tears are the tiny yeowly howls of its unborn hellspawn -- tears that, like the rest of it, turns to ash on the wind, inhaled deeply by the panting, raging giantborn so that they might be together forever.
Never forget. 25/04/16.
When the last of the Yeth hounds expires, the faerie lights alight anew, drifting with whispers along the slowly warning breeze, murmuring messages of greetings and gratitude from the Druid Circle. With it, comes warning that they have killed the Alpha, but a new one will rise from those that remain.
The baying in the forest, ever nearer, serves as testament in truth.
The party is bid to return to the city with haste, where awards await, and information is forthcoming.
Many are dead, and a battle between man and beast rages on.
~Fin