PrP: Fright Night
Log Info
- Title: Fright Night
- Emitter: Lenore
- Characters: Myaris (Sor3)* Aya (Mnk4)* Virton (Art2)* Ikavod (Bbn4)* Nicolai (Clr4)
- Place: Alexandria - Small Village
- Time: Apr 18, 2016
- Summary: There's something not quite right going on in the fields of a local farming community; stories have begun filtering through the Adventurer's Guild of it just being some wayward youths destroying the crops, but something far more sinister has surfaced as more and more of those rapscallions end up... missing.
- APL: 3
- Encounter 1: 4 Scarecrows, CR 4 (Each)
ST:
It's been an uneventful venture thusfar, the trail leading to the village being so often used that grass hasn't had a chance to grow, let alone invite ill-conceived ambush along the trade route. Evening is heralded by a low-hanging sun, the horizon painted in inauspicious shades of reds and deeper hues of purple eaking upward from a darkening scope looming at the brink of one's scope, beyond the turned fields and new growth of spring.
When the wagon provided to carry the group from the city to the town pulls into the square, you are privy to the sight of an entire village gathered in waiting, mumbling and murmuring excitedly back and forth to each other at the fore. A slender, too-tall figure steps forth, quite clearly their mayor, or the closest thing to an elected official that they happen to have, wringing his hands seemingly in time with the soft sobbing of a short, portly woman in the back, stifling her mournful pleas with a bunched up handkerchief in one hand.
He clears his throat, eyes sunken deep, a sullen deep brown in hue, almost completely hidden beneath the overgrown brush of eyebrow that hangs down in sprig'd twang, wiggling each time a syllable parts him. "You could not have arrived at a more opportune time," Wiggle-wiggle, "As the posting has stated, we seem to be burdened by vagrants!" Wiggle! "Vandals!" Bristle! "Scoundrels, the lot, messing up our fields, ruining the crops!" A huffed breath is let out, his already thin lips pressed to an even tighter line as his caterpillar brows quiver with rage.
"Bradson, you -promised-!" That short, rotund lady cries out suddenly.
"Brrmbrhrmha-ahem-ah, yes, of course..." His head bows, vaguely shamed, doubly embarassed. "And, er, some boys have gone missing." He rocks onto the balls of his feet and settles back onto the heels of his much-too-posh boots with a clack against the cobbles. "-I- believe," He takes a quick, silencing glare back over his shoulder, and then to the group before him again, "That they are merely hiding out in the woods yonder," He waves spindly fingers toward the copse only vaguely lit by the torches that throw so bravely their light broad and far, "And it is -they- whom ravage the fields. Please," His hands clasp tightly before his chest, shaken in their pleading gesture, "You must stop them. They do not understand the calamity they bring. Without our harvest, by winter's coming, we shall be..."
"Find our boys!" A few interrupt from somewhere in the back. It is a chant that begins to swallow up any plaintiff arguments the politician might put forth in their mighty refrain.
Myaris has her hood pulled up and her hands hidden in her robes, she really doesn't want to cause problems and villagers tend to the the superstitious ones. She nods her head, "I am sure that we will do what we can, how many of them?" she asks, her features hidden by her robes. She does look at some of the others that came along for the ride.
- tink* *tink* *tink*. Virton swaggers as he walks, attempting what can be considered a 'confidant human gait'. It doesn't really work to well, considering there's the faintest hint of pistons working as he ambles his way back and forwards. The lambent glow of orange escaping from his vision slits doesn't help much either. He takes a 'drag' - more precisely he stops the flow of smoke from the exhaust pipe in his mouth - and then lets out a small billow as an exhale, with the audio cues of exhailing and everything. With only the faintest hiss of static to go with it. A small cough as the golem comes to a stop, having listened to the mayor and the posse of folk that linger behind the man.
"Alright," He buzzes. "We'll see if we can find them boys o' yours and see iffin' its them or somethin' else that be ruining your crops." The buzzing tone of voice makes it hard for the golem to attempt an accent, but it's obvious that he is trying for the whole 'country folk' tone. It isn't working, though, much like many of the golem's attempts at being fully human. "That there's a good question." He nods towards Myaris.
Aya glances sidelong past the constructed thing to the hooded and hiding Myaris before answering. "We will find what's troubling you. If it's children acting out, we'll return them by their ears. If it's not, we'll still take care of the problem and look for the children on the way."
For his part, Ikavod had been his usual silent self, keeping his words to himself until departure. Laying the shaft of his intricately carved glaive along his shoulers and bringing up his massive forearms to rest upon it. The shaft bends pliantly and gives no sound of strain as he lets the others do the talking. He was content to keep quiet for the time being. Few questions needed to be asked that had not already been brought up. He simply shakes his head at the notion of it all.
ST:
"My Johnny is gone!" Cries one. "Odariah!" Another from the back. "Timothy!" Yet another.
The crowd begins to get unruly at this juncture, and despite the slender man doing his best to fan them down with his shovel-long and spindly fingered hands, they're really having none of it. His back is turned to the group as he tries to hold dominion over the bickering, hollaring crowd that do their very best to get out the names of their missing loved ones, so that they might be accounted for.
"ALRIGHT!" The man nearly screams in his frustration, too-slender chest heaving with a wheezing breath, like it took his entire world to manage a volume of that magnitude, poor old sot. He wheezes again, sputtering and coughing as he turns around to face the group once more, hands still up, palms out as though he expected he would have to calm you all, as well. "So far as I can tell, we've eight young men that've gone missing over the past few nights -- not all at once, mind you... I assume they're recruiting, one at a time. Kids can do that, you know. I've heard about those city gangs, gettin' younger and younger." He shakes his head.
"Not our boys, adventurers, I swear it to ya! They're GOOD boys, every last one of 'em! Hard workin'!" A man this time, still offering a plea for aid in the name of those not here to speak for themselves, nor defend their good names." Not one of them seems disturbed by the construct's unusual ways, though some do give him a bit of a confused once-over, before turning their attentions to Aya. "Bless ya, miss. All'a ya. Bless ya. -Bless- ya." He repeats, some of the other villagers joining in.
With that, our wayward crew is sent off on the praise of angels, handkerchiefs waved, cheers echoing through a rapidly darkening land, and promises of meals to the victors.
The village isn't far from the happenings -- just the fields beyond the wooden rails that comprise a fence, still mucky and damp from springtime rainfall, footprints leading in, but none leading out. The more observant of you (clearly not Virton, blinded by the smoke of his exhaustpipe cigar) do see a curious thing. There are holes in the mud, like somebody had gone back and forth in nonsensical patterns with a stick, puncturing it in and pulling it out.
Myaris cocks her head to the side as she notices the holes and frowns a little. She does at this point push back her hood and shows her shadow elf features. She nods her head, "Well, that...is." she shrugs and really does't know what to say, "Shouldn't be too hard to find them though." she isn't expecting it to take long but ambushes can happen, so she takes a moment and focuses, calling on the magic within her as she casts a spell. A greenish black glow surrounds her for a moment and then fades as the force armor takes its shape.
"Someone enjoyed playing in the mud..." Aya points out at the remnants of stick-holes in the muck. "Bored children... or was someone searching?" Her musing aloud goes quiet as she continues to look over the ground. "Someone found something, but not what they wanted to find. Trouble. This way." She carefully vaults the poor excuse for a fence, hoping to avoid as much of the wettest muck as possible.
Muddling behind the group, Virton obviously doesn't see much due to the aformentioned exhaust smoke, which gets in his eye slits and requires him to stop, pull out a rag, and quite literally wipe his eyes clean from the small amount of dirt and grime which has built up over the days travels.
Nicolai on the other hand wades directly through the muck, and seems to manage without much trouble. "Kids...why is it always kids." He thinks and then reaches for his holy symbol, chanting briefly under his breath.
Ikavod is content to let the lot of the villagers have their clamor and equally content to be on his way regardless of blessings or cheers. The Jotun moves his glaive off his shoulders and grips it in his massive hand. "Because children are easy targets. Especially in such a place as this." It wasn't exactly a huge town but clearly small enough to have everyone likely to know one another. "Or they just get very, very bored and decide to entertain themselves wit-"" And then things, as they so often do, go in a less than desirable direction. It's the sound that takes Ikavod's attention, snapping his eyes to the side at a rather unfortunate moment. Only the very periphery of his vision catches the movement and the then the sounds of the things movements a half-second later. He then quickly hops backward and turns the glaive about in his grip where it makes a quiet, sharp tweet as it is brought to level.
ST:
Just about as soon as Aya hops that fence, something new catches her eye. Almost literally. Suddenly alight amidst the black and rustling new life of dusk-backed leaves, glowing golden eyes open one by one, set after set, one of which droops and hangs as it peers through the stretched skin of what was once some poor boy's face, mouth gaping impossibly wide as a hooked beak comes tearing through it, forcing it wide. A ghastly wailing then tears through the immediate surroundings, and something wicked this way scuttles; jerky motions, clacking steps, uneven and inhuman as they come bursting from the berth of the woods.
The limbs clearly not their own hang, just shy of rotting, sewn to them haphazardly, grabbing for the monk to no avail, still too far to make their proper ambush, seen by those too crafty for their like! Blast it all!
Scurrying from the back is one last creature, both legs about the right size for a five year old, his body hunkered over as though it were trying to fit into a suit several sizes too small. It is unsteady, and slower than the other three.
(Surprise round, Ikavod, Nicolai and Virton unable to act, summary pose of Scarecrow attacks at end.)
It sounds, from the buzzing, that Virton was about to respond to Ikavod and perhaps begin debating if children are really that great a target. That's kinda brought to an exact stop due to the fact that something with the word 'NIGHTMARE FUEL' comes running out of the crops towards them. The Golem only has a moment to react before one of those almost rotting limbs comes swinging by, barely missing the Golem as it's poncho whips off to the side. "What in tarnation?" He buzzes, angrily.
Aya does not like being hit. "You'll pay for that, creature." She responds with a rapid combination of left, right, and cross-kick. The creature is stubborn, however, and refuses to fall down.
The sorceress blanches as she sees the creatures. "Now this is not what I expected to see." she says and shakes her head a bit. Myaris gestures and calls on her inner magic, speaking the words as to blackish green darts fly from her hands. Both magic missiles fly to hit the creature that attacked Ikavod, hitting it but the darts of force didn't seem to do that much.
ST:
The stench is almost palpable as a club-clawed fist comes wailing down upon Aya's body, the other arm lifting but not falling in attack as it still lumbers in approach; it is one of the human arms, likely from one of the older boys from the village, speared through with its own bones in some makeshift talon, sawing through traumatised flesh and still dripping a combination of rot and blood. The mournful wailing it had loosed before has become a physical thing, a tangible horror that ripples over the monk when the beast makes contact. She shakes it off, thankfully, but it lingers in threat.
Babylegs scuttles toward Virton, closer than the others across the fence, and lashes out with a grabbing swipe toward the poncho-wearing cowbot, curved beak snapping and squawking in dismay, eyes glowing furiously as it fails to find purchase.
Another has stepped over the fence in a journey toward the Giantborn man, stick-like legs clacking and thumping on the muddy earth below in a frenzied charge that leaves it just shy of making proper contact with his large form, hissing and shrieking out complaint much the same as its compatriot. It snaps its beak together rapidly a few times, through the stretched-tight mouth of the face it's wearing, before rank breath billows forth in nonsensical chatter.
The flurry of blows from the monk staggers the first back a few steps, and yet... it just keeps on coming, creaking and snapping its mangled limbs back into place as though it were nothing; as though it did not feel the pain lavished upon its twisted self, pressuring Aya back into the fence she had hopped over before.
Tattered clothing and half-wooden limb are scorched by the arrows that fling forward with force from Myaris, "RRREEEEEEEEE!!" A mindless screaming echoes through the land, one of the lanterns in the distant village flickering out.
The final horror comes scuttling on all fours toward Nicolai, suddenly standing 'upright' to bring a sideways hanging foot that he uses as a club down upon him. Thankfully, it misses, but the stench remains.
(Surprise round over)
"No." Virton blurts out. It's almost a static blurt of nonsense from the Golem as he staggers backwards, a loud *tink tink tink tink tink* noise as he takes those steps back from the babyleg scarecrow. The blurting 'No' continues a few times, as if some bit of code has gotten stuck in his brain. The poncho is whipped up, and a thunderbelcher is lifted. It's promptly levelled at good ol' Babylegs, and with a harsh pull of the trigger, the weapon lets out a thunderclap of noise and a single heavy slug -- which slugs good ol' babylegs. "No. Go down. Y'gosh darned ABOMINATION!"
Nicolai yanks a short broad-bladed sword from a belt sheath. Instead of stabbing the horror he clenches a fist and tries to punch it. The blow sails wide, and Nico himself spins halfway around and almost loses his balance.
"Just die. Again, if you must!" Aya strikes with another kick, but her follow-up knife hand strike strikes only a piece of rotting flesh attached by only a bit of skin. It flies free, but it isn't anything vital.
There's a low his as Ikavod brings the glaive around, transitioning from bradishing it to beginning to move it around his body. The weapon whips around as it is brought behind his back and passes it between his hands and quickly raises it's pitch into a sharp whistle as Ikavod blends the fluid movement of the weapon right into a fierce horizontal slash that finds no purchase. Just as well, he manages to once more slip back just out of reach of the creature whereupon the song the glaive sings goes lower in pitch but does not go silent. Again, the weapon is moving, the pliant haft lightly arcs as force is applied to it. For his part he seems to be quiet, more focused on what is in front of him than much else even as the thunderbelcher momentarily drowns out the sound of the spear Ikavod has turning about in his hands on rather surpisingly fluid wrists.
The sorceress takes stock of the situation and decides to moves to help out Aya. Myaris crosses the distance and then starts to cast as she gets up close, she is keeping her eye on the creature as she does to keep it from swiping at her when she is focusing. Her hands starts to glow blackish green and then she touches the creature causing the glow to spread as acid eats into the creature's body.
ST:
Babylegs is shot directly in his/her/its face, and it does nothing to slow the creature down. Eyes grow brighter with every passing moment, mouth growing wider and wider, emitting a low, distorting howling that begins to drown out all the screeching and squawking that's going on around them, bits of ash and wood falling away, carried by the wind in a vivid dance of embers.
It seems it's in no mood to heed the Wargolem's demand.
Number Four, squared against Nicolai, mimics the call of Babylegs, mouth gawping away, the howling spilling over the man in a wafting aroma that could turn buzzards from a gut wagon. It is less than amused.
Babylegs rams a clawed fist forward into Virton's circuits, a sharp screech of plaintiff metal joining in with the ominous call they are all now emitting, its eyes boring into the Wargolem's with a fervor unexpected in something this mindless. It weasels into his mind, scrambling whatever lay within, wrenching free any sense he may once have had and replacing it with some nonsensical, horrifying thing.
The first to attack is once again kicked by the flurry of mean, Aya's target not so much as giving a grunt in response, but instead stretching open its mouth to loose that hollow, droning sound, more strangled, tighter than the rest. It is likely due to the damage done to its form. What a nasty little monk. The searing grasp of Myaris causes its attentions to shift as sinew, wood and cloth erode rapidly, burning away into a smoke that harbours a resemblance to rancid bacon bits and char. The bottom half of its jaw falls off with a clack and snap, but that howling... oh, the howling...
Ikavod's masterful show may not impress the scarecrow, but he has at least managed to evade the raking claw that makes attempts at contact, to no avail. It, too, begins to moan.
And finally, that foot-club comes flailing toward Nicolai and goes wide, pounding into the muddy ground, a slurp-pop heard as it's yarded out of the deep, hanging at the ankle in dislocation, spraying muck all over the cleric in an arc of brownish-black.
The noise that Virton emits is a sort of droning that you might expect from these creepy things. Especially Babylegs, which is now the entirety of Virton's nightmare fuelled mind. The Golem promptly begins cowering, doing it's best to keep itself away from the creature advancing on him, but apparently unable to just get up and flee.
Nicolai flinches back at the spray of muck. He grabs his holy symbol and then raises it so that it's between Nicolai himself and the nearest creature. He fills his voice with authority and faith and bellows, "Foul abominations! Feel the divine power of Tarien!!" The wave of energy doesn't seem to have any effect. "Please...?" Nicolai adds. "Feel a -little- divine power?" For an instant you can just hear a ghostly sound, something like a cross between yipping and laughter.
Getting nowhere fast, Ikavod grumbles as the creature before him fails to connect another strike by a wide margin, he barely had to lean out of the way of that. Ikavod's slab-like brows furrow and his expression sours, this was just getting boring. Dismissing the threat of the one before him, Ikavod turns toward Babylegs and follows through on that turn a full three hundred and sixty degrees with a bellow from deep in his chest. On the last one-eighty he jumps from the ground and grips the weapon in both hands quite low on the haft and bring the whistling weapon down in a fierce shriek that would probably have been significant if the bored head of the weapon had managed to make contact.
Aya is annoyed that Myaris' corrosive magic seemed to have such great efect, but not surprised that she is now stupified in terror. She utters a soft, but sharp expletive and strikes twice more, now finally managing to knock flesh from whatever's under it and separate the creature from its annoying existence.
Shaking with the fear that hit her when the creature struck her, Myaris can't do anything other than just shake. Even with the creature gone, she still just shakes, trying to shrug off its grip on her.
ST:
Kicking it? Fine. Punching it? Whatever. Melting it? This... apparently it takes issue with.
Still droning that mind-numbing howl, the first creature turns to swing a bone-claw right into the Sorceress that had so bravely moved to defend her compatriot in arms. It digs in deeply, bypassing the magical armour, ripping at skin that she now believes rots away; the howling intensifies, and her mind is filled with dread -- fear of becoming something like this, perhaps, or something even more nefarious and personal in her mind.
As Nicolai calls upon the might of his god, that harrowing moan pauses, and all eyes are upon him, unblinking, burning with hatred and malice. The beak that stretches through what was once one of the boys' mouths snaps at him, twice, letting loose a piercing call that sounds much akin to a raptor in Jurassic Park. They're very clever girls, this lot. With that, the cacophony begins anew, each heralding in a different pitch, bugling their discontent.
They cared not for Tarien.
"Ghhghhhreeee! EEIIRRREEEEEEEEEEE-eeghhh!"
With another flurry of scissorkicks to the solar plexis, Aya has finally downed one of the beasts. All the others collectively take in what seems to be a gasp, once again stopping the howling as each of them turns to stare toward their first going to pieces, rotting away as though someone had sped up time; bits that were flesh peel away, and the wooden frame held by sinew and twine wither, collapsing at her feet.
Ikavod continues to dance with one of the abominations. It's beautiful, in its way, but it's really quite ineffectie. I mean, maybe next week there can be a competition for fancy footwork, but for now, there should be some killing going on.
Dropping the Thunderbelcher - spent now - Virton staggers away from Babylegs, his armoured form clanking in its shivering state as the object on his shoulder rises up, the radar dish whirring as it begins spinning, crackling with energy as it begins to charge. A single red-dot sight pops out from the side, locking onto good ol' Babylegs as the Golem raises both hands to grip the weapon on his shoulder, bracing it. With a sudden crack of o-zone, a single bolt of red lightning cracks out from the spinning radar dish, impacting and leaving a burn on Babylegs.
Nicolai winces and clutches at the spot where he was pecked. He forces a chuckles. "Guys - guys! You're not going to believe this...but they're not undead at all!" he glances around at the others, and notices a few of them are scratched up even worse than he is. His symbol is still in his hand and he concentrates again, sending out a wave of healing energy that conveniently avoids touching any of the injured enemies.
The maneuver Ikavod had made to attack Babylegs hed been after he shrugged off that other threat. The one he dismissed, the one he just felt make contact. In his quick attempt to turn about and lash out of the attacker there is lurch as the mud beneath him finally proves a bit less easy to stand on and allows Ikavod's footing to slip. He does not fall but the wail of the spear is choked off suddenly and Ikavod has to reel two heavy steps backward to catch his balance, the weapon in his hand beginning to wind up again. "Hit me again, I beg of you!" Ikavod snarls.
This is not going well. Aya is all but by herself. Not that she can't handle that; it just takes longer. The dim around them is comforting, but it can be more advantageous. She calls to the shadows, and the shadows answer. They flock to her, coalescing and condensing, deepening the dim towards black absence of light upon her and her vicinity. Only then does she approach the next creature.
ST:
LIGHTNING! Fsssss.
Babylegs looks as displeased as one can without much of a face to go off; however, he does now smoke, the 'clothing' he's stretched over himself singed and seared, wisping upward in twisting tendrils of mist. Through this smog, those eyes burn like twin suns, one larger than the other, his droning continuing on as he lurches forward to deliver another bone-clawed thump into the poncho'd chest of Virton -- it makes holes, like moths enjoying a bit of mexican food. Once again, something does not compute.
ERROR: 100100101101010101ZZZRKT
Another fist lunges for Ikavod, finally finding purchase, eliciting a squeaky trill of 'excitement', a drawing of blood, new blood, that whips this murder into frenzy, cackling and squawking away as they are wont to do. Thankfully, the brute is nonplussed.
Brave, brave Ikavod.
Brave, beautiful dancer Ikavod.
]Nicolai is awesome, heals everyone that isn't the bad guys -- what a champion. He doesn't even get foot-pounded in the process! Is this guy a hero or what?!
]It's not so much that Aya is hidden from their dark-piercing eyes, it's moreso that they appear to be preoccupied with punching, snapping and clawing at other people to really notice that she's gone somewhere.
Nicolai flinches slightly as the Scare kicks at him again - or tries to. "You need to stop swinging those things around!" The giantborn calls out merrily, then bashes at the thing with a gauntleted fist. "It won't work on me - I've been kicked in the head by the best!"
Whether others can penetrate the shadows or not, they are empowering. She is not one to cower. In fact, she would see these things cower before her, if they had any semblance of cognizance. She makes more comment and simply unleashes a rapid series of strikes to body and joints of the next ...thing.
Myaris is still caught in the grips of the fear, unable to shake it off.
Virton is currently encountering a 404 Error: Courage Not Found.
]The soun that the thing makes is what gives Ikavod a momentary pause... which is unfortunate because it results in taking another hit. A hit that, well, doesn't really help the creaure. Ikavod's practiced and fluid movements become harsh and less disciplined. It's a veritable salvo that comes from his weapon, massive arms stabbing the weapon forward in a dozen lunges, finding contact amidst them. He doesn't seem to realize he has made a connection but he's back on his heel, readying himself for something. The weapon doesn't even move, now. Far too concerned with just stabbing or rending the creature to pieces, Ikavod has become a touch tunnel-visioned.
ST:
Ikavod finally decides to stop with his infernal dancing, sultry and seductive as it was, to actually exchange blows with his partner.
And not like that, either. It's not the prom.
Even with the howling, even despite the bone shards that peel away skin, leaving rivulets of gore, staining his chest with the blood of battle as his call to hit him again is obliged, he still stands stalwart, dealing a devestating blow, sending chunks of the creature flying, spattering over Nicolai from another angle in oddly moist woodchips.
They smell vaguely of urine for some reason.
Another lamplight in the village gutters out.
Nicolai doesn't get much of a rise out of the creature he punches, what with it being mindless and all, but it's certain that it would be seething with such a scathing verbal taunt, were it so able.
Aya's flurry of blows cause the creature to turn from he who had punched it so cruelly to take a raking swing through the darkness at Aya. It's certain it sees her, quite clearly, but has been turned sluggish by the well-placed fist of the giantborn cleric that first struck it.
Nicolai blinks as darkness suddenly falls all around him. He risks rubbing at his eyes with the back of one gloved hand. He hears the sounds of Aya smacking the thing, shrugs and swings a wild punch in that direction. His fist connects with something. Is it friend of foe? Nico can only hope!
As Ikavod takes another solid hit he only seems to get angrier and no one likes to make a Jotun angry, right? It would seem the pain is only fuel to fires of anger as Ikavod outright roars into the creature's 'face'. Ikavod jumps, rather impressive for his size, and whips the weapon around in his hands with a brief howl from the holes bored through the blade as it is pointed straight down at the thing's 'face' and Ikavod brings the full weight of his massive, muscular forwn down with a savage downward stab in attemp to semply skewer the thing entirely upon the weapon, it's rather intricate etchings on haft obscured by ichor, leaving the weapon something of a poor impostor for the weapon it was before.
Two down, two to go. Ikavod now seems to have found his rhythm, so she moves to assist the mechanical one. A quick dart to the creature and a solid kick to where it's kidney would be if it had one. (Aya)
Poor, poor sorceress, she is still overcome with fear and not able to do anything other than whimper. She is still struggling to shake it off, but is having no luck in those regards. There are tears in the edges of Myaris eyes and whimpers from the fear that has it deep in its grips.
ST:
"HAAAAOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUM!" Don't ask me how that beak made an 'm' noise; it's one of the many magics of these terrifying creatures. It's this befuddling combination of sounds that pours forth as a claw nail gouges into the Barbarian yet another time, pulling him forward by the divet in his skin, only to be soundly wrecked by the blade of Ikavod's rather unique and ornamental weapon; what had once been so beautiful and whistly, nearly cheerful in celebration of glory, is now the ear-piercing day-wrecker that wails the coming divide!
"REEEEEEEEEE--kkh-khhheh! EEEEEEEE!!" Well, that didn't make it very happy.
Babylegs scuttles after Virton like that doll-headed freak creation from Toy Story(TM), utterly unrelenting in its caterwauling, clacking after him with all the alacrity that a clumsy child-legged thing can, swiping and missing at his cowering form. It's like watching someone stab at a puppy with a sharp stick.
Thankfully, Aya is here to save the day! When she assaults Babylegs, the thing spins around to stare at her darkness clouded form, shrilly announcing its displeasure directly into her face. Seems she's got the thing's attention now!
Virton finds his courage. It's trying to escape. So it takes a bit of wrangling. There's a few juttering sparks of various colours that eminate from the warforged Golem's body, spluttering out through the various holes made in his chassis from the creature's constant attacks. A soft 'Vhrrr' noise begins to eminate as the engine in Virton's torso begins ramping up into overdrive. The hiss of pistons pushing themselves beyond their normal limit as the Golem heaves a morningstar in a harsh swing - which promptly misses and sends the Golem staggering as he begins his turn.
The strike that follows quickly upon Ikavod leaves him off-balance and something on his features falters and the anger than twists into a new expression. It's nothing quite clear but he doesn't move to strik again, possibly cowed by the creature before him.
Nicolai breathes a sigh of relief once the darkness moves on, revealing the crumpled form at his feet is one of their enemies. Those vile monstrosities who prey on children and make weird noises...about...it. "Ah," Nico remarks. "Does that sound like 'help meeee' to anyone else?" Hustling over to the War Golem, he chants a quick spell of healing.
Aya seems to prove, so far, immune to any terror they wish to instill. The hit does look to knock her off-balance, making most of her retaliatory strikes miss. Most, but not all. "You are nothing but mindless flesh and noise!" she snaps harshly.
ST:
Nope.
Babylegs is a shifty little bastard, it seems, completely unaffected by the morningstar that goes sailing by its jittery, clickitty, inhumanly jerking head, far too focused on Aya, jabbing its 'fingers', ie: Boneshards, directly into Aya's collarbone, almost seeming to flinch as bone meets bone, as it takes a moment for it to withdraw its hand, wobbling about on those toddler legs unevenly, mouth still gawping away. A gawping mouth that is forcefully closed by virtue of a fist being implanted in it, coaxing a muffled, yet still shrill 'reee' with a palpable sadness.
Maybe it was that stinging verbal barb.
Ouch.
Ikavod gets one more flesh-rending piercing into his chest, the beak opening impossibly wide, canting to the side as it pulls the man down, as though it might try to eat his head, or at least get it all up in the endless vortex that is its mouth. Then again, it could be an illusion.
"zzzzzTttTt", is the noise that Virton makes. Something got a bit smacked up with the last hit, so when the curative magics hit him, the holes in his body begin to meld closed. "Zzzz--Thanks, parder." He buzzes out at last, now able to properly vocalize his feelings on the whole matter. He would tip a hat to Nicolai -- if babylegs wasn't a thing that actually existed. It seems that the Golem has a particular 'issue' with this thing, if by this thing, you mean this unholy abomination unto the material world. So he heaves his morningstar with a hiss of pistons firing, a jet of air helping the motion become stronger, harder, and thudding into the Babylegsnope.jpg, but sadly, it still stands. "Do us a favour an' just fall down an' stop movin'!"
Nicolai shakes his head at the continued sounds. "Never mind - my imagination!" He unleashes another wave of healing, again skillfully (or maliciously) keeping the healing power from reaching the enemies.
Myaris manages to finally shake off the fear that has held her strongly in its grips. She is still a bit shaken but focuses enough to call on the magic within her and cast a spell. Two darts of blackish green force fly at the one still up, and almost take it down, but it stays standing.
It is not a child, no matter its size nor nickname. Even if it was, it would be an incorrigible child. Aya punches again for the body, then follows with a turn-kick that shatters the wooden frame within it and leaves the unsupported flesh to drop into a pile of gore. "Like I said. You are nothing.
ST:
Babylegs does them all a favour, and just falls down.
With one final wretched scream, its legs, baby as they are, split and rot, falling away against the ground with a soft slap of skin to slick muck, erupting with glorious goop that bubble-pocks that sends ichorous gunk all over Virton's very favourite poncho, staining it IRREPARABLY.
It seems, even now, immune to Aya's taunting.
The final remaining creature chases Ikavod around like a lecherous old man with a slow, pretty nurse at a retirement home. But, the groping's gone a bit too far.
Whatever had shaken Ikavod the next strike had broken him out of whatever it was. He violently shook his head and got on sure footing before regarding the creature again in time to see Virton finish it. Ikavod heaves a sigh of relief and his entire body seems to slump a few moments before his head raises and he brings up one massive fist to simply offer the golem a thumbs-up. Karma is a thing.
"MY PONCHO!" buzzes Virton, in what approximates pure unadulterated rage in the Golem. Smoke billows out of the pipe that sticks out of the corner of the Golem's mouth as it heaves its morningstar around, raising it up and over his shoulder. Pistols fire, as small jets push extra air out of the Golem's feet, pushing him along with extra speed as he goes in for a charge. It's not elegant. It's not pretty. It's nothing close to Ikavod's dance of death. Instead, he simply swings the morningstar over his shoulder, bringing it down solidly on the creature. *SMOOSH.*
There's a pause as Virton stares at the thumbs-up, processing. processing. Then, the Golem awkwardly lifts one hand free from the morningstar, extending a thumbs-up in return.
ST:
With the howling come to an end, the lights in the village begin to reignite one by one, and from the forests comes a rustling that can only be further ambush. Surely, there are more of these things, and the evening will rage on in battle that lasts an eternity; it shall be like the ballroom masquerade scene out of Labyrinth, but much less emotionally confusing to Lenore's player's young girl mind. Oh, Bowie.
What could have been.
Ahem.
What actually comes out of the forest is a pack of very dirty, very frightened children -- not eight, but four -- that all but bowl over the heroes in their frantic clambour for home. Even before our adventurers can turn to follow, voices can be heard rejoicing -- and lamenting -- the evening's result.
Sometimes... we just can't save 'em all.
~Fin