PrP: More Bees With Honey

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Log Info

  • Title: All Ye Who Enter Here
  • Emitter: Lenore
  • Characters: Virton (Art2)* Landau (Clr3/Wzd1)* Ikavod (Bbn4)* Charity (Mnk3)* Ga'Elian (Rgr2)* Mandor (Dru2)*
  • Place: Sweet Rose Monastery - Alexandria
  • Time: April 24, 2016
  • Summary: Bee-keeping is a curious thing here in Alexandria; there are entire guilds, apparently, dedicated to the care and keeping of the creatures that provide us with the sweetness that we all adore. But, lately, the flow from the primary guild has come almost to a complete halt, skyrocketing the prices on that sticky goodness, and driving up the cost on many every day items in the market. The Adventurer's Guild has been contacted by a secondary guild, much smaller than the Sweet Rose Monastery that houses the first, that is overtaxed by the issues the others are having. Go find out what the hold up is! Good god, people, we need our pastries!
  • APL: 3
  • Encounter 1: 4 Thriae Soldiers, CR 8

ST:

"They're such sweet old men. I hope nothing's happened to them." One of the keepers stands speaking with you, the others are away in the back of the compound, working away with the bees, busy as can be.

"They took the brunt of the work, and put out the absolute best product. I know I shouldn't say that, what with being technically their competetor, but... I mean, they're holy men, this is all they do, it's all they have. It doesn't make any sense that they've just dropped off the face of Ea!" The poor young woman seems absolutely worried sick, her shoulders slouching, her hands wringing and her head occasionally bowing with furrowed brow -- almost apologetic.

"We used to stop by once a week, but it got so busy... we, we just haven't been in over a month. Oh, if something's happened... my Gods, I... I should have gone. Please... go see what's happened, and... s-spare me the details. I can't bear to hear it if they..." She trails off again, biting on her lower lip, before she turns to run off into the store, clearly distraught.

The group is provided a map, and a way to travel to the Monastery, which is apparently not all that far. The middle of the day, a springtime romp through some of the most beautiful countryside that Alexandria has to offer; rolling hills and fields of heather, crowned by the mountain ranges that reach even to this place, causing natural guards along the well-worked trade roads, like rocky slate shields ever vigilant. The air is fragrant and warm, and it's not terribly long before the simple structures of the Sweet Rose are seen beyond the ever-open gates; signs welcome visitors and give information on the types of bees that're kept, but the grounds seem curiously empty, aside from the mad buzzing that fills the air from every direction.


"I reckon that there lady is mighty upset," stating the obvious, is Virton. There's an audiable *tink* as he walks, with the spurs attached to his boots spinning with each step on their own accord. "Mighty fine bit of land this, though. I dare hope that none of them old folks have had anythin' fairly bad happen to em', lest we gonna haveta take care of some business." The Golem buzzes, with a gout of black smoke pouring from the exhaust pipe on the side of his mouth in afterthought, ruining some of that fragrant air with the scent of industry and artifice. He keeps walking as they all reach the gates, one arm flinging his poncho over his shoulder, in order to haul up the thunderbelcher normally harnessed to his torso. The weapon gives an ominous hum, in return to that buzzing.

"I don't reckon anyone saw any folks around here? My eye lenses are a bit busted, partners."


The war golem Mandor looks around the area slowly, taking a moment to follow the movements of a bee with his eyes, even going so far as turning around in a circle as if the bee is the only thing in the world to him. "No signs of humanoid life has been noticed so far. Further investigation will be required." He is still watching the bee.


"A temple? We must find if the good father is well, and make sure that all is right in the world, as good sons and daughters of righteousness." Charity rumbles, joining the group in her usual manner - fierce mein, gruff, tusky tone, and an overage of piety for THE DRAGON FATHER!

Her faith, like her body, is swole.


Finding himself with Virton had become an increasingly frequent ocurence and that is perhaps why Ikavod mostly travels nearer him than the rest. He's largely quiet... actually he's just large overall. "Busted is a way to say it, sure." he speaks from the side of his mouth, toward Virton.


ST:

It isn't long before there is a nearly sickeningly sweet fragrance that twists its way in on the breeze; not like honey, but like perfume in florals not known to this region, and in a staggering, choking amount. The buzzing grows louder, and from amidst the rows of endless garden not far from the Monastery proper, people can be seen. Women, more precisely -- beautiful women with long, flaxen hair and large, bright animated eyes that flit back and forth as they tend to whatever it is that's growing over that way. There's a moment where the world falls silent and their eyes settle on our hapless adventurers, and what terribly sweet smiles they wore once now turn bitter and angered.

The largest of the three figures points a finger toward the group, the buzzing starting, renewed as the trio lift off the ground and come barging through rose bushes and hanging blossoms, so delicate that they shatter and drift pastel petals in scattering pattern across the beautiful stonework that sprawls before them. Gossamer wings beat a mile a minute, carrying them toward the interlopers; the torso of leather-adorned women, and the body of giant bees covered in fine, spiny hairs.

"It is our right!" Their hands are coated in a strange pollen, a bubblegum pink in colour, dripping precious dew from their fingertips that they use to run along the length of the strings of their strange bows as they're pulling them free in preparation. It seems they're not much ones for debate.


Mandor turns to regard the creatures approaching them. "Please desist so we can study the impact of your species on the environment. You are a potential disruption and must be analyzed." He speaks a few arcane words and the grass, weeds, and other flora in the area suddenly reach out quickly and start to grab at the creatures, managing to hold up two of them.


Ga'Elian comes running toward Virton


Trying to run and jump into the crowd gets Charity's large feet immediately stuck in the entangling magic, but with a snap of her foot, and brings it up in a swift kick to one of the bee-ple.

"Watch yourselves!"


  • Spark* *Fizz* *Crackle* *Pop*.

Virton staggers back for a moment as one of the arrows lodges itself in his eye-cavity, narrowly missing the vision prism. Sparks crackle out from the cavity, as glass somes tinkling from his lens to the ground. One hand reaches up, groping at the air in a distracted manner before the arrow is yanked out -- leaving a small hole into the inner workings of Virton's headcase. Black smoke comes pouring out. Buzzing eminates from Virton's vocalizer as he tries to find the appropriate response. "Ow."

It's not good enough. The death ray cannon on the Artificer's shoulder comes popping up, humming as it fills the local air with the taste of ozone, sending hairs pricking up. Both of the artificer's mechanised hands reach up for the cannon, grasping it as it powers itself up to full charge. The bolt of red lightning - burning black into retinas momentarily - cracks through the air, more precisely like a beam. Apparently the Artificer has upgraded it. The red bolt impacts onto the second of the bee-ple, leaving a decent electrical burn.


Ikavod's attention moves toward the increased volume of the buzzing. He casually unburdens his glaive from a brace at his back and purses his lips for a few moments. "Well... that's new." he mutters to himself , readying it in one hand. "Guess we'll say hello." Ikavod speaks just before catching sight of the bow trained on him. Ikavod moves to dodge but it seems his dodge was basically more dangerous than just standing still. As things heat up so does he and he breaks into a run to close the distance. Almost in a comedic fashion, Ikavod high-steps over vines and botanical restraints before planting one heel and pivoting on it. A low moan heightens in to a whistle as bored holes in the head of the polearm catch the air.

The blade connects, breaking the sound from the weapon but Ikavod quickly twist his torso and mades an immediate strike to his other side that only causes the briefest chirp from the blade before connecting. Rolling along his shoulder there is a vaguely defined, ghostly bit of flame and it quickly shoots down along his foraarm and hand right onto the haft of the glaive before it begins rulling upward upont he haft where it explodes into a brief burst of fire before Ikavod tears the weapon free of his opponent.


ST:

"You must leave! Now!"

They don't give the group much of a chance, however, as they begin loosing arrows with some stunning accuracy. That said, they completely miss Ikavod, whom is the largest target in the area. Something tells you that the one in the back is the 'special' bee that only got invited along because they have an ability to carry more stuff.

Or because mom said so.

The first fires at Ikavod, pink-tipped and dribbling arrow spinning its way through the sweetly-scented air to jam itself into the golem's head, skewering through the side of the metal with a screaching of metal on metal, before it bursts out the left socket of his lenses, sparkling up a storm, bright fizzing dangers dotting all over that precious poncho of his, burning in tiny holes. Now he looks like a proper cowboy extra.

Aside from not having any skin and what have you.

As the plants turn on them, there's a lot of confused shouting in Sylvan, questioning the roses that reach forth their thorn-covered tendrils to grab and tear, wrapping about the bumblebodies of two of them, the third evading entirely. With a primal cry and a mighty beating of wings, one of them breaks free, and sneers in a scowl across at Mandor with all the fury a most natural woman can muster.

At least she didn't get kicked in the pretty bits.

UNLIKE SOMEONE I COULD MENTION.

As Ikavod loses his ever-loving mind and goes at one of the bee-creatures, and stabs into the fleshy, leather-guarded frame, it lets out a wail of pain and fury. The one nearest, bow still drawn, eyes wide on its face, mouth agape, weapon trembling. "He's KILLING her!" She shrieks, "And then he's going to kill me! On my G--HGGK!" His spear whirls about, and bites into her body, drawing her low even as the spirit totem does its thing to the first, all of them now abuzz (haw, literally) with confusion and panic.

Another scream echoes through the fair lands as that lightning scorches the thorax of that abomination, its stinger curling and jagging at nothing as it bellows out something in its native tongue, beckoning forth a final bee-person from behind in the garden, armed and ready, purple ichor dripping from an ivory bow.


Mandor frowns holding out his hand as it begins to glow deep red, finally a burst of flame appears, dancing in his palm. "Decision made. Your reluctance to participate in an enviromental study has determined your removal from the area by force."


Ga'Elian takes aim with his longbow, 2 arrows in the nock. He fires at the creature that had just attacked Charity. The first arrow misses its mark, but the second could not have hit more truly! The elf smiles with a look of great satisfaction at his second arrow's effect.


"You must leave! Now!" The Elunian magic user had been sent by the guild as an afterthought after not being able to fill the party requirements apon short notice, and as a result he hears the order followed by the thrum of arrows moving throught the air. Through the doorway he dashes... and is confronted by a a sight most unexpected. after a moments pause (and shock) he begins chanting a prayer, though what its effects may be are not immediately apparentif efficatious at all.


Witnessing the fact that Charity just went FIST OF THE NORTH STAR on the second of the bee-ple, Virton gives a buzzing 'HOO-EEE!' in celebration. It's hard to feel bad for something when it's shot you to bits. Talking about being shot. Again. Virton finally notices that his left leg isn't moving as well as it should. Dangit. He reaches down, yanking the arrow out of his left hip, he tosses it aside. A soft 'ping', and the death ray cannon begins giving off that audiable hum of power once more. A single lens pops out of it, sliding over to cover Virton's still working eye. The lens beeps as it activates, giving him a visible HUD and crosshair. Both hands reach up to brace the cannon as he spreads his feet shoulder width apart, ignoring the faint twitch in his hip from damage.

The cannon erupts with another eye-hurting blast of electricity, buzzing over Ikavod's shoulder to impact into the first of the bee-ple. The beam's violent energies conflagrate the buzzing bee-person, sending it crashing to the ground as a more ashen, charred husk.

"I daresay mah improvements are workin' jus' fine."


"Well, they're not fireproof." Ikavod mutters to himself, his weapon arcing high and pitching upward from a moan to a howl as it follows through with momentum and whips around behind his back to pass right into his other hand while maintaining the same howl. From there it arc upward toward his opposing shoulder as it is taken in both hands once more. The weapon follows through, up to his neck as one hand releases to accept hold of it again. This time the weapon is immediately gripped with both hands and it's howl rises into a shrieking, ear-straining noise as the massive upper-body of the Giantborn twists violently and applies a devastatating amount of force behind the weapon.

The haft bends to a straining degree as the force applied to it reaches full force. This time the sound do not stop for a brief moment, instead it dies with a burbling chirp as it sinks into it's target and the Giantborn actually has to wrench the weapon free of the savage wound in the bee-creature's side. Flame with hardly any color at all to it rockets down the haft fo the weapon but seems to fizzle on connection with the enemy instead of igniting into a burst of color. The shot over his shoulder draws a delayed glance back before Ikavod glances back to it's target andgives an agreeable nod to Virton as Ikavod takes a step back.


Charity engages with the DRAGON STYLE of martial arts, which is to say, punching and kicking the shit out of bee-people with her treetrunk legs and arms.

It is surprisingly effective.


ST:

She must have been smoked, because this ditzy bee can't seem to hit anything. Even the Barbarian. Perhaps especially the barbarian. Brought to a sort of frenzy of her own, her thorax bulges and rams its way toward Ikavod, a gruesome, fierce green liquid spurted onto his thigh, eating away at whatever guards him there, the scent a putrid yet still strangely sweet thing that does its level best to sink into his flesh, but never quite makes it there. Her eyes, blue as the skies, glow with ferocity and magic, hands still gripping her bow at the ready.

The woman that attacks Virton seems to have better luck, firing off another arrow with that deadly accuracy, bashing through his hip and thigh, kicking up his poncho in the front, and pinning it to him in the back like he's become the main attraction at a young child's birthday party. And then it's trampled to death by an oruch with a glandular problem, "They'll... never.... love you...." She whispers as she dies -- though what she meant by that is really anyone's guess at that juncture.

There's pounding on the Monastery doors, into the main hall, if you will, and a voice calling out, "They're just FLOWERS!"

The battle rages on.

Another rushes toward Mandor, stinger pointed at him, fat ass bulging as she does so; really, it looks like she's after something a little more than honey. But, she misses him, bumping into him and jerking back, growling out her aggressions, "What manner of beast are you?!"

Landau's brilliant scheme is, unfortunately, resisted... but, the pull of magics does gain the attentions of Thr4, just about the time Ga'Elian skewers it plain through with an arrow, one purple-covered hand moving to grip at the shaft as it's driven through, the tip snapped off and a snarl breathed out.

With the dance of death that Ikavod is offering, it seems almost hypnotized by his motions, until that burbling chirp reaches its ears, its mouth going lax as it lurches forward, deep red-purple blood spilling from within, frothing on its pale lips, trickling down its chin. It tries to gasp for air, but there is a rupture that makes it wheeze and whistle not so unlike the weapon that has so devestated it, the wound bubbling and speckling the area with her life as it leaves her. Her wings bat about desperately, managing to keep her afloat, though there is little life left in those eyes, but every ounce of fight left in the spirit that stands.

He must pay.

Charity continues to be a badass.


Mandor takes a step back, shaking his head at the wasp and throwing a ball of fire towards it. Of course it misses and flies out where it hits nothing useful. "Cease your actions."


The tan-robed magic user now having more than a spare handful of seconds to get a grasp apon the situation sees one of the guild party fall. wating no time he graps his holy symbol with one hand and pulls back the hood of his coat with the other and rushes over, channeling positive evergy through the palms of his hands causing the arrows lodged in Ga'elian's body two withdraw although leaving shallow wounds in their wake... all the whilst the adventurer continues firing


Ga'Elian gets massively thwumped by return fire from Thr4, but almost immediately is mostly healed by the Huntress Niessa, through the blessing of her priest, Landau. After this, Ga'Elian renews his attack with another two-arrow volley. As before, one misses and one strikes. Ga'Elian nods his gratitude to Landau.


The Fist of the Dragon Oruch, Charity, leaps out of the goo with a flying kick and a feral roar, to simply... Whiff. She spectacularly whiffs her kick, landing short, ptentially due to entangling goo/roots/glue, and growling.

"A failure... How could I bring shame to the Father...?"


A buzzing grunt is given back to Ikavod in acknowledgement. The mechanical cowboy shifts, hands still resting on each side of the cannon as it begins to give an audiable whine, working itself up for another full charge. Small needles with tubes shoot out from the Artificer's torso, stabbing into the malleable metal of the cannon, feeding it a charge of the Golem's own essence in distilled mana. The whine once again becomes an audiable hum as the extra power is fed into it.

Knee's bent now, another sharp crack of energy fires from the Artificer's shoulder-mounted cannon, blazing through the air and impacting on bee-ple 3's torso.

"Dangit."


Ikavod whips the polearm to the side, slinging and arc of purple-red ichor onto the ground while his free hand simply points at the bee-thing in the back. The polearm makes a hissing sound as his wrist articulates it into a mostly-vertical spin that he maintains, passing it across his form to take it with his free hand as he locks eyes with it. No words, Ikavod just takes on heavy step forward and then one further as the weapon passes back across his form in the continual rotations that begint o cause a bit of a buzzing sound of its own. The buzz turns in howl as the weapon is so suddenly and forcefully readied.

The buzz dies suddenly and there is only a tweet from the grooved blade before he lunges out with his upper body to sink the weapon into the form of the bee-thing. Again, ghostly, monochrome flames roll quickly down the have but crash and fade instead of igniting into actual flame. Ikavod tears the weapon free and snarls "Shut your mouth and die!". Quite a command considering the look of the Giantborn alone.


ST:

The bee-person that exchanges blows with Ga'Elian seems to have gotten the better result of the two this time. Those arrows it fires are true in their aim and devestating in impact -- it might have gotten away with it, too, were it not for that damned cleric! As the wounds heal up and Ga launches another volley of arrows, the Thri can't help but wonder why it has no healer. And then it remembers: From its waist, the woman pulls a vial of glowing golden liquid, which it quaffs quickly, and takes in a sharp breath, letting it out in a slow exhale. Apparently, its body is ready.

Thr3 is zapped, again! Virton is a living bugzapper, and it's none too happy about it. It's still busily trying to bum-boop the druid, to no avail. But, gods damnit, it'll just keep on trying! Eventually, something has to give! That bulbous rump keeps pulsing, the cracks between the chitinous thorax glowing with the same green that the poison possesses, as though it were charging up its lasers -- but, given where it looks like it's coming from, the imagery is more like fartbeams than anything particularly threatening.

"Shame! SHAME!" One of the remaining practically screams at Charity, apparently its attempt at psychological warfare. They really drive the POINT home. Haw. Stingers.

Get it?


Mandor repeats his motions, steping back to give some range, and then tossing the ball of flame. This time it manages to hit the target, burning it slightly but not enough to drop it.


The archer now out of danger it is time to shift the focus to attack, Landau now standing up from the cure prayer his chanting takes on a more martial flavor. A blue iridescent starknife comes into being and spins in the air, taking a nick out of a wing of one of the Beeings as he attempts to duck the weapon of faith.


As Ikavod.. takes care of business.. Virton's head revolves to stare at the target in the back. He shifts, boots lifting to reveal the deep impressions of his heels from the recoil from the cannon. His heels work themselves in once more as the Artificer busies himself with the prompt recharge for the Death Ray. More needles, more pulsing essence being transferred into the weapon. Sparks continue to shoot from Virton's damaged eye, a deep, violent glow eminating from the torn hole in his head chassis. As the cannon hums to full charge, the Artificer leans forwards just slightly..

.. *ZZZZAP*. The bolt of energy soars out of Virton's shoulder cannon, causing a stink of ozone around Chairty and Bee-ple 4 as the bolt impacts into the 4th Bee-ple, engulfing it in the surge of electrical energy.. And promptly striking it dead.


Now close to her PREY - the prey of SWOLE JUSTICE - Charity slides forward, delivering two quick strikes before a ki-speeded spin kick. The first power claw goes wide, but the second, or the kick both strike home, helpfully staggering the bee away for it to get annihilated by LIGHTNING!!!

"Excellent co-operation, friend!" She calls, giving a little wave-salute towards the Artificer. "It is heartening to fight alongside you again."


ST:

Apparently the bee person doesn't like to be lit on fire. It screams and hisses, "Abomination!" She calls Mandor -- a little bit of the pot calling the kettle and all that. With that, it readjusts its position, and rams its bum toward Ikavod with a renewed fervor; it really, really wants to be inside him, and it manages.

NNNNGGH, oh yeah.

It's been a while for our bee-friend, so they last barely moments before their goopy gross is loosed into the wound that they've created like a horny dustmite. Poison spilleth over, dribbling from inside the now bubbling, festering wound that quickly begins to turn a weird shade of purple, blackening the veins with rapidity. It withdraws its stinger, still pulsing, and begins to titter like a schoolgirl.

What. A. Bitch.

She's still laughing, in fact, when she's brought low by Ikavod's mighty blow in return. Apparently, he was just as eager to get up in there, but he's more skilled in the art. With her wing knicked by the ethereal starknife thwipped out by the cleric, she flitters down in two halves, her thorax twitching and curling, still trying to still, ever-dribbling poison onto the ground as it pools around the gasping, grasping human half. A shuddered deathrattle, and final words: "For... our... Queen..." Ergh-bleehhh!

Momentarily distracted by the arrow of Ga'Elian's that once again draws blood, the last of the bee-ple gives a hiss of breath through clenched teeth, draws and knocks her arrow and prepares to fire, a gleam in her eye that suggests that this time, she's playing for keeps. And then she explodes.

A few moments after the buzzing dies down, the Monastery doors open just a crack, one hazel eye peering out at the group quickly before he shoves the door open, a robed figure with a really bad haircut scuttling out, panting in his portly glory only a few steps out, resting his hands on his knees as he bows before the group. Others begin to creep out of the building, looking around at the devestation, ash, and arrows that lay every which way. "Oh, THANK you! We found these flowers in the forest, and they smelled so fragrant, we thought we should bring them back to Sweet Rose, for the bees! We thought it would make delightful honey, and... and we were right! But, then these crazy ... crazy..." He looks around at the chopped up, still-trying-to-sting, angry-faced critters, "THESE -THINGS- attacked us, saying that the flowers were sacred and only for their Queen! No glorious bounty of our Lords should be reserved for one person... this world belongs to us all! This nectar... it supports an entire community, oh... thank you."

In parting, each is offered a jar of the finest of sacred honey, the simple treat that people, and creatures died for.

It all seems so pointless sometimes.

~Fin

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