Welcome to Ashenvale, part 2
Log Info
- Title: Ashenvale
- Emitter: Ashes
- Characters: Aryia, Jinks, Zofija, Jozi
- Place: Alexandros, The town of Ashenvale
- Time: Thursday, September 22, 2022, 6:48 PM
- Summary: The adventurers summoned by the Vouivre question the creature further, somewhat hampered by its insistance of being addressed as the Mayor, the Financial Advisor, and the Swiftclaw. Don't talk to the swiftclaw. They elaborate in further detail that the town must be cleansed, and the adventurers walk along the blasted countryside, approaching the flesh creatures. They move. They attack, and while they aren't difficult to kill, there are a alot of them.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Dreaming =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Aryia 4'8" 110 Lb Shadow Elf Female A heavily scarred mul with a resolved look about her. Jinks 3'4" 39 Lb Gnome Male A gnomish fellow in fancy garb and jewelry. Zofija 5'8" 225 Lb Hobgoblin Female A well-dressed Arvek-Nar with a big hammer. Jozi 5'8" 148 Lb Half-Orc Female A brunette half-orcess with a sunny disposition. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Day-Triping -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Molly 5'1" 122 Lb Half-Elf Female An ash skinned half-elf with red glasses. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= A NightMare -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Ashes 5'11" 177 Lb Hobgoblin Female A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
Previously
An unusual dream which seems to be both specifically and randomly targeted draws several adventurers to a remote town in the Alexandros Wilderness. There, they find they have been summoned by an old foe with a new problem. The town needs to be cleansed! Exactly why and whether they should do this is debated with their unexpected employer.
"Thanks Priestess! I'm glad you can help." The 'mayor' yawns briefly, then smiles at the half helf. Her teeth weren't normal. Too pointy...
She follows this with a frown and a grumbling reply directed at Zofija, "Exactly. Lots of tunnels and treasure that hobgoblins love to lurk around in. And I don't know if we need a castle."
"Do we need a castle?" Her partner asks, pushing back into view. Both of them crowding the Vardo's back window.
"Right!" The mayor asks cheerfully, "Do we need a castle? I don't know. We need a town. Full of Town Stuff! I don't what a town needs. I'm delegating. Do we need a castle? A slaughterhouse? A bathhouse? A bathhouse slaughterhouse? Let's find out!"
The second woman nods to Aryia, "Yup. Lots of burning. It didn't work. Well... first it does nothing, then it kind of shakes like it notices you, then it explodes a bunch of itself at you trying to shove a bone in you. Then it tries to grow over you."
"Lots of cleanup needed. Smart adventurers needed. So we got you guys."
Now
Both women crowd the rear window of the Vardo, leaning on the sill. The vehicle rocks as the oversized raptor snorts and adjusts itself against the yoke. The second woman, the not-mayor smiles down, "Any questions?"
"Nah, I think that's plenty to go on, I'd say." The arvek-nar grunts. "Not that it sounds real good, but any building needs to wait, then."
She stretches once, and looks around. "So, if clearing it like that doesn't work, how do you reckon we should go about it?"
"Fire? You could try more fire." The Mayor suggests.
There's a snort from the raptor, and the Vardo shakes.
"Freeze it? Teleport it into space?" The other woman says, "There's lots of it."
She waves at a devastated countryside, nothing higher than waist high, fractured stumps and lumps of charcoal and ash spreading to the horizon.
"We figured you'd have more ideas than we did." "Uh Huh."
GAME: Jinks rolls Knowledge/Dungeoneering: (14)+20: 34 (vs DC25 - Success)
It's not a loss for words. In fact, it's quite the opposite. Jinks had opened and closed his mouths so many times trying to address so many different parts of the conversation that he almost looked to be the goldfish he'd been accused of having the memory of. Finally, he sighs, smooths his goatee, and gives his head a subtle shake.
"It sounds like a variety of slime, mold, ichor, or ooze. Many are resistant to certain elements and vulnerable to others. Simple, homogenized anatomy without specific vitals or weakpoints. Able to ingest most anything without fear of poisoning... generally, they don't have a mind to influence, either." Gnimble fingers push back through the hair over his right ear-- then he's forced to adjust his circlet and get it set just-right.
"We can do this," the maestro decides, "*but*--" he adds with greater emphasis-- "you need to agree to leave those that might stay here to their own devices. No enslaving. No eating. Don't imperil or extort them.
"The druids will know who and what you are. Your neighbors in Mictlan, too." He nods one direction, tilts his head the other. "I doubt either will endure much of any nonsense before intervening...
"We didn't 'negotiate' at your island because of your choice in allies and the enslaved tribes laboring beneath you," the gnome sighs, his attitude extremely dubious. "Creatures like you have a reputation; I'm... willing to admit that informed my bias. Your choices did nothing to challenge it, however.
"Just don't make me regret helping you now, please. I've enough big mistakes for two lifetimes already."
"So, some sort of slime creatures? Can we do this?" Zofi grunts. "I don't know how well I can deal with them."
"And pardon me, but just what the fuck are you on about, Jinks?" She continues, looking to the gnome. "Are we helping potential slavers? Because I want nothing to do with this if that's the case."
"What? No eating? What if it's a democratically chosen method of capital punishment. Feeding someone to the raptor?" The mayor asks, the raptor turning its head and snorting.
"It wouldn't be just anyone. Only properly convicted, beautiful people, like her." The other woman points a Molly, then smiles, "If you were a criminal, that is."
"But we're ELECTED." The first woman insists, "They're imperialists! Monarchists! Cultists! Who have climbed to the top of the meritocracy by force!"
"Clearly we didn't use enough force."
Mention of the island prompts some unsettled feelings. The raptor takes two steps, dragging the creaking Vardo a quarter rotation of its wheels.
"They weren't slaves! They were property!" The other woman insists, completely missing the point and the definition. "They were -MINE-. I brought them back from the dead!"
"Shush!" The Mayor says, tapping her on the head, "There's no black knight, there's no castle. We're the legitimately elected public administrators of a town that's being rebuilt."
She leans in, hissing, "And I brought them back from the dead."
Then hands are waved, "No slavers! No slaves. Only a legitimately established town overrun with a flesh monster. I can assure you, as mayor, that once this town is cleansed I'll be devoting all my time to economic development."
"What will I be doing?"
"I don't know, you can be head of the guards or something." The mayor leans towards Jinks, "what's a suitably important civic position that's not the major?"
"Master of coin or Financier." Jinks sighs, rubbing his eyes. "Small council chief if you don't have a head for moneeey," he adds, looking past the mayor at the other, less-reptilian-looking third of the vouivre. "High temple priestess."
The fancy gnome sucks at his teeth as he listens to the bickering and tilts his head. "You need an advisor," he advises the mayor. "An aide or guide; someone familiar with the day-to-day administration of a town." He can only shrug at Zofija and aside that he'll explain later. "Someone to make sure this thing has more than whimsy to get it off the ground-- and keep you out of trouble in the long run."
Aryia has been silent, arms crossed and brows furrowed as she listens, bristling some at the mention of property and slaves. A slime. Has she fought one? Maybe.
"You're making me not like you," she gestures in warning. "I agree with him. You need an advisor." To cull your stupid fucking ideas, she doesn't add. <Hand speech/Tongues>
"I have absolutely no clue what's going on." Zofija grunts, folding her arms in front of her and scowling at the 'elected officials'. "But I'm running out of reasons why I feel like I should help out here. Prison's a good way to keep people out of trouble too, you know."
She was having the most... interesting dream.
Daring...
Romance...
Sweets....
Then it got weird. Too weird, in ways Jozi's subconscious fancies don't tend to favor.
Several other souls at the temple having blearily mentioned certain shared elements, she decided to venture out to investigate the matter further.
In time, the trail lead here, astride a rental, to crest a hill not far from the vardo.
Night tuned eyes catch the gathering and, bow hanging on the saddlehorn in case things get lively en route, she calls, "Hello, there!"
"Oh I could be a priestess!" The second woman claps her hands together.
"No. No priestesses. It's all secular. It has to be since conversion doesn't count even if they voluntarily do it to avoid getting their head cut off." The mayor seems firm on that point.
"Well no one daydreams about being a money exchanger."
"You would get to see all the money, and you could advise. You could meet all the travelling merchants, throw stimulating dinners."
"Okay! That sounds great!" The second woman stares at Aryia for a moment, then shakes her head at Zofija, sighing, "Goldfish. Okay, I am Advisor Yolo, you're in the town of Ashenstuff, and there's a bunch of flesh monsters for you to kill before the townsfolk can return."
"Excellent summation!"
"Thank you Mayor Rezti!"
The giant swiftclaw makes a noise, one that sounds like passing gas, trumpeting Jozi's arrival though possibly editorializing the conversation.
"Ashenvale," corrects the bard as he offers a Look. Fancy boots crunch on the gravel as he steps back and half-turns to consider Jozi. Another unknown variable. Solid-black eyes glance askance at the vouivre. "I think we've enough for now. We'll look into your ooze problem and discuss fleshing out your administration further when we return.
"Your monarch-triumverate would be short-lived, I'm afraid..." He considers the two in the wagon and their flatulent third head before giving a shrug and heading off towards the source of the problem.
"And stop invading people's dreams..!" He adds over his shoulder.
The swiftclaw stares at the gnome, oddly malevolent and pathetic at the same time. There's an intelligence there, one that recognizes and dislikes the little man, but is also tamed by being yoked the wagon. It snorts, a slightly different expulsion and does nothing else.
"Ashenvale, right! We should put up a sign." Mayor Retzi says happily, waving down the road, "Just go anywhere, it's all over."
"And watch out for snakes." Advisor Yolo advises.
Aryia rolls her eyes. She's not one to have a lot of patience, and it's only reigned in by the dandy keeping his cool. The mul glances over at seeing the newcomer, her sharing a look with Jinks before shaking her head. No vouivre.
She jabs a thumb towards jinks about invading dreams before beckoning to Jozi to come along.
Continuing to close to the group, the half orc squints as she enters the boundary of her racial nightvision and recognizes, "Aryia!" There's a quick wave, then, "Dreams got you out here, too, sugar?"
She frowns a little in consternation as her horse gets a bit jittery, leaning forward to stroke the beasts's neck with a gentle, "Easy, boy, it's alright...."
A survey of the.... crew, the wagon, then, "What's up?"
"Memory of a goldfish, right. You cast some spell to compel the entirety of the adventurer's guild here to a town that you showed up on and I'm assuming you want to take over, after being driven out of your last place, where you kept slaves or undead, not sure which, or maybe both. And for some reason this place is supposed to be filled with slime creatures you tried to burn down but failed, and you want us to clear them out for you, for the promise of gold you're probably lying about the existence of."
"Right. Where the fuck do I sign up?" The arvek-nar shrugs.
The horses do not like the large swiftclaw at the front of the Vardo. Horses generally don't, but this one is an exceptionally dangerous seeming one. It has some glares to share.
At the other end of the travelling town hall, the mayor and her advisor are all smiles and encroaching personal space. Big, hypnotic smiles. They also nod a lot. "Oh there's treasure, lots of gold. My financial advisor confirms it."
"Yes! Lots of gold! In the tunnels. You'll find it when you clear them out."
"And it's not for -US-," Retzi touches her chest, "You're saving the hearths and mines of all the displaced peoples."
She gestures, "So it's right down the road, just anywhere."
That aspect is accurate. There's a road, and charred landscape, and everywhere one might look are piles of charcoal intermixed with what seems to be human sized lumps of flesh, hacked from some immense, indistinguishable being.
Slaves.
Jozi straightens a little bit in the saddle at that word, considering the souls in the wagon sidelong.
And Undead.
Capital.
She brings her horse up alongside those familiar to her, greeting them, known and not, with a blanket, "Howdy."
Meanwhile, she starts noting details.... for later, and starts to affix her razored gloves.
However, since she got here late, and isn't properly prepared, she inquires of the adventurers, "What's the plan?"
Aryia gives Jozi a perplexed look. She knew the mul's name? It took some seconds of blank staring before she stands upright and her ears flick once. Ah, she remembers! She gives a little wave from the hip. Jozi was one of the few not being a prick to Aryia during that excursion.
The mayor is given a side glance. Gold? She didn't give a shit, she just wanted resume sleeping in the warm bed with her significant other.
"Can't punch this problem, I don't think, guess we have to check out this weird slime shit," she gestures while walking. <Hand speech/Tongues>
The mayor and her assistant lean out of the back of the Vardo to watch the adventurers head down the road. Once they're too far long to remain visible, the pair move to the side window, and then the front. Both come out to sit on the front-board and watch.
The vehicle remains in place, the Swiftclaw continues to stand there, and also watch.
The adventurers are the only thing in motion. The charred remains of trees and shrubs get close to the road, as do the drifts of ashes and lumps of flesh. Those look more like diseased beef-jerky than anything else. As the sun rises, a few spots seem to glisten. Here and there are spots of blood.
In the distance there's a squawk. A carrion bird takes frantic flight. It is barely aloft when a nearby mound convulses, a spear of bone shoots through the bird and it crashes to the ground. A lumpy piece of nearby terrain shifts towards the impact point.
"Definitely holding my breath for the piles and piles of gold," chirps Jinks in a way that makes it clear he's not holding his breath. The gnome stops a few feet down the road and turns to make sure he's not walking it alone. He's produced a decagonal platinum piece that clatters as it tumbles over the back of his fingers and clacks against his many rings.
There's a humorless smile and another shrug for Zofi's benefit. Then he lifts his eyebrows and nods up at the mounted half-orc. "An ooze-- maybe many oozes-- needs killing so refugees can return to their homes..." He scans the charred ruins and adds: "which need to be rebuilt."
The platinum piece is presently palmed and the loose fist holding it is hummed into. When the bard opens his hand the coin is replaced by four pastel tadpoles that swim out to bob lazily and illuminate the space around him. Once everyone's assembled he turns and moves on, expositing along the way.
"She/they is/are a vouivre. A mutant of the species, in fact. If anyone enjoys poor odds, I'm also happy to bet the egg containing her sister's death-offspring is hidden in the wagon, too." There's a brief pause as the gnome enjoys his macabre humor and glances about for takers. "They're a reptilian creature with no small amount of arcane talent and an affinity for all things ophidian.
"This particular one (and her sister) had allied with a despot calling herself the Witch Queen and enslaved a local tribe of kobolds at Sunken Hope. It seems now that the 'Witch Queen' (not Altima reborn) has fallen, this one is looking to turn over a new leaf.
"They're also mad as a huffing hatter with a belly full of brightly-colored mushrooms under a fullmoon after drinking a barrel of faerie piss." He shrugs. "So you can expect a fool's errand--"
Then the mound of decaying sludge shoots a bird out of the sky.
"... or not."
<OOC> Ashes says, "Roll perceptions. An Epic Fail is the only thing you need to worry about" GAME: Aryia rolls perception: (4)+30: 34 GAME: Jozi rolls perception: (14)+9: 23 GAME: Jinks rolls Perception: (4)+24: 28 GAME: Zofija rolls perception: (3)+4: 7 GAME: Williwaw rolls perception: (7)+-5: 2
Jozi continues to contemplate the greater scope for later, even as she affords Aryia a small smile, "Been an age, girl. Been doin alright fer yerself I see."
There's a blink at the oddly clear sign, "Well, now, that'll make things lots easier."
Once they've opened some distance, and the gnome has elaborated on the situation, she nods to him, a slightly wan smile thrown his way as she nods before she glances back over her shoulder a moment, taking all the details in, they're definitely be important.
"That's plenty mad, sugar, that's fer-!"
Then the bird gets loogied on the wing and her teeth almost audibly clack together.
"Huh." a shrug, then, "I'm Jozi, by the way, nice ta meetcha all."
Aryia stares at Jinks. Her eye twitches. "... it better be a new leaf. Because I will rip their fucking heart out if it's otherwise. Tired of dealing with vouivres. And Seyardu isn't here to stop me," she gestures sharply in no small amount of hidden annoyance.
She huffs, then gives a sharp nod towards Jozi. "Yes, it has been a while," she motions, her gesticulations understood, at least the gist of them. "I am well. Tired, but well." <Handspeech/Tongues>
She almost whips around fully at the bone spear flying out, her blinking behind her shades. "... w-ll sh-t..." she hisses in bewilderment.
"And how are people supposed to come back here with those people around?" Zofija grunts, shaking her head. "If anything, keeping some killer slimes a round would convince people to not show up and end up under their thumb. You know, if we aren't doing anything about them."
"I just don't see anything good coming from this." The arvek-nar sighs. "Sure doesn't sound like they've turned over a new leaf to me. And my name's Zofija, nice to meet you I guess."
GAME: Jinks casts Dancing Lights. Caster Level: 14 DC: 18
The fallen vulture is no longer visible, buried in dust and whatever surged nearby. It's quiet. There are no buzzing bugs, no birds sang, the landscape is barren and empty, even the wind has few things to rustle. There are only lumps.
Ahead, a cluster of torched structures suggests the centre of town, in between, the road is obstructed by flaps of flesh, looking all the world like uncooked, rancid bacon, strips of red meat interspersed with pustulent fat.
The closer to town, the closer the lumps of flesh get to the road, until there is a point where the road is obstructed. With the piles of soot and charcoal, it's difficult to tell where the edges are.
If there are edges.
This is... definitely something else. Jozi really hasn't got any other words for it.
She frowns, sweeping her eyes along the rolling expanses of bacon, trying not to imagine the horror show this town must have died under.
Figuring here is close enough, she draws rein with a soft, "Easy, boy..." before slipping down out of the stirrups, taking up her bow, just in case.
Mother, show us the way..." she murmurs skyward. <yrch-speak>
Then, "I keep hearing about this fireball spell..." she offers, trying to lighten the mood. Her own, if no one else's.
GAME: Jinks rolls 1d4+4: (3)+4: 7 GAME: Jinks casts Alter Self. Caster Level: 14 DC: 20 GAME: Jinks casts Mirror Image. Caster Level: 14 DC: 21
"... hah," Jinks barks a little laugh at himself as he realizes, "I didn't bring my bow." A pause. "Mulria's sideways smile."
The fancy man hangs back a moment and sings a stacatto, rapidfire verse in his gnative Gnomish, humming a a couple of bars, and then finishing the song in a tumbling, gutteral Gobber-talk. He's pink-skinned now, freckled in white with floppy, dangling ears, and crystal-blue eyes. Definitely a goblin.
The next song is a round of "Too many gremlins" repeated and tripping over itself as more and more voices join the refrain. Soon, there are seven of the pink goblins, walking around, into, and through each other as Jinks starts walking towards the center of town.
"Fire won't work, keep that in mind." He draws a jeweled rod out from under his coat and begins to twirl it idly as he goes. "... watch your step and stay in each other's sightlines."
Aryia rubs her neck, her looking out and about as Jinks casts his magic. "If someone throws a fireball as my wakeup coffee, I'm punching the nearest fire flinger," she motions towards Jozi before-
She blinks at Jinks. Gobbo Jinks. Jobbo? Ginks? She's reminded of a time she was a kobold. A shudder goes through her.
She nods at the reminder, her following Ginks (Jobbo?) as she too agrees with this course of action: going towards center of town. <Handspeech/Tongues>
Fire's out. Got it.
Jozi looks skeptically at her beweaponed hands a moment, then, "I've got two holy waters an a couple bottles of acid. I ain't sure what else I got that'd work on..."
A glance to the porkbelly plains, "All that."
The lumps at the side of the road quiver as the gobbo squad walks ahead.
Aryia plods along, half tense, half relaxed. A nod is given towards Jozi at the information, but something seems to be reacting to.. Goblinks.
She goes with her gut feeling, rolls her shoulders, and twists her neck.
>Crack<
Sensation dulls across her skin as she ambles closer to the party.
Zofija stops, and blinks, taking her hammer and getting ready when Aryia seems somewhat on edge. "Alright, keep an eye out, everyone. Watch your flanks, in case it's shooting any more of those spikes at us." The arvek-nar grunts.
<OOC> Jinks says, "Move for Inspire Courage (+3), Standard for Haste on the group." <OOC> Jinks says, "Rod to slow on 30' diameter of sludgery, up to 14 targets in that area." GAME: Jinks spends ONE use of BARDIC PERFORMANCE. <OOC> Jinks says, "Transmutation, not Mind-Affecting, so should work. Will save." GAME: Jinks casts Haste. Caster Level: 14 DC: 21 GAME: Jinks casts Slow. Caster Level: 14 DC: 21 GAME: Ashes rolls 1d20-4: (5)+-4: 1 (Will Save - Fail) <OOC> Jinks says, "+4 to hit, +3 to weapon damage, +3 to saves against Charm and Fear, +1 to dodge AC, and +1 to Reflex saves." <OOC> Jinks says, "+1 attack on a full attack action."
The assembled Blinkses blink, narrow their eyes, step back alarmed, point, and brandish the rod like a bludgeon when one of the piles begins to move his direction.
One collects himself and begins to sing, drawing out the Hymn and bolstering the assembled group with a bellowed Draconic chant the Dragonieri would roar as they dove into combat.
Another waves his fingers through the air, twirling one around a gossamer thread and tapping out and increased rhythm. The drooping line pulls taught between the party and glitters, slowing the world.
A third points his bludgeon-rod, the bejeweled item fingered to quietly clack a slowing syncopated counterpoint to the pink goblin's spell. The animated sludge seems to slow in its sliding progress.
A quartet of the images quietly clap their approval.
Her options are somewhat depressingly few, but Jozi's committed and there's no point sulking or carrying on about it. For now, until there's a more clear indication of what would be most effective, she reaches across and draws her warhammer from the frogs on her belt, but doesn't let go of the bow just yet.
She shivers a little at the infusion of magic, and glances about their flanks for signs of ambush.
The nearby crust of soot cracks as whatever beneath it moves. A lump that was off to the side of the road shifts, bulging upwards. It's all one creature, the size of a flayed horse, a knot of muscle that slowly clenches and lurches towards the cadre of gobbos.
It leaks, small rivulets of blood running down the sides, leaving a sticky trail, turning the ash into mud.
<OOC> Aryia will get into monkey style as a swift action, then step forward and do what she does: punch GAME: Aryia rolls punch+4: aliased to weapon0+2+4: (16)+21+2+4: 43 GAME: Aryia rolls punch+4: aliased to weapon0+2+4: (6)+21+2+4: 33 GAME: Aryia rolls punch+4: aliased to weapon0+2+4: (1)+21+2+4: 28 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Aryia rolls punch+4: aliased to weapon0+2+4: (7)+21+2+4: 34 GAME: Aryia rolls punch+4-5: aliased to weapon0+2+4-5: (8)+21+2+4+-5: 30 GAME: Aryia rolls punch+4-10: aliased to weapon0+2+4-10: (12)+21+2+4+-10: 29 <OOC> Aryia says, "bludngeoning, lawful magic cold iron silver" GAME: Aryia rolls crunch+3: aliased to 2d10+strength+2+3: (4)+3+2+3: 12 GAME: Aryia rolls crunch+3: aliased to 2d10+strength+2+3: (11)+3+2+3: 19 GAME: Aryia rolls crunch+3: aliased to 2d10+strength+2+3: (12)+3+2+3: 20 GAME: Aryia rolls crunch+3: aliased to 2d10+strength+2+3: (15)+3+2+3: 23 GAME: Aryia rolls crunch+3: aliased to 2d10+strength+2+3: (10)+3+2+3: 18 GAME: Aryia rolls fortitude: (2)+18: 20 (vs DC13 - Success) GAME: Aryia rolls fortitude: (12)+18: 30 (vs DC13 - Success) GAME: Aryia rolls fortitude: (16)+18: 34 (vs DC13 - Success) GAME: Aryia rolls fortitude: (3)+18: 21 (vs DC13 - Success) GAME: Aryia rolls fortitude: (6)+18: 24 (vs DC13 - Success) <OOC> Ashes says, "you're covered in blood and pus."
It seems like the mute's hunch was right, as familiar hymn-infused lyrical miracles course through her. A glance down to him as he and his copies begin an ensemble and crowd. There's a mutual understanding, her nodding towards Jinks as he fuels her, and the-
... what the fuck is that thing. She shakes her head, hunkers down, then darts past the muse as fists fly in a hail of explosive light. Wet slaps of meat and sinew come from her as she's covered in blood and gross. Not the first time she's been like this. Not the last either.
It is an ambush. A slow moving ambush. There are lumps everywhere, the sudden explosion of one has stirred the nearby countryside.
The particular piece wasn't that hard to kill, but there are acres of them. Square miles.
<OOC> Ashes says, "you'll have to go find another, but there is one within 30'" <OOC> Aryia says, "you have haste and +4 to hit, +3 damage" <OOC> Zofija says, "Right, okay I guess I'll go to the one within 30 feet" GAME: Zofija rolls 1d20+8+1+1+4-2: (4)+8+1+1+4+-2: 16 GAME: Zofija rolls 2d6+6+6+4: (9)+6+6+4: 25 <OOC> Ashes says, "that hurts but does not kill it, you are splattered with blood, make the pose"
Well, some of the creatures made themselves known, and Aryia made it known that they could be killed at least. The arvek-nar hefts her hammer and charges one of the nearby creatures, smashing into it with the weapon and earning a splatter of blood for their troubles.
<OOC> Jinks says, "I can move 60' and slap down a 15' cone of sonic damage." <OOC> Jinks says, "Is there anyway I can hit more than one ooze or are they too spread out?" <OOC> Ashes says, "you can hit 2 of them, yes." <OOC> Jinks says, "Alright, concentration check to cast defensively." GAME: Jinks rolls 1d20+14: (3)+14: 17 <OOC> Jinks says, "Maintain song as a freebie, done."
The floppy-eared goblin flinches back as Aryia reduces one of the rotten meat lumps to an unpleasant, splashy pulp. There's a chorus of gags and burps coming from the assembled pink nonet. They watch Zofija run off as the masses all tumble closer.
Then they're off!
Running, summersaulting, jumping, cartwheeling, cavorting, and skipping, they move forward in a rough V-shape before vaulting into the air. They all land as a singular form, stuttering a trailed after-image of self as a clawed, long-fingered hand slaps down and... nothing happens. Eight faces turn back to the ninth who'd flinched out of the way and given a squeal when he expected one of the bonespurs to shoot out.
Half the illusions begin bickering amongst themselves.
<OOC> Jozi says, "sorry ok, swift judgement: purity(aahhhhh!) +1 on my saves until the end of combat," <OOC> Jozi says, "move to a blob, and hit it with the hammer" GAME: Jozi rolls weapon3+4: (8)+7+4: 19 GAME: Jozi rolls 1d8+4+4: (6)+4+4: 14 <OOC> Jinks says, "+3 to hit from song, +1 to hit from Haste. +3 to damage from Song, +0 to damage from Haste." <OOC> Ashes nods, "Hurts, doesn't kill it Jozi, make the pose. You get blood splattered <OOC> Jozi says, "do i need a save?" <OOC> Ashes says, "no, not this time"
With the sudden increase in movement, Jozi narrows her eyes, selecting a target as Aryia... demolishes one, and Zofija moves to lay into her own. The half orc's hues brighten just a moment in the dark night(or was it a trick of the eye?) before she surges forward to put the grim face of her warhammer against a fresh slab of swine slime (swime?), resulting in a bassy, wet slap, but not quite snuffing the creature as she'd hoped.
<OOC> Ashes says, "okay, Jinks, Zofija and Jozi are near enough to one that each is attacked. So in that order." GAME: Ashes rolls 1d20+5: (6)+5: 11 (Flesh on Jinks - Miss) GAME: Ashes rolls 1d20+5: (17)+5: 22 (Flesh on Zofija - Hit) GAME: Ashes rolls 1d20+5: (7)+5: 12 (Flesh on Jozi - Miss) GAME: Ashes rolls 1d20+11: (11)+11: 22 (Flesh CMB Grab - Success) <OOC> Ashes says, "grappled. Roll a Fort DC13 save please Zofija" GAME: Zofija rolls fortitude: (17)+7: 24 <OOC> Ashes says, "oh, and a second time please Zofija, DC17" GAME: Ashes rolls 2d6+8: (9)+8: 17 GAME: Flesh damaged Zofija for 17 points. 20 HP remaining.
The soot shifts, cracks forming as the flesh monstrosities move. They creak, like dried jerky, and leak like diseased scabs. All around the countryside is awakening, bubbling.
Three of them are close enough to strike. After halberd and hammer have struck, a ripple runs through the lump. A bone spear explodes outwards at Jozi, missing.
Another, aimed at Zofija, strikes the Arvec Nar then stays embedded. She can feel a building pressure around the point as if it's expanding, the pain of tearing flesh. The weight of it moving towards her.
Jinks is unscathed, a bone spear missing him. Just barely, illusions did not keep him safe, only the ineptitude of his attacker.
The Flesh is recovering where it was struck.
Which makes the situation clearer. These can be destroyed, but it's messy work. The oozing flesh is slow moving, dangerous, and almost anything reconstitutes it. One or two wouldn't be difficult. Dozens wouldn't even challenge Aryia.
It's covering acres.
That's going to be a lot of swinging.
Combatty
------------------------------------------------------------------------------ | Name | Race | Class | CHP | HP | AC/FF/T |CMD |For |Ref |Wil | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ |Aryia |SHADOW_ELF|Mnk | 140 | 165 |30/24/29 | 47 | 18 | 20 | 17 | |Jinks |GNOME |Bard | 88 | 88 |25/21/15 | 25 | 8 | 15 | 11 | |Jozi |HALF-ORC |Ftr/Inq | 23 | 23 |19/17/12 | 20 | 6 | 3 | 5 | |Zofija |HOBGOBLIN |Cav | 21 | 37 |16/14/12 | 20 | 7 | 3 | 2 | ------------------------------------------------------------------------------