PrP: Not For Licking
Log Info
- Title: Not For Licking
- Emitter: Yokai
- Characters:
- Place: Redridge Mountains - Wellwish Shrine
- Time: Feb 17, 2017
- Summary: A remote temple of Rada far up the coast has requested the aid of some stalwart warriors in recovering the fallen shrine of Wellwish, a once-popular point of worship for those travelling the trecherous passe between two rocky cliffs somewhere on the reaches of the Redridge Mountains, lost long ago. Why it's become important to them now is anyone's guess.
- Signed up: Aodh (Brg2)* Amythyst (Sor4)* Malorn (Mnk4)* Zant (Mnk4)* Alosia (Rog2)* Nicolai (Clr5)*
- APL: 4
- Encounter 1: 4 Boggard (CR 5)
- Encounter 1: 2 Troll Skeleton (CR 3 each)
DM:
Another day, another cry for help.
When our group arrives at the Adventurer's Guild, they are informed that those that had posted the job have disappeared, leaving them only with the suggestion that they have returned to the Shrine detailed in the original plea; Wellwish Shrine, away in the north-eastern passe through the Redridge Mountains, where the coast meets the inland swells and trade once thrived.
The proprietor has no further information, no matter how he might be pressed. "They were here, now they ain't. I dunno what t'tell ya." He offered, ever so helpfully, to just about any line of questioning presented. "Said somethin' 'bout the sea birds or somethin', then buggered off in a hurry. My guess is it's some ... priest... thing. I'm tellin' ya, best bets're that they gone back where they come from."
And that's that.
Rations are available, the typical fare of a horse, cart and a man to drive it for guild use, open to those that represent the guild's business, and those that travel with them. The old man that sits awaiting those departing for the canyon pass at least seems aware of the place, and how to get there, and without prompting begins a conversation with anyone near enough to hear, whether they listen or not.
"Eyyyeeup! Why, I was around back when that shrine were bloomin' like spring blossoms, I was! Right smack in the middle of a delta, thought to myself, 'Gibbins', that's what they call me -- Gibbins -- 'Gibbins, that swamp'll swallow them poor folk whole!'," He continues to rant, even as the cart is loaded up and people are ushered onboard, or directed to follow should they have their own prefered mode of transportation. "But, y'know what? Ain't never did!" Didn't even give people a chance to guess! "Made that damn place into some fine oasis, er a lagoon, er somethin' like that. Beautiful, back when... probably what made me follow Rada. Just ... watchin' the water, hearin' the boys that came in on the tradin' ships, laughin' like the day had no troubles atall. Was that place, y'know... then..." He trails off.
"Well, don't you never mind this old man and his muddled recollections, ey? Ah-haha! Eehh... heh..." He sniffs softly, his shoulders rolling back in a shrug made lazy by age-stiffened joints. "Let's be off, chums... no time to waste!"
He's open for questions, if you can manage to wedge them into the conversation he's very loudly having with himself about the fruit he used to be able to get from the docks out there, conveniently hand-waving or 'mishearing' much of what's put forth.
"Were you a fisherman too?" Amythyst says to the driver as he sets off. "I was kinda born on a boat. Mom said I learned to swim before I could walk." she says with a laugh. "Fishing is relaxing and fun...."
Malorn is sitting cross legged in the back of the wagon and he has his eyes close as he listens to the man tell them what he knows about the shrine and what they will be doing what they get there. It doesn't seem like a lot, but he has some questions anyway. He opens his eyes and speaks, "Have you noticed anything strange around the shrine or any people that might be out of place? I'm sure everyone's welcome at this shrine, but sometimes you just get a feeling about someone. Like they are out of place."
Aodh sits on the cart. He sits in the middle, just so that he doesn't break it with his weight - due to mostly being made out of metals and being a decently sized Golem. It appears that the figure is in a mild state of tinkering or self-repair, as he currently has a wrench plucked in on his knee joint. He stares at it as he wriggles it back and forwards, with a soul-hurting 'reek' screech. It is then that the Golem daintily picks up a small oil canister, raising its pinky digit up as if sipping from a teacup... Then proceeds to oil the joint. The conversation is listened to, but apparently Aodh has picked up on the fact that the cart-driver is more of a 'talker', than a 'conversationalist'.
He continues working the wrench around on his knee, the horrific screeching now a far more pleasant working of the joint. The Golem takes a look around for a moment, then proceeds to take a 'drink' from the spout of the oil-can - then as swiftly as that's done, he's gently oiling around the knee again. Nope. Nothing to see here.
Nicolai eyes the cart dubiously and then chooses to hike alongside instead of riding it. He uses his glaive like a walking stick. "Wait, is 'sea-birds' what they call fish? And they're big enough to swallow a man whole...? I have to say in all my travels I still find myself coming across new and different creatures.
Alosia is mostly just hanging back in the wagon and keeping to herself. The half-elf looking aruond while she sits there, and just observing the group while she swings her legs from the edge of the wagon. Her eyes glancing over each and every person as they ask questions ore sit to themselves just as she has. She sniffs slightly, wiping at her nose, before she pulls a dagger from somewhere in her vest and begins to sharpen it idly.
And then there's Zant. Standing at the front of the cart, where the thing extends upwards to seperate the cargo space from the driver's seating -- balancing precariously on that entirely-not-wide-enough footspace, with his arms crossed loosely along his abdomen and scarf whipping idly behind him with the wind. Even with the thick fur coat he's wearing, he's... still shivering. The tanned skin probably hints to the fact that he is not at all used to cold, really. He stays quiet for the time being, too. Just waiting. And occasionally nodding his head along to the old man's story, in case he looks to see if he's listening. He really is, though!
DM:
The path is a fairly scenic affair, taking the group close to the coastal regions where the beaches turn bright and the storms all seem distant, chopping the deeper waters still visible on the horizon by virtue of their white caps and the brilliant sunlight that finds them from some gracious beyond. The air is fresh and clean, a spring-cooled mist that comes dancing off the tides, kissed with the fragrance of blossoms not usually spied by the inlander city folk; it's almost like citrus, yet curiously floral.
"You bet, miss! Many a year spent on splintered decks tossed in the brine! No life like it, they say." He smiles a gap-toothed smile to Amythyst, before Malorn asks, "Ain't nobody been here in an age, doubt really anyone 'fits' anymore..." He seems genuinely saddened by that realization.
It's a while before the path shows a lack of use as gangly willows with wilted limbs come into view, the heavenly skies that had so willingly welcomed the party mere hours before lost to the haze of scum made humid and drifting, oozing from betwixt the rotting trunks that bend in unnatural angles out and away from the path that once promised safe harbour.
"... and then he said to me, he said, 'Gibbins', that's what they called me ... Gibbins..." He reminds, "... 'Gibbins, I don't think we should stay here no more.' Now, I was inclined to agree, what with the..." Sniff. Sniff sniff.
Hrp! Hrrgh...
There is a stench that comes when the slick stickiness of the swamp encroaches on the now-muddied path, like rotted eggs and a well-defined natural rot common in places like these, with the tang of something you just can't quite put your finger on.
"Hooooooeee! Which one'a ya's makin' that Gods-awful stench?!" His story is mercifully interrupted, his head turning to stare with bared accusation toward those that have so bravely come to offer aid, the usually-wrinkled skin above his nose somehow managing to wrinkle more, his upper lip lifted like a cat that's been sniffing a particularly foul sock. "Blast it all, I told'm to stop puttin' them beans in the packs! Don't do nobody any good!"
It's about this time, with his body twisted to scold those in the wagon like a mother threatening children on a roadtrip, that the wheel of the wagon plows into a large rock in the middle of the path, jarring the entire thing into an abrupt stop as the hitching is wrenched free and grinds through the muck.
Thankfully, just up the way, through the simmering, seething fog -- which may, in actuality, be just a giant swarm of bogflies -- that the once-beautiful Wellspring Shrine stands, half-swallowed up by the land's reclaimation.
Upon really settling eyes upon the shrine, the old man is struck dumb by the sight of the utter disrepair, clouded blue eyes welling up with tears defiantly kept from falling by the vague tilt of his chin as his jaw sets forward. "Aw, hells... what they done to ya? I... I can't go with you all, I can't... it's just too much..." A shaking hand raises a dirty sleeve to blot at his eyes, turning to the wagon to crouch down beside it, clinging to the side as his breath is heard wheezing from the makeshift hideaway.
The kind thing would be to leave him be for now.
Amythyst makes a face like she just sniffed a refuse bin herself. "yeah, that's not us." She says as she spots the bogflies. "It looks like the shrine's been attacked." She says tilting Gibbins to the side. "no puking in the wagon."
Malorn oofs as the wagon hits the boulder and gets stuck. He moves to carefully stand up and get off, "Yes it does look like it got attacked, but shall we get the wagon free first incase we need to make a hasty retreat?" He asks as he goes to look under the wagon to see how badly it's hung up.
"WHat attacked it, though?" Zant wonders out loud with a wince. And he does send a sympathetic look down to the old man. He does not reach a hand out to him though, but he does murmur, "It'll be okay... Just go back and make sure you're safe, okay?" to him before he hops down from the wagon. "I guess there's only one way to find out the rest..."
Aodh tumbles out of the cart. One might think this was done with some degree of athletic ability - but the jarring hit of the cart sends the Golem tumbling out just as he was leaning to test his newly tweaked knee-joint, and he goes splashing through the muck in a forwards roll more reminiscent of a boulder than anything else. He comes to a stop, and he begins to haul himself up and onto his feet. A buzzing noise eminates from the Golem as he picks himself up, making a half-hearted attempt to wipe some of the muck from his torso - but gives up when he ends up just smearing it a bit further around himself.
"Status: Negligable damage. Cleansing required. Notification: Shrine abandoned. Lack of due care. Refer to mission statement. Query: Where are the Priests?" comes the robotic tone of the Golem. As he advances back towards the cart, ignoring the slopping muck that comes off his frame with his loping steps.
Ollithial, bow in hand, keeps watch over the others, but is otherwise quiet as he assesses the situation and tries to come up with some sort of suggestion to help with their ongoing problem. Glancing aside at Aodh, he says, "Think of the mess like camouflage."
DM:
The Shrine has, in fact, not been attacked. It has been left to disrepair, and may have fallen victim to something more nefarious.
Only time will tell!
The old man is sobbing, distraught by what he has seen of a place that gave him his faith, and kept him from harm in years that may, by now, be merely an obscure and hazy memory he only truly knows in dreams. The comment about puking only gets a tear-stung glare thrown toward Amythyst before a deep sniff is given in retort. With that, he's already hobbling toward the axel to resecure what's been undone by the jarring impact, muttering to himself about heartless this or defiling that.
What was once a grand entrance into this shrine is covered over by ivy and moss, hanging low and spun with dewy tendrils of webbing that may or may not be too old to suggest occupation by the arachnoid fauna that is known to live in this area. The waters, once pristine and vibrant, have been polluted by time and the grime that comes with whatever it is that has settled into this place, the lilypads and waterbred blooms wilted and rotting at the brink of reeking muck and slime that clings to elaborately carved waystones at the periphery of carefully laid path.
At the question from the war golem, a hint is provided if the adventurers are keen of observation!
That is: There's screaming from inside.
Panicked, horrible screaming.
They might miss it.
Nicolai pats 'Gibbin' - Nicolai is still not sure if he's understanding the man's speeck - akwardly on the shoulder. "There there. Well before you get to the cleaning, let us handle the...ah, killing. Or healing," he adds quickly, tone suddenly virtuous. Then he heads for the shrine, loosening his shortsword in it's scabbard. "Shall we?" he calls back to the rest of the party without quite looking.
Alosia winces at the screams that echo from the shrine, and she frowns faintly. "Well, this doesn't seem to be too inviting now does it," she asks the group, at a rather deadpan. Her eyes traveling over the once great shrine that seriously needs a maid. "So.. I guess... we go in then? To the screaming, run down, smelly, scary shrine? That's the plan?"
"I guess it's not so mu--" Zant starts saying, but then the scream echoes out over from within the ruins, and his eyes snap wide open. "Oh," he sounds out, and--
Apparently Zant is not a huge fan of waiting in a situation like this. He immediately sets himself into forward motion, but thankfully for all involved, he merely jogs rather than speeding along at the speed of sound like monks are wont to do, and he even waves his hand behind himself to gesture for the others to follow. "We have to go!"
That's apparently his plan.
Malorn looks over at the shrine as he hears the scream, "Let's hurry someone might be in danger." He say as he starts to carefully pick his way towards the shrine trying to avoid the worse of the swamp.
Aodh looks off towards Alosia - and gives a firm nod at that statement, perhaps the muck will help him blend in. Then the screaming starts, and the Golem's posture and manner shifts completely. He begins a rather rapid advance, his boot-like feet squelching in the muck and stamping across old stone pathways in his advance towards the Shrine proper. His monotone voice comes out at a louder level of volume than prior.
"Observation: Trouble. Objective: Investigate. Eliminate threats. Operation: Shrine-Cleanse, initiate." Apparently that is the culmination of the Golem's plans - as he ensures that he keeps up pace with the rest of them - even if he occasionally has to yank one foot out of the muck when his weight goes against him.
Hearing the scream, Ollithial looks to the others and then starts off toward the temple at a good clip, but not an all-out run. "Eyes open, might be an ambush. Might be ghosts. Who knows?" he says, and stares at the way ahead, his bow held up and at the entrance to the temple.
Amythyst is actually right behind Zant...generally speaking. Zant is a lot faster than her, on land anyways....
Alosia lets out a long, drawn out sigh of someone who is super used to going along with those who would rather charge head on into a problem when they would rather take a moment and figure out what's going on. Reaching into her tunic and grabbing her two axes, the half-elf continues with the group. With the notable exception that she is at least /trying/ to be sneaky about it.
DM:
The screaming grows louder the closer the party gets to the yawning maw of the Wellwish Shrine, and whatever their plan may be, it appears that whatever is within has its own.
The cavernous interior echoes the strangled cries, the sounds of weapons grating on stone floors or walls as fighting ensues somewhere within, suggesting that they are not yet defeated, and hope still remains. That said, the screaming approaches with rapacity as the first two make their way inside, having to traipse down a shallow-stepped stairway that is flanked on either side by broad circular 'windows' that would have once stared out into the clarity of the waters that surrounded it once upon a time.
Now, there is muck. Slime, and muck.
Footfalls approach with that screaming, and a robed fellow comes barrelling up the stairs flailing with one arm as though to feel for the wall for guidance, his face pretty well missing, as though it'd been pried off, or eaten, or very possibly both. "How unkind the tides!" He bellows, stagger-charging past, either unable to witness the adventurers, or too consumed by his anguish to stop as he smacks into the wall, leaving a fair face-sized imprint of blood and bits of skin as he peels back, gasping in a great shuddering breath before his screaming begins anew as he simply drops to the steps, mindlessly feeling at where his face once was.
Deeper in, the fighting continues.
"Eidhein! Come back!" A voice calls, the echoing causing it to sound as though it were coming from numerous directions at once, pooling within the acoustic resevoir of the main chamber that they were already approaching. The robed fellow, for his part, is crawling his way bloody-handed up the stairs, apparently abandoning the rest in his all-consuming horror.
Malorn looks around as he carefully enters the shine and he recoils a bit as he sees the man is missing his face. He winces as the man runs into the wall, "Hold up. We are here to help. Stay still while we have our cleric help you." He says as he moves over to the man and kneels down beside him. Malorn looks up as he hears the voice coming from the main chamber, "Be on guard. Whatever did this to this man is still here."
Aodh has no time for those that are alive and getting away from the fight, apparently. The maimed robed man is permitted to continue in his escape - perhaps Gibbins can deal with that one - and the Golem takes the stairs down the way, following the route of the escaping Priest in the opposite manner - charging towards danger, rather than running away from it. "Operation: Shrine-Cleanse. Continue. Deploy."
From the Golem's right hand, a spiked chain rapidly deploys from it's palm, and he reaches out with his other hand to grasp the chain, testing the weighted sharp point before he begins to whirl it in a constant circular motion, giving it momentum as he gives a short hop to clear the rest of the stairs.
When the spell is cast on his bow, it glows for that fierce moment and Ollithial gives it a firm nod. He stares in to the temple then, and looks at the others, and continues to follow, bow at the ready. "Should we call out, try to get anyone inside to come toward us, so we can get them behind us and protect them?" he questions, taking a position at the back of the group, so he has cover.
Alosia blinks as she sees someone without a face, and she frowns. "Just charge in they say. Go ahead and rescue, they say," she mutters, still sneaking along the walls of the shrine and being careful not to draw all that much attention to herself.
"Someone's still in trouble over there," Zant points out-- though he's paused at least long enough to allow Nicolai to touch him with MAGIC HANDS. "We can't wait any longer--" He starts insisting, and since the golem is getting the same idea as he is, apparently, he immediately bursts into motion after the construct. He goes fast enough, first, to get right besides him, but then slows himself to match the golem's speed with a call of "I'm with you"
Amythyst puts up a bit of force armor around herself and lags a bit behind...
Nicolai pauses to chant a quick spell of healing over the figure. "Be healed my unfortunate friend. Oh and next time, be sure and tell them 'not the face'." He mumbles the last part quickly, as if even he feels guilty at making light of this man's plight. And then while he has his holy symbol out he casts a few other spells for a few of the party members. "Yes yes, now your bow will strike with the sting of Coyote's teeth. And you, you will have the strength of Tarien's traveling companion, the mighty Athlete." He hurries to catch up with the others advancing to either doom or glory.
DM:
The faceless man continues his sobbing and outbursts of screaming even into Nicolai's impromptu healing settles in and his damage begins to, at the least, stop bleeding. There is still a considerable amount of pain, as one might imagine, but there's a casual dawning that causes the agony-bourne wailing to gurgle down to a groaned moaning as he flops onto the stairs and rolls onto his back, one eye entirely missing and the other wandering in aimless seeking. "Oh.... oh, so cleansing the ... the waters... so cool the gracious rain, thank you... oh, thank you..." He repeats this a few times in a whispering desperation, his teeth seen as he speaks, his lips mostly removed to leave the inner workings of his tendons and stretched and battered muscles to view. Any information is not going to come from him, not as the relief washes over him even in spite of the battle that so clearly still rages below, his mind far even from his friends.
"EIDHEIN!" Another voice shrieks out the man's name, but there is no answer.
When the war golem and Zant burst forward to assist, what they see is ... interesting, to say the least. On the ground, flailing and wriggling about as though with a mind of its own, is a long spongey tongue slapping about in a pool of mingled blood both red and oozy black, an eyeball complete with optic nerve still attached stuck to the surface of it, staring out with a longing that can only come from being unceremoniously torn from its home. Robed figures, much akin to the one they saw before, are armed and standing off against what appears to be a group of morning-star armed... frog... people...?
"Who... who are you?!" All eyes (Yes, even that one) are on the group for a brief moment, "N-nevermind! Help us, please!"
As the toad men are identified, Amythyst shoulders her way past everyone and zaps the closest toad man. "Go on past me guys...."
Readying his bow, Ollithial lets an arrow loose and sends it in to the creature with swift ferocity. His arrow his hard, but fails to kill the thing. He quickly starts to draw another arrow, aiming for the next, hoping the others will finish that first one off.
On the heel of energy blasts and arrows, a figure suddenly appears in front of the frog-man that has come under barrage in a blur of motion, traced behind by the red line of a scarf. And thus, the fur-bundled olive-skinned man that is Zant ends his motion that brought him there in the first place with a just-as-sudden fist launching to the creature, carried through with a spinning turn of his body that brings his fist slamming into the thing's face with the force of a cannonball and heralded with a loud cry of "ORA!"
And as the creature's sent tumbling back and along the floor from the hit, Zant pulls himself back slightly and twists his knees to set himself into something more of an elaborate stance, one fist held up in front of him and the other hand held back just at his chest, open-palmed. "Just get behind us!" He calls out to the men in robes, there. "Quick!"
Alosia continues to mutter, though much more softly as they come into the room and so the weird frog people. Taking a deep breath, and readying her swords, she draws the both of them before she begins to sneak her way around the room. Shaking her head, she focuses on the battle, and sneaks up behind one of the frog people, before stabbing it. Her stab, unfortunately, is more of a poke... that goes through the webbing of a hand...
Malorn goes after the same one that Alosia is going after. He moves right up and hits the frogman right in the fast with his fist. He hurts it as he drops into the panther style of fighting.
Nicolai raises his holy symbol. A glowing short sword appears next to the injured creature...and immediately skewers it through the head. Nicolai rocks back slightly, surprised.
The lights within Aodh's chassis shift in hue, going from a blue to a violent, rather angry red. Armoured plates shift and snap into place as the War Golem advances rapidly towards the first of the Aquamen, primarily the one that has decided to attach its tongue to Zant's frame. The Golem emits a buzzing tone of irritation, however, as it's swing with it's spiked chain does not manage to actually hit - bouncing harmlessly off the ground - whereupon the Golem rapidly brings it back into its grip, swinging it in a violent circle once more.
"Status: Irritation. Proclamation: Hold still."
DM:
As the party begins to unleash their collective zord power upon the unwitting pack of bulbous-eyed frog-men, the sickly green-gold gaze of one of them turns toward our adventurers with a saucer-wide glare filled to the brim with malicious hatred, its neck suddenly bulging out to a degree that makes it appear as though the flesh should simply split apart with the grotesque inflation, tiny slit-nostrils flaring out as that throat-sack quivers in anticipation of release.
Saucy.
In this prime chamber, arched and prepped as it is to carry the intoning chant of priests and monks of Rada, the sound it unleashes is a terrible thing; piercing and thunderous all at once, a croaking reverb that shudders its way through the core of a man and settles in deep.
Slimy, wet flesh can be heard sizzling as the flame from Amythyst bakes the aquatic critter alive, causing it to unleash a sound not unlike a wretched, screeching version of the man that ran into them on the stairway, parchment-light and ashy flakes drifting off and away like embers that fall back down like large, gray-green snowflakes when they meet the ceiling and find they can go no further. A gurgling call comes through its pain, morningstar raising up as its sight is settled upon the offending sorceress, swinging wildly just before an arrow thumps thickly into its meaty bits, causing it to stagger back and turn away defensively ... where its face meets the fist of the scarfed monk, sending it crashing to the ground in a writhing heap.
The words Zant calls out are heeded, and without question. With the grotesque beasties focused on the adventurers, the priests scamper back into the other chamber and up toward the stairway with frantic thanks uttered in passing, until they can be heard clambouring over their recouperating companion.
Similarly as the one that now lay twitching on the floor, the frogman that takes a sword through the delicate webbing of its hand makes a chirped sound that can only be assumed is an utterance of displeasure, its broad mouth creeking open like some bobble-headed Canadian, a gloopy purple-tinged tongue tensing within as that great gaping thing prepares to enact a great reckoning upon that pretty face. It is then unceremoniously punched directly in that yawning gullet, jerking back with a confused gulping -- it's sure it felt something go in there! Now it's hurting AND hungry, and moves as though to menace, firing out a hissing breath that smells like a mix between compost and swamp gas directly in the rogue's face, before a spectral blade rams through the back of its head and jabs out roughly where its tongue would be. It stops just shy of Alosia's face. ... and then it crumples to the ground, where it bleeds that sickly blackened blood on her boots.
This is not going so well for the defiling force.
Giant eyes turn to Zant with his yelling, stealing away from the Frogmen their hopes and dreams of eating the others as they had almost done to Eidhein not too long ago, and it appears that they're fond of the idea of a second act. That sticky tongue fires out, the tip hitting with a nearly gelatinous splat like those sticky hands many might remember from childhood (if they're old and sad), schlooping about his torso and shoulder in idle constriction. With him held so very still, it's a wonder that the morningstar of the second goes whipping past, bouncing off some unseen armour, bringing forth a chirping of confusion that will soon turn to efforts renewed.
With Zant stuck to the floor, Amythyst tries to keep her head on her shoulder. She snaps her fingers and flings two orbs at the frogman attacking Zant. While both hit the frog man, they don't seem to hit him very hard.
DM:
From deeper within the Shrine, a thundering, foundation-shaking thumping is heard... and it's coming this way.
Unleashing another arrow, Ollithial watches his arrow hit the nearest of the frogmen, and then he spares a glance up toward the approaching sounds. "Incoming, take up defensive positions once we get these things down!" he yells out and starts to ready another shot.
Alosia watches as she stabs and distracts a frog person, who seems rather angry with her. Fortunately for her, every time it tries to respond to her little poke, something worse happens to it. It doesn't figure that pattern out before it dies, however, and so, the half-elf rogue moves from one corpse to another soon-to-be-corpse, and stabs that one, both of her blades driving into it, and deflecting off some of its clothing and really just slicing a bit. But, that's okay, the laws of the universe now say that it will soon die.
Malorn looks around and only see's one frog person left so he goes after it. He tries for a kick to the midsection, but his kick is rebuffed by the frogman's tough hide.
"Go, go, go!" Zant yells after the fleeing priests and such, with his hand waving to urge them on even further like that. "We'll--"
His second string of words is very rudely cut off with the realization that there's inexplicably a sticky, disgustingly wet tongue suddenly coiling around him, and he actually squeaks once from the sensation before he looks down to take count of what it actually *is*. "...EEEEEEEEEEEEHHHH?!" Apparently he is not a huge fan of frog tongues. And while he's trying to wriggle his way out of the thing and shoving at the tongue, he doesn't even really notice the morningstar coming his way-- but it inexplicably just scafes and bounces along the side of his head without seemingly even hurting him. It at least gets his attention to the other frogman.
"...Alright, fine," he grumbles with that, and narrows his eyes. Cue a fist raised up and swung down to bring the knuckles towards the tongue in a backfisted motion-- only for the appendage to slip off of the sticky length. He doesn't stop there, though. The very instant his left fist fails to make contact with the tongue wrapping around him, his right thrusts out and up to slam into what counts as a nose for the frogman closer to him, with the nasty sound of crunching bone and flesh and his own yell of "ORA!"-- only to fo be followed in nearly the same exact second by him turning his body around again and guiding a foot up in a half-spin kick to slam the bottom of it into the thing's midsection and send it flying. "ORA!!!"
Aodh doesn't comment on Zant's current situation RE: Getting Tongued. He assumes it is a horrible fate for a fleshy person to suffer, and thus, allows his poor monk brother-in-arms time to mourn the loss of his soft body to the vile attentions of a frogman tongue. In response to this, Aodh swings the spiked chain firmly once - then tosses it with a sharp motion towards the frogman.
As the tip pierces its side, he twists and jerks the chain, tearing a ragged wound in its already wounded frame. As the chain returns, there's a sharp twist as the Golem revolves the chain around it's neck and shoulders before returning it to the constantly looping motion via it's wrist-action. "Alert: Incoming."
Nicolai gestures at the creature getting personal with Zant, and his ghostly sword obligingly streaks over and stabs it. Only it doesn't do much damage, so Nicolai follows it over and smashes it with his glaive.
DM:
Another of those frog-people takes to the ground. Teamwork!
As the rest of the party continues in its attempts to kill the thing that's rather furiously clinging to Zant by way of its tongue that is now being coiled ridiculously around him by his rapid movements, it grows slick with saliva and foul-smelling tacky clinging blood. The monk's turning and spinning is reeling in that creature as though he were fishing and acting both bait and hook to it, and the stench of rot and fish is only getting worse.
... wait... rot?
It's not rott--oh dear lord.
It's about this time that the skeletal behemoths burst from the far entrance, just as Olli had heralded betwixt his loosed arrows, ever so observant is he. Great tusks sprout from the hanging maws, that were they human might seem to grin, but these only seem to hunger with a gluttonous need for flesh. A bellowed roar is exhaled erupts through the halls, flooding forward and back, a disonant ringing left in its wake, dust and debris trickling down from above, mingling with the terrified screaming of the priests that've taken refuge within the stairway.
Torn by chain and skewered by blade, the last of the frogmen finally fall, but that gooey tongue still traps him, tensing all the more in the creature's death, dribbling ichorous slime down his body in a marking that no amount of bathing will remove.
Almost jumping for joy when Olli drops the toadman, Amythyst jumps as two Skeletons emerge. She aims a Sorching ray at it and misses really really badly.....
Unleashing an arrow, Ollithial watches it hit, and is once again certain that he should figure out some way to get other types of arrows that will deal with this sort of things.
Malorn heads straight for the closest of the big skeletons. He dodges nimbly past the big skeleton as it tries to attack him. He tries to attack back, but is too far off balance for a good strike, including his regular attack. He takes a moment to reset himself.
With the falling of the fishfolk, Aodh's warning comes a bit too late as the thumping now turns into giant horrifying skeletal monsters that are now rampaging around and through the party. Aodh takes his time - primarily because he's the slowest one here - to decide to go after the one that Malorn has already begun engaging, moving to assist in the flanking of their opponent. "Tactics Shift: Flanking. Engaging."
The War Golem thumps around to flank the giant Skeleton, and with a sharp swing of his spiked chain, he chips and tears away a giant rib-bone, yanking it aside, but leaving the overall frame still up and running. He whorls the spiked chain, continuing the momentum as he prepares for either a return strike or another opportunity to attack.
Nicolai gestures and his sword flies across the room...but bounces off the skeleton's side. Nicolai himself raises his holy symbol and unleashes a wave of divine energy. "First frog men, then undead...what's next?"
DM:
The second of the massive skeletons comes lumbering toward the tongue-tied (haw) Zant, snapping down its massive jaws onto his struggling frame, bits of the last remnants of its rotting skin sticking to the tongues surface, prying it away to leave it dangling from the monk's already filthy self. Another sound is let out in a bellowing call that nearly knocks the man back in the power of that unearthly 'voice', bits of grave moss and dust-dry former-spittle clinging to hair and clothes, gets in everywhere -- it's worse than going to the beach.
Can't even get a snocone here.
When Malorn comes drifting his way in like a leaf on the wind, a massive fist comes sailing by as though it were swatting at a fly, grunting out its frustrations as it fails to stop the assault that follows, though doesn't actually make contact.
It's about this time that Nicolai's searing judgment begins to tear through their unholy glory, great gouts of ash and tainted soot spilling from every crevasse as the light shines in places it ought not. It lingers, burning the blight away from the gargantuan skeletons, their simple bulk adding a longevity to the ordeal, but still the deed is done; Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceedingly small, though with patience he stands waiting, with exactness grinds He all.
The wrenching of that rib from Aodh's devestating chain has it take notice, attentions perhaps mercifully taken from Zant's struggling form, empty sockets staring more through Aodh than at him, no pain registering in that undead mind that could even begin to rival that of the burning of the light.
With the Skeletons now barrleing in, Amythyst focuses her aim more. Another searing lightning bolt flies from her fingers and blasts the second skeleton to pieces. "COncentrate on the first one!"
Another two arrows as Ollithial continues to unleash a continuous stream of arrows, his hand wheeling from quiver to bow in one smooth motion, over and over. Aiming for the gaps between his comrade's bodies, and his intent clearly intense on his face. "I really need some way to kill undead with my bow," he mentions aside to someone, as he notices how the arrow hits in some weird method, and then sort of rattles away between the bones, not fully hitting.
DM:
It seems that he kills the undead well enough with that bow of his!
With the scorching ray of the sorceress and the combined efforts of the others, both of the skeletons are brought to ground; one with a whisper, the other with calamatous thump.
It is done.
The temple itself has grown quiet, aside from the soft cracking that suggests some fundamental issue with the foundations that might have to be seen to if they are to recover the grounds, but there are no more footsteps, and no more screaming. By time the party gets back to the stairwell, the priests have made a makeshift stretcher and carried Eidhein out to the waiting wagon. It seems that they will have company for their journey home.
Gibbins waits, tearily conversing with the others, helping them to prepare for their journey back to Alexandria proper.
~ Fin