Waylaid Delivery
Log Info
- Title: Waylaid Delivery
- GM: Aftershock
- Characters: Aelwyn, Carver, Gramarye, Tlanexhuani
- Place: Alexandros
Everyone in the city knows what's happening.
A group of particularly bold brigands (or possibly fiends) has waylaid a shipment coming into the city. Speculation is high and the city guard is terrified that it really is fiends. So they've called on the Adventurer's Guild. Who in turn has put out an all-call for every man, woman, and other that they can find.
When you reach the scene of the wagon, it's already being ransacked. There are three figures doing the ransacking. Humanoid in figure, they have wings on their backs and one of them is indeed monstrously large in size. Hauling the goods out of the wagon with ease as the others watch for signs of well... probably you.
GAME: Gramarye rolls Perception: (12)+10: 22 GAME: Carver rolls handle animal: (19)+10: 29
Gramarye, war golem wizard with a sword extraordinaire, draws her greatsword off of her back as she approaches with the group. Given that there was no explicit confirmation that there's fiends afoot, her eyes 'blink' as she inspects the group.
"Observation," she announces to her allies. "The horses attached to the wagon appear to be in a very calm state. This does not align with my expectations of horses, regardless if they are wild or domesticated, when they are near large and unfamiliar creatures."
Then her head pivots smoothly in Carver's direction. "Consulting horse expert." Yup, Carver is apparently a bonafide equine expert in Gramarye's eyes now. "Is there an easy and rational explanation for this in equine behavior that is not the result of magic and illusion?"
Tlanexhuani does not understand why some are so intent on taking things from others, and even less so that this seems to be so common here. Maybe it is the season? The cold means less food, from what little he knows of the climate here.
An old lizard's musings are cut short when the wagon is spotted. The wagon, and that its already attacked and being raided. He is concerned for the those with the cart, and the horses (one eye glances to Carver briefly) and the goods. In that order.
"What are these thingss? What is best for us to do?" He looks to the others fully, now, uncertain. He makes a slow blink at the note that the horses are unusually calm, which only makes him more uncertain.
Headache. Ache. All the good notions of a good time spent. The mention of the fiends however, had dragged him out of his stupor and out in these cold fields. The ruddy sith-makar's scales were still a tiny bit scorched around his neck from his fire dance - but Aelwyn's expression was cool as ice.
"Does it matter?" He asks, swinging his glaive down towards his side. "If they are fiends, then all we should do is kill them." He glances at the rest of the party.
The Dragoon then starts to walk forward, twisting his glaive in his hands.
Carver's face has been freshly painted again, which usually means something or someone is going to die these days. It vaguely gives her narrow features a lupine silhouette. She frowns at the strange behavior. Not just the ransacking lizardmen but the animals that pulled the wagon. She does not need to point it, relieved.
She shakes her head. "No, it is strange. Even Deathless would be looking to run at the earliest opportunity, and she's braver than almost any I met... they're either are socially bonded with the lizards, some illusioned creature, or enchanted into service." She grabs onto her saddle's horn and pulls herself astride her Alduai Red, her companion stomping an enchanted hoof nervously.
The group of bandits (or fiends) spots you as well, and one of their number steps up on top of the really big one. Using the largest of their number as a sort of platform or stage to grandly display himself. He's a handsome man with long black hair and black eyes. He smiles grimly. "You do not know me yet, but these are my minions and you best back down now lest you face Neverein and his men!"
Even as he says this he casts some sort of spell over those same 'men' and they draw their weapons with wicked glee.
GAME: Aelwyn rolls knowledge/local: (5)+3: 8 GAME: Gramarye rolls Spellcraft: (19)+16: 35 GAME: Gramarye rolls Knowledge/Local: (1)+14: 15 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Gramarye rolls Knowledge/Local: (20)+14: 34 GAME: Tlanexhuani rolls knowledge/local: (20)+4: 24 GAME: Tlanexhuani rolls spellcraft: (4)+10: 14
A blink goes off in Gramarye's eyes as she recognizes things. Multiple things, actually. "Spellcasting identified," she announces. "A spell to strengthen the targets by priming their muscles. They will hit harder, provided they land at all."
Then Gramarye also intones, "Neverein is the fictionalized parody caricature of a duke of Hell, now deceased, by the name of Eclavdran, who features in the 'Crimson Pen' series of erotic and romantic literature. Given that the parodied real-life personage is deceased and that Neverein is fictional, it is reasonable to conclude that the person who has announced himself as Neverein is a dedicated fan."
Unexpectedly, Gramarye then shouts to Neverein, "Inquiry: are you accurately portraying the character whose name you are borrowing? The books allege that Neverein has a very large reproductive organ." Accuracy is very important in some costuming circles... but maybe not that important.
Tlanexhuani blinks again (a common thing for him) as the man leaps upon the ... not a man. That is a bit strange, as is his... threat? Boast? What is most strange is that the bluescale recalls the name, and from where he knows is. "Ah! You are the one. From stories, ssa?" He leans forward, peering, as if to confirm, or re-examine him more fully. "Tales from the ...red ... quill? No, what is word..." His claws clasp at nothing as he thinks, as if to pluck it from the air rather than memory.
Fortunately, Gramarye has a much better memory. "Ssa!" He then peers again at Neverein, now a bit dubious. "The eyes. They do not... sizzle as shared in tale."
<OOC> Gramarye says, "Okay! Gramarye is going to swift action: Arcane Armor Training. She'll cast Haste on her friends. Then she will move forward 60 ft to 6,18" <OOC> Gramarye says, "(Well, Haste on herself and her friends)" GAME: Gramarye attempts to cast Haste but fails due to ASF. <OOC> Gramarye says, "The game lies; Arcane Armor Training takes it down to 0 failure chance n_n"
Seeing that there's going to be some kind of scuffle, Gramarye decides to take advantage of the situation. "Initiating spellcasting," she announces as she raises her hand, her eyes turning blue. "Deploying quickening magic."
A short string of eldritch words later, the magic leaps from her hand and settles onto herself, Carver, Tlanexhuani, and Aelwyn. Quickened, Gramarye strides forward calmly yet far quicker than she would have in the space of time that she would have without it. Her greatsword remains ready in her hand as she advances.
Neverein glares at Gramarye, not liking her attitude it seems. Or maybe it's her commentary on his costuming. Some people can get particular about these sorts of things after all. "Enough chit-chat. We'll fight for our goods! Just you wait and see! A little blessing upon us and the gods'll see us as the victors!" He laughs.
"That's a small no." Carver interjects.
GAME: Tlanexhuani activates his Titan Armor, gaining: +4 Str
Tlanexhuani takes advantage of Gramarye's blessing of speed to not leave her at the fore alone. A spark from his blood ripples across the bronze splints of his armor and causes them to move of their own accord, bracing and tightening as best suits. "Gods not favor thief!" is his simple retort as he moves to stand with his companion. Well, most gods do not. Probably.
GAME: Aelwyn rolls intimidate: (15)+19: 34 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+12: (14)+12: 26 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+7: (13)+7: 20 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+9: (17)+9: 26 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+2: (20)+2: 22
Aelwyn pauses on his footsteps, then looks incredulously at the golem and his fellow kin. "... why does one read such?" He asks from Gramarye and Tlanexhuani. "Not that this one can blame the interest." When the others begin to stide out, Aelwyn turns towards Carver. "Why fiends, when Guild will surely send who they can to chase them?" He wonders quietly, before he turns towards towards 'Neverein' and his assembled group.
"One chose the wrong play today." He calls out, flicking his glaive to the side. "This one has a headache and a desire to disembowel fiends."
The Dragoon continues to stride forward, holding his glaive out with one hand - and in a sudden slash, he cuts the air with sudden flames that linger in the air for a moment. A finger is pointed towards Neverein. "And a fake one shall do today. Come, dance with me."
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+20: (8)+20: 28 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+20: (7)+20: 27 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d8+8+2+1: (1)+8+2+1: 12 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d8+8+2+1: (7)+8+2+1: 18
The guy in the back casts a spell and the big guy ambles forward to swat at Aelwyn twice with his sword, the leader of the gang balancing nimbly atop his head. The strikes hit both times and they do some serious damage to the sith-makar who wasn't expecting the big guy to be so nimble.
GAME: Carver rolls 1d20+8+3: (6)+8+3: 17 GAME: Carver casts Barkskin. Caster Level: 8 DC: 15
Carver shakes her head at Aelwyn. She had no answers for him. Only that it stank. The other's rush ahead, the ranger delaying for an extra second to unclip a strange artifact from her baldric. A piece of ironwood, something she must have delved deep down into dark paths for, where the sun is blocked by the tallest of trees.
She finally HYAHS!
Deathless's hooves almost seem to barely touch the ground as they race to catch up and she slaps Gramarye on the back, right between their 'shoulder-blades' and gives a sharp command in her native Dran. The ironwood seems to adhere to the already apparent plates, joining her aesthetic, and then merging and hardening the plates with layers of mossy bark. In the gaps of the armor, the softer places, soft amber sap seeps and thickens for further protection.
Then Carver is off again, calling back as her hair streams behind her. "I will need that back!"
GAME: Gramarye rolls weapon9+1-2: (10)+9+1+-2: 18
Gramarye stands up a little straighter as Carver baps her in the back. "Initiating gratitude module," she says. "I appreciate your kindness, Carver."
A beat later, she raises her sword and intones, "Gratitude concluded. Initiating combat module." Her eyes glow red as her voice drops an octave on the last three words, and then Gramarye rushes in, closing in with the giant imp.
"Sword." Except Gramarye learns it's not terribly smart to announce her attacks. She misses the large imp-like thing, and Neverein by extension.
She stares at Neverein. "Your existence offends Father. I will eliminate you at all costs." Uh-oh. Apparently Aragos really doesn't like fictionalized fiend baddies in his trashy romance novels.
GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon11+2+1: (5)+19+2+1: 27 GAME: Aelwyn rolls damage11+1d6: aliased to 1d10+5+1d6: (4)+5+(6): 15 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+20-2: (15)+20+-2: 33 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+20-2: (10)+20+-2: 28 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+15-2: (10)+15+-2: 23 GAME: Aftershock rolls 2d6+8+2: (2)+8+2: 12 GAME: Aftershock rolls 2d6+8+2: (8)+8+2: 18
Neverein hops down off of his companion's back and takes a blow for his trouble, but he follows it up with two hefty blows of his own that clearly stagger Aelwyn. The blows are heavy things and the man gleefully looks at his bloodied weapon. "Not so tough when your blood is on the ground are you makari?" He growls the words roughly.
GAME: Tlanexhuani rolls weapon9+2+2-2: (13)+0+2+2+-2: 15 <OOC> Tlanexhuani sighs and rolled wrong item. <OOC> Tlanexhuani says, "Hammer is base +14, so 29" GAME: Tlanexhuani rolls damage1+2+2+6: aliased to 2d6+8+2+2+6: (10)+8+2+2+6: 28 GAME: Tlanexhuani spends ONE use of CHARGE POOL.
Tlanexhuani is often reserved, slow, and sometimes quiet... but not always. One's kin under attack is very much not a time for these things; only cause to act. "No!" The bluescale shows more swiftness from the prior gift and motivation from memory and blood. He dashes forward, hefty tool of creation gripped in both claws and lifted overhead for the exact opposite used of its norm. A spark dances across his armor and up his arms to flash briefly upon his hammer at the moment of impact. And a heavy, solid impact it is! "-This one-!"
GAME: Aelwyn rolls perform/dance+2: (12)+15+2: 29 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+12: (1)+12: 13 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon11+2+1-4+2: (19)+19+2+1+-4+2: 39 (THREAT) GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon11+2+1-4+2: (9)+19+2+1+-4+2: 29 GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon11+2+1-4+2: (9)+19+2+1+-4+2: 29 GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon11+2+1-4+2-5: (16)+19+2+1+-4+2+-5: 31 GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon11+2+1-4+2-10: (10)+19+2+1+-4+2+-10: 20 GAME: Aelwyn rolls damage11+12+1d6: aliased to 1d10+5+12+1d6: (2)+5+12+(5): 24 GAME: Aelwyn rolls damage11+12: aliased to 1d10+5+12: (1)+5+12: 18 GAME: Aelwyn rolls damage11+12: aliased to 1d10+5+12: (6)+5+12: 23 GAME: Aelwyn rolls damage11+12: aliased to 1d10+5+12: (7)+5+12: 24 GAME: Aelwyn rolls damage11+12: aliased to 1d10+5+12: (7)+5+12: 24
Aelwyn gets repeatedly cut, slashed and bloodied. There was a lot of blood on his ruddy scales now; painted crimson. Still, despite the pain, he spreads his arms, taunting. "Ah, but this one can still dance." He grins, blood dripping between his teeth. It was a macabre, grim grin.
The ruddy sith-makar could indeed dance. The glaive comes down in beatiful, rounded arcs, spilling both fire and blood. There was an apparent frenzy in him, as his orange eyes gleamed with fury born out of fire.
Finally, his glaive hits the once protagonist of a Crimson Pen novel into the face, knocking him down. "This one apologizes for the good looks." He says, turning towards the rest of the imps.
GAME: Gramarye uses an AoO! 0 remaining. GAME: Gramarye rolls weapon9+1-2: (4)+9+1+-2: 12 GAME: Gramarye rolls weapon9+1-2: (16)+9+1+-2: 24 GAME: Gramarye rolls damage9+6: aliased to 2d6+5+6: (10)+5+6: 21
The leader of the bandits goes down in a gory spray of blood and the rest of the bandits flee. They want nothing to do with you. One of them takes a parting hit from Gramarye, but they run as fast and as far as they can nonetheless, disappearing into the woods and leaving you with goods and the grateful man who owns the cart who was it seems hiding in the back of the cart the whole time.
He pops out and opens one of the crates and pulls out some of his merchandise handing out some stuffed toys to anyone that will take one. "Here! Here! Have one! Take one! As thanks for saving my bacon! Here! These will be worth a fortune in a week! You have one too!" He grins. "They're of the famous Aelwyn... OH MY STARS HERE HE IS IN THE FLESH."
Needless to say the man is beside himself with astonishment that one of the famous people who his merchandise is made to look like came to save him, but he is more than eager to offer Aelwyn a little plush of himself.
Gramarye's eyes flicker from red back to obsidian as she announces, "Exiting combat module." Then there's a few 'blinks' of light in her eyes, her head pivoting to inspect the stuffed toys.
She gets a bundle of plushies shoved into her arms. There's about a few different variations of white raven toys. Some have little hats. Some have little scarves or other accessories. There's even one with a piece of felt made to look like a monocle sewn over the eye.
"I do not understand," Gramarye says. "Who would dress up a bird?"
Carver watches the imps(?) flee, not bothering to draw an arrow. What spirit they had for the fight is long gone. Perhaps they come back as a threat for another day, but her taste for blood is not as intense today as it may have been in the past. She exhales, reaching forward to scritch Deathless along the chin. Standing up on the saddle, she leaps up into the tree, attempting to climb up into its canopy to keep watch as the others deal with the saved merchant(?) and his very odd horses and even more odd goods.
Aelwyn was about to give chase to the imps, but then his gut wrenches and he stumbles. "Tch." He spits to the ground, before he straightens. Prematurely. Almost as if he could sense it.
Turning towards the merchant, the words seemed to have an unnatural healing effect. His pupils narrow and his bloody grin broadens, looking like sun had reached him. "One does not shout this one's name so loud." Because everyone surely would recognize it even muffled. Surely. "And naturally." He did not have time to check out the stalls for his plushies - but it was a pleasant surprise to be handed one to his bloody hands. He grins widely-ier. "Excellent make, Plushie!" He compliments. "... are they fireproof?"
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+12: (14)+12: 26 GAME: Aelwyn rolls perception: (13)+1: 14 GAME: Carver rolls perception+4: (1)+14+4: 19 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Carver rolls perception+4: (7)+14+4: 25 GAME: Gramarye rolls Perception: (4)+10: 14
Carver does not care for dolls. Unless they were really cute horse dolls. Or MAYBE an Eztli plushy. She suspected if either of those things showed up, somebody would offer her that anyway. She holds onto a nearby branch as she lets her attention turn not toward the celebrating heroes but the world around them. Its beauty and its threats.
Her eyes stay on one place for a very long time, winter's chill leaving her breath steaming out. Red eyes in the distant. She blinks to stop these silly games are mind is insisting upon playing on her. A small man, no a doll of a man, whose eyes burn.
"Mm." Noted. Whatever she saw she will pass on to the others. Handsome though he may be, this is one man she won't keep for herself.