Post by TheUdjat on Apr 14, 2009 15:49:42 GMT -5
SEA GREEN
Natsumi-
Amassu stands by his armor, the very substance of the clouds seeming to help him don his armor quickly, holding up his breastplate for him to clasp it, sliding on arm-guards—he appears to be holding nothing back for this coming fight, but there is no fear or hesitance in his eyes—just excitement and an eagerness to join the fray. Having seen him fight the Sand Giants and their monstrous insect, one can only wonder what Amassu will bring to bear against the dragon—and one must wonder if he is entirely healed and prepared for such a conflict.
Natsumi repeats the word he called the dragon to herself—the Harbinger, her voice questioning, imploring the cloud giant for elaboration. But even before he replies, Natsumi is thinking back over all the songs and stories she has ever heard, trying to remember the name. [Knowledge: History and Bardic Knowledge rolls.] Her knowledge of stories fails her, the name eluding her, though she does recall reading such a thing in her time spent studying history. The Harbinger is a creature of legend, thought to be an ancient god by some scholars, credited with promoting evil acts centuries ago—many of them with close associations with the undead. There are allusions to the Harbinger being draconic, or undead, or both, but nobody has ever been entirely sure, as there are few records on anyone surviving an encounter with it, and its base of operations—should one exist—has never been located. Some believe it to dwell on another plane; others are certain the Harbinger is merely a myth, or dead.
But clearly the lithe, shadowy dragon in the pool is very alive, weaving through the skies and doing battle with the larger roc and her riders, jaws snapping with each pass. Nasumi shudders. She cannot tell from the pool just how the battle is going, but her friends are alive, at least—for now.
Amassu elaborates on her question, though he is clearly distracted with armoring himself. “The Harbinger. I have never personally seen the creature before, but there are legends about him among the giants. A dragon, but a dragon the likes of which has never been seen before or since—a creature born of the shadows themselves, or so they say.” He grunts, tightening a buckle. “It was always my hope to find him and slay him, as I have slain so many other dragons—my crowning achievement. But I could never find him. I thought the creature a myth, until I found some record Nabandazar kept of encountering the Harbinger.” He grins. “It seems he was not great enough to defeat it, but I will triumph where he could not. The Harbinger’s pelt will be mine...”
As Amassu finishes with his armor, Natsumi admits her fears and worries as the battle in the pool draws ever closer. She even goes so far as to reveal her talent with magic, a revelation that Amassu notes with raised eyebrows. “Bard, I am ever discovering more and more of your talents.” But there is a little apprehension in his voice, though perhaps it is merely shock. Amassu makes ample use of magic, but has shown no talent for casting spells himself—one must wonder how he views spellcasting.
The sky king finishes with his armor and sweeps up his mace, striding to the edge of the room, where the clouds unfurl around him and the furniture withdraws, the cloud—dark and stormy now—becoming something more akin to a true chariot. Winds whip at Natsumi’s face and hair, but she is securely behind a low wall, on a pedestal so she might view the battle, there no longer being a need for the pool of water. She begins to sing, and Amassu straightens up, his spirits and eagerness rising even higher. “Be brave, as I know you to be. I won’t let the Harbinger touch you.”
In the sky, still hundreds of feet away, Natsumi can see the horrible inkiness in the sky that is the Harbinger, coiling and writhing through the air, snapping and biting. Shadowy splotches fall from its belly—blood?—but the roc is also smeared with red, and matching glints of liquid rise from some of her companions. The battle is well underway.
As the cloud chariot rushes towards the fray, Natsumi has an excellent view of the dragon rearing up above her companions and opening wide its jaws—what it breathes out defies all description. From a distance is looks like little more than thick, dark smoke, but it hangs in the air like no gas can, as if a hand from the heavens reached down to smear a line of grease across the canvas of the sky. The mere sight of it is disquieting, even from this distance.
“Yes,” Amassu murmurs to himself. “Now I will have you.”
[You will join the others after this post. Your initiative is posted in their section.]
(Character Status)
Natsumi – 52/52 HP, Hasted
Amassu – No damage, Hasted
Ella, Gro-bug, Sean, Henrick-
[Oh, well, since you said so... 
]
Ella doesn’t even waste the time on a curse—she just shouts “Dragon!” to her allies, mostly for Sean’s benefit, and struggles to control Antyca, her instincts taking over. The roc responds willingly to her commands, despite the penetrating aura of fear from the dragon. Ella strives first to get on a level with the creature, for a diving attack is not something she relishes experiencing. She wheels Antyca up and around, to face the dragon, keeping the roc flying defensively until she is ready for a charge. “Get ready!” she shouts to her friends and companions, feeling her heart race as it never has before—a dragon! A real dragon, right out of the stories, and here she is, lance in hand, astride a roc, set to do battle with it.
But the stories never did the creature justice...
Unable to see or hear, Sean nevertheless begins a rousing story about a well-known dragonslayer of yore, a tale that even Gro-bug has heard before. The story cheers the companions, reminding them that no matter how terrible or ferocious these beasts of legend are, they can be made to bleed like anything else. Gro-bug and Henrick bring out their weapons, aware of how short the reach of their arms seem next to the giant talons of the roc or the sinuous, elongated neck of the dragon.
Suddenly, in a rush, the dragon rushes towards them like a lightning train made all of blackness and iron fangs. Its wings drive it with impressive speed, and it skirts just to the side of Antyca, carefully out of their weapons’ reach, its head snapping down deftly to take a passing attack at Gro-bug. It moves entirely too fast for something so big, and its jaws rip agonizingly over Gro-bug’s body, sheering his armor with ease, the popped chainmail links scattering likes leaves in the wind. Hot blood rushes over the warrior’s body and onto the Roc’s feathers, but he grunts and prepares for his chance at relation.
As the dragon swoops past, Antyca tries to swipe at it with her talons. They catch the beast without error, but merely rake over its scales, doing little more than gouge a line in them. The dragon swoops around, twisting in the air, and one could swear that its jaws were grinning, amused by the group confronting it.
Ella grits her teeth, sparing a glance back at Gro-bug to ensure that the barbarian is still well. She quickly looks back to the matter of flying, and with her lance at the ready, she gives the word for Antyca to press the attack with a strafing assault of her own. Antyca gives her wings a powerful beat, opening her beak to screech as she rushes at the dragon, talons bared to attack. Ella guides the roc in low, just under the dragon’s stomach, within reach of her lance—and her companion’s weapons. She whispers quietly under her breath, triggering the potent magic of her amulet as she streaks towards her shadowy foe, her lance secured in both hands.
The lance strikes true, scoring a blow that would devastate any lesser creature, slashing open a line on the dragon’s belly—but the silent, malevolent thing doesn’t even cry out in pain. Gro-bug and Henrick swing their own weapons, but with no luck, though Henrick almost fumbles his longsword, barely avoiding sending it to the seas far below. Combat in the skies is clearly not something the captain planned on.
But the assault is not without cost. Bringing Antyca so close allows the dragon to snap its jaws at her as she nears, tearing out feathers and flesh from her side, dangerously close to the riders. Antyca shrieks again, this time in surprise, but the massive bird isn’t anywhere near falling, and black blood courses over the dragon’s scales, almost invisible, but proving it no immortal foe.
The dragon twists and glides through the air, reorienting itself for another pass—apparently the first lance strike wasn’t enough to deter it. Its cruel face—angrier now, no longer amused—comes in for another bite, this one aimed at the little halfling that dared to hit it. Again Antyca lashes out with her talons, but for the third time only scratches the dragon’s scales. The dark dragon’s teeth, already colored with Gro-bug’s blood, this time sink into Ella’s small form, crunching metal with apparently no care, teeth and metal alike tearing at Ella’s flesh beneath. It Ella feels a little light-headed from the attack, but keeps her wits, noting the warmth that flows from her side in as detached a manner as she can—none of it will matter if the next few seconds go poorly.
The dragon is too fast to escape, so Ella brings Antyca about to charge it again, licking her lips and clutching her lance close to her. She feels another tingle as the amulet guides her hands to the weakest point of her foe’s scaled form, and as the two flying beasts close, the lance sinks home again, gouging another horrible line in its body, tearing ribs as it goes, splattering cold black blood over the Roc Rider and her companions like a rain of ink. Gro-bug, too, scores a hit on this pass, roaring loudly as Snaga slams home, and is almost wrenched from his grasp as the two monsters streak by one another.
But unnervingly, incredibly, the dragon does not waver or fall. It utters out a low, almost palpable hiss of rage, deep and seething, and twists around to climb into the air above the roc-riders again. It opens its black jaws just as Ella realizes what is about to transpire, the greyness of its teeth matched by its gaping, iron-colored mouth. “Watch out!” the halfling shouts, but it is too late. The dragon exhales, and a roiling, boiling smog seems to overtake them—but it is smoke the likes of which she has never seen, for it seems to crawl and bubble and twist through the air like nothing so natural, and when it washes over the riders and their bird, it feels cold and stinging, chilling them to their bones and tearing at their very souls, like the gentle caress of something ancient and unholy. Even Antyca gives a screech of agony, though she succeeded in avoiding the worst of the noxious breath with a twist of her body—one that sadly did no good for the rest of you.
Grey eyes bright and glimmering with bloodlust, the dragon looks down at them, ready for another pass that might finish the job. Clouds thunder overhead ominously, hopefully not a portent for the fate of the intrepid companions.
(Mechanics)
[Dragon is 50’ above Antyca and her riders, and appropriate action will need to be taken to get the roc on level (can’t charge this round, but could move to attack) Amassu and Natsumi are at the edge of the encounter, some 400’ distant, but the cloud chariot will move 300’ closer on his initiative.
Natsumi will need to make a Will Save vs. Frightful Presence once the cloud moves. I have her Will Save as +12 w/ Inspire Courage. She’ll need a Nat. 20 to succeed.]
Initiative: Natsumi (22), Ella & Antyca (20), Gro-bug (20), Henrick (20), Sean (20), Amassu (18), Dragon (6).
(Character Status)
Ella – 48/77 HP, Shaken, 5 Neg. Levels [Temp HP: 23/52]
Sean – 47/47 HP, Blind, Shaken, 5 Neg. Levels [Temp HP 22/22]
Gro-bug – 76/100 HP, Cursed (50% no action), Shaken, 5 Neg. Levels [Temp HP: 51/75]
Henrick – 70/70 HP, Shaken, 5 Neg. Levels [Temp HP: 45/45]
Antyca – 30 damage, Shaken, 2 Neg. Levels
Dragon – 253 damage
Negative Levels:
Sean, Ella, Gro-bug, and Henrick all suffer -5 on all skill checks, ability checks, attack rolls, and saving throws, and -25 to HP. The HP amounts have been reflected above.
DARK RED
(Were-horses)[Wherever Team Red put them—some city stables by the gate, or else those at the temple of St. Cuthbert. Or you can have them now.]
Lockheart listens as Lenny explains their previous confrontations with Vorkal and the Shadow’s mission. He nods, mentally piecing together all these happenings—all of which appear to trace back to the Deathspeakers. When asked about the spell, he responds. “Shadows and other undead often flee before the fires of the divine. St. Cuthbert offers such blessings to his faithful, and I have always striven to improve my ability to combat the undead—it is my chosen mission, as I told you on our first meeting. The prayer I used can be found in the market, but most aren’t able to call on its power—and what they offer here is no match for my own abilities.” He frowns, remembering himself. “I apologize—I’m not trying to brag, though I do take pride in my abilities, it is merely fact.” Frowning even more deeply, stroking his pale whiskers, Lockheart sighs. “But I don’t even have those now that these Deathspeakers have blocked the divine.”
“I still can’t fathom how.” He shakes his head glumly.
[The spell he used is Searing Light, a level 3 clerical spell. It can be found throughout the city. Its price has not increased with the lack of the divine magic.]
Lockheart listens to the rest of what Lenny has to say about the Deathspeakers and the Yexuhl. When he mentions ‘hazard pay’, Lockheart laughs. “My ‘job’ has never been about ay, Lenny. I do the work I do for its own reward, and the church ensures I have a place to live and the tools to do my job. That is all I ask for. I have had many years of profitable service, but I have always known that death will come for me one day, as well—soon, certainly, as the years continue to wear on me. My only wish is that I do not return as one of the things I hunt.” There is a strange peace in the aged cleric when he speaks of his eventual demise—he has no nearly so young as the rest of you, and certainly this experience and his own dedication to St. Cuthbert give him a unique perspective on the matter.
He continues to aid the group shopping, helping Gildas to pick out a pair of potent boots and gauntlets to increase his strength, and guiding Tyrano and Wanderer to mages that can enchant their cherished weapons. Tyrano takes a quiet interest in many of the baubles on display, but goes about his interest with as few words as ever. Wanderer keeps the dwarven maul close, but is noticeably pleased with the results of his great scimitar’s enhancement, giving the blade a few test swipes in the air—with adequate safety precautions taken, nodding in satisfaction. He seems happy to have the weapon back in his hands.
When Gildas eventually speaks of Mordrock University, Lockheart muses on the question, stroking his moustache as before.
Lockheart laughs at that. “Me, a scholar? Oh, no, I may have the white hairs, but I’ve always been a man of the world. I can tell you about St. Cuthbert and the undead long into the night, and even bits and pieces of the other faiths, but other subjects are beyond my scope. Dartius and some of the others are a bit more studious, and have spent some time researching in the university, but I’m sad to say we’ve never taken to working closely with the scholars, except on matters of our specialty. Too bureaucratic for us.”
“Still, most anyone in New Ravenshead is likely to know more about the university than you lot. I will accompany you, and tell you what I can, though I have no special acquaintances to make use of. Are you ready to go, then?”
Though you haven’t been quite to the lower levels with Lockheart guiding you—the clerics prefers the less seedy parts of town—you still must ascend to make it to the upper levels, where Modrock University is said to be located. Lockheart talks while he goes. “Tell me, how much do you know about the University?”
The group exchanges glances, most knowing only the name, and perhaps its reputation. Wanderer is found to possess the most knowledge, which consists only of: “I know that it is one of New Ravenshead’s oldest buildings, and it is said to have the most comprehensive library in the world, stretching back centuries.” Not much to go on.
But Lockheart nods. “It is indeed one of the oldest buildings—or rather, it is composed of many of the city’s oldest buildings.” At your curious looks, he smiles. “The concept is a little surprising to foreigners, where one might only see a one-room schoolhouse in their local town, and large, multi-story universities are not common, but Modrock University is more impressive still. It is a compound, with several buildings, all of them devoted to specific areas of study—the Arcane, theological study, the Celestial Observatory, a music conservatory—not to mention the Great Library. Many buildings, including dormitories for students and faculty.” He chuckles at the amazed looks these far-east Tertians give him. “Mordrock University is one of the city’s great achievements.”
“And in fact, not only does it have some of the oldest buildings in the city—some of the buildings are older than the city.”
This revelation is particularly stunning, and as the elevator comes to the top of a glistening tower, the space of a small town atop it, the companions soon realize just how this is possible. Modrock University sits atop the tower, a sprawling span of green grass, ancient trees, well-trimmed hedges and groomed lawns, ambling pathways, and high, elegantly built structures of pale stone, topped by shining copper, all of it kept in pristine condition. The entire complex, stretching off as far as the eyes can see, is ringed by a black iron fence approximately ten feet high, topped with copper-colored spikes. But the most astonishing revelation is that the University—its grounds, buildings, and everything—are on a floating island that sits some three feet off the surface of tower.
Modrock University flies.
Lockheart continues. “Legend has it that Modrock—the sage who founded the college and its first building—has such foresight that he knew Old Ravenshead would one day be abandoned, and so he took steps to ensure the university’s survival. When the exodus happened, Mordrock University was lifted right out of the earth, and floated through the air, here, to New Ravenshead.” He shakes his head in awe. “Such potent magic—lost to time, I’m afraid. Whatever method was used to control the island’s flight has long since been lost, though its legacy lives on—every night, like clockwork, the island lifts up into the air, becoming completely inaccessible to the rest of the city—and then settles back to where you see it now at dawn.”
You now understand why Lockheart was in no rush to head off to the University—there would have been no way into it, short of grappling hooks and climbing. Where it sits now, just off of the ground, an immense and elaborate set of marble stairs lead seamlessly up to the gate of the University, barely leaving any space between tower and island.
Lockheart leads you up the stairs, up to a small detachment of city guards that man the gate. A small wooden guard post sits just inside the fence. One of the guards stops you. “I’m sorry,” he says with the practiced boredom of routine. “I’ll have to ask you to leave all weapons larger than a dagger here. You can retrieve them when you leave.”
Lockheart gives you an apologetic look. “Ah yes, I forgot. The University guardsmen are very insistent.” He then moves to surrender up his cudgel with obvious reluctance, and a wand he carries with him, receiving a small copper claim token in exchange for them.
While he waits for you to do likewise, Lockheart gestures around the campus. The University buildings appear to reside on a hill, the path leading up and up to where parks and those shining, pale buildings wait with untold knowledge. Somewhere in this massive place lies one of the bones... but where? “Where would you gentlemen like to start?” Lockheart asks.
[Anyone who doesn’t give up their weapons will be forced to stay outside the University. It’s possible to hide items with Sleight of Hand, subject to a successful opposed check. They’ll run a Detect on any wands to decide by the school of magic what can stay—healing wands will be no trouble, if any were purchased.
Otherwise, just let me know where you’d like to start. There’s an administrative building (Johnson Hall) if you’d like to start by trying to contact professors/scholars, or you could proceed to any of the specialty buildings (pretty much divided by Knowledges, though there’s also the conservatory for all kinds of perform and a martial academy for weapons training). There are numerous parks, a few memorial statues, a museum, and even a small graveyard.
Pick your poison.
]
(Character Status)
Gildas – 69/69 HP
Lenny – 61/61 HP
Wanderer – 90/90 HP
Wystfalrun – 62/62 HP
Natsumi-
Amassu stands by his armor, the very substance of the clouds seeming to help him don his armor quickly, holding up his breastplate for him to clasp it, sliding on arm-guards—he appears to be holding nothing back for this coming fight, but there is no fear or hesitance in his eyes—just excitement and an eagerness to join the fray. Having seen him fight the Sand Giants and their monstrous insect, one can only wonder what Amassu will bring to bear against the dragon—and one must wonder if he is entirely healed and prepared for such a conflict.
Natsumi repeats the word he called the dragon to herself—the Harbinger, her voice questioning, imploring the cloud giant for elaboration. But even before he replies, Natsumi is thinking back over all the songs and stories she has ever heard, trying to remember the name. [Knowledge: History and Bardic Knowledge rolls.] Her knowledge of stories fails her, the name eluding her, though she does recall reading such a thing in her time spent studying history. The Harbinger is a creature of legend, thought to be an ancient god by some scholars, credited with promoting evil acts centuries ago—many of them with close associations with the undead. There are allusions to the Harbinger being draconic, or undead, or both, but nobody has ever been entirely sure, as there are few records on anyone surviving an encounter with it, and its base of operations—should one exist—has never been located. Some believe it to dwell on another plane; others are certain the Harbinger is merely a myth, or dead.
But clearly the lithe, shadowy dragon in the pool is very alive, weaving through the skies and doing battle with the larger roc and her riders, jaws snapping with each pass. Nasumi shudders. She cannot tell from the pool just how the battle is going, but her friends are alive, at least—for now.
Amassu elaborates on her question, though he is clearly distracted with armoring himself. “The Harbinger. I have never personally seen the creature before, but there are legends about him among the giants. A dragon, but a dragon the likes of which has never been seen before or since—a creature born of the shadows themselves, or so they say.” He grunts, tightening a buckle. “It was always my hope to find him and slay him, as I have slain so many other dragons—my crowning achievement. But I could never find him. I thought the creature a myth, until I found some record Nabandazar kept of encountering the Harbinger.” He grins. “It seems he was not great enough to defeat it, but I will triumph where he could not. The Harbinger’s pelt will be mine...”
As Amassu finishes with his armor, Natsumi admits her fears and worries as the battle in the pool draws ever closer. She even goes so far as to reveal her talent with magic, a revelation that Amassu notes with raised eyebrows. “Bard, I am ever discovering more and more of your talents.” But there is a little apprehension in his voice, though perhaps it is merely shock. Amassu makes ample use of magic, but has shown no talent for casting spells himself—one must wonder how he views spellcasting.
The sky king finishes with his armor and sweeps up his mace, striding to the edge of the room, where the clouds unfurl around him and the furniture withdraws, the cloud—dark and stormy now—becoming something more akin to a true chariot. Winds whip at Natsumi’s face and hair, but she is securely behind a low wall, on a pedestal so she might view the battle, there no longer being a need for the pool of water. She begins to sing, and Amassu straightens up, his spirits and eagerness rising even higher. “Be brave, as I know you to be. I won’t let the Harbinger touch you.”
In the sky, still hundreds of feet away, Natsumi can see the horrible inkiness in the sky that is the Harbinger, coiling and writhing through the air, snapping and biting. Shadowy splotches fall from its belly—blood?—but the roc is also smeared with red, and matching glints of liquid rise from some of her companions. The battle is well underway.
As the cloud chariot rushes towards the fray, Natsumi has an excellent view of the dragon rearing up above her companions and opening wide its jaws—what it breathes out defies all description. From a distance is looks like little more than thick, dark smoke, but it hangs in the air like no gas can, as if a hand from the heavens reached down to smear a line of grease across the canvas of the sky. The mere sight of it is disquieting, even from this distance.
“Yes,” Amassu murmurs to himself. “Now I will have you.”
[You will join the others after this post. Your initiative is posted in their section.]
(Character Status)
Natsumi – 52/52 HP, Hasted
Amassu – No damage, Hasted
Ella, Gro-bug, Sean, Henrick-
She does all this with the most awesome storyline posting of her career.
]Ella doesn’t even waste the time on a curse—she just shouts “Dragon!” to her allies, mostly for Sean’s benefit, and struggles to control Antyca, her instincts taking over. The roc responds willingly to her commands, despite the penetrating aura of fear from the dragon. Ella strives first to get on a level with the creature, for a diving attack is not something she relishes experiencing. She wheels Antyca up and around, to face the dragon, keeping the roc flying defensively until she is ready for a charge. “Get ready!” she shouts to her friends and companions, feeling her heart race as it never has before—a dragon! A real dragon, right out of the stories, and here she is, lance in hand, astride a roc, set to do battle with it.
But the stories never did the creature justice...
Unable to see or hear, Sean nevertheless begins a rousing story about a well-known dragonslayer of yore, a tale that even Gro-bug has heard before. The story cheers the companions, reminding them that no matter how terrible or ferocious these beasts of legend are, they can be made to bleed like anything else. Gro-bug and Henrick bring out their weapons, aware of how short the reach of their arms seem next to the giant talons of the roc or the sinuous, elongated neck of the dragon.
Suddenly, in a rush, the dragon rushes towards them like a lightning train made all of blackness and iron fangs. Its wings drive it with impressive speed, and it skirts just to the side of Antyca, carefully out of their weapons’ reach, its head snapping down deftly to take a passing attack at Gro-bug. It moves entirely too fast for something so big, and its jaws rip agonizingly over Gro-bug’s body, sheering his armor with ease, the popped chainmail links scattering likes leaves in the wind. Hot blood rushes over the warrior’s body and onto the Roc’s feathers, but he grunts and prepares for his chance at relation.
As the dragon swoops past, Antyca tries to swipe at it with her talons. They catch the beast without error, but merely rake over its scales, doing little more than gouge a line in them. The dragon swoops around, twisting in the air, and one could swear that its jaws were grinning, amused by the group confronting it.
Ella grits her teeth, sparing a glance back at Gro-bug to ensure that the barbarian is still well. She quickly looks back to the matter of flying, and with her lance at the ready, she gives the word for Antyca to press the attack with a strafing assault of her own. Antyca gives her wings a powerful beat, opening her beak to screech as she rushes at the dragon, talons bared to attack. Ella guides the roc in low, just under the dragon’s stomach, within reach of her lance—and her companion’s weapons. She whispers quietly under her breath, triggering the potent magic of her amulet as she streaks towards her shadowy foe, her lance secured in both hands.
The lance strikes true, scoring a blow that would devastate any lesser creature, slashing open a line on the dragon’s belly—but the silent, malevolent thing doesn’t even cry out in pain. Gro-bug and Henrick swing their own weapons, but with no luck, though Henrick almost fumbles his longsword, barely avoiding sending it to the seas far below. Combat in the skies is clearly not something the captain planned on.
But the assault is not without cost. Bringing Antyca so close allows the dragon to snap its jaws at her as she nears, tearing out feathers and flesh from her side, dangerously close to the riders. Antyca shrieks again, this time in surprise, but the massive bird isn’t anywhere near falling, and black blood courses over the dragon’s scales, almost invisible, but proving it no immortal foe.
The dragon twists and glides through the air, reorienting itself for another pass—apparently the first lance strike wasn’t enough to deter it. Its cruel face—angrier now, no longer amused—comes in for another bite, this one aimed at the little halfling that dared to hit it. Again Antyca lashes out with her talons, but for the third time only scratches the dragon’s scales. The dark dragon’s teeth, already colored with Gro-bug’s blood, this time sink into Ella’s small form, crunching metal with apparently no care, teeth and metal alike tearing at Ella’s flesh beneath. It Ella feels a little light-headed from the attack, but keeps her wits, noting the warmth that flows from her side in as detached a manner as she can—none of it will matter if the next few seconds go poorly.
The dragon is too fast to escape, so Ella brings Antyca about to charge it again, licking her lips and clutching her lance close to her. She feels another tingle as the amulet guides her hands to the weakest point of her foe’s scaled form, and as the two flying beasts close, the lance sinks home again, gouging another horrible line in its body, tearing ribs as it goes, splattering cold black blood over the Roc Rider and her companions like a rain of ink. Gro-bug, too, scores a hit on this pass, roaring loudly as Snaga slams home, and is almost wrenched from his grasp as the two monsters streak by one another.
But unnervingly, incredibly, the dragon does not waver or fall. It utters out a low, almost palpable hiss of rage, deep and seething, and twists around to climb into the air above the roc-riders again. It opens its black jaws just as Ella realizes what is about to transpire, the greyness of its teeth matched by its gaping, iron-colored mouth. “Watch out!” the halfling shouts, but it is too late. The dragon exhales, and a roiling, boiling smog seems to overtake them—but it is smoke the likes of which she has never seen, for it seems to crawl and bubble and twist through the air like nothing so natural, and when it washes over the riders and their bird, it feels cold and stinging, chilling them to their bones and tearing at their very souls, like the gentle caress of something ancient and unholy. Even Antyca gives a screech of agony, though she succeeded in avoiding the worst of the noxious breath with a twist of her body—one that sadly did no good for the rest of you.
Grey eyes bright and glimmering with bloodlust, the dragon looks down at them, ready for another pass that might finish the job. Clouds thunder overhead ominously, hopefully not a portent for the fate of the intrepid companions.
(Mechanics)
- Sean cannot see, so he delays.
- Ella rides defensively, boosting Antyca’s movement to 100’. The Roc makes a circle up to face the dragon, rising 80’ up and 40’ forward (costing 160’ of movement) and turning 180’ to face the dragon (another 20’ movement cost). To keep from falling, Antyca makes a wide turn, ultimately putting Roc and riders about 45’ from the dragon, and preventing it from making a diving attack. Technically she has another 20’ of movement to work with to finish the double move, but this looks good. Antyca and Ella both get +4 AC due to the Halfling Outrider ability (and also some save bonuses).
- I’ll assume Sean knows something is amiss at this point and begins an Inspire Courage. I have his Inspire as +3.
- Gro-bug can’t reach the critter, so I will give him a readied action at this point. But it’s worth mentioning that in a combat with such enormous beings, both of which have impressive reach, Antyca will have to provoke AoO’s to get close enough for Gro-bug or even Ella to attack (she’s gonna need a bigger lance for aerial combat)
- Henrick draws his longsword and breaks out his shield. I’ll call it a move action. He readies to attack the dragon as well.
- The dragon makes a Fly-by attack, and opts to only move within 15’ of Antyca, making a Bite attack at Gro-bug. No readied actions trigger, since it doesn’t move within range. Attack roll (w/ Power Attack) vs. AC 19: 32, definitely a hit. Gro-bug takes 24 damage after DR 1/-. The dragon continues about 45’ past and uses Wingover to turn 180’, preparing for another run. Fly-by doesn’t say that it negates AoO’s, so the dragon provokes one from Antyca. Attack @ +24 (+23, +3 Inspire, -2 Shaken): 38, miss.
- Since the actions are fairly straight-forward at this point, I’m going to continue. Ella gets her lance ready and guides Antyca into a Fly-by attack of her own (call it a charge), taking them close enough for all to attack. Dragon gets an AoO on Antyca for getting too close. Attack vs. AC 15: 42, hit. Ella is due a ride check for Mounted Combat, but she can’t beat that roll, even on a 20. Antyca takes 30 damage.
- Antyca makes her own attack @ +26 (additional +2 for charge): 29, no good. Ella spends a charge of her Heartseeking Amulet so she’s going vs. Touch Attack. Ella’s attack @ +9 (+15 normal, -2 Shaken, +3 Inspire, +2 Charge, -9 Power Attack): 23, certainly a hit. With Spirited Charge that’s triple damage which I have as 3d6+69 (+4 Str [2-handed], +1 Enhancement, +18 PA, +3 Inspire, -2 Shaken, x3 for a charge. Sweet Jesus): 81 damage total, DR does not apply. Antyca continues a good 80’ past the dragon, but first...
- Gro-bug can take his attack now (still readying) @ +21 (+18 normal, -2 Shaken, +3 Inspire, +2 Charge):. I’m using the posted attack roll of 10 for 31, which is a miss.
- Henrick also gets his attack @ +16, hoping for that Natural 20: Gets a Natural 1 instead. Dex check @ +2: 18, he doesn’t drop his longsword into the sea below.
- Sean keeps singing.
- Dragon turns for another fly-by attack, this time targeting Ella. As before, it stays out of reach, only taking an AoO from Antyca. Antyca’s Attack @ +24: 28, miss. Dragon’s attack (w/ Power Attack, Charging) vs. AC 23 (-2 Charge): 29, hits. 35 damage, 32 after DR 3/-.
- Going ahead with next round, same basic actions. Ella charges, using the Heartseeking Amulet again, PA for full, but I’ll assume she waits to let the others ready actions again. AoO for coming close to the dragon, which it takes on Ella vs AC 23 (-2 Charge): 17, a miss!
- Antyca gets her charge attack @ +26: 44, a hit. 29 damage, but only 14 gets through DR. Ella’s touch attack @ +9: 26, a hit. Another ridiculous 3d6+69 damage for Spirited Charge: 80 damage, DR does not apply. She also heals 3 due to lifedrinking. Antyca keeps moving by, but first...
- Gro-bug’s 50% chance to have readied: 1, he gets his action. He rages. His readied attack @ +23, for which I will use his listed roll of a Natural 20, an auto-hit. Roll to confirm: 39, confirms. I have Snaga’s listed crit damage as 3d12+d6+45 (+13 Str, +1 Enhancement, +3 Inspire, -2 Shaken, x3 Crit): 78 damage, DR does not apply. Dragon is increasingly unhappy with all of this.
- Henrick’s readied attack @ +7 (chucking it all for PA since he’s praying for a Nat. 20 anyway): 20, miss.
- Having had enough, the dragon turns and soars overhead to deliver a Breath Attack now. Reflex Saves! Ella @ +8: 13, fail. Gro-bug @ +5: 16, fail. Sean @ +9: 22, fail. Henrick @ +6: 21, fail. Antyca @ +14: Natural 20, pass. Everyone except Antyca suffers 5 Negative Levels; Antyca only takes 2. A summary of what negative levels do is included below.
- It is at this point that Natsumi and Amassu join the fray. Natsumi wins initiative. (Inspire Courage and Haste have both taken effect).
[Dragon is 50’ above Antyca and her riders, and appropriate action will need to be taken to get the roc on level (can’t charge this round, but could move to attack) Amassu and Natsumi are at the edge of the encounter, some 400’ distant, but the cloud chariot will move 300’ closer on his initiative.
Natsumi will need to make a Will Save vs. Frightful Presence once the cloud moves. I have her Will Save as +12 w/ Inspire Courage. She’ll need a Nat. 20 to succeed.]
Initiative: Natsumi (22), Ella & Antyca (20), Gro-bug (20), Henrick (20), Sean (20), Amassu (18), Dragon (6).
(Character Status)
Ella – 48/77 HP, Shaken, 5 Neg. Levels [Temp HP: 23/52]
Sean – 47/47 HP, Blind, Shaken, 5 Neg. Levels [Temp HP 22/22]
Gro-bug – 76/100 HP, Cursed (50% no action), Shaken, 5 Neg. Levels [Temp HP: 51/75]
Henrick – 70/70 HP, Shaken, 5 Neg. Levels [Temp HP: 45/45]
Antyca – 30 damage, Shaken, 2 Neg. Levels
Dragon – 253 damage
Negative Levels:
A creature takes the following penalties for each negative level it has gained.
–1 on all skill checks and ability checks.
–1 on attack rolls and saving throws.
–5 hit points.
–1 effective level (whenever the creature’s level is used in a die roll or calculation, reduce it by one for each negative level).
If the victim casts spells, she loses access to one spell as if she had cast her highest-level, currently available spell. (If she has more than one spell at her highest level, she chooses which she loses.) In addition, when she next prepares spells or regains spell slots, she gets one less spell slot at her highest spell level.
Negative levels remain for 24 hours or until removed with a spell, such as restoration. After 24 hours, the afflicted creature must attempt a Fortitude save (DC 10 + 1/2 attacker’s HD + attacker’s Cha modifier). (The DC is provided in the attacker’s description.) If the saving throw succeeds, the negative level goes away with no harm to the creature. The afflicted creature makes a separate saving throw for each negative level it has gained. If the save fails, the negative level goes away, but the creature’s level is also reduced by one.
A character with negative levels at least equal to her current level, or drained below 1st level, is instantly slain. Depending on the creature that killed her, she may rise the next night as a monster of that kind. If not, she rises as a wight. A creature gains 5 temporary hit points for each negative level it bestows (though not if the negative level is caused by a spell or similar effect).
–1 on all skill checks and ability checks.
–1 on attack rolls and saving throws.
–5 hit points.
–1 effective level (whenever the creature’s level is used in a die roll or calculation, reduce it by one for each negative level).
If the victim casts spells, she loses access to one spell as if she had cast her highest-level, currently available spell. (If she has more than one spell at her highest level, she chooses which she loses.) In addition, when she next prepares spells or regains spell slots, she gets one less spell slot at her highest spell level.
Negative levels remain for 24 hours or until removed with a spell, such as restoration. After 24 hours, the afflicted creature must attempt a Fortitude save (DC 10 + 1/2 attacker’s HD + attacker’s Cha modifier). (The DC is provided in the attacker’s description.) If the saving throw succeeds, the negative level goes away with no harm to the creature. The afflicted creature makes a separate saving throw for each negative level it has gained. If the save fails, the negative level goes away, but the creature’s level is also reduced by one.
A character with negative levels at least equal to her current level, or drained below 1st level, is instantly slain. Depending on the creature that killed her, she may rise the next night as a monster of that kind. If not, she rises as a wight. A creature gains 5 temporary hit points for each negative level it bestows (though not if the negative level is caused by a spell or similar effect).
Sean, Ella, Gro-bug, and Henrick all suffer -5 on all skill checks, ability checks, attack rolls, and saving throws, and -25 to HP. The HP amounts have been reflected above.
DARK RED
(Were-horses)
Lenny knows that the cleric saved him and his allies so recently, and scans the area for his were-allies. Where could they have headed off to?
Lockheart listens as Lenny explains their previous confrontations with Vorkal and the Shadow’s mission. He nods, mentally piecing together all these happenings—all of which appear to trace back to the Deathspeakers. When asked about the spell, he responds. “Shadows and other undead often flee before the fires of the divine. St. Cuthbert offers such blessings to his faithful, and I have always striven to improve my ability to combat the undead—it is my chosen mission, as I told you on our first meeting. The prayer I used can be found in the market, but most aren’t able to call on its power—and what they offer here is no match for my own abilities.” He frowns, remembering himself. “I apologize—I’m not trying to brag, though I do take pride in my abilities, it is merely fact.” Frowning even more deeply, stroking his pale whiskers, Lockheart sighs. “But I don’t even have those now that these Deathspeakers have blocked the divine.”
“I still can’t fathom how.” He shakes his head glumly.
[The spell he used is Searing Light, a level 3 clerical spell. It can be found throughout the city. Its price has not increased with the lack of the divine magic.]
Lockheart listens to the rest of what Lenny has to say about the Deathspeakers and the Yexuhl. When he mentions ‘hazard pay’, Lockheart laughs. “My ‘job’ has never been about ay, Lenny. I do the work I do for its own reward, and the church ensures I have a place to live and the tools to do my job. That is all I ask for. I have had many years of profitable service, but I have always known that death will come for me one day, as well—soon, certainly, as the years continue to wear on me. My only wish is that I do not return as one of the things I hunt.” There is a strange peace in the aged cleric when he speaks of his eventual demise—he has no nearly so young as the rest of you, and certainly this experience and his own dedication to St. Cuthbert give him a unique perspective on the matter.
He continues to aid the group shopping, helping Gildas to pick out a pair of potent boots and gauntlets to increase his strength, and guiding Tyrano and Wanderer to mages that can enchant their cherished weapons. Tyrano takes a quiet interest in many of the baubles on display, but goes about his interest with as few words as ever. Wanderer keeps the dwarven maul close, but is noticeably pleased with the results of his great scimitar’s enhancement, giving the blade a few test swipes in the air—with adequate safety precautions taken, nodding in satisfaction. He seems happy to have the weapon back in his hands.
When Gildas eventually speaks of Mordrock University, Lockheart muses on the question, stroking his moustache as before.
"Sir Lockheart, have you and your temple, or any of your allies, any influence over Mordrock University? I can imagine that such a place of scholarship might work closely together with temples of all sorts. For if so, it might be a good idea if you joined us to the University as well, or perhaps inform them of your coming, if you do not have the time. Still, none of us are skilled in the ways of lore and learning. We are soldiers, but you as a cleric might know your way around the university, no?"
Lockheart laughs at that. “Me, a scholar? Oh, no, I may have the white hairs, but I’ve always been a man of the world. I can tell you about St. Cuthbert and the undead long into the night, and even bits and pieces of the other faiths, but other subjects are beyond my scope. Dartius and some of the others are a bit more studious, and have spent some time researching in the university, but I’m sad to say we’ve never taken to working closely with the scholars, except on matters of our specialty. Too bureaucratic for us.”
“Still, most anyone in New Ravenshead is likely to know more about the university than you lot. I will accompany you, and tell you what I can, though I have no special acquaintances to make use of. Are you ready to go, then?”
Though you haven’t been quite to the lower levels with Lockheart guiding you—the clerics prefers the less seedy parts of town—you still must ascend to make it to the upper levels, where Modrock University is said to be located. Lockheart talks while he goes. “Tell me, how much do you know about the University?”
The group exchanges glances, most knowing only the name, and perhaps its reputation. Wanderer is found to possess the most knowledge, which consists only of: “I know that it is one of New Ravenshead’s oldest buildings, and it is said to have the most comprehensive library in the world, stretching back centuries.” Not much to go on.
But Lockheart nods. “It is indeed one of the oldest buildings—or rather, it is composed of many of the city’s oldest buildings.” At your curious looks, he smiles. “The concept is a little surprising to foreigners, where one might only see a one-room schoolhouse in their local town, and large, multi-story universities are not common, but Modrock University is more impressive still. It is a compound, with several buildings, all of them devoted to specific areas of study—the Arcane, theological study, the Celestial Observatory, a music conservatory—not to mention the Great Library. Many buildings, including dormitories for students and faculty.” He chuckles at the amazed looks these far-east Tertians give him. “Mordrock University is one of the city’s great achievements.”
“And in fact, not only does it have some of the oldest buildings in the city—some of the buildings are older than the city.”
This revelation is particularly stunning, and as the elevator comes to the top of a glistening tower, the space of a small town atop it, the companions soon realize just how this is possible. Modrock University sits atop the tower, a sprawling span of green grass, ancient trees, well-trimmed hedges and groomed lawns, ambling pathways, and high, elegantly built structures of pale stone, topped by shining copper, all of it kept in pristine condition. The entire complex, stretching off as far as the eyes can see, is ringed by a black iron fence approximately ten feet high, topped with copper-colored spikes. But the most astonishing revelation is that the University—its grounds, buildings, and everything—are on a floating island that sits some three feet off the surface of tower.
Modrock University flies.
Lockheart continues. “Legend has it that Modrock—the sage who founded the college and its first building—has such foresight that he knew Old Ravenshead would one day be abandoned, and so he took steps to ensure the university’s survival. When the exodus happened, Mordrock University was lifted right out of the earth, and floated through the air, here, to New Ravenshead.” He shakes his head in awe. “Such potent magic—lost to time, I’m afraid. Whatever method was used to control the island’s flight has long since been lost, though its legacy lives on—every night, like clockwork, the island lifts up into the air, becoming completely inaccessible to the rest of the city—and then settles back to where you see it now at dawn.”
You now understand why Lockheart was in no rush to head off to the University—there would have been no way into it, short of grappling hooks and climbing. Where it sits now, just off of the ground, an immense and elaborate set of marble stairs lead seamlessly up to the gate of the University, barely leaving any space between tower and island.
Lockheart leads you up the stairs, up to a small detachment of city guards that man the gate. A small wooden guard post sits just inside the fence. One of the guards stops you. “I’m sorry,” he says with the practiced boredom of routine. “I’ll have to ask you to leave all weapons larger than a dagger here. You can retrieve them when you leave.”
Lockheart gives you an apologetic look. “Ah yes, I forgot. The University guardsmen are very insistent.” He then moves to surrender up his cudgel with obvious reluctance, and a wand he carries with him, receiving a small copper claim token in exchange for them.
While he waits for you to do likewise, Lockheart gestures around the campus. The University buildings appear to reside on a hill, the path leading up and up to where parks and those shining, pale buildings wait with untold knowledge. Somewhere in this massive place lies one of the bones... but where? “Where would you gentlemen like to start?” Lockheart asks.
[Anyone who doesn’t give up their weapons will be forced to stay outside the University. It’s possible to hide items with Sleight of Hand, subject to a successful opposed check. They’ll run a Detect on any wands to decide by the school of magic what can stay—healing wands will be no trouble, if any were purchased.
Otherwise, just let me know where you’d like to start. There’s an administrative building (Johnson Hall) if you’d like to start by trying to contact professors/scholars, or you could proceed to any of the specialty buildings (pretty much divided by Knowledges, though there’s also the conservatory for all kinds of perform and a martial academy for weapons training). There are numerous parks, a few memorial statues, a museum, and even a small graveyard.
Pick your poison.
](Character Status)
Gildas – 69/69 HP
Lenny – 61/61 HP
Wanderer – 90/90 HP
Wystfalrun – 62/62 HP
