Seeing the skeletal cat turn away from its prey (and wondering what in the Mists Tomas is doing to generate this kind of lightning storm indoors, although it seems to be remarkably effective, which is all to the good) Charles reaches down and grabs Ulsaon under the arms, dragging her into the hallway and away from the rampaging fossil (now in a clinch with Tomas).
"Mists take it," he hisses, thinking of the backpack left in the main hallway and the healing potions in it. She doesn't seem to be breathing, and the wounds are...ghastly. Hoping it is more than a gesture, he reaches into a coat pocket and brings out one of the Rajian priest's bandages, wrapping it quickly around her torso.
It fails to take.
Charles was told by Kuzan that when the bandage is applied, it should bind itself to the living body and prevent further bleeding; but the bandage refuses to cinch itself and suture the wounds. It can only mean that Cavendish has claimed the life of another member of the Expedition.
Two to you, Cavendish, Charles thinks distantly as he stands and considers his options. Ezra send there be no third.
The Eye of Anubis: Book Four
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Nathan of the FoS
- Fiendish Enforcer
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Kaitou Kage
- Evil Genius
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- Location: Here and there
- Contact:
Kuzan literally leaped into action as soon as the cat picked Tomas up. The soothing mantra spilled from his lips and his hands glowed with the familiar, warm white light. He lunged in Tomas's direction and brought his hands down...to touch the cat.
An eruption of white light flickered from his hands and shot through Smiler. Energy of life coursed through it, sapping the strength of the negative power that kept it animated. Immediately, the priest stepped back to see what had become of the vile monster.
Scrapping a prayer spell for cure serious wounds.
Damage: 15 (dice) + 9 (caster level) + 6 (augment) = 30
Kitty fails Will save.
Kuzan blasts it.
An eruption of white light flickered from his hands and shot through Smiler. Energy of life coursed through it, sapping the strength of the negative power that kept it animated. Immediately, the priest stepped back to see what had become of the vile monster.
Scrapping a prayer spell for cure serious wounds.
Damage: 15 (dice) + 9 (caster level) + 6 (augment) = 30
Kitty fails Will save.
Kuzan blasts it.
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yalenusveler
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- Location: Pennsylvania...or Baator
Andre felt his wounds close, at least somewhat. Oh, he was still comparatively a bloody mess, but at least one that wasn't STILL bleeding.
Pharazian " The Peace of the Prophet brings grace.." came from the Professor's lips, still stained with his own blood. He formed a prayer, as he rested a hand on Tomas' back, this time the words formed properly and positive energy coursed through him and into the Lamordian.
After that, he took off, at as much of a fast pace as he could manage, joining Charles and Ulsaon. He saw the bandage...saw it sitting inert upon her flesh. Saw the look on Charles' face...and even still, looked as if he were about to begin rummaging for his healer's kit. Even though his rational mind was screaming the fact that she had passed on...irrationality was sometimes a refuge from unpleasant truths.
Cure Moderate Wounds on Tomas for 15 healed, moving to join Charles and the Ulsaon corpse
Pharazian " The Peace of the Prophet brings grace.." came from the Professor's lips, still stained with his own blood. He formed a prayer, as he rested a hand on Tomas' back, this time the words formed properly and positive energy coursed through him and into the Lamordian.
After that, he took off, at as much of a fast pace as he could manage, joining Charles and Ulsaon. He saw the bandage...saw it sitting inert upon her flesh. Saw the look on Charles' face...and even still, looked as if he were about to begin rummaging for his healer's kit. Even though his rational mind was screaming the fact that she had passed on...irrationality was sometimes a refuge from unpleasant truths.
Cure Moderate Wounds on Tomas for 15 healed, moving to join Charles and the Ulsaon corpse
"Sometimes, Mr.Liquor cabinet is my only friend"
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NeoTiamat
- Evil Genius
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- Joined: Tue Sep 12, 2006 5:00 pm
- Gender: Male
- Location: Boston, Massachusetts, USA
The Muzeavh, The Academic Quarter, Phiraz
May 24th, 761, 2:14 AM; Day 68 of the Menetnashte Expedition
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With another eerie, tormented screech of bone against bone, the Smiler raised its toothy maw, pulling those immense, malevolent fangs from Tomas's collarbone and preparing to thrust them down into paladin's throat instead. The great cat's bones were blackened with fire and lightning and fractured by solid sound, in places the controlling magic flickered on and off, but this ancient predator, scion of a hundred thousand years, still demanded blood.
And then, a conflagaration.
Fire from the veiled wizardess collided with the life energy of the Sri Rajian, reacting in a merging of energies. Bone by stone bone, the power coursed through the Smiler, and as each energy band collided, the bone shattered with an awesome explosion of shards, sending the little pieces of rocky bone flying throughout the room. And then it reached the skull, even as the remaining bits of the smilodon were falling to the ground, atop Tomas.
You thought, just maybe, a grateful spark in the mighty feline's eyes. And then the skull shattered into a thousand pieces of bone, and the great cat was returned to its eternal rest.
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There was a moment of silence, of slowly dawning realization that Ulsaon indeed was slain, that the at times cheerful, at times brooding half-elf was no more, and would never be there again. That even if you had won this round, Cavendish won the fight, for death was more plentiful than life, and while you had only your lives, the mad necromancer had an overabundance of death.
Cavendish's unholy voice seemed almost thoughtful, and yet there was a profound note of self-satisfaction, of pure and simple joy, only barely restrained.
[Written by Rock]
Slowly, footsteps can be heard approaching the place where Ulsaon fell ... Footsteps and the strangled sound of sobbing. Slowly, Lia fades into view, one hand reflexively clenching and relaxing on the gleaming woodwork of her cane. Even its ugly steel head seems subdued.
"No," Lia whispers. "No ..." Her shoulders slump.
And all of a sudden, Lia charges the case of skulls, screaming at the top of her voice: "NOOOOO!"
Smash!
A glass case is shattered by the cane's steel head, its animal face now contorted in a snarl of fury.
Crunch!
The skull inside is the next thing to be shattered.
"You ..." Lia wheezes, words struggling to leave her throat. "You ...!"
More glass and bone shatters before she finally manages to force the words into the world: "You think you're an artist? You're nothing! This is not art, this is despair!"
Another glass case, another skull, the cane gleaming in the light, seeming to vibrate with a heartbeat all its own.
"You have studied humanity? So what?" Lia growls as she wields her cane like a club. "Whatever you learned, you just gave up! So the world is full of darkness, tough cheese! You are a coward who gave into it! You think you're strong because you became one with the filth? If you ever were an artist, you betrayed your art to become a slinger of dirt and despair, you fool!"
Another case, another skull, both shattered, this time in one blow.
"You have no courage" -- shattering noises -- "you have no heart" -- glass and bone smashed to shards -- "you betray everything you ever might have been! If there is darkness, you light a candle, you don't try and make friends with the dark! Stupid! Weak! Cowardly! Vermin! Ulsaon was afraid, and she was a hero compared to you! She tried to fight until her end, you just gave in!"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Even as Lia's cane smashed through skull after skull of the museum exhibit, destroying old bones after old bones within that shadow-strewn old building, Cavendish's voice rose, louder and greater now, no longer from within the skulls but echoing off the very rafters.
And then the lunatic laughed, an evil, insane cackle that would have done a demon proud, a laugh of utter madness, utter depravity, filled with hatred and greed and wrath and pride and envy and every other of the sins. A sound that wracked your mind, burned itself into the very depths of the soul, where you would hear it yet. Even now, you knew there would be no escaping that laugh, even as it faded away, for you heard it in your ear, and you knew that somewhere, watching through magework or minions, Cavendish was still laughing.
May 24th, 761, 2:14 AM; Day 68 of the Menetnashte Expedition
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
With another eerie, tormented screech of bone against bone, the Smiler raised its toothy maw, pulling those immense, malevolent fangs from Tomas's collarbone and preparing to thrust them down into paladin's throat instead. The great cat's bones were blackened with fire and lightning and fractured by solid sound, in places the controlling magic flickered on and off, but this ancient predator, scion of a hundred thousand years, still demanded blood.
And then, a conflagaration.
Fire from the veiled wizardess collided with the life energy of the Sri Rajian, reacting in a merging of energies. Bone by stone bone, the power coursed through the Smiler, and as each energy band collided, the bone shattered with an awesome explosion of shards, sending the little pieces of rocky bone flying throughout the room. And then it reached the skull, even as the remaining bits of the smilodon were falling to the ground, atop Tomas.
You thought, just maybe, a grateful spark in the mighty feline's eyes. And then the skull shattered into a thousand pieces of bone, and the great cat was returned to its eternal rest.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
There was a moment of silence, of slowly dawning realization that Ulsaon indeed was slain, that the at times cheerful, at times brooding half-elf was no more, and would never be there again. That even if you had won this round, Cavendish won the fight, for death was more plentiful than life, and while you had only your lives, the mad necromancer had an overabundance of death.
"Well, well, well... One of mine for one of yours, a fair exchange, I think it. She should not have denied me."
"Well, well, well... One of mine for one of yours, a fair exchange, I think it. She should not have denied me."
"Well, well, well... One of mine for one of yours, a fair exchange, I think it. She should not have denied me."
"Well, well, well... One of mine for one of yours, a fair exchange, I think it. She should not have denied me."
Cavendish's unholy voice seemed almost thoughtful, and yet there was a profound note of self-satisfaction, of pure and simple joy, only barely restrained.
- "And now the fool has joined the coward in Charon's boat. Who shall be next, I wonder? The liar? The apostate? The killer? Ah well, as they say, we all must suffer for art."
"And now the fool has joined the coward in Charon's boat. Who shall be next, I wonder? The liar? The apostate? The killer? Ah well, as they say, we all must suffer for art."
"And now the fool has joined the coward in Charon's boat. Who shall be next, I wonder? The liar? The apostate? The killer? Ah well, as they say, we all must suffer for art."
"And now the fool has joined the coward in Charon's boat. Who shall be next, I wonder? The liar? The apostate? The killer? Ah well, as they say, we all must suffer for art."
[Written by Rock]
Slowly, footsteps can be heard approaching the place where Ulsaon fell ... Footsteps and the strangled sound of sobbing. Slowly, Lia fades into view, one hand reflexively clenching and relaxing on the gleaming woodwork of her cane. Even its ugly steel head seems subdued.
"No," Lia whispers. "No ..." Her shoulders slump.
And all of a sudden, Lia charges the case of skulls, screaming at the top of her voice: "NOOOOO!"
Smash!
A glass case is shattered by the cane's steel head, its animal face now contorted in a snarl of fury.
Crunch!
The skull inside is the next thing to be shattered.
"You ..." Lia wheezes, words struggling to leave her throat. "You ...!"
More glass and bone shatters before she finally manages to force the words into the world: "You think you're an artist? You're nothing! This is not art, this is despair!"
Another glass case, another skull, the cane gleaming in the light, seeming to vibrate with a heartbeat all its own.
"You have studied humanity? So what?" Lia growls as she wields her cane like a club. "Whatever you learned, you just gave up! So the world is full of darkness, tough cheese! You are a coward who gave into it! You think you're strong because you became one with the filth? If you ever were an artist, you betrayed your art to become a slinger of dirt and despair, you fool!"
Another case, another skull, both shattered, this time in one blow.
"You have no courage" -- shattering noises -- "you have no heart" -- glass and bone smashed to shards -- "you betray everything you ever might have been! If there is darkness, you light a candle, you don't try and make friends with the dark! Stupid! Weak! Cowardly! Vermin! Ulsaon was afraid, and she was a hero compared to you! She tried to fight until her end, you just gave in!"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Even as Lia's cane smashed through skull after skull of the museum exhibit, destroying old bones after old bones within that shadow-strewn old building, Cavendish's voice rose, louder and greater now, no longer from within the skulls but echoing off the very rafters.
- "Temper, temper little girl! You might scare someone, they might hurt themselves!"
"Adieu, my ladies and gentlemen, I don't doubt we'll meet shortly!
And then the lunatic laughed, an evil, insane cackle that would have done a demon proud, a laugh of utter madness, utter depravity, filled with hatred and greed and wrath and pride and envy and every other of the sins. A sound that wracked your mind, burned itself into the very depths of the soul, where you would hear it yet. Even now, you knew there would be no escaping that laugh, even as it faded away, for you heard it in your ear, and you knew that somewhere, watching through magework or minions, Cavendish was still laughing.
Ravenloft GM: Eye of Anubis, Shattered City, and Prof. Lupescu's Traveling Ghost Show
Lead Writer & Editor: VRS Files: Doppelgangers; Contributor: QtR #20, #21, #22, #23, #24
Freelance Writer for Paizo Publishing
Lead Writer & Editor: VRS Files: Doppelgangers; Contributor: QtR #20, #21, #22, #23, #24
Freelance Writer for Paizo Publishing
"Hurrgh..." Tomas groans, as the fangs grind into his body, and the energy flashes...
Well, really, Lia gave the proper response to something like that. So Tomas's mind can pull away, briefly, from the maniac mage, and towards his current position; that is to say, being at the bottom of a small mountain of finely powdered, shattered giant cat bones that were activly trying to eat him ten seconds ago.
The bones...Tomas thinks, his panic rising steadily, ...are in my mouth...
Well, really, Lia gave the proper response to something like that. So Tomas's mind can pull away, briefly, from the maniac mage, and towards his current position; that is to say, being at the bottom of a small mountain of finely powdered, shattered giant cat bones that were activly trying to eat him ten seconds ago.
The bones...Tomas thinks, his panic rising steadily, ...are in my mouth...
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Nathan of the FoS
- Fiendish Enforcer
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- Location: San Francisco CA
A burst of flame, and the skeleton disintegrates. For a moment there is silence, and then Lia's voice rings out indistinctly over the smashing of glass and bone. Work it all out, girl, he thinks wearily--too wearily even to give the thought a sardonic twist. Sitting back down on the floor, he stares into Ulsaon's lifeless eyes, then reaches out to close them gently.
"Can you...?" he begins to ask Andre, and then cuts himself off. "Never mind. It's no go, isn't it? She's gone."
Perhaps he ought to be enraged, too; but he isn't. He's just very, very tired, and all of these events of horror seem far away and insignificant. Cavendish is no fiend of Hell, much as he might wish he were; he is no more than a vicious little beetle who happens to be a little bigger than the rest of the ants in the anthill. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You're more afraid of death than any of us, Cavendish. You'd do anything for the Eye, so you can be a bigger little beetle and molest bigger anthills. One day you'll meet a wasp or some such thing, and that will be the end of you. But it's hard to believe it matters...you, us, any of this. Hard to believe it matters at all.
"Can you...?" he begins to ask Andre, and then cuts himself off. "Never mind. It's no go, isn't it? She's gone."
Perhaps he ought to be enraged, too; but he isn't. He's just very, very tired, and all of these events of horror seem far away and insignificant. Cavendish is no fiend of Hell, much as he might wish he were; he is no more than a vicious little beetle who happens to be a little bigger than the rest of the ants in the anthill. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You're more afraid of death than any of us, Cavendish. You'd do anything for the Eye, so you can be a bigger little beetle and molest bigger anthills. One day you'll meet a wasp or some such thing, and that will be the end of you. But it's hard to believe it matters...you, us, any of this. Hard to believe it matters at all.
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena:
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The Whistler
- Evil Genius
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- Location: Southshore
Otto skids to a halt, makeshift bomb still raised--and shields his eyes from the catastrophic magical blast.
...And as the dust settles, merely stands; looks. Takes it in as a panorama, distant and clouded by bone fragments and airborne dust--a tapestry of hope lost and small victories made hollow; of a wizard's rage and a sadist's joy; of two men and a woman in perfect triangular composition, as saints over a martyr.
Otto is not a painter, and he is not religious. If he were either, things would be different. Would he be more sympathetic, for recognizing the true meaning behind the scene? Less?
Yet Otto's memory runs in scrupulously ordered daguerrotypes, and so, even as he records the scene in his head--something that will never be forgotten--he can only see things for what they are, and nothing more. Perhaps that will always be his curse.
These are men and women; these are your friends...and these are survivors.
And so, bowing his head, he moves toward Tomas--seeing a man where he should have seen a savior--and puts his arm on the Lamordian's shoulder, channeling positive energy from belt to torso to arm to hand.
[Lamordian] "You did good, man. You did everything you could."
OOC: 2 charges of the healing belt: have another 18 HP.
...And as the dust settles, merely stands; looks. Takes it in as a panorama, distant and clouded by bone fragments and airborne dust--a tapestry of hope lost and small victories made hollow; of a wizard's rage and a sadist's joy; of two men and a woman in perfect triangular composition, as saints over a martyr.
Otto is not a painter, and he is not religious. If he were either, things would be different. Would he be more sympathetic, for recognizing the true meaning behind the scene? Less?
Yet Otto's memory runs in scrupulously ordered daguerrotypes, and so, even as he records the scene in his head--something that will never be forgotten--he can only see things for what they are, and nothing more. Perhaps that will always be his curse.
These are men and women; these are your friends...and these are survivors.
And so, bowing his head, he moves toward Tomas--seeing a man where he should have seen a savior--and puts his arm on the Lamordian's shoulder, channeling positive energy from belt to torso to arm to hand.
[Lamordian] "You did good, man. You did everything you could."
OOC: 2 charges of the healing belt: have another 18 HP.
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yalenusveler
- Evil Genius
- Posts: 1266
- Joined: Thu Nov 29, 2007 10:44 pm
- Location: Pennsylvania...or Baator
"I..There are spells. Unfortunately...I don't know them." Andre said, his voice alternating between weak and despairing, and angry. Angry at himself, angry at Cavendish...it was hard to tell. "This is, she's...the fourth person I've lost to that bastard. He has payback coming to him like one wouldn't believe."Nathan of the FoS wrote: "Can you...?" he begins to ask Andre, and then cuts himself off. "Never mind. It's no go, isn't it? She's gone."
"Sometimes, Mr.Liquor cabinet is my only friend"
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Rock of the Fraternity
- Evil Genius
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Lia stands stock still for a moment, then starts to tremble. "You ... you ..." she screeches, cane wavering in her hands. "Curse you!"NeoTiamat wrote:
- "Temper, temper little girl! You might scare someone, they might hurt themselves!"
"Adieu, my ladies and gentlemen, I don't doubt we'll meet shortly!
And then, amazingly enough ... Lia just falls to her knees and claps her hands to her masked face. Judging by the way her shoulders shake, she is crying. Crying, but trying to choke back the noises.
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yalenusveler
- Evil Genius
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- Joined: Thu Nov 29, 2007 10:44 pm
- Location: Pennsylvania...or Baator
"We...we should probably see if anyone..needs healing" Andre said, his words shaky, purposefully NOT looking at Ulsaon's corpse. He headed back into the room where the others were, not looking at the sculptures, not looking at the ruin of the cat. "Does...anyone else need healing? I've only got lights left..but.." He trailed off, torn between going to Lia, and ..doing something he hadn't thought of yet, something that would fix this whole mess, make two people not be dead, and make Cavendish pay for what he had done.
It would be quite a long time before he thought of how to accomplish the second thing, if ever.
It would be quite a long time before he thought of how to accomplish the second thing, if ever.
"Sometimes, Mr.Liquor cabinet is my only friend"
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Nathan of the FoS
- Fiendish Enforcer
- Posts: 5247
- Joined: Fri Nov 28, 2003 3:39 pm
- Location: San Francisco CA
Charles crosses Ulsaon's hands across her chest and pulls her cloak over her face. "Ezra guide thee in the Mists, Ulsaon," he whispers, making the sign of the Sword and Shield, and then he too returns to the great hall.
If there is healing to be done, he can't do it, and he's not up to confronting Cavendish's little sculptures yet, nor to comforting Lia; he's too upset himself to try. Frowning, he makes a quick trip throughout the various wings of the exhibition hall to see if anything else has been taken or disturbed.
If there is healing to be done, he can't do it, and he's not up to confronting Cavendish's little sculptures yet, nor to comforting Lia; he's too upset himself to try. Frowning, he makes a quick trip throughout the various wings of the exhibition hall to see if anything else has been taken or disturbed.
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena:
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Nathan of the FoS
- Fiendish Enforcer
- Posts: 5247
- Joined: Fri Nov 28, 2003 3:39 pm
- Location: San Francisco CA
Padding through the back rooms, Charles finds another broken display case--one of ancient weapons, mostly bronze and even stone, dating back as much as ten thousand years (which, frankly, seems impossible--how would they know? But that's what the display case says).
There are seven weapons gone from it, all daggers. Noting the number (seven seems to be rather significant tonight) Charles continues on his way, muttering, "Advertio arcanum" as he goes.
Nothing magical remains; Cavendish must have made off with it. The building is still suffused with his necromancies, but none of the exhibits contain enchanted objects. Another display case has been rifled and its contents (bizarrely) left in a corner; it seems to be a priest's vestments, old and incomplete. Charles has a momentary vision of Cavendish, dressed in them, standing in the central hall with the skeletal monsters of a past age like a conductor about to strike up the orchestra, and shudders. Whatever bizarre purpose he might have had in donning them (if he really did such a thing) is not clear; leaving the vestments where they lie, Charles finishes his search.
Only one more thing has been taken, from a case of animal bones--the skull of a jackal of monstrous size.
Shaking his head at this final perversity, Charles returns to the main hall.
There are seven weapons gone from it, all daggers. Noting the number (seven seems to be rather significant tonight) Charles continues on his way, muttering, "Advertio arcanum" as he goes.
Nothing magical remains; Cavendish must have made off with it. The building is still suffused with his necromancies, but none of the exhibits contain enchanted objects. Another display case has been rifled and its contents (bizarrely) left in a corner; it seems to be a priest's vestments, old and incomplete. Charles has a momentary vision of Cavendish, dressed in them, standing in the central hall with the skeletal monsters of a past age like a conductor about to strike up the orchestra, and shudders. Whatever bizarre purpose he might have had in donning them (if he really did such a thing) is not clear; leaving the vestments where they lie, Charles finishes his search.
Only one more thing has been taken, from a case of animal bones--the skull of a jackal of monstrous size.
Shaking his head at this final perversity, Charles returns to the main hall.
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena:
"Thanks..." For both the healing light and the help up.
Tomas can't bring himself to say much else, though: Lia's breakdown brings the shame of failure firmly into the Lamordian's heart. The man wobbles for a second, as though he were drained dry and all that remained was the hollow, sad, awkward little man Tomas was inbetween those brief moments of electric heroism...
Unable to speak, Tomas turns, heading for the door.
Tomas can't bring himself to say much else, though: Lia's breakdown brings the shame of failure firmly into the Lamordian's heart. The man wobbles for a second, as though he were drained dry and all that remained was the hollow, sad, awkward little man Tomas was inbetween those brief moments of electric heroism...
Unable to speak, Tomas turns, heading for the door.
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The Whistler
- Evil Genius
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Otto stands; looks after Tomas, face grim. Drops his eyes; "tsks" once, under his breath. Remains silent for a long moment, eyes closed--watering, but tears held in, barely. He wonders if he qualifies as having "seen too much," now...and knows he hasn't.
He sidles over to Charles, speaking in a low voice.
"Chipped marble flooring, is indicating tracks of large skeletons moving from the displays to the downstairs...blood spattering follows them. When we are ready..."
He surveys the room; closes his eyes once more. Holding it back.
"...Not just yet."
He sidles over to Charles, speaking in a low voice.
"Chipped marble flooring, is indicating tracks of large skeletons moving from the displays to the downstairs...blood spattering follows them. When we are ready..."
He surveys the room; closes his eyes once more. Holding it back.
"...Not just yet."
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Nathan of the FoS
- Fiendish Enforcer
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- Joined: Fri Nov 28, 2003 3:39 pm
- Location: San Francisco CA
"So he did march them off," Charles says, scowling. "The city is probably in an uproar; I don't know how one would hide so many creatures of that size. Well, he seems to have taken seven stone or bronze daggers and the skull of an enormous jackal, and to have used and left behind an ancient priestly vestment. As near as I can tell that's all that's missing. Do you know of any...thing...that requires a stone dagger and a skeleton to create?"
[b]FEAR JUSTICE.[/b] :elena: