DreamLyrics™ Play-by-Post Forums Hall of Fame - Latest Top 10 completed games HHE: The Haunted Helm HHE9: By the Light of the Last Moon

Sergeant Almador

He felt like he couldn't breathe without his lungs burning from the cold. How could this be the same summer's eve he'd fallen asleep on earlier? Was this all a terrible nightmare?

The dragon sprang forward like some monstrous serpent, and seeing Weston stood there, framed by the massive, impending jaws of doom... a strange sensation overwhelmed Sergeant Almador. He didn't know what it was, but he found himself screaming and charging at the white wyrm, his polearm levelled at its scaly face.

[Recruiting for this player character. Send PM for details]

Nestaron

He wanted badly to ask Weston what it was he saw, but he had no time.

They had to survive this dragon, they had to solve the mystery of the river and now the mystery of the ring.

At least someone had already half severed the Beast's neck. From the looks of the wound, it could only be a foot knight's long sword like that carried by Zoltan and Weston, and perhaps Red Ed. Or maybe the talon of smaller dragon, if flying swift enough? Had any of them landed a fell blow on the Beast before it slew them?

It seemed likely, but it wouldn't help Nestaron or his companions unless they could some how ground the dragon.

They were stood on a hillside, and it would be all too easy for the dragon to take flight and then blast them with its legendary breath. Where would they hide? In the cave? No, it would be an icy tomb.

The half-elf's sweat tingled as it froze on his brow. He could sense something of the white wyrm's evil, in the way the spirits diverted away from it, repelled.

With an invokation on his lips, he summoned these spirits now to do his bidding.

"Timeless spirits, I call you now! Take a stand against this tyrant of the after-life!!"

[Invocation of Life and attack with Spirits of the Righteous]

Jex

When the dragon had focused in on Weston's ring, the bard knew that the ring was special. He hadn't realized how special. The look on Weston's face said it all - it's power must be awesome. So he drew his sword as the inevitable battle began and as he did so, he started to sing a Song of Heroes, to encourage his companions in what might be their final battle.

"From the darkness a form started to squirm
The heroes would now face the great white wyrm
The dragon yearns for the ring of power
The one which had been named Aurenaur.

From its maw came a cloud of frozen breath
In its eyes they foresaw an icy death
Yet the heroes stood their ground on this night
The dragon now faced a group with great might."

Seyja


Her rage building, Seyja aimed her first attack at the wound in the white dragon's scaly neck.

Tindarien

A quick consideration moves him behind a tree where he gathers his power in an attempt to launch his lightening fork at its most powerful.

[OOC I believe Tindarien also has a plus 1 in the creature in undead. ]

GM

It was an avalanche carried on a hurricane, a blizzard. The dragon's jaws flew wide as it lunged and it vomited a killing cold. A cloud of freezing fog spewed from its throat, hidding the torrent of ice that it sent hurtling through the air.

The dragon was aiming for Weston and anyone stood close to him, like Seyja. They disappeared, swallowed by the blizzard, but just as it reached Jex, Zoltan leapt in front of the bard with his shield raised.

Cold struck them with such a jolt it was like a bad fall. Their cheeks seemed to yellow and blister, frost formed in their hair and their innards juddered. Zoltan watched as hard rime grew on his upraised shield, seemingly reaching out, craving for the dragon's breath--- Then the rime exploded as jagged chunks of ice smashed against the shield. Perhaps sharing a moment of comraderie as the blizzard swept away from them, Jex and Zoltan turned on the white wyrm and charged, with their swords poised.

The dragon heaved the rest of its body up the slope towards the party and it became clear how huge it was, and how gnarled and twisted too. It was like a creature that had survived the most appalling injuries and healed, but healed badly. Once upon a time, the Master of Winter had been maimed, maybe by the defences of Wizard King's capital city as Jex had said.

His joints were shaky, his limbs wizened, but his evil will had only distilled over time, growing more remote and self-absorbed.

Yet he was still sharp as a blade of ice. As the dark elf started to drift into memory, to vanish into the obscurity of the shadow walk, the dragon's blazing blue eye fixed on him.

"Where are you going, broken shadow!?" The dragon sneered, "You won't find your lost farthings under my wings!"

The rogue wasted no time, hurling his dagger at the dragon's face. The blade flew passed its teeth and straight into the back of its throat as it spoke. The Beast errupted into violent coughing, hot, steaming blood bursting from its gaping neck wound and dowsing the glade.

Nestaron saw his chance and gritted his teeth as he tried to compel the spirits to rise up against their draconic foe, but they would not. The ancient gravepacts, written in prehistory, would not be shaken by the cleric's spells. But the party felt other presences, the tenderest of ancestor spirits, the mothers, the nanas and little sisters, embracing them with care and love. You could all feel them, and in that moment might have seen familiar, if half-remembered faces in the mist, as warm as the mist was cold.

Jex and Zoltan charged, the icy mist dissipating around them to reveal Weston and Seyja, still alive. They were covered in frost and bleeding bright red from scores of thin cuts. Their clothes were in ribbons, but they were still armed and despite their ragged breathing, ready for battle. The copper-haired bard was inspired by their stand, a new verse to the Song of Heroes tripping from his lips. Together, the four attacked the Master of Winter. Their blades hacked and stabbed the scaled hide, and they were rewarded by the monster's roars of pain and indignation. Weston and Seyja striking its forelimbs to keep it off-balance, Jex's magic scimitar striking at its neck.

Leaping, Zoltan's longsword glanced off the dragon's eyeball and rang like it had struck solid stone, but the sound jangled the dragon's nerves too and its lips curled back as it turned on the paladin...

Seeing the party in peril, seeing his friend Weston endure the dragon's breath, Sergeant Almador was invigorated, rushing towards the Beast with the intent of piercing it with his polearm. There was the din of splintering wood, however, and suddenly the dragon's whip-like tail lashed from the trees, intercepting the Sergeant. With a winded grunt he was lobbed through the air into the surrounding gloom.

At the other, toothed end, the monster's jaws slammed shut only inches from Zoltan, showering him with ice chips as he dodged backwards. The dragon reared back, not realising its snout was inside the cave mouth. With a crunch, its skull hit the roof of the cave. More rocks fell crashing to the ground and the Master of Winter staggered, dazed and coughing, and his own orange blood dripping from between his teeth.

"I knew it! Assassins! Who sent you? The Gold? Lure me out with the Aurenaur and then finish me off? Was that your plan!" He spat.

Ducking under the dragon's tail, Tindarien scowled and focused, lightning arcing between his palms as he gathered power for his destructive magic. His hair stood on end, energies flashed around him, but his target was distracted by the rest of the party. Still, the high elf had the feeling something else might be creeping up on him from the shadows....

[[
D HP: 21/21; Rec: 4/8; AC 14, PD 15, MD 11; Init +9
T HP: 24/24; Rec: 3/8; AC 11, PD 12, MD 14; Init +3
N HP: 27/27; Rec: 8/8; AC 17, PD 13, MD 13; Init +2
W HP: 13/33; Rec: 7/9; AC 16, PD 14, MD 11; Init +3*2; Staggered (Engaging MW)
S HP: 13/33; Rec: 3/8; AC 15, PD 15, MD 11; Init +3*2; Staggered (Engaging MW)
Z HP: 30/40; Rec: 7/8; AC 21, PD 13, MD 14; Init +2 (Engaing MW)
J HP: 14/24; Rec: 3/8; AC 14, PD 12, MD 11; Init +4*2 (Engaging MW)
Al HP: 20/27; AC 17, PD 14, MD 12; Init +3 (Engaging MW)

MW HP: 54/120; AC 20, PD 18, MD 18, Init +8; Staggered, Dazed
]]

<Weston>

He hardly noticed the cuts. He hardly felt the cold ... even though a part of him knew he was paying a heavy toll. His instincts were good and he crouched behind his shield when the dragon's breath came his way. When the cold moved on, though, he renewed his charge, slashing at the more undead than alive thing! It was an abomination that had lived way too long! It had to die.

Seyja


She screamed as the frost attack seared her with bitter cold, but her rage allowed her to do nothing other than attack the giant wyrm again.

Zoltan

He bangs his shield against the dragon's hide to knock off the rime and seeing it dazed by it's encounter with the roof of the cave, he ducks underneath it's chin and attempts to use it's own momentum to help drive his sword up and thru the bottom roof of it's mouth and into it's brain.

(OOC - Neal - Stats for Zoltan in your post are wrong. Not sure if it made a difference in the last round, but should be AC21 and MD14.)

[Thanks Zeim. Updated for Renn's Armour. It made no diff in Round 1.

MikeD, just for clarity, you've never written that Weston uses a shield before and it's not on his char sheet, so I've always had him use his sword two-handed (1d10) like a Mediaeval longsword.

Finally, the white wyrm isn't undead per se. It's ancient and in a state of bad repair. White dragons in 13th Age are associated with death and necromancy, as well as the Moon, and of course the classic, cold.]

[[ I wondered about the shield ... I didn't remember him having one either. I just assumed =I= was missremembering ... again <sigh>

As to it's 'undeadhood' ... based on what the ring 'showed' him, it seemed pretty undead to Weston <wink> ]]

D

The elf gave a soft laugh as his blade hits a target deep in the dragon's throat. He moved and shifted avoiding the deadly beast. Turning he crept up on it closing the distance. His intention to strike while the beast was preoccupied with the cave mouth.

[OOC: Sounds like a good time for Deadly Thrust. If not another Flying Blade could work just as well, or maybe you have another idea. It all works.]

Tindarien

He is not sure if his thoughts of another presence are real or just his paranoia given their ancient & terrible opponent. He needs to retain his focus to successfully gather the power and direct a devastating, hopefully, attack on the dragon. He keeps his main focus on that but tries to keep an awareness around himself, just in case.

He sends a thought to Farvi to keep watch but keep himself safe from the cold.

Sergeant Almador

He didn't know what had happened. All he knew was that he was lying on his back in a bush. Sergeant Almador dragged himself to his feet, bent over and retched, his legs wobbling as he tried to catch his breath.

There was little moonlight but the stars were out, and he could see the massive scaled and mishappen bulk of the white dragon very clearly. It was surrounded by a light mist that seemed to pour from its mouth, and there were flakes of snow, crazing in the air.

And there were his companions too! The Seneschal had called them 'adventurers', as if the term were synonymous with mercenaries. That's not how Almador saw these folk, not now. They were daring, no doubt, and not like anyone he'd ever met, they weren't by any means normal. But they did what they did out of a need to help people like Almador and the townsfolk of Rosencliff.

So, grabbing his partisan he propelled himself back into the fight.

Jex

I'm going to need to work on my diplomacy

He ducked behind Zoltan's shield as they were sprayed with sharp shards of ice that came wrapped in a frosty cloud. His face burned in pain from as the cold bit into his skin. But that did not deter him and his new-found weapon cursed in anger as it bit the dragon back.

In pain but motivated to survive, the bard knew that the only way to do so was to somehow kill the foul beast before it killed him. To that end, the bard changed tactics to dive behind cover and once he was safer (because when an ancient white dragon is attacking you, you're never really safe), he pointed a finger at the great white wyrm and unleashed a chaos bolt as he continued to sing his song:

"As the white dragon beat it's frosty wing.
It tried to steal Weston's ivory ring.
Wanting to kill them with its frosty breath
The great wyrm then delivered icy death

But bravely a few heroes stood their ground
They would fight the dragon till it was downed.
To ensure that the end was not tragic
They fought the dragon with steel and magic.

[Recruiting for this player character. Send PM for details]

Nestaron

He remembered how cowed the spirits had been during the Battle of Heilbutt's Hallow, and it was even worse here. The cleric had no doubt now, this weird white wyrm was the cause.

The white dragons were said to have had a mastery of death magic once. It was one of their aspects, along with the Moon. Nowadays they were thought of as barely intelligent, ice-blasting monsters, but Nestaron knew something of the gravepacts and had heard of cenotaph and mausoleum dragons.

The Beast, the Master of Winter, whatever its name, it was clearly ancient and twisted. Not exactly undead, it had lived too long and somehow survived when it should have died of its injuries.

It was decided by the half-elf that he had to put an end to its existence, once and for all. And he wouldn't be surprised if that solved the problem of the poisoned river too.

Maybe Tindarien had been right all along? Had the creature's blood caused the contamination? It was certainly spilling plenty of it about.

"Your fate is long overdue, monster!" He yelled, "Planned or not!"

Weston and Zoltan had their armour to protect them, and Jex could fall back to use his magic. So he focused his healing spells on Seyja, the barbarian woman in the hope he could keep her axe wreaking havoc.

[Heal spell on Seyja, attack dragon with sling.]

GM

Still coughing on the dagger lodged in back of its throat, the dragon reared back with its one eye bent on the adventurers before it.

The snow in the air whirled as suddenly the Beast unfurled its wings, leathery and tattered but seeming to emcompass the horizon. Orange blood streamed from the wounds you'd dealt it, but the monster had a cold, iron grip on life that it wouldn't relinquish. Old and decrepit as it was, as maimed, as hurt as it was, there was still fight left in it.

Its gazed settled on Zoltan again and it surged forward, claws raking the earth. There was a spray of sparks as one of its claws grazed the paladin's Crusader armour, but the plates were bonded by hellfire and didn't burst.

Dirt and rock joined snow as it was flung into night air by the white wyrm's attack, and the already chaotic melee became a blind clamour. Buffeted by the Beast's wings, the cold itself seemed to deepen and cut like a knife. Weston and Jex were blue-lipped, their beards frosted, they weren't shuddering any more since a deathly chill had taken root in their core. They fought on, as did everyone else. Seyja felt raw light and warmth flood into her from her toes to the top of her nose, where the ice in the dragon's breath had cut her skin glowed with Nestaron's healing energy.

Sergeant Almador plunged into the cloud of freezing fog and debris, feeling the earth shaking under the monster's great weight. He thought he saw D nearby, the dark elf also rushing into the fray, but then the shock of the cold hit Almador and he lost sight of the man. Letting out a strangled cry as he saw white scaled hide appear in front of him, the Sergeant drove the polearm in up to the base of the blade.

With a roar from overhead, the partisan was jerked from his hands and the man-at-arms had to fumble for the mace at his belt. There was a bright flash and he looked up to see forked lightning crackling through the air, writhing over and burning the massive, monstrous dragon. Almador had no time to spy who'd cast the magic, he assumed it was the high elf's sorcery.

Standing by the cave mouth, Tindarien was perhaps dismayed when his empowered spell didn't slay the Beast outright. But this was no goblin shaman, it was an ancient white wyrm, a dragon from the age before ages. With smoke drifting from its empty eye socket, the dragon glared at the sorceror.

"Seek to slay me while I am weak and wounded, will you!" Coughed the dragon, "So... be it!"

Farvi the ferret stuck its head out of Tindarien's backpack, its nose twitching. It squeaked and ducked back inside, giving a distinct impression of 'Call me later!'

[[
D HP: 21/21; Rec: 4/8; AC 14, PD 15, MD 11; Init +9 (Engaging MW)
T HP: 24/24; Rec: 3/8; AC 11, PD 12, MD 14; Init +3
N HP: 27/27; Rec: 8/8; AC 17, PD 13, MD 13; Init +2
W HP: 3/33; Rec: 7/9; AC 16, PD 14, MD 11; Init +3*2; Staggered (Engaging MW)
S HP: 13/33; Rec: 2/8; AC 15, PD 15, MD 11; Init +3*2; Staggered (Engaging MW)
Z HP: 20/40; Rec: 7/8; AC 21, PD 13, MD 14; Init +2; Staggered (Engaging MW)
J HP: 4/24; Rec: 3/8; AC 14, PD 12, MD 11; Init +4*2; Staggered (Engaging MW)
Al HP: 15/27; AC 17, PD 14, MD 12; Init +3 (Engaging MW)

MW HP: 14/120; AC 20, PD 18, MD 18, Init +8; Staggered
]]

<Weston>

Parts of him were so cold he wasn't sure if they were even still attached. But the fire of his desire to end the evil of this thing still burned and spurred him on. He could only work based on the sounds it made, the breath and roars told him where the head of the thing was and that seemed like the place to start ... back a but from those jaws was the wounded neck. =That= was where he wanted to strike, that was where he could do the most damage.

Seyja


Her scream of pain morphed into a roar of vengeance as the healing warmth of the cleric's spell spread over her and, for a moment, her mind overcame the rage of her emotions and she remembered the healing warmth she'd once experienced from a special potion the elderly gypsy woman - her second mother, she'd always felt - had given her soon after she had stumbled upon the gypsy camp, grievously wounded, having barely escaped from the slaughter of her barbarian family.

Those orcs had been pure evil, she thought then and thought still, sent by the Orc Lord to take her at any expense. And this great white wyrm was another manifestation of evil and she rededicated herself to its destruction.

Seyja brandished her greataxe and her roar of rage increased in intensity as she waded back into battle, determined that this dragon would die.

[OOC: Seyja just used her chit.]

Zoltan

The claw scraping across his breastplate pushes him back, even though it doesn't pierce the armour. Taking a breath, he wades back in, slicing with his sword at the grievous wound on the dragon's neck.

(OOC - If he has any Smite Evil's left he'll use them)

Tindarien

This is going to be a tough opponent. He won't say too tough because they have to defeat it. He is disappointed that his spell didn't do more damage and vows to try harder, this time casting a scorching ray which hopefully will be effective against this time of dragon.

He reminds himself that he has a healing potion to hand. He might need it.

Jex

He had no choice. If he didn't take the healing potion, he would die. So he did between verses of his song.

Their bones were aching from the icy chill
Staying alive would take an iron will
There would not be any numbing of pain
Till the Master of Winter was finally slain

D

He rolled and slipped alongside the great beast. His dagger trying to find purchase again.

[OOC Deadly Thrust or step back and let a Flying Blade loose. Either is good. Assumed the first in the small post, but...]

GM

The party milled around the maimed white dragon, ignoring the unnatural cold that clouded around it, colder than the deepest Northern winter. It was cold that could blister and burn the flesh in seconds, there would be no slow, painless freezing to death from this cold.

And there was tooth and claw to contend with too, and beating its ragged wings, the wyrm was suddenly lighter on its feet.

As Weston poised to strike, the dragon's foot stamped on him with a crunch, while it clawed Jex with a kick of its hindquarters, flinging him cartwheeling across the glade. Seyja leapt through the air, locking eyes with the monster. It was as if time was frozen too, as the barbarian hung in the dragon's glare, axe raised for an overhead chop, then she was snapped out of the air by its massive maw.

It tried to juggle Seyja into the back of its mouth for a killing bite, but she was more than a mouthful and the dark elf and paladin were closing in.

The dragon spat Seyja into the nearby trees, and she crashed through the pine branches, thick freezing gas streaming from her body.

"I will not be bested by mountebanks, freaks and wastrels." Rumbled the Beast of the Titan's Elbow, launching itself into the air in a whirl of wind.

D didn't hesitate, hurling his dagger at the creature. With so much debris swirling around, the rogue couldn't see where it hit but he heard the dragon's pained gasp.

Tindarien could be forgiven for cursing, as his fire magic would soon be out of range. Until then, he launched a scorching ray, hissing and shrieking at the ancient evil, scrawling a black scar across its white, scaled breast.

But the Beast climbed into the night unabated, and orange blood rained down from it.

Driven by a raw emotion, choking desire for revenge, somehow Seyja staggered to her feet, still clutching her axe.

Seeing this, Nestaron turned to Weston, uttering a mantra under his breath, a spell of healing cast upon the young man's unmoving form from a distance. The cleric then ran across the glade, skidding to a kneel beside Jex.

The bard's song had been silenced by draconic claws. His armour was in disarray, blood streamed from the man's nose and his lower leg looked awkwardly orientated. At least the claw had hooked his armour and not his rib-cage. The bard was unconscious but had Lalleh's Enlivening Elixir clenched in his fist, so Nestaron took it, pouring the liquid into Jex's mouth.

Spluttering probably followed, but surely the bard could not complain bitterly. The potion might have been lemony, but it was sweet, and its potence was such that Jex felt like he could kip right up and dance the Gopak. If his leg had been broken, it was now mended.

"Someone help please!" Cried Sergeant Almador nearby.

He was straddling Weston, rolling the unconscious fighter over. "Stay with me, son!" He said, but knew nothing of potions or healing or healing potions. All he knew was that his friend wasn't moving and the dragon was gone.

But it was not gone; Tindarien was trying to keep track of its flight. It was starlit night, the fateful New Moon only a day away. With the white wyrm airborne, they were at the mercy of its blizzard breath, caught stranded on a hillside in unfamiliar terrain.

Farvi squeaked loudly from the high elf's backpack, so that even D and Zoltan's heard it. Tindarien himself span on the balls of his feet.

There was a halfling crouched on a boulder a few feet away. He wore buckskins and his hair in a mohawk with a tufty chin beard. There was a large knife with antler handle sheathed on his belt, but his hands didn't stray to it. His eyes were wide and kept darting to the sky.

"Come, before it returns! I know a safe place." The halfling said, eager to leave.

[[
D HP: 21/21; Rec: 4/8; AC 14, PD 15, MD 11; Init +9
T HP: 24/24; Rec: 3/8; AC 11, PD 12, MD 14; Init +3
N HP: 27/27; Rec: 8/8; AC 17, PD 13, MD 13; Init +2
W HP: 0/33; Rec: 6/9; AC 16, PD 14, MD 11; Init +3*2; Staggered
S HP: 15/33; Rec: 1/8; AC 15, PD 15, MD 11; Init +3*2; Staggered
Z HP: 15/40; Rec: 7/8; AC 21, PD 13, MD 14; Init +2; Staggered
J HP: 12/24; Rec: 2/8; AC 14, PD 12, MD 11; Init +4*2; Staggered
Al HP: 15/27; AC 17, PD 14, MD 12; Init +3

MW HP: 2/120; AC 20, PD 18, MD 18, Init +8; Staggered
]]

[Due to the dragon disengaging on its turn, I've delayed Zoltan and Jex's turn, so they'll effectively do more in the next resolution. I used an additional recovery for Seyja, to get her hit points back into double figures and protect against the ongoing damage from the dragon's blizzard breath. (Worth noting that ongoing damage stacks, btw.)

Weston is unconscious, has failed first death save with three remaining. Someone can feed him his own healing potion, or one of their own, or slower, they can make a Wisdom-based skill check. (You have to describe how one of your Backgrounds relates to healing.)]