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#837436 Sat 23/01/16 23:54 UTC
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GM

Nestaron's eyes barely cracked open, his lashes were frosted together, much like his hair and beard.

Dried blood encrusted his face where his scalp and cheek had been gashed, but he felt no pain, thank the gods. His body had mostly iced over again, and inviting, cold numbness had reclaimed him.

The ancient white wyrm had brought the half-elf back to its lair during the night, encasing him in ice to prevent his escape. Later, it had tormented him, thawing his frozen arm with its own hot blood, causing breath-taking agony.

But Nestaron would not heal the Beast, and there was no torture that could convince him otherwise. The dragon was sickly, infirm, worn by age and hardships that no centuries long sleep could cure. Even before Nestaron and his companions had shown it their steel, the dragon had taken a terrible, gaping wound to its throat, put there by either the knight errant or the dragon rider.

The Beast was desparate and malicious, and thought it had found its salvation, whether in Weston's ring or Nestaron's magic. He couldn't speak for the ring, but Nestaron's holy magic did not serve evil.

So with a snarl and slash of its claw, the dragon had clipped off the cleric's thawed arm above the elbow. His red blood had pumped and spurted, steaming from the wound but dragon's breath refroze it, sparing his life.

The ice around Nestaron was thick and opaque, stained with gore from the half-elf and dragon. He occupied a shadowy nook in the cavern, far away from the wide shaft of sunlight that shone down from a hole in the ceiling.

The cavern was huge, its walls layered in sheets and flows of ice. It looked like it had once held water, that was now smooth and glistering floor, frozen solid. There were other signs of the dragon's occupation, bones and other scraps littering the floor, and the trail of filth that trickled downwards into one of the many dark and narrow crannies.

On an island of rock amongst the ice stood a lordly old man.

He was pale, his hair thinning and his skin hanging in dry creases. A white leather cloak he wore about his shoulders, that seemed somehow to merge with his wrinkled neck. Under it was a glimpse of white scale armour and a weapon belt, but his hands were empty, fingers feeling around his mouth.

His face was in profile, silhouetted against the sunlight from above.

"I sought a fair fight, did I not?" He whispered to the shadows, "To pit my natural strength and weaponary against theirs, one versus one. But no, they came at me with steel and magic! A gang, a rabble!! Skullduggers and knifemen!"

The old man growled, then reached into his mouth chuckling. He twisted out one of his teeth with a wet, fleshy rendering and held it up to the light. Sharp like a fang it was, and dripping.

With a jerk he flung the tooth into the trail of dragon's filth.

It sank, bubbling violently and something sprouted from it, rising up from the scum. A slime-coated form, half-man, half-dragon it seemed, pale with ugly, tumorous patches of brown and black. As it straightened, its eyes snapped open, then its jaws in a squealing roar.

Another six dragonmen stood around it and joined in roaring a challenge, a challenge that echoed around the cavern and down the tunnels.

"Well I too can play your game." The old man said with a bloody grin.

Drawing a pitted kopis from under his cloak, he turned into the light. He had only eye, and a ghastly wound in his neck leaked orange blood.

***

You'd done well getting so far undetected. You needed light to move quickly and quietly, yet the light would also reveal your approach.

It was an unsolvable problem, so you got as close as you dared by stealth and then began your attack.

You saw immediately that an attack from the other, above ground entrance would have been to your disadvantage. Shinning down a rope, one at a time, would have gone badly for you. But at least the hole did provide enough illumination to see by.

The floor of the cavern looked like a frozen underground lake, but a narrow spit of rock led out to an island in the middle where the ancient white lord stood, commanding the battle. Was he the dragon?

His dragonmen, grown from his own teeth, held the rocky bridge between him and you. A few of the creatures had found rusty old weapons to arm themselves with, whilst the others drooled a thin, watery slime that sizzled where it dripped to the floor. They wasted no words -- assuming such hideous monsters could even talk -- but their lord made his intentions clear.

"Arise my children! Bring me the Aurenaur, kill all who oppose you!"

And so the battle was joined.

[
D HP: 24/28; Rec: 4/8; AC 15, PD 16, MD 12; Init +10, Weakened
J HP: 27/32; Rec: 1/8; AC 15, PD 13, MD 12; Init +5*2
S HP: 42/43; Rec: 0/8; AC 16, PD 16, MD 12; Init +4*2
T HP: 24/24; Rec: 3/8; AC 12, PD 13, MD 15; Init +4
W HP: 38/44; Rec: 4/9; AC 17, PD 15, MD 12; Init +4*2
Z HP: 40/40; Rec: 3/8; AC 22, PD 14, MD 15; Init +3
Al HP: 21/27; AC 17, PD 14, MD 12; Init +3
Be HP: 32/32; AC 18, PD 14, MD 14; Init +6

Terrain Notes: The rock bridge is wide enough for two combatants abreast. Enemies are arranged in the order shown below. Moving across the frozen lake instead of the rock bridge requires a stunt, DC 20.

Dr.Sv1 HP: 32/32; AC 17, PD 16, MD 12; Init +6
Dr.Sv2 HP: 32/32; AC 17, PD 16, MD 12; Init +6
Dr.Sv3 HP: 32/32; AC 17, PD 16, MD 12; Init +6 (Behind)
Dr.Mg1 HP: 30/30; AC 15, PD 11, MD 15; Init +5 (Behind)
Dr.Mg2 HP: 30/30; AC 15, PD 11, MD 15; Init +5 (Behind)
Dr.Mg3 HP: 30/30; AC 15, PD 11, MD 15; Init +5 (Behind)
Dr.Mg4 HP: 30/30; AC 15, PD 11, MD 15; Init +5 (Far Away, Behind)
MW HP: 28/28; AC 16, PD 12, MD 15; Init +6 (Far Away, Behind
]

nem #837443 Sun 24/01/16 00:21 UTC
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D

Using stealth, he slipped along the edge of the rock spit. He would try and use his talent for Shadow walking, to make a surprise attack. They would have to move through the ranks, and he would help cut down the first one before he moved on himself.

[Shadowwalk, target one of the first rank.]

nem #837448 Sun 24/01/16 00:55 UTC
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Seyja


She dropped her hand to the fire bomb, but hesitated even as her rage began to grow. The old white warrior - probably the transformed dragon - was too far away to be sure of a hit by the thrown incendiary.

Roaring her determination to kill as her rage peaked, Seyja rushed forward and attacked the first dragonman on the front left.

nem #837459 Sun 24/01/16 01:50 UTC
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<Weston>

With the narrow rock bridge meant that only two could really move forward. He decided that he could be most useful with his bow for the moment. He had his bow out and considered a target ...

[[ are all the 'foes' sticking to the bridge or are they coming across the ice? If the former he will target the front rank on the bridge, if the latter, he will target ice walkers. ]]


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Tindarien

A quick look does not reveal Nestaron but he concludes that the figure on the island is likely the dragon, else where could he be.

He figures that he should save his offence for the dragon but help his group get past these obstacles as quickly as they can.

He casts a chaos bolt at the first line of dragonmen.

nem #837529 Sun 24/01/16 17:18 UTC
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Zoltan

He knows his role in a combat like this. He is the rock upon which the enemies will crash and break. It is his role to ensure that none can cross the bridge to reach those of his fellows who prefer to fight from a distance. And once these are dead, then it is his role to charge.

Drawing his sword and clasping his shield tightly, he rushes forward alongside Seyja, his infernal battle-cry spilling from his lips.

nem #837670 Mon 25/01/16 21:11 UTC
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Jex

It was evident that the old man was the dragon in disguise. It probably thought that the disguise would work but it wouldn't really. While the dragon was the main problem, having to face it as well as it's newly summoned minions put the party at a disadvantage. So Jex decided to focus his attacks on the dragonmen. So he unleashed a Soundburst at the two front lines of attackers.

[Hopefully I did the rolling correctly. I assume you rolled initiative already....

Jex Soundburst hit,qty,dam
Neptune rolled 1d20+5,1d4,5d6+3 and got 25, 3, 17

**** Note the nat-20!]

nem #838414 Sat 30/01/16 16:47 UTC
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Bearkiller

With a screaming, high-pitched war cry, the mohawked halfling charged the dragonmen head on, his long knife in his fist, his eyes wide and crazy.

nem #838417 Sat 30/01/16 16:57 UTC
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Sergeant Almador

He would have faltered if not for keeping pace with his companions. The old guard wanted to pause, take stock, get a grasp on a situation that was greatly different from what he'd expected.

The Sergeant had prepared himself for a guts and glory charge against a dragon... not a tactical engagement against multiple foes. Ironically, this was more like what he was trained for, but this party were not drilled as a unit. They fought using their instincts.

So Sergeant Almador tried to do the same, raising his flanged mace and stomping across the rocky, open ground towards the dragonmen.

nem #838625 Sun 31/01/16 20:45 UTC
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GM

Nestaron heard the hue and cry and shakily lifted his chin from his chest. A voice carried to him across the frozen lake, singing, melodious yet uncouth and he recognised it. The bard!

Nestaron had buried his hope and faith deep down, so the dragon couldn't exploit it, but now it burst forth and he wailed from his dry, cold lungs.

Farvi squeaked and shifted in Tindarien's pack and the elf caught it too. A frail sound from somewhere in the shadows on the far side of the cavern. The cleric lived!?

"You curs think yourselves worthy of life!? I will show you your worth, for I am the Master of Winter and death is my gelding!" Growled the shape-shifted dragon and holding out his clawed hand, a long, vicious spear of ice grew in its grip.

This he hurled with unfaltering malice, and the spear flew over the heads of his conjured followers, over the heads of the charging heroes. The spear struck Weston as he was climbing to a vantage, splintering against his mail in an explosion of ice and winding him. The weight of it did more harm than the point, but neither took the bowman out of the fight.

Rather than venture an arrow arched at the ancient white lord, Weston found a closer target more to his liking and loosed at the dragonman engaging Bearkiller. The halfling's hand speed was fast, but his knife had only gouged the scaled hide. Weston's first arrow thunked high in the dragonman's shoulder, opening the creature for a second shot that spat it front to back.

Ahead, two forces were about to clash when suddenly, silence and blurred vision! The concussive explosion, a magical burst of sound had been amplified by the enclosed cavern. Zoltan raised his heater shield, feeling the patter of falling detritus against it. His ears started to ring, confirming he wasn't deaf but he saw immediately who had absorbed the blast.

The front ranks of the dragonmen were now a hot wet smear on the rock, victims of Jex's deadly spell.

Through the cloud of debris came the rest of the enemy. They were hunchbacked, scaled, their blunt snouts lined with rows of wickedly curved teeth. Spawned from dragon filth by dragon magic, they walked like men and fought with a pitted and rusty arsenal. The worst of their weapons preceded them, however, as thin acidic slime was sprayed at the party from the back of their throats.

Where the spray touched skin, skin burned, swelling and reddening almost instantly. Except for the halfling and Sergeant Almador, none escaped unscathed.

Ignoring the pain, Dark Elf D reached for the dragonspawns' awareness with his mind, and finding it, slipped away from it, little more than a shadow of a memory. His reminder would be an obsidian blade.

Zoltan was alongside, less subtle in his magnificent if imposing suit of armour that seemed to shed the acidic slime like so much water. He slammed into the nearest monster, cracking its skull with the pommel of his sword.

Then a bolt of moaning, screeching negative energy struck the dragonspawn, cast from somewhere over Zoltan's shoulder. Tindarien! The high elf had a remarkable talent for dark sorcery and for supporting the tiefling in the melee.

In that moment, Zoltan caught a glimpse of Almador to one side, swinging at a dragonspawn armed with a broken-tipped short sword. Beyond them, Seyja. Coils of smoke rose from the barbarian, where the acid was eating into her leathers. Screaming, she lopped off a dragonspawn's hand as it was lifting a cold iron bar. It somehow kept a one-handed grip on the weapon and looked undaunted.

The paladin's own foe also remained alive and dangerous, wielding a large dwarven pick, even though one side of its body was in spasms. Blow to the head, negative energy bolt, or both, most creatures would have turned tail and ran.

But did this remind anyone of the goblins they battled at Heilbutt's Hallow? They too had fought to the death -- uncharacteristically for their kind -- afraid or compelled by the will of their master.

It was doubtful how sapient these dragonspawn were, having been conjured by the ancient lord only minutes before. Routing them was unlikely... this battle would be a slaughter, one way or another.

[
D HP: 18/28; Rec: 4/8; AC 15, PD 16, MD 12; Init +10
J HP: 24/32; Rec: 1/8; AC 15, PD 13, MD 12; Init +5*2 (Behind)
S HP: 30/43; Rec: 0/8; AC 16, PD 16, MD 12; Init +4*2 (Engaging Dr.Mg3)
T HP: 18/24; Rec: 3/8; AC 12, PD 13, MD 15; Init +4 (Behind)
W HP: 30/44; Rec: 4/9; AC 17, PD 15, MD 12; Init +4*2 (Behind)
Z HP: 37/40; Rec: 3/8; AC 22, PD 14, MD 15; Init +3 (Engaging Dr.Mg1)
Al HP: 21/27; AC 17, PD 14, MD 12; Init +3 (Engaging Dr.Mg2)
Be HP: 32/32; AC 18, PD 14, MD 14; Init +6

Terrain Notes: The rock bridge is wide enough for two combatants abreast. Enemies are arranged in the order shown below. Moving across the frozen lake instead of the rock bridge requires a stunt, DC 20.

Dr.Sv1 HP: 0/32; AC 17, PD 16, MD 12; Init +6; Dead
Dr.Sv2 HP: 0/32; AC 17, PD 16, MD 12; Init +6; Dead
Dr.Sv3 HP: 0/32; AC 17, PD 16, MD 12; Init +6; Dead
Dr.Mg1 HP: 9/30; AC 15, PD 11, MD 15; Init +5; Staggered (Engaging Z)
Dr.Mg2 HP: 30/30; AC 15, PD 11, MD 15; Init +5 (Engaging Al)
Dr.Mg3 HP: 16/30; AC 15, PD 11, MD 15; Init +5 (Behind, Engaging S)
Dr.Mg4 HP: 30/30; AC 15, PD 11, MD 15; Init +5 (Behind)
MW HP: 28/28; AC 16, PD 12, MD 15; Init +6 (Far Away, Behind)
]
Click to reveal...

[ROUND 1. Escalation Die 0. Initiative is rolled...
Be 20+6=26
MW 20+6=26
W 20[14]+4=24
J 17[10]+5=22
Dr.Mg 15+5=20
D 6+10=16
Z 12+3=15
Al 11+3=14
S 9[8]+4=13
T 4+4=8
Dr.Sv 2+6=8
Be attacks Dr.Sv1 with Poison Knife. Rolled 4+7=11 vs AC 17. Miss
MW attacks Weston with Thrown Spear. Rolled 15+6-2=19 vs AC 17. Hit
MW does 5 damage
Weston attacks Dr.Sv1 with Longbow. Rolled 17+4=21 vs AC 17. Hit, Second Shot triggered
Weston rolled 4+2=6 damage
Weston attacks Dr.Sv1 with Longbow. Rolled 20+4=24 vs AC 17. Hit, Critical
Weston rolled (9+2)*2=22 damage
Jex sings Song of Heroes. Him and nearby allies gain +1 attack bonus until next turn
Jex attacks Dr.Sv1, Dr.Sv2, Dr.Sv3 with Soundburst. Rolled 20+5+1=26 vs...
...PD 16. Hit, Dr.Sv1 takes (14+3)*2=34 damage. Killed
...PD 16. Hit, Dr.Sv2 takes (14+3)*2=34 damage. Killed
...PD 16. Hit, Dr.Sv3 takes (14+3)*2=34 damage. Killed
Dr.Mg1 attacks Jex, Weston with Acid Spray. Rolled 18+6=24 vs...
...PD 13. Hit, Jex takes 3 damage, 3 ongoing acid damage until end of battle
...PD 15. Hit, Weston takes 3 damage, 3 ongoing acid damage until end of battle
Dr.Mg2 attacks Seyja, Zoltan with Acid Spray. Rolled 18+6=24 vs...
...PD 16. Hit, Seyja takes 3 damage, 3 ongoing acid damage until end of battle
...PD 14. Hit, Zoltan takes 3 damage, 3 ongoing acid damage until end of battle
Dr.Mg3 attacks Seyja, Zoltan with Acid Spray. Rolled 16+6=22 vs...
...PD 16. Hit, Seyja takes 3 damage, 3 ongoing acid damage until end of battle
...PD 16. Hit, D takes 3 damage, 3 ongoing acid damage until end of battle
Dr.Mg4 moves to attack Tindarien with Acid Spray. Rolled 9+6=15 vs PD 13. Hit
Dr.Mg4 does 3 damage to Tindarien. Tindarien will take 3 ongoing acid damage until end of battle
D takes 3 ongoing acid damage from Acid Spray
D targets Dr.Mg1 with Shadow Walk. Rolled 13+5+1-4=15 vs MD 15. Hit
D walks in shadow. Next attack double damage
D saves vs Acid Spray. Rolled 2 vs 11. Fail
Zoltan saves vs Acid Spray. Rolled 15 vs 11. Success
Zoltan attacks Dr.Mg1 with Longsword. Rolled 19+6+1=26 vs AC 15. Hit
Zoltan rolled 7+4=11 damage
Almador attacks Dr.Mg2 with Heavy Mace. Rolled 5+5=10 vs AC 15. Miss
Seyja takes 6 ongoing acid damage from Acid Spray
Seyja starts Barbarian Rage. Attacks Dr.Mg3 with Greataxe. Rolled [8]15+6+1+1=23 vs AC 15. Hit
Seyja rolled 9+4+1=14 damage
Seyja saves vs Acid Spray. Rolled 9 vs 11. Fail
Tindarien takes 3 ongoing acid damage from Acid Spray
Tindarien attacks Dr.Mg1 with Chaos Bolt. Rolled 8+5+1=14 vs PD 11. Hit, Chaotic Benefit triggered
Tindarien rolled 7+3=10 negative energy damage
Tindarien gains +1 AC until next turn
Tindarien saves vs Acid Spray. Rolled 5 vs 11. Fail]

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Seyja


Roaring with rage which almost masked the burning pain from the slime attack, Seyja continued forward, determined to fight her way through the dragon spawn and to get close enough to the evil white wyrm to be sure of a solid hit with her fire bomb.

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D

Happy that his ability to cloak himself from the distracted transformed dragon, he smiles to himself as he moves in for the kill.

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<Weston>

The javelin of ice almost knocked him from his perch, but he managed to hold on. He had thought to fire at the real target, but seeing the situation, decided to give Bearkiller a hand first. That damned evil beast could wait a bit. His friends came first. He fired once ... and the second was on its way almost before the first had hit.

His smile as the dragon thing fell was short lived as his ears were so badly abused, he again had trouble maintaining his feet. The pain and ringing in his head blurred his vision and his knees buckled a bit. His concern quickly turned to relief as his eyes cleared enough to show that the front row of spawn were no more. It had to be Jex doing yeoman's service.

Then the evil spawn spit some sort of acid and he was busy again, protecting his bow before himself. He needed his bow right now. As his vision cleared and his attention returned to the 'battle' he pulled another arrow, ready to aid one most in need ... or to take out a wounded foe as seemed most appropriate.


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Sergeant Almador

Battle was an onslaught of sensation. His face flushed and tingled, his heart pounded. Everything seemed more vivid, clear, colours, smells, and sounds... until the bard's spell laid waste to the enemy's front ranks, just as he was closing within arm's reach.

Trying not to slip over the slimy gore, the Sergeant went to work at Zoltan's right flank. The paladin's other flank was protected by his shield.

Sergeant Almador didn't like the look of these dragonspawn. Their scaly, crocodilian hide and rusty weapons were in some ways less intimidating than the Orc Lord's followers they'd fought yesterday. But the goblins and orcs had eyes that betrayed their emotions, rage, yes, but fear also.

These dragonspawn had eyes like sickly green marbles, with a thin slit that showed no emotion or intellect that a humble man-at-arms could understand.

Swinging his flanged mace, Almador sought to smash its head in so at least he wouldn't have to look at it any longer.

Last edited by nemarsde; Sat 06/02/16 09:11 UTC.
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Tindarien

Before his ears are assaulted by the spell from Jex, he hears a faint cry and Farvi responds as well. Nestaron! It must be!

It changes his thinking somewhat. He needs to keep his companions alive for the main assault. If he is unable to do much against the dragon, he might be able to use their distraction to get to his friend. At least it gives him options.

He casts Breath of the White against to two at the rear, hoping his friends can finish those in front of them. Then he moves, avoiding hopefully being targeted by the dragon. There is something satisfying though in deploying the dragon's own arsenal against its minions.

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Zoltan

Satisfied to see the effects of those behind him in clearing away the minions, he steps into the opening offered and continues to batter away at those blocking him from reaching the dragon.

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[ooc: Is MW within range of a spell? Jex can have Soundburst (+4 vs PD, 5d6+3 dam save for half) again if he uses his Symbol of Gathered Power. He would use that first against it. If he has to move closer to attack the dragon he would, even if it requires the ice-walk/slide thing to get closer. Just let me know whether I need to rethink this.

Not that if there is no way to attack it, Jex will use a chaos bolt +4 v PD, 1d8+3 against one of the lackeys.]

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[OOC: How about one of the 1-3 that he can do sneak damage to. I am betting mostly undamaged, or middle damaged. Don't want the easy kill. Save that for someone else. Especially since this is D's big pop for damage.]

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Bearkiller

Might as well be sawing on a damp tree. The scales and scutes of the dragonspawn's hide would need to be tackled with his knife point, not the edge.

The halfling had no time to thank Weston, but he was greatly impressed by the Axesian man's archery. Such speed and accuracy rivalled the best of the Harthorn tribe, and the arrows were much larger too.

Bearkiller was undaunted by the devastating sound burst, aware that there were still enemies standing between him and the Beast of Titan's Elbow. Dodging the sprays of acid, perhaps due to his small stature, he called upon his dire wolf to neutralise the dire threat.

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Jex

The front line of dragonspawn fell to his soundblast but there were more than one line of foes to deal with before they faced the Master of Winter. The bard targeted the one battling Sejia. They needed to chip away to get through the bottleneck. A bolt of chaos streaked at it.

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GM

D sprang from rock to rock along the edge of the natural bridge, deftly outflanking the fiercest fighting. He was seen yet unseen by the enemy, in a shadow or a shadow himself he did not know.

The dark elf sensed a heavy arrow shoot passed him from behind. Steel broadhead, shaft two and half feet long and fletched with goose feathers. Axesian, from Weston's longbow.

It disappeared into the fray, seeking a bloody end to its flight and D followed it in.

He saw Bearkiller point at the dragonspawn. Yelling "SICK BALLS!", there was a wet, throaty growl and suddenly a shimmering mirage, shaped like a terrible wolf appeared in amongst the other monsters, tearing at their soft nethers.

The Jester of Drakkenhall song was heard by his allies, seemingly inside their heads now, clearer than the clamour around them, driving them onwards to greater heroism.

Gesturing while he sang, Jex threw what looked like a bolt of glass at one foe and it exploded violently in another deafening clap of thunder.

A chandelier of ice split and plumetted from the roof of the cavern, crashing into the frozen lake. Where D stood near the edge, the ground under his feet shook and there was a loud, splintering crack. Glancing over his shoulder he saw a vast piece of the frozen lake fracture and unexpectedly fall away into darkness. Through the fine mist that rose from the gulf, D realised the lake was actually an icy plug, grown over the top of the same mine shaft they'd ascended.

The dragonspawn were undeterred, threshing with their rusty old weapons. There was little else they could do as He Who Sicks Balls ran amok in their midst. These attacks were fended off by Zoltan and Seyja, but Almador was stabbed in the face, a blow that might have killed him if not for the short sword's broken tip. Instead he received a cut that laid open his cheek, revealing pink bone beneath and gushing with red blood.

Feeling the skin peeling back from his cheekbone, Sergeant Almador's own attack was distracted and shrugged off by his foe. The monster, grown from a dragon's tooth, bared its own and raised its arm into a chop. Dark Elf D rolled to his feet behind the dragonspawn's back and slotted his dagger into the windgate at the base of its skull. A jiggle and twist to mince the brain should have ended it but didn't. Instead of dying, the minion snagged D's sleeve, trying to drag him around onto its broken blade. These things had to have brains the size of walnuts!

Another of the dragonspawn screeched and charged Jex, barging through the melee, fixed on braining the bard with its lump hammer. It was intecepted at full sprint by the mohawked halfling, who dove at its feet headfirst and sent the monster sprawling.

Zoltan probably considered it one of the most reckless moves he'd ever witnessed. Good for him? The paladin blocked with his shield, the head of his opponent's pick putting a hefty dent in the metal. With a flick of his wrist Zoltan looped his sword and cut the dragonspawn from shoulder to opposite hip, springing open its rib cage and spilling its entrails. He was just in time to watch Seyja loft a draconic head twenty or so feet into the air with her axe, and in the same move turn on Bearkiller's opponent.

The barbarian was still smoking and burning, unlike the tiefling. Acid ate at some of the others too, Weston, Jex, D and Tindarien, but not as badly it seemed. At least the dragonspawn had been hampered enough that they hadn't sprayed any more of their acidic poison. Why was Zoltan having such abstract thoughts in the middle of battle!? Where was the Master of Winter?

"Slay my kin and I slay yours, vermin!" Promised the one-eyed ancient, leaping from his perch and gliding, leather cloak outstretched towards Nestaron.

This allowed Tindarien to locate the half-elf cleric amongst the shadows. The sorcerer picked up his pace, racing into the fray whilst sucking air in through flared nostrils.

His pupils slitted, eyes becoming reptilian and Tindarien breathed out a torrent, a gout of hissing water that froze almost instantly into icy lances. The dragonspawn grappling D was torn to shreds, splattering the dark elf and Almador with orange goo. The one between Seyja and Bearkiller was struck in the waist and hurled off of the bridge, wailing into the dark void.

For a moment his companions might have thought they were under attack from another white dragon. Tindarien's only thought was likely for his friend, whose doom was rapidly approaching.

Weston trusted his skill with a bow all right, and he could manoeuvre for a shot, but the rune glowing on his sword caught his eye. His sword was a potent weapon and now charged with destructive magic. He was faced with a tough decision....

[
D HP: 15/28; Rec: 4/8; AC 15, PD 16, MD 12; Init +10
J HP: 21/32; Rec: 1/8; AC 15, PD 13, MD 12; Init +5*2 (Behind)
S HP: 24/43; Rec: 0/8; AC 16, PD 16, MD 12; Init +4*2
T HP: 15/24; Rec: 3/8; AC 12, PD 13, MD 15; Init +4 (Behind)
W HP: 27/44; Rec: 4/9; AC 17, PD 15, MD 12; Init +4*2 (Behind)
Z HP: 37/40; Rec: 3/8; AC 22, PD 14, MD 15; Init +3
Al HP: 17/27; AC 17, PD 14, MD 12; Init +3
Be HP: 32/32; AC 18, PD 14, MD 14; Init +6

Terrain Notes: The rock bridge is wide enough for two combatants abreast. Enemies are arranged in the order shown below. Moving across the frozen lake instead of the rock bridge requires a stunt, DC 20.

Dr.Mg1 HP: 0/30; AC 15, PD 11, MD 15; Init +5; Dead
Dr.Mg2 HP: 0/30; AC 15, PD 11, MD 15; Init +5; Dead
Dr.Mg3 HP: 0/30; AC 15, PD 11, MD 15; Init +5; Dead
Dr.Mg4 HP: 0/30; AC 15, PD 11, MD 15; Init +5; Dead
MW HP: 28/28; AC 16, PD 12, MD 15; Init +6 (Far Away, Behind)
]
Click to reveal...

[ROUND 2. Escalation Die 1
Be 20+6=26
MW 20+6=26
W 20[14]+4=24
J 17[10]+5=22
Dr.Mg 15+5=20
D 6+10=16
Z 12+3=15
Al 11+3=14
S 9[8]+4=13
T 4+4=8
Be attacks Dr.Mg2, DrMg4 with He Who Sicks Balls. Rolled 14+7=21 vs...
...PD 11. Hit, Dr.Mg2 takes 3 damage and is Hampered until end of battle
...PD 11. Hit, Dr.Mg4 takes 3 damage and is Hampered until end of battle
MW double moves
Weston takes 3 ongoing acid damage from Acid Spray
Weston attacks Dr.Mg1 with Longbow. Rolled 7+4+1+1=13 vs AC 15. Miss, Deadeye Archer triggered
Weston does 1+2=3 damage
Weston saves vs Acid Spray. Rolled 7 vs 11. Fail
Jex takes 3 ongoing acid damage from Acid Spray
Jex sings Song of Heroes. Rolled 18 vs 11. Sustained. Him and nearby allies gain +1 attack bonus until next turn
Jex attacks Dr.Mg3 with Chaos Bolt. Rolled 19+5+1+1=26 vs PD 11. Hit
Jex rolled 1+3=4 thunder damage
Jex saves vs Acid Spray. Rolled 8 vs 11. Fail
Dr.Mg1 attacks Zoltan with Rusty Pick. Rolled 7+5=12 vs AC 22. Miss
Dr.Mg2 attacks Almador with Rusty Sword. Rolled 13+5=18 vs AC 17. Hit
Dr.Mg2 does 4 damage
Dr.Mg2 saves vs He Who Sicks Balls. Rolled 14 vs 11. Success
Dr.Mg3 attacks Seyja with Rusty Bar. Rolled 4+5=9 vs AC 16. Miss
Dr.Mg4 moves to attack Jex--- Bearkiller intercepts.
Dr.Mg4 attacks Bearkiller with Rusty Hammer. Rolled 1+5=6 vs AC 18. Miss, Fumble. Shivelled Balls triggered. Dr.Mg4 is Dazed until end of battle
Dr.Mg4 saves vs He Who Sicks Balls. Rolled 9 vs 11. Fail
D takes 3 ongoing acid damage from Acid Spray
D attacks Dr.Mg2 with Dagger and Sneak Attack. Rolled 19+6+1+1=27 vs AC 15. Hit, Crit
D rolled (4+3+5)*2=24 damage
D saves vs Acid Spray. Rolled 7 vs 11. Fail
Zoltan attacks Dr.Mg1 with Longsword. Rolled 16+6+1+1=24 vs AC 15. Hit
Zoltan rolled 6+4=10 damage. Dr.Mg1 killed
Almador attacks Dr.Mg2 with Heavy Mace. Rolled 8+5=13 vs AC 15. Miss, Next Attack Heavy triggered
Seyja takes 6 ongoing acid damage from Acid Spray
Seyja attacks Dr.Mg3 with Greataxe. Rolled [6]20+6+1+1+1=29 vs AC 15. Hit, Crit
Seyja rolled (10+4+1)*2=30 damage. Dr.Mg3 killed, Barbaric Cleave triggered
Seyja attacks Dr.Mg4 with Greataxe. Rolled [10]12+6+1+1+1=21 vs AC 15. Hit
Seyja rolled 5+4+1=10 damage
Seyja saves vs Acid Spray. Rolled 4 vs 11. Fail
Tindarien takes 3 ongoing acid damage from Acid Spray
Tindarien attacks Dr.Mg2, Dr.Mg4 with Breath of the White. Rolled 13+5+1+1=20 vs...
...PD 11. Hit, Dr.Mg2. Killed
...PD 11. Hit, Dr.Mg4. Killed
Tindarien rolled 13+3=16 damage
Tindarien saves vs Acid Spray. Rolled 6 vs 11. Fail]

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[[ Oooohhhh KKkaayyyyy ... so what is a 'wrecker'? I assume that it does some really cool stuff in this situation ... more than would be possible with the bow. So then the question becomes, what chance is there for him to get into melee in time to do any good ... compared to the liklihood that he =could= hit with the bow but do less dammage? ]]


MikeD
nem #840219 Fri 05/02/16 22:36 UTC
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[See OOC post for more details, MikeD. But by 'wrecker' I simply mean, 'bad ass', 'gnarly', 'death dealer', 'big chopper', etc. I've changed it to be more transparent. Weston does a lot of damage with his sword, and you powered it up with a magic rune before battle. You still owe us a flashback for that, btw. wink ]

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[[ OK ... gimme a bit of time. I am buried by Winter Fantasy until Sun and I will need to do a bit of thinking on the FB. In the mean time, does Weston have a path to the MW?? It seems like the sword is the way ta go <g> ]]


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Zoltan

Now with the minions dead, Zoltan looks to close with the Master of Winter. He moves after it, intending to intercept it before it can attack any of the others.

(OOC - Neal - Zoltan is saving his last Lay on Hands to use on someone who drops below zero, so if that happens he will use it as a Quick Action)

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Tindarian

Even if Nestaron has to die, the dragon's life must end. Too long has it preyed on humankind and Tindarian knows that Nestaron would not have it otherwise. But he has to try. He tries to feel the power of the breath weapon again but it is not to be.

"Confident enough to turn your back on us are you?"

He calls out to the wyrm, trying to put a seed of doubt in his mind, trying to change the focus towards them.

And he casts a chaos bolt to enforce his words.

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Seyja


Seeing the transformed great wyrm turn to threaten Nestaron, Seyja screamed pejoratives and death threats at the dragon and, pulling the improvised fire bomb from her belt with her good right hand, she ran full speed toward the hated enemy.

Striking the fire bomb's attached matches against the haft of her greataxe as she grew nearer her target, she launched the lit and sputtering fire bomb toward the dragon.

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Jex
Even with the lingering acid eating away at the bars, he maintained his song. It was not yet time to pull out his sword. Magic was the most powerful weapon he had and he would be damned it he died trying to save it. He utilized the Symbol of Gathered Power to recall his Soundburst spell and moved forward until he was in range to cast it at the Master Of Winter. While that spell had thinned the ranks of the dragonspawn, he knew it would only chip away wt the ancient monstrosity. Still, it was the most potent attack he had and was intent on using it.


-Nep
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D

Seeing the obvious threat the pale dark elf sprinted towards his foe. He wished to get into range to toss one of his deadly daggers.

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Bearkiller

He'd observed the party from hiding the day before, watching, listening, he'd gained an insight into their motivations. It wasn't until they bravely stood up to the ancient white wyrm that Bearkiller knew he had to help them.

Only now was he realising the extent of the abilities, however. Had he known how dangerous they were, he might have been more reluctant in joining them. The destructive magic cast by the bard and sorcerer shocked the halfling, but he had to trust He Who Sicks Balls' instincts. His dire wolf never led him astray, and his dire wolf had a good feeling about the party.

So as the heroes ran out across the cracking ice, in pursuit of the shapeshifted dragon, Bearkiller's trust was rewarded. These were men and woman with mighty hearts! He did not hesitate for a second, following them onto the ice, knife clasped in white knuckles and hollering a war cry.

His aim was to keep himself between the spellcasters and any foes, intercepting any who tried to assail them. The dragon would have a paladin, barbarian and rogue snapping at its heels, and Bearkiller doubted they'd need his help.

nem #840950 Thu 11/02/16 18:56 UTC
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[Have we lost MikeD??]

Sergeant Almador

Throbbing pain overwhelmed any fatigue that was setting in, spiking him with a shot of violent energy and emotion.

The Sergeant could feel the blood gushing from his cheek. In the back of his mind, he told himself that naturally it would bleed like billy-o, and look far worse than it was. At the front of his mind, he was scared and outraged at the same time, and more than ever wanted to bludgeon the dragonspawn into a bloody pulp.

But the creature seemed too gnarly, too leathery for his mace to hurt it, and he was now regretting losing his partisan during the night.

The dark elf was on hand to assist him though, and not for the first time. Almador remembered last night, the log bridge, accutely.

After Tindarien blew away the last of the dragonspawn with his own dragon breath, and the man-at-arms had stopped gawping at the destruction, he nodded to D.

"I owe you once again, sir, and fear I might be reaching my credit limit!" He said in thanks.

Seeing the party launching an attack across the cracking ice, Sergeant Almador shrugged fatalistically.

"For Rosencliff!!" He shouted, running after them.

nem #840966 Thu 11/02/16 22:32 UTC
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[[ Nope still around ... but apparently a post I thought I made got lost <sigh> lemme try again ... ]]

<Weston>

With the dragon threatening Nestaron, it seems that desperate measures were needed. Placing his hand upon a rock he called to their foe. "Hey, Snowflake, say goodbye to your prescious", he yelled as he brought his sword up over his head, ready to bring it down, pommel first, onto the ring on his finger.


MikeD
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GM

Nestaron saw the Master of Winter coming, his leathery cloak, spread like wings, and white scale armour betraying the ancient lord's true heritage.

The half-elf wheezed from a dry, frozen throat, struggling to keep his chin up. He felt sluggish, gelid at his core, a cold, dark place where his inner fire had winked out.

But the Jester of Drakkenhall's song was like a splash of pure grain spirit, daring and brash, and Nestaron somehow discovered a slither of warmth left in his body and stoked it with his ire. His surviving arm twisted and with a crunch, he wrenched it away from the ice, leaving most of the skin of his hand behind.

The ancient lord turned at Weston's words, a spear of ice growing in his fist as he snarled.

"You cannot threaten the Aurenaur, worthless, witless wretch, you can only insult it!"

Thus the spear was hurled at Weston and the swarthy man had to dodge aside, taking the named ring with him.

Nestaron's eyelids fluttered. Even in this frozen pit of despair, there had to be spirits or gods that would heed his prayer. He had to help his friends... and his friends had the same idea about him.

The cavern was mostly lit via the pot-hole in the roof, a glorious shaft of summer sunlight beaming down from above. Around it was gloomy and misted with cold.

Through the mist, heroic figures darted. Out across the frozen lake as it ruptured and cracked, throwing up plumes of frost. Left and right, massive slabs of ice dropped into the abyss beneath. Weston and D appeared to be carried off to certain death, Jex had to curtail his song whilst leaping over yawning cracks. Seyja and Zoltan both rushed at the shape-shifted dragon, Zoltan leading with his sword and scarred shield ready, Seyja beside him with the prow-shaped head of her axe glinting wetly.

Arriving on the same rocky island that the dragon had occupied, the sorcerer, Tindarien, hurtled into a magical attack. A writhing bolt of black, shadowy energy screamed across the cavern, sinking into the ancient lord. It coursed through the empty eye socket and between bloodied lips, but the lord's one eye gleamed hot and yellow like blown glass.

"Have you ever wondered where your dragon's breath and talent for death magic come from, Son of Trahice!?" He said to Tindarien.

"Perhaps your accomplices should worry more about you? The dragonblooded who can wrest the power from the ring becomes the White. That is why your forebears created it!!"

More of the solid ice coving broke free, crashing into the ground and filling the cavern with cacophony.

Amidst the chaos, the rogue, D, had found a new use for his obsidian daggers, clawing his way back over the ragged icy edge. Nearby, Weston was hanging, losing his fingertip hold on freezing cold rock, when suddenly his cuff was seized by... a shimmering mirage, wolf-like in shape but twice the size. The fighter was hauled upwards onto solid ground, and blinking away dirt and frost was confronted by Bearkiller, the halfling encouraging him to stand. Weston and the dark elf were needed, there was a dragon to slay.

There was another deafening blast as Jex targeted the Master of Winter with another of his most destructive spells. But this was a dread foe indeed and fought on, even with thick orange blood dribbling from his ears and nose.

Zoltan ducked the Master of Winter's sweeping sword stroke, pitted steel striking sparks off of the tielfing's pauldron. Billowing his cloak, the ancient lord somehow took off and dropkicked Zoltan's shield, throwing the paladin to the ground. Seyja was lighting the storm matches on the fire bomb as the shape-shifted dragon snapped around to face her, eye aglow.

Then, shouting almost unintelligibly, Sergeant Almador lunged from the gloom with his heavy, flanged mace, bringing it smashing down on the ancient's skull, bursting it like a melon. The Master of Winter fell in a pile with a splat, physical form quickly bubbling and dissolving amongst the dragon filth that the heroes stood ankle-deep in.

[
D HP: 12/28; Rec: 4/8; AC 15, PD 16, MD 12; Init +10; Staggered
J HP: 18/32; Rec: 1/8; AC 15, PD 13, MD 12; Init +5*2 (Behind)
S HP: 18/43; Rec: 0/8; AC 16, PD 16, MD 12; Init +4*2; Staggered
T HP: 15/24; Rec: 3/8; AC 12, PD 13, MD 15; Init +4; (Behind)
W HP: 24/44; Rec: 4/9; AC 17, PD 15, MD 12; Init +4*2 (Behind)
Z HP: 37/40; Rec: 3/8; AC 22, PD 14, MD 15; Init +3
Al HP: 17/27; AC 17, PD 14, MD 12; Init +3
Be HP: 32/32; AC 18, PD 14, MD 14; Init +6
Ne HP: 1/27; AC 13, PD 13, MD 13; Init +2; Staggered, Helpless

Terrain Notes: The rock bridge is wide enough for two combatants abreast. Enemies are arranged in the order shown below. Moving across the frozen lake instead of the rock bridge requires a stunt, DC 20.

MW HP: 0/28; AC 16, PD 12, MD 15; Init +6; Dead
]
Click to reveal...

[ROUND 3. Escalation Die 2
Be 20+6=26
MW 20+6=26
J 17[10]+5=22
Z 12+3=15
Al 11+3=14
S 9[8]+4=13
T 4+4=8
W 20[14]+4=24
D 6+10=16
Be double moves
MW attacks Weston with Thrown Spear. Rolled 12+6-2=16 vs AC 17. Miss
Weston takes 3 ongoing acid damage from Acid Spray
Weston double moves. Attempts Stunt with Con and Rover Background. Rolled 10+3+2+2=17 vs DC 20. Fail. Weston goes to bottom of initiative order
Weston saves vs Acid Spray. Rolled 20 vs 11. Success
Jex takes 3 ongoing acid damage from Acid Spray
Jex sings Song of Heroes. Rolled 11 vs 11. Sustained. Him and nearby allies gain +1 attack bonus until next turn
Jex double moves. Attempts Stunt with Dex and Drakkenhall Court Jester Background. Rolled 19+3+6+2=30 vs DC 20. Success
Jex saves vs Acid Spray. Rolled 11 vs 11. Success
D takes 3 ongoing acid damage from Acid Spray
D double moves. Attempts Stunt with Dex and Thief Background. Rolled 8+4+5+2=19 vs DC 20. Fail. D goes to bottom of initiative order
D saves vs Acid Spray. Rolled 9 vs 11. Fail
Zoltan double moves. Attempts Stunt with Dex and Assassin Background. Rolled 16+1+2+2=21 vs DC 20. Success
Al double moves
Seyja takes 6 ongoing acid damage from Acid Spray
Sejya double moves. Attempts Stunt with Dex and Fire Dancer Background. Rolled 19+2+2+2=25 vs DC 20. Success
Seyja saves vs Acid Spray. Rolled 19 vs 11. Success
Tindarien takes 3 ongoing acid damage from Acid Spray
Tindarien recharges Breath of the White. Rolled 8 vs 16. Fail
Tindarian moves and attacks MW with Chaos Bolt. Rolled 12+5+2+1+1=21 vs PD 12. Hit, Chaotic Benefit triggered
Tindarien rolled 4+3+1=8 negative energy damage
Tindarien gains +1 AC until next turn
Tindarien saves vs Acid Spray. Rolled 11 vs 11. Success

ROUND 4. Escalation Die 3
Be moves
MW moves to attack Zoltan with Scary-Looking Sword. Rolled 10+7=17 vs AC 22. Miss. Dirty Trick triggered
MW attacks Zoltan with Dirty Trick. Rolled 16+6=22 vs MD 15. Hit
Zoltan is Dazed until end of MW's next turn
Jex sings Song of Heroes. Rolled 4 vs 11. Fail, Final Verse triggered
Seyja gains +2 to next attack roll
Jex attacks MW with Soundburst. Rolled 11+5+3=19 vs PD 12. Hit
Jex rolled 16+3=19 damage. MW is Dazed until end of Jex's next turn
Zoltan attacks MW with Longsword. Rolled 9+6+3-4=14 vs AC 16. Miss
Zoltan does 2 damage
Al moves to attack MW with Heavy Mace. Rolled 14+5=19 vs AC 16. Hit
Al does 4+6=10 damage. MW killed
TO BE CONT...]

nem #841607 Wed 17/02/16 22:25 UTC
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<Weston>

He dodged the ice javelin, then smiled. It seemed like he had gotten his attention. "Maybe, but =I= have the ring ... 'Snowflake' ... not you", he taunted, getting back to his feet ... ready to dodge again. If he could get the dragon mad enough to close, that would solve two problems.

But that hope was short lived as the world seemed to fall in on him. He was hanging on to a bit of rock, that in a different situation, would not have been such a challenge. But it was freezing cold, it was slippery with ice and he was having trouble feeling his hands. He was starting to wonder if he was going to make it when the had reached down and pulled him up. He got to his feet and nodded his thanks the Bearkiller. But more would have to wait. There was a dragon to slay!

It was =almost= a disappointment when Almador scored the killing blow. But the disappointment was =very= short lived. The cheer escaped his lips, "Way to go =Almador=!" He turned to Bearkiller, "We need to see how our friend Nestaron is ...", he said as he started making his way to the cleric.


MikeD
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Seyja


The barbarian woman roared, part in exaltation as the Master of Winter crumpled to the ice floor, but almost as much in frustration as she had not yet been able to use the fire bomb they'd worked so hard to construct.

"I'll not waste it," she growled as she struck the matches and hurled the bomb onto what was left of the transformed great wyrm.

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Tindarien

He had heard the words of the dragon, knew he would investigate them in the future but right now he has other priorities.

And they change.

As the dragon falls, he heads off towards Nestaron knowing he has healing potions and they could not go to a better cause. Nestaron's healing had got them to this point through their previous battles. This is glorious payback.

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Zoltan

More than a bit of disappointment mixes with satisfaction as he sees the dragon collapse. He had hoped to strike a more telling blow himself, but the dragon is dead and Nestaron seems to have been saved so he can't complain.

Still, he does not relax his guard and he watches carefully, guarding those in the area from any new threats.

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Jex

"This thing looks dead. Let's make sure!"

With that, the jester moves over to the head of the dragon and plunges his sword deep into it's cranium and twists the blade. He repeats the action twice and then starts hacking at it's neck, trying to sever the head from the body. He didn't know if it was the type of creature that regenerates or not, but he wasn't about to take any chances.

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Bearkiller

After his dire wolf had hauled Weston up from the edge of the abyss, Bearkiller gave a curt whistle to He Who Sicks Balls, telling his pet to sniff around.

"But not get too close." He warned gruffly, very aware of the slick of orange blood and bodily waste that had accumulated in the sump of the dragon's lair, the surface broken by bones and rusted weapons, armour and other junk.

The halfling's knuckles were white as he gripped his antler-handled knife, eyes darting left and right. He didn't believe such an ancient evil could be vanquished by someone as dim, slow and old as the man-at-arms.

At the first sign of trouble, at any sign, Bearkiller would howl and attack.

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D

He was happy to see the creature fall. But he knew better than to trust it. "Death is not so easily obtained for something as ancient and evil as that thing," he cautioned. His eyes watched looking for the threat he was sure was coming.

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Sergeant Almador

Wheezing from exertion and the fine frost he'd breathed into his lungs, the Sergeant had hoped for a sudden end to the battle.

Seyja's fire bomb certainly fixed the white lord's attention, and the withered, bald head that was turned away from Almador looked as robust as an eggshell.

His heavy mace had only scuffed the leathery scuted hide of the dragonspawn, so Almador was eager to prove himself worthy of his friends' confidence (especially with the brusque halfling around).

So the man-at-arms' blow had his considerable weight and frustration behind it. He still hadn't expected it to fell the monster.

In the immediate aftermath he stood there blinking until Weston's praise caused him to redden and wave it off. His companions were still in a combat posture, but the old guard couldn't resist looking from the head of his mace to the dead, shapeshifted dragon. Wasn't it skulduggery it had accused them of?

"Yeah, skull-dig that, you swine!" He muttered.

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GM

With Weston's help, Tindarien had distracted the ancient white lord from slaying Nestaron. Now the high elf rushed across the crumbling frozen lake to join his companions in freeing his friend.

Bearkiller glanced over his shoulder at the sorcerer. A strange look, for the name 'Trahice' was familiar to the mohawked halfing and one of foreboding.

He said nothing. There was foreboding aplenty in the cavern.

The storm matches smouldered and flared as Seyja struck them, but as Jex sloshed into the pool of scum, hacking at the fallen dragon, they both noticed how its corpse had become mush, already drifting apart.

Smoke caught in the barbarian's throat. She coughed, looking down at herself, then unbuckled and shrugged out of her leather jerkin, finally throwing the smoking ruin away. Seyja was adept at handling liquid fire, from the fire dancing rituals she had learned in her past. The fire bomb gave her no trouble and the storm matches burned slowly. She was ready to throw; there was no urgency yet.

D and Weston caught their breath as they approached. D perhaps lending Zoltan a hand in getting to his feet, if the paladin wanted it. Once standing, both demontouched and dark elf were on high alert. Weston meanwhile was first to reach the Nestaron, and it was a grisly sight.

The walls around the half-elf were encrusted with blood-ice. His face was patched with frost, his lips were blue, and although he bore many light wounds, his left arm had been completely torn off, the gaping wound frozen shut.

Sergeant Almador meanwhile, dared to enjoy a moment of triumph.

Then the pool exploded around him and the blizzard dragon rose underneath him, jaws wide, transformed back into the huge Beast of Titan's Elbow.

Many of its teeth were missing, empty sockets weeping orange blood, and its head was grotesquely misshapen as if partially crushed. The rest of its maimed, draconic body rose from below, wings unfurling.

Almador was carried aloft in its mouth, mawled, chomped, spat out. With primitive savagery, Bearkiller leapt at it, knife in hand, but was batted away. The Master of Winter snaked its head around, glared at the rest of you with a furious eye and roared.

[
D HP: 24/28; Rec: 3/8; AC 15, PD 16, MD 12; Init +10
J HP: 18/32; Rec: 1/8; AC 15, PD 13, MD 12; Init +5*2
S HP: 12/43; Rec: 0/8; AC 16, PD 16, MD 12; Init +4*2; Staggered
T HP: 15/24; Rec: 3/8; AC 12, PD 13, MD 15; Init +4
W HP: 41/44; Rec: 3/9; AC 17, PD 15, MD 12; Init +4*2
Z HP: 37/40; Rec: 3/8; AC 22, PD 14, MD 15; Init +3
Al HP: 6/27; AC 17, PD 14, MD 12; Init +3; Staggered (Engaging MW)
Be HP: 32/32; AC 18, PD 14, MD 14; Init +6 (Engaging MW)
Ne HP: 1/27; AC 17, PD 13, MD 13; Init +2; Staggered, Helpless

MW HP: 90/90; AC 19, PD 16, MD 15; Init +8 (Engaging Al)
]
Click to reveal...

[ROUND 4 CONTINUED. Escalation Die 3
Be 20+6=26
MW 20+6=26
J 17[10]+5=22
Z 12+3=15
Al 11+3=14
S 9[8]+4=13
T 4+4=8
W 20[14]+4=24
D 6+10=16
Seyja takes 6 ongoing acid damage from Acid Spray
Sejya holds, GM gives Seyja +2 advantage bonus to save
Seyja saves vs Acid Spray. Rolled 11+2=13 vs 11. Success
Tindarien recharges Breath of the White. Rolled 12 vs 16. Fail
Tindarian double moves. Attempts Stunt with Dex and Acrobat Background. Rolled 15+2+2+2+2=23 vs DC 20. Succeed
Weston uses recovery to Rally. Rolled 6+8+3=17 HP
D uses recovery to Rally. Rolled 8+3+1=12 HP

ROUND 5. Escalation Die 4
MW 20+8=28
Be 20+6=26
J 17[10]+5=22
Z 12+3=15
Al 11+3=14
S 9[8]+4=13
T 4+4=8
W 20[14]+4=24
D 6+10=16
MW transforms. All previous conditions removed
MW attacks Almador with Fangs and Unexpected Attack. Rolled [1][6]8+8=16 vs AC 16. Hit
MW does 11 damage
Be attacks MW with Poison Knife. Rolled 7+7=14 vs AC 19. Miss
TO BE CONT...]

nem #841850 Sat 20/02/16 19:54 UTC
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Seyja


She'd almost released the fire bomb when she realized there was nothing left at which to throw it... just mush...

Was that just a doppelganger? An illusion?

Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted by a sear of pain in her chest and she awkwardly ripped her the leathers from her upper body before they could burn her even further.

Then the ice floor broke, surged upward around the reappearance of the Master of Winter.

Seyja reacted immediately, hurled the still smoldering fire bomb at the great white wyrm and drew her greataxe from her back in preparation for rushing the beast.

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D

He knew in hus heart that there was something worse coming, though he hated to be right. The black shards that were his stock in trade appeared so that he could attack. He kept moving to dodge the massive creature and to avoid being in line with its massive breath.

[OOC Best attack he can do, ranged or close and activate his racial power if the opportunity presents itself.]

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Zoltan

He'd been waiting. It had been too easy. He thanks D for the hand up and settles his sword and shield, watching and waiting.

When the ice erupts, he moves with no delay and places himself before the Dragon, striking as hard a blow as he can.

(OOC - Neil - using everything he has left here. He hasn't used his Racial Power this battle (btw, if the dragon rolls a 1-5 on ANY of it's 3d20, does he get to use it, or would it have to roll 1-5 on all 3 dice?), nor has he used Bastion, as you pointed out. He still has a Lay on Hands left and he also still has a few Smite Evils left.)

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<Weston>

He is appalled at Nestaron's state. Before he can decide what to do things go pear shaped again and the thrice damned beast is back. He howls with frustration and rage as he sees Almador swept up in the dragon's maw. He grabs his swords and attacks with all his rage and frustration behind the blows!!


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Tindarien

As he reaches Nestaron, his eyes full of compassion for his friend, an uproar sounds behind him. He can guess from his companions reactions what that means. But he is here right now. Farvi has rolled one of the potions to within easily reach. The high elf reaches back, graps the vial and pours it into Nestaron's mouth. It won't be enough but it might buy him a little time. He knows from the cleric's state that he has suffered much on their behalf, it is the least he can do.

He doesn't wait to see any reaction but whirls around ready to engage with a spell. He has done his best for Nestaron, now he has to do his best for the others.

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Jex
Hacking at the seemingly dead dragon's head was a futile action but the bard didn't pause to sulk about it. There was work to be done! He was rid of his spells so now it was time to pull out Fusillade the Angry! He unsheathed the foul weapon from it's sheath and lowered it on the Master or Winter, and as he does he lets out a battle cry to Seyja to Pull it Together!

[ooc: Seyja is the most hurt but I'm not sure if that Rec: 0/8 next to her entry means she has none left. If that's the case, next most harmed that's not encased in ice is Tindarien. So it would be for him.]

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Sergeant Almador

What happened? Had he blacked out?

Almador was totally aware of his surroundings, senses sharpened by the intensity of battle in a way they hadn't been for decades, if ever. Yet he still couldn't recall the past thirty seconds, or why he was sitting amongst his companions while they milled about.

Dragging himself to his feet, he felt nothing at all, a clumsy numbness.

Then he saw the silhouette of the dragon against the shaft of sunlight behind it. It looked even bigger in the cavern than it did outside.

"Aw bugger." He muttered.

He still had his mace, lanyard tied around his wrist, so the good Sergeant employed it for its intended purpose.

nem #842061 Mon 22/02/16 21:16 UTC
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Bearkiller

Shaking his head, the mohawked halfling gritted his teeth and snarled, charging the Beast again with his knife. All his thoughts were red and his vision was rounded with it.

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GM

Long before he was one of Bearkiller's Bodejackers, Jexric was Jester of Drakkenhall, and as you might expect, he had some experience with dragons, even dragons as ancient as the Master of Winter.

So it was quite possible that he noticed the dragon had not exploded from the ice underneath, but rather from the foul rock-pool in which they all stood. It was only ankle deep, but the dragon had apparently cast off its humanoid form and shapeshifted out of the effluent, straight into an attack. Clever clever.

Jex's attack was less clever. Drawing Fusillade the Angry, he felt the blade's pent up frustration swell in his temples and rammed the magic weapon into the white scaly hide with a scream. It was a crude blow (though it must have felt pretty good), and the copper-headed bard was suddenly yanked off his feet, finding himself clinging high on the side of the dragon, fingers wrapped around the hilt of his sword.

"No-one rides me, Dragon-Spoor!" Bellowed the Beast in outrage, "You will answer for this grave offence!"

With the dragon distracted, Zoltan lunged for a gap in the dragon's scales. The tip hit its mark, sinking in, the dragon gasping in painful shock, and with a flash of raw magic energy from the wound, Zoltan was fired backwards, sword ringing in his hand.

Before the Beast could snatch anyone else in its jaws, Seyja's fire bomb smashed against its snout. A whoosh and crackle as the mixture ignited, much of it falling into the monster's gaping maw but missing its one eye.

Sergeant Almador battered at it with his mace, Weston struck with a two-handed overhead chop, the magic rune flaring on his sword blade. Darting in and out, the dark elf's obsidian daggers plunged into the dragon, but however old and decrepit it was, the Beast of Titan's Elbow was thick-skinned. Bearkiller's halfling-sized knife failed again to even pierce it.

Ignoring the deafening roars and shuddering of the ground, Tindarien poured one of his healing potions between Nestaron's lips. The cleric's eyes instantly twitched and focused on his elven friend.

"Are you... always this late?" He wheezed, then grimacing started to struggling against his icy restraints.

With fire burning its tongue, the Master of Winter was unaware of the rescue happening almost under its nose. Instead the white wyrm lashed out at the barbarian who had thrown the fire bomb.

Its spiked tail caught Seyja across the midriff, crushing her against the wall of the cavern with a sickening crunch. Feeling her innards busted and leaking, the woman still gripped her great axe and staggered forward to engage this terrible foe. It was the Dimming of the Day, the Cold Touch of Winter. It was there when the Wizard King slew the White, it was the doom of a city of people. It defeated Gorulon Gorehound. Defeated Sir Edward the Red, Renn and Caeric. Who were you to stand against the Master of Winter!? Who!

[
D HP: 21/28; Rec: 3/8; AC 15, PD 16, MD 12; Init +10 (Engaging MW)
J HP: 18/32; Rec: 1/8; AC 15, PD 13, MD 12; Init +5*2 (Engaging MW)
S HP: 1/43; Rec: 0/8; AC 16, PD 16, MD 12; Init +4*2; Staggered
T HP: 15/24; Rec: 3/8; AC 12, PD 13, MD 15; Init +4
W HP: 33/44; Rec: 3/9; AC 17, PD 15, MD 12; Init +4*2 (Engaging MW)
Z HP: 37/40; Rec: 3/8; AC 22, PD 14, MD 15; Init +3 (Engaging MW)
Al HP: 6/27; AC 17, PD 14, MD 12; Init +3; Staggered (Engaging MW)
Be HP: 32/32; AC 18, PD 14, MD 14; Init +6 (Engaging MW)
Ne HP: 13/27; AC 13, PD 13, MD 13; Init +2; Staggered

MW HP: 52/90; AC 19, PD 16, MD 15; Init +8; Dazed (Engaging Seyja)
]
Click to reveal...

[ROUND 5 CONTINUED. Escalation Die 4
MW 20+8=28
Be 20+6=26
J 17[10]+5=22
Z 12+3=15
Al 11+3=14
S 9[8]+4=13
T 4+4=8
W 20[14]+4=24
D 6+10=16
Jex attacks MW with Fusillade. Rolled 7+6+4=17 vs AC 19. Miss
Jex does 2+7+1=10 damage
Zoltan attacks MW with Longsword and Smite Evil. Rolled 6+6+4+4=20 vs AC 19. Hit
Zoltan rolled 1+4+11=16 damage. MW uses Dragonblooded to negate attack
Al moves to attack MW with Heavy Mace. Rolled 14+5=19 vs AC 19. Hit, Next Attack Heavy triggered
Al does 4 damage
Seyja attacks MW with Fire Bomb. Rolled 2+4+4+2=12 vs PD 16. Miss
Seyja rolled 4/2=2 damage. GM gives MW dazed until end of Seyja's next turn
Tindarien recharges Breath of the White. Rolled 6 vs 16. Fail
Tindarien moves and uses Healing Potion on Nestaron. Rolled 9+3=12 HP
Weston moves to attack MW with Longsword and Power Attack. Rolled 6+6+1+4=17 vs AC 19. Miss, Rune Effect triggered
Weston attacks MW with Longsword and Power Attack. Rolled 17+6+1+4=28 vs AC 19. Hit, Carve An Opening triggered
Weston rolled 2+4+7+1=14 damage. Crit range expanded to 19-20 until end of battle of next crit
D moves to attack MW with Dagger, Sure Cut and Sneak Attack. Rolled 15+6+4=25 vs AC 19. Hit, Sneak Attack triggered
D rolled 3+3+2=8 damage

ROUND 6. Escalation Die 5
MW attacks Seyja with Spikes and Unexpected Attack. Rolled [4][11]17+8-4=21 vs AC 16
MW does 11 damage
Be attacks MW with Poison Knife. Rolled 10+7=17 vs AC 19. Miss
TO BE CONT...]

nem #842065 Mon 22/02/16 21:31 UTC
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Zoltan

Rolling back to his feet he growls in demonic fury, face revealing his heritage for perhaps the first time any here had seen. He swings the sword through an arc and charges back in to slash at the dragon again. As he passes Seyja, he reaches out with one hand and touches her, healing energy passing from himself to the Barbarian.

(OOC - Bonus action of Lay on Hands, uses one of his Recoveries.)

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Jex
His first attack with his new-found weapon showed his inexperience with the blade. Now riding the back of the great white wyrm, the bard drew the sword from the dragon and now straddling the monster he plunged it into the dragon again, hoping that this time he'll have adjusted to the newness and that this time the blow would be more serious. He once again issued his battle cry to help an ally recover.

[ooc: I still don't know if Seyja has recoveries left but if she does, I think she needs it. If she can't, I'll let the DM pick who gets healed. Sergeant Almador might be next on the need-list.]

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[Seyja has no recoveries, so she to use a recovery gives her a cumulative -1 to attack and defence. Pretty severe. Jex's battle cry didn't trigger last round, unfortunately. Zoltan's Lay on Hands will allow Zoltan to use one of his recoveries for her, so is the best option.]

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D

He rolled to the side, so that his next strike came from a different direction. He would make the dragon die of a thousand cuts if it took that many.

[Same as last round, keep moving, hit, run, and racial power if possible.]

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<Weston>

He grinned when he struck, but the beast was still up and still attacking his friends. This evil creature =HAD= to die!!! He redoubled his efforts and swung again at the foe before him!


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Seyja


She screamed in combined pain and rage and staggered forward, her greataxe poised as her rage grew. Then she felt a rush of warmth suffuse her wounds as the paladin granted her is healing power.

She would have to thank him later... if she survived and if she remembered.

Seyja lunged forward, swinging her weapon at the beast's neck.

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Tindarien

A wry smile touches his face at Nestaron's words. He had so regretted waiting the night before attempting a rescue, even though he knew it had to be. He cannot imagine what the healer must have suffered in that time. He doesn't know if Nestaron is capable of spell casting but those distance healing abilities of his could still make a difference to them in this fight. Now he must fight with the others. Hopefully he will be able to do more for Nestaron later.

He feels for the breath spell but it still isn't there so he decides to try the opposite and use scorching ray. He is sure the dragon will not like that one!

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[Gypsy, maybe try rolling your recharge when pchan is at least one mile away?]

Bearkiller

The Beast's armoured hide seemed impervious to his knife, whether thrust, slash or stab stab stab. But the Harthorn Mountain Halfing knew that if he could pierce it, just once, his envenomed blade might sap the dragon's vigour enough for a killing blow.

Dodging sideways to avoid a taloned foot the size of a millwheel, Bearkiller risked a glance at what his companions were doing. He saw Zoltan striding back in with sword and shield. The paladin had drawn blood by carefully aiming his attack, and only been repelled by dragon magic. The halfing decided to do likewise, sucking down his frustration and biding his time. He'd attack the furrow where the scales were lapstraked.

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[OOC Good idea! lol ]

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Sergeant Almador

Staggering from tiredness, from the treacherous footing and from injuries he couldn't even feel, the aging man-at-arms hefted his mace once more. Glancing left and right he saw his companions were also struggling with the Beast.

Last night it had them cornered, yes, but it had to stick its neck out to attack them. Here in the cavern, it filled the space, its clawed feet, spiked tail and fangs could attack anyone, anywhere, and even its scaly trunk had to be evaded. They were like mice jammed in a barrel with a bear.

But for his companions Sergeant Almador had to strive on. For his town, for his family, he must do, or he must die! He charged back in to attack.

nem #842820 Sat 27/02/16 23:48 UTC
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[NEC Birmingham Show this past week and GypsyCon today, but not running as far behind as anticipated. Watch this space.]

GM

Captain Achelus sat bolt upright in his bed, regretting it immediately. Wincing and groaning at the crash of pain against the insides of his skull, he swung his legs over the side, feet touching down on the cool stone floor.

It was only an hour or so after dawn, but the summer nights were warm in Rosencliff, especially if the sea breeze wasn't blowing. The morning freshness, still pleasantly warm, was the most comfortable time of the day, and the townsfolk rose early to enjoy it and get some work done. Being a northerner, the mornings were when Achelus slept best, especially mornings after employing his heavy drinking ruse.

He often doubted that the Baronessa was convinced, but her Seneschal was, and consistently underestimated the Captain. Achelus belonged to the Order of Averness, no secret, but few people knew exactly what that meant. There were many stories. Many people thought it was a society whose glory days were long past, and now little more than a badge for impressing the naïve and dimwitted. Achelus leveraged this misperception.

The Order of Averness were suspicious of Lady Morgen. She had risen quickly into the ranks of the Empire's nobility, her past a mystery. Every noble had their own agenda, but Lady Morgen had demonstated a formidable will and had involved herself with parties that would make most nobles blanch. She'd rid herself of the Sword Point's lizardman pirates by recruiting a tribe of cannibal lizardmen from the Demon Coast. A gruesome but effective solution. Then there were midnight meetings with the Fey, and trips to Shadow Port, on the last of which she'd given patronage to the bandit bard, Jex Dragon-Spoor.

Maybe she was a villain, maybe she was just misunderstood. She could be a southern gypsy using her shady past to get ahead, but she could be a rakshasha or other monster plotting the downfall of civilisation.

So Captain Achelus tried to appear as ignorant and disinterested in intrigue as possible. So far he'd learned that her Seneschal had some dark secrets, but the Baronessa herself had proven inscrutable.

Either way, rubbing his dry, bloodshot eyes, Achelus bemoaned the subterfuge and wondered how bona fide roisterers coped. What had woken him anyway!?

He heard a commotion outside on the battlements, from the open door onto his balcony.

His quarters were in the top floor of the gatehouse, affording an excellent view of the surrounding country and the main road into town. In his breaches and crumpled shirt, Achelus pushed himself to his feet and out onto the balcony. Bright sunlight flooded over him and he felt another kick in the head from last night's wine. Gritting his teeth, he hooded his eyes with a hand and looked out.

It was sunny and clear, a morning haze giving distant features a washed out, vague quality, like lingering dreams.

Town guards were gathered at the parapet, gabbling and gesturing south, and out on the road, field hands were doing the same, stopped on their way to work. Everyone looked frightened, disturbed---

The sound came again, and Captain Achelus suddenly understood why the commotion, and what had woken him. A tremendous roar, that rose into outraged scream, carried on the tranquil morning air from the south, from the Titan's Elbow.

Even the Captain lost some his colour. The party of adventurers had found the Beast then. He prayed they weren't already dead, noticing Sergeant Almador's youngest were amongst those on the road.

"Good gods preserve us." He muttered under his breath.

***

The roars of the ancient white wyrm, its wings and flanks crashing against the walls of the cavern, caused a deluge of rock and ice from above.

Narrowly avoiding being crushed and dragged into a red streak, the Jester of Drakkenhall scaled scales with magic sword in hand, until he stood astride monstrous withers. Then stooping, he drove Fusillade the Angry into the Beast, as far as his strength, weight and cry would take it.

Below, lunging, Zoltan struck a blow across the dragon's neck, cutting into the same ghastly wound the party had noticed in the night.

The Beast's one eye, glowing amber in the gloom, bulged as it felt sudden sharp pain. It bore hideous and numerous wounds, old and new, but as strong their affinity for death magic was, white dragons had none for healing. That was why it had targeted Nestaron, snatched him, tortured him, tried to convince the cleric to use his famed healing magic. It was not to be. Yet the dragon stolen the party's only magical healer either.

Quickly grasping his sword blade with his shield hand, Zoltan reached out with his other hand and traced his fingers across Seyja's forearm. A golden warmth flooded into her, setting her innards aright, even as the paladin felt a pang of fatigue.

Seyja didn't hesitate, rushing the Beast with an ear-splitting scream, spittle flying from her lips and gnashing her teeth. To one side she Almador lose his footing and slip, disappearing under the dragon's bulk. No matter. Her axe was swung with more rage than skill, as the dragon's massive jaws snapped towards her, patches of fiery liquid still burning in its maw. The barbarian hit with the flat, the draconic head flinched away instinctively and into Weston's own blow. That too struck awkwardly, lodging into bone and Weston might have been eaten where he stood if not for Tindarien's scorching ray of sunfire.

Hearing Jex's battle cry had given the sorcerer a surge of confidence, and he angled his offensive spell straight down the Beast's throat, tracking it as it reared up. Weston fell away, landing in a crouch but still holding his sword.

Almador wretched and blinked the foul, gellid dragon's blood from his eyes. Shadows shifted around him and he looked up, too late to see the rearing dragon's bulk bearing down on him. He knew he was dead and tried to say something but his mind was suddenly blank. Out of the gloom, at full tilt, came the drow called D. The rogue's daggers sliced into the blizzard dragon's underbelly and it lofted itself with its wings, giving both men mere seconds to get clear. Sergeant Almador floundered to his feet and ran, thanking the gods for this dark elf that kept saving his skin.

The ancient white wyrm hit the roof and fell, hitting the ground on its side, its wing cracking and breaking under its immense weight. Jex was thrown off of its back, splashing down in the pool nearby, but as he scrambled to his feet, the monster was upon him. Zoltan leapt and the claws raked him before clipping the bard. The men were sent sprawling, nearly at Seyja's feet.

The Master of Winter drew shuddering breaths, bleeding from head to tail. You realised you were witnessing a legend. As evil as it was, it was the last of its kind. The last Primeval White. Its hindquarters collapsed and the malice in its one eye intensified with hatred.

"Your pains... have only just begun!" It snarled and suddenly freezing liquid blasted from its throat amidst billowing, thick white gas and hunks of ice.

Jex, Zoltan and Seyja were consumed by the blizzard but the dragon kept spewing. Orange blood boiled and bubbled from its wounds and black, smouldering marks appeared on its back. As cold poured from its mouth, the rest of its body burst into fierce flames.

Agonised, the Master of Winter writhed, thrashing around the cavern violently. Bearkiller cursed and took shelter behind rocks and he was probably not alone. Then with one misstep, the dragon toppled over the edge of the mine shaft, plunging like a flaming meteor to a death that was long overdue.

In the aftermath, the tiefling rolled onto his side with a gasp, but next to him Jex and Seyja were unmoving, encrusted in rime.

[
D HP: 21/28; Rec: 3/8; AC 15, PD 16, MD 12; Init +10
J HP: -7/32; Rec: 1/8; AC 15, PD 13, MD 12; Init +5*2; Unconscious, Dying
S HP: -4/43; Rec: 0/8; AC 16, PD 16, MD 12; Init +4*2; Unconscious, Dying
T HP: 24/24; Rec: 2/8; AC 12, PD 13, MD 15; Init +4
W HP: 33/44; Rec: 3/9; AC 17, PD 15, MD 12; Init +4*2
Z HP: 12/40; Rec: 2/8; AC 22, PD 14, MD 15; Init +3; Staggered
Al HP: 6/27; AC 17, PD 14, MD 12; Init +3; Staggered
Be HP: 32/32; AC 18, PD 14, MD 14; Init +6
Ne HP: 13/27; AC 13, PD 13, MD 13; Init +2; Staggered

MW HP: 0/90; AC 19, PD 16, MD 15; Init +8; Dead
]
Click to reveal...

[ROUND 6 CONTINUED. Escalation Die 5
MW 20+8=28
Be 20+6=26
J 17[10]+5=22
Z 12+3=15
Al 11+3=14
S 9[8]+4=13
T 4+4=8
W 20[14]+4=24
D 6+10=16
Jex attacks MW with Fusillade. Rolled 17+6+5=28 vs AC 19. Hit, Pull It Together! triggered
Jex does 8+4=12 damage
Tindarien gains spontaneous heal using a recovering. Tindarien uses recovery, rolled [3]6+4=10 HP
Zoltan attacks MW with Longsword. Rolled 8+6+5=19 vs AC 19. Hit
Zoltan rolled 4+4=8 damage
Zoltan uses Lay On Hands
Seyja gains spontaneous heal using one of Zoltan's recoveries. Seyja uses recovery, rolled 7+5+3=15 HP
Al moves to attack MW with Heavy Mace. Rolled 1+5=6 vs AC 19. Miss, Fumble
Seyja attacks MW with Greataxe. Rolled [2]3+6+5+1=15 vs AC 19. Miss
Seyja does 2+1=3 damage
Tindarien recharges Breath of the White. Rolled 1 vs 16. Fail
Tindarien attacks MW with Scorching Ray. Rolled 14+5+4=23 vs PD 16. Hit
Tindarien rolled 6+3=9 damage. MW takes 1d8 ongoing fire damage until end of battle
Weston moves to attack MW with Longsword. Rolled 4+6+5+1=16 vs AC 19. Miss, Heavy Blow triggered
Weston does 2+5+1=8 damage
D attacks MW with Dagger, Tumbling Strike and Sneak Attack. Rolled 13+6+5=24 vs AC 19. Hit, Sneak Attack triggered
D rolled 1+4+2=7 damage
D disengages with MW using Tumbling Strike. Rolled 7+5+5=17 vs 11. Success

ROUND 7. Escalation Die 6
MW takes 2 ongoing fire damage
MW attacks Jex with Claws and Unexpected Attack. Rolled [2][17]19+8=27 vs AC 16. Hit, Dying Blizzard Breath triggered
MW does 11 damage--- Zoltan interupts with Bastion. Jex takes 5 damage, Zoltan takes 5 damage
MW attacks Jex, Zoltan, Seyja with Dying Blizzard Breath. Rolled 12+8=20 vs...
...PD 14. Hit, Jex takes 20 damage
...PD 14. Hit, Zoltan takes 20 damage
...PD 16. Hit, Seyja takes 20 damage
MW takes 7 damage. MW killed
END OF BATTLE]

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D

The pale dark elf patted the sergeant at arms. "We lived," it was his soft voice complete with the surprise that he felt. He hadn't been sure that he would have.

Rolling to his feet he moved to one of the ones that didn't move. He still had a potion of healing that he could help others with, and he would.

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<Weston>

He hit, at least. But sadly it hit bone and didn't end up doing much damage. But that disappointment was washed away when it looked as if he might become a snack for the great beast. Luckily Tindarien landed his fiery attack!

He managed to land on his feet ... mostly, his sword ready to try again. But the beast took to the air ... and then things got hectic as ice and rock fell everywhere ... there was a mind numbing cold and fire coming from the beast ... and then the beast was falling and burning and ... it was over ... again ... for good?

But the immediate question was how were his friends. He looked around and the most immediate concern was the lack of movement from Jex and Seyja. He moved to them to see how they were doing.

"Maybe not all of us", he said crouching next to his unmoving companions. "How is Nestaron doing? Can he help", he asked.


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Sergeant Almador

He tried to chase the dragon to the edge of the abyss to watch its fiery end. Not to gloat, but to assure himself that the Beast of Titan's Elbow was finally slain.

His legs wouldn't carry him quickly enough though, and he trudged, half-limped wearily from the foul pool.

With overwhelming speed, sensation started to return. His cheeks was gashed to the bone, bleeding like a leaky tap, and a jarring pain shot up his leg with every step.

Looking down, he reached for the bloody tatters of his trousers above the knee and felt around. Eyes-boggling, with a slick sound, he slid something from his leg and held it up.

A fang, dripping with his own red blood.

"Oh that's nice." Almador mumbled almost to himself. It would take a few moments for his mind to catch up.

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Nestaron

He needed someone's support to stand and could barely speak. His limbs were wracked with chilblains and the pain was staggering.

Healer that he was, the half-elf knew mundane medicine as well as magical. As soon as was possible, he bound the stump of his arm. He'd lost his pack when he was snatched by the white wyrm, but strips from his robes would do the job.

Nestaron was very glad to see the rest of the party, and more grateful than he could ever express. In this icy hell, at the mercy of an ancient draconic evil, the holy man had truly come to know despair. It hadn't crept into his heart and extinguished him, but he couldn't have survived for much longer.

Hearing Weston's question, Nestaron regretfully shook his head.

"I am spent. I am sorry." He answered.

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Bearkiller

Wasting no time, the halfling ran over to any patches of flame and relit the mining lamp he'd taken from the tunnels far below.

They'd need better light to search the cavern and Bearkiller wasn't sure how much time they had.

"Dragon dead, cold gone. Ice melt, fall down. Must hurry." He shouted.

He wasn't a healer, and no matter how awe-inspiring the bard and barbarian were in life, if they were dead too, there would be a better time to mourn them.

Whistling to He Who Sicks Balls, Bearkiller began his search of the cavern, once a dragon's lair.

nem #842885 Sun 28/02/16 15:18 UTC
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<Weston>

"No worries Nestaron. I am more glad you are still with us", he said as he got over to his damaged friend and helped him get up. "But you =do= look like you have been fighting with a dragon", he said with a grin.

He noticed that Almador had survived as well ... =AND= ... "That is =quite= a souvenir you have there", he said with a great smile and a nudge and wink for Nestaron. It would likely help with his status back in town.

Bearkiller's call got him a bit worried. He looked to the others. "Do we rest first or leave and then rest?" He would rather have rested up a bit, but not if this place was more dangerous than the trip out.


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Tindarien

He feels a huge but numb relief as the dragon falls, even a small pang of regret, it is truly humbling to be part of the demise of a legend. Then his thoughts are with his firends.

"I have a potion too."

He calls out to D, running over to the prone forms of Jex and Seyja, kneeling beside them.

"There is still life, still a chance."

He gently lifts Jex's head, pouring the liquid into his mouth and murmuring an Elven blessing, hoping that they will survive.

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Zoltan

He gives good blows, and he is pleased at the results to the dragon. At least until it turns, bats he, Seyja, and Jex to one side and breathes a blizzard of cold upon them.

He cannot see thru the rime, but suddenly there is a crash and the blizzard of cold ends. Frantically wiping his eyes clear he can no longer see the beast. He staggers to his feet, then hears the crashing and bouncing of it's body as it tumbles down the shaft.

It is only then he begins to relax. A moment later he kneels back down as he sees both Jex and Seyja lying unmoving near him.

He can only heal one of them, but luckily the hard choice is removed as Tindarien appears and pours a healing potion into Jex's mouth.

So, he lays his hands gently upon Seyja once more, and offers her his divine healing. He then sits down where he knelt with a large sigh.

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Seyja


She exulted, roaring her pleasure when she hit the great wyrm even though it was a clumsy, glancing blow. Seyja was under the control of a truly impressive rage.

Then the Master of Winter dealt her a crushing blow and, even as she flew backward, expelled a blast of freezing cold at her and...

The next feeling she experienced was a slow, creeping infusion of warmth spreading out from her shoulders. Her eyes blinked open and she saw the Paladin leaning over her, but then quickly moving to her side and sitting down.

Seyja groaned, rolled to her left side and pushed herself to a halfway sitting position, instinctively looking around for her weapon. It was lying on the ice a few feet away and she scrambled toward it.

"Where... where is it?"

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GM

Tense moments while potions were dripped between frozen lips, and the paladin called upon his own inner strength, a golden light.

Both Jex and Seyja came to, sucking in breath and painfully filling their lungs. Rime crunched as they moved, and with the help of their companions they were soon on their feet, shivering, stamping and rubbing away the chill.

Seyja was more reassured once she had her hands on her axe, but the answer to her question lay hundreds of feet down the mine shaft. Someone else would have to explain.

You had earned a moment's respite, and even the Sergeant found time to dress his wounds, helped by Nestaron. Some colour had returned to the holy man's cheeks, but he would need to convalesce and might never be the same again.

Bearkiller had survived the battle largely unscathed, and he wasn't wrong about the cavern.

The walls and roof were buried behind thousands of tonnes of ice. The battle and dragon's death throes had already damaged it, and as the ice melted it would become more unstable.

It was a summer's day outside, and now coils of hot black smoke were rising from the mine shaft.

So it seemed reasonable that you would follow the mohawked halfling in searching the cavern and start thinking about how to escape it.

Shining the light from the mining lamps on the walls revealed deep ice, in sheets and flows. You could see things in the ice, vague, distorted, treasure perhaps, coins, gems, and other prizes. With mining tools, it could be excavated but you doubted you'd have time and besides, wasn't the object of the quest to return treasure?

Bearkiller was picking over a pile of rubble when you caught up with him, following the light of his lamp. It looked like a column of ice had collapsed in a secluded corner and grown over with fine frost.

The tribal halfling had made a grisly discovery, a well-chewed human torso. Identifying it was easy, since the surcoat was largely intact and the coat of arms recognisable. Edwardias Pendry, aka Sir Edward the Red, knight errant and agent of the Order of Averness.

More difficlt was comprehending the audacity of the knight. He must have made repeated trips into the cavern, sneaking around the slumbering Beast and working on the ice, filling his bags with treasure. Eventually Red Ed's luck ran out and the dragon had awoken; his remains summarised what happened after that.

His own packs were strewn nearby, and from a half-empty sack you judged this was where he'd taken Gorulon Gorehound's helm from.

Your quest was nearing an end.

[
D HP: 21/28; Rec: 3/8; AC 15, PD 16, MD 12; Init +10
J HP: 20/32; Rec: -1/8; AC 15, PD 13, MD 12; Init +5*2
S HP: 34/43; Rec: -1/8; AC 16, PD 16, MD 12; Init +4*2
T HP: 24/24; Rec: 2/8; AC 12, PD 13, MD 15; Init +4
W HP: 33/44; Rec: 3/9; AC 17, PD 15, MD 12; Init +4*2
Z HP: 31/40; Rec: 0/8; AC 22, PD 14, MD 15; Init +3
Al HP: 16/27; AC 17, PD 14, MD 12; Init +3
Be HP: 32/32; AC 18, PD 14, MD 14; Init +6
Ne HP: 21/27; AC 13, PD 13, MD 13; Init +2; Weakened
]

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D

He poured his healing potion down Seyja's throat when she was able to drink. They would live if they moved quickly enough.

When he had done all he could he straightened and moved to look at what the halfling had found. He wondered what a dragon's hoard looked like. He would find out even if they were leaving treasure behind. This was certainly the worst way to go if one were greedy. Thankfully life ranked higher for him, now.

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Zoltan

"Dead, I think, finally." He points at the shaft for Seyja's benefit.

With a grunt he stands, having spent his last Recovery and feeling a bit better.

He moves across the chamber, looking at the ice-encased treasure as he does, until he comes upon the body of Red Ed. Reaching down respectfully, he removes the surcoat and folds it up, storing it in his pack, proof for the Order.

He then looks at the others. "Let's get about returning the treasure, yes?"

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Sergeant Almador

When he finally came to his senses, he was relieved to see all of the party standing. True, he might've secretly been a little pleased if the dragon had trod on the halfling, but that was just sour grapes and Almador was old enough to recognise it.

It was the adventurers who'd set out with him on this quest that he was most concerned about.

Seeing Jex and Seyja back on their feet, and seeing the holy man, Nestaron still alive -- regardless of the terrible injuries -- warmed Almador's heart. It wasn't friendship, he knew he couldn't claim that after only a day or two, it was somehow more meaningful than that. Brotherhood? The sharing of an experience so monumental, so life-altering, it forged a bond that was totally unique.

Sergeant Almador thanked D again and asked to shake the drow's hand.

"I shall not deny, you aren't how I ever imagined a guardian angel to be, sir, but you have certainly proven to be mine!"

The truth was, he owed so much to all of the adventurers, he was just wary of sounding triumphalist while they were still stood in the dragon's den. The last time he thought he'd slain the Beast, it came back again and tried to eat him.

Limping, he fell in with Weston and handed him the fang for him to look at.

"If you call that a souvenir, you can keep it, son!" He said wrily, "I'll make do with memories and scars. And scarred memories!"

Then the paladin reminded them about the treasure, his grandfather's helm. He saluted Zoltan in acknowledgement and started bringing the treasure to where Red Ed's remains had been found.

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Bearkiller

He stared at the remains for a long time.

"This is my brother." He muttered sourly, before turning to Jex, "Red Knight slip away, one last time. I cannot kill, you cannot question."

Bearkiller stared a while longer, watching Zoltan remove the surcoat. Finally he huffed in a dark mood and stalked off. The halfling went to see where the smoke was coming from.

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<Weston>

"I think our guide has the right of it. We need to leave now and come back after the ice has melted. It even a fraction of the stuff were to fall ... well the dragon won't be the only dead thing in here. It is already starting ...", added, looking at the dripping, the the piles of dislodged ice and rock.


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Seyja


Seyja followed the Paladin over to the battered and chewed corpse.

"Should he not be buried properly?"

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D

He shook Almador's hand. It was a celebration of life.

He listened to the comments about burying the theif. He honestly didn't know how he felt about it. He guessed that was the right thing to do, but did he care to? He wasn't sure. That was a thought he would keep to himself.

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Tindarien

He is relieved when both Jex and Seyja respond to the various treatments bestowed on them. With the exception of Heilbutt all have survived. In many ways that outcome was better than he had expected. And as he looks around he smiles after the Sergeant. He should dine and sup well on this story for many a year to come, something to tell his grandchildren one day.

Then he moves back to Nestaron, concerned about his friends injuries and the travel ahead of them.

"We all owe you much my friend. Had you cured that dragon, and it would have been understandable if you had, many more of us might have died. But the cost was great."

He looks at the ruin of Nestaron's arm.

"I can be a pair of hands for you, carrying your belongings etc., help you get back to where you want to go. It is the least I can do. " He nods. "But I am happy you survived, I did fear the worst."

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Jex

He half expected an icy death this day and when the blast of cold came at him with the great worm's dying breath, Jex was ready to accept death. As he slipped away into darkness, he started to see the faces of those who had died at the claws of the wretched ancient terror. They were smiling upon him for the gift of vengeance that he had bestowed on them. And as the world slipped into darkness, he was calm. His only regret now was that he would not be able to write the tale and sing the ballad that his friends all deserved.

Then he woke from the blackness, gasping at air, still shivering from the cold. His head was cradled in Tindarien's lap an the first thing that he saw was the smile on the high elf's face as he came to.

"Is it over?" the bard asked.

And then he didn't need the answer. The dragon was gone. The battle was over. The cavern floor was drenched in dragon ichor and pieces of it's guts were lying all about. It was a grizzly death but that is the way with creatures of violence, they die violent deaths.

He rose to his feet, still hurting from the battle, but now he surveyed the field and did a head count. It seemed that everyone who entered the cavern survived. It was a miracle! Tears of joy started to stream down his cheek. It was time to pick up the pieces and finish the tasks at hand. Then they would return to civilization, and the songs could be sung.

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Zoltan

He shrugs at the question about burying Red Ed. "It is an empty husk. His spirit is gone, to whatever place in the afterlife his beliefs aligned."

He glances at the unstable ceiling. "Besides, when that comes down it will bury him better than we ever could. And if we don't want to share that fate I suggest we get out of here."

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<Weston>


Finally, someone else got it. "Yes, we should be going. We can come back and see if there is anything we need to address =after= the ice is gone."


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D

He turned over his pack dumping out every piece of that cursed treasure thst it contained. He did a double check incase the spirits were capricious. His chosen spot would consign the wealth to the abyss and it would be buried in all that ice when it came down. For he knew earth would come with the icy cave in.

Done he said "I have made my deposit and am ready to go."

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Nestaron

He squeezed Tindarien's shoulder. They'd seen some strife together, the revolt against the King of Meniscus had been brutal. They'd steered clear of the politics, their involvement only on behalf of the High Druid, an attempt the save the island's habitat before it was made barren to man and beast.

After the butcher's bill was paid, Nestaron had taken on Heilbutt as a follower, from his previous master, the dwarf Fuldroik. And then the three of them had caught the first ship to Rosencliff....

The cleric coughed and spasmed, then nodded his thanks to the elven sorcerer.

"Let us just agree that I was keeping the dragon busy while the - the rest of you crept up on it unexpected." He said.

Nestaron coughed again, his raw lungs irritated by the smoke.

"Though we might not be out of danger yet."

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<Weston>

"We need to get a move on", lest we end up burried with our foe", he said urgently as he looked nervously around the chamber that seemed ready to fall in on them at any second.


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Bearkiller
(to Jex)


"Come. See for yourself, Bodejacker." He grunted, beckoning to the bard.

Bearkiller stood on the brink of the chasm. Coils of sooty black smoke were snaking up from below.

If Jex were to look, he'd see the breathing glow of fire deep deep down in the mine shaft.

White dragons were perculiar amongst the chromatic breeds, in that their breath could be as harmful to them as to it was to their victims.

That infamous cold breath generated intense, furnace-like heat in their bodies. It was why the Master of Winter's orange blood was always steaming hot.

If they overexerted their breath weapon, a white dragon could burn to death from the inside out.

When the party had first entered the mine shaft, they saw at the bottom was oil shale and pyrite, screened off by the miners to protect against accidental ignition. A stray spark from a shovel perhaps? Not the flaming, meteoric remains of a huge dragon.

nem #843018 Mon 29/02/16 22:55 UTC
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GM

Seyja certainly had experience of glacial caves, and others likely had some experience of deep, freezing winters. It seemed Zoltan did.

When the ice melted, the cracks it had riven in the surrounding rock would no longer be held together. It wouldn't just be water pouring from the ceiling, it would be hard rock and dirt.

The dragon's hoard would be buried. You would be too, if caught inside.

Outside the sun was climbing on another hot summer's day, and the mine shaft was now a great chimney, roaring fire at the bottom.

So there was little time for ceremony, whether laying Red Ed to rest or the treasure.

The packs were spilled around the knight's remains, then Almador took out the haunted helm. Tarnished steel, missing horn and jewels, its aventail ragged. Gaudy yet brutal in appearance, so very suited to the gladiatorial arena.

The Sergeant looked at his companions, feeling self-conscious, as if he should say something formal. Standing there holding the crude helm, he looked less like the tubby, greying old guard, and more like the solemn champion of an elder age.

"Return to your grave, grandfather. Begone, and trouble your kin no more." He said earnestly and placed the haunted helm on a boulder of ice.

The cavern sighed. The candles in the mining lamps fluttered. A pale mist bloomed from under the helm, lifting it and burning with green balefire until it took on the semi-opaque form of a warrior wearing the helm. Behind him from the shadows stepped other ghostly warriors, regaled in motley arms and armour like the mercenaries they were in life. Their faces were hidden behind their helmets, but only Gorulon Gorehound's helm was material.

A voice spoke, the same tremulous voice you'd heard two days ago in the Baronessa's hall.

"We are those who died to regain our fortune and who to keep it would kill." Said the haunted helm.

"Doomed to suffer in the thrall of the white wyrm, our souls tormented by the wrongs we did in life.

"Thou hast saved us.

"Through the eye of the dragon we have learnt many secrets. Ask of us one question and it shall be answered, and then what is between us is done."

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Seyja


The barbarian woman looked to the fractured ceiling, nodded and turned back to face the others.

"You are right, Zoltan. We need to leave."

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<Weston>


"If we leave now, Seyja, we lose the chance at an answer from these spirits. Do we want to leave 'empty handed'", he asked. Truth, be told, however, he didn't have a question he needed answered and he =was= a bit nervous about the structural integrity of the place. Probably why he didn't think to suggest asking about his ring.


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D

He watched and listened. While he had too many questions he did not feel that it was his right to take the one secret. "Who will ask? Almador as it was his ancestor? Or one of you have something you need to know? That ring that it so desperately wanted?"

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Tindarien

Supporting his friend, ready to leave this cavern behind him, he nevertheless is the first to ask a question. His voice rings out.

"Treading the path of my parents, to restart the Aurenaur e Du, it this the best life path for me?"

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<Weston>


Well, so much for working together as a group to find the best use of that one question, he thought with a silent shrug. The question had been asked.

He looked at Nestaron. "Isn't dragon's blood supposed to be valuable? Maybe we should collect some of this before it is gone? We have a few potion vials we could fill, maybe something else."


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GM

The ghostly warriors began to fade, but the voice answered Tindarien's question.

"The future is uncertain, even to the dead.

"We can only say that thy parents would think it so, Son of Trahice." It said and balefire flashed in the eyes of the haunted helm.

The queer light shifted, the helm clattered to the ground and the mining lamps shone as before, normal light in normal gloom.

The haunted helm had been returned. The quest was complete.

nem #843132 Tue 01/03/16 19:50 UTC
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Nestaron

There was certainly a lot of chilled dragon's blood lying around, though Nestaron hadn't considered it more than filth until Weston asked about it.

"It is widely held that dragons immolate when they die, and all that remains is bones. So their other parts are highly prized. Blood, that tooth the Sergeant gave you, all have value.

"You would have to ask Tindarien here or Jex, for the wherefore and how much." He said.

The half-elf was a healer, with little knowledge of magecraft or markets.

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Bearkiller

Climbing back down the mine shaft would be like climbing down a stovepipe, and the halfling didn't fancy it.

He was a strange little creature, with his buckskins, mohawk and dark eyes, and he didn't seem to notice the ghosts, though he spoke to an incorporeal dire wolf often enough. Was the phantom he'd summoned during the battle conjuration or perhaps a spirit itself?

Bearkiller was absorbed by the question of how to escape the cavern. If not by the mine shaft, by the pot-hole?

He scrambled over the rocks to stand beneath it, warm sunshine lighting him up. It was around four-score feet just to the roof of the cavern, then a further climb up the sides of the pot-hole to the surface beyond....

Bearkiller frowned. They had a problem.

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D

Seeing the halfling move it occurs to him that they will have to get out that way unless they are willing to walk through fire.

"Do you see a way to climb up and drop a rope?" He asked the little mohawked warrior.

For his part he looked at options for climbing.

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<Weston>

"Or maybe we could throw a 'grapple' up there", he suggested to D.


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Sergeant Almador

Awed as he was, speechless, he couldn't reply to the spectre of Gorulon Gorehound.

Almador remembered the faces of his loving parents and the sadness that his grandfather had brought on them with his folly--- No, his avarice, his callousness! By what right did a dissatisfied man leave his family? They made their bed, they should damn well sleep in it.

Knuckles cracked as his grip tightened on his heavy flanged mace and he was glad when the elf spoke and rid his sight of the shade.

The Sergeant didn't realise how tense he was until everyone else started discussing escape. Then he swallowed and breathed heavily.

He glanced over to the sorcerer.

"I hope that answered your question, Tindarien, sir.

"Is Trahice your father? The dragon called you son of the same, did he not?"

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GM

Quite possible, the bard and ferret-loving sorcerer might have considered the value of the dragon's blood. It had magical qualities, no doubt, but they might have been offput by it being deadly poisonous and, though gelid, contaminated with rusty metal, bones, waste and who knew what else.

Where the effluent reached the river and pooled it was even less pure and such a toxic mix that a scum of white pudding had grown on the top.

Even so, it wasn't the blood of some marauding, sheep-eating white dragon, it was the blood of a Primeval. The contaminants just meant they'd need to search harder to find the right buyer.

Assuming they could now get out of the cavern alive.

Bearkiller looked at D and Weston skeptically. As they circled under the pot-hole they too could see that a grapple would have to be thrown some 100 feet vertically straight up, dragging a rope behind it.

A climber would have to scale the wall of the cavern and traverse the ceiling, both of which were covered in crazed ice formations that were also melting.

The pot-hole did not look encouraging then, but anyone taking a closer look at the mine shaft would notice a few things interesting.

The fire down below could not have spread to the oil shale and pyrite yet. When it did, there would be a distinct whoosh and fiery explosion, and much more smoke.

So it was likely only the dragon remains burning... so far.

From this elevated view, you could see a sturdy wooden jib on the storey below you, not far from where you'd disarmed the trap. Built by the dwarven and gnomish miners, certainly, it still had ropes, pulleys and bucket attached. Part of a crane!

Sizing it up from a distance, it was probably large enough for four adult humans at a squeeze. You seemed to recall a derelict A-frame and windlass at the bottom, which was likely the lower part of the crane.

Maybe you had the inklings of a plan, but for two galling obstacles.

  • The flammables would soon catch fire and turn the mine shaft into a furnace. Thus you did not have time to walk back down the mine shaft, using the footpath.
  • If you rode in the bucket, you would plummet fast enough to avoid any explosion with ease and the bucket would protect you from the fire as it was. But you'd be smashed to smithereens when you hit the bottom. Unless someone was already down there to throw on the brake.


The question became: how could you protect a person against fire, then have them dive down the mine shaft first, and survive to operate the crane for everyone else?

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D

As the beginings of a plan rolled around in hus brain he mentioned to the others "I still have the potion of fire resistance if it would allow someone to assist the operation of the bucket and crane assembly."

nem #843352 Wed 02/03/16 23:07 UTC
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<Weston>

He considered their options. It was pretty clear that there was no way to toss a grapple as high as was needed. He didn't like the 'wild ride' idea all that much. "Back the way we came seems like the best choice to me. But we would have to =really= hurry."

[[ can we assume two 'vials' (from the potions that were just used) were filled with the 'purest' of the blood samples we could find? ]]


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[Good idea, MikeD.]

nem #843500 Fri 04/03/16 12:25 UTC
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Tindarien

"I can get down quickly using feather fall and then using fire resistance help other use the lift mechanism. But will we have time for everyone? Work out the priorities. I need to get on with this. Nestaron though should be in the first tranche, he cannot move easily or quickly. And a good climber. We might be able to get a rope down to any remaining."

He holds his hand out for the potion which he will swallow, cast the spell and jump.. unless there are other suggestions or advice but it had better be quick.

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Jex

"I suppose this is where my acrobatic skills come in? "

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D

The pale dark elf proffered the potion. He then went to assist Almador or their rescued comrade to enact the plan.

"I can climb." He offered.

Last edited by Pandemonium; Fri 04/03/16 14:41 UTC.
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<Weston>

"How about if I accompany you Jex. I am a fair climber and it will be safer if we help each other. It is one less person to take up space in the lift. And that would also mean two of us to help with anyone using the rope."


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Jex

"That works for me," he says to Weston and D. The more, the merrier. Let's come up with some sort of support system using rope and pitons, to help us stay safe during the climb.

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Bearkiller

It took the halfling a while to catch up with the others, who understood ropework, cranes, fire and magic far better than him.

Nonetheless, it didn't sound like a plan to him. It sounded like a lack of a plan.

But given their predicament, Bearkiller was grateful for it because he had no ideas of his own. Being so lightweight and growing up in a mountain tribe, he could climb like a squirrel. But not even a squirrel could climb up to that pot-hole and out.

The mine shaft was the only way, he saw that and what these adventurers were talking about was a chance, however slim, of survival. Like an animal, he jumped at that chance boldly and fearless.

"Your balls are mighty." He said to Tindarien, "Brains, not so sure."

Last edited by nemarsde; Fri 04/03/16 17:55 UTC.
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[Ghosted for Zeim]

Zoltan

Maybe he didn't trust undead, especially those that'd been in the thrall of an ancient evil for decades, and hadn't proven themselves moral exemplars in life either.

But his hands was on his hilt and sword drawn as soon as the ghosts appeared, and it stayed drawn until his companions had devised a plan for their escape.

Sliding it into his scabbard, he moved to Nestaron's side and lent the half-elf a supporting shoulder.

The first step would be racing back down the tunnel to the trap, and across from there to the bucket. They would have to be fleet of foot and could tarry no longer.

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Nestaron

He accepted the paladin's aid with earnest thanks. In a pinch, the party had pooled their expertise and resources and come up with a daring escape plan.

Nestaron didn't doubt it, or his companions. They had already slain a Primeval dragon in its own lair. One didn't accomplish such a feat without carefully weighing the risks... that was the downfall of the champions who had tried and failed before them.

"Good luck." He said, to his elven friend and the others and then focused all his efforts on not slowing any of them down.

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Sergeant Almador

He could understand the high elf not hearing his question. What he was about to attempt looked almost exactly like suicide. That had to be distracting.

The man-at-arms tested his leg and felt able to decline D's assistance.

"Much obliged, sir," he said, "but heck, I think I can still hop and skip on this leg at a goodly rate."

His mind was still largely reeling from events from he didn't even spare a thought for what the party were about to attempt. He assumed it was all sound and went along with it willingly.

Last edited by nemarsde; Fri 04/03/16 18:16 UTC.
nem #843574 Fri 04/03/16 23:49 UTC
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Seyja


"I, too, can climb, but I am willing to fill whichever role will aid the group the most," Seyja said.

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<Weston>

"Well there are those that cannot climb, so lets get the bucket working and go from there."


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Seyja


The barbarian woman nodded and moved to help Weston with the bucket.

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Tindarien

He nods to the others and turns. Best to go through this quickly before his courage fails. He has one other option to try on the way down, one last chance to cast breath of the white, maybe it will quell those flames or hold them at bay for a while. He quaffs the potion, casts his spell and jumps, trying to recall the words for the breath weapon.

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Zoltan

Maintaining his support of the half-elf, he offer a silent prayer to the Herald that they might escape safely.

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D

The pale dark elf offers help where he is abke so that they can get the chosen four in the bucket and then speeds down the way they came up.

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Jex

He begins the climb after all precautions are taken. Ropes are tied together and everyone braces themselves. It was a life and death deal and they were in a race to survive.

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GM

You ran.

Back along the tunnel, down to the landing where D had disarmed the trap.

Swigging the dark elf's magic potion, Tindarien leapt from the landing into the mine shaft. In his backpack, Farvi the Ferret screamed like only a ferret could, sounding like a berserk teenager.

The walls were barely visible, blurs of glistering light as the fire reflected from the seams of pyrite.

The sorcerer felt hot air buffeting his body as he fell, his hair and clothing rustled, smoke stung. Twas likely he blinked away tears and squinted as he plummetted towards the flames.

Tindarien could see the fire was already creeping upwards through the black, oil-rich rock. Soon the smoke would ignite in a roaring, fiery explosion, and the structure would become a furnace.

Bracing himself, the high elf mouthed the words of his spell as he plunged into the fire. Into a ball, eyes squeezed shut, he felt heat, intense, more intense, but his pain threshold always seemed one step ahead...

He dropped from the underside of the conflagration and would have splattered against the floor of the shaft, but Tindarien's body suddenly turned feather light and he glided the last few yards to land on his feet.

Around him were the burning bones of the Master of Winter, but it was much cooler at floor height. The sorcerer hurdled a leg bone and darted to the crane, throwing the lever on the windlass.

High above, four of the adventurers had climbed into the bucket. The best climbers had appraised the cable-laid rope and decided to fix to it just above the shoulders of those in the bucket. Then they too could benefit from the shielding and speed of descent of---

CRACK!

The bucket dropped as the hundred year old pulleys paid out, taking its riders on a hair-raising journey down the shaft. Bearkiller's craggy features were unreadable but Sergeant Almador was screaming one long, loud obscenity. Nestaron grunted, fighting nausea and pain, but maintaining eye contact with his companions. How did everyone else react?

Flames suddenly washed over the bucket and the unyielding floor could not be far beyond.

Just as suddenly, the bucket-riders were squashed into the bottom of their conveyance as the brake was engaged. The bucket jounced around like a mishit conker as the pulleys far overhead took turns busting apart. Then with a snap the rope broke and the bucket fell barely six feet to the hard rock, clanging, rope flailing and disgorging its riders.

They were already scrambling their feet, helping each other, when Tindarien appeared through the heat haze, clothes smouldering, to lead them to the exit.

Crane parts crashed down all around. The fire roared.

You ran.

Behind, you heard the mine shaft explode, felt the tremour, fresh air howled passed you as it was sucked in to feed the inferno.

***

Summer sunshine. Wooded slopes.

The karst archway spanned the river that had formed it, and lent the peak above its distinctive shape and name. The Titan's Elbow.

One by one, figures swung down from a rope that disappeared into the overhanging rock.

***

Summer sunshine. Wooded slopes.

The karst archway spanned the river that had formed it, and lent the peak above its distinctive shape and name. The Titan's Elbow.

One by one, figures swung down from a rope that disappeared into the overhanging rock.

***

In the bright blue sky, the yellow sun was at its zenith. The day's shadows were short, like underscores, and the beach was mostly bleached white sand and boulders, backed by lustrous, dark green verdure.

An outrigger canoe had taken shape on the shore, being worked on tirelessly by the party. Putting their heads together, Tindarien and Bearkiller had come up with the design but the mohawked halfling would not be accompanying the party to Rosencliff. His own quest led him back to his tribe on Harthorn, and he had no reason to visit the fishing town.

A water break before the packs were loaded. Your reserves were stashed downriver, so you could slake your thirst. Might as well drain the vessels and discard, rather than take up precious space in the canoe.

Leave now and you would be back in town by nightfall, barring incident on the journey. You had to bid farewell to Bearkiller first.

[
D HP: 21/28; Rec: 3/8; AC 15, PD 16, MD 12; Init +10
J HP: 20/32; Rec: -1/8; AC 15, PD 13, MD 12; Init +5*2
S HP: 34/43; Rec: -1/8; AC 16, PD 16, MD 12; Init +4*2
T HP: 17/24; Rec: 2/8; AC 12, PD 13, MD 15; Init +4
W HP: 33/44; Rec: 3/9; AC 17, PD 15, MD 12; Init +4*2
Z HP: 31/40; Rec: 0/8; AC 22, PD 14, MD 15; Init +3
Al HP: 16/27; AC 17, PD 14, MD 12; Init +3
Be HP: 32/32; AC 18, PD 14, MD 14; Init +6
Ne HP: 21/27; AC 13, PD 13, MD 13; Init +2; Weakened
]

Last edited by nemarsde; Mon 07/03/16 21:48 UTC.
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<Weston>

It had certainly been a harrowing, mind numbing escape! The 'fall' through the flames, the race to escape the conflagration when the mountain all but exploded.

On the shore of the river, the immediacy faded a bit, but they still had a lot of work. As they worked to build their transportation back down the river, he tried to lighten the mood ... "Almador, does the city have a choir? You should try out, you have a marvelous voice." ... "Hey, Nestaron, was that a wild ride or what?" ... "Tindarien, does this go here or there?"

The time to leave had come and ... not unexpectedly ... Bearkiller was off to his home. "Thanks to you and your friend", he said. "I don't think we could have prevailed with out the two of you. Have a safe journey home. And if I can ever do anything to help you or any of your tribe in the future, don't hesitate to call on me. I would welcome the chance to return the favor."


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Seyja


The barbarian woman saluted Bearkiller with a fist bump to the left side of her chest, just barely smiling as she thanked him and bid him farewell.

"As our friend Weston said, if I can be of future assistance, please let me know, my friend."

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Zoltan

He holds onto Nestaron tightly as they tumble from one place to the next in their escape, making sure the half-elf they fought so hard to rescue isn't lost in the escape.

Fire...., tumbling....., one thing after the next, but finally they were free of the cave and he can breathe a deep sigh without filling his lungs with smoke.

He too bids Bearkiller goodbye and then readies for the journey back to Rosencliff. He has a promise to collect on, and his face breaks into a small smile for the first time in a while.

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D

The cavern, its descent, the roaring flames, all blurred together. He could remember individual moments which was more than he could say for what he thought of as his former existence. Yet already it was almost too much to recall in detail.

Yet as they worked on the hollowed boat he listened to the banter. They lived. That was a feat unto itself. He leant his skilled hands to whatever he could do. He had other things on his mind. The baroness for one thing.

The news that Bearkiller would go his own way was not surprising yet he felt a pang. Something about harrowing survival to bond people. Weston was correct. Without his aid they might not have survived.

"Travel well. May we meet and fight side by side again," D offered.

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Sergeant Almador

After the Battle of Heilbutt's Hallow, he'd wept out of shock.

But after the ice chamber, the blizzard dragon, the ghosts and the daring escape down the blazing mine shaft, Sergeant Almador just felt a little deranged. As if 'normal' had become abnormal or vice versa. A sunny beach by the river? Building a canoe and going for a paddle? Sheer madness! Surely they should be attacked by a vengeful dracolich or the bloody mountain should errupt into a volcano?

The man-at-arms knelt and looked at his reflection in the water. They were upstream of the Titan's Elbow, so it was not poisoned.

He had the unsettling feeling that he didn't know the person who stared back. Shrugging, he splashed water over his face, and chuckled at Weston's banter.

"I'm afraid that was an exclusive, one time performance!" He retorted.

Almador helped pack the outrigger while the others said goodbye to Bearkiller. He wasn't overly fond of the mohawked halfling, but gave him a respectful nod out of courtesy.


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Nestaron

Nothing. The spirits, the gods, they were gone. Or at least, he couldn't reach them. Their presence had always been like an intense richness of colour in his mind's eye. But now Nestaron saw nothing but flashes of raw white light. Had the cleric lost his powers?

He was grateful for Zoltan's unwavering support, every step of the way, because he was incapable of helping himself in his current state, that much was obvious.

The sun on his skin felt marvellous, wondrous, and that reassured Nestaron. His love of the natural world was still there. Regardless of what came next, the half-elf could still be happy, but he was beginning to realise that he too would soon be parting ways with his companions.

His thanks to Bearkiller were given in between an introduction and farewell. Nestaron had likely obtained the halfling's story from Jex, but he was still unsure why others kept referring to two of them. Bearkiller and who?

Also unlike his companions, the half-elf couldn't make any pledges. He was a one-armed holy man with no divine power, what could he pledge?

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<Weston>

"You have nothing to be ashamed of Alamdor. You were a vital member of out team. We might not have survived if you had not been here ... or if you had lost your nerve. But you did not. We were all of us scared. Only a stupid man would not have been scared in that situation. The difference between a 'man' and a 'coward' is that the 'man' stays and does what needs to be done in spite of the fear. You have proven yourself to me ... to all of us."


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Seyja


Seyja nodded her agreement.

"You have proven yourself a worthy companion, Almador."

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Sergeant Almador

He clapped Weston on the shoulder and winked to Seyja.

"By 'one time performance' I was referring to my singing during the bucket ride.

"Nay, I am not ashamed, nor could any man be, standing in present company."

The Sergeant hefts one of the wooden paddles they'd made.

"Besides, I think this might just be my time to shine! If there's one thing a boy learns how to do in a fishing town, it's paddle!"

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Jex

He approached Bearkiller, "It will take me some time to write a song that befits your heroics this day but do not be surprised if you happen upon a tavern and hear a song being sung about Bearkiller and He-Who-Sicks-Balls. Without you, there would be no song and this river would still flow of poison. It was an honor to fight by your side.

And then he moved over the the seargeant, "It was a fine performance!" the bard sang the last word in a high-pitched voice that sounded like a squeel as he put an arm around the old Sergeant. "I was thoroughly entertained!" His smile washed away any of the negativity that might have been associated with a taunt. "Now let's get back to town!"

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Tindarien

"Thank you both. A safe return to the clan."

His words are simple but heartfelt. Everyone of these companions had his respect, all had earned it. But now it is time to undertake the last stage of their journey.

Silently he bids a last farewell to Heilbutt.

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<Weston>

"I agree Jex", he said as he moved to side of their raft, ready to be on his way.


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Bearkiller

The halfling scratched the stubbled sides of his head. He needed a shave and his mohawk needed greasing, but it would be many days before he was standing in the foothills of Harthorn again, standing in front of his tribe.

Although he taking leave of the party, he wouldn't be travelling alone. As always, his dire wolf, He Who Sicks Balls, would be by his side for the long journey up through the northern Empire.

Bearkiller had watched the party from the time they'd left the river and been impressed before they even knew he was there. His opinion had only been elevated further by their daring and heroism.

Unlike civilised folk, however, he did not interpret their parting words as garnish, he took them as solid truth.

"Your words are iron," he said to the assembled, "Harthorn tribe record your name in the tales and know you as halfling-friend."

Frowning, Bearkiller looked down, jaw flexing, but then back up. His look was hard.

"You help me find justice for tribe and chief's daughter. I thank you. Some day I reclaim the Long Tears. On that day, I call on you once more.

"Until then, if ever you need me, seek the Mountain That Stands Alone, passed the City of Spires, north by north-east. Show them this...."

With one hand, Bearkiller tugged his bearclaw necklace over his head and handed it to one of the party.

Then the halfling adjusted his pack, checked the loop on his sheath knife and nodded to himself.

Turning to go, a thought suddenly occurred to him. He glanced over to Tindarien.

"You Son of Trahice?" He asked.

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Tindarien

"I have no idea."

He meets the halfling's gaze, as he answers honestly.

"I need to find out more about my origins. Do you have information that might help?"

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D

He listened to the discussion. It might have come to that point. But maybe he would learn a bit more first. He may have fought beside the high elf, but some things can evoke feelings that are unforgivable.

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Bearkiller

A shrug was his reply. He only knew what he knew.

"Trahice not person, is place." Bearkiller said.

"Ruins of town from old times. High in mountains by lake, south-west of Nomad."

The halfling tips his mohawk at the dark elf, D.

"I only know this because is where Moonshadow went, who you dream of."

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GM

Moonshadow, the painted halfling woman that D had seen in his near death vision the day before. She'd been mowhawked and dressed so similarly to Bearkiller, the dark elf had asked about her. Bearkiller had recognised the description straight away. The woman was a ritual exile, a 'ghost', someone chosen by the tribe to do a dishonourable deed on their behalf.

And she was to be found in Trahice?

Out of the party, it was likely that only Seyja had wandered in the Oldwall Mountains. She had probably visited Nomad and might even have heard of ruins by a lake, high in the mountains. If she had, they were old enough that common folk had forgotten their name and origin.

For Tindarien, it was the first tangible lead to tracing his parents' steps. The Master of Winter had called him 'Son of Trahice', which suggested the high elf was sired in the place, or, in some way because of the place?

Perhaps you had salvaged some treasure from the dragon's lair after all, but these gems were knowledge.

Bearkiller had given you his bearclaw necklace as proof of your bond of friendship. The Harthorn tribe would recognise it, and interestingly, so might Moonshadow.

Touching the claws, you felt a strange, animal spirit, as if there was a grizzly bear standing behind you growling. You quickly realised there was magic in this necklace that would make it useful to a savage warrior.

[Bearclaw Necklace (Recharge 11+). +1 to saves when you have 10 or fewer hit points. When you hit with a melee attack while staggered, gain 10 temp hit points. Quirk: Swaggers even when overmatched.]

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Seyja


"I traveled in the Oldwall Mountains as a youngster... with my parents," the barbarian woman said with a quick grimace of pain at mentioning her dead father and mother.

"We stopped in Nomad where an old trader mentioned, if I remember rightly, some old ruins high in the mountains by a lake."

Seyja shrugged, unable to dredge anything further from her dim, childhood memories. Perhaps later she'd remember more.

She smiled as she touched the bearclaw necklace and clutched it to her chest.

"I would be honored to accept this... if no one objects."

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Tindarien

He smiles at Bearkiller and then at Seyja.

"Useful information. I should visit the place and see what I can find, once I help Nestaron to his chosen destination. Anyone else fancy a trip to Trahice?"

His eyes stray in D's direction.

"We could then discuss the torc."

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Pale Dusk

He looked to the halfling and then Sejya, and finally his dark orbs fell upon Tindarien. He was silent for a time.

Eventually his hands went to his throat and slipped the item off. Yet he held it in right fists that became even more pale as he held it.

After a long silence he said. "I would aid you in your search. But you may wish it otherwise when I have finished my tale. For I know things of your past that you may be unaware. I must first ask do you really want to know the answers to which you seek? I suspect I know the answer but, I must stress that it will affect your view of the world. Whether it is better to know or not, is not for me to decide. But..." His voice trailed off as he watched the high elf.

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Seyja


Tapping her chest with one thumb, Seyja nodded in answer to Tindarien's question.

"I could help guide you there."

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Tindarien

"And you would be most welcome."

He smiles at Seyja, answering her first to buy a little more thinking time before answering D.

With a soft sigh he turns to Pale Dusk.

"I would welcome you also. And I do wish to hear what you have to say. I cannot be a complete person without knowing my heritage.. but I still believe that essentially I will still be the person I am now. Say what you have to say."

He makes no move to take the torc.

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Zoltan

If no one objects, he will take one of the vials of Dragon's Blood. He then looks towards Tindarien when he asks about Tahice.

"I am obliged to return to the order's headquarters to report about our mission. After that, presuming they have nothing else pressing for me, I could meet you there?"

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Pale Dusk

He nodded as the elf said he wanted more information. "As you know, I have lived before. One such life was less than savory. The next incarnation I worked for the Black as the Shadow of Assassins. I haven't talked much about this because..." his voice trailed off for a moment before continuing. "It is the part I am least proud of. Though to be fair I am not proud of any of the evil that I perpetrated. Much of my memory is incomplete. Some of you may think of me as just a person suffering from delusions. Another reason I don't talk much about those pieces."

He shifted slightly "When Bearkiller identified Moonshadow, it brought back a piece of my memory. I know of the society your parents were a part of because I---" His voice just stopped. He took a deep breath let it out slowly.

"The society sought the ring that Weston carries, the one the Master of Winter wanted. It was purportedly carved and imbued with the White's power to control the dead. I imagine that is why the weakened serpent wanted it, to restore some of its ancient power.

"Your parents threatened dragons and their power. I am not sure how else to describe the situation. They came to the attention of the Black. I was dispatched to take care of the problem.

"It was a very dark night. Some call it a night of the New Moon. Others call it a night without a moon. I called it an Assassin's moon. For I could see in the dark and I knew many couldn't. Your mother wore a dark blue shift, long and robe like. It had gold trim with a green inlay. Some of the finest elven handicraft I have ever seen. Your father a burgundy night shirt. They lay within their chamber there in the town you seek. The room was high on the wall with a commanding view of the valleys beyond.

"I entered through the window as is my want. Some things don't change. Your mother must have suspected something, for she shifted and sat up. I made no noise, nor movement. I was part of the shadows. That was one of the powers that had been bestowed upon me. As I move and am not noticed, this was literally passing as a substance of shadow.

"She knew not where to look, but she moved to spark a light for the candle by the side of her bed. I let her as I knew it would comfort her. That would make it easier.

"In the now dim light she slipped from the bed and walked around, of course seeing nothing that I didn't wish her to see. She stopped and looked out the window a small breeze freeing some of the heat of the day from the chamber. I stepped forward and did as I was made to. I spoke to her. The message was simple.

"For you efforts you are given the gift of release. Know that your soul goes to the claws of the dragons, and that is payment for your actions in life."

"I ended her life. I could give you a more exact description, but I don't think that it matters much.

"Your father never moved. I inserted my blade into his throat and he gurgled to death in his sleep. You were not my target, so I left my job finished. Know that I wished your parents no ill will, I was commanded nay controlled when I was the Shadow of Assassins. It was payment for my own despicable actions in my short lived life.

"I know it is not much. But I have offered what I know." He stepped forward and offered the magical Torc almost as if it were a consolation prize.

[Ooh, dark! Nice one, Pandemonium! I touched up for for continuity. -NM]

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<Weston>

He turned to Zoltan. "I suspect that we could find a representative of The Order back in town that you could report to ... it would save a lot of travel if you want to help our friends."

He tried to follow the tale, but he kept getting lost as he thoughts continued to return to the damned ring. Clearly it was responsible for a lot of misery. If they had been standing at the top of a volcano, he would have thought long and hard about tossing the damned thing in.

As that was not the case, he would have to bide his time. A part of him wanted to get it to the original intended recipient. But he wasn't sure that was any better than letting the Master Of Winter have it. It would certainly take some serious consideration!!


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Jex

"Trahice. What an interesting word! I suppose it is to bard like me. It's Elvish creole. I think it could be translated as luke warm. I think it refers to a hot spring or some sort of spa?"

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Tindarien

He stands there, his eyes never moving from Pale Dusk's. Very little of any emotion can be seen on his face. But his thoughts are in turmoil.

Certainly D's story is at odds with what he had been told but he cannot deny the ring of truth that lies within it. He had not really known his parents so the emotional tie to them was not strong. Initially he feels anger, a deep buried anger, of the life that had been denied him.. but his life growing up had not been a bad one. And at that moment his parents had been taken, he had been spared. He is not sure what to feel.

Does he hate D? Want to take his life? As he considers this, memories flit through his mind. Strong memories because they are recent. Along with the rest of this group, they had formed bonds. These bonds forged with a willingness to put their lives on the line to help others. And D had impressed him along with the others. Has that opinion now changed?

He lets these thoughts and emotions filter through his mind, switching this way and that until they settle to a conclusion, a conclusion that needs to be said out loud.

Minutes may have passed before he breaks eye-contact with a nod. Some of the tension leaves his body as his eyes lift again to find Pale Dusk's.

"It took courage to tell me this. It cannot have been easy."

He swallows, his throat dry from the tension.

"I cannot hold you fully responsible. I may as well blame the knife. It is not easy to say this. Your life.. or lives.. have not I think been easy. You carry scars deep within you. This does not excuse what you did. But I sense you are a different person today, seeking a different path. Your recent actions have brought you respect.. and it was earned."

He nods again as if to endorse this view within himself.

"From this point then, the slate is clean. I will not always find it comfortable but I knew that was likely whatever you had to tell me.. but as with everyone here, I would extend a welcome to travel further with me.. if you wish."

He takes a deep breath and feels a moment of release that he handled this in the way he wanted to.. and that he now knows more of his past - though what he does with that knowledge may have to wait until another day.

He turns to Zoltan.

"And I would be delighted for you to join us."

Maybe he will follow in his parents footsteps, maybe he will not.. but his future is already shaping itself and for once he is really looking forward, rather than backwards.

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D

He nodded at the elf's words tension easing from his frame. "I would be honored to help. In addition if you learn more so do I."

That had gone much better than he had imagined that it would.

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Sergeant Almador

Spa town!? Now that sounded appealing to the old guard. He was nursing his mauled knee, split cheek, sore feet and bad back, together with what felt like a hundred other scrapes and bruises.

All the man-at-arms knew about the Oldwall Mountains was that they were at the opposite end of the Empire to him. So he doubted he'd be seeing Trahice anytime soon. He consoled himself that his vision of it being a relaxing spa town was probably far from the truth anyway. It was probably infested with undead, orcs, possibly undead orcs.

Sergeant Almador could further console himself that at least he was alive and not a bloody pulp. He had the dark elf to thank for that, so he was convinced of the man's good nature.

"If I may be so bold, sirs? One thing our adventure has shown, is that not everyone who dies in wickedness repents in the after-life." Almador said, thinking of Gorulon's ghost.

"So I count myself lucky that Mr D here has."

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Seyja


The confrontation between Tindarien and the dark elf was none of her business, but she was curious and wondered how she would react to such a personal tale of dark responsibility.

When it was all over and Tindarien answered as he did, the barbarian woman was satisfied and found herself exhaling a deep breath she hadn't realized she had been holding.

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Nestaron

"Our fates are intertwined, that much seems obvious. Less obvious is why, how, by whom." The half-elf offered.

He needed convalesence, he needed his home, his wife and family. So regardless of how entwined, his destination was Fullcatch Bay and that lie meant heading south, not north to Trahice.

Nonetheless, Nestaron had spent the past night as a guest of a Primeval dragon. Like all white dragons, it had some affinity for death magic and had learned secrets that only the ghosts could tell of.

Nestaron doubted the Master of Winter had lied or fabulised, but its words were bent by evil and the cleric did doubt that any good could come of them.

D's account reminded Nestaron of what the dragon had said to the dark elf, about 'lost farthings'. Was it possible that D was both more and less responsible for Tindarien's parents' murder than he thought?

Possible. Yes.

The one-armed cleric shivered, even in the warm summer sun that bathed the beach. He was ready to go.

If Zoltan was there to assist him in, Nestaron took his seat in the canoe, turning his mind to happier, simpler things.

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Zoltan

He pauses, considering. "If the good Captain has a means of contacting the Order so I can report in and see if there is any new assignment then I would like to continue this thru."

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Bearkiller

Grave. His face was serious, listening to the dark elf. These heroes, who Bearkiller had come to respect, were as haunted as the helm they returned.

Such was often the way.

Seeing Seyja wear the necklace, the halfling warrior nodded approvingly.

Like him, she would wear it openly, he thought. Proudly.

He had killed that bear when he was a boy, allowed it to corner him and lured it into a pitfall.

Perhaps it would inspire the barbarian woman to similar feats.

And perhaps Jex Dragon-Spoor would sing of them? As impressed as he was with the heroes, it was the bard who had communicated with him in his own language. The bard, the Bodejacker. A hero, no doubt, but also a rebel, whose antics had delighted the downtrodden.

So it was to Jex that Bearkiller saluted, sweeping his flat hand outwards, palm down, in a farewell gesture.

He whistled to his not-so imaginary dire wolf and turned. A scuffle of moccasined feet and he was gone into the undergrowth.

nem #846032 Wed 16/03/16 20:54 UTC
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Seyja


She waved goodbye to Bearkiller, hand up, palm toward herself in the come back one day gesture she'd learned from the gypsies.

Seyja watched until he was out of sight and then climbed into the canoe which held Nestaron.

"Tell me, brave cleric, does your healing magic allow for the regrowth of lost limbs?"

nem #846035 Wed 16/03/16 21:03 UTC
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Nestaron

His faraway gaze refocused on Seyja and the corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. For a so-called holy man, he'd always shown a decent sense of humour.

"Alas, my magic -- such as it was -- could neither regrow limbs nor make what appendages we have grow larger.

"Believe me, I have been asked many times!"

nem #846039 Wed 16/03/16 21:38 UTC
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<Weston>

He couldn't quite suppress the chuckle at Nestaron's 'quip' about 'enlarged members'. "I bet we can find someone that would be able to manage that Nestaron ... once we get back to a big enough town."


MikeD
nem #846041 Wed 16/03/16 21:43 UTC
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Seyja


She frowned in momentary confusion, but then her eyes widened and she made a noise halfway between a chuckle and a snort as she reached toward the cleric and laid a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"That is a shame, my friend. You have served nobly."

nem #846115 Thu 17/03/16 13:13 UTC
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Tindarien

It seems that many of the group may journey on with him. This is both a blessing and a responsibility. He has much to think about since D made his confession. He starts to paddle the canoe, not because he is gifted in that direction but more because it gives him something to do and let's him focus his thoughts inwards.

nem #846196 Thu 17/03/16 18:37 UTC
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Jex

He saluted the halfling back in the manner that he had been saluted, a mirror image of Bearkiller. "Fare well Bearkiller and He Who Sicks Balls!"

After the halfling disappeared, he turned to Tindarien and said, "So, where are we going next?"

He knew full well where they were going but Jex wanted to make sure that Tin knew that he was coming along.

Then he looked over to the cleric and tried to make light of his missing arm. "I say we make you a better appendage. Perhaps we attach the symbol of your god to what is left of it, or maybe we just attach a blade there. Which would you prefer Nes?"

nem #846223 Thu 17/03/16 20:59 UTC
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Nestaron

His brow wrinkled. He'd never given godly symbols much thought.

"The thing with gods, Jex, is that you never know which one will be in the neighbourhood at the time of your needing." He said to the bard, quite seriously.

"So I try to be on cordial terms with them all."

With an involuntary gulp, he glanced down at the bandaged stump jutting from his shoulder. Nestaron cleared his throat, then looked back up at Jex and Seyja.

"Put me down for a blade."

nem #846224 Thu 17/03/16 20:59 UTC
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GM

The last of the packs were loaded and lashed down, and fresh wooden paddles were picked up.

You'd already discussed who would sit where, spreading the weight. You hadn't time to craft seats, so you would be sitting on your packs, kneeling, or both depending on the river.

The tallest of you (Zoltan and Weston?) pushed the outrigger into the current, cool, clean water splashing around their knees. Once the outrigger was floated, they found their positions and swung over the side into the canoe.

Crude as it was, but the outrigger had little work to do and even the paddles were more for steering. The Scintilla was a fast-flowing river, dropping down to the sea from Titan's Elbow over a short but winding coarse.

You silently drifted under the shadowed karst archway, then back out into a hot summer's day at noon. Sweat and fine spray, sunlight and low rainbows over the river.

Ahead of you were several bends, then the labyrinthine Heilbutt's Hallow, viewed from the water this time, followed by a raging whitewater cateract. After that, smooth running to the sea. Assuming you weren't dashed on the rocks and drowned, it would be a far less strenuous return journey.

The first bend approached rapidly. Looking back you could see the distinctive peak with its wooded slopes and water-bored hole. A thin tendril of black smoke rose from a somewhere high on the side, from the dragon's lair.

The Titan's Elbow. It hadn't been your first adventure, nor was it likely to be your last. What made it significant was the people you shared the caneo with. Significant in ways you didn't fully understand yet.

In one way you did though...

You were certain that your future held even greater dangers, but you suspected that you would not be facing them alone.

[Go to HHE14: Victory of Life]

Last edited by nemarsde; Thu 17/03/16 21:05 UTC.
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