[Pathfinder] Journeys.

[cn3wton]

Before following Bronan into the forest the rest of the group takes a cursory glance of the scene. There is little of interest left in the village. When taking a closer look at the robed figures lying about the strange circle however, they notice that they seem to be dried out. As if they had been dead for quite some time. And around their necks hung identical versions of the amulet they had been sent.

 

After quickly taking note of this the group set off after Bronan who set an impressive pace. After a short while the battle lust begins to wear off and Bronan slows his stride just enough to allow the rest to catch up. The forest itself feels surprisingly inviting and lively. They regroup outside the boundaries of the villages small hidden burial ground. A small wooden fence encircles it, and the trees themselves seem to embrace and protect it. The number of fresh graves casts a dark shadow over what was surely once a serene and holy place. The group decides to quickly move on, trying to ignore the fact that 5 fresh graves lie unoccupied.

 

As Bacon begins to follow the group  he catches a quick glimpse of movement above the treeline, though he is not quite fast enough to catch sight of it. As he returns his gaze to the path however, a large golden feather lies before him.

 

As they continue up the winding path it grows more and more treacherous. Rocks break the surface with jagged edges cast towards the sky. Trees look as if they would attempt to uproot themselves to edge even just an inch away from the path. They begin to see the ^ symbol carved into trunks. Many hold grizzly offerings upon their exposed roots. 

 

After nearly an hour the group reaches a large clearing. In its center a large structure sat with two large pillars flanking an even larger door. Etched into the arch connecting these pillars is a grand scene, not yet discernible from the current distance. The group moves to a nearby pedestal where two figures stand just a few feet apart, cast from stone. Upon their shoulders they support a large post. Extending from the pedestal a slightly raised path leads to the great doorway flanked by the mighty pillars. It is estimated to be at least 50 strides from the statues to the doorway. Upon the pedestal is an inscription. 

 

The group looks back to the etching above the vast entrance, and suddenly the world grows hazy. Looking about they see a battle rages about them, shadowy figures fight monstrosities and horrors all around them. A man in grand glowing armor fights before them. He looks to the group then motions forward. As you look up the world seems to refocus, no longer standing in the midst of carnage, instead finding themselves in the clearing. A mist with a familiar blue glow begins to seep from the ground around them and coalesce into a ball. It bobs up and down then speeds to the door and one reaching it disperses.

 

The etching is much clearer now, and a sense of understanding fills the group, though from an unknown source. It depicts a battle, wherein a group of men and women clad in armor strike down terrors, though at a cost. A man, cast in gold holds in his arms a woman who had fallen, behind him a city in ruin. A depiction of a great sea and its crossing follows, then the settling of a new land.

 

The group moves to explore the clearing, and perhaps find some way to enter the structure standing before them. For surely the figure must wait within.

[DarK_RaideR]

Bacon cautiously approaches the robed corpses, perhaps due to a sneaking suspicion that they might also rise up to attack. They seem... odd, almost mummified. His gaze quickly scans them for any symbols that might offer a hint as to their beliefs and motives. They all wear the amulet that came to Harglenn with the letter. Supposedly a victim had it clutched in its palm, so these people probably are the attackers. Everything points to a ritual, although he cannot tell whether it was religious or magical in nature. "Holy lollies, if these people were mad enough to sacrifice themselves willingly, does this mean they also sacrificed the people they abducted?!" he exclaims. As he speaks of the villagers, his mind returns to the woman and pulls his attention towards the forest. Bronan is already marching into it, so Bacon drops the investigation and dashes that way. "Dammit... Bronan..." he huffs and puffs. "We don't all... have your stride... and I hate cardio!"

Once he catches up with the group and catches his breath as well, he begins to concentrate on the smells of the forest which the air brings. Eventually, the panting is replaced by deep breaths. Everybody can feel when a forest is welcoming or threatening, but the little gnome feels a deeper connection, all the way down to his soul. There is something primal and ancient and deeply spiritual about every forest, but at the same time it's eternally joyful and careless and full of life. Bacon lets the feeling course though his veins, tries to feel it sink into every cell. It is not unlike the feeling of magic boiling inside him when he casts a spell, the sense that makes the hair stand on the back of his neck. He is so entranced by it that he never notices the graves as they pass by. It is the golden glow that snaps him out of it. "A token of good fortune!" he remarks, running to pick it up. "The legendary phoenix, a bird of fire, healing and resurrection, is said to sport a golden plumage! Wherever this came from, it is an ally and a guardian watching over us. No creature of evil would ever be draped in gold feathers! The very forest protects us and blesses our quest!"

Reaching the clearing, Bacon begins making assumptions about everything, but before he's able to voice them, the vision draws him in it. When they return, he has even more questions and fewer answers. The sorcerer just stands there, perhaps a bit stunned, as he ponders over everything

[Gainsdalf the Whey]

Bronan walks down the path focused, going slow enough for the others to follow (they were so slow!), his singular focus on destroying the necromancer that brought about the no-bros. No one should be allowed to create such abominations.

 

When they reach the clearing and step onto the pedastal, Bronan regards the post. What a great set up for a few carreis once this is done he thinks before things go hazy and he sees what he can only assume are ghosts of days past. Unlike the skeletons, the ghosts do not bother him. Using the smelling salts to get in touch with your ancesbros was an important part of any Brobarian's training, and one often saw them during the heaviest of squat widowmaker sets. They rarely motioned directly to the bro however, which throws Bronan off a bit. All Bronan can take from the blue ball is that the shining one needed help, and perhaps some monstrosities to slay lay beyond the door. Looking down at the pedastal he sees:

 

The script says "He who would carry their burden may open the way." You get the sense that certain members of the group may recognize/have some insight into the sculpture and its meaning.

 

and immmediately grins. "Might not have to wait for those carries afterall." he says aloud, though speaking to himself.

 

Bronan drops to a knee and reaches into his backpack, pulling forth a 50' length of hemp rope before putting the backpack back on under his shield. He then steps up to the figures and "their buirden" and wraps the rope around the burden a few times in two sepearate sections, tieing it such that there are two knotted loops in the rope on the side of the path leading to the door, one on each section. He then squats beneath the post, facing the door, and reaches up to grab a loop with each hand. Tightening all the muscles in his upper back to make one solid, meaty shelf, he then violently slams his shoulders up into the post and wiggles back and forth a bit "comfortably" setting it onto his shoulders. He then pulls down tight on the rope and fully extends his legs, lifting the post from the statues bearing it and starts to take deliberate steps, one at a time, toward the door.

 

[Terinatum]

   Flo looks on while Bacon investigates the robed remains. "Seems like a raising of the dead, but who and why?" Flo immediately thinks of the woman. "Did we interrupt him as he was trying to revive her? But why would he take the green breath instead of give it?"

 

   Flo wonders about the villagers, but nothing seems to be here anymore. She notices Bronan is almost to the woods so she hoofs it to catch up. The trees, the air, they are all amazingly brilliant and open. The carnage hasn't affected the forest yet? I reckon it couldn't have been going on too long. I wonder where the energy changes that made the monster-man pick here to practice his evilness?

 

   Her thoughts get interrupted as they gather at the small graveyard. It was beautiful, not that long ago. The empty graves, or the fresh ones, are daunting at best. She unfortunately notices that any one of the open graves could even hold her Bronan. "Did he bring us here on purpose? Who would have gotten a hold of an amulet?" Flo's sneaky mind turns the table on her and makes her more suspicious that ever. "I'd much rather pick a lock than find myself in one."

 

   With nothing to be done here, they move on. A pleasant yelp from Bacon makes her turn toward him in askance. She sees the beautiful feather and Bacon's obvious good fortune explanation, keeps her thoughts quiet. "That is certainly beautiful, Bacon. What kind of omen? Like for the near-future? Cause we could use that. I have no clue how to battle this monster-man."

 

   As the path turns rougher the trees grow less pleasing and the symbols are joined with grotesque offerings. She curls her lip at some of them and tries to keep her feet light as they traipse through the remaining path. They come up on a clearing with massive object all around. The clearing could hardly be considered clear.

 

   The pillars and figurines, they keep your eye busy. She cannot read the inscription from here, but imagines it to have a clue as to where they are and why. As she decides to seek for some clues and hidden entrances, she is caught up in an illusion of a great battle. It is gruesome and deadly for everyone involved. This must have been a real event as the detail is exquisite and the feeling she gets from it now speaks of heartache from before. The woman and man, could they be the same in the illusion?

 

   Coming out of the scene is like breathing clear air again. Flo turns away instinctively wanting to go in a different direction. "Bacon? Are you alright?" Everyone seems to have been pulled into the illusion. That's pretty powerful. He seems okay, just preoccupied she supposes and moves away gently. She looks to Bronan and is not disappointed as he sets himself up for a feat of great strength. She is tempted to watch, but the area calls out to her to investigate. The history she finds is amazing. Whomever made this was doing everything they could to hold onto their past. The resurrection theory still holds true in Flo's mind.

 

"Guys? If this monster-man is set on recreating or saving the past, he will be hard to convince otherwise. Reason will likely have no effect on him. Not sure we want to reason with him at all of course, just noting his likely passion level. Immense level of conviction. This will not end well."

 

   Flo sobers up even more and watches to see how Bronan's tactic will work out. I hope you are as smart as I'm assuming, Bronan. Their time together seems to have triggered a puzzling life to outwit. She waits for some reaction to Bronan's action. She pulls her bow off her back and takes 2 arrows from the quiver, just in case.

[Tialoredron]

Thurindor quickly catches up to Bronan as he started moving away from the carnage of broken bones around him. He then talks non-chalantly to him along with the rest of the party:

 

I want that man alive. He certainly seems to have some dark knowledge on the cycle of life; if we attempt to kill him he may have enough dark power to raise himself elsewhere if he has prepared for his eventual death, whether or not it comes expected.  We need to understand his power if we hope to truly defeat him. 

The ring of robed men was a sacrificial ritual of some sort. I am not familiar with what they hoped to accomplish with that, or if it even worked at all. Considering the length he is willing to go to accomplish his goals though, this is not a person I would trifle with.

 

 

As the group moves on and comes past the 5 unmarked graves, Thurindor spits on the ground with his face contorted in disgust.

 

No doubt they mean to shake our courage. If this is all they can muster, we may not have that much to fear.

 

As the vision grips Thurindor's body and mind, old lessons from his school days race through his mind as he sees the lay of the land and attempts to recall the the significance of the area. The champions face isn't clear enough to set a name to him, but the list of heroes of the battle granted nobility afterward flash before his eyes as if the text of a book were in front of him. As the vision releases Thurindor, he finishes his process of analysis of the local area and the vision:

 

Did you all have a vision of a battlefield, with a champion bidding you forward? That battle was not fought here, even given the geographical changes of the past with respect to time. That may have merely been an illusion to through us off, or to press us ever onward. I recommend extreme caution in our progress forward. 

[The Most Loathed]

Elora surveys the various scenes and scripts but can make nothing of them. There's clearly a story here to be told but nothing she has heard. 

It becomes obvious that the doorway that faces them was designed precisely from Bronan or someone like him. Elora can't help but feel unsettled at that realization. Someone who knows their strength knows their weaknesses.

She waits and watches as he loads his burden

[cn3wton]

Bronan eases the weight off of the statues. Dust accumulated over centuries cascades to the earth. A sound, much like a groan of relief, eminates from the statue as they slowly begin to be swallowed up by the earth beneath them. As those statues enter their much awaited slumbers, others begin to rise before Bronan. Rising at first from nearest the group, then slowly and slowly rising closer to the great doorway. Their gazes seem to lock on Bronan, witnesses to the deed.

 

As Bronan takes his first step with great effort another sound reaches the groups ears. All around the clearing behind them nine large fissures begin to spread, from each a figure steps. All but one wear similar garb, dark stained leather with numerous red sashes tied to various limbs. One figure however, wears long flowing robes of tattered cloth. Despite this difference in attire, each shares one horrifying trait. Their mouths lack lips, teeth and gums open to the air surrounded by ragged scars. Giving them a skeletal appearance. All the leather clad figures carry bows in had, the robed man a staff. He begins to speak; lack of lips causing the words to be drawn out and raspy, as if each word is formed with extreme effort.

 

"Fools, like animals lead with the offer of treat." Saliva seems to gather between his teeth, casting a sickening red glean across his gums. This redness is echoed in his eyes, as they too begin to glow and steadily intensify. As if on queue the fissures themselves slowly begin to cast the same hue.

 

"I almost pity you. No choice, no purpose." opening and closing his mouth as if stretching out the muscles holding his jaw in place. "Marionettes, tied to a long forgotten performer." The other figures move to flank the robed man. Bronan continues his trial, only able to hear those who appeared behind him. He focuses on his task, for in every contest dropping the burden was unforgivable. Deep down he knew; if his load where to fall there would be no picking it up again. 

 

"Persistent" the figure says as he walks before his men. "As to be expected, though we have not come unprepared." With a wave of his hand the fissures begin to flicker and from within figures shamble. The mystery of the disappearance of the villagers solved. The number continues to grow as more and more flow forth. An army of corpses stand before the robe figure in a matter of seconds, more numerous than even the small village could hold. "We have not been idle, as you can see." As more and more lumber forward they begin to press the front of the horde towards the pedestal. The group can see that each has the mysterious symbol carved upon their forehead, connecting each eye in a grisly display.

 

"This is the end." With a wave of his hand the archers release their arrows and the horde begins its assault. As the first volley of arrows land, the final two statues rise from the earth, just before the door arms outstretched ready to accept the burden.

[Terinatum]

In case happens quickly as Bronan's strength lifts the beam from the figures. A strange relieving sound comes to her ears. Did they just sigh? Incredible!  Flo's train of thought is quickly stolen as figures rise from gaping cracks in the ground.

 

Flo slaps an arrow into place and tries to take aim at the figure trying to speak. It's too late though. In a mere moment the first group is blocked from her arrows by a mass of dead villagers. More undead?  Flo hates to fire first as it may start a battle that may not otherwise happen. She watches closely for the first sign of battle, her muscles tensing and loosening, her feet finding a good purchase under her.

 

It is the villagers no doubt that make up the mass of undead before her. They are wrapped and decaying, it is a horrific sight. She knew none of them, but liking the town of Harglenn makes it easy to consider these poor lost souls friends of her friends.

 

All any of them seem to do is focus on Bronan and the slow pace of his steps. The voice, barely discernible from gibberish of mindless creatures is taunting them. Why bother taunting us? Why not just fight? Flo can't take back the thought fast enough.

 

Arrows peel through the air toward her and her friends. She easily dodges the few that come near her, but several arrows are falling too close to Bronan.

 

    "Cover Bronan!" Flo shouts out the obvious and doesn't wait to see who does what. She takes aim at the archers, but again she is thwarted. The growing number of zombies, that's what the villagers have become. The number is too much. All she could think to do was protect Bronan as he so often had protected her.

 

   "I'm sorry villagers, but you are no longer your living souls." She lets loose her arrow into the one closest to her and manages to slice a distinct gap in the body's torso. It flops sideways and then back, losing its balance and toppling. Flo jumps the body as it falls and gets a better angle on the other undead heading toward Bronan and the others.

 

Her next arrow misses and she grunts in response and knocks another. She hits one square in the head and it drops without resistance. She feels a slam in her back and reflexively shoves her elbow back. She connects hard with something and whatever was behind her is no longer. Her next arrow isn't true to aim and only manages to loosen the zombie's knee, making it walk crookedly.

 

An arrow slices through her sleeve pinning her shirt to the zombie next to her. She yanks her sleeve loose with a jerk and then reverses her motion and slams the head of the zombie with her bracer, dropping it instantly. Another arrow comes too close and she finds herself stepping away from her solid ground into the messy turned earth near a fissure.

 

She kicks one figure as it tries to rise up from the depths and fires another arrow, connecting and dropping another that had gotten close to Bronan. She tries spot her friends, checking their safety. She fires again, letting the bow drop slightly as she moves away from the fissure, getting closer to Bronan and the others. While moving she gets another off and it thrusts through the back of a zombie, likely coming out through its chest.

 

The others seem fine so Flo is able to focus on keeping Bronan safe from the zombies. She still cannot get to the archers so she can't protect him from those. She fires into a small group of the enemy and takes down two of the three with one arrow. If I get out of this, I will remember that shot!

 

No more time for glory, Flo is rushed from behind and she falls forward, taking a nasty hit on her shoulder. She let the momentum take her away from the threat and she rolls ungracefully back up onto her feet. She dashes to her left and then spins, firing into the group that accosted her. One falls, the others continue toward her. This is hardly protecting Bro!

 

She runs straight toward Bronan, leaving the those zombies behind. Should we get to the door? Yes! "Get to the door!" Flo aims and lets another arrow find its target. Damn, I have lost count! The number of kills was not as important as the remaining number of arrows she has. Or doesn't have…

 

 

__________

 

Damage 3hps

[DarK_RaideR]

Bacon snaps out of his haze and claps in excitement as he witnesses Bronan's feat of strength. Back in a day, he would be amazed just like anyone else, but having spent enough time around him, such spectacular displays were, by now, a thing to be expected. What he didn't expect was the ruckus the followed, with statues sinking in the earth, others rising up and spitting forth a horde of more undead monstrosities with them. "Right..." whispers Bacon with a raised eyebrow, as he inspects the bowmen led by the robed figure. They didn't look like they were about to thank them, something which becomes even clearer when their robed leader begins to speak. The gnome refreshes his Mage Armor spell, finishing just as the villagers' corpses rise to join the fray. Yup, definately not friendly at all. Nobody raises the dead just to provide a dramatic backdrop to his speech of doom. The sorcerer reaches into his pockets and pulls out a small, sticky mass of green colour, which he shoves into his mouth. He assumes a cool, relaxed pose to hear the rest which, coupled with his usual grin and gum chewing, provide an ironic and at the same time defiant effect as the robed one speaks.

 

Once the shambling horde starts its advance, instead of sticking with his allies as one would expect, Bacon runs towards the zombies in front of him. A few steps before impact, he stops abruptly and spits out his gum. It is a furious shot, almost as if the entire momentum he had picked up has been transferred to the green stuff, which now seems to grow into a bubble mid-air, before it splashes at the zombies' feet. The green goo instantly turns solid as a rock, yet transparent like jello, trapping the corpses on the spot. "This should keep them busy for a while" he muses, as he throws another chewing gum into his mouth and runs back to his friends. Zombies are known to be slow, so he has to take every advantage of that. Returning there, he spits out another ball of green goo, ensnaring more zombies where they stand. With Bronan out of the fray, Flo was the only one who he trusted to handle melee and even her could use the distance to land a few shots first. Bacon will buy everyone as much time as he can, until Bronan is released.

 

With that thought, Bacon realizes that the Barbellian is not only struggling to keep the weight, but is also a sitting duck for the archers. Not a fitting way for him to go down, at all. Reaching into another of his pockets, he pulls out a small mirror and tries to position it in a way that will reflect any sunlight towards Bronan's position. It helps that the big man is sweating under the pressure, not to mention his polished armor, so there's plenty of surface to catch the light in a glorious reflection. "C'mon, c'mon, c'mon..." mumbles Bacon in his stress, before the miracle finally happens: a flash of light for less than an instant, but when it's gone, there's two versions of Bronan supporting the beam. "Yes!" screams the sorcerer. "Try shooting arrows now, hahah!" he says, jumping with excitement. Something feels wrong though, because he never seems to land. That, or he suddenly got several feet taller.

 

The pain on the back of his left shoulder provides him with the answer and plenty of pain. One of the undead has got a hold on him, biting into the flesh. The sorcerer is lucky however, because in his surprise and shock, one of his little feet meets the zombie's knee, barely managing to unbalance his attacker. The corpse stumble and kneels lower to maintain balance, allowing Bacon's feet to touch the ground. The little gnome now easily manages to wriggle free, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. The fabric is torn and he's bleeding. "Flo!" he shouts as he tries to locate the woman in all the mess. Staying close to her is his best chance of survival right now. He notices her struggling to get closer to Bronan, then dashes to her location as fast as he can. His flowing robes allow the zombies to try and get a shot at him as he passes by, but also provide an unusual defense as most of the shots tear out pieces of cloth instead of flesh. Some of them still connect, but Bacon relies on adrenaline to push through and doesn't really bother with dodging. Anything that will slow him down right now will eventually have him drowining in a sea of undead.

 

Eventually, Bacon reaches Flo and joins her advance towards Bronan. Dirt and blood cover most of his torn robe and if Flo is perceptive enough in the heat of battle, she may notice markings on the gnome's revealed flesh, somewhere on his chest. With a snort, Bacon reaches to the ground and gathers a little dirt, slapping it around a few times to make a ball, roughly the size of his palm. He then pulls out a tiny vial from somewhere in his robe, pops it open with his thumb and pours it over the ball. He quickly surveys the battlefield before spotting an archer aiming at Bronan. The sorcerer cocks his arm back, then releases the dirtball which travels through the air and splashes on the archer's face.

 

(OOC - Casting Mage Armor then using the "scrolls" of Adhesive Spittle, Silent Image and Mudball. The narrative is not absolute and Bacon will just toss stuff around, so when it comes to the technicalities, I won't mind if he ends up having used up more than 2 Adhesive Spittles and 1 Mudball, he carries 5 of each for that exact reason)

[The Most Loathed]

As Bronan eases the impossible weight from its resting place Elora's mouth falls open. It seems impossible that any man, even one so large, could move that. It hadn't even occurred to her to try. As the statues shift and move she is delighted in the truly epic moment she is witnessing. She wishes, not for the first time, that she had a talent for drawing or charcoal. Capturing this scene visually would be a wonderful way to lock it in her memory.

 

Once the figures appear and explain the trap she kicks herself for recognizing her intuition. It was so obviously a trap but she said nothing. She is reminded of the tale of Bare the Bard who was grant future site but only a moment in the future. He was forced to live out his days watching tragedy befall people that he was warned about too recently to be able to warn and save them. 

 

As the obviously mad cultist address the group she can't help but wonder, why so elaborate? If they are powerful magicians with access to an undead army, building this clearing seems like the hardest way to ensnare the group.

 

As she sees the group she draws he bow and looses arrows as quickly as possible. Her horror builds as she sees the undead continue to flow. It's clearly more than their small band can take on. Even the great barbarian would struggle and possibly fall beneath the great wave. She watches Bacon work his magic and is delighted to see someone find a way other than pure blades and maces. She continues to rack her brain but the wave continues to close and she has to drop her bow and take up her staff to begin cracking heads.

[Tialoredron]

As the horde pops out of the ground like daisies, Thurindor's eyes widen bigger than his stomach as he attempts to count the undead risen from there slumber and begins chanting in the old language ((Sylvan)) "Oh protect me from this I face; Yield death its disgrace" and a shimmer forms around him, but instantly goes out of sight. Thurindor then leaps into the first ranks of zombies as they move around Bacon's goo and yells at the undead ((Common)) "BEGONE! YOUR BODIES ARE EMPTY HUSKS AND YOUR SOULS YEARN FOR REST!" as a wave of white light emanates from him.Three of the zombies lumber off to crawl back to their grave, but the masses continue to surround Thurindor.

 

"YOU ARE DISEASED AND ROTTED, THE LIGHT HAS ABANDONED YOU AS YOU SUFFER NEEDLESSLY!" and another blast of light sends 5 running off to parts unknown. The three that stayed behind threw their arms toward him, but only one caught purchase as the other two seemed to hit a barrier around Thurindor. It did not take long for the blood to start flowing from the wound in the shoulder, but Thurindor seemed to pay no mind and he continued his crazed ranting;

 

"YOUR BLOOD HAS STOPPED FLOWING AND YOUR CYCLE IS BROKEN, RETURN TO YOUR SLEEP AND DECAY TO DUST"  2 more zombies seem to listen and gave into the words being uttered. As the two zombies disengage from battle, Thurindor seems to become aware of the situation he had put himself into, now thoroughly surrounded by zombies all pressing for the attack; 4 of the zombies are able to tear through the barrier exposing more wounds to fuel their hunger for carnage. The visible effects of blood loss quickly came on to Thurindor as his skin turned paler (as if it wasn't pale enough already!) and his steps became more staggered. "I gotta get out of here, this is no place for a wizard to be...what was I thinking!"

 

 Thurindor ducked his head down and rushed through the line between him and the rest of the group and fell over after getting behind Flo and Elora. Squirming out of his pack, he picked up and loaded his crossbow to take a shot and the oncoming onslaught of undeath, fearing that he may join them if he couldn't get back on his feet. As the first shot wizzes out of the contraption, Thurindor rolls on top of his pack and rushes over it, grabbing it with his left hand and dragging it behind him. He takes a moment to heft the pack onto his good shoulder and reloads his crossbow; his clothing nearly unserviceable but for rags as blood is soaked through and dirt had adhered to the wet clothing. The shot hit one of the zombies, at least that is what Thurindor hoped, but he had fired into the masses and he cannot pick out a certain target as his eyes refused to focus. Another shot lucked itself to fell another member of the horde, but continue onward it marched.

[cn3wton]

The first step was hard, it always is in a walk like this. There is no momentum on the load, so Bronan had to actively push with that back foot to get everything moving. After that, the first five steps come easily, and he knows he can make it to the end and figure out where to put the load down. It is then that he hears something behind them, threatening them, underestimating them. Bronan smirks and takes another heaving step toward the door, seeing the statues rising before him, as if watching his feat of strength. This drives him on harder, and he takes another step under the load. No choice? No purpose? Whoever or Whatever it is speaking behind him, whom he could not see, is obviously an idiot.

 

Bronan grunts and gives a hard shrug of his shoulders and tightening of his lats, shifting the log up further as he gets more familiar with the load, improving his posture and ability to carry it. Damn right persistent. You'll see how persistent I am when I put this load down then come back to shove my hammer down your throat. What kind of person mocked someone in the middle of a set? Didn't they know what would happen at the end of it?

When Whomever it is states that it "is the end" and the Barbellian is finally shown the end goal of the walk, he laughs. It is obviously just the beginning. He'd done heavier and longer walks than this before. Bronan can't wait to put this post down and show whoever this was the truth of the matter.

 

That's when the first arrows hit the post...

 

*thunk* *thunk* *thunk*

 

And another bouncing off the metal of his shield...

 

*ting*

 

Bronan growls again and yells "Don't touch the bar, bro!", and immediately picks up the pace, now really looking forward to breaking the knee caps of whomever this was behind him.

He listens to the battle and the exclamations around him as the rest of the group battles what are obviously undead juding bu all of annoying elf's exclamations. Is he actually expecting them to listen to his puny glutes? Shaking his head Bronan keeps stomping forward, feeling the dreaded fatigue coming in his upper back from supporting the weight for so long, and feeling the itch in his fingers to drop it and take up his weapons. Finish the damn set, they're spotting you. Then you can spot them.

 

Another few arrows thunk into the post and off the shield, and Bronan grunts as one finally finds purchase in his upper right butt cheek (1 damage), drawing a growl, and causing him to lose strength in the leg momentarily. The leg buckles under him and his body drops downward, but he clenches hard and brings everything to a stop, controlling the weight. With another growl he pushes off again, wincing as the contraction of his glute around the arrow head causes more tearing (1 damage). The massive man, now upright again, and gets going forward again with another drive of his legs, now only 10 steps from the statues.

Each of the remaining steps is painful, every other one Bronan knowing he's going to have to voluntarily contract a muscle around a blade. There's no choice and he embraces the pain, taking it as a challenge. Eight steps away he growls at it, six he chuckles at it, at four steps away outright laughs at it, and with a final four quick strides, slams the weight home into the statues' waiting arms. Ripping his morningstar from his belt, he spins around favoring the injured side, to finally see the horde and their big mouthed master for the first time. "COME AT ME BRO!"

[cn3wton]

The group continues to struggle against the wave of undead even after Bronan places the burden upon the statues. They seem to give for just a moment before the great doors fly open with tremendous force. A gust of air bursts from within the structure, the scent of ages past fills their nostrils. Bronan, taxed from his trial but unwilling to quit turns to face the horde. The others move to his flank, performing a fighting retreat to the temple.

The statues farthest from the group begin to descend into their subterranean crypts, and as they do so the door behind the group begins to close. The descent of the statues grow more and more rapid; so too the closing of the entrance. Seeing this the group quickly turns and breaks for the door, barely making it inside before it slams shut. The howls and moans of the undead disappearing.

The door does not budge, and all seems to be safe, for now. Sunlight descends from the top of the structure through dozens of tiny portals. The floor takes a rather drastic downward slant. It seems that the temple itself was only but a part of the structure.

As they descend the light grows more scarce, and the group must resort to lighting their own way. Continuing down the path, they see that the ceiling itself is an elaborate mural. A continuation of the etching. It begins with a small group overlooking the armored figured from their visions, kneeling above a grave. Behind and to his left a man with a single golden wing stands, hand upon the armored figures shoulder. To the right, somewhat distant, a black robed figure stands. As the group views the murals they seem to come to life, as if they are seeing these events happen in real time. A haze seems to descend all around the room, obscuring all but the mural and its tale, and the strange blue glow returns. It appears atop the grave, and leads the adventurers through the epic. As they continue the man, presumably the main focus of the tale, accomplishes many great feats and wonders.

Despite this the figures forming the group seem to draw farther and farther away from the subject of the story however; so too the man with the wing. The man in black grows ever closer. The mural ends with the man sitting upon a throne, with the winged figure and the robed both standing on his flanks. Above him, ghastly horrors begin an assault, seeming to reach out of the mural in an attempt to claw the viewers.

When this portion of the tale finally ends Bacon, Bronan, and Flo find an even more chilling sight. A ruined fountain lies before them. Upper tears lie broken upon the ground, and in place of water half a dozen corpses fill the base. It is an identical version of the one from their previous adventure. Behind the ruin lies a large double door. The final piece of the mural sitting above.

The blue orb descends and hovers before the door for but a moment before vanishing again.

[Gainsdalf the Whey]

As the statues begin to decend and Bronan glances behind to see the doors start to close, the man roars in rage, whipping his head back around toward the horde. After backhandining a zombie across the face and sending it crumbling to the ground, he points the weapon back to the obvious leader. "YOU'RE MINE NEXT TIME" he roars across the field. With disgust of having to retreat from battle, Bronan turns and runs through the doorway, turning his bulk sideways to make sure he fits through the gap.

 

Once in where all is quiet, he returns the morning star to hang in its belt loop, the reaches back and feels for the arrow. With a grunt he pulls it out and bring it up to his face to look at it with a frown. He then holds it out to Flo dismissively, figuring she could make use of it.

 

As they begin to descend and it becomes obvious that it will get darked, Bronan pulls his pack from his back. After rmoving the few arrows that had embedded themselves in the bag, he rumages through it and pulls forth a sunrod before replacing the pack on his back. He then stirkes the sunrod against the wall to illuminate it with a shower of sparks. no having light, he removes his shield and straps it down to his left arm, jamming the sunrod between the straps to be held there, leaving his weapon hand free.

 

Bronan watches the tale unfold, barely controlling his fury of wanted to charge forward and break something. Did the man sell his soul in some way to accomplish his golas? Is that what the dark figure represented?

 

When he sees the fountian, he takes a step forward to get a closer look at the bodies, though he touches nothing.

[DarK_RaideR]

Bacon is relieved when the group enters the building and lets out a sigh, trying to time it with the slamming of the doors so it won't be heard. "Everybody ok?" he asks the group, checking for any major injuries or something similar that might impede their progress. "If anyone's hurt, maybe the priest" he nods to Thurindor "might be able to help."

 

Once they're down, Bacon witnesses the scenes unfold, remarking that "someone put up some heavy work with the illusions in this place" as everything ends. "Guess the hero alienated himself from his party to achieve glory and that throne. Or maybe he rose from the grave as another of the undead. Perhaps it's all a symbolism, I don't know". His eyes notice the fountain. "Or maybe he's a friend of the dead wizard those goblins followed. Maybe this guy's the wizard. Guess whoever made that place in Harglen made this one too. Or someone's trying to get under our skin. I know he's getting under mine for sure..."

 

With that, he grabs his shortspear and walks towards the fountain, mumbling "Great... more undead". When he gets there, he pokes the corpses with the working edge. "Come on then, get up and let's get this over with!"

[Terinatum]

Flo rips the arm off a zombie as it is directly in the way of getting to the door. She swings it over her head and slams another one across the face. She dropped the arm and kicked her way past the last zombie keeping her from Bronan and the escape door. She rushes to Bronan's side as he starts to engage the zombies. "Bronan! We can't. Come. I am sorry." She tugs his arm once and moves past him. A bonus was waiting for her at the door. An arrow barely lodged in the ground. She scoops it up and jumps into and through the doorway before it starts to close.

 

"Bacon?" her voice transforming into the sensitive worry that seems to be happening after a battle. She supposes it has to do with having people around her that she cares about. Strange, I have never really been a friend kind of Elf. Not many folks preferred her presence which worked out well when her calling finally came to her at fifty years of age.

 

Bronan gets through the opening and the door slams tightly shut. She hears Bacon and spots Thurindor, and then sees Elora. That's everyone. She gets an arrow from Bronan and smiling in thanks. She counts her own arrows and realizes she has already used nine of them. She now has the one from the ground and the one from Bronan. She checks them to make sure they will fly again. One she simply breaks the head off to save for another arrow shaft. The other she pops into her quiver with the others.

 

When Bacon asks about wounds, she remembers hers. "I assume I'm bleeding on my back where I got hit. It hurts now, it did not hurt earlier." Flo shucks off her pack and drops it to the floor. She places the bow down as well and tries to identify the damage. Her shoulder blade is not very happy. Bacon said something about a priest, but she didn't know who that might be. "I can't tell if it will continue to bleed unattended." Flo pulls out her old tunic and rips it up for a makeshift bandage. "Would someone tighten this knot?" She realizes just how hungry she has gotten and digs in her bag for some cheese and uncorks her waterskin.

 

Flo resets her pack and bow. As she eats, she inspects the walls and floors, wondering about traps or hidden doors. Nothing seems like it will amount to anything so she walks down with the rest of the group. Bronan lights his stick and her elven vision reverts back to human sight. The images return and Flo is quite curious to see what happens next. The dark figure does not make Flo feel comfortable. Even as she watches the figure grow in the vision, she wonders just how safe she is. "If this is real, and I think it is, what can happen between the two sides? Theirs and ours? Can we influence it in some way?" She doubts it even as she says it, but it seems reasonable to get everything outside her mind.

 

Flo sees the fountain and dead bodies and sighs deeply. "This is just getting more unusual and frustrating." Listening to the others, she comments. "Bacon, they are not undead like the others. These are villagers with gaping wounds in their chest. Why? Are their hearts gone?" Flo moves one just enough to get a look at the chest. "Whatever they wanted, they obviously got it."

 

The orb reappears and they see it once again disappear in front of a door. Flo checks the door, finding that it is clean and unlocked. "Unlocked. Are we ready for the next chapter of this story?" Flo readjusts her pack and gets her bow and 2 arrows ready.

[The Most Loathed]

Elora provides covering fire while backing towards the door. When the door is finally closed she breathes a sigh. She's never seen so much danger, let alone in a few hours. She feels like laughing and crying. Perhaps her plan of chronicling the the adventures of this band was ill advised.

 

While others make preparations she rummages in her pack to get her cache arrows to refill her quiver. Looking around at the her surroundings she unstrings her bow and pulls her longsword from her pack, removing and stowing the oilcloth that she keeps it in. It's sharp and well maintained. It's not flashy, a tool that has been well cared for and used infrequently.

 

As they arrive at the chamber she is immediately taken in by the mural. As she views it she is blown away by the skill of the craftsman and the subtle use of magic to make it come alive. The story is all too familiar, a thousand versions of a youth forced into a position of power who loses himself in maintaining and protecting that power and ends life alone, finding his power unsafe and himself alone. She feels her throat constrict with the power of the work. She studies the mural for a craftsman's mark.

 

She does not spend any time looking at the fountain.

[cn3wton]

Gathering around the fountain the founding members ponder the meaning behind the fountains presence. It is truly a grizzly scene; a dark sister of the original. Where the first had shone with a brilliant radiance and inspired awe, this turned the stomach and made skin crawl. Whatever magicks had once been bestowed upon it where clearly fading, as only a small trickle of filth cascaded down. A noxious mix of blood and refuse.

 

The corpses within, bloated and slimy, hang lazily in the pool. When poked by Bacon a sour smell spews forth from the wound, the body does not stir. It is clear to the group that the pollution of this font is now complete, and nothing could be done to restore it. 

 

Pushing forward Bronan takes the lead. Grasping the doors large cast iron handle he slowly pulls it forward, peering through the opening for any source of danger. Once satisfied he motions the group forward.

 

Before them a hallway extends for so long that its end is out of sight. A corridor so tall the lights do not reach it ceiling, casting the illusion that there is none at all. Set into the floor elaborate tiling sweeps along in an exquisite display of craftsmanship. Flanking the path countless statues stand sentinel, each unique. Numerous torches light the way. 

 

Following the path the group feels a strange sense of familiarity with the figures cast in stone around them. Though none can seem to give name to any of them.

 

Darkness begins to encroach upon their rear as the torches light go out. The group pauses and turns. From the blackness a green mist begins to spread, smokey fingers seeming to grasp out at the group. Deciding it would be best not to be engulfed by the smoke the group turns, discovering that the path ahead is beginning to be cast in darkness as well. Trapped, the group begins to frantically search for some escape, the green mist growing ever closer. 

 

Moments before the mist washes over them the orb descends from above, casting a brilliant blue aura around the group. The mist glows a rich green in response, and seems to recede. The orb then begins to slowly float towards the end of the path; the group closely packed in around it.

 

When reaching the end of the now dark corridor the orb pauses for just a moment. Bronan slowly opens the door. As he does the orb seems to wink out of existence and the now bright green mist rushes forward. Hastily the group slips through the door, closing it behind them. Backing away from it, the mist does not follow them through the seams. 

 

Resting after a rather long walk the group takes their bearings, looking upwards they can see daylight shining through numerous holes in the ceiling. The corridor must have been a mile at least, for there where no other structures visible from the clearing. Sections of the fallen ceiling lie strewn about everywhere, and the path slopes gently upwards. Grand arches line the walls with grime and foliage covered windows set beneath them. 

 

After composing themselves the small band ventures forward, taking great care to avoid any traps or ambushes. They walk for a few hundred paces before reaching level ground. As the ground levels the corridor widens, until each turn away. Revealing a large circular hall. They move behind a large section of fallen debris, using it as cover as they inspect the massive space.

 

At its center a large statue stands, once again a depiction of the armored figure. In his right hand he holds a hammer, in the other a jagged edged knife. He seems to be holding them before him; contemplating which he should wield.

 

Overgrown foliage claws at his feet, ruined paths of a once magnificent garden form a tangled maze about him. Near the entrance to this great room two ramps stretch upwards to a secondary level. A great arch, able to be seen just behind the stone figure, lies behind a large platform at their summit. The left path lies in ruin, collapsing about half way to the top. A large section of the ceiling lies below the wound, obviously the cause of the destruction. Light cascades down from the rent in the ceiling and various carrion birds roost upon it. The right pathway remains mostly intact, small sections seem to have fallen away, primarily on the inner curve of the ramp. It lies mostly in darkness, as the portals meant to allow the passage of light down upon it seem to be covered in vegetation. Four braziers lie along it, casting some light.

 

Numerous figures can be seen moving in the room; followers of the robed figure from the clearing. At the base of the right ramp two large figures stand. Lit from behind by the first of the fires. Grotesque men carrying large two handed weapons. Disfigured and scarred, they compare in size to Bronan. 

 

Before the statue two of the archers loiter, bows lain against the pedestal. Two more move behind it, carrying something large between them as they make their way to the ruined area beneath the left path. As they enter the light the group sees that they carry a body between them. The men swing it briefly before tossing it upon the rubble. The birds quickly descend upon it, ripping it apart. Little more than bones remain before the figures reach the base of the statue again. 

 

Four figures appear beneath the great arch. The group recognizes the middle figure as the robed man from the clearing. They stand just out of bow shot, concealed by the darkness and debris that litters the entrance. The three followers stand upon the ledge with their backs to it. If there had once been a rail it had long since been destroyed. The robed man approached them and began to speak, addressing not only the men before him, but those standing watch as well.

 

"Our host has been most unwelcoming, our offerings, though numerous" he motions to the pile of bones lying among the rubble "have proven, ineffective." With his last word he focuses on the follower standing in the center. On queue the other two grasp his arms and hold him, the man jumps and begins to struggle.

 

"Why do you struggle so? Your blood shall open the way. You have been chosen for you are the most pious. We must hurry, for it is only a matter of time before they arrive" The man seems to grow still for just a moment, as if he is contemplating what the robed man is saying. As he does so the figure draws a long blade from within the folds of his robe and slits the mans neck. His scream is inhuman, seemingly impossible due to the wound he just sustained. As he does so he seems to spew a red mist from his mouth and nose. The robed man opens his mouth wide, blood drips from his wounded maw, and seems to breath deep as the mist coalesces and flows into him.

 

As this happens the figure thrashes about, he reaches his hand out in a last desperate attempt to regain what he has just lost; the more keen eyed members of the group notice his hand and arm begin to shrivel. He grows still, frozen in his final attempts to recover whatever was drawn out of him.

 

The robed mans eyes shine bright for but a moment and he raises his arms.  "Yesss. Surely that will be enough." He lowers his arms and turns. "Leave him." his men begin to follow, though one stops and returns to the figure. He quickly kicks the mans chest hard, sending the corpse off of the edge. He turns an exits the room, not waiting to see the result of his handiwork. The two men scoop up the ruined body of the man from behind the pillar; the next offering for the birds. The two men at the base of the statue take up their bows, renewing their patrol, perhaps fearing that they may be next. Their path takes them up the ramp and towards the platform at its crest.

[DarK_RaideR]

Bacon slips between the heroes and tries to tip-toe to the closest point that might provide a bit of cover. As he moves, things shuffle about his backpack and eventually something tumbles and switches position, conveniently landing inside the iron pot. The noise is more than enough to alert everyone to his presence. "Shit" he thinks to himself, before the word is repeated as a question in his head. His hands quickly reach for another ball of dirt in his pockets. Bacon squeezes it around a bit, lovingly like crafting a meatball, then launches it at one of the archers. The unpleasant projectile strikes true and explodes upon impact, blinding the nearest archer and providing the sorcerer with a little precious chaos until he can reach cover.

 

Getting comfortable in his position, Bacon braces his crossbow and fires at the other archer located on the base of the statue. The shot connects and he dashes for another spot, now that his location is exposed. Safely behind new cover, he reloads the weapon and realizes his initial target has almost gotten the mud out of his eyes. Timing a breath to control the shot, Bacon lets another bolt fly and hits him where it hurts. "That's more like it!" he shouts to himself in excitement, remembering his marksmanship against the dragon. When his head pops out again for the next shot, he sees the archers on the ramp firing dangerously close to his allies. Fortunately for his friends, the two archers close to the statue had been kept busy by his suppressive fire. Unfortunately for him, they had drawn swords and marched towards his position.

 

Thankfully, Elora is nearby, steel in hand. The archers-turned-swordsmen have to get through her first, which provides Bacon with the time to switch to his spear. He and the bard dance around the enemies and the moves are happening right as teamwork falls into place. It's almost like magic and Bacon is so excited that finally others are catching on to his tune and working together to defeat more powerful foes. The two focus on the stronger enemy first, Elora attracting his blows to provide Bacon with the opening he needs to skewer the man. The lunge immediately qualifies the gnome as a danger once more and the other enemy, remembering the mudball and bolt, turns his attention towards Bacon. A fatal mistake, as Elora quickly switches from parrying into full-offense mode, striking him down with ease.

[The Most Loathed]

As the group travels the long hallway Elora will offer to tell at least version of the tale she believes she saw in the mural. She'll also listen to anything the group has to say about what they saw.

...

Elora is transfixed as she sees the terrible blood magic performed. Shea's never seen such complete disregard for other people. Although Bacon's misstep alerted the bowmen to the groups presence, she is grateful because it broke her from the trance that the scene seemed to hold over her. As she scrambles to think how to respond to now being perceived as a threat she draws her long sword.

Elora begins to sing the first song that comes to her, a song of loss and loneliness. She brings her focus to bear on the archer, drawing them into her story, making it about each of them personally. While they don't succumb completely they are slow to act, they fumble their arrows and their aim is poor. Elora trust her new friends to deal with the other threats around her that she is only becoming aware of. She sees Bacon also focusing on the archers, helping her control them and bringing them down. As the archers fin themselves ineffective and close the ring, Bacon and Elora work as a team to bring them down.

Ask the last combatant falls, Elora's magical voice breathes "We must hurry. I fear what he will bring if he is allowed to finish his desk ritual ".

[Terinatum]

Bronan gives the signal and Flo and the others head through the doorway. It's dark in a way unlike actual light and dark, the lights provided tried to dispel the feeling, but to no avail. It's just full… of emptiness.  She tries to peer up through the darkness to find a ceiling, but she cannot penetrate the darkness enough to find an end to the hallway's height. "Very strange, I cannot see the top of this hallway." She focuses on moving forward, keeping her bow ready since surprises have been plenty of late. She focuses on getting her quick feet and darting body ready for action. The hallway didn't allow for much, but she tried to wake her body up, hoping it had recovered enough from the last scrimmage.

 

Figures can be seen along the edges and Flo cannot help but look twice, even three or four times, at some of them. Why do they look… familiar? "Is that… No, it not, but - wow this place is just way too directed at us. Does anyone else feel like that?" She waits for an answer while the lights grow fewer and the darkness comes closer still. "This mist is nasty. Keep moving!" Flo trips on something, but recovers her balance. There's just nowhere to go. "Now what?!" She tries to fan away the mist, but it does no good. She then sees a light descend. "Ah! Our guide! It's about time, sweet orb!"

 

 Flo is more than willing to step closer to their glowing Guide. "Sometime when this mess is done, will you tell us what you are?" She cannot be sure the Orb even recognized her sound as a question. As Flo considers another question, the Orb pauses. Before them is a set of doors and behind them the mist advances again. "No questions here, get in." Bronan opens the door and the Orb vanishes again. Sure enough the mist hurdles forward and she and her group pile into the next room unsure, but quite positive that whatever was in the next room was better than facing mist that she had no way of fighting.

 

Flo gets through and helps close the doors. The mist surprisingly does not follow. That's a relief.  She searches around quickly, but finds no surprises. "This area is cleared of traps, but I think I should venture forth a bit to make sure they don't show up. This place is a possible nests of traps and vermin."

 

"I need to rest some. I cannot yet get rested while we move. Anyone else?" Flo pulls the waterskin to her mouth and pops a piece of bread and some jerky from her rations. Yes, I need this. Ah.  "The arches must have been beautiful once," she whispers to no one. It doesn't take long for them to rest up and they're off again. Flo doesn't find any traps and no vermin seem interested in them. When you see the size of our group, I imagine they want nothing to do with us!  The way wasn't clear. The decay and damage of an unknown amount of time has seen to it that few could recognize what this place as  it once was.

 

The opening up of the corridor makes Flo rear up and draw back her bow. A huge mound of debris makes for a great cover. Huddled up behind it, each takes a turn peering around to get a lay of the room. A huge statue of the man stands in the center. But worse yet, is that voice. He's here. Someone mentioned a victim and she could smell dead bodies easily. She hated this man. She has never hated before, not like this. And those that follow him? She understood the lack of self control of zombies, but live men? What were they promised in order to do the bidding they do?  She cannot watch, but she does. The poor man is full of fear. The knife does its work and, again, a strange mist comes from the now mercifully dead man. How can he do that? What is it for?

 

"Surely that will be enough." Flo's skin crawls. She crouches down as the man and his minions begin to move off. But oh how I want my arrow to be shot down his throat and pierce his rotted heart!

 

"I'm going in with arrows flying." She whispers and moves off as soon as she sees the man is gone. She lets one fly an arrow,  true to its mark. One of the big bruisers is not happy. She lines up the same shot, knowing she can take him out. She pulls back and aims. The only thing she can see is Bronan's back and his shield out in front of him.

 

Bacon hits one of the closer archers with a ball. Then Bacon is off to cover. Good. Elora is near him so between the two of them, they should be fine. Bronan was surely dispatching the bruisers.  She veers her aim toward the ramps. Two more archers are scrambling up the ramp, completely harried by Elora. Flo grins, reminding herself to thank Elora for the targets. She lets two arrows fly in rapid succession.  The first brings the archer on the left to a stop. Her second one finishes him. Flo moves with purpose, lining up the other archer who wants to be nowhere near where his buddy just lost his life. It doesn't matter how far he gets, Flo takes him down in one shot, splitting his head like a soft fruit.

 

She searches through her site, but there are no others on their feet. The bruisers are done dead and the other archers are no more. "Hey! Everyone here?" Flo climbs up a small boulder, bow still ready, and checks the surroundings. With no danger present, she relaxes and checks the surroundings and searches for loot. I wonder what the archers and bruisers have in their pockets?  She keeps an ear out for the others, counting them off in her head as she hears them.

[Gainsdalf the Whey]

The brabrian makes his way down the halway in the lead, looking cursiously, but casually at the sentinals as he goes along. They are familiar, but he doesn't know how. Are they bros of legend he knew but could not recall? Perhaps men from the visions they'd all shared? He pauses to look at one more closely, but that is when the torches begin to go out. The superstitious Brobarian looks back the way they had come, notices the green mist coming, and immediately utters an uncomfrotable snarl. He turns to quick step the other way, but finds the mist and darkness there as well. Looking back and forth between the two, he raises his morningstar and shield, as if they would do something against the mist. The man is at a loss.

 

When the orb comes, he cocks his arm back at it, but does not swing. Seeing that following the orb is the only choice as the mist flees from it, he does so at a trot, all the while looking at the orb warily. He eyes the door as they appraoch and peeks through the opening when they reach it, finding no threats. As he looks back for the rest of the group, the orb winks out and the mist gets aggresive again. He then dives through the door quickly before recovering it and slamming it behind the group.

 

As they make they way further, he frowns and grumbles about unnatural things and how there was none of this back in the Halls of Iron. He frowns further when they reach the large room with the enemy mniling about. He itches to dash in when he sees the ritual going on, but holds himself back until the leader takes out one of his own combatants. When he leaves, Bronan waits no more. He nods to Flo's comment and rushes in.

 

He keeps his shield up as the archers above clink arrows off it's metal surface, heading for the brutes with the large two handers. The left one raises his and prepares and overhead chop at Bronan, but takes an arrow it it's right should, stumbling backward. Seeing this, Bronan quickly shoves himself in the direction and helps the brute along with a bash of his sheild, sending him toppling backward. Sensing the incoming weapon, Bronan duck's as the right brute tries a sweep for his head. he spins back that way and rakes the morningstar across the man's thigh, draw a gush of blood. He then dodges back left as the brute turns the momentum of his follow through and brings the blade over and down for Bronaan's shoulder. It is an unbalanced attack however and the brute leaves his entire right side exposed with the miss. Bronan makes him pay with a backhand of the morningstar across his jaw, sending him unmoving to the ground.

 

After getting to his feet from the fall, the toppled Brute charges Bronan as the Bro finishes off his compadre. Bronan turns just to see the tackle coming and manages to dodge to his right and swing his shield out left and down, getting himself out of the way and clipping the man's shoulder with a shield spike as he passes. It sends the brute sprawluing once again, but this time Bronan quickly follows through and kicks it in the gut, then the face as it tries to recover, following it across the floor as each strike sends it sprawling further. An overhand swing from the morningstar ends it.

 

Turning, Bronan finds the battle over and heads up the flight of stairs, stepping over the archers. Unlike before, he does not continue on, instead kneeling at the top step to catch his breath and wait for his companions to finish and catch up.

[cn3wton]

As the last of the cultists falls, he clutches his chest. His mutilated face frozen in fear. Pehaps due to the realization of his demise, or knowing what comes for him once he passes. 

 

Quickly searching the room and their fallen foes the group finds little of value. It is then that they realize that Thurindor has mysteriously disappeared. They spend what time they can searching for him, but know that they must press on.

 

The bonfires light their way up the ramp. As it winds around the room they keep their eyes open. Once they reach the summit they see a set of large iron doors, one lying open.

 

The inside room is lit by numerous torches. At its far end the robed figure stands, back turned to the group. The corpses of the last two of his followers at his feet. He claws at the door uselessly. His nails and skin beginning to peel away on the massive stone door. A large sacrificial altar lies behind him. 

 

There is little of the floor not covered in blood. Above the door, the final mural. The armored figure now lies upon the sacrificial slab. The black robed figure holds a knife to his throat, opening a grievous wound. Blood pools beneath his still form. The man with the single golden wing stands at a distance. In in the background, numerous men and woman stand. Ready to follow their master upon the slab. 

 

Upon returning their gaze to the robed man he turns and moans. "Noooo, I don't understand. I have done everything, how has this not been enough. I have given everything, the way should be open now." His shoulders sag in defeat, but then he slowly turns. "No, not everything." He laughs then takes his dagger to his palm, cutting there. His blood hits the slab and the earth begins to shake. The doors begin to open. "Of course only the blood of a true believer, my own, could open the way. I shall take the power here..." An armored hand reaches from within the darkness of the opening door and grasps his skull.

 

The armored figure from the town steps from the opening and slams the head of the robed man into the slab. Shattering teeth and disfiguring an already marred face. The robed man falls to the ground. Lying there he manages to speak, despite being greatly impeded by his ruined maw "Do what you will. Even in death I will serve my master."

 

"No. You will not." The armored man says. He grasps The mans robed mans face "You shall suffer in death, there will be no rest for you" as he says this the robed man begins to flail and scream; just as he had drawn the red aura from his own minion, this man did the same to him. However the heavily armored man does not bring it into himself. Instead it begins to form a ball in his hand. Once it finishes forming the man closes his fist around it. A blinding flash and the red ball disappears.

 

The man bedecked in ancient armor now stands and faces the group. "I should have known, the enemy does so love his tricks. And it seems I have fallen for it. Come, I am sure you have many questions, though I fear that time is short." He turns and enters the room he emerged from. The stone doors now stand fully open. Torches begin to light within.

 

The adventurers form up near the entrance once inside the room. The man is seen seated upon a throne opposite. Behind him a large chasm. Flanking him are four statues. There is no mistaking it, the group of statues makes a striking resemblance to the heroes.

 

The man leans forward in his throne, the stone doors slam shut and a large stone crosspiece bars them from the inside.

 

"It has been a long time friends."

[Terinatum]

The blood on her boots, surely marking the floor, is a distasteful souvenir of what just happened in the last… I don't even know how long we’ve been at this? All the murals and mist and fighting has snatched Flo's sense of time. But one thing has snatched her mind and heart much more drastically, and it stands frozen in front of her. Her first thought was, if he can do all this, he surely can make statues quickly enough. And where is Thurindor's statue? Did this armored king know he would be lost to this place? Anger spills forth and her demeanor cracks visibly.

 

"Friend?!" Flo realizes she's about to show a new side, but she does not stop. "You call us friend? When you send skeletons against us, I do not feel so agreeable. Where is the woman you stole and why all this death of innocents?" Flo takes a quick  breath. What is this all about? I… we have been with this man before? Together? How could I not remember?

 

"How did you expect this," Flo throws her arm out, pointing to the statues of them, "reunion to play out?" Her venom has no end. "Is this my introduction to my life before my last visit to the Halls of Mandos?" Oh dear Goddess of the Stars, is it?

 

"If it is, I cannot see how I managed to not get held back in Mandos for a much, much longer time of reflection." Flo cannot sense whether this is a true recalling of her last life, but now it keeps sweeping through her every time she eyes her statue. She looks to it again, trying to let curiosity overcome the anger.

 

"I will not be your pawn. If I was then, I will reckon with that in my next visit to the Halls. But now? Now I am here for myself and with my friends." She gestures possessively to her companions.

 

She doesn't remember asking a question so much as spewing her disgust at him, his to own or not, she hardly cared. When will we be able to venture into this world and not be hurdled into other people's troubles? Like I really want to be solving other folks' problems. AAAhhh.  She lets her voice and anger drop to silence and waits, very still of body and mind, for others to say their piece and ask their questions. Ears open, mouth closed, Flo.

[DarK_RaideR]

Bacon witnesses the scene and joins the others as they enter the room. Once the doors slam shut, he hears Flo, noticing the rage in her tone. He understands it, because he feels something similar sizzling inside him. It is a rare feeling for the otherwise merry gnome, so he takes the time to savor it, to familiarize himself with it. Once Flo is done talking, he takes a few steps forward and joins his hands in a few slow claps.

 

“Admirable theatrics” he says. Despite the obvious irony in his demeanor, his voice doesn’t emit the confidence one would expect to come with such sarcasm. Instead, it is cold and flat as if he was commenting about the weather. “But you knew we would make it to this point. The graves, the strength test, the fountain, now the statues… You were expecting, if not downright inviting us. So this is the point where we finally come face to face, you’ve played with our minds and done your little mystery act. It all boils down to this and you probably expect us to ask all the wrong questions. Who are you, why are you doing all this, what’s going on…. Or maybe you want to explain it all anyway. After all, you have summoned us here. All the way from Harglenn. You’ve gone to great lengths to get us here. So, get on with it and get ready to throw down after. No words can wash away your actions or make me want to spare your evil existence. If I fall in the act, so be it. It will be a fine way to go, fighting and between my real friends”

 

With these last words, Bacon takes another step forward and pulls back the cloth of his robes to reveal the left side of his chest. On the spot over his heart is a small tattoo, roughly the size of his little palm. Its shape is roughly triangular, kind of like a shield pointing downwards would be in a heraldic emblem. Some kind of writing forms a circle of words around it in unusual letters. In the shadows of the chamber, the ink begins to glow and the gnome runs his hand from the glow and along his chest. The bright triangle multiplies and spreads following the hand, eventually forming a scaly, shimmering forcefield around the sorcerer’s chest. With his Mage Armor spell renewed, Bacon assumes a defiant stance and stares down the figure, waiting for either it or his companions to speak up.