 DM Note: This battle seems interminable (three entire sessions!) but has actually occupied fourteen combat rounds - eighty-four seconds, or a little under one and a half minutes... Time flies!No Derek this week, so Eloy was 'unbubbled' but a bit abstracted to reduce the impact of running him on the DM's meagre mental resources. |
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Behind Eloy, the water elemental, balked of its' target, began to spray its' mist around in an attempt to re-locate the assassin. Eloy was invisible and flying, which made the chances of the creature locating him almost nothing; but by the merest chance, it got lucky and spread its' water under where he happened to be. Eloy was still soaked from his earlier tussle with the creature, and its' attention was caught by the drips of water falling from (apparently) nowhere into the puddles. Its' 'face' tilted backwards and upwards and it surged towards the startled assassin.
Through the doors into the antechamber, the Fae Mhor High Priestess Corelia eyed Gorfang as he stood in the doorway. Only an orc, she thought, yet some kind of skilled warrior, judging by the mess he's made. "Barkflay." she said commandingly, and the colour-shifting Fae Mhor in the hat started towards Gorfang. Then she lifted an elegant hand and cast a spell. A ray of black energy sprang from her hand and lashed out at Gorfang, who grinned as it rebounded from his Ring of Spell Turning. The backstroke struck Corelia, and her innate Fae Mhor spell resistance was not enough to protect her from it. She screamed with pain and outrage as her life energy was drained away.
The four lesser priestesses and the surviving male guards stepped between Gorfang and their mistress, striking with their blades and delivering small wounds in a variety of places. Half-a-dozen more spiders dropped from the ceiling near Gorfang and Lynien, venomous fangs striking. Both were bitten, and Lynien felt her muscles slacken as the poison began to take effect. Not for the first time, she wondered why they were still here, in this trap the Fae Mhor had laid for them.
Gorfang turned on the lesser priestesses surrounding him, cutting and slashing with the khopeshoi, the terrible curved khabran blades he'd made his own. Despite the terror with which most Fae Mhor held the priestesses of their dark goddess, they were no match for someone like Gorfang, and blood and limbs scattered across the anteroom as he cut his way through them. A spider darted in and tried to bite him, but the orc weaved aside like a snake and lashed a riposte across its' carapace, smashing it like an egg.
The water elemental had elongated itself to reach Eloy and lashed at him with its great watery limbs. Drenched and battered, the assassin plied his swords, struggling to stay in the air as the torrents of water slammed him back and forth. He returned damage of his own in exchange but the result of the battle was still in the balance. Under his breath, he cursed the chance that had left him fighting the one foe in the battle immune to all his assassin's powers and techniques.
One of the Fae Mhor males, perhaps a little brighter than the others, had avoided Gorfang and selected instead to attack Lynien. This proved unwise, as the tiefling girl turned a whirlwind of rapier cuts on him, flaying dozens of small wounds across most of his body until he ran with blood almost as much as Everbleed. The guard staggered back, half-blinded by flying gore, wincing with pain but rallying ready to attack once more.
Seeing this, Corelia the High Priestess cast another spell, a Mass Heal, erasing the wounds of all her followers in the area. The priestesses behind her, seeing how futile direct combat or magic was against Gorfang, readied short bows to use instead. Everbleed, still holding his greatsword casually and making no offer of battle, moved casually closer to the doors where the battle raged, an enigmatic smile on his grisly face. The spider that had fanged Lynien before now did it again, and more poison flowed into her bloodstream, wracking her with weakness. Lynien was beginning to worry seriously about this encounter!
Barkflay, the warrior with the hat, reached Gorfang and engaged, taunting his foe with an obscene waggling tongue. Darting and stabbing, his rapier and shortsword drew orc blood, more than most attacks in this battle, and Gorfang gritted his teeth in anger. Counter-attacking, the orc cut some wounds across the chromatically-shifting flesh of his enemy, noticing as he did so that Barkflay seemed to be making only a token display of defending himself, almost welcoming the strikes of Gorfang's weapons. He didn't seem to be berserk, though.... The answer came with the orc's next strike. The sword sank into the grey-green skin, and Gorfang suddenly felt it pulled from his hand by an unstoppable force. The sword sank deeper into Barkflay's flesh, impossibly dissapearing inside his body more and more until it was all gone. Gorfang blinked in surprise, and Barkflay grinned smugly, waggling his tongue again. Returning the grin with interest, Gorfang switched to a two-handed grip on his remaining khopesh and struck again. Barkflay's expression turned to horror as the mortal wound drove home, then vanished as his entire body ruptured and burst, torn apart from the inside by a dozen or so weapons of assorted type which suddenly reappeared from wherever inside him they had been magically secreted, to fall to the floor in a slime-coated pile.
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The High Priestess Corelia uttered a further scream of fury as her champion fell, utterly destroyed. Lifting her hands, she cast another spell, one of such power that use in a confined space was not generally regarded as a good idea. Targetted almost exactly on the forgotten form of 'Ghanim', expiring atop his pentagram from Lynien's mortal wounds, a Firestorm erupted to fill the main room with roiling flames.
'Ghanim' himself, already slipping beyond the point where even magic could save him from death, was crisped instantly, as were most of the spiders and all the webs in the main hall. The last elementalists of 'Ghanim's' trap, huddled in their dark corner, died instantly, as did Lynien's newly-healed opponent.
Eloy and the water elemental were engulfed. Eloy twisted in the air, but was unable to avoid the searing fire. His decison to doff his Ring of Fire Resistance for one of Flying now seemed less well-chosen than it had! The elemental, roaring with pain at the touch of the element most inimical to it, was vaporized into steam which whirled away to nothingness. Lynien and Gorfang, at the fringes of the effect, sought what cover they could, and were essentially unharmed by the wash of fire.
Grabbing his khopesh from the disgorged, gory heap that was everything left of the late Barkflay, Gorfang charged across the antechamber. The priestesses, now with bows prepared to shoot at him, stared in horror as he hurtled towards them, but he dodged agiley between them, ignoring them entirely, and threw himself at the tall figure of Corelia. The High Priestess stood unafraid, head high, as he approached, and as he reached twenty feet away he discovered why. As if he'd hit a wall, he suddenly found himself trying to run against almost insuperable resistance. Not phyiscal, it was more like a concrete conviction in his own mind that he couldn't get closer to her than he now was. With a vast effort he shrugged off the effect and resumed his charge towards the shocked dark elvish woman, unfazed by a hail of arrows loosed at him by her priestesses.
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The main hall was silent, filled with black smoke and with scorched walls. Suddenly alone where she stood to the left of the doors, Lynien took advantage of the lull to re-activate the magic of Maedar's Ring, vanishing once more from visible sight. Immediately she moved quickly away from her last known position to one further from the doors. Feeling slightly safer, she slipped her single vial of Boom Boom Boom from her belt, bit out the cork and slugged it down, feeling the fire as the rich brandy rolled down her throat, relaxing in anticipation of the healing it would bring. Her face fell as she realized that, although the poison had been purged from her blood, her wounds still bled and the pain was unabated. She was astounded. Bog's potions did not fail! Calling on Nebekheshut, she cast a light curative spell, and winced when that too failed.
Eloy drifted through the doors and came to rest on the floor in the antechamber, trailing invisible smoke. At least I'm not wet any more, he thought wryly. Ahead, he could see Fae Mhor converging on Gorfang from all directions. He raised his sword. "Don't panic, Gorfang!" he cried. "I've come to save your neck again!" He readied his Dispel Magic wand to attack the High Priestess with.
Gorfang didn't regard himself as needing saving any more than usual (he'd probably accept that he did somewhere around ten minutes after whatever finally killed him had happened), but he was surrounded again. The Repulsion spell had collapsed, allowing Corania's minions to close around her to attack the orc, and blades and maces lashed at him from all sides. The combination of these renewed attacks and Eloy's jaunty comment were too much for the orc, and his temper finally snapped, precipitating him into a red rage.
A storm of mighty blows exploded into the High Priestess's strange shield, showering blue arcane sparks in all directions. Relying confidently on its' protection and angered beyond reason by the presumption of the attack, she stood her ground, returning blow for blow with a heavy mace and long black dagger. For long moments the pair fought back and forth, both quite badly wounded now, neither giving an inch. Then Corelia's shield suddenly collapsed. Her face stretched with horror, and Gorfang struck once, straight and true, splitting her entire head into two from crown to chin. The force of the blow smacked her body down to the ground in a welter of gore, leaving the panting orc crouched snarling and flexing his wrists in the centre of a circle of suddenly leaderless Fae Mhor.
The male guards looked nervously at the surviving priestesses. Some of those were horrified or siezed with terror, but on some faces had flashed a dark joy, coupled for some with naked ambition. None, however, had the stomach for further fighting, and their weapons dropped in token of surrender. Relief flooded the males' faces, and swords swiftly followed maces to the ground. Only Everbleed did not react, standing five yards off to the side of the scene with a secretive smile on his face, his massive greatsword still upright in front of him, his hands on the pommel. Gorfang glared red-eyed at him. "You!" he barked, "drop your weapon!" Everbleed glanced at the sword almost as if surprised to see it. "Oh, this?" he said calmly in a voice distorted by what sounded like blood in his throat. Releasing it with his hands, he let it topple away from him to clang to the floor. "I'm not getting involved unless I get orders to the contrary," he said, folding his hideous arms. Lynien spoke from the shadows as she and Eloy approached. "That's fine; we'll just collect some of our stuff and leave then." Everbleed smiled slightly at that for some reason.
Gorfang, having discovered someone apparently prepared to negotiate, asked the question that had been bothering him. "Why all this effort for that sword?" he queried. "It's a good sword, but not as good as these that I made myself," Everbleed cocked his head. "Not for you, no, it probably isn't," he said. "It's a Fae Mhor sword. But I'm only a male. Secrets like that aren't for such as me."
Gorfang turned to the priestesses. "Why?" he demanded. "And didn't you even consider just asking me for it?" he continued, ignoring Lynien and Eloy's amused exchange of glances behind him at the idea. One of the priestesses spoke up. "The Veldrin is of great spiritual significance to us - and to Lolth." All three noticed the frisson of fear that ran through all the priestesses even at the mention of the demon-goddess of the Fae Mhor. "She has demanded double the normal sacrifices since we lost the blade to you in Hightower. Slaves and prisoners are running low, and even a failed matriach wasn't enough to assuage Her anger. Soon we will have to start offering priestesses!" Now the terror was apparent.
"Well, direct assault doesn't seem to be working," commented Gorfang. "Can we have a truce to discuss this?" He glanced at Everbleed, who shrugged off any responsibility. "Very well," commented the priestess spokewoman, "though a High Priestess will have to agree." Lynien nodded. "Good," she said, lifting her bleeding arm, "now all we need to do is get this lot healed up."
Across the room, Everbleed began to laugh. Lynien had spent a fair anount of time in the company of people most common folk would describe as evil; her own companion among them. Yet the dark, sinister, slightly gurgling laugh of Everbleed, loaded with disinterested malice, was unsettling even for her.
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