PrP: Construction Season
Log Info
- Title: Construction Season
- Emitter: Yokai
- Characters:
- Place: Artifice District; Alexandria
- Time: Feb 21, 2017
- Summary: The local Vardaman collective has reported a series of graveyard desecrations; a robbery of the belongings of the dearly departed, jewelry and armour, family weapons that once stood proudly on display in ancestral mausoleums, and in some cases bodies. These unforgivable crimes cannot be ignored any longer. Investigations have been undertaken by the church's inquisitors, and have lead them ... right back to the city. Their clues have brought them to a crossroads, and they require a few good men to stand vigilent in the Grave Matron's name at one of forks in the road to discovery: the district of the Artificers.
- Signed up: Karuda (Brg3)* Kore (Inq2/Mnk1)* Zant (Mnk4)* Aznara (Sor2/Swb1)* Dubtle (Wtc3)* Aodh (Brg2)*
- APL: 3
- Encounter 1: 5 Iron Cobra (CR 2 Each)
- Encounter 2: 2 Necrophidius (CR 2 Each)
DM:
The day is dour and the hour is dark, low cloud thick over the city, lit with deep pinks and purples at the edges of their rolling descent, speaking of an unseasonable yet undeniably approaching storm. The streetlamps lend their golden glow to the pavement, reflected on the slick surface and still puddles that dot the district, only occasionally rippled by a thin mist of droplets from above before it grows calm once more.
There is a quiet forboding that hangs in this place, though it's hard to tell if it's anything more than the unease of the few people that still pace around the streets gaining an infectious hold; nobody seems to be talking, heads down and steps subtly hurried over cobblestones with the soft clack-clack-clack of a nobleman's heel turned down distant alley.
Like visions the Vardamen arrive from every unseen corner, hoods drawn against the weather, leaving little more than their mouths visible to the outside world, so wrapped in bandage and cloth are they. They are pale, from what can be seen, all with a rather striking resemblance in what meager features can be seen. When one speaks, all of their lips move the very same, even though nothing more than breathless whispers come from the outlying absolution.
"We are humbled by your service," Comes that one voice, before their speech is lost to the whispers the others once claimed, and the next can be heard with tone and inflection that suggests they were the same person. "Your offer of aid," It fades, the next rises, "For which they are paid," Through to the next of the semi-circle of five, almost an interruption, though the lips all move still in unison. "Regardless, is a gift before our Grey Lady."
They all lower their heads in a shallow bow, before the one in the center straightens.
"We are the Wilted Lily," He intones, the others still standing bowed, though their whispering can be caught by the keen of hearing. "Keepers of the honoured dead, defenders of men meant remembered." Little more than introduction, "Today, you are Absolution, a righteous voice to be raised against the defilement of our Matron's wards." There is a particular gravitas about the tone of his voice, no matter how softly spoken he may be.
"We have more options than time, more directions than men, but you..." His head barely turns, simply a fractional shift as though it were all he needed to survey those that have gathered, focusing then on Kore. "You will walk the final path. You must return the dead to their rest. If the unthinkable is unleashed upon them, you must put them down, and we will return them to their rightful place." His head flicks that fraction back to face fully forward, "... Be aware that the individual, or individuals which you seek in this place are unpredictable and believes themselves beyond the reach of our Lady. We do not know what he is doing, nor why, but his trespasses stand in flagrant disregard to the laws not only of the Church, but of this city. Go, but go with caution."
Another brief pause, before he adds: "Should you fall, know that we will keep you."
With that, the other four stand straight, and all five turn to seperate directions with a flicked flair of their cloaks, a shimmer of magics springing to life the spectral image of blue-white scythes in outstretched hands.
Tromping along without any attempt for stealth, Miriai moves along behind Aznara's right shoulder. He is a far different design of golem from what most people see. There appears to be no clockwork mechanical stuff so much as.. magically animated statue-looking parts. His eyes glow softly and his limbs move almost like they are liquid ... solidifying when they still. "My Lady?" he asks after all of the monologue is delivered. It's his two word version of asking about a paragraph worth of questions.
Karuda strides her way towards the circle and looking down towards Kore with a smile. "Angoron follows you in." She then looks towards the robed ones. "Life may be but the beginning, when one leads a full life, they should be granted a peaceful rest." She then lowers her hammer with one hand. "Those that interrupt that sleep.....wish they were beyond Vardama's hand. When in fact....they are in Vardama's hand already......and she closes it into a fist..."
Aznara, like the Vardamen, has her hood up over her head against the mist in the air. She has her cloak pulled closed around herself, too, against both mist and the cold western wind that's blowing. "Might anyone see any vantage points from where we might watch the whole of the cemetary from hiding?", she asks of no one in particular, as she looks about on her own.
When the hooded men speak Kore listens. She mimics their gestures and stances, the tiny mulblooded woman bending to a knee when people come close to address her directly. She is wearing a simple tunic and breeches, a hooded cloak over it that helps to obscure her gray-skinned face in a manner similar to that of the men themselves.
"I will put them down in the name of the honoured dead and bring peace to the Lady. I am chord played by her Harp and the khopesh that that cuts the chaff of long life to make room for the young and new. All of us will meet again in her hallowed halls, warm in Her Embrace."
It isn't like Kore to be so formal but she speaks her quiet utterances formally and carefully. "Very well." Kore comes to her feet and takes a deep breath, dropping the hood of her cloak to reveal her dark hair as it falls. "Let us find our foe. If you brought holy water with you keep it on your belt." She adds for Miriai's benefit, "Vardama, Lady of Lamentation. Grey Harpist. Keeper of the Dead."
Now, the thing everyone probably knows about Zant is that he is extremely tolerant of people. And friendly, in general. TO everyone, see? So when the job information declared that they'd be doing something for the Vardaman lot, he didn't think much of it.
But truth be told? Now that he's here, he's a *little* creeped out. Eyebrow twitching while he watches the lot's routine and method of talking to each of them. Twitch, twitch. "R-... right, yes," he murmurs, and while a smile does form over his lips, it's still a slightly akward and nervous one at that. "We'll... Do that."
Aodh stares at the individuals talking. He takes their statements in, before he then responds in his calm and blank monotone of a robotic voice. "Confirmation. Orders received." He buzzes, before taking a step back. His head moves in a dip of motion towards the parting group of Verdama worshippers. "Notification received. Emotion: Pleased acceptance. Statement: Hopefully unnecessary." He offers, before his form turns to regard the rest of the group.
"Statement: Let us proceed. Affirmation: Good cause."
Dubtle, on the other hand, more than a little happy to be here. Excited, one might say. "I am happy to serve," he offers, "Though I have never heard of the Wilted Lily until now, the grace of Vardama is something we'll all fall into eventually. The dead will be returned to a resteful state! It is the least I can do."
He bows towardss the Vardamans, of course, before they depart and then glances towards the others. Obvious worry creases the Khazad's features.
DM:
The last path is a clear one.
The five nod even with their backs turned to the group, apparently ready to move off to continue their duty, satisfied with the responses of those that have answered their call. As they head off in seperate directions, only one remains for our heroes to walk: North. It leads down a narrow alley and into a secondary square of the district, not usually used by the average tinkerer or their multitudinous clients, deeper toward a goblin-heavy populated slum often refered to as 'The Swamp' around these parts.
It's louder here, the storm that comes on the horizon rumbling from time to time, but as their adventure continues, clouds aren't the only thing that bar view of the sky. The lower market is comprised primarily of ratty old tents and stretched tarps that trap smoke and smells beneath them, letting them sink to create an acrid, sooty fog that obscures below as the clouds did above.
When the adventurers arrive, there's a bit of a lull in the white-noise murmur of passing conversations and deals made best left to the imagination of the more ... moral of those that answered the call. It's obvious that all eyes are on them, travelling together as they are, far too clean to belong, far too large to go unnoticed. With the lumbering addition of Aodh in the party, the suspicion that was nearly felt like a blade dragging down a cotton front, dull and catching on every anomaly, fades somewhat as legitimate business begins to suggest its presence.
There is, however, a small, very large-eared goblin that can be noticed lurking behind stalls, the points of his oddly curled ears and foppish wizard-like hat poking up from behind every counter, or around every corner that he's watching them from. Wide, wild yellow and bloodshot eyes peer before he scampers to another corner, or around another box each time they move in his direction. It's as though the rest of the occupants of this place had gone completely blind, as not one of them appears to notice.
His paranoia gets the better of him, however, and in a sudden outburst he offers in his ... oddly low, but still somehow shrill voice: "IT'S NOT LIKE THEY WERE -USING- IT!" Before anything can be said, the little man is flail-running his way toward a makeshift warehouse with footsteps so loud in their weak-ankled flopping it'd be hard not to follow him in his ridiculous and preemptive flight.
"This'll probably be fine, right?" Zant offers in an akward brief bit of a chuckle-- and he's apparently decided to walk along the back of the group, more or less. He's fast enough to move around everyone if need be, anyway, and *someone* should be holding the rear anyway, in case something ends up trying to come up from behind them, right? "I mean, what's the worst that cou--"
Zant's words are promptly cut off when the goblin with a wizard hat shrills out those words, and he stops in his tracks to just... stare. And follow the thing's path towards the warehouse.
"That's... Normal, I'm sure," the monk offers thus, with an akward chuckle. "RIght? No? ... Yeah, probably not, huh?"
The scents. The sounds. The sights. Of Goblin-zone. The head of Aodh swivels in slow semi-circles, sweeping his red-eyed gaze across anyone unlucky enough to get in the way of the advancing adventurers group. He stomps along, boot-feet thumping and leaving sometimes occasionally squelching bootprints, and occasionally the Golem looks down to view his boots. "Statement: Cleaning required." He offers, sadly without the ability to properly give emotion and feeling to whatever is buzzing through his circuits.
Then, movement: Someone breaks. Someone starts running. The guilty always run. Aodh comes jogging past Zant, as the monk might now understand Aodh's general actions towards anything deemed a 'threat'. Find it, deal with it. "Statement:" The monotone voice suddenly increases in volume, "HALT. CEASE AND DESIST." *Thoomp* goes his boot-feet as he lurches after the fleeing Goblin-Wizard. "OR I WILL HARM YOU." He adds. For good measure. That'll stop him.
"Goblins have never really been 'right'." Karuda says while walking. "But they haven't been 'left' either." She says walking towards the warehouse.....
Aznara, as she walks with the others through the area, keeps her hood up and her cloak closed -- so as to not advertise, beyond the niceness of the cloak itself, for thieves and pickpockets to make any sort of attempt at her or her belongings. "That declaration had the sound of confession, to my ears. Does anyone else think the same of the goblin's words?", she asks, as she also follows along towards the warehouse.
Kore breaks into aquick sprint, the tiny half-Mul running past the others present asshe does. "It does sound like a confession," the young woman agrees to the Mul'niessa sorceress as she passes at her sprint. The smallest present, perhaps (though not the shortest), but she seems content to hurl herself headlong into danger as she iswithdrawing her holy symbol. Monks run well in sandals. Kore is no exception.
"--Wait," Zant promptly calls after the war golem lumbering past him, and he even reaches his hand out forward after Aodh, once he's past. "Shouldn't we try to--" He goes on, but cuts his words short as the two Mul women go past him, too. And he's left blinking after them once, twice, before his hand falls back down limply and he sighs out, "...Alright then," and decides to obediently follow after the lot of them.
As she follows along, Aznara extends one hand out from inside her cloak and traces a glyph in the air in front of herself with a single fingertip. As she does, a soft glow surrounds her hand and 'flows' out from her fingertip, so that the glyph she traces in the air is visible for the few moments it takes to draw it. She says a single word in Undercommon, which translates to 'armor of magic' or along those lines, and the faintly glowing glyph 'shatters' and fades away. Then, and only after her spell has been cast, does she begin to truly hurry her step after the others, making a 'come along with us' gesture back at Zant.
DM:
"Golem! GOLEM! WE'RE -FRIENDS-! FRIIIEEeeeeennnd..." His screaming is swallowed up by the warehouse's thick walls as he disappears inside, chased by Aodh, and then the rest of those that're going to pursue.
Once they make it inside, the place is a bloody maze of boxes and crates, shipping containers, piles of spare parts and various slicks and whatnot inherent in a workshop of this kind; that's right, a workshop, not a warehouse. There are half-completed golems hanging in place as though they'd been crucified on mid-hanging bars, lifeless in expression and action, though one does eerily swing back and forth, though none of the others are doing the same.
How curious.
The place is so spacious that the sounds that come seem to come from multiple directions; the sound of a tool dropping with a ringing clang, the skitter-tongued utterances of something quite profane in the undercommon speech which carries well enough to offend the ears of those that understand, and then the weird soft sound of metal gently scraping on metal. Of course, there are also the retreating footsteps -- but, I mean, there's only so far he can go, right? Surely there's no other way out of here.
The longer they remain, they might notice one last sound; like steam, a soft hissing, a tiny bellow-pump huff, and hissing again.
Once inside the workshop/warehouse, Aznara throws back her hood and throws her cloak back over her shoulders as she looks about, trying to spot the goblin who fled from them. "We would like to ask of you a few questions, please. Would you do us the favor of granting us a moment of your time for the interview?", she calls out, hoping to talk the goblin into coming back to them... and because she really doesn't know if he did the graverobbing, and wants to ask him about what he meant by what he said, outside.
"STATEMENT: NEGATORY."
Aw. Poor Mad Goblin. Aodh comes lumbering in before promptly crashing over a crate that's waist size for the Golems frame. There is an audiable crashing and banging as Aodh comes clambering back out - this time with a spiked chain dangling from his right palm, swinging in a slow circle as an obvious testament to the Golem's now mild state of irritation. IRRITATION METER: 25 PERCENT.
"Query: Odd Noise. Clarification required." He offers in his constant monotone, his footfalls now a soft 'whump' as he now carefully begins to make his way around workshop. He stares up at one of the half-completed Golems, pausing for a period of time before his head snaps away, and continues his slow lumbering.
"I'm coming," Zant mutters after Aznara when she gestures to him so, though he does still seem vaguely exasperated. Still, he keeps himself mostly to the back of the group, even if the brief exchange has brought him closer to the Mul sorceress, to whom he assures, "I'll be right behind you," when they move through into the warehouse.
And in there, the monk's bright green eyes go sweeping through the... boxes. And golems. He swallows audibly. "Well this isn't creepy *at all* now is it?" It most certainly is, let's be perfectly honest here. THe odd sound in the distance certainly doesn't help, and while Zant does keep his cool, there's some concern visible on his face regardless-- the warehouse certainly doesn't paint itself as the safest place to be in. "... Careful," he advices everone then, even as the golem of the group continues forward. "This place feels like ambush alley."
"...oh, I've read chronicles of things lke this before. They never, ever, ever end well. Any moment now, some terrible monster will leap out and demand our brains or our souls. It's true. I've read it."
Dubtle's talking more to soothe his own nerves at this point, moving along witht he others. His quarterstaff is tapping on the ground steadily at this rate.
"This is quite the place to be..." Kore breathes. She glances over at Zant and nods very slowly, having started picking her way through the room rather than actually running. She is examining the golems, though sometimes she gets a shiver as she looks about.
"There's something evil here... I'm hoping I can get some idea of our quarry." That might explain why she is brandishing a silver harp like a weapon when it is, in fact, a simple medallion. "Maybe he can tell us more...?" Of course, others are after that now. To Dubtle she adds, "Well, if it demands our souls at least we can think our way out of it."
DM:
"AAAAIEEEEE!" Comes the screaming reply of the goblin, a stunning orator and well-minded, properly-adjusted young diplomat in his own right. "Not ME! THEM! -THEM-!" It appears that the insane are rarely the most rational of interviewees.
The hiss, bellow, hiss continues in accompaniment to the scraping of metal plates on the stone floor, and against more metal -- it's really a rich tapestry of 'nope' that's congregating here, made all the more unnerving by the fact that it never seems to have any true direction from which it's coming. However, the mystery is revealed in part as Aodh begins his pounding stomp through the area, and as he turns a corner through the box-and-crate maze, he is met by...
SOLID METAL GEAR SNAKE!
In actuality, it is a cobra -- a metal one, mind you. A solid metal one. It arcs back as though it were as surprised as the golem may be, glowing red eyes pulsing dimly in the shadow cast by Aodh's enormous form.
"Who sent you?! The hands that crawl! The claws that dig, dig, digdigdig so DEEP DEEP DEEEEEP!" What the he-- "AAAIIEEEEEEEE-HE-HE-HEHEHEEE!"
So, they're probably a blast at parties.
"Statement: ENEMY DETECTED. INITATING COMBAT PROTOCOLS."
The blue lights that flash from Aodh's torso shift in colouration, changing from that soft and gentle blue to a far more violent and angry red. Armor plates shift and snap into place, covering over more delicate and easily harmed parts of the War Golem's body. Rather than any statement of surprise, the Golem swings it's spiked chain around in a sharp circle before piercing into the Iron Snake with the tip of the chain - striking a gouge in it before he yanks it back, swinging it in a sharp circle. "Alert: Enemy Resistant to Damage."
Karuda yells her rage....and her hair actually turns blonde as she swings her hammer at the snake. And promptly puts a dent in the floor.....
Aznara glances off to one side. "There is at least one other, hiding among the boxes. Watch for flankers", she says, speaking up to make sure the party can all hear her words. She then draws her rapier and uses its point to draw in the air the same glyph as before. This time, the glow from her hand flows up the blade of the weapon and out the tip of it, to leave the faintly glowing glyph in the air. She reaches over and and up, and with the flat of the rapier's blade, lightly taps Zant on his forearm. When she does that, the glyph 'shatters' and fades away. That done, she steps forward and puts her back to Aodh's -- clearly, she's covering his back for him against whatever it is she's seen moving stealthily out among the clutter.
"Remember to dodge," says Dubtle to Karuda after she leaps into the frey. Still, he moves towards ZAnt, a step or two closer, and proceeds to begin chanting. He's going to invoke some sort of magic upon him! Zant's form begins to grow, little by little.
As battle lines are being drawn Kore lifts her holy symbol gain, taking a deep breath. "I am a chord in the song..." So starts the chant. Then she is darting between the snakes and diving to get behind one of the snakes. She's small enough and nimble enough to make her way between and make it look comfortable.
"Whu--" Lets out Zant in confusion over the sudden development of events. It's only brief that the confusion lasts, though, before he is set in to focus by the combined magical assistance provided by Aznara and Dubtle-- both of whom get grateful looks from him (though he does send a bit of a bmused one to Dubtle upon realizing that he's *growing*). Either way, he bursts into motion, and steps up to the other side of Aodh-- and quickly slams a tightly-clenched fist into the head of the mechanical snake with an "ORA! to send the clockwork thing smashing into pieces.
DM:
The rasp of metal on stone is a sharp thing; like a knife on whet stone each time one of these unnatural creatures moves forward to strike at the frontline, glinting fangs and glowing eyes making for a sinister display. When Aodh's chain pummels into one of them and barely dents the surface with that seemed such a solid strike, the threat casually grows.
There is a sensation of unease that would settle in just moments before the deafening rattle of heavy chains thunders through the room, the massive door that'd been held open crashing down with their bindings released, "Talk, talk, talktalktalkTalkTAlkTALK!" The mad decree of the goblin comes slithering through the clamourous offense, throwing our heroes into devestating pitch so sudden and complete that it would almost seem as though they'd been blinded. There's a rumbling, drifting laughter that starts as a nefarious and throaty affair, sinister and expectant, before it turns into a wheezing whine of uncontrolled giggling.
Hiss, bellow, hiss.
Hiss, bellow, clink!
Silvery teeth pound through one of the hydraulic feeds that control the action of Aodh's left leg, injecting some foul liquid into the cording before jerking back, and subsequently being pounded into the pavement by a well-placed fist. Dimly, its eyes spark and dwindle like embers, until the darkness claims another. The eyes of the others that have approached in their collective, gnashing and snapping at the others, can very clearly be seen in such deep shadow, more by some than by others.
"The dead don't talk, they don't take! I take, I remake, I animate, animate, bring them back to life! Take your talk-talk and get-gone!" Snort, giggle, "Oh, oh but you can't now! Chase, chase, dark, dark," A low tone practically oozes over his words, dropping it by several octaves, nearly a moan through the stagnant surroundings, "Die... die..."
Hiss, bellow, hiss.
Hiss, hiss... rattle...
Rattle, rattle, skitter...
Uh oh.
A bite. Venom. "Warning: Combat Effectiveness Reduced." comes the warning tone of the War Golem Aodh. There's an audiable hissing noise as a burst of steam comes through the bitewound as the Iron Cobra retreats from it's bite, "Statement: Minor system failure." - there is no nod towards Zant yet, thanks will come later - but Aodh's form shifts to pay more attention to the third of the Iron Snakes, the one that bit him. He gives it a taste of it's own medicine, as he swings his spiked chain in a sharp motion, wrapping the chain around for a brief second as the sharp links pierce through it's iron hide - and with a yank back he brings the chain back to him, moving it in a circular motion.
Bounding towards the damaged iron snake, Dubtle shouts, "I'VE GOT THIS!"
He spins his quarterstaff around in his hands, "SPin! Ha! Thrust!" He hits his quarterstaff against its side ad it bouces back and hits him in the face instead.
"Ow!"
Shifting over, while staying behind the front line, Aznara draws the faintly glowing glyph in the air, once again, with the tip of her rapier's blade. When it's drawn, and she's spoken the word that powers the magic, she sweeps her arm out and lightly taps Kore on the back of one shoulder with the flat of the blade. The little glyph shatterfades as the spell is cast.
Karuda, once she notices the snake is dead, goes for another snake. She actually hits this one, but doesn't kill it...yet.
Kore looks over at Aznara as the spell is cast and flshesthe taller Mul a quick smile. She takes a deep breath afterwar,d however, and lunges sharply. A heavy spinning kick carries the tiny half-elf into the air past the snakes tail (glancing off with no effect save to give her momentum) and she comes down on it with an elbow hard enough to break the monster's back. Immediately, Kore rounds on the next of the snakes, taking a deep breath. "At least it isn't bees..."
After casting her spell, Aznara calls out, "I've lost track of what I earlier spotted!", letting the others be aware of that fact.
Zant is huge.
This feels incredibly strange to him, now, and he has to actually look down at himself to fully take in this entirely unfamiliar state of affairs with him. "Huh... Well, this is..." He starts murmuring, but then WHAT THE SHIT SNAKE IN THE DARK GOING FOR HIS ARM.
"OW. HEY!" Zant thusly growls out in pain before he shakes his arm to get the thing's fangs off him-- seemingly not even taking into account that the thing might in fact be *poisonous*.
But he isn't exactly able to see the thing very well here, now. He eyes the darkness. Sweeps his eyes through it. What is he to do? The answer as it turns out, is very simple.
Punch the darkness. A lot.
That's to say, Zant elects to make up for the fact that he can't follow the silhouette of the snake in the dark very well by just PUNCHING A LOT. After twisting himself into a slightly lower stance, his arms go repeatedly pummeling through the air with the kind of speed that blurs the visibility of the motion entirely. And all while he growls out "ORAORAORAORAORA!" and his fists flush through the dark empty air-- they do still come in contact with something. Repeatedly.
DM:
Trust... in... meeee...
For those that can see in the dark, something wicked this way comes. Rattling, scuttling like a bony-limbed centipede across and around the boxes and floor, each of its ribs moving in a hypnotic ripple with every inched motion that brings it into view. Capping the affair is a humanoid skull that turns ever so slowly toward those that battle in the shadows, trying to keep them at bay. It rears up with unnatural propulsion, steadying itself as that empty-socketted stare rests in the general vicinity of the party and their ruckus forray into the industrial home of a madman's nightmares brought to vivid expression. And then... it begins to sway.
It's body moves as though it were a fluid thing, twisting and writhing like smoke on suggestive breath, each vertebrae, every rib moving with that ungodly grace in a dance that is as strangely beautiful as it is absolutely horrifying. Whatever it is that's managed to get the war golem's motor running, it's chuggin' away, because he can't seem to pull his gaze from the spectacle.
As this goes on, another slithers forward from the dark to lash out in an explosion of activity to sink hollow bone fangs into the fleshiest bit of Zant's arm, pumping it full of some sapping, viscous liquid that his body is able to shake. That is, of course, until it is unceremoniously punched halfway to whatever Hells it crawled out of. And yet, still it stands, such as it is, slinking about his feet with startling rapacity.
For their part, the other metallic snakes continue their assaults to no avail, one falling to the combined efforts of the adventurers.
"Play with them, play! Do you recognize them, any and all?! Do you?! Haha! Hehe!" The voice comes through the darkness, "Stay with them, dance and sing! I'm afraid I've rather other things, to do, to see, no matter how fast, you'll never catch me!" His mockery turns sing-song, and distracted as the group is with the current threat, there is a shot of light that sears the unprepared gaze as a door in the back opens with a resounding 'CREEEEEEEK!', dramatic hesitation, and 'SLAM!'
Dancing.. Dancing.. No. Fighting!... But pretty dancing...
Aodh's arms slowly go a little limp as he stares off into the darkness, his form wobbling in place. The chain he normally swings with harsh vengeance is now just laying limp on the floor, gripped firmly in its hands. He just stares at it, and a low 'ooooo' tone eminates from whatever the Golem uses as a voicebox. While the sight might be horrifying to those that managed to shrug off the effects of the boney-dance-of-horror, Aodh is apparently diggin' it completely!
"and down comes the hammer again....missing the snake. "HOLD STILL DAMMIT!" Nice quip from Karuda.
Aznara turns to see the newly-arrived clockwork serpent-things... and sees Zant flailing almost randomly in one's general direction. Although the man manages to connect a few times, to damage the thing, she realizes what the problem is. She calls out, "I will make light!", by way of warning everyone so as to avoid badly dazzling eyes adjusted to the darkness. She then lifts her empty left hand, balling it into a fist a few inches in front of her chin and saying a single word in Undercommon that translates roughtly to 'floating torchlights'. Then she extends her arm and opens her fist.
As Aznara's fingers extend, points of bluish light appear on their tips... then float away from her hand, growing larger as they float up into the air, forming a four-pointed square, twenty feet on a side, in the air twenty feet above the battle, shedding light by which all, including now Zant, can see.
"You! You boney thing!"
Dubtle yells, "I'ma make you weaker!"
And then the green ray fired from his hand hits the ceiling.
"..ah ha... ahahaha. Or not. You know, is it too late to consider a career in books?"
Kore quickly rounds and takes a quick run, looking for another snake. Zantis being accosted by one made of bone and she lets out a shout- a battle cry, maybe?- before leaping into the thing and pummeling it until the bones separate and fall to the ground. Some are crushed or cracked. No point stopping until it's dead.
DM:
The first of the bone snakes, having ensnared Aodh the first time with its sexy, sexy moves turns its attentions to the rest of the party. Now with the aid of the sparkly disco lights, it somehow seems much more appealing; perhaps it's the way the dancing lights filter over its grotesque, seemingly never-ending ribs with those splashes of varying hues, the bright blues, soft pinks. You can almost hear 'Cherry Pie'.
This snek gonna get paid.
The rest are a gnashing, biting, whiffing and hissing mass of nastiness that're heard all the more clearly now without the constant interruptions of the mad goblin that has fled out the back and left the others to deal with his little creations.
Who knows what he's getting up to now?!
Now everyone else is getting into what Aodh is already into. It's a thing to /be/ into. Undulating, terrifying Sneks. Who dance. Now with bright lights. Aodh's head rolls backwards to stare up at the lights, that soft 'ooooo' tone still escaping from the War Golem. His head lolls forwards, back to staring at the dancing bone Snek!
"You!"
Dublte takes a moment and lunges forward towards the snake, the dancing one, and hurls a tanglefoot bag in its direction. The loaded bag sams into the ground right in front of it.
"...I..well."
"These damned things are driving me insane. They're not reanimated, but desecrating these poor creatures' graves. I know they are 'just' animals and the church has different opinions on this,but..." Kore shakes her head hard and rolls her eyes upward to look at the ceiling. Then she's back to running across the battlefield. She drives her fist into bone and... "Ow." It doesn't seem to hurt too badly, punching the snake. But it stings a bit. So she does it again.
DM:
For being 'just animals', that's a very curiously human skull on it.
Sure, it has a snake jaw attached, but ...
The bony thing takes a particular disliking to Kore, what with her having punched it and all. That weird snake-jaw-on-a-human head spreads into four segments, not unlike the predator when the mask comes off; from its hollow fangs drips some ungodly, reeking liquid of a strange, rusty brownish red colour, not unlike long-dead blood. It sets upon the monk with an awkward snap of its jaws, only to miss in its haste.
The other snakes continue attempting to attack the dazed figures -- but, even with the rest of the party tasting the music and hearing the colours, it seems they just can't manage to get a good bite.
ooooooo... ooooooo...
o..o...ooo.. What. Wait. What? A low monotone escapes from Aodh as he comes back to the world of the non-techno-rave-dancing-terrorsneks. In retort for this horrifying turn of events - and the mind scrubbing that must come afterwards - Aodh swings his chain in a sharp circle, before sending it spearing towards Snek 3 - you know, that evil little bastard that has been biting him repeatedly.
Sadly, the chain bounces off the ground. "Statement: Bugger."
Kore is still grumbling between blows, apparently finding this sufficiently easy to grumble about while she['s pummeling the bone snake. And then the creature is looking at her. She looks at it... tStares for a second. And then she screams. This is no scream of fear. Rather, there's trepidation mixed with raw, interminable furs. She unleashes a barrage of powerful kicks afterward, powerful enough to powder bone. One, two, three. A punch. She continues to pummel the snake while being careful to avoid striking its too human face.
"You! YOu!"
Another bag is thrown directly at the creature, an its dance, in the hopes it will stop it! Duble did try. Really, she did.
Kore lies on the floor and twitches, currently. Twitch. Paralytic poison does that it seems. There's also some drool. She can't help it.
DM:
The world is saved, if you like.
The cobras jerk back, their heads all turning in precise unison to look at something through the dark that isn't visible to anyone else. Probably because it doesn't actually exist. It's sudden, but they all turn suddenly and begin to slither away with a shrieking, shuddering grind of metal to stone floors in an expiditious retreat into some unknown bowels -- the kind of bowels that will now need medical attention. All three of them scuttle off into the shadows, despite the damage they've all taken, the sparks drifting into nothingness as they make their escape.
Bone snek, on the other hand... explodes.
Sexily.
"Mmmhmhmhm...ah..ahaha.... UWEEEE-HEHEHEHE!" The laughter tears through the sudden silence.
"So many, so few, I'll steal from the old, make something new! Now go away, fast, yes, run away quick! Go tell your dead-friends they can suck Gragle's ..."
... ... ...
Well, you get the idea.
With the threat put down, but the mission a failure, it is likely that those Wilted Lily blokes will be interested to hear the events that transpired. Granted, they won't exactly be happy, but there's always a chance to make amends, right?
~Fin