[Alpha Party: Out of the Frying Pan, Into the Fire]
INTERRUPT: DIVINE ROUND 7
Before anyone's attacks could even start to resolve, the Gods arrived simultaneously, Godly power flowing through the room.
Coranthiir would scowl from beside his Defender, brown curls bound into a ponytail that spilled over his golden armor, a similarly-colored war hammer clenched in both hands. After locating his opponent, a vaguely humanoid black dragon examining a wickedly-sharp steaming claw, a mocking smile on his face, the two would charge into battle. Dragonfire would wash over the armored Coranthiir until a golden shield manifested in front of the Eternal Star, and before long, the fire steam would be quenched, a beam of searing light striking the Dark Dragon in the chest. What looked like pus flowed from the wound until the god invoked some form of spiked streaked, thick red obsidian-glass armor around himself, complete with a wickedly sharp crimson and sable bastard sword. Instead of a jewel on its pommel, it had what appeared to be a shrunken but alive head, which was SCREAMING NON-STOP IN GREAT AGONY. The two rushed forth into battle, striking at each other.
Shin would manifest near the High Shinpriest, electric blue eyes taking in the situation rapidly. Donned in a two-inch thick long, gunmetal grey coat, with a torque about his neck and a gladius in his left, Shin smirked, saluting the present company before turning. As a large, bestial figure with horns unfolded from the air with a sick tearing sound, the war god pointed his right hand. A cluster of crystals sprayed through the air, striking the Lord of Violence in the thigh and lower gut. Upon sinking in, these crystals exploded, fragmented, and exploded again, very nearly tearing the unholy figure in half and splattering Godly blood everywhere. With a snarl, Savoki willed his blood to repair the wounds, and charged the Warpath, claws striking as Shin casually circled and drew blood with quick, infuriating cuts.
As far as Mingan went? Well, that entirely depended on whether one was looking up or not. Had they chosen to do so, they'd see a black-robed figure standing on the ceiling. One hand was on the hilt of the sword held on the belt round his waist, while the other was pointed at the ground, blood dripping from skeletal fingers. Those who had not noticed would be quite surprised by the sudden painful drop in temperature as four of the corpses from the pile arose as tall, thin creatures of undeath, sucking in the heat from the room and frosting the Grease spell. Failing that, they would most certainly notice the half-rotted, rapier-wielding angel attempting to sneak up on Coranthiir, if only from the sudden increase in the background aroma of fresh blood and death.
At the same time this was going on, the Party would feel a sudden moment of detachment from their bodies, ripped forth from awareness to suddenly dwell on memories they hadn't had ten seconds ago. After feeling these vivid hallucinations, they would return to their own awareness, exactly one second before they had been railroaded down Memory Lane.
***
Tarana, as a young(er) woman, had once taken a long, arduous trip in order to see a Great Sage, an impartial arbiter of destiny. After a foot-blistering and extremity-freezing mountain hike, the woman had ignored the pain in her feet and sought the Sage. After hours of seeking, she sat down on the steps outside the temple, taking in the view of the world. Before much longer, a thin, smiling bald man in fur sat next to her.
"Perspective."
A short laugh came from the Sage.
"That is what it is. The path is narrow and treacherous, painful and dangerous. But when you reach the conclusion, you see what there is to see."
He laughed, stood, and left. Several minutes later, he returned with a stone basin filled with water, a quiet monk following with handleless stone mugs with cinnamon sticks inside, steam rising.
"Second lesson, Tarana? Take better care of your feet. You could have gotten an infection from this. Drink some chocolate with me, and we'll see to your needs before sending you home."
Those were the last words spoken to her on the mountain, and when she returned home several weeks later, she felt her sense of inner peace radiating from her core through her whole body.
***
Zoah would be free from false memories; instead of such things, he would suddenly feel Attuned to the artifact that was in his hands. Understanding that his offenses against Shin had been forgiven, the angelborn would smile ferociously as he sensed the Fortress of War and the lifelines extending forth in time.
***
Neun would have a strange set of memories indeed, starting as a child, playing with small and cleverly crafted stone kinghts and the creatures referred to as "dwarven horses." They were nothing of the sort - more like a particularly ill-tempered and shaggy buffalo crossed with an over-sized honey badger. This trip down Fake Memory Lane would continue with Neun's brazen theft and taming of a newly-purchased beast that belonged to the "Master of Horse", a title so unintelligibly Dwarven that the actual word would more closely resemble keyboard smashing and still be shorter than everything following the quotation marks.
Said audacity was rewarded with becoming a page, then a squire, and then a knight. He would remember cavalry charges and the earthcraft for "horse" armor; flinging fireballs from mounted and smashing other riders with stone lances. Most of all, he'd remember a whole host of swordplay, designed specifically for killing heavily-armored people your size or taller. Snapping back to the present situation,
ser Neun would find himself contemplating the efficiency of the Igneous, Metamorphic, or Sedimentary style against multiple opponents while unmounted.
***
Myrln would recall a friendship with a certain psion human who had been a professional fighter and adventurer before his retirement after an artifact hunt. The man had enjoyed a pleasant manor retirement full of hard work and a loving family, and after having watched Myrln work his shenanigans at an informal garden party, the man had resolved to teach the fey how to use his mind in a new, more creative fashion.
"Your mind is like a muscle. Watch."
He gestured at a boulder, lifting it up with the force of his mind. After letting it float, the psion gave a jerk of his head and the stone went flying. Taking a deep breath, the man focused his powers, and then punched at the incoming rock. It shattered from the force of the telekinetic impact, and the psion would push away all but one shard. He'd smile, then open his hand.
"Lift this with your mind. Not your magic."
For the first time, Myrln would manage to make the stone slowly float about an inch in the air, teeth grinding, before it slipped and fell in the psion's palm.
"Good. Catch."
The psion tossed the stone, then turned to leave. On the way back, he turned over his shoulder and spoke again.
"So you know, I was trying to make it hard for you this whole time. Today is the first day you worked around that. Today is the day I truly begin to teach you. First real lesson, after lunch: flying."
Upon snapping back to reality, Myrln would, as he had always been since that moment, be aware of his mental muscles and how best to flex them.
***
Morgred wasn't in the body (s)he had used during her life. That was in front of them, neatly cleaned and imbued with necromantic powers, underneath the hog-tied form of a human. Beside the apprentice necromancer, the angelborn Mingan priest coughed on the thick smoke filling their alcove.
"Surround the victim with the Roots of Dra'thur before you make the sacrifice, Mor."
It was spoken in a friendly tone. Given that the two had a working relationship involving something of mutual benefit, the priests were almost friendly. Ignoring the comments, everyone's favorite hatelich prepared the bindings, and neatly made the sacrificial cut, feeding the life and soul of the victim into the body Morgrod was preparing.
Back in the current moment, the undead would run the cool energy of the grave through its body and those of its minions, a black chuckle coming from its form.
***
Coranthiir - 70 Divine HP / 40 God Power
Darsh - 84 Divine HP / 50 God Power
Shin - 150 Divine HP / 39 God Power
Savoki - 87 Divine HP / 55 God Power
Mingan - 129 Divine HP / 100 God Power
Greater Necroangel - 200 HP / 150 MP
True Wright 1 - 150 HP / 100 MP
True Wright 2 - 150 HP / 100 MP
True Wright 3 - 150 HP / 100 MP
True Wright 4 -150 HP / 100 MP
Tarana 46 HP / 35 MP (Mage Shield)
Myrln 23 HP / 47 MP (Deaf, Shin's Armor, Mage Shield, Shin's Blessing, Pantxike's Pranks, Magic Conduit,)
Neun 27 HP / 38 MP (Hard of Hearing, Shin's Blessing)
Zoah 29 HP / 33 MP (Deaf, Shin's Blessing)
Morgrod 27 HP / 42 MP (Hard of Hearing, Holy Agony)
Swordsman 1 - Mostly Healthy / Mostly Full
Archer 1 - Mostly Healthy / Full
Archer 2 - Mostly Healthy / Mostly Full
Ghouls 1-5 - Mostly Healthy / Primed
Animated Wolves 1-12 - Full Health / Full
Savokian Priest 1 - 46 HP / 11 MP (Deaf, Stunned, Shin's Blessing)
Initiate of Savoki 1 - 28 HP / 12 MP (Deaf)
High Corpriest - 68 HP / 51 MP (Shin's Blessing, Holy Conduit)
Corpriest 1 - 36 HP / 19 MP (Shin's Blessing)
Corpriest 3 - 23 HP / 19 MP (Shin's Blessing)
Corpriest 4 - 25 HP / 19 MP (Shin's Blessing)
Corpriest 6 - 34 HP / 19 MP (Shin's Blessing)
Corpriest 7 - 38 HP / 19 MP (Shin's Blessing)
Corpriest Initiate 6 - 22 HP / 11 MP (Shin's Blessing)
High Shinpriest - 61 HP / 16 MP (Shin's Blessing)
Shinpriest 5 - 40 HP / 26 MP (Shin's Armor, Shin's Blessing)
Shinpriest 4 - 15 HP / 6 MP (Stuck) (Armor, Shin's Blessing)
Shinpriest 5 - 24 HP / 26 MP (Shin's Armor, Shin's Blessing)
[Round 8 coming next post, consisting of actions previously specified, but now with the force of POWERLEVEL behind it!]
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Topic: Adventuring Party, Act 1: A Tale Of Two Hamlets (Read 37566 times)