When Harold throws his acid and exhorts the guardsman – Farkas is his name, the merchant remembers – to strike, the ant trembles in agony, favoring its disintegrating leg, which fountains black blood like a macabre garden hose gone wild. Like an enraged bull, the giant insect charges into the guardsman, trampling him under its sharp-clawed feet. But Farkas raises his shield just in time, and though knocked onto his back under the ankheg, the creatures charge halts, it shudders, and then falls to one side revealing the guardsman’s blade which had bitten deep into the ankheg’s thorax, severing its nerve core. He nods curtly to Harold before jumping to his feet – wounded, but ready.
The ankheg in front of Shay has learned its lesson from the druid's thorn whip, and it darts first one way, then the other, trying to get around it, get at Shay. It suddenly pounces, its mandibles shooting forward and snapping shut on Shay’s calf. The half-elf feels pain lancing through her leg, and crashes onto her back. The ankheg drags her along the rough ground, toward a dark hole out of which it must have come earlier.
Marcos leaps forward, taking down one of the giant insects with a series of forceful slashes, and the Yartarin guardsmen, emboldened by their leader’s courage, do the same, though many draw wounds from the ankhegs' claws and mandibles.
As heat emanates from Rastrin, the smell of his charring clothes adds to the sour, musky smell of the ankhegs and the biting, sulfurous odor of Harold’s acid, still working on the now dead creature he and Farkas dispatched. Just as Rastrin decides to act, the dragonborn feels a shuddering, grinding sound at the edge of the little dell he had just passed, and turning to look over his shoulder with dread, sees a new foe emerging from the hillock immediately behind him. Loose pebbles and rocks pull together, like sand from an hourglass in reverse, forming into the shape of a shambling humanoid, fifteen feet tall, its dark hematite eyes glowing with malice as its three-fingered hands clench into fists like barrels and pound down at Rastrin. It roars with a sound like stone grinding on stone. The dragonborn barely manages to dive out of the way, for the rippling ground under his feet seems almost to be an extension of this giant form of clay and rock towering over him.
As Rastrin dives to the ground, he realizes at that moment that if he doesn't surrender to the pounding Song blazing within him, he's going to end up seriously hurt, or even worse. Rolling onto his back, he looks up at the elemental looming over him. And then he surrenders to the Song.
Rastrin is swept away as Song of Fire rages through him. He bursts into flames, a veritable inferno inferno wrapping around him. The grass and shrubs around him begin to smoke and catch aflame, and the ground beneath cracks and splits by the sudden heat. He grins up at the elemental, and then a torrent of searing flames erupts from Rastrin and engulfs the elemental. Instead burning away at the elemental's form, this fire sought out the connection binding the creature to this plane. It only takes the flames a moment to find the binding magic, and once it does, it burns it away in flash of cauterant heat. The elemental lets out a bellow as it's banished back to its home plane, the smoldering rocks and charred clay forming the creature crumbling to the ground.
Rastrin rises to his feet and turns towards the rest of the fight. BURN THEM ALL! The only thoughts that filled Rastrin's mind were images of everyone being burned away into ash and cinders.
The ankheg, Shay realizes as it moves to get away from her thorn whip, is more perceptive than she first gave it credit for. Before she can tie it up and subdue the creature in her vines, it strikes first and in the next instant all Shay knows is sharp pain as it closes its mandibles around her calf.
She screams out, struggling uselessly as she looses her footing and falls roughly onto her back, being dragged her across the rough ground in the next moment. Shay is only somewhat aware of a large hole in the ground that they’re nearing, her mind running through one spell after another as she tries to think past her discomfort. Somewhere nearby she can also smell rising smoke and ash and a new concern washes through her about the new danger they might be in.
An idea flashes through her mind and she acts on it almost as soon as it does, slamming her hand on one of its preoccupied mandibles and casting polymorph on the ankheg. She watches as it becomes engulfed in a harsh burst of light and sees it shrink down further and further until it’s fully transformed into a harmless blue gecko.
Shay collapses back onto the ground, panting and relived, before preparing to cast cure wounds on her heavily bleeding calf.
Harold returns the nod to Farkas Before gesturing towards next ankheg. The merchant runs flat out, racing beside the soldier.
when the two approaches the hulking creature, he allows Farkas to close the distance first before circling around behind the monster. Drawing a dagger from his belt, He leaps on to the back of the monstrosity and berries both his shortsword and dagger into its spine. "Now Farkas!" Harold screams as the creature rears backwards, threatening to toss the merchant free from its back.
Harold holds on tightly to the hills of his weapons and hopes that his distraction helps the the guard to land a solid strike.
Farkas hears Harold’s shout, but at the moment the guardsman prepares to stab upward at the ankheg Harold has mounted, Farkas is swept off his feet by another one of the huge insects behind him, and his attacker pounces, clamping its mandibles on the guardsman’s sword arm, picking him up and shaking him brutally. Farkas groans in pain, his teeth clashing. He tries to batter the insect with his shield to no avail.
But Harold is unable to take advantage of the moment either. For his new mount does not have a spine, being an invertebrate, and it scampers off madly, wounded but not incapacitated. It is all the merchant can do to hold onto the gruesome saddlehorns his weapons have become, and keep from being thrown onto the rocks that whip past in the night as the ankheg circles the dell at a gallop, crazed with pain.
Shay’s attacker, transformed into a tiny lizard, darts under a rock to avoid the pounding feet of the guardsmen and the sharp claws of its allies. The half-elf is able to quickly heal herself – just in time, for another pair of ankhegs now scuttle toward her, mandibles clicking.
The giant elemental roars like a ton of gravel pouring onto a drum, fighting the mighty pull of Rastrin’s flames, holding open the portal to the dimension of Earth with its rocky hands and not letting go, trying to pull itself back toward the flaming dragonborn. But it cannot overcome the indomitable power of Rastrin’s fire and the door slams shut behind it with a booming crash, and it is gone.
Marcus and the other guardsmen have taken down several of the creatures, leaving only four, plus the one now attempting to buck Harold off its back.
Turning his attention away from the remnants of the elemental, Rastrin surveys the battlefield, his body still engulfed in flames. There was so much fuel scampering about! He could easily fix that though.
Grinning, he thrusts his flaming hand towards the creatures descending upon Shay. A burst of fiery lashes of energy erupt from his hand and arc through the air, crackling and hissing for a moment before they simultaneously strike one of the ankhegs. It erupts in a sweltering burst of heat, its carapace cracking and blackening as its body is reduced to nothing more than a smoking husk of ash and cinders in an instant.
Rastrin watches in savage glee as the creature is incinerated. There was so much he could do now that he didn’t care to control his magic. There was so much to burn, so much to share the transformative touch of fire with!
No sooner does Shay heal herself than a mixture of sounds comes from behind her along with a searing heat despite none of it touching her directly. She turns around in time to see one of two ankhegs getting turned from creature and into flame in less time than it takes for her to step back.
She sees Rastrin holding his palm out, giddily glancing around for what Shay thinks must be one of his rare moments of pure expression beyond that of concern and anxiousness. She nods her thanks before turning her attention back to the remaining ankheg, grateful the Dragonborn man was her ally and not an enemy.
The second ankheg starts toward her and Shay finally uses her quarterstaff, remembering that she still had it in her possession. She waits tensely for it to move first and just as she starts to think about using thorn whip a second time, it lunges for her in a flash of movement. Shay swings her staff with all of her might and makes contact, watching as the insectoid collapses to the ground unconscious.
"Damn" The merchant grumbles through gritted teeth as Farkas is blindsided by another ankheg. Before he can devise a plan to save the guard however, he has to deal with his current problem. In am instant his Ankheg takes off. Harold desperstly holds onto the hilts of his weapons as the creature bucks wildly around the battlefield. The violent motion of the creature sends Harolds head head bouncing off the hard armor-like back of the creature. Slightly disoriented, He accidentally pulls his dagger free from the back of the creature, leaving a large hole in its back where the blade once stood. Now with just one hand keeping him attached to the creature he drops the dagger and reaches into his jacket once more. Harold swings wildly now with every twist and turn of the creature as he holds onto how weapon. after a few seconds he draws his second vial of acid from inside his coat and pops the cork with his thumb. Using the last of his strength he pulls himself up higher on the hilt of the rapier and jams the open vial of acid inside the opening wound on the Ankhegs back. When the vial disappears down into the creatures body, he kicks backwards and pulls his rapier free from the creature.
Harold lands hard on his back, holding his rapier tightly in both hands. he is covered in the fluids sloshing from the creatures wounds as he was involuntarily carried around the battlefield.
By the time he staggers to his feet, He sees the acid bringing to eat its way through the ankheg. Steam and smoke billows from the wounds in its back as its liquefied insides start to drip out from underneath the creature as its armor-like skin dissolves from the inside out. A few moments later the creature collapses and Harold begins limping towards Farkas. "Break free!" Harold shouts "Pry with your shield" He adds, hoping to help the guard as he tries to close the distance.
The ankheg which Shay cracked with her quarterstaff has fallen onto its back. It wheels its legs slowly, in obvious distress. But not as much distress as the huge insects which have been dispatched by Rastrin's flame or Harold’s acid.
Marcos and the guardsmen have surrounded and brought down three of the ankhegs, and, heeding Harold’s shout, Farkas drops his shield and grapples his attacker by wrapping his legs around its neck. He twists and pulls the creature off its feet. Marcos, like a shot of lightning, leaps to Farkas’ side and delivers the killing blow, driving his blue-glowing longsword deep into the creature’s thorax. It shudders, its mandibles pulling at Farkas' arm, but in moments, the ankheg stills, releases its crushing embrace, and moves no more.
Many of the guardsmen have been wounded, though not critically, but one lies on his back stifling wheezing groans of agony, for one of the ankhegs’ mandibles has cleaved through armor, bone, and lung and the man -- you now see it is Wit, the scout -- is close to death.
As the Yartarin company's glance shoots back and forth around the dell looking for more assailants, it is Harold who notices a figure etched against the white half-orb of the rising moon atop a hillock on the opposite side of the road from the dell, perhaps a hundred yards to the east. The figure is humanoid, wearing heavy armor – non-reflective, possessing the dark heaviness of solid rock – mounted atop a huge ankheg. It watches the Yartarin company, and, one would guess, observed the entire melee. Suddenly, the figure spurs its mount, and figure and ankheg both disappear from view.
Harold stands, breathing heavily as the struggles to catch his breath. That was the first battle the merchant had participated in and also the first time encountering an ankheg.
Sheathing his weapon, he surveys the battlefield as the fighting draws to a close. when his eyes fall upon the figure riding the ankheg, Harold's mouth drops open. "Hey!" he shouts as they disappear from view. "HEY!" He screams even louder. The merchant races towards figure. His blood was boiling as rage an adrenaline push him to race harder than he thought imaginable. the recognized the armor the figure was wearing. The scar on his neck shown red as his beard blew wildly in the breeze. "I'LL KILL YOU!" he shouts as he tries to close the distance but quickly realizes that the figure is gone...
Standing now where the figure had been watching the battle take place, He spins around looking for tracks or anything he can folllow. Harold no longer notices his companions or the wounded from the nearby battle... he is like a ravenous dog frantically searching for the now gone figure...
As the last ankheg falls, Rastrin doesn’t even notice the mounted figure in the distance. Instead, he turns to the group of recovering warriors he fought alongside. Flames still dancing around his figure, he gathers energy to rain fire down upon them. It would be so easy to burn all of them away into ash and cinders, becoming nothing more than curling wisps of smoke under a searing torrent of cleansing flames. In fact if he angled himself in the right way, he could probably catch them all in the blast. He grins eagerly at the prospect of watching them all go up in smoke and flames. BURN THEM. CLEANSE THEM.
A sudden wave of revulsion slammed into him, shaking him free from the clutches of the Song. These people were his friends! How could he even consider using his magic on them?!
Horror of realizing what he was about to do dawning on him, his halo of fire flickers and then dies out. He falls to his knees in shock and horror as Harold goes racing off, tendrils of smoke wafting the Dragonborn’s body as the plants around him sizzle. The Song flees from him, leaving him feeling cold and empty without its embrace. He stares numbly at his smoking hands as he kneels in the epicenter of a blackened scorch mark upon the earth, guilt and shame crushing him as the others of the group start recover and take stock of the situation.
The attack is over quickly enough leaving nothing in the aftermath but destroyed ankheg bodies and multiple guards having injuries all around. Shay assesses them for who needs healing the most urgently and her eyes land on a gasping Wit who's had his armor and body torn clean through and is bleeding rapidly. She can tell even with her limited medical experience that he needs help soon if he's to make it through the night. She looks for Harold and discovers he's nowhere to be seen, scanning over to Rastrin who appears to be shaken and not completely with them in the moment for reasons she can't determine yet. Neither are in dire need however and she decides to help Rastrin if possible after her more pressing uses are served elsewhere.
Shay approaches the scout hastily and crouches beside him, stomach twisting at the vast amounts of blood as well as his groans of agony. "It'll be alright Wit." She isn't sure if he can hear her or not, but tries to reassure him all the same. Shay places a gentle hand on him and casts cure wounds, putting what she can into hopefully keeping the man from passing over right there.
Shay’s healing magic holds Wit in its embrace, and his moans diminish as, under Shay’s watchful eye, blood flows backwards, organs and bones reconnect, and flesh and skin knit back together. It takes time and concentration for Shay's spell to work its effects, but in a few minutes, the wound is closed and Wit breathes normally. Though he still spits up drops of blood, Shay knows that the healing will continue through the night and tomorrow Wit will be able to move and act -- perhaps with discomfort, but not with the agonized pain from which he suffered following the grievous injury.
Marcos is hot on Harold’s heels in pursuit of the mysterious figure. But when they arrive to the top of the hillock where they saw it, there is only a semi-collapsed crater filled with loose rubble. Marcos kneels and runs his hand through the rubble, drawing some magic from his god to investigate its meaning.
“Gone,” he says curtly, standing, then frowns and draws himself to his full height when he sees the aching madness looming at the edge of Harold’s countenance.
“You are not yourself…,” the River Master says, carefully.
Meanwhile, as Rastrin pulls himself out of his own fiery torment, he notes that while most of those present were too busy looking for more ankhegs to notice his expression, the flaring of his powers after the enemies had already been defeated, and the way he had looked at the guardsmen, Vaszil, alone stands at the wagon, his eyes directly on the dragonborn, his expression hard to read. He turns away and helps Wit to stand.
Miss Samitha rounds up the men, taking stock of their injuries, and looks to Shay.
“Are you all right? That was a nasty tug-of-war you were in for a minute there.”
Watching Wit carefully as Vaszil helps him to his feet, Shay lets out a relived breath. The man while not completely healed by any means would survive to see another day. It fills her with a natural sense of pride to be able to have others count on her magic in critical situations.
She didn’t think there were many other traits about herself she could so easily feel this way about without coming across as a bit egotistical. Shay resists the urge to stand taller under Miss Samitha’s gaze, understanding the current moment didn’t call for such formalities.
“I certainly won’t be jotting this down as one of my favorite encounters any time soon, but yes, I’m fine. Those creatures were every bit as terrifying as they appeared, how anyone would think to use them as mounts is almost incredible.” She smiles mirthlessly, gripping her quarterstaff just a little tighter, beyond grateful she’d remember to bring it.
“How about you? Do you need me to heal you in any way?”
Rastrin shakes his head, trying to shed his feelings of guilt. He rises unsteadily to his feet and sways for a moment as a sudden sense of vertigo overcomes him. He hadn’t had an output of that much magic’s since, well, forever. After being repressed for so long, letting it go was like a river bursting out of a dam.
Feeling drained, he stumbles his way over to Shay with a dazed expression. Smoke still trailing from his body, he tries his best to try to mend his clothing with the magical trick he learned early one, but most of his clothing is either smoke curling above him in the air or charred wisps is fabric draped across his frame. While not the most muscular fellow out there, he was fit and lean. Working in a smithy did have its perks after all. He’s at least able to scrounge up enough cloth to make a ramshackle loincloth of sorts. If he was going to keep losing control like this, he was going to have to find some fireproof clothes or something.
Once he’s near Shay, he groggily asks, “Where did Harold run off to?”
Harold takes a few deep breaths as he tries to calm himself down. He holds his face in his hands for a few moments while walking around in a small circle before allowing his shoulders to relax. As he comes to a stop, he places his hands on his hips and glances towards the ground and then out towards the battlefield. After a few long seconds of silence, he looks to Marcus. Marcus can see that the merchants eyes are still full of rage, but more controlled now. "I recognize that armor... The armor that the rider was wearing." Harold growls. With a slight shake of his head, a little of the rage seems to fade and his voice becomes somewhat softer. Although still firm and direct, he begins to speak more calmly. "I've been looking for information on the men that wear armor like that for years. It was those men that gave me this scar." Harold says to Marcus as he lifts his beard to reveal the bright red scar running along his neck. "They took everything from me that day... and I intend to repay the favor."
While standing with Marcus, he would remember he had left his dagger on the battlefield. "Maybe we should discuss this more later." He says before turning to walk back towards the battlefield in hopes of recovering the dagger that he had dropped during his ride on the Ankheg.
When Shay offers healing to Miss Samitha, the woman grins at her wryly, though gratefully. “I’m all right. Bumps and bruises, nothing that won’t heal quickly with my morning devotions to Lothander. You… you handle yourself well. And better than I would have thought. No offense.” Though crisp and efficient in her manner, Samitha’s words are meant sincerely.
When Rastrin enters the firelight, a couple of the men shift uneasily out of his way, frowning in awe and concern when they feel the heat pouring off of him.
“That won’t do,” Samitha says at his tattered clothing, and in a moment has poured water on a spare pair of trousers and tossed them at Rastrin. “Modesty and pride together makes a man out of a soldier.”
Marcus puts a steadying hand on Harold’s shoulder, his piercing gaze holding the merchant in place for a moment. “Be careful of vengeance. The bards sing of the sweetness of revenge. In my experience, inflicting wounds on others does nothing to heal one’s own.”
But he lets Harold go. Unfortunately, despite the full moon, the dagger proves impossible to find in the moonlight. Perhaps, come morning, it will show itself.
The men are silent as Samitha sets a watch and they finish setting up camp and boiling broth for dry tack. Later, as the men lay out their bedrolls and begrudgingly allow consciousness to drift away, trusting in their comrades-at-arms to raise the alarm if more assailants appear, Marcus speaks quietly with Shay, Rastrin, and Harold.
“In the morning, my trackers will look carefully at the battle with the delegation. Perhaps they are all dead. Perhaps not. At the least, the mystery of what happened to them is less of a mystery. I believe the force who caused the massacre whose remains we witnessed was similar to what attacked us. Ankhegs with riders. And an… elemental, was it, Rastrin? Your magic is strong to be able to untether such a powerful opponent so easily.”
Rastrin feels Marcus' piercing gaze upon him. The River Master's compliment seems sincere, but his eyes search deeply, burning into the dragonborn's heart as surely as Rastrin's own song of fire exploded outward earlier.
Somewhere outside of the ring of firelight, Vaszil, on guard duty, shifts his legs as he squats, concealed among gray dogwood fronds. He sweeps the hillocks with an eagle eye, calculating, processing everything he sees, while also thinking back to the fight with the ankhegs and everything he saw during -- and after -- the battle.
Rastrin gratefully takes the trousers from Samantha and hastily dons them. "That sounds like something my Ma would say," he says with a weak smile to Samantha, still sounding slightly dazed.
As the other finish setting up camp, Rastrin tries his best to help, but he felt weak to be of much help. He felt woozy and feeble while doing even the most simple tasks. He had never felt like this before, but he had also never pumped out that much fire before. Hopefully a good night's rest would clear away his feeling of weakness.
As Marcus gathers them together to speak, Rastrin noticeably stands a few feet away from the other three. Though he's long since cooled off to normal temperature, well, normal for him, he still felt ashamed of almost incinerating them earlier.
He shifts uncomfortably under Marcos's scrutiny. "It was the Platinum's will, I suppose," he replies. Then, in a very obvious attempt to shift the focus off of him, he says, "I think all of you did very well earlier today. Sent those anhegs scurrying away." He chuckles nervously, and then he winces at how awkward he sounded.
Despite Miss Samitha’s clunky way of expressing it, Shay takes the compliment for what it is, not expecting it from someone who presented herself so proudly. “Right, yes. Thank you.” She begins to walk off until noticing Rastrin’s arrival and his very singed clothing, glad she doesn’t have to cast mending and further tire herself when Miss Samitha steps in to save him with a handy pair of trousers.
By the time things are properly set up and the first watch is properly started, Shay suspects a conversation with Marcos would be inevitable and is quickly proven right as he has everyone gather around him. There, they get a better understanding of what was to come by morning. She can’t help but ponder over what forces could be at work behind the attack and how long it would be before they face it head on.
Her dour thoughts are cut short as the news of an elemental being swiftly handled during their battle earlier and she turns in surprise to Rastrin. She hadn’t even noticed it! Their companion rushes out a short acceptance for a compliment of his own before placing focus on the rest of them, perhaps not used to such attention. The poor guy could be very awkward at times. “I agree, we’re a solid lot. And with any luck we won’t have to battle those creatures again any time too soon.”
"We will see" Harold replies to Marcos before turning and heading back towards the battlefield. Harold grumbles after failing to locate his dagger, deciding to continue his search in the morning. Moving through the darkness, the merchant begins pulling useful materials from his cart and begins to help with setting up camp. It doesn't take long before Harold has a fire going and the smell of vegetable stew begins to fill the air. Using his remaining dagger, he carefully slices carrots, onion, tomatoes, potatoes, and mushrooms to a cast iron pot resting above the fire. The dancing light from the campfire illuminates the merchant as he carefully seasons the hearty stew with a small pouch he pulls from inside his coat.
Watching Harold cook feels strange. This happy looking chef is quite different than the fighter the party saw just a few hours earlier. The merchant wears a small smile upon his face and he seemingly loses himself in the act of preparing the meal. When the meal is complete, he fills a few bowls for himself, Shay, Rastin, Marcus, and Farkas. Once he has filled the bowls he offers the others around the fire to help themselves to a meal as he looks down upon broth and hard tack. "Eat this, it's my own recipe... It will help you to recover in no time" Harold says with a small grin and a hint of pride as he distributes the bowls of vegetable stew.
After listening to Rastin and Shay, Harold gives a nod. "You are both quite impressive. You have remarkable talents... I am humbled that you would allow a simple merchant like myself to accompany you on this journey." He says with a smile as his eyes move from one person to person.
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When Harold throws his acid and exhorts the guardsman – Farkas is his name, the merchant remembers – to strike, the ant trembles in agony, favoring its disintegrating leg, which fountains black blood like a macabre garden hose gone wild. Like an enraged bull, the giant insect charges into the guardsman, trampling him under its sharp-clawed feet. But Farkas raises his shield just in time, and though knocked onto his back under the ankheg, the creatures charge halts, it shudders, and then falls to one side revealing the guardsman’s blade which had bitten deep into the ankheg’s thorax, severing its nerve core. He nods curtly to Harold before jumping to his feet – wounded, but ready.
The ankheg in front of Shay has learned its lesson from the druid's thorn whip, and it darts first one way, then the other, trying to get around it, get at Shay. It suddenly pounces, its mandibles shooting forward and snapping shut on Shay’s calf. The half-elf feels pain lancing through her leg, and crashes onto her back. The ankheg drags her along the rough ground, toward a dark hole out of which it must have come earlier.
Marcos leaps forward, taking down one of the giant insects with a series of forceful slashes, and the Yartarin guardsmen, emboldened by their leader’s courage, do the same, though many draw wounds from the ankhegs' claws and mandibles.
As heat emanates from Rastrin, the smell of his charring clothes adds to the sour, musky smell of the ankhegs and the biting, sulfurous odor of Harold’s acid, still working on the now dead creature he and Farkas dispatched. Just as Rastrin decides to act, the dragonborn feels a shuddering, grinding sound at the edge of the little dell he had just passed, and turning to look over his shoulder with dread, sees a new foe emerging from the hillock immediately behind him. Loose pebbles and rocks pull together, like sand from an hourglass in reverse, forming into the shape of a shambling humanoid, fifteen feet tall, its dark hematite eyes glowing with malice as its three-fingered hands clench into fists like barrels and pound down at Rastrin. It roars with a sound like stone grinding on stone. The dragonborn barely manages to dive out of the way, for the rippling ground under his feet seems almost to be an extension of this giant form of clay and rock towering over him.
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
RASTRIN
As Rastrin dives to the ground, he realizes at that moment that if he doesn't surrender to the pounding Song blazing within him, he's going to end up seriously hurt, or even worse. Rolling onto his back, he looks up at the elemental looming over him. And then he surrenders to the Song.
Rastrin is swept away as Song of Fire rages through him. He bursts into flames, a veritable inferno inferno wrapping around him. The grass and shrubs around him begin to smoke and catch aflame, and the ground beneath cracks and splits by the sudden heat. He grins up at the elemental, and then a torrent of searing flames erupts from Rastrin and engulfs the elemental. Instead burning away at the elemental's form, this fire sought out the connection binding the creature to this plane. It only takes the flames a moment to find the binding magic, and once it does, it burns it away in flash of cauterant heat. The elemental lets out a bellow as it's banished back to its home plane, the smoldering rocks and charred clay forming the creature crumbling to the ground.
Rastrin rises to his feet and turns towards the rest of the fight. BURN THEM ALL! The only thoughts that filled Rastrin's mind were images of everyone being burned away into ash and cinders.
DM- Azalin's Doom
DM- Surviving the Unsurvivable
SHAY
The ankheg, Shay realizes as it moves to get away from her thorn whip, is more perceptive than she first gave it credit for. Before she can tie it up and subdue the creature in her vines, it strikes first and in the next instant all Shay knows is sharp pain as it closes its mandibles around her calf.
She screams out, struggling uselessly as she looses her footing and falls roughly onto her back, being dragged her across the rough ground in the next moment. Shay is only somewhat aware of a large hole in the ground that they’re nearing, her mind running through one spell after another as she tries to think past her discomfort. Somewhere nearby she can also smell rising smoke and ash and a new concern washes through her about the new danger they might be in.
An idea flashes through her mind and she acts on it almost as soon as it does, slamming her hand on one of its preoccupied mandibles and casting polymorph on the ankheg. She watches as it becomes engulfed in a harsh burst of light and sees it shrink down further and further until it’s fully transformed into a harmless blue gecko.
Shay collapses back onto the ground, panting and relived, before preparing to cast cure wounds on her heavily bleeding calf.
Harold
Harold returns the nod to Farkas Before gesturing towards next ankheg. The merchant runs flat out, racing beside the soldier.
when the two approaches the hulking creature, he allows Farkas to close the distance first before circling around behind the monster. Drawing a dagger from his belt, He leaps on to the back of the monstrosity and berries both his shortsword and dagger into its spine. "Now Farkas!" Harold screams as the creature rears backwards, threatening to toss the merchant free from its back.
Harold holds on tightly to the hills of his weapons and hopes that his distraction helps the the guard to land a solid strike.
Farkas hears Harold’s shout, but at the moment the guardsman prepares to stab upward at the ankheg Harold has mounted, Farkas is swept off his feet by another one of the huge insects behind him, and his attacker pounces, clamping its mandibles on the guardsman’s sword arm, picking him up and shaking him brutally. Farkas groans in pain, his teeth clashing. He tries to batter the insect with his shield to no avail.
But Harold is unable to take advantage of the moment either. For his new mount does not have a spine, being an invertebrate, and it scampers off madly, wounded but not incapacitated. It is all the merchant can do to hold onto the gruesome saddlehorns his weapons have become, and keep from being thrown onto the rocks that whip past in the night as the ankheg circles the dell at a gallop, crazed with pain.
Shay’s attacker, transformed into a tiny lizard, darts under a rock to avoid the pounding feet of the guardsmen and the sharp claws of its allies. The half-elf is able to quickly heal herself – just in time, for another pair of ankhegs now scuttle toward her, mandibles clicking.
The giant elemental roars like a ton of gravel pouring onto a drum, fighting the mighty pull of Rastrin’s flames, holding open the portal to the dimension of Earth with its rocky hands and not letting go, trying to pull itself back toward the flaming dragonborn. But it cannot overcome the indomitable power of Rastrin’s fire and the door slams shut behind it with a booming crash, and it is gone.
Marcus and the other guardsmen have taken down several of the creatures, leaving only four, plus the one now attempting to buck Harold off its back.
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
RASTRIN
Turning his attention away from the remnants of the elemental, Rastrin surveys the battlefield, his body still engulfed in flames. There was so much fuel scampering about! He could easily fix that though.
Grinning, he thrusts his flaming hand towards the creatures descending upon Shay. A burst of fiery lashes of energy erupt from his hand and arc through the air, crackling and hissing for a moment before they simultaneously strike one of the ankhegs. It erupts in a sweltering burst of heat, its carapace cracking and blackening as its body is reduced to nothing more than a smoking husk of ash and cinders in an instant.
Rastrin watches in savage glee as the creature is incinerated. There was so much he could do now that he didn’t care to control his magic. There was so much to burn, so much to share the transformative touch of fire with!
DM- Azalin's Doom
DM- Surviving the Unsurvivable
SHAY
No sooner does Shay heal herself than a mixture of sounds comes from behind her along with a searing heat despite none of it touching her directly. She turns around in time to see one of two ankhegs getting turned from creature and into flame in less time than it takes for her to step back.
She sees Rastrin holding his palm out, giddily glancing around for what Shay thinks must be one of his rare moments of pure expression beyond that of concern and anxiousness. She nods her thanks before turning her attention back to the remaining ankheg, grateful the Dragonborn man was her ally and not an enemy.
The second ankheg starts toward her and Shay finally uses her quarterstaff, remembering that she still had it in her possession. She waits tensely for it to move first and just as she starts to think about using thorn whip a second time, it lunges for her in a flash of movement. Shay swings her staff with all of her might and makes contact, watching as the insectoid collapses to the ground unconscious.
Harold
"Damn" The merchant grumbles through gritted teeth as Farkas is blindsided by another ankheg. Before he can devise a plan to save the guard however, he has to deal with his current problem. In am instant his Ankheg takes off. Harold desperstly holds onto the hilts of his weapons as the creature bucks wildly around the battlefield. The violent motion of the creature sends Harolds head head bouncing off the hard armor-like back of the creature. Slightly disoriented, He accidentally pulls his dagger free from the back of the creature, leaving a large hole in its back where the blade once stood. Now with just one hand keeping him attached to the creature he drops the dagger and reaches into his jacket once more. Harold swings wildly now with every twist and turn of the creature as he holds onto how weapon. after a few seconds he draws his second vial of acid from inside his coat and pops the cork with his thumb. Using the last of his strength he pulls himself up higher on the hilt of the rapier and jams the open vial of acid inside the opening wound on the Ankhegs back. When the vial disappears down into the creatures body, he kicks backwards and pulls his rapier free from the creature.
Harold lands hard on his back, holding his rapier tightly in both hands. he is covered in the fluids sloshing from the creatures wounds as he was involuntarily carried around the battlefield.
By the time he staggers to his feet, He sees the acid bringing to eat its way through the ankheg. Steam and smoke billows from the wounds in its back as its liquefied insides start to drip out from underneath the creature as its armor-like skin dissolves from the inside out. A few moments later the creature collapses and Harold begins limping towards Farkas. "Break free!" Harold shouts "Pry with your shield" He adds, hoping to help the guard as he tries to close the distance.
The ankheg which Shay cracked with her quarterstaff has fallen onto its back. It wheels its legs slowly, in obvious distress. But not as much distress as the huge insects which have been dispatched by Rastrin's flame or Harold’s acid.
Marcos and the guardsmen have surrounded and brought down three of the ankhegs, and, heeding Harold’s shout, Farkas drops his shield and grapples his attacker by wrapping his legs around its neck. He twists and pulls the creature off its feet. Marcos, like a shot of lightning, leaps to Farkas’ side and delivers the killing blow, driving his blue-glowing longsword deep into the creature’s thorax. It shudders, its mandibles pulling at Farkas' arm, but in moments, the ankheg stills, releases its crushing embrace, and moves no more.
Many of the guardsmen have been wounded, though not critically, but one lies on his back stifling wheezing groans of agony, for one of the ankhegs’ mandibles has cleaved through armor, bone, and lung and the man -- you now see it is Wit, the scout -- is close to death.
As the Yartarin company's glance shoots back and forth around the dell looking for more assailants, it is Harold who notices a figure etched against the white half-orb of the rising moon atop a hillock on the opposite side of the road from the dell, perhaps a hundred yards to the east. The figure is humanoid, wearing heavy armor – non-reflective, possessing the dark heaviness of solid rock – mounted atop a huge ankheg. It watches the Yartarin company, and, one would guess, observed the entire melee. Suddenly, the figure spurs its mount, and figure and ankheg both disappear from view.
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
Harold stands, breathing heavily as the struggles to catch his breath. That was the first battle the merchant had participated in and also the first time encountering an ankheg.
Sheathing his weapon, he surveys the battlefield as the fighting draws to a close. when his eyes fall upon the figure riding the ankheg, Harold's mouth drops open. "Hey!" he shouts as they disappear from view. "HEY!" He screams even louder. The merchant races towards figure. His blood was boiling as rage an adrenaline push him to race harder than he thought imaginable. the recognized the armor the figure was wearing. The scar on his neck shown red as his beard blew wildly in the breeze. "I'LL KILL YOU!" he shouts as he tries to close the distance but quickly realizes that the figure is gone...
Standing now where the figure had been watching the battle take place, He spins around looking for tracks or anything he can folllow. Harold no longer notices his companions or the wounded from the nearby battle... he is like a ravenous dog frantically searching for the now gone figure...
RASTRIN
As the last ankheg falls, Rastrin doesn’t even notice the mounted figure in the distance. Instead, he turns to the group of recovering warriors he fought alongside. Flames still dancing around his figure, he gathers energy to rain fire down upon them. It would be so easy to burn all of them away into ash and cinders, becoming nothing more than curling wisps of smoke under a searing torrent of cleansing flames. In fact if he angled himself in the right way, he could probably catch them all in the blast. He grins eagerly at the prospect of watching them all go up in smoke and flames. BURN THEM. CLEANSE THEM.
A sudden wave of revulsion slammed into him, shaking him free from the clutches of the Song. These people were his friends! How could he even consider using his magic on them?!
Horror of realizing what he was about to do dawning on him, his halo of fire flickers and then dies out. He falls to his knees in shock and horror as Harold goes racing off, tendrils of smoke wafting the Dragonborn’s body as the plants around him sizzle. The Song flees from him, leaving him feeling cold and empty without its embrace. He stares numbly at his smoking hands as he kneels in the epicenter of a blackened scorch mark upon the earth, guilt and shame crushing him as the others of the group start recover and take stock of the situation.
DM- Azalin's Doom
DM- Surviving the Unsurvivable
SHAY
The attack is over quickly enough leaving nothing in the aftermath but destroyed ankheg bodies and multiple guards having injuries all around. Shay assesses them for who needs healing the most urgently and her eyes land on a gasping Wit who's had his armor and body torn clean through and is bleeding rapidly. She can tell even with her limited medical experience that he needs help soon if he's to make it through the night. She looks for Harold and discovers he's nowhere to be seen, scanning over to Rastrin who appears to be shaken and not completely with them in the moment for reasons she can't determine yet. Neither are in dire need however and she decides to help Rastrin if possible after her more pressing uses are served elsewhere.
Shay approaches the scout hastily and crouches beside him, stomach twisting at the vast amounts of blood as well as his groans of agony. "It'll be alright Wit." She isn't sure if he can hear her or not, but tries to reassure him all the same. Shay places a gentle hand on him and casts cure wounds, putting what she can into hopefully keeping the man from passing over right there.
Shay’s healing magic holds Wit in its embrace, and his moans diminish as, under Shay’s watchful eye, blood flows backwards, organs and bones reconnect, and flesh and skin knit back together. It takes time and concentration for Shay's spell to work its effects, but in a few minutes, the wound is closed and Wit breathes normally. Though he still spits up drops of blood, Shay knows that the healing will continue through the night and tomorrow Wit will be able to move and act -- perhaps with discomfort, but not with the agonized pain from which he suffered following the grievous injury.
Marcos is hot on Harold’s heels in pursuit of the mysterious figure. But when they arrive to the top of the hillock where they saw it, there is only a semi-collapsed crater filled with loose rubble. Marcos kneels and runs his hand through the rubble, drawing some magic from his god to investigate its meaning.
“Gone,” he says curtly, standing, then frowns and draws himself to his full height when he sees the aching madness looming at the edge of Harold’s countenance.
“You are not yourself…,” the River Master says, carefully.
Meanwhile, as Rastrin pulls himself out of his own fiery torment, he notes that while most of those present were too busy looking for more ankhegs to notice his expression, the flaring of his powers after the enemies had already been defeated, and the way he had looked at the guardsmen, Vaszil, alone stands at the wagon, his eyes directly on the dragonborn, his expression hard to read. He turns away and helps Wit to stand.
Miss Samitha rounds up the men, taking stock of their injuries, and looks to Shay.
“Are you all right? That was a nasty tug-of-war you were in for a minute there.”
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
SHAY
Watching Wit carefully as Vaszil helps him to his feet, Shay lets out a relived breath. The man while not completely healed by any means would survive to see another day. It fills her with a natural sense of pride to be able to have others count on her magic in critical situations.
She didn’t think there were many other traits about herself she could so easily feel this way about without coming across as a bit egotistical. Shay resists the urge to stand taller under Miss Samitha’s gaze, understanding the current moment didn’t call for such formalities.
“I certainly won’t be jotting this down as one of my favorite encounters any time soon, but yes, I’m fine. Those creatures were every bit as terrifying as they appeared, how anyone would think to use them as mounts is almost incredible.” She smiles mirthlessly, gripping her quarterstaff just a little tighter, beyond grateful she’d remember to bring it.
“How about you? Do you need me to heal you in any way?”
RASTRIN
Rastrin shakes his head, trying to shed his feelings of guilt. He rises unsteadily to his feet and sways for a moment as a sudden sense of vertigo overcomes him. He hadn’t had an output of that much magic’s since, well, forever. After being repressed for so long, letting it go was like a river bursting out of a dam.
Feeling drained, he stumbles his way over to Shay with a dazed expression. Smoke still trailing from his body, he tries his best to try to mend his clothing with the magical trick he learned early one, but most of his clothing is either smoke curling above him in the air or charred wisps is fabric draped across his frame. While not the most muscular fellow out there, he was fit and lean. Working in a smithy did have its perks after all. He’s at least able to scrounge up enough cloth to make a ramshackle loincloth of sorts. If he was going to keep losing control like this, he was going to have to find some fireproof clothes or something.
Once he’s near Shay, he groggily asks, “Where did Harold run off to?”
DM- Azalin's Doom
DM- Surviving the Unsurvivable
Harold
Harold takes a few deep breaths as he tries to calm himself down. He holds his face in his hands for a few moments while walking around in a small circle before allowing his shoulders to relax. As he comes to a stop, he places his hands on his hips and glances towards the ground and then out towards the battlefield. After a few long seconds of silence, he looks to Marcus. Marcus can see that the merchants eyes are still full of rage, but more controlled now. "I recognize that armor... The armor that the rider was wearing." Harold growls. With a slight shake of his head, a little of the rage seems to fade and his voice becomes somewhat softer. Although still firm and direct, he begins to speak more calmly. "I've been looking for information on the men that wear armor like that for years. It was those men that gave me this scar." Harold says to Marcus as he lifts his beard to reveal the bright red scar running along his neck. "They took everything from me that day... and I intend to repay the favor."
While standing with Marcus, he would remember he had left his dagger on the battlefield. "Maybe we should discuss this more later." He says before turning to walk back towards the battlefield in hopes of recovering the dagger that he had dropped during his ride on the Ankheg.
When Shay offers healing to Miss Samitha, the woman grins at her wryly, though gratefully. “I’m all right. Bumps and bruises, nothing that won’t heal quickly with my morning devotions to Lothander. You… you handle yourself well. And better than I would have thought. No offense.” Though crisp and efficient in her manner, Samitha’s words are meant sincerely.
When Rastrin enters the firelight, a couple of the men shift uneasily out of his way, frowning in awe and concern when they feel the heat pouring off of him.
“That won’t do,” Samitha says at his tattered clothing, and in a moment has poured water on a spare pair of trousers and tossed them at Rastrin. “Modesty and pride together makes a man out of a soldier.”
Marcus puts a steadying hand on Harold’s shoulder, his piercing gaze holding the merchant in place for a moment. “Be careful of vengeance. The bards sing of the sweetness of revenge. In my experience, inflicting wounds on others does nothing to heal one’s own.”
But he lets Harold go. Unfortunately, despite the full moon, the dagger proves impossible to find in the moonlight. Perhaps, come morning, it will show itself.
The men are silent as Samitha sets a watch and they finish setting up camp and boiling broth for dry tack. Later, as the men lay out their bedrolls and begrudgingly allow consciousness to drift away, trusting in their comrades-at-arms to raise the alarm if more assailants appear, Marcus speaks quietly with Shay, Rastrin, and Harold.
“In the morning, my trackers will look carefully at the battle with the delegation. Perhaps they are all dead. Perhaps not. At the least, the mystery of what happened to them is less of a mystery. I believe the force who caused the massacre whose remains we witnessed was similar to what attacked us. Ankhegs with riders. And an… elemental, was it, Rastrin? Your magic is strong to be able to untether such a powerful opponent so easily.”
Rastrin feels Marcus' piercing gaze upon him. The River Master's compliment seems sincere, but his eyes search deeply, burning into the dragonborn's heart as surely as Rastrin's own song of fire exploded outward earlier.
Somewhere outside of the ring of firelight, Vaszil, on guard duty, shifts his legs as he squats, concealed among gray dogwood fronds. He sweeps the hillocks with an eagle eye, calculating, processing everything he sees, while also thinking back to the fight with the ankhegs and everything he saw during -- and after -- the battle.
DM for Candlekeep Mysteries // Dev Hornd in Curious Critters // Eclipse Faraway in Gallows Dancer
RASTRIN
Rastrin gratefully takes the trousers from Samantha and hastily dons them. "That sounds like something my Ma would say," he says with a weak smile to Samantha, still sounding slightly dazed.
As the other finish setting up camp, Rastrin tries his best to help, but he felt weak to be of much help. He felt woozy and feeble while doing even the most simple tasks. He had never felt like this before, but he had also never pumped out that much fire before. Hopefully a good night's rest would clear away his feeling of weakness.
As Marcus gathers them together to speak, Rastrin noticeably stands a few feet away from the other three. Though he's long since cooled off to normal temperature, well, normal for him, he still felt ashamed of almost incinerating them earlier.
He shifts uncomfortably under Marcos's scrutiny. "It was the Platinum's will, I suppose," he replies. Then, in a very obvious attempt to shift the focus off of him, he says, "I think all of you did very well earlier today. Sent those anhegs scurrying away." He chuckles nervously, and then he winces at how awkward he sounded.
DM- Azalin's Doom
DM- Surviving the Unsurvivable
SHAY
Despite Miss Samitha’s clunky way of expressing it, Shay takes the compliment for what it is, not expecting it from someone who presented herself so proudly. “Right, yes. Thank you.” She begins to walk off until noticing Rastrin’s arrival and his very singed clothing, glad she doesn’t have to cast mending and further tire herself when Miss Samitha steps in to save him with a handy pair of trousers.
By the time things are properly set up and the first watch is properly started, Shay suspects a conversation with Marcos would be inevitable and is quickly proven right as he has everyone gather around him. There, they get a better understanding of what was to come by morning. She can’t help but ponder over what forces could be at work behind the attack and how long it would be before they face it head on.
Her dour thoughts are cut short as the news of an elemental being swiftly handled during their battle earlier and she turns in surprise to Rastrin. She hadn’t even noticed it! Their companion rushes out a short acceptance for a compliment of his own before placing focus on the rest of them, perhaps not used to such attention. The poor guy could be very awkward at times. “I agree, we’re a solid lot. And with any luck we won’t have to battle those creatures again any time too soon.”
Harold
"We will see" Harold replies to Marcos before turning and heading back towards the battlefield. Harold grumbles after failing to locate his dagger, deciding to continue his search in the morning. Moving through the darkness, the merchant begins pulling useful materials from his cart and begins to help with setting up camp. It doesn't take long before Harold has a fire going and the smell of vegetable stew begins to fill the air. Using his remaining dagger, he carefully slices carrots, onion, tomatoes, potatoes, and mushrooms to a cast iron pot resting above the fire. The dancing light from the campfire illuminates the merchant as he carefully seasons the hearty stew with a small pouch he pulls from inside his coat.
Watching Harold cook feels strange. This happy looking chef is quite different than the fighter the party saw just a few hours earlier. The merchant wears a small smile upon his face and he seemingly loses himself in the act of preparing the meal. When the meal is complete, he fills a few bowls for himself, Shay, Rastin, Marcus, and Farkas. Once he has filled the bowls he offers the others around the fire to help themselves to a meal as he looks down upon broth and hard tack. "Eat this, it's my own recipe... It will help you to recover in no time" Harold says with a small grin and a hint of pride as he distributes the bowls of vegetable stew.
After listening to Rastin and Shay, Harold gives a nod. "You are both quite impressive. You have remarkable talents... I am humbled that you would allow a simple merchant like myself to accompany you on this journey." He says with a smile as his eyes move from one person to person.