Kalamin watches the bodies rise up in a mixture of horror and disgust. Were he better equipped and their position not so disadvantageous, he would suggest striking down the mage and her undead thrall. As he dashes ahead to catch up, he responds to Lyra's comment. "Makes me shudder to think what they had planned for us. I'll be glad to not be in the hands of a dead-raiser like that."
The skin and hairs on the back of Juno's neck stand up as a shiver runs down her spine. Here gaze falls upon the distant corpses now rising up to their feet once more under the foul magics of this redded elf.
"...Baria..." She whispers in a strained croak.
"Faster...Faster! Don't look back. Just go! Please just go!" She pleads to the rest of the group, dashing ahead to catch up with the bulk of them. She feels her heart pound in her chest. Juno's breath catches in her throat as her legs move now on instinct, trying to move as far away as possible. Her hand shakes, her fingers twitching.
Another of the elves sprints down the road, disappearing into a black mist and reappearing behind the cloaked assailant. Through the mess of bodies in the way you're certain you see him slash across the man's back with his shortsword, sending droplets of blood flying through the air.
Almost all of you have made it to the boulder which might provide you some cover. If any of you turn to look, you would see the man swing his polearm upward in a mighty slash. A rip would appear in the air, as if the very fabric of space were being torn. It snaps close, and he's nowhere to be seen. A fraction of an instant later and another tear opens, depositing the man between Juno, Leftenant, and Kalamin. The dimensional door snaps closed behind him as he tightens his grip on the haft of the polearm, preparing to attack...
Lyra
As you watch the man cast yet anything spell channeled through his blade, you feel a tug at the edge of your mind. This relationship between caster and weapon is familiar to you. It's not like how a wizard combines the correct components, incantations, and gestures. Or how a sorcerer might draw up their natural link to arcana. This is something else. A Pact between Warlock and a powerful patron.
The veteran soldier understood the odds were against him and chose to flee. "Those who flee and run away, live to fight another day." was on his mind. He hated to attack either side, not really knowing who was friend and who was foe, although he felt sure that both of these sides were after them all.
As he ran towards the boulder, he could almost feel the relief of a relative safety. Each step punctuated with the words, "Put as much space between us and the battle, we aren't prepared for this."
But then the fabric of the scenery ripped open with an audible tear just to his right. He had enough time to half turn his head and see one of the assailants appear out of nowhere. "WHAT IN THE...!" escaped his mouth. Leftenant already had too much momentum to full out stop or turn. He manages to slowdown and stop about 30' past the polearm wielding assailant (Attack of Opportunity understood). He drops the few items he was carrying at his feet as he draws an arrow and aims at the masked entity. He issues a verbal component for the spell Ensnaring Strike, "Stop right there."
OoC: LT will fire if polearm assailant (PA) took his AoO and LT is still alive. Otherwise, he holds (ready action) until PA attacks one of the other escapees.
Move: 30' Bonus Action: Ensnaring Strike {The next time you hit a creature with a weapon attack before this spell ends, a writhing mass of thorny vines appears at the point of impact, and the target must succeed on a Strength saving throw or be restrained by the magical vines until the spell ends. } (STR save DC:12) 1d6 Piercing at start of each of its turns. Action: Attack PA (To Hit: 18=17+1 from Bless, Damage: 5) Reaction: Held Action of Attack if triggered Other: Colossus Slayer, creature takes an extra 1d8 damage if below max HP (damage: 8)
The ambusher whirls the polearm around with frightening speed as Leftanant blows past, bringing the blade to bear on the old soldier. There's another resonant hum and the entire weapon begins to vibrate. In an instant of brilliant blinding light the blade of the polearm shatters, the haft cracking into three pieces - knocking the attacker back. As the light fades, a whirlwind of frost has formed in the weapon's place. At the heart of this swirling snow and ice, a figure emerges.
She is regal and ethereal, with long dark hair flowing against the luminescence of a silver dress that shines as if woven from moonlight itself. With a wave of her hand, the flurry expands to include the entirety of your party in its center. And you notice something strange - time outside of it has slowed, functionally to a complete stop. The woman glances over to your assailant with a look of disappointment, bordering on contempt. He lies on the ground just outside the threshold, frozen in time as he grasps at a shard of the blade stuck in his neck. Next her gazes moves further out, to the elves and their spellcaster, standing as still as statues.
Finally, her dark eyes move back to you, and a light smile touches her features. Her voice, melodious and resonant, fills the space. "In countless realms, countless selves tread paths not taken here. Let the threads of fate weave anew."
As she speaks, reality fragments around you, It shifts, blurring the lines between what is, what was, and what could be. For a moment you glimpse yourselves standing where you are now in countless variations. Across a myriad of potentials, you see many where you are armed, armored, and prepared. The spirit, woman, angel, or whatever she may be closes her hand into a fist, and those countless possibilities converge into the present moment.
After a instant of sickening vertigo, you find yourselves fully equipped with your preferred gear, as if you always had been. Your weapons of choice drawn, and your armor donned. With a final smile, she waves her hand once more. The flurry retracts until only she remains at its center, barely visible in the whirlwind of snow. As it passes, time appears to return to normal around you. When you look again, the woman is gone, vanished in a cloud of snow and ice being carried away by the wind.
You hear gurgling and a few sputtering gasps, and look down to the see the man who was so determined to kill you has himself passed beyond the veil. Slain by the very weapon he meant to harm you with.
Looking up, you can see the elves and the mage are entirely focused on you now. Whatever that spectacle was, it was anything but discreet. You can see their wounds bleeding, and battle exhaustion starting to settle in. Even the ghostly spellcaster hasn't managed to escape harm in this fight.
OoC: Leftenant, you can go ahead and redo your action as you wish. Just put it in a new post. :)
…But then the fabric of the scenery ripped open with an audible tear just to his right. He had enough time to half turn his head and see one of the assailants appear out of nowhere. "WHAT IN THE...!" escaped his mouth. Leftenant already had too much momentum to full out stop or turn. He manages 5’ of movement past the polearm wielding assailant, triggering its Attack of Opportunity. Then reality shifts. Leftenant was still looking away when the powerful being warps reality, slows time, and weaves the fabric anew, but in his mind’s eye he sees and hears it all happen. He doesn’t understand the how, he barely understands the what, but he’s confident this entity didn’t just foresaken its avatar so that the escapees could simply run away. It chose this version to even the odds against these elves. And so, as the virtigo wears off and time speeds up to normal pace, Leftenant finds himself still moving forward but with a renewed vigor. He can’t speak for the others, if they care to still evade, then he will provide that cover to facilitate such.
He moves up behind the boulder and then climbs up it (difficult terrain?) From this perch, he address the elf mage and issues a verbal component for the spell Ensnaring Strike, "Stop right there." Repeating it in elvish for clarity. He draws an arrow, notches it, and takes aim. (His trigger is any hostile attack by any elf, any teleportation by any elf, or if the mage begins to cast anything.)
Move: 30' Bonus Action: Ensnaring Strike {The next time you hit a creature with a weapon attack before this spell ends, a writhing mass of thorny vines appears at the point of impact, and the target must succeed on a Strength saving throw or be restrained by the magical vines until the spell ends. } (STR save DC:12) 1d6 Piercing at start of each of its turns. Action: Attack elf mage (To Hit: 15=13+2 from Bless, Damage: 7) Reaction: Held Action of Attack if triggered Other: Colossus Slayer, creature takes an extra 1d8 damage if below max HP (damage: 1)
The boulder isn't nearly as tough a climb as something like the cliff face next to you, it takes some extra care(half movement), but Leftenant is able to get on top of it easily enough.
Cries in their native language go up, and two of the elves brandishes their blades in the air and charge forward. In response, the LT's arrow flies through the air. It strikes the spellcaster in her side, and she lets out a surprised pained yelp. As vines begin the materialize and wrap around her she tears through them, ripping the arrow out and tossing it to the ground.
Glyptemis recovers from the shift in reality, shaking his head and trying to make sense of what has just happened. He reaches a hand up and feels the familiar hilt of a scimitar sheathed on his back. Did his weapons just reappear in his posession? Were they always there? How many versions of this moment have there been? His head spins for a moment but then snaps in to focus as LT's arrow goes whizzing towards the elven spellcaster. Glyp says to himself "Yeah.. I think he's got the right idea" and he goes charging in the direction of the spellcaster. Not quite being able to close the distance, Glyp winds his way into the middle of the wreckage of the wagon, attempting to find some semblance of cover. He then opens his palm and the Shadow Blade hovers in the air above it for a moment. With a gathering of shadowy energy in his palm, he thrusts his hand forward and the miasmic weapon races towards the spellcaster (flavor on thrown weapon). As the blade whirs through the air, Glyp reaches his hand up to his shell and draws a curved Scimitar from its sheath. He smiles grimly, girding himself for whatever is coming his way. This is what he trained for.
(Movement) 40 feet into the wreckage of the wagon to get within 20 feet of the spellcaster, trying to get some cover if possible (Action) Thrown attack with Shadow Blade: 1, 7 + 5 + 3 (bless) = 15 to hit for 8 psychic damage (Bonus) None (Free Action) Draw Scimitar
The shadow blade flips through the air, passing through the pale woman. A hand goes to her head as she grits her teeth, focusing on maintaining her spell. The raised corpses don't crumble as she holds onto her focus. She scans the area and then shouts something in the language you've heard these elves speak. The words are stilted and awkward however, as if she isn't quite fluent. Instead of turning to face you she collects her staff and strides back down the road towards her marionette corpses, which begin to shamble in your direction.
Lyra's soft brown irises turn shadowy black once more, and this time the darkness spreads, threatening to engulf the entirety of both her eyes into depthless inky pools. She barely notices her equipment as the stuttering of fate returns it to her. As if she is focused on some higher message.
With a shake of her head, her dirty blond hair whipping back and forth, she comes to. As Lyra plays a strident chord on her black harmonica, her mouth too seems stained with shadow from the instrument like dark lipstick. Her voice, though hoarse, is yet mellifluous.
"When high and mighty powers become involved, nothing for it but to go low and kick 'em in the shins. You got this, Glyp!" (Final Bardic Inspiration).
With that, she releases another dark beam of energy at the retreating red and white elf mage (who may not be a red and white elf from her different intonation?), then retreats: N-->N-->N-->N-->NW-->NE onto the same boulder as LT. "The mage drops her concentration on the undead, we win this."
Bonus Action: Bardic Inspiration - 1d6 for Glyptemis to use.
Action: Eldritch Blast (120' range) at retreating red and white elven (or maybe something else?) mage. Eldritch Blast plus Bless to hit: 21 + 1 = 22 Eldritch Blast damage: 7 force (DC10 concentration check for mage) (No Forced Movement from Repelling Blast this time).
Movement: 30' N-->N-->N-->N-->NW-->NE onto the same boulder as LT.
The blast of dark energy slams into her shoulder blade as she retreats briefly making her stumble. Her head whips around and she glares at Lyra with glowing red eyes - but the undead forms continue to amble along.
Three of the elves sheath their weapons and jog to catch up with the spellcaster, beginning to link hands with one another.
Ice and bitter cold whirl around the group, and most of all it stings Juno's flesh. Reality warps and slows, the realms sundered all around in this sheen of winters wrath. But the ice isn't pale and opaque, rather a glossy mirror cracked into shards. Juno's eye widens as she struggles to take it all in. Her...she sees herself. A myriad of her in all forms...are they her though? These things, some of them sweet and touching. Others bitter and cruel. The cracks and fragments spider out into infinite possibilities, and then just as it had begun, the cracks converge and the snow and ice abate.
The wind dies and the veil lifts, revealing the whole group now adorned in their own appropriate gear and attire. Captives no more. Juno specifically breathes a sigh of relief once the cold is gone and she feels that familiar warmth upon her chest and her...side? Yes indeed, she flexes the prosthetic on her left shoulder, appearing to be a full arm sleeve of plate armor with a dull flickering light barely visible in the grooves and joints. The rest of her garb is lovely if not simple. Something appropriate for a wandering priest. What flesh can be seen is adorned with intricate tattoos stretching from her chest and neck to her arm, ending at a set of rings upon each finger.
All of reality snaps back at once and she becomes starkly aware of their situation once more.
"I can ensure these poor cursed forms stay down if we can weaken them enough first. As for their master" Her eye shifts from Kal to the elves, gripping her renewed amulet of a glorious wreath of flames.
"Lady of The Eternal Flames, let the purifying fury of your fire work through me once more. I beg of you, lend us your might and punish those who would trespass on the sanctity of life!"
(Dropping bless. I believe it was about done at this point anyway)
Movement: 30ft toward the Glyp
Action: Casting Flaming Sphere 10ft away from the elf in red, between her closes zombies and returning soldiers. (5ft diameter sphere is the space it occupies)
Bonus Action: Charging the Flaming Sphere forward to ram into the elf in red who conjured the undead. She will need to make a DC 14 Dex Save. On a fail, take 7 points of fire damage. On a success, take 3. Any creature that ends its turn within 5ft of the sphere will need to make the same save as well.
There was a familiarity with that face in the snow, tantalizing him even as reality fractured around them. As the myriad version of himself collapsed back down into one, Kalamin feels a jolt as he realizes why the woman looks so familiar. He had seen her face a thousand times - etched into the halls of the Eyrie, and carved out of stone to stand vigil over its gate. His knees weaken as he feels a compulsion to kneel.
But then the moment is gone and so is she, vanished in a flurry of snow and ice.
He refocuses on the situation at hand. Comforted by the familiar feel of the glaive in his hands he strides forward after Glyptemis. Once he's close enough to one of the undead he lashes out with the glaive once before spinning it around and striking the creature with blunt end.
Movement: 30 feet SW. Action: Glaive Attack To Hit: 10 Damage: 9 Bonus Action: Polearm Master Attack To Hit: 23 Damage: 6 Reaction: Polearm Master AoO if another creature comes with 10 ft.
The red-robed mage dodges out of the way of the flaming sphere, barely getting her skin singed. The distraction is enough to break her concentration however, as the undead corpses tumble to the ground motionless. Another of the elves dashes forward to join the rest of the group.
Leftenant raises his finger to his mouth and wets it, then holds his hand in the air, determining the wind direction and strength. As he does so, his aged eyes try to determine the distance to the mage. He is relieved to know that she has finally lost concentration on her necrotic spell controlling the zomb-elves. However, he still wants to extract revenge on their perceived captor.
He steps forward to the end of the rock (10’ movement), passing Lyra on his right, “Will only be a second missus.” To the mage, first in common to activate the spell Hunter’s Mark then in elvish for better understanding what he’s done, “I mark you here as my quarry!” (OoC: Spell has a range of 90’, I believe I need 10’ to achieve that distance. I don’t believe the spell ends if target moves out of the range. Please let me know if I am incorrect.)
He finally draws an arrow and launches it in an arc towards the mage before stepping back to his original location, turning at the last to see if his calculation was accurate or if an adjustment needs to be made in the future. To Lyra and Juno, "All yours, Ladies."
Free Action: Talking, determining range Move: 10’ forward, then 10’ back Bonus Action: cast Hunters Mark Action: Attack Mage (To Hit: 20, Damage: Piercing: 7+1 Hunter’s Mark) Reaction: N/A Other: Colossus Slayer, Creature takes an extra 1d8 damage if below max HP (damage: 7)
To Leftenant, he sees a faint aura outline the mage now, making it much easier to track her movements. His arrow flies through the air, taking her in the ribcage. This elicits an audible grunt of pain from her.
The two elves who had charged forward at first now sheath their weapons and back off. They join their comrades and claps hands, now forming a complete circle.
Glyptemis hops over the wreckage of the cart that he was ducking behind and runs near the gash in the ground, careful to stay far enough away from it so he doesn't slip in. "What the heck could have caused this.." He says to himself while running near. As he's running, he holds out his hand and the sinewy darkness of the Shadow Blade weaves itself together and re-appears there. He then immediately forces it to fly at the mage once more, slicing through them before it dissipates into nothingness.
(Move) Get within 20 feet of the mage, 2 or 3 blocks North of Elf A (Bonus Action) Recall Shadow Blade (Action) Throw Shadow Blade at Mage, 15,10+5=20 to hit for 3+8+3=14 psychic damage
Flames spark of the sphere as one of the elves gets too close - he dodges out of the way, but some of it manages to singe the skin on his face. The mage lets out a pained shriek, and she whips her head around to glare at the tortle. Blood runs from her nostrils, and a few violent spasms shake her body. She turns back around, beginning a chant of arcane words.
The rings of elves and herself grow transparent as the words of power echo throughout the clearing, until eventually they are gone entirely.
Glyptemis lets go of his humming song with a deep sigh and breathes out heavily. He sheathes the scimitar behind his back, the brings both palms up to his eyes, rubbing them intensely. This is nowhere near what he had in mind when he left his village, when he was sent off with such hope and promise. Had the others felt the same? Dealt with things like this, or worse? He'd never heard of it. Best not to dwell on it for now, he's not alone here, after all. His... co-captives, they all seem so strong, and confident. Maybe he can learn a thing or two from them. For now, at least, it seems like the best thing for them to do is to stick together.
"Does ANYONE know what's going on here??" he directs the question to his companions "I mean, this is nuts, right?! And what could have caused this huge chasm?" Glyp will take a second look at the chasm to see if he can discern if it was created by something magical in nature, and what that might have been. He'd then move on to search both the bodies and the wreckage of the carts for anything that might shed some light on the situation, or anything generally useful.
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Kalamin watches the bodies rise up in a mixture of horror and disgust. Were he better equipped and their position not so disadvantageous, he would suggest striking down the mage and her undead thrall. As he dashes ahead to catch up, he responds to Lyra's comment. "Makes me shudder to think what they had planned for us. I'll be glad to not be in the hands of a dead-raiser like that."
The skin and hairs on the back of Juno's neck stand up as a shiver runs down her spine. Here gaze falls upon the distant corpses now rising up to their feet once more under the foul magics of this redded elf.
"...Baria..." She whispers in a strained croak.
"Faster...Faster! Don't look back. Just go! Please just go!" She pleads to the rest of the group, dashing ahead to catch up with the bulk of them. She feels her heart pound in her chest. Juno's breath catches in her throat as her legs move now on instinct, trying to move as far away as possible. Her hand shakes, her fingers twitching.
Movement: Full move toward the group
Action: Dash to keep going. She's running.
Another of the elves sprints down the road, disappearing into a black mist and reappearing behind the cloaked assailant. Through the mess of bodies in the way you're certain you see him slash across the man's back with his shortsword, sending droplets of blood flying through the air.
Almost all of you have made it to the boulder which might provide you some cover. If any of you turn to look, you would see the man swing his polearm upward in a mighty slash. A rip would appear in the air, as if the very fabric of space were being torn. It snaps close, and he's nowhere to be seen. A fraction of an instant later and another tear opens, depositing the man between Juno, Leftenant, and Kalamin. The dimensional door snaps closed behind him as he tightens his grip on the haft of the polearm, preparing to attack...
Lyra
As you watch the man cast yet anything spell channeled through his blade, you feel a tug at the edge of your mind. This relationship between caster and weapon is familiar to you. It's not like how a wizard combines the correct components, incantations, and gestures. Or how a sorcerer might draw up their natural link to arcana. This is something else. A Pact
between Warlock and a powerful patron.
Back to LT!
The veteran soldier understood the odds were against him and chose to flee. "Those who flee and run away, live to fight another day." was on his mind. He hated to attack either side, not really knowing who was friend and who was foe, although he felt sure that both of these sides were after them all.
As he ran towards the boulder, he could almost feel the relief of a relative safety. Each step punctuated with the words, "Put as much space between us and the battle, we aren't prepared for this."
But then the fabric of the scenery ripped open with an audible tear just to his right. He had enough time to half turn his head and see one of the assailants appear out of nowhere. "WHAT IN THE...!" escaped his mouth. Leftenant already had too much momentum to full out stop or turn. He manages to slowdown and stop about 30' past the polearm wielding assailant (Attack of Opportunity understood). He drops the few items he was carrying at his feet as he draws an arrow and aims at the masked entity. He issues a verbal component for the spell Ensnaring Strike, "Stop right there."
OoC: LT will fire if polearm assailant (PA) took his AoO and LT is still alive. Otherwise, he holds (ready action) until PA attacks one of the other escapees.
Move: 30'
Bonus Action: Ensnaring Strike {The next time you hit a creature with a weapon attack before this spell ends, a writhing mass of thorny vines appears at the point of impact, and the target must succeed on a Strength saving throw or be restrained by the magical vines until the spell ends. }
(STR save DC:12) 1d6 Piercing at start of each of its turns.
Action: Attack PA (To Hit: 18=17+1 from Bless, Damage: 5)
Reaction: Held Action of Attack if triggered
Other: Colossus Slayer, creature takes an extra 1d8 damage if below max HP (damage: 8)
The ambusher whirls the polearm around with frightening speed as Leftanant blows past, bringing the blade to bear on the old soldier. There's another resonant hum and the entire weapon begins to vibrate. In an instant of brilliant blinding light the blade of the polearm shatters, the haft cracking into three pieces - knocking the attacker back. As the light fades, a whirlwind of frost has formed in the weapon's place. At the heart of this swirling snow and ice, a figure emerges.
She is regal and ethereal, with long dark hair flowing against the luminescence of a silver dress that shines as if woven from moonlight itself. With a wave of her hand, the flurry expands to include the entirety of your party in its center. And you notice something strange - time outside of it has slowed, functionally to a complete stop. The woman glances over to your assailant with a look of disappointment, bordering on contempt. He lies on the ground just outside the threshold, frozen in time as he grasps at a shard of the blade stuck in his neck. Next her gazes moves further out, to the elves and their spellcaster, standing as still as statues.
Finally, her dark eyes move back to you, and a light smile touches her features. Her voice, melodious and resonant, fills the space. "In countless realms, countless selves tread paths not taken here. Let the threads of fate weave anew."
As she speaks, reality fragments around you, It shifts, blurring the lines between what is, what was, and what could be. For a moment you glimpse yourselves standing where you are now in countless variations. Across a myriad of potentials, you see many where you are armed, armored, and prepared. The spirit, woman, angel, or whatever she may be closes her hand into a fist, and those countless possibilities converge into the present moment.
After a instant of sickening vertigo, you find yourselves fully equipped with your preferred gear, as if you always had been. Your weapons of choice drawn, and your armor donned. With a final smile, she waves her hand once more. The flurry retracts until only she remains at its center, barely visible in the whirlwind of snow. As it passes, time appears to return to normal around you. When you look again, the woman is gone, vanished in a cloud of snow and ice being carried away by the wind.
You hear gurgling and a few sputtering gasps, and look down to the see the man who was so determined to kill you has himself passed beyond the veil. Slain by the very weapon he meant to harm you with.
Looking up, you can see the elves and the mage are entirely focused on you now. Whatever that spectacle was, it was anything but discreet. You can see their wounds bleeding, and battle exhaustion starting to settle in. Even the ghostly spellcaster hasn't managed to escape harm in this fight.
OoC: Leftenant, you can go ahead and redo your action as you wish. Just put it in a new post. :)
…But then the fabric of the scenery ripped open with an audible tear just to his right. He had enough time to half turn his head and see one of the assailants appear out of nowhere. "WHAT IN THE...!" escaped his mouth. Leftenant already had too much momentum to full out stop or turn. He manages 5’ of movement past the polearm wielding assailant, triggering its Attack of Opportunity. Then reality shifts.
Leftenant was still looking away when the powerful being warps reality, slows time, and weaves the fabric anew, but in his mind’s eye he sees and hears it all happen. He doesn’t understand the how, he barely understands the what, but he’s confident this entity didn’t just foresaken its avatar so that the escapees could simply run away. It chose this version to even the odds against these elves. And so, as the virtigo wears off and time speeds up to normal pace, Leftenant finds himself still moving forward but with a renewed vigor. He can’t speak for the others, if they care to still evade, then he will provide that cover to facilitate such.
He moves up behind the boulder and then climbs up it (difficult terrain?) From this perch, he address the elf mage and issues a verbal component for the spell Ensnaring Strike, "Stop right there." Repeating it in elvish for clarity. He draws an arrow, notches it, and takes aim. (His trigger is any hostile attack by any elf, any teleportation by any elf, or if the mage begins to cast anything.)
Move: 30'
Bonus Action: Ensnaring Strike {The next time you hit a creature with a weapon attack before this spell ends, a writhing mass of thorny vines appears at the point of impact, and the target must succeed on a Strength saving throw or be restrained by the magical vines until the spell ends. }
(STR save DC:12) 1d6 Piercing at start of each of its turns.
Action: Attack elf mage (To Hit: 15=13+2 from Bless, Damage: 7)
Reaction: Held Action of Attack if triggered
Other: Colossus Slayer, creature takes an extra 1d8 damage if below max HP (damage: 1)
The boulder isn't nearly as tough a climb as something like the cliff face next to you, it takes some extra care(half movement), but Leftenant is able to get on top of it easily enough.
Cries in their native language go up, and two of the elves brandishes their blades in the air and charge forward. In response, the LT's arrow flies through the air. It strikes the spellcaster in her side, and she lets out a surprised pained yelp. As vines begin the materialize and wrap around her she tears through them, ripping the arrow out and tossing it to the ground.
Glyptemis, you're up!
Glyptemis recovers from the shift in reality, shaking his head and trying to make sense of what has just happened. He reaches a hand up and feels the familiar hilt of a scimitar sheathed on his back. Did his weapons just reappear in his posession? Were they always there? How many versions of this moment have there been? His head spins for a moment but then snaps in to focus as LT's arrow goes whizzing towards the elven spellcaster. Glyp says to himself "Yeah.. I think he's got the right idea" and he goes charging in the direction of the spellcaster. Not quite being able to close the distance, Glyp winds his way into the middle of the wreckage of the wagon, attempting to find some semblance of cover. He then opens his palm and the Shadow Blade hovers in the air above it for a moment. With a gathering of shadowy energy in his palm, he thrusts his hand forward and the miasmic weapon races towards the spellcaster (flavor on thrown weapon). As the blade whirs through the air, Glyp reaches his hand up to his shell and draws a curved Scimitar from its sheath. He smiles grimly, girding himself for whatever is coming his way. This is what he trained for.
(Movement) 40 feet into the wreckage of the wagon to get within 20 feet of the spellcaster, trying to get some cover if possible
(Action) Thrown attack with Shadow Blade:
1, 7 + 5 + 3 (bless) = 15 to hit for 8 psychic damage(Bonus) None
(Free Action) Draw Scimitar
The shadow blade flips through the air, passing through the pale woman. A hand goes to her head as she grits her teeth, focusing on maintaining her spell. The raised corpses don't crumble as she holds onto her focus. She scans the area and then shouts something in the language you've heard these elves speak. The words are stilted and awkward however, as if she isn't quite fluent. Instead of turning to face you she collects her staff and strides back down the road towards her marionette corpses, which begin to shamble in your direction.
Lyra's turn.
Lyra's soft brown irises turn shadowy black once more, and this time the darkness spreads, threatening to engulf the entirety of both her eyes into depthless inky pools. She barely notices her equipment as the stuttering of fate returns it to her. As if she is focused on some higher message.
With a shake of her head, her dirty blond hair whipping back and forth, she comes to. As Lyra plays a strident chord on her black harmonica, her mouth too seems stained with shadow from the instrument like dark lipstick. Her voice, though hoarse, is yet mellifluous.
"When high and mighty powers become involved, nothing for it but to go low and kick 'em in the shins. You got this, Glyp!" (Final Bardic Inspiration).
With that, she releases another dark beam of energy at the retreating red and white elf mage (who may not be a red and white elf from her different intonation?), then retreats: N-->N-->N-->N-->NW-->NE onto the same boulder as LT. "The mage drops her concentration on the undead, we win this."
Bonus Action: Bardic Inspiration - 1d6 for Glyptemis to use.
Action: Eldritch Blast (120' range) at retreating red and white elven (or maybe something else?) mage.
Eldritch Blast plus Bless to hit: 21 + 1 = 22
Eldritch Blast damage: 7 force (DC10 concentration check for mage)
(No Forced Movement from Repelling Blast this time).
Movement: 30' N-->N-->N-->N-->NW-->NE onto the same boulder as LT.
Tanis(Ranger1): Shiverquill's Tempest City | Xarian(Fighter2): NioNSwiper's Tyranny of Dragons
Dyson/Eleo(TwilightCleric4): Vos' Beyond the Veil | Soren(ShepherdDruid5): Bartjeebus' Ravenloft | Ophelia(WildMagicSorcerer4): Ashen_Age's Risen from the Sands
Joren(EchoKnightFighter6): NotDrizzt's Simple Request | Sabetha(MercyMonk3): Bedlymn's Murder Court | Seri(NatureCleric3/DivineSoulSorcerer1): Bartjeebus' Greyhawk
The blast of dark energy slams into her shoulder blade as she retreats briefly making her stumble. Her head whips around and she glares at Lyra with glowing red eyes - but the undead forms continue to amble along.
Three of the elves sheath their weapons and jog to catch up with the spellcaster, beginning to link hands with one another.
Juno and Kalamin
Ice and bitter cold whirl around the group, and most of all it stings Juno's flesh. Reality warps and slows, the realms sundered all around in this sheen of winters wrath. But the ice isn't pale and opaque, rather a glossy mirror cracked into shards. Juno's eye widens as she struggles to take it all in. Her...she sees herself. A myriad of her in all forms...are they her though? These things, some of them sweet and touching. Others bitter and cruel. The cracks and fragments spider out into infinite possibilities, and then just as it had begun, the cracks converge and the snow and ice abate.
The wind dies and the veil lifts, revealing the whole group now adorned in their own appropriate gear and attire. Captives no more. Juno specifically breathes a sigh of relief once the cold is gone and she feels that familiar warmth upon her chest and her...side? Yes indeed, she flexes the prosthetic on her left shoulder, appearing to be a full arm sleeve of plate armor with a dull flickering light barely visible in the grooves and joints. The rest of her garb is lovely if not simple. Something appropriate for a wandering priest. What flesh can be seen is adorned with intricate tattoos stretching from her chest and neck to her arm, ending at a set of rings upon each finger.
All of reality snaps back at once and she becomes starkly aware of their situation once more.
"I can ensure these poor cursed forms stay down if we can weaken them enough first. As for their master" Her eye shifts from Kal to the elves, gripping her renewed amulet of a glorious wreath of flames.
"Lady of The Eternal Flames, let the purifying fury of your fire work through me once more. I beg of you, lend us your might and punish those who would trespass on the sanctity of life!"
(Dropping bless. I believe it was about done at this point anyway)
Movement: 30ft toward the Glyp
Action: Casting Flaming Sphere 10ft away from the elf in red, between her closes zombies and returning soldiers. (5ft diameter sphere is the space it occupies)
Bonus Action: Charging the Flaming Sphere forward to ram into the elf in red who conjured the undead. She will need to make a DC 14 Dex Save. On a fail, take 7 points of fire damage. On a success, take 3. Any creature that ends its turn within 5ft of the sphere will need to make the same save as well.
There was a familiarity with that face in the snow, tantalizing him even as reality fractured around them. As the myriad version of himself collapsed back down into one, Kalamin feels a jolt as he realizes why the woman looks so familiar. He had seen her face a thousand times - etched into the halls of the Eyrie, and carved out of stone to stand vigil over its gate. His knees weaken as he feels a compulsion to kneel.
But then the moment is gone and so is she, vanished in a flurry of snow and ice.
He refocuses on the situation at hand. Comforted by the familiar feel of the glaive in his hands he strides forward after Glyptemis. Once he's close enough to one of the undead he lashes out with the glaive once before spinning it around and striking the creature with blunt end.
Movement: 30 feet SW.
Action: Glaive Attack
To Hit: 10
Damage: 9
Bonus Action: Polearm Master Attack
To Hit: 23
Damage: 6
Reaction: Polearm Master AoO if another creature comes with 10 ft.
To Hit: 13
Damage: 13
The red-robed mage dodges out of the way of the flaming sphere, barely getting her skin singed. The distraction is enough to break her concentration however, as the undead corpses tumble to the ground motionless. Another of the elves dashes forward to join the rest of the group.
Leftenant is up again!
Leftenant raises his finger to his mouth and wets it, then holds his hand in the air, determining the wind direction and strength. As he does so, his aged eyes try to determine the distance to the mage. He is relieved to know that she has finally lost concentration on her necrotic spell controlling the zomb-elves. However, he still wants to extract revenge on their perceived captor.
He steps forward to the end of the rock (10’ movement), passing Lyra on his right, “Will only be a second missus.” To the mage, first in common to activate the spell Hunter’s Mark then in elvish for better understanding what he’s done, “I mark you here as my quarry!” (OoC: Spell has a range of 90’, I believe I need 10’ to achieve that distance. I don’t believe the spell ends if target moves out of the range. Please let me know if I am incorrect.)
He finally draws an arrow and launches it in an arc towards the mage before stepping back to his original location, turning at the last to see if his calculation was accurate or if an adjustment needs to be made in the future. To Lyra and Juno, "All yours, Ladies."
Free Action: Talking, determining range
Move: 10’ forward, then 10’ back
Bonus Action: cast Hunters Mark
Action: Attack Mage (To Hit: 20, Damage: Piercing: 7+1 Hunter’s Mark)
Reaction: N/A
Other: Colossus Slayer, Creature takes an extra 1d8 damage if below max HP (damage: 7)
To Leftenant, he sees a faint aura outline the mage now, making it much easier to track her movements. His arrow flies through the air, taking her in the ribcage. This elicits an audible grunt of pain from her.
The two elves who had charged forward at first now sheath their weapons and back off. They join their comrades and claps hands, now forming a complete circle.
Glyptemis, you're up!
I'll also take a dex save from the elf soldier person who ended their turn within 5ft of the Flaming Sphere.
Dex Save 14
Fail: 8 points fire damage
Success: 4 points fire damage
Glyptemis hops over the wreckage of the cart that he was ducking behind and runs near the gash in the ground, careful to stay far enough away from it so he doesn't slip in. "What the heck could have caused this.." He says to himself while running near. As he's running, he holds out his hand and the sinewy darkness of the Shadow Blade weaves itself together and re-appears there. He then immediately forces it to fly at the mage once more, slicing through them before it dissipates into nothingness.
(Move) Get within 20 feet of the mage, 2 or 3 blocks North of Elf A
(Bonus Action) Recall Shadow Blade
(Action) Throw Shadow Blade at Mage, 15,
10+5=20 to hit for 3+8+3=14 psychic damageFlames spark of the sphere as one of the elves gets too close - he dodges out of the way, but some of it manages to singe the skin on his face. The mage lets out a pained shriek, and she whips her head around to glare at the tortle. Blood runs from her nostrils, and a few violent spasms shake her body. She turns back around, beginning a chant of arcane words.
The rings of elves and herself grow transparent as the words of power echo throughout the clearing, until eventually they are gone entirely.
You are left alone amid the wreckage and bodies.
OoC: Out of initiative order!
Glyptemis lets go of his humming song with a deep sigh and breathes out heavily. He sheathes the scimitar behind his back, the brings both palms up to his eyes, rubbing them intensely. This is nowhere near what he had in mind when he left his village, when he was sent off with such hope and promise. Had the others felt the same? Dealt with things like this, or worse? He'd never heard of it. Best not to dwell on it for now, he's not alone here, after all. His... co-captives, they all seem so strong, and confident. Maybe he can learn a thing or two from them. For now, at least, it seems like the best thing for them to do is to stick together.
"Does ANYONE know what's going on here??" he directs the question to his companions "I mean, this is nuts, right?! And what could have caused this huge chasm?" Glyp will take a second look at the chasm to see if he can discern if it was created by something magical in nature, and what that might have been. He'd then move on to search both the bodies and the wreckage of the carts for anything that might shed some light on the situation, or anything generally useful.