the many trials of the hold
Hunched, hungry magehounds ripped, bit and dragged, but the group managed to lure and scatter them in the struggle. A focused pack would have proven deadly to any one Savior (as the gnawed Gens could attest), but divided the dogs were manageable. Psychic blasts, searing light, well-aimed shots and deft stabs slew one of the beasts after long, provoking a slight twitch from the previously emotionless inquisitor.
The twitch became a grimace became a growl as the battle wore on, and after Kenner lost his tuning fork and two fingers, a bloody red light ignited within him. Narra recognized it as the psychic manifestation of his rage, which he apparently kept in check through a therapeutic relationship with the hounds. As he and the dogs succumbed to the Saviors' punishment, those mental shackles fell away, unleashing the furious radiance which illuminated his innards, quickly eroded his flesh, and spilled forth from every wound to sear the wounder. After Gens opened the Norsman's belly and Anita landed a monumental shot between his eyes, his earthly shell split and crumbled, revealing a hateful manifestation of red, fiery fury. Heat blasted throughout the kennel, the light intensified till it burned, and the psionic apparition exploded with a wild shout.
As the smoke and ash cleared, the party discovered the manifestation vanished, the dogs incinerated, and Gens burnt and motionless on the floor. They quickly moved to administer aid, but Gens' eyelids fluttered open. Thankfully he was alive, but was he himself? Hazel, yellowed and bloodshot eyes not his own rolled about in his sockets. An old man's voice grated up his throat, and he smiled. "You are doing very well. Very well indeed."
Narra shivered as the eyes lingered on her...
Kaylan prayed for aid and bathed her childhood friend and sometimes lover in Kalinda's holy light. The unclean presence was cast out of him with a shudder and exhalation. It seemed whenever someone lost consciousness, their body became a potential vessel for this psychic entity. In short: no sleeping.
The group was slow to recover in the wake of so much death. Anita's voice had been ruined by the shot and, while Kalinda's blessing had closed the wound, scar tissue shaped like a tropical bird-of-paradise bloomed across her throat. Tyvis blamed himself. Narra feared what truths might wait in the bottom of this laboratory, certain they'd reveal things about her, things she wasn't sure she wanted to remember. Gens had brushed with oblivion just then, never an easy thing to come to terms with, and Kaylan tended his wounds with soft light and salves, grimly certain her healing art would be put to the test before they were finished here.
Just then something flitted in the shadows, causing everyone to tense. It was only Dewdrop, if it can ever only be Dewdrop. The nixie princess looked dazzling, even dancing over gristle and bones. Noticing the gloom pervading the group, she continued her ballet. At first it was a macabre dance whilst she painted herself in ash and placed a dog's skull on her head, but quickly turned festive and upbeat as Gens played and Narra sung. Dewdrop inspired each party member to take the arms of their neighbors and dance, and despite the dangerous environs, fun and pleasantry was had.
The more they danced, the more things began to change. The filth and ruin of the kennel dissipated and whole sections of floor, wall and ceiling were replaced with a faerie ballroom: patches of mosaics mural, swaths of marble, chandeliers, even an insubstantial masquerade crowd. The women of the group found themselves in sequin dresses, with makeup and done-up hair. The men were in black tuxedos, hair slicked back. They laughed and spun and danced, actually lifting off the ground, abandoning gravity for frivolity, and continued their fun up the walls and on the ceiling. Gens treated his apprentice to a private dance, proving as skilled with his feet as with his hands. Tyvis and Anita danced off on their own, the Archdruid professing his love.
And Narra, not to be left out, was gently tapped on the shoulder and asked to dance. She turned to accept the invitation, only to have the bloated, fetid and juicy corpse puppet set against her during the revenge of the Dead Dogs fall into her. She screamed as it liquefied into a rancid stew, and suddenly everyone was falling. The party startled awake to find the kennel still in its dismal state, Dewdrop weeping softly in the blackened bones. She'd spun a faerie glamour to help lighten their moods, but it'd all been ruined by the invasive psychic entity. She shrunk down to the size of a butterfly and sequestered herself in Gens pack.
Though the nixie was too emotional to notice, her illusions had taken some of the edge off delving into this terrible place, and the party, renewed, ventured into the next chamber. Another large cargo hold, this one was flooded ankle-deep with river water and plank walkways had been laid, crisscrossing around a bend and presumably to the laboratory.
With the welcomed sight of an empty room, Anita had no problems moving forward and testing the walkway, almost laughing at what monster might be lurking next. She found out quickly enough, thrown into the air by the planks themselves, even as they tore up and rearranged into eight-foot hulks of wood, nets and rope.
Narra sensed the psychic entity at work, acting as puppetmaster and directing the sopping, muddy and reed-tangled guardians via powerful psionics. However investing so much into their being left him vulnerable, and with every landed blow the puppetmaster felt a backlash. So too the Saviors, for whenever they were crushed by mast-like arms, animated splinters, hooks, nails, and wriggling crab parts leaped off the hulks and bored beneath their flesh like ravenous worms.
Water sprayed and wood buckled wherever the constructs tread, forming shields to absorb bullets, teeth and sword swings, and preventing even the quickest in the party from utilizing their speed. The ground itself betraying them with every step, heaving and reassembling. When they did manage to pierce the constructs' dizzying defenses, they would tantrum, pummeling everyone around them and implanting their rusty, digging payloads. Under the puppetmaster's direction, they even managed to divide the party, Narra and Kaylan backed against one wall, and the others herded the opposite way.
It wasn't until Anita shattered the left arm of one of the constructs with an incredible shot that the party was able to regain control of the battle, Gens taking the opening to aid the girls south, in turn allowing Narra room to escape to a safer distance. Out of the range of those flailing arms, the party's artillery was able to call down proper punishment through telekenetics and conjured winds, Tyvis managing an especially concussive blast that send a construct sprawling through a wall and into pieces.
The surviving hulk would not go down easily, despite the compounded attacks against it, and ended up trading blow for blow with the changeling until Gens collapsed. It loomed over him, looking ready to stomp the life out of the pale prince, but Tyvis called upon his old friend Sinida one last time in a blaze of glorious fire. She shrieked and dived, lodging herself deep within the construct's chest, burning out its innards in a billowy plume and blackening boards. The monster roared, swinging wildly, stumbling every which way and allowing each party member, even Narra with her staff, to land a blow. Still it endured, but the appearance of the firebird and the urgency to protect Gens inspired a rare miracle from the prophet, empowering Sinida with Kalinda's light, causing her to grow into a full fledged phoenix, and with a flourish of flaming wings and piercing cry she utterly ruined the wooden animate.
Narra wasted no time, sweeping in to administer proper aid as Kaylan recovered from her massive expenditure of power, but before the Norswoman could so much as check his pulse his eyes flicked open, again the old man's. This time he sounded much less amused, but welcomed them all the same to the lower levels. The Saviors had proven themselves worthy additions to their collection, prime candidates for distillation.
As the old man laughed through Gens, the changeling began to spasm and cough up blood. His cheeks sunk and the already dark circles around his eyes deepened further. He was dying. Kaylan, hobbling forward, forcefully slapped a hand over his furrowed brow and again banished the entity, this time with a painful cry that rang across the chamber. Slowly the bard stirred...
Experience: 2840 xp each ( 58,170 total; LEVEL UP 15!)
Encounter C: magehounds, Inquisitor Kenner, 5500
Encounter D: driftwood constructs, 4400
RP Bonus, 4000
Magic: Kenner's Tuning Fork (Gens)
Kenner's Tuning Fork
This orium tuning fork resonates the will of the holder as a barely-audible hum.
Level: 15
Price: 25,000
Special: Must be held
Wondrous Item
Property: Gain a +2 bonus to attacks with the charm keyword and those bestowing the dominated condition.
Coin: n/a
Loot: n/a
Next Session
86a: The party takes its first steps in the Sodden Hold laboratory, bracing for an eventual confrontation with the 'puppetmaster', devils, the Grand Inquisitor and perhaps even the circus master. Somewhere in the dank depths innocent victims are in need of saving, and an infernal 'distillation' machine in need of destroying.
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