Part 3: The Night Begins

 

Left to your own devices now, the three of you, masters of power, magic, and mystique, make your way into the outskirts of the town. It's impossible to not draw attention.

 

Nathbryn doesn't even bother, giving a rather royal wave to a small group of nursemaids and a priest. A few kids running by slam into one another, stunned by the sight of the massive dragonborn waltzing down the street. Whispers and gasps of excitement from some of the women (and men) as the name Tempest buzzes upon their lips.

 

And of course... Whyrvoar, a sight not often seen outside of orc warbands, draws a massive amount of gasps and awe. He shakes his head, wiggling his ears as they flop side to side. He seems antsy again, but controlled--thankfully from the skilled hand of his partner, as well as the exhausting run through the desert earlier in the day. His eyes roam the streets and gaze up at the mountain peak.

 

"Well, you definitely know we're here. Just... popping in for a quick visit, everyone." Nathbryn addresses the crowd, one hand on her hip and the other gesturing to the citizens. "Nothing to worry about folks, uh, just sight-seeing."

 

A few men look among one another, uneasy. Several dusty orc traders hastily pack their wares from the end of the street, trying to not make a scene. A tall, cocky woman strides forward. She sticks out her hand. She's almost Nathbryn's height at least, which is fairly noticeable, and the drow gingerly shakes it.

 

She cracks a big smile. "Name's Jarna. Jarna von Helm. Welcome to Verhold, sight-seers." She grins, her curly brown hair bouncing around her face. "We relish new faces. It's quite a walk from The Glass City. Y'all need a drink at the Devil's Gambit? Or would you like to speak with Priestess Ava? She helps lead the law here."

 

Nemmonis keeps her astral wings tightly tucked against her back, putting one paw laxly on the pummel of her dark sword, calm but ready for anything from these people

 

She looks expectedly at the tempest

 

"We're on somewhat of a time frame, so probably best to go straight to the Priestess." Alrik says, stepping forward next to his fellow Mage Guard Elite and dropping his hood.

 

Anyone who knows The Tempest for his true self knows this is a different side of him. He's removed the fabric covering his rank insignias and somehow seems to be both calm and on high alert at the same time. He's not trying to hide who he is, but rather using the notoriety to his advantage. His clothes are clean and free of dust, even with the trek across the sandy wastes. He's standing upright and formal. No, to those that know him, this side is something to be feared, for in this moment, the mage before you isn't Alrik... this mage is The Tempest. Storm magic incarnate. Militaristic order wrapped around an uncontrollable cyclone of raw fury. This man is 100% business...

 

Jarna flexes her arms a bit, backing up with them held in welcome. "As the Elite says, then. I can take you to her."

 

She leads you past a group of people, including a grumbling older man in his 40s. He holds a resolute set to his jaw, making a very large scar on his neck more pronounced. He holds a pitchfork, and with stray bits of hay in his thinning hair, you are most certain he's a farmer.

 

To be honest, a lot of those around here seem to be farmers--you can see pastures to the edge of town, most closest to the edge of the mountain. The shade from its peak blocking the harshest of the midday sun, it keeps the minimal crops from wilting away.

 

You approach the center of town where the church sits, squarely amid all the surrounding homes as a focal point for the community. It appears built up, fortified in a way, a safe haven against raging sandstorms and basilisks.

 

In the front promenade of the churchyard, you see a woman in white and red vestments. She kneels, tending some flowers with children around the feet of a beautiful statue. It is exquisitely carved, flawless and beautiful, a female warrior with her sword raised up by her side. She stares determinedly at the high mountain peaks.

 

The woman gardening stands, brushing her hands clean on her apron.

 

"Hello, Priestess Ava!"

 

"Hello, Jarna. Who are our guests?" Her smile is as warm as her honey-colored hair. "You are welcomed here in Verhold this day, and blessed in the sight of Saint Sofia. What can I do for you?"

 

Alrik steps forward, gesturing to each of his travel partners in turn. "This is Master Nathbryn T'sossz, The Scourge. Over here we have Princess Nemmonis of Skyhold. I am Alrik Voltaire, The Tempest." He nods his head slightly before continuing.

 

"The Scourge and myself are here in regards to Witch Moons... I'm not totally sure what the purpose of Nemmonis being here, save her kingdom is growing and she's been asked to keep in the know of political changes."

 

Nemmonis raises an eyebrow silently but says nothing. It’s technically not a lie after all

 

 

Priestess Ava bows to you three, gesturing pleasantly to the statue shining beside her.

 

"Saint Sofia watches over us, and your journey here. We are most grateful for your attendance with us. The Witch Moons hold a place in many deep mythos of the Komodori. The gnolls in the south especially praise them, as their brightness and power grant them boons of the night. As for us, alas, it will be an interesting record for the books."

 

Jarna smiles and waves, dismissing herself from the small group. Ava smiles again. "Is there anything I can provide to you? Are you interested in the documents we have stored here? Another of your order came through here several moons ago as well. We may be a small town, but our library is extensive."

Feb 13, 2023, 10:21 AM

Chantry

 

The Tempest, having an idea of who was here earlier, gives a curt nod. "Perhaps reviewing the books that were previously looked at could be beneficial." He glances at Nathbryn, knowing that she too, knows how The Enigma will hide her own notes in books, scrolls, and texts for those who follow after her. "This other from The Mage Guard... was it by chance an elderly gnome woman?"

 

"I believe it was... she was quiet, but purposeful. Didn't seem like she wanted to be noticed, much. Came in with a small caravan. She spent, two, three days here I believe?"

 

Priestess Ava beckons you to come inside with her. Down a beautifully lit hall to the left, you see an extensive library. Scrolls are lined along the walls in groups, organized perfectly.

 

 

"Anywhere in particular that she spent a majority of her time?" The Tempest asks as he glances around at the scrolls.

 

If he were here for any other reason than something as potentially world-threatening, he would inquire about storm magics, the origins of Deaavhmounav, among other things... but that would have to wait. Alrik's questions aren't the focus right now.

 

She brushes her hand across the scrolls as she looks. "Mostly historical documents I believe? Memoirs of the town, of the City of Whistling Glass. Historical content of the nomadic tribes, though on that, there is not much written."

 

She gestures to several areas you can search. "I was surprised; with how extensive the library is where you're from, I was honored she chose to meet with us."

 

The priestess bows again and leaves you three to your peace, trusting your station to keep the library safe. You peruse the shelves, looking for anything that might be disturbed. You grab the scrolls that she had pointed out--but surprisingly, no symbols were marked on these documents. No clues, hints, or blessings from the Enigma. Which in itself is... an enigma. Unless that's what she truly wanted.

 

Nathbryn looks over your shoulder at several as they come off the shelves and go back up. She makes a hmm noise under her breath, grabbing another scroll delicately from a shelf.

 

"Maybe she was comparing records with the ones in the order? Looking for anything unique she might be able to record. Or.. copy. Steal. I don't know what she does, really. I just know that fucking bibliotheca is huge, and I feel claustrophobic going there."

 

The Tempest nods, clearly aggravated at the lack of understanding why The Enigma was here. "Agreed. That damned library the Guard has assembled is foreboding to say the least, and good luck finding what you're looking for unless Breehani happens to be there to tell you where it is."

 

He growls exasperatedly as he pushes the scroll he was reading back from him. "This is fucking pointless. None of this makes sense. Why was Breehani here? What was she looking for? There are no added notes, no little pieces of paper sticking out, hell... not even anything scrawled in the margins! Coming here was an absolute waste of time. All I've learned is that this Witch Moons nonsense is a clusterfuck waiting to happen. Legends contradict one another and stories contrast even more once you start adding different cultures or nomadic beliefs."

 

Alrik stands up and kicks the chair back under the table, clearly not happy with the situation as he turns to look at The Scourge. "Basically what I'm saying here is... we're going in blind and have zero fucking backup..."

 

Nemmonis sniffs the air and looks around bleakly

 

“I am your backup. Point and I’ll bite it in half. Do you know what this other mage smelled like by chance? You magic users always have a sent”

 

Alrik taps his fist on the table a few times, thinking it over. "Not really sure how to explain it in a way that makes sense... an old tea shop, maybe? Honey, tea, musty books?"

 

Nathbryn snorts. "Perfect way to describe her. I don't think I've ever seen her without a cup of tea. Except at tribunals... then she's extra grumpy."

 

Nemmonis focus on those things in her mind and inhales deeply through her nose

 

You are hit with an intense smell of musty books. The tomes here are old, at least to you. You don't smell honey, or anything of sweetness--but tea? You believe there's something of the sort. An herbal concoction of steeped plants. It tickles the back of your nose, making your scales tingle.

 

Trying to trace the smell she mutters to her comrades, “I found a small hint of some herbal mix…I don’t know if it’s your gal of course but…”

 

Alrik shrugs, looking at The Scourge. "I guess it could be. More of a lead than we've got currently, so I guess it's worth a shot."

 

Nathbryn pats Nemmonis on the shoulder in a silent small gratitude, passing by her in the cramped room to the small window.

 

"Well it's interesting she was here before we were. Given what we were asked to do, but I suppose books are more her forte. So we just, what? Relax til this evening?" She stares outside and mutters under her breath, "God it's fucking bright outside..."

 

Alrik looks at Nathbryn, smirking as his eyes spark slightly. "I can fix that, y'know..."

 

He drags a chair out and stands up on it, looking on one of the upper shelves for anything interesting, pertaining to their situation or otherwise. "All you gotta do is ask... you know that."

 

Rolling her eyes she makes a sick gagging noise

 

Alrik turns and looks at Nemmonis with a slight confused look. "I'm a Storm Caller... I can make clouds appear... there's nothing gross about that, is there?" He looks at Nathbryn, still maintaining the confused look.

 

The teenagers eyes widen and she try’s to recover

 

“I thought you were talking about something else…..apologies.”

 

Alrik chuckles and shakes his head slightly. "No need to apologize... but we're working. That happens later. Usually." He smirks at Nathbryn

 

"Well, Alrik sure does like to try to drench things everywhere he goes, that's for sure." Nathbryn raises an eyebrow and starts perusing the bottom shelf for anything else.

 

Nemmonis looks down as if a little self conscious and clears her throat

 

“How about we check out that local watering hole? It’ll pass time and maybe your lady went in there? You never know.”

 

The Scourge gives a brief, queer look at her niece before quickly hiding it.

 

"True enough. Maybe she hoped something called the "Devil's Gambit" had some sinfully good tea."

 

Alrik snorts. "Breehani? No way in hell she'd ever be caught in a place like that." He drops down off the chair, a scroll in his hands. "But, a drink does sound nice. Musty as hell down here."

 

"I'm game." Nathbryn glances at the scroll. "What'da got there?"

 

"Nothing you'd be super interested in... just something about storm magics of the area." He sets it on the table and rolls it out, briefly looking it over before sighing and rolling it back up. "Nothing different from the library at the Guard..."

 

He stands back up on the chair and puts the scroll back. "One of these days I'll find something..."

 

She tucks that comment away for later, curious about what's going on with her two companions. With a shrug she waves them both through the door out.

 

"Come on, this whole room is stuffy and not just from the books. Let's get some drinks."

 

*  *  *  *  * 

 

The trip to the bar was uneventful, other than the many interested persons flooding around you to ask about the Mage Guard, give their two cents about the war, or ask for favors or healing. A few coins exchange hands as Nathbryn hands out little vials, but other than that you now find yourself at a cozy stone table in the Devil's Gambit. A local bard squeaks out a rendition of a famous song, put to the words of "Old Charger," named endearingly after the large stuffed boar above the fireplace.

 

A kindly round of applause circles around the inn as another song starts up. Nathbryn takes a drink of a fruity green liquor.

 

Nemmonis goes and casually leans against a wall, enjoying the environment from afar. It’s not out of awkwardness, but an appreciation of other people enjoying themselves. Merry moments are rare after all

 

Alrik flips open a nearby window as he lights a cigarette and takes a long drag, exhaling a violent storm cloud that wisps away through the open window. His back to the corner, observing everyone within the tavern. It's not unusual for him as he's nearly always on edge, but with the upcoming Witch Moon, having little to no idea what could happen, and having no backup should things go completely wrong have him even more on edge than normal.

 

(In case you haven't picked up on it, the way his smoke exhale looks is a pretty good indicator as to his mood. Lol)

Atriox

 

(Huh that’s a neat idea chant)

Chantry

 

(I've seeded all sorts of little stuff like that with Alrik... it's fun to see if y'all pick up on them. Haha)

 

The night falls around the town. Ever so slowly, one fat, red-soaked moon rises low over the vale. Then soon after, the 2nd enters the sky. Like glowing eyes on the horizon, they peer down upon the community, soaking the dunes in a bloody glow. More drinks pass around and chatter continues unabated. Until....

 

A violent tremor crashes through the town, sending chairs scattering and lanterns swinging. Screams suddenly fill the room. You're each thrown off balance as a deep roar echoes into the night. This ominous, ear-shattering noise is followed by a rattling quake that shakes the whole vale, as if the mountain itself is rending itself from its roots.

 

Alrik leans against the wall and uses it to help himself stand, throwing his hood back. "Nathbryn, looks like we're up!" He shouts as he jumps through the open window. (17 acrobatics)

 

As he lands, the air around him is filled with the scent of ozone and exotic fruits as his outstretched hand is struck with lightning, leaving his gnarled staff in its place. The Storm Caller stands, rushing to the open city street awaiting his traveling companions. As he slides to a halt in the dust, he lets out a sharp whistle, followed by a cry in orcish... a war rhino call.

 

Smiling grimly and letting out what’s almost a draconic purr, Nemmonis runs outside after the storm caller. As she runs she happily unsheathes her most treasured possession….Dawn’s Strife.

 

The modified hand and a half long sword is enlarged to fit her hands, the blade made entirely out of Damascus steel and engulfed in swirling light and dark magic. On the pommel and at the end of the cross guard are diamond stars.

 

She takes up position watching his back and looking around

 

The church’s bell tower begins clanging. Screaming fills the night as villagers pour out into the streets. You stare up at the mountain above, the sky clogging with thick cloud. The top of Devil’s Peak splits open before your eyes, like an unholy birth from a cocoon. Two enormous, leathery wings as wide as the mountain is tall unfurl, casting a jagged moon shadow over the valley.

 

All three of you watch helplessly as a titanic, flame-eyed devil rises out of the mountain’s peak. He stretches his blue-black wings wide. Villagers rush past you to the church, bell continuing to clamor, people in their nightgowns and clutching wailing children. Others push hobbling elders along, struggling to get to safety. A few old men yell with reedy, trembling voices, “Tchernabog rises! Get to the church!”

 

Then, the colossal devil grins, basking in the chaos unfolding below. He slowly begins to lift his hands.

 

The church’s clamoring bell tower rises high over Verhold like a beckoning ward. It's thick masonry supports pointed spires and a façade carved with weeping angels, which once looked so peaceful during the day--now seemed horribly intense in the red evening.

 

Villagers rush through the courtyard, swarming around the beautiful statue of St. Sofia and her raised sword. The red moonlight writhes and coils like smoke in the statue’s eyes.

 

You see Priestess Ava at the church door, hurrying villagers inside. “May the bravery of St. Sofia guide us in our hour of greatest need!" She cries out, looking over at you three with a terrified expression.

 

"Please! Help us! Please get everyone safely inside!"

 

As Whyrvoar approaches, Alrik looks at The Scourge. "Nathbryn, you get your ass on that rhino and if this starts going sideways, you ride like hell for the coastline. You send a letter to Jaundree, and you get the hell out of here." He looks at her, his eyes alight with a raging storm.

 

"Nemmonis, we've got to protect these people. You've got wings, but so does that thing. No matter what happens, we can't let it get away..." he turns to look at her, the Storm in his eyes flashing even more violently, now with lightning arcing out of them and across his scar.

 

Finally, as he raises his staff and shouts above the thunder rolling, he yells to both of them, "Breehani never hears about this!"

 

The Scourge almost tries to argue but can't. She stares at the colossal devil, lost for words. A cold wind gusts through the streets now, whipped up by his cruel hands.

 

"Fine, but you two better fucking live through this or I swear to Lolth I will murder you!"

 

She reluctantly slips atop the war rhino, using all her focus to try to calm the beast. He's incredibly irritated, understandably, and his recent mis-behavior seems very apparently caused now.

 

The screaming wind rises now. Nemm, you realize this is as unholy as can be... while you watch the stretched faces of dead spirits being ripped out of their graves from the nearby cemetery. Up and up they go, spinning into a hurricane of ghosts filling the dark sky around Verhold. The screams of humans fill your ears as they trample past one another, struggling to find safety.

Atriox replied to Chantry

 

You both hear crashes and howls erupting from around you. The unholy wind seems charged with necrotic power. From the hurricane fly beastly phantasms, wights with gaping maws in an eternal scream. You count at least three heading directly for the innocents struggling to get into the church. Skeletons claw their way free from the soil of their graves, and within a few minutes the town center will be overrun.

 

Alrik raises his staff above his head, looking up at the massive, billowing storm clouds above. Roaring over the wind, screams, and shrieks surrounding the town, he calls to someone... or something... He yells something in a long-dead language, the final word being "Sturmgrimm" the only one you're able to really make out... but those are just myth, right?

 

The Storm clouds erupt in a massive flash of lightning in every direction... as something emerges from within... descending right toward Alrik...

 

Nemmonis moves to head off the flying spirits immediately

 

Alrik points his staff at the giant demon, speaking to the bird descending from the storm. "Distract that fuck! Keep it from attacking the town!"

 

With that, he rushes toward a nearby group of cowering people and throws his hand out, hundreds of tiny lightning orbs springing from it and zipping towards the skeletons and wights approaching them.

 

The great winged creature flashes in the lightning filling the sky, screeching in understanding. It flaps its multi-winged body with the next powerful updraft and heads right toward Devil's Peak.

 

Nemmonis, you race to catch up to a couple of the wights converging on the humans. The humans cower in fear, one being pinned beneath a wignt's cold icy grip, and plunging its hand through his chest. The man, a middle-aged farmer, convulses from the interaction and lays still, eyes rolling up in his head.

 

One flies freely right in front of you, heading toward a female orc struggling to carry a child. She has a bad limp, and is almost set upon.

 

Alrik, your magic missiles converge on the nearest skeletons, zipping and flashing through them like fireworks. A few shudder and fall, but others turn into human torches.

 

Nemmonis folds into a deadly tuck making an arc with her sword

 

Townspeople Alive: 145

Townspeople Save in Church Walls: 48

Priestess Ava: Alive

Wights: 4

Skeletons: 22

Ghosts: Endless

 

The several flaming skeletons hit from the magic missiles collapse and writhe in the streets, rotting flesh still clinging to their bones now turning into charcoal and ash. Their open maws gape toward the moons, howling silently into the sky. One wight, pelted with 2 of the missiles, has its chest ripped open from the back to front. The energy of its body coalesces, struggling to stitch the holes as it screeches its way to Alrik, seeking to wrap its fingers around his neck. (12 to hit with Life Drain when in range of you)

 

Nemmonis's sword, flickering fast with light and shadow, flashes through the air leaving a streak of energy in its wake. It cleaves into the wight about to wrap its icy dead fingers around the woman and child. Mist from its body showers the dragonborn, ectoplasm and wrath dripping from her arms. The sword remains stuck in the wight, near death, as it contorts its body to turn toward Nem. Head clicking to one side, it draws itself up on the blade to grab ahold of one of her writsts. The grip is deathly cold and like needles under your scales (15 to hit with Life Drain).

 

Nemmonis growls angrily and backhands the foul thing with her arm spikes off her sword. She growls triumphantly and looks for her second prey

 

Move into position, and when the skeleton horde is in sight, cast 2x lightning bolts by using quickened spell and also using careful spell to only target baddies.)

 

Nemmonis, you catch sight of Alrik not too far away--as lightning surges up his body from his boots, up his legs, and down his crackling arms. Two bolts, one after another, lance right past a group of people ducking between the buildings. It flashes over their heads, drowning out their screams of panic. It rips apart the wight attempting to strangle him, and lights up a row of orcish skeletons as bright as daylight. It explodes its way through one, then another, and another, tearing apart all eight like a lance. The brightness from the attack lights up the sorcerer's body as well, and you're certain you see spikes running up his arms too--tearing through his jacket, like hammered-copper coins. His eyes glow with an eerie bright light, and his teeth gleam. In all the stories you'd grown up hearing about The Tempest, you're not sure you've heard... this.

 

Focusing your power on what's around you, you see another three skeletons converging on a group of women--circling them with hunger, laughing and cackling madly at their torment, their bones cracking and clanging against their weapons. One raises a broken spear, set to skewer one of the humans like a pig.

 

Townspeople Alive: 145

Townspeople Save in Church Walls: 67

Priestess Ava: Alive

Wights: 3

Skeletons: 22 (8 new ones killed, back to 22)

Ghosts: Endless

 

All the while, a screeching call flies high above your heads amid the cries of the ghosts swirling about. The great Strumgrimm darts its way between the hordes, letting off monstrous amounts of energy at the top of the mountain. It skitters off the wings of the great devil like forge fire, barely turning his attention from his beautiful, horrible orchestration of destruction.

 

Nemmonis growls and flicks her wrist in an arc ending in the direction of the skeleton who poses the immediate threat, as she does a massive tail seems to extend from her arm and slams into the undead blighter threatening the woman

 

The ethereal tail glows a completely different color than the wings tucked at her back--chaotic energy rippling through it like a wave. It smashes down on the skeleton's head, crushing him against the sandstone road with a sickening crunch. The light in its undead eyes instantly goes out with a fizzle.

 

The women scream and flee from the other skeletons, who don't seem to care that their comrade has fallen. As they're chased, you hear a great deal of wicked howls and screams from behind the church--the local cemetery--and a deep, powerful banging. Monsters are trying to break in to murder the townsfolk inside and bring them as gifts to the witchmoon revelry.

 

Nathbryn scoops up one villager after another, lithely depositing them on the back of the war rhino. He is at his breaking point with fear, but spurred on by a job to do he tramples through the streets, crushing bones and corrupt sinew. She guides him every minute back to the church to deposit the rescued with the priestess.

Chantry

 

Nemm spears another of the undead with dawns strife (19 to hit 23 damage)

 

Alrik quickly rounds up the townsfolk around him and begins guiding them to the church, throwing fire bolts and shimmering  lightning-covered orbs of... something as they move. (Spending however many turns it takes to get all the folks around him to the church. Firebolt and eldritch blast, both have a range of 240ft due to spell sniper and firebolt is 2d10, eldritch is 1d10)

 

Townspeople Alive: 145

Townspeople Save in Church Walls: 130

Priestess Ava: Alive, Bleeding

Wights: 3

Skeletons: 17

Ghosts: Endless

 

Nemmonis' deathly bright weapon rips through the spinal vertebrae of another skeleton, causing it to crumple into a heap. Its arms and legs continue to convulse in its attempt to move toward the church and the large body of life currently fleeing there, but tendrils of black shadow leak from Dawn's Strife and suffocate the necrotic life out of the corpse.

 

Alrik successfully rounds up at least a dozen more townsfolk, his body crackling with energy as the fire and lightning leaves his claws. The skin on his arms cracks open and heals over in places, ripping  and mending from the draconic energy coursing through it.

 

You hear the priestess cry from inside, "No! Careful now, they're trying to break through! Keep that door closed with all your strength!"

 

Nemm takes into the air again and launches herself to the back of the church to see what’s going on

Chantry

 

Alrik whistles to the approaching Whyrvoar and makes a gesture with his hands as he readies himself for some airtime.

 

Whyrvoar gets the signal, although Nathbryn isn't sure what it is until she sees the two of them coming straight at you. Her eyes go wide as you leap up on his head, then get thrown skyward. 

 

(How 'bout no? Feather fall. Lol)

(Safely on the roof? Haha)

DM:

(........Yes XD

 

DM:

You both look out at the back of the church to see a great deal of chaos. Skeletons and Wights converge from every corner of the graveyard. Several are at the door, pounding away. Each hit cracks the wood just a little more. From within, you can hear the shouts and sobs of the villagers, as well as very heated arguing. It's difficult to discern exactly what is being said though.

 

Nemmonis roars angrily from above and dive bombs strafing the area in front of the door with fire

Chantry

 

Alrik sprints to the other side of the roof, looking over the edge at the back of the church, his draconian features giving his face a very sinister sneer. "Cover your ears!" The Tempest roars, his voice amplified by the storms above. (Basically prestidigitation to increase his volume and range of voice)

 

As the skeletons and wights look up (hopefully... lol) at him, he leaps from the roof, landing in as densely populated area as he can before vanishing again in a massive flash of lightning followed by an earth-shaking thunderclap...

 

Townspeople Alive: 142

Townspeople Save in Church Walls: 130

Priestess Ava: Alive, Bleeding, Injured

Wights: 2

Skeletons: 10

Ghosts: Endless

 

The immense destruction rocks the ground of the once sacred cemetery, the thunderous explosion sending cracks and rivulets through the earth.  The very foundations of the buildings around you shake, sending shingles falling from the rooftops and cracks rippling up the walls. Skeletons crumple in heaps, and another wight shatters to pieces.

 

The fire from Nemmonis erupts from her mouth in a gout of white-hot flame, roasting skeletons closest to the back door and those along one side of the cemetery. Their blackened husks twitch as they try to walk a few more steps before disintegrating. Some of the dry plantlife in the cemetery catches fire, leaving small pockets of light flickering in its wake.

 

Voices sound louder now from the front, and you can make out Jarna von Helm, the woman from earlier, being extremely fierce with the same grouchy old man from earlier.

 

"We're better off getting out of Verhold before more undead rise!! You know that, Martin!"

 

"This is the strongest fortification for miles, Jarn! Our best chance is here!"

 

"In a crumbling church?! We have injured, we have to get somewhere that's safer, I have a--"

 

"You would be leading them to their death! Look around us!" He waves a pitchfork, emphasizing his points. "At least here we can weather the onslaught! Barricade the doors! And Saint Sofia will protect those of us who keep the faith!"

 

"I swear you are such a coward Martin Bolvinsky! You lack initiative! You're going to get people killed here!"

 

It sounds like this argument will come to blows soon. Priestess Ava tries to cut in, struggling to calm them both. Her arm is bleeding with several deep cuts, and she has a blackened eye.

 

Nemmonis circles to the front and swoops into the door to see what’s going on

 

Upon seeing Alva she rushes up to her without explaining and gently puts a clawed hand on her shoulder, closing her eyes and curing her wounds.

 

Alrik glances behind him to check on Nathbryn, Whyrvoar, and the Sturmgrimm.

 

Ava eagerly accepts your help, the wounds on her arm feeling soothed and the bleeding coming to a stop. She places a hand on your breastplate. "Saint Sofia bless you, thank you child."

 

She looks nervously between the two fighting, Jarna shoving Martin in the chest. The crowd is becoming rowdier.

 

Nathbryn and Whyrvoar can't be seen, but you can hear it trampling through the streets. Knowing her, she's gone to look for more survivors to bring to the church. Up in the sky, it is too windy and crowded with ghosts now to be able to spot the Sturmgrimm.

Chantry

 

Not seeing Nathbryn or Whyrvoar, The Tempest goes to the front of the church and carefully scales down the lowest point to try and prevent getting hurt when he Inevitably falls or loses his footing. (11 acrobatics)

 

Alrik catches the lip of one of the eves, just barely hanging on to one of the garish little angel statues. Slipping down to the ground, you land in a frail sort of bush, taking minimal damage. (2 damage)

 

Alrik quickly stands up, dusting himself off as he rushes inside to join Nemmonis. "Arguing isn't going to do anyone any good. You each have 30 seconds to present your idea." The Tempest points to the woman they earlier met. "You first. Go. Give me your idea."

 

Jarna grumbles, jabbing a finger at Martin. The old, scarred man glares at her.

 

"He wants to stay here while that THING swirls above us? What the absolute fuck? We need to get OUT of here. The City of Glass is too far, but there's a small fort outside Verhold of mine I can get citizens to."

 

"See that's what the problem is," Martin butts in. "You think that will be any safer than here? You think you can escape THAT?" He points above them. "We need to keep the faith, stay here and shelter in place!"

 

"Oh gods Martin, you've always been a stubborn old goat! Ava! Please?!"

 

The priestess looks taken aback, glancing between everyone. She looks past, seeing the practically smoking statue of her saint.

 

"I... believe safety is found with Saint Sofia."

 

Jarna grumbles, looking angrily at Martin again.

Chantry

 

Alrik immediately turns to the old man. "Martin, was it? Your turn. 30 seconds. Spill it."

 

"This building is fortified! It was build up by my father's father." He looks at Priestess Ava imploringly. "If we have faith, in our forefathers and in our patrons, we will survive this night."

 

Jarna growls under her breath. "Enough faith bullshit!" 

 

She pulls back and punches Martin in the face.

 

Alrik growls and barks at both of them. "That's it! You! Over there. I mean it. You punch someone, you get treated like an infant. That's right... you're in time out now." (Holy shit... uhh... 29 intimidate? Lol)

Chantry

 

Someone else jumped up to hold back Jarna, and someone else grabbed Martin by the arm--but at your voice everyone stops and the two angerly stomp off to fume in their respective corners. The room looks divided, one potion content to stay and another eager to follow Jarna out of here.

Chantry

 

"Now, someone who can LOGICALLY explain why you'd leave versus why you'd stay... front and center." He says loudly, as he turns and scans the room for someone who looks like they're not terrified, pissed off, or just straight up dumb.

 

Nemmonis sidles up to him and whispers

 

“Respectfully I think the situation is plain. Why are we letting the sheep decide when we’re the ones fighting for them? Though I want to know more about this fort…”

 

Alrik nods slightly. "Exactly why I'm asking. We don't know the details. Is this building truly fortified or is it one good hit away from crumbling around our fucking ears? Is this fort an actual fort or just some shithole with a couple sharpened sticks in the ground?"

 

The crowd grows uneasier, their mouthpieces silenced. Jarna glares at the back of Alrik's head, fuming. "I trust in my damn fortifications."

 

Looking between everyone and the door, she purposefully strides out.

 

Growing unease fills the room, and... a great number of individuals follow after Jarna von Helm.

 

"May the gods have mercy on us all," Priestess Ava calmly replies. You can see her heart hurts, but she cannot prevent them from making that choice.

 

Nemm quickly looks around and says “would it not be better to keep them together? A larger force to attack for our enemies and if she is so adamant about her fortifications and she’s seen in here and left…… I think we’d better go with and bring these people”

 

Heavy thumps strike the roof of the church. Claws skitter along the eaves, and clay shingles crash to the ground...

 

Keening, female voices fill the air outside...

 

Alrik groans and nods. "If this fucking desert has taught me anything, it's you keep your people together." Alrik sneers at the sounds of the roof, scowling angrily. "Once those goddamned creatures are gone, we are leaving."

 

The Tempest pulls his hood up over his head and calls out to those left within the church, the entire time he's speaking, the telltale scent of his magic is permeating the area and the pale blue liquid-like energy begins to pool around his hands. "Make yourselves ready! We can't stay here with that fucking thing right outside. Gather the wounded and elderly. We'll figure out a way for everyone to move together..."

 

Nemmonis adds to his voice just in case

 

“We do NOT have time to argue here. EVERYBODY follow us…now!” She growls at the end

 

As you exit the building, villagers huddling around those injured from the attacks and the elderly choking on dust and ash, a alluring, haunting, horrible melody fills the air. It fills a far off part of your brains with a warm, fuzzy feeling, but you can't quite place what. You're able to shrug it off with some difficulty, but... turning, you see many of the citizens staring, glossy eyed, smiles growing on their faces and full of peace. The ones in the front begin to move toward the building again, and start... climbing.

 

You look up at the roof, and gleaming, beautiful faces stare down at you as they sing. Hungry, wicked smiles on their lips. Several take flight, circling the church's spire.

 

Up past you, you can see... dozens, no--hundreds of harpies and skeletal ghosts now swirling in a frenzied dance around grinning Tchernabog. Lightning flashes above his head, and thunder roads throughout the root of the mountain.

 

Townspeople Alive: 140 (55 are starting to climb the walls)

Townspeople Save in Church Walls: 0

Priestess Ava: Alive, Bleeding, Injured

Wights: 8

Skeletons: 27

Harpies: 32

Ghosts: Endless

 

Nemmonis looks over. “You handle down here, I’ll handle up there” and she takes flight again

 

Nathbryn comes running up on the rhino again, trying to get him to pull to a stop. Smears of soot cake the rhino's ankles. You can see she's irritated from the singing, but still in her right mind. No other villagers are with her, showing most, if not all, are here now around the area.

 

"What th--"

 

Her words are cut off as...

 

(raw 8 for the villagers everywhere)

(rhino got an 11)

(Nathbryn legit got a 1.....)

 

(Harpies got... rolled for 32 of them, 22 failed, 10 succeeded)

 

Alrik throws his head back and roars, his voice amplified by the storms above, but instead of the normal sounds of his own voice... it is deep... menacing... downright terrifying... "NOBODY MOVE!" (Literally trying to "petrify" everyone with his voice, using that draconic presence you gave me last time we played)

 

Nemmonis is unfazed by the man’s amplified voice but uses the distraction none the less. Attempting to ruin the sirens melody she swoops by them and sets them ablaze trying to at least shut them up

 

The roaring echo from The Tempest literally vibrates one's body as the soundwaves reverberate through the courtyard. The individuals climbing the building stop, stunned, and those looking up at the bottom suddenly turn around, fighting hard against the siren's song swirling through the air.

 

Half the harpies flee as Nemmonis rains down her fiery breath. Their feathers catch and burn quickly, the smell of burned hair and keratin making the air a choking taste. The sounds of singing mingle with screams as the dragonborn circles back around on her ethereal wings.

 

Two sirens divebomb Nemmy, trying to knock her out of the air. (17 or 21 to hit?)

 

Whyrvoar stomps the ground angrily at the noises echoing all around. His ears lay flat on his head and he snorts red fire from his nostrils, eyes rolling and burning in his head. He's definitely aggravated. 

 

Nathbryn... practically trips off of the war rhino, but unlike earlier in the desert she is unable to catch herself when she falls. She lands hard on her back, stunned and prone, scared shitless. Her eyes don't leave Alrik as they try to make sense of what's going on with him--with his body--and all the drarconic energy literally radiating out of him, scales and all.

Chantry

 

One of the harpie's claws rakes across your back--and it instantly blocked by a shimmering aura. You feel the hit glance against you but no pain--only the shrieking anger of the harpy. The 2nd one circles back around, trying to find an opening for another attack.

 

A third harpy spots Alrik below and dive bombs toward him--a club raised. (10 and 13 to hit, lol they don't ZS

 

Nemmonis roars again angrily

(28 intimidation on harpies that can see and hear her)

 

She flips upside down and stabs het sword through the harpy (19 to hit 27 damage) and she bites down on the bitches shoulder with her Draconic maw with extreme prejudice (idk what to roll for a bite

 

The harpy glances past you as you deflect it's club, unaware that you were reaching out with your hand....

 

A scream permeates the air as the electricity courses through the body of the monstrous woman.

 

The harpies up above on the roof are terrified of the giant, dragon-like beast that is now coming for them--watching in adjunct horror as your magical sword crunches through the ribcage of the closest one, right up to the hilt. Her choking cry is mingled with the sound of blood flowing past your ears and through your hair, your bite tearing into her flesh.

 

The harpy that Alrik siezed convulses in mid air until he lets go, and it hits the ground with a sickening thud. Still alive, it chitters and keens in pain, eager to get away.

 

Several other harpies circle up higher, trying to get out of melee range. Four of them leave entirely, and head toward the massive tornado of death and ghosts above.

 

The anger that literally flares in Alrik's eyes is beyond furious. A fire coalesces in a split second, bursting from his palm like the breath of a dragon. The harpy has no time to even let out a whine of surprise before it is ingulfed in a furnace-like flame, its body crumpling like a crumpled letter in a campfire.

 

Those still around are stunned, terrified, and intimidated by you both completely. These beings protecting them are true forces of dragon's blood, of power and of protection. Although a portion of the fleeing villagers has left, all those who remained behind are safe from the harpy's song because of you two, and are no longer doubting following or heading your call to action.

Chantry

 

Alrik steps forward toward Whyrvoar and the now flat-on-her-back Nathbryn. "You okay, Darlin?" He crouches nearby, holding a hand out for her. (She can repeat the save at the end of each of her turns)

 

As the other body crumples from Nemmonis' grip, completely descerated and broken, you both see Tchernabog stretch wide. It looks like he's captured something in his hand--the summoned beast of lightning and speed--and hurtles it like a ball into the distance. It tumbles in a wrath of wings and screeches, flying its way back immediately.

 

But Tchernabog does not seem to care. He laughs, lifting his claws and wings high, and the ground begins shaking.

 

The titanic devil slams his fists down on the mountan's sides, causing two firelit cracks to streak down toward Verhold. A fiery ravine cuts right through the square of town, through the church's courtyard, and barely--barely missing the statue of Saint Sofia. Her eyes glow a profound red, leaking smoke from her perfect surface.