The End of All Things - IC

[Jarian]

The two spells finish almost simultaneously, as if there had been a prearranged schedule for finding and recovering two of the most powerful mortal forces alive. Twin flashes of brilliant silver briefly illuminate the dimly lit marble entry hall, then fade to reveal four new occupants. Two, those seemingly ageless elves who sought you out and carried with them the dire warning of events to come, look haggard and worn now, as if the teleportation rituals took much of their strength. Dressed in black robes with the seven-pointed starburst of Inadinryl streaking lines of red and gold at angles across the fabric, the two could be twins for all the difference between them. Indeed, should the two leave the room and return, you suspect you would not be able to tell them apart.

The two elves share a look, then murmur a polite admonishment to remain where you are, that the others will be with you shortly. With that, they vanish as abruptly as they appeared before you so little time ago, leaving you alone in the hall with only your thoughts, the flickering light that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, and a strange new companion.

The hall itself is not overly large, serving only the apparent role of a waiting chamber, though to where or what you do not yet know. Tapestries with the sigil of Inadinryl hang at regular intervals from the smooth walls on either side of large, rectangular windows. One long hardwood bench some four paces in length sits beneath one of the nearby windows, the wood polished to a gleam but otherwise unornamented. A stand near the bench bears a plain silver tray with a pitcher of water and two glass tumblers, along with a thin book bound in simple black leather, no title on the face or spine.

Through the windows you can catch glances of the fabled city below, though much is obscured by the fading light of oncoming evening. A quick look reveals only that you are in perhaps the tallest of the legendary spires of Inadinryl, as all around you see only open sky, and far below only the smoothed round tops of other, lesser towers.

Your hosts, yet unnamed as they are, will be with you shortly. For now, there is little else to do except wait, and perhaps learn what you can about your new companion.

[RaggedAngel]

Damien stands for a moment, taking in the room and the view outside the window with carefully observant eyes. He wears a magnificent suit of mithral mail, though the lustrous gleam of the metal has been dimmed through some means. A greatsword rests upon his back, the adamantine hilt and guard peeking up over his shoulder, and the rest of it concealed by his long cloak. He is dark, as if standing in deep shadows, but after a moment or so the darkness seems to fade away, leaving him as bright as the rest of the room.

He looks to the man beside him, silently taking his measure, before nodding and introducing himself. "I am Damien, who they call many things; Walker of the Nine, Swiftarm, Stonebreaker, Dragonslayer, and of Iron. I walk the path of the Sublime Way, and it has given me some measure of strength and wisdom." He gestures out the window, to the world beyond. "Not strength enough to close these rifts, however, nor wisdom enough to know what to do. If they have called me here, it is not because of my expertise or magical ability."

He looks to his hands, and the many scars on them. "If they called me here, it is because there will be a great conflict, of blade and flame and blood. Things do not bode well."

[Jojomo]

Zerak inclines his head slightly at their host's admonition in understanding, shutting his eyes a moment before the two elves disappear to spare himself from the glare. As the slight rush of air from the disappearance of the pair passes, he takes a quick glance around the room, his gaze lingering for just a moment longer on the other figure, this young warrior with an air of darkness about him.

He nods almost imperceptibly as Damien introduces himself. After the young man finishes speaking he responds, "I am known as Zerak, and nothing more. I have spent my life seeking enlightenment," he pauses and gazes into the distance for a moment, his face hardening into a frown, "I doubt that all the strength and wisdom in the world would avail us against the coming doom, what we desperately need is knowledge. These rifts are utterly unlike anything I or anyone I have known have heard of."

He lowers himself gracefully to the floor, sitting cross-legged with his hands hanging loosely over his knees. Closing his eyes, he muses, "I imagine our hosts might have more to say on the matter once they return. I had just started taking breakfast when my escort arrived, I have enough for two if you would care to join me." With that he reaches into his backpack, withdrawing a piece of trail bread with a single bite taken out of it and proceeds to eat.

[RaggedAngel]

Damien kneels down, very graceful for one so laden in armor and muscle, and he accepts the second helping graciously. He eats for a moment, in silence, and the sound of faint birdsong wafts in through the window. After a few peaceful seconds have passed, he nods again in thanks, looking at the fingers of his left hand.

"I used to have a ring that took care of nourishment for me, but I eventually found that eating and drinking were small concerns compared to staying alive. I supposed I could have found someone with the talent required to make a ring with both effects, but after a few years sustained by naught but magic I found that there are few things as comforting as a simple meal.

And I thank you for this one, Zerak. They came a bit earlier than I was expecting them as well, though I did not have the forethought to have packed a meal for the road. It makes me remember the old days, when I had to carry rations for the wizard so that he wouldn't slow us down."

With those words he become solemn again, looking to door through which their hosts had left. "There will never be days like that again, unless we can stop this dissolution. Unless we can stem the tide of this unraveling. It worries me, Zerak; because no matter how strong I am, or how deadly, I feel that I am but a structure of sand attempting to hold back the tide. It is a grim thought, and hopefully an incorrect one. But it is how I feel all the same."

[Jojomo]

Finishing his last bite of food, Zerak assumes a more formal meditative stance, hands clasped in his lap. His face loses all expression save for a small, serene smile. He pauses for a moment after Damien speaks before responding, "Over time, I came to think that using magic to provide something as mundane as food is merely extravagant, now I always carry some simple fare with me."

At Damien's reminiscing, the shadow of a smile flashes across his face, "I suppose that is an advantage I hadn't considered of favouring the forms that emphasize speed over strength; I have never been asked to act the part of the pack mule."

Zerak's smile disappears at Damien's last comment. He breathes slowly as he thinks for a moment, "It is my experience that we never experience the times we knew as children again, though that is perhaps more due to changes in ourselves rather than changes in the times." He opens his eyes, "On the subject of stemming tides though, I'd remind you that even single grains of sand, deposited over time, can change the course of rivers. Try to keep your mind in the present, we cannot afford to be distracted. Not by anything." The last is said with a glance towards Damien to gauge the young man's reaction.

[RaggedAngel]

Damien turns up his palm in a gesture of respectful concession. "Right you are; small things can have great effect on the world around them. I remember being taught many such things when I first learned the quiet ways of the Setting Sun. How did the poem go?


From the silent wings
Of a gentle butterfly
A great storm is born."
Damien settles back, letting silence fill the room for another long moment, and he looks at the older man more closely than before, with a warrior's appraising eye. "You have hands like iron, Zerak, forged over a long life of combat. I suspect it would take all of my skill to lay a hand on you, should you try to avoid me. I have no doubt that you can walk on the wind, and split stone, and pass through shadows. But there is something more about you, I believe, more than simply martial skill. Normally I would think it quite out of place to ask you such a direct and personal question, but this is not a normal time nor place. Along what vein does your power lie?"

For what it's worth, Damien realizes that this is a rather rude question, and he's clearly a bit abashed about asking so bluntly. He is not, however, too polite to not seek such important information.

I'm basing his assumptions about Zerak off of this Sense Motive check:

[roll0]

[Jojomo]

Zerak gives a little smile as the young man recites the poem, either he has heard it somewhere before or it echoes some other aphorism he remembers.

He settles back to his meditation. His eyes remain closed as Damien speaks, though he raises a hand to wave away the implied apology, "Do not feel the need to tread lightly around me Damien, my people are usually more direct than that in conversation. You are correct, the forms of fighting I practise are not the sum total of my abilities; I am also accomplished in the manipulation of divine energies."

He pauses for a moment, lost in thought, "Thankfully I never drew that power from any gods, for I know of many like me who became shadows of their former selves after their masters vanished."

Another moment passes, another long exhale and inhale before he speaks again, "You mentioned the Setting Sun style, do I take you to be a practitioner of that form? I have met others who were but never one who favoured the greatsword as a weapon."

[RaggedAngel]

Damien took a moment to think about how old the gith much be, for him to recall the times before the gods left. Not immeasurably old, or astoundingly so; but many human lifetimes, at least. If nothing else, it meant Zerak was truly his elder, by quite a wide margin.

Damien flashes a bright smile when his choice of weapon is questioned, and he glances back at his greatsword with fond eyes. "I am indeed a student of the Setting Sun, and you are correct that the school does not favor such large and heavy weapons. When I use maneuvers of that school I do tend to rely on nothing but my hands and feet, to be fair; but that isn't the point of your question, I wager.

I have walked the path of each of the nine known schools of the Sublime Way, and taken a measure of strength from each of them. I could wax poetic about them, believe me, but I will spare you such a thing for now. I am glad to know that you are not afraid to get your hands dirty, by the way; many of my strongest techniques are incomplete without an ally by my side. And I must say, Zerak, I doubt I could choose a better ally."

[Jarian]

The door at the end of the hall opens on well-oiled hinges, admitting an ageless woman whose race you cannot quite place. She wears the garb of Inadinryl, though it is more a gown and less a robe, with exposed shoulders and no hood, the yellow and red sunburst situated between her breasts. The woman's features are those of a moderately attractive fair-skinned human, all slender limbs and gentle curves, with hints of elven blood in the almond-shaped eyes and slightly pointed ears, though she looks like no half-elf you have ever seen. Her shoulder-length curls of hair are golden - not a blonde, but as though each strand were truly individual threads of spun gold, and her irises have the same metallic coloring.

The woman inclines her head toward you as she closes the door behind her. Her beauty is somewhat diminished by the absolute lack of emotion on her face, though her eyes are sufficiently piercing that such thoughts might be the last on your mind. She crosses the hall to you in a few swift strides, then folds her hands over her chest and bows, much more formally.

"I am Nysris, of the Council of Twelve. I speak for the Council presently, and thus for all Inadinryl." Despite the solemn words, Nysris's voice is oddly light, flitting from syllable to syllable like a lilting song. "As you are no doubt already aware, time is of the utmost essence. However, we are not so pressed that I cannot extend the courtesies befitting guests of your stature. May I offer you refreshments? The pitcher's enchantment allows it pour whatever you desire, no matter how exotic."

Nysris flicks her fingers in the weavings of a simple spell, and a third tumbler joins those already on the tray. She pours herself a small amount of water and takes a sip, as if to demonstrate its safety. "Have no fear; nothing in Inadinryl will harm you, on that I give my oath. If you have any questions before we proceed, I will answer them to the best of my ability. If you wish for anything else, simply ask and it will be done if it is within my power."

[RaggedAngel]

Damien takes Nysris's measure respectfully, not allowing his gaze to linger on her holy symbol. He spends a moment or two trying to decide what kind of being she might be, before deciding that it mattered little. An ageless race with few members, a normal mortal transformed by magic, or something even more arcane; she was intelligent, powerful, and his host. It was all he needed to know.

When she made a display of the pitcher he took her lead, pouring a small dash of something that smelled suspiciously like both coffee and whiskey. He takes a sip, grunting in approval, though he listens politely as long as she speaks. When she finishes, he takes a moment to collect himself before speaking, taking another sip of his drink.

"Forgive the soldier's coffee; it's a vile swill that I acquired a taste for while I learned from General De'Tev, and it takes enough effort to make it that I have it quite seldom. Few things will wake a man up faster and give him more vigor, though." His tone is polite and conversational, a way for him to take more of Nysris's measure before moving on to more difficult and serious topics.

"I do thank you for the conveniences, Councilwoman. Your hospitality is greatly appreciated, and it speaks well of you that you care for our needs and desires. And I have few questions, other than the more important ones that will no doubt be answered wherever you're taking us. I would, however, like to know this: in your opinion, do the two of us have much of a chance? Know that I will give my absolute all no matter your answer, Nysris. I just wish to know what you believe."

[Jarian]

Nysris tilts her head to one side, considering Damien's question. "Truly? Do you believe we would have expended such effort finding you if we believed it in vain? Very well, you shall have your answer: as you are, I believe you will fail as all others have failed; as you will be, I believe you are the only hope for this world, and whatever chance you hold is the one upon which all wagers must lie."

[Jojomo]

As the doors swing open, Zerak's eyes open and he rises to his feet, almost as if he was waiting for it to happen. He returns their hostess' bow, though his years spent in a monastery are given away. This is no courtier's bow, but that of a monk in the practice hall.

The demonstration of the pitcher's power draws his attention. The previously serene expression on his face replaced by one of intense thought as he considers the magics that could be used to produce the effect so elegantly. The change only lasts a moment though, as he realises that to ponder too long could seem rude to their hostess.

With another small bow he says, "I thank you for the offer Nysris, but I have water enough in my pack and have never developed much taste for," his eyes flick to Damien's glass, "luxuries."

He listens closely to Damien's question, wondering if perhaps his young companion is adequately focussed for the monumental task ahead of them. With so much at stake, to even entertain the possibility of failure is a distraction they can ill afford.

Nysris' response is what he expected to hear, though one phrase piques his interest. "Nysris, you referred to us "as we will be", do I take it from that that you and the council have a plan and if so, will you share it with us? You will have to forgive my directness, but as you said yourself, time is of the essence." While his words carry some contrition, his gaze never leaves Nysris' eyes while he speaks.

[Jarian]

Nysris raises a hand in a placating gesture as she responds. "We do indeed have a plan, though to call such a monumental undertaking merely a plan is to do a grave injustice its potential to quite literally alter the future of our world.

"As for what the plan is, I am afraid I am not the one best suited to explain in detail. The magical theories involved are incredibly varied, and many are beyond even my understanding. Know simply that we intend to make you more even than you are now, greater than any man or woman of flesh and blood has ever been."

[RaggedAngel]

Damien looks down for a moment, considering the woman's words. He swirls the last bit of his drink in the glass, his eyes obscured. "I am a warrior, ma'am. A soldier, and occasionally a soldier of fortune. I am not a sage or a scholar, not a master of arcane secrets or psychic power. So needless to say, I have no intellectual ability to judge this situation."

The shadows around him deepen, as if the sun was swiftly setting on Damien alone. He raises his head, and his eyes shine fiercely despite the faint gloom. "But my instincts are another matter entirely. And they tell me that we can and will succeed. Not only because we must." He looks to Zerak, and he flashes the monk a fierce smile. "But because we have the power. And even more, because we have the potential to be so much more than we already are. This I know."

He bows, every bit as formally as the gith before him. "Take us where you will, milady. I have wasted enough of our time with speech, and the call to action is upon us."

[Jojomo]

Listening intently to Nysris' answer, Zerak experiences a slight pang of regret. After Damien speaks, he adds, "I am a scholar, among other things, but I doubt circumstances will permit me time to study whatever arcana you intend to manipulate," he returns Damien's smile with a wry one of his own, "After all, I very much doubt we were brought here to offer scholarly advice on the matter. Much as I would like time to appreciate the finer points of your "grand undertaking", we must all play our parts."

[Jarian]

Nysris bows her head in assent, and with a swish of robes and a gesture to follow, heads for the door she entered by. As she begins to open the door, you feel a slight tingle wash over you, as if you had just walked through an impossibly thin wall of water, or perhaps been been checked for ailments with magical healing.

Opening the door reveals a chamber perhaps most aptly described as curious. Like the waiting hall before the room is entirely marble, all black and white and grey. The expansive room is roughly circular, though made all of flat walls meeting at odd angles to create a myriad sharp corners. Decorations of all sorts adorn the outer ring of the room, banners and vases and suits of armor mingling with weapons and religious texts, and you suspect at least as many as you can see are hidden by the strangely designed walls.

The center five paces of the floor have been cut out to hang suspended half a dozen feet or so in midair. Below this floating section of floor is a large pool of brightly glowing yellow liquid, which lazily swirls in constant motion. Seven gradually sloping ramps run from near the edges of the room to meet with the raised section, each ramp decked with carpets in alternating red and gold. A round table at least three paces wide sits in the center of the raised section, surrounded by simply-wrought high backed chairs with red cushions and liberal gilding on the wood. The table itself is made apparently of a single piece of formed glass, no seams or joints visible. Curiously, not a single object rests upon the table, not goblet nor documents nor map nor any other thing one might expect to find there.

Eleven others are already seated at the table, all in the garb of Inadinryl in one fashion or another. Six are white-haired fair-skinned elves, all tall, slender males with eyes both hard and wise. The others number two human women with hair more silver than grey, a pair of tieflings - one man and one woman- you would swear are twins by their nearly identical short horns and dark purple-red skin, and, unless your guess is quite off, a rather diminutive lich. The delicate bone structure suggests that the lich was likely a halfling in life, though with most of its flesh and skin lost to age, it is difficult to say for certain.

Nysris leads you up one of the ramps to the single empty seat at the table, which she stands beside but does not sit in just yet. Her gaze sweeps across the table, taking in the nearly expressionless faces of those gathered. After a long moment she nods to herself, then addresses you once more: "I have the honor to introduce you to the Council. Names matter little here, for we function as one with a single purpose, albeit with twelve voices. We have waited long and prepared longer for this day, for this meeting. If you have questions, speak them now, else we will begin at once."

[Jojomo]

Not missing a beat, Zerak crosses the room with a few long strides and falls into step behind Nysris' shoulder. The sensation from the door piques his curiosity, were circumstances less dire he could likely spend years studying the subtle magics that seem to be commonplace in Inadinryl.

He finds the architecture of the council chamber strangely comforting, as it reminds him of some of the more esoteric geometry in the monastery that he left behind so many years ago. As they cross the chamber and ascend to the council table, he recalls long days spent training in rooms where gravity and even position were merely a matter of perspective. Reaching the top of the ramp, he brings his thoughts back to the present.

Taking in the seated figures with a quick glance, he again bows once more, "Greetings, Councillors. I would introduce myself formally, but I have no doubt you already know more than I could relate in a timely fashion." He is unmoved by the presence of the tieflings, he knew others of their kind during his time on the Prime Material, but the presence of the lich does give him pause for thought. Considering the circumstances however, he suspects a lich, halfling or otherwise, will be one of the more mundane things he encounters in the struggle to come.

[RaggedAngel]

Damien marches in step with Zerak, taking the opportunity to watch how the man holds himself. Balanced, poised, and relaxed, and yet his weight is at the perfect place to react to any danger. Magically enhanced, obviously, but who isn't among us and our peers. Impressive environmental awareness; he's almost certainly aware that I'm watching him right now. Good.

The massive room around them takes less of Damien's attention, despite its grandeur and complexity. It just isn't as important to him as his new ally, upon whom he will very likely be trusting with his life. Such things were far more important to the warrior than art and wonder, though he appreciated the chamber's wealth and design.

Rising up the ramps, Damien allows his senses to expand, and he begins to silently take in every motion and sound around him. The sound of the liquid below, softly churning, the breathing of the living and the odd, faint hum given off by the undead. The air presses against him like an old friend, and he feels the heartbeats and the breath of the council. He takes their measure as he rises to their level on the platform, watching their composure, their eyes, the lines of their mouths.

It is more information than any mind, or at least any human mind, could take in at once. There was no way that Damien could calculate and reason, drawing together the sights and sounds of those few seconds into a rational analysis. But the mind of a warrior is one of impulse and reaction, of sense and instinct, and his hindbrain had more than enough power to call together the general state of the council: a mixture of apprehension, rational fear, and stubborn optimism. Among other things, of course.

"Greetings," Damien says after Zerak has spoken his piece, giving a polite bow to the council. "As my new partner has said, you no doubt know more about me than I could tell you in an hour's time. Instead, I will take you up on your offer to answer a few questions before we begin. I know that time is of the essence, and so I will ask but two questions. And know that I will work with you no matter the answers.

All I ask is thus: what can a warrior such as myself do to mend these rifts that a powerful mage, cleric, or druid could not? And more importantly, you say that we will begin. I just wish to know: begin what, exactly?"

He is in Stance of Alacrity and Hearing the Air. He has blindsense out to 30 feet, not that I expect it'll find anything invisible.

Sense Motive: [roll0]

If my guess as to their overall feelings and attitude is way off, let me know and I'll edit this post.

[Jarian]

Nysris gives a small shrug, as if to say 'as you wish'. "As I said before, the theories involved are quite complex, and they do not so much weave together as overlap. I fear the explanation may be... disjointed. Still, were we in your place we would no doubt wish to know as much ourselves..." She trails off as she looks around the table, apparently searching for a good place to start, finally settling on the tieflings. "Daedric, Tilaar, if you would lay the framework?"

The tieflings nod, small smiles touching their lips, though whether in amusement or pleasure is not clear. The woman - Tilaar - places a hand with long, black-lacquered nails on the table, tapping the glass slowly as if in thought. After a moment she presses her palm down firmly and begins to speak. As she does, the center of the table ripples like the surface of a placid lake disturbed by a small stone. A tiny sphere of glass bubbles free of the table, floating several inches in the air.

"Your soul. Mortal. Ordinary. Exceptional in standing, but still ordinary." Her voice is dispassionate, clinical, yet somehow soft and sultry all the same. A dozen more spheres bubble up from the table, beginning a slow orbit around the first. "Alternate realities. The same soul, but different. Different hosts, different lives. Identical, yet distinct."

Daedric places his hand on the table then, nails likewise painted. The table begins to spew smaller glass spheres at in incredible rate, each a slightly different color, most too small for all but the keenest eyes to notice. Dozens begin to orbit each of the spheres circling the first, whirling about in complex patterns.

"The forces pulling on each soul. Gods, obligations, training, family... destiny, you might say. Or fate." Daedric's voice is all amused indifference. He taps his fingers on the table, and several of the smaller spheres shift places, streaking through the air to take up new orbits around new 'souls'. "It is a simple enough matter to change a fate in small ways. Remove a meeting here, rekindle a lost love there... when you know what you want to happen, changing an individual destiny is remarkably simple."

"And yet, large changes, truly shifting the course of a life, is difficult to the point of impossibility," Tilaar adds, swirling her fingers on the glass. Half of the spheres orbiting one of the 'souls' fall away, striking the tabletop not with the cracks of glass on glass, but wet splashes as they rejoin the burbling surface. "Change enough, and it is no longer the same soul. Change too much..." Several more spheres fall away, then the entire 'soul' follows, as if too many supporting strings had been cut and the remainder too weak to hold it up any longer. "And death becomes inevitable. It is the greatest of inconveniences, though hardly permanently scarring in the grand scheme." The remaining souls shift their orbits slightly, seamlessly accommodating the change.

"The problem thus becomes a matter of how to change one soul so greatly that it may withstand the most trying of challenges, yet not destroy all the others. Change enough and you begin to destroy. Destroy enough of the others, and you destroy that which you wished to change in the first place. It has always been a most vexing conundrum." Despite his words, Daedric sounds anything but vexed. More likely amused at being made to offer such a simple explanation, if your guess is correct.

"The answer comes in the form of one of magic's most simple truths," the lich adds, voice a dry whisper that comes from unmoving jaws. Red pinpricks of light in empty eye sockets watch you intently as it speaks, uncaring of the display before it. "There is neither creation nor destruction in their raw forms, only redistribution. All is linked, tied by bonds unseen and unknown to most. Proper study of the bonds reveals a second, more interesting truth: individuality is an illusion, a mask created through ignorance. All is one, and all can be made one."

The lich touches exposed phalanges to the table, and the entire orbiting array stops dead. Each of the tiny outer bits suddenly release black needles in all directions, piercing their companions and the souls they orbit, and bridging the gap between each portion of the array. Only the original clear glass sphere remains untouched, hanging suspended in the center of a mass of gleaming black needles.

"It is therefore possible to take from all what is necessary to make the one sufficiently powerful, but in minute amounts so that none is destroyed, only diminished. Wounded but not dead, and like all wounds, capable of being healed in time." Wispy lines of color flow from each of the pierced points as the lich speaks, streaming into the untouched center sphere until the entire thing glows with an inner radiance, softly at first but growing brighter with each passing moment.

"There is more," one of the human women puts in, a net of emeralds in her hair swaying as she shakes her head. "Linked healing to ensure the others survive. Illusions to mask their weakness while they recover. Enchantments to guarantee that their fates remain unchanged by our actions. Other things. Details so expansive that one mind cannot hold them all."

"But these things are hardly important to you. They are for us to worry about, to control the necessary damage we must inflict so save our world," the other woman puts in, her aging face spiderwebbed with wrinkles hardly diminishing the telltale signs of a great beauty in her prime. "What we need from you is simple. The ritual is archaic in some ways, a necessary bit of barbarism to ensure that all of the links function properly." She touches two fingers to the table, and the bubbling center stills, though the pierced array remains floating in midair. A second tap and two vials flow up out of the table near Nysris's chair, along with two glass needles.

Nysris scoops up both needles and vials in one motion, then turns to offer them to you on an upturned palm. "The ritual requires several drops of your blood. I believe the exact wording was 'enough that you know you've bled', is that not right, Risia?" The lich nods, and Nysris turns her attention back to you. "Remember my promise: nothing in Inadinryl will harm you. We ask this only because it is required."

[Jojomo]

Zerak listens as the council explains their plan. Doing so however, he comes to understand precisely what Nysris meant when she said that referring to it as such does not do it justice. While his understanding of spellcraft would not be enough to conceive of such an undertaking, it certainly allows him to appreciate the immense scale involved in the process. While the only outward sign is a minute widening of the eyes, for the first time in many years, the old gith is utterly amazed.

Leaning forward to peer at the elaborate construction floating above the table, he haltingly speaks, "So, put simply, you intend to drain energy from the lives of all beings, everywhere and channel that energy to the two of us while simultaneously putting in place what might be the most elaborate combination of magic ever conceived to conceal the fact that you have done so?"

His eyes are drawn to the vials in Nysris' hand. Glancing at the older woman, he nods, "It seems no matter how far we come, there are some things about the oldest magics that never change. So be it." With that, he takes one of the needles in his right hand and a vial in his left.

He presses the needle into his wrist, the muscles in his arm straining as he tries to penetrate the skin, to no avail. He sighs, "I had wondered if my... nature would pose difficulties. A moment." Holding the needle in his palm, he closes his eyes and traces a finger down the veins in his arm, coming to rest on a patch of skin seemingly no different to any other. Keeping his eyes shut, he grips the needle like a knife, draws his arm back and strikes with speed that defies the eye to follow. He doesn't move an inch as the needle digs into the vein and a thin trickle of blood appears. He drops the arm to his side, allowing blood to flow down his hand, dripping into the vial.

Once the slender glass container is filled, he wills the wound to close and the bleeding stops. He seals the vial and returns it and the needle to Nysris. Glancing at the still wet blood on his hand, he takes one of the pieces of cloth trailing from his sleeves and dabs carefully at the crimson trail. It gives him pause for thought; he hasn't seen his own blood in years, he doesn't remember it being quite so bright.

[RaggedAngel]

Damien shakes his head once Zerak has finished speaking, looking at the orbs with a reverent mixture of fascination and contemplation. "No, my friend, I believe that this is something slightly more profound than drawing on the lives of the souls of everyone else, though I do not know if it is more or less grand than that."

He looks to the council, gesturing in respect. "Correct me if I am wrong, but you are going to be drawing on the power, emotions, training, and experiences of alternate copies of ourselves. Damiens and Zeraks that live in other worlds, different worlds. Worlds that are not falling apart at the seams. You will take bits of their strength, only a bit from each of them, and give it to us; and at the same time, you will heal and mask their temporary sacrifice so that their lives are not altered by the loss. We, on the other hand, will receive a permanent infusion of power, with which we can help end this apocalypse."

He smiles in wry amusesment, looking down at himself. "In my case, by stabbing the end of reality to death. I still do not know why you have chosen me, but I will consent that your wisdom and intelligence, especially as a collective, surpasses my own by a quite respectable amount. I trust you."

He takes up a vial of his own, rejecting the needle, and he draws his greatsword a few inches, though its scabbard is still concealed by his cloak. He runs the flat of his left thumb across the blade, his face placid, and then he lets the dribble of blood fill the vial before pressing his thumb against his closed fist to staunch the flow. He hands the vial to Nysris ceremonially, and then nods to the others. "Shall we begin, then?"

[Jarian]

Nysris accepts the vials with a small nod, then turns and presses them into the table with seemingly effortless ease. As the glass slides back into glass, the blood begins to spread in two small, inky clouds, as if dropped into unnaturally clear water. In the span of only a few breaths, the entire table turns a deep, translucent crimson. Below, the swirling pool takes on a similar hue, spreading lurid flashes of color spinning around the room as it begins to whirl faster and faster, as if its ancient bindings were abruptly awakened.

"It begins," Nysris breathes, placing her palms on the table and staring intently into the now murky glass. "For better or worse, it begins. We do what we must, all of us..." Shaking her head as she trails off, she looks once around the table, then takes up a chant in a high, resonant tongue unlike any you have heard spoken before. As her words echo through the room, each syllable thudding into you like a physical weight, the eleven others around the table take up their own versions of the chant, each in different tongues, yet all with enough similarity that you know they speak of much the same thing.

While the others begin to weave the intricate magicks they spoke of, the ritual that will drain so many others, the six elves focus their inscrutable gazes on you, never so much as blinking as they work their own spells. The bloodied table, the focus for each of the spells, begins to thrum with a low double beat as the spells progress, even as a slight tightness grips your chests. The discomforting feel grows in intensity, becoming a tight embrace, then bands of iron squeezing your lungs closed, then a fist clenching at your heart. With each passing moment the thrum grows louder and louder, until it booms through the room in tandem with the strange, echoing chant.

Just when it seems as though the spellcasters mean to rip your hearts from your chest with their spell, the pain abruptly abates. Around you, the Council has stopped its chanting, though faint echoes of their voices still resonate from all around, ephemeral copies of the same spell cast over and over and over again. The pool of light spins like a maddened gyre, surface roiling with the force of its movements, streaks of multicolored light coming from its depths to spin madly around the room like a dazzling display of illusioncraft.

Trembling, Nysris takes several steadying breaths before continuing. With slow, deliberate movements, she withdraws both palms from the table, and twin goblets follow, each wrought of the finest red glass filigree, so tightly spun that you suspect they would hold liquid as well as any container of more conventional make. Yet what sits inside is no simple drink, but a wispy substance neither liquid nor gas. The misty drinks seem to seek you out as Nysris turns to offer them to you, flowing against the edges of the goblets and spilling over the lip in weakly grasping tendrils.

"It is done," Nysris says tiredly, as if the short ritual took much strength out of her. "Drink, and it is done. When you are finished, we will know whether our efforts succeeded, or if all this was for naught."

As soon as you drink, you'll receive your bonus epic feat, along with all the power of an epic character. If you want that to manifest in any particular way, feel free. As soon as you're done with that, we'll be moving on to bigger things!

[Jojomo]

Zerak watches as the ritual begins with keen interest. He has never seen magic of such magnitude performed before, and he expects that he may never have the chance again. It isn't a complete surprise when he feels the slight grip of the spell around him.

As the pressure continues to build, his habitually calm demeanour begins to slowly crack. Starting as a slight grimace as he senses the constriction around his lungs, as the agony reaches its peak a couple of grunts of pain escape his lips.

Once he is released from the spell, it takes a couple of ragged breaths before he manages to steady himself. Shaking his head to clear it, he focuses on the offered glass. Taking it from Nysris with a wordless nod, he swallows the contents in a few gulps.

For a couple of moments, nothing seems to happen. He takes a confused look at the glass, wondering if perhaps something has gone awry. An instant later though, his whole body jerks and freezes in place. The glass falls from his hand. He watches it fall as if time has slowed, watches it hit the ground, watches the cracks spread from the base through every filament of the structure. In the instant it shatters he experiences a perfect moment of revelation. What he had perceived as the limits of magical power, what he had always been told were the absolute extent of his abilities he now sees are but the most basic aspects of something far more fundamental.

As the enormity of the realisation seeps in, his muscles relax but he cannot seem to take his eyes from the shattered remains on the floor. Almost absent-mindedly he makes a quick pass with his hand. The fragments turn fluid, flowing together before reshaping themselves into the glass once more. Zerak stoops to retrieve it and returns it to Nysris with a small smile.

"I misspoke before. Now I am ready."

Getting an invitation to the punchup at the end of the world: 190,000 xp and 760,000 gold pieces.
One bonus epic feat: A few millilitres of blood.
Spontaneously casting make whole to repair a glass that probably couldn't be produced by any mortal glassblower: Priceless

[RaggedAngel]

Damien weathers the ritual much as Zerak does; merely the training he had put himself through had often been more painful, not to mention all that his foes had put him through. He wasn't comfortable, but neither did he make any expression of pain or discomfort. Damien remains silent as Nysris offers him the goblet, and he drinks at the same moment as the monk beside him.

His reaction, however, is slightly different. Instead of going limp, Damien stiffens, his hands clenching with such speed and force that the fine crystal chalice shatters in a small cloud of fine crystals and dust. His eyes snap open, wide open, and yet he seems to see nothing. Externally, at least.

On the inside, Damien's mind is a storm, and after a moment that storm resolves into a shape. A man, much like himself, but wearing gleaming mithral mail, and holding up a great standard. He wears a rich red cape, and his hair is long and flowing. He gestures with a bastard sword, and vague figures charge around him, flowing toward some invisible fray. He turns, and looks to Damien, and speaks his name. "I am Damien, the Ironheart."

The figure fades, and is replaced by a man with shaven head, sitting in a sandy cave, cold and barren. He is thin, incredibly thin, but his eyes are bright and his completion calm. He wears nothing but light robes, but he seems comfortable, and peaceful. He looks up, nodding once. "I am Damien, the Ascetic."

The lonely image fades once more, and another man appears, powerful and barbaric. "The Beast." Faster the images flicker, each as real and powerful as the last, each utterly different. "The Trickster." "The Bloody." "The Arcane." "The Tyrant." "The Champion of Light." "The Spellsword." "The Cutthroat." "The Spinning Leaf." "The Hand of Stone." Titles, meanings, people, flashing past him and through him faster and faster. "The Dancing Flame." "The Shadow." "The Shield." "The Reaper." Each so different, so distinct. Different.

But the same. Each person him, each person a reflection of himself. And he, Damien of the Nine, the center of them all. One man, many forms. One thing with many representations, each of them different and each of them profoundly the same.

Damien closes his eyes, slowly, and he reopens them to the room, the visions gone. A half-minute of real time has passed, though he listened and watched his selves for half an hour. He bows to Nysris, and he smiles, his eyes brighter and his gaze sharper. "Damien of the Nine is with us no more, and I bid him farewell. I am Damien of the One, and I am ready."

A slight shift of light ripples over him as he stands tall, and a few subtle changes spread over his attire and gear. His armor, gleaming with faint flickers of light and soulfire fades, until it appears nothing more but a well-kept soldier's breastplate. His wide platinum belt dulls and then changes, leaving a sturdy leather belt in it's place. The rings on his hand become simple silver bands, and so on, each alteration but a small difference. The difference in his appearance, however, is quite large.

His bonus feat will be Master of the Lotus. I'll let you know which maneuvers he'll learn through the feat once I pick them out later today.

That felt awesome. Let's do this thing. :smallamused:

[Jarian]

Nysris and the rest of the Council watch with intense scrutiny, twelve pairs of eyes taking in every change as they occur. When it becomes clear that all that is to happen has happened, Nysris allows a faint smile to touch her lips as an audible sigh of relief passes around the table.

"Perhaps there is hope after all. You were our only chance, but it would be a lie to tell you that we did not doubt whether our efforts would be enough." Nysris laughs, faintly self-deprecating. "All the study, the time spent testing and perfecting the individual facets of the ritual, and still it was little better than a flip of the coin. At least we won this gamble, though there is yet so much to do. Come, there are still things you must be told, and we must leave the others to finish their tasks."

With a gesture, Nysris leads you back down the ramp, walking close and speaking softly as you go. "Firstly, you must know what we do about the rifts that assault our world. Not the simple stories you may have heard in your travels, but the details we have been able to discern thus far. We have sent some of our own to study the rifts and - unsuccessfully - to close them. We have managed to maintain contact with several for short periods, though none have returned.

"The most important thing we have learned is that the rifts do not simply destroy that which they touch, but seem to absorb and reshape everything that enters them. Some of the rifts contain vast areas of twisted landscapes, even houses and other structures. Always it has been warped beyond recognition, but it suggests an intelligence of some kind. We have found no signs of life or any means of communicating with whatever may be controlling the rifts, but each seems to have a central area around which all else is built, a focal point that we have taken to calling the heart. None of those we sent have reached the center of the twisted interior of a rift before..." Nysris stumbles a bit in her speech, grimacing slightly, but quickly resumes talking. "...before we lost contact with them. The warping effect of the rifts seems to grow stronger the deeper in one travels. While we cannot speak with any certainty, it seems likely that what there is to be found will be found within the hearts."

Nysris closes a hand, then reopens it to reveal two opal teardrops attached to short gold chains, each teardrop no larger than the nail of a small finger. "These will allow you to contact us from anywhere you may go. The enchantment is simple in effect, but it is powerful enough to pierce even the destabilizing effect the rifts have on most magic. You need only clearly envision the person with whom you wish to communicate, and the message will be sent, so long as the one you wish to send the message to possesses another of these charms. You can, of course, also use them to communicate with one another, should you become separated." Nysris offers one of the charms to each of you, then turns to look at the pool of liquid light, which has settled somewhat in its wild whirling, though it remains a deep, glowing red.

"And now we must speak of the Eye. It is the focus for our most powerful divinations, as well as the source we draw upon to travel instantly whenever we must go a great distance. The ritual has attuned you to the Eye, in addition to its other effects, and so you may draw on its power. I must warn you that doing so is draining however, and none of our divinations have been able to pierce the barriers between our world and the rifts. Still, you may find the Eye's abilities helpful, so know that they are yours to draw on as needed."

Nysris draws in a bracing breath, then slowly exhales. "Now then, I must ask one more time whether there is anything I can do for you while we remain in Inadinryl, any questions I may answer or comfort we can provide. If not, I will take you to the first of the rifts now. Each moment truly is important, if not yet of dire import, but there is yet time to ensure your journey is as smooth as possible."

The trinkets allow you to use sending at-will, so long as the recipient possesses a copy. Being attuned to the Eye allows you to use greater teleport once per hour on the prime material, and discern location and greater scrying at-will as spell-like abilities.

[RaggedAngel]

Damien accepts the charm gratefully, tucking it into an interior pocket in his wide belt. He looks to Zerak with a calm smile, raising his brow to the other man. "I have many thoughts, but no real questions. It is time for action, I should think.

The only request I would have is that of any potions or spell-tiles of healing and restoration you may be able to spare. My own powers of healing are on par with a clerics, but only in combat. Should something incapacitating befall Zerak, or myself if he is otherwise occupied, my options are slightly limited. If you have nothing on hand, it shouldn't be a problem, but I have never regretted being overprepared, and we're facing an unknown threat in hostile territory."

[Jojomo]

Zerak nods in thanks, looping the chain around his neck and tucking the opal pendant inside his tunic.

He nods as Damien speaks, "Such supplies would indeed be most useful, should things go wrong. There is one question that springs to mind Nysris: the rift you are taking us to, is it one of those which swallowed one of your expeditions? If we could find one of them it might prove instructive, not to mention that we might attempt to bring them out."

He looks towards Damien, "Regardless, I am inclined to agree with my colleague: it is time we began this venture in earnest."

[RaggedAngel]

Damien's eyes flash for a moment, and he looks to Zerak, holding up his hand to still anything that was about to be said. "Wait just a moment; I just had an insight that I hope will prove incorrect. Nevertheless, it would be silly to stifle the thought simply because it is a worrisome one.

You said that the rifts have altered the area they cover, not just consuming it but transforming it into a twisted version of itself, yes?" He looks down for a moment, pausing slightly.

"Is there a chance your forward parties could have been likewise altered?"

Sorry to add more to respond to, Jarian, but this thought has been bugging me, and Damien is both more intelligent and wiser than I could ever be. There's no way he wouldn't have thought of the same thing.

[Jarian]

Nysris nods in acknowledgement of the request, turning a palm upward and adopting a look of concentration as she does so. The air above her palm shimmers briefly, then solidifies into an amulet made out of hair-fine platinum and gold filigree. She proffers the item to Damien, even as she considers the latest questions.

"I do indeed intend to take you to one of the rifts we have made efforts to explore. It is surpassingly likely that you will encounter members of the expedition therein, though I can say nothing with certainty. If you do happen upon them, be wary. The power of the rifts has warped everything we have been able to find thus far, minds and form alike. Our forces were by no means weak in their abilities, and I fear that they could prove a hindrance to your progress if your paths should cross." Nysris pauses briefly, a look of sadness flickering across her face before hardening into stoic resolve. "If you do find any of our members, and if they truly have been twisted, give them the peace of an honorable death in service to Inadinryl. None of us would wish to live such a life."

She reaches a hand toward each of you, fingers upraised as if to touch something incredibly delicate... or holy. "Now take my hand, and we will depart."

Item get!

Pendant of Unimpeachable Fortitude
Body Slot: Throat
Caster Level: 7th
Aura: Moderate; (DC 20) conjuration
Activation: - and swift (mental)
Weight: 1 lb.

The platinum filigree of this amulet is twisted into the shape of a hooded figure bowing its head in prayer. A pair of gilded wings fan out to either side of the figure, each of the many feathers clearly distinct. A single tiny diamond is embedded in the tip of each wing and the cowl of the hooded figure, each glowing with a soft inner light.

While worn, the bearer of a pendant of unimpeachable fortitude is healed of one point of ability damage or drain each round. This is a constant effect that requires no activation.

Further, three times per day, the wearer of the pendant can replicate either the effects of a cure critical wounds or panacea spell (caster level 7th) as a swift action.

Finally, the pendant's magic seems to guide it to your throat of its own power, leaping into place with scarcely more than a thought. Equipping a pendant of unimpeachable fortitude is a free action, rather than a move action as normal.

[RaggedAngel]

Damien accepts the beautiful pendent gratefully, taking a moment to carefully wrap up the chain before storing the healing amulet safely in an inner pocket of his simple cloak. This, despite the fact that his cloak does not seem to have any pockets. He does it without thought, though the transformation of his garb had occurred scare minutes before.

He gives Nysris a solemn, shallow bow as she finishes, speaking softly. "We will either give them our final respects, or if the worst is true, grant them peace. Now let us journey into madness, and hope that madness does not journey into us." He takes her hand, his own fingers surprisingly light and smooth for all their calluses.

[Jojomo]

Zerak peers interestedly at the pendant, thinking not for the first time that were circumstances otherwise he could happily spend many years in Inadinryl studying their crafts and their magic.

At Nysris' instruction he closes his eyes and lowers his head, looking up after Damien speaks "Aye, we shall grant them what peace we can, even if it only be the peace of the grave."

Wordlessly, he takes Nysris' offered hand in a grip as light as a feather, but still perfectly steady.

[Jarian]

Nysris nods once, solemnly, then closes her fingers around yours. Without speaking she begins her spell, though Zerak can see the intricate weavings of arcana surrounding the three of you in a shell, knitting itself tighter and tighter with each passing moment.

A heartbeat later the spell is finished, and the floor seems to lurch out beneath your feet, speeding away at a stomach-churning pace. The speed increases as you pass effortlessly through the walls of the tower and out over Inadinryl, moving fast enough that the entire city is taken in as a single blur of motion, one eyeblink of color and lights and then gone. Still your pace increases as you pass through misty clouds, surroundings blurring into white streaks against a backdrop of lurid oranges and reds from the sunset.

Nysris adopts a look of concentration as she directs the three of you into a brief turn, blurred world spinning around you at the breakneck pace, though the power of the spell makes it feel as though you are still standing upon the solid tiles of the tower without so much as a faint wind to disturb you.

And still your speed increases, moving so fast that the very air around the invisible egg-shaped shell protecting you roils and churns with your passing. Nysris closes her eyes, lips moving soundlessly as she mouths the words to what appear to be a short mantra. Another abrupt turn and your conveyance clears the clouds, rocketing downwards. You have all of a single heartbeat to see the ground far below, appearing as nothing so much as a patchwork quilt from that height, then the world suddenly snaps back into place under your feet, replacing hard tiles with the soft loam of found on the edges of a forest.

Or, what was once a forest. True, trees still grow in a thick semicircle stretching as far as the eye can see behind you, but the ground you now stand upon could not by any stretch of imagination be called a forest.

Mere paces in front of you the upper layers of the soil have been ripped away, forming a sloping edge to an enormous crater digging deep into the earth. Large pieces of the disturbed earth appear to have forgotten gravity, floating idly in midair a dozen feet above the ground. Other, smaller pieces float even higher, these moving with some speed toward a common point above the crater.

A quick glance reveals nothing out of the ordinary above the crater, but upon closer inspection, the space there seems ... wrong, somehow. Strange transparent fissures seem to form in midair, distortions not unlike a network of veins spanning the entire width of the crater, each pulse of the unseen heart revealing the web for an instant.

Just then, the world lurches before you as a shrill shriek fills your ears and thoughts at the same time. The world seems to flicker, briefly distorting and then snapping back together in a instant. When the flickering fades, several more feet of earth have been removed from the ring of the crater, lifted into the air to form a belt of miniature floating islands, each streaming loose soil upward toward that pulsing web.

"We arrive." Nysris says quietly. "You may wait for the rift to swallow you, or attempt to enter it under your own power. I do not know whether it makes a difference. Regardless, I cannot remain. It is too dangerous for me here. May fortune favor the both of you, else we are all doomed."

With that, she weaves another spell identical to the one that brought you here, shooting upwards and then skimming over the treetops, angling back toward Inadinryl. The span of one breath later, and she is gone, leaving you alone with the rift, and the burdens of an entire world on your shoulders.

[Jojomo]

Zerak regards the crater with a sense of unease, which in and of itself troubles him. After a lifetime of fighting all manner of villain and beast and decades spent in training in the chaos of Limbo, it takes something far out of the ordinary to bother him. This rift though, it exudes a feeling of wrongness that makes his skin crawl in revulsion.

Outwardly though, he gives no sign of inner turmoil, merely narrowing his eyes. He glances to Damien and raises and eyebrow, “It would seem we are left to our own devices for the time being. There are one or two minor spells that would be useful for us to have active while we are inside the rift.” He pauses for a moment and closes his eyes, clearly deep in thought, “Considering how little we know about the rifts it might be sensible to wait until we are inside before activating them.”

He lets that hang in the air for a moment before his eyes snap open, “Then again, observing the rifts effect on the spells might be instructive in determining something of their nature. If the rift’s boundary functions like a planar one, some will cease to function when the one of us crosses it.”

He shakes his head, as if to clear it, “I apologise, I am rambling, regardless of other considerations, this should be useful.” His fingers dance through a quick pattern as he mutters a short incantation in the guttural tongue of the Gith before throwing his hand palm first towards Damien. This should be useful should we become separated, his voice echoes in Damien’s head.

His eyes return once again to the rift, and the chain of floating earth leading towards the centre, I see little reason to wait for the rift to pull us in when we can simply make our way in along such a convenient set of stepping stones, unless you have strong feelings to the contrary?

Casting Lesser Telepathic Bond (CL 18, 3 hour duration).

[RaggedAngel]

Damien feels the spell dancing around the boundaries of his mind, and he lowers the gates in his thoughts to let it in. Telepathic conversation is useful in general, he sends. Significantly faster, no room for linguistic error, it can't be overheard...

His thought drifts off as he looks up to the earthen path towards the rift. He crouches, bracing himself against the ground. If you don't mind, I'm going to go in first. You'll be able to tell if your link works across the boundary, and if something is going to get the spring on one of us I would rather it be me.

He grins at Zerak, and then he explodes upwards in a blur of movement. "After all," he calls, a trace of laughter in his voice, "I'm the dimwitted fighter between us!"

He leaps into the air, and despite what the laws of physics may say is reasonable, he seems to spring and rebound off of nothing but motes of dust and floating pebbles. He begins running towards the center of the rifts, looking back to see how Zerak chooses to follow him.

He's going to jump like Jackie Chan. Because flying is for squares.

We'll say he takes the round of "teleporting" to prepare his maneuvers. He shifts to Leaping Dragon Stance, which gives him +10 feet to each jump and treats him as always running, and Balance on the Sky, which allows him to Air Walk.

He Sudden Leaps, and then takes two move action jumps. Let's see how they turn out!

Jump: [roll0] +10ft = 77 feet forward or 26 feet straight up.
Jump: [roll1] +10ft = 60 feet forward or 22 feet up (plus his height).
Jump: [roll2] +10ft = 65 feet forward or 23 feet up.

[Jojomo]

Zerak watches the young man spring into the air with the barest hint of what might be amusement showing on his face, perhaps thinking something about the impulsiveness of youth. Not that any such thoughts leak through the telepathic link of course.

As his companion leaps and somersaults through the air, Zerak wills himself into the air. With folded arms and closed eyes, it almost looks as though the gith hasn't noticed the lack of ground beneath his feet.

He follows closely behind Damien, reaching out across the link again, Ah yes, that old stereotype. Silence reigns for a moment before he continues, I suggest you project your thoughts continuously as you enter the rift, if you are cut off at any point I will follow immediately. After another short pause with the barest hint of a wry smile on his face, he adds, Perhaps something like "Damien crush puny rift" drawn out somewhat, would be appropriate.

I was really torn about whether or not to start a "Chan-off" but then remembered that if anyone is a square, Zerak is. :smalltongue:

Gonna get some milage out of that shiny Cloak of the Phoenix, keeping pace with Damien to the extent possible.

[Jarian]

Damien Only:You leap toward the rift with every bit as much grace and precision as could be expected from a master of the Sublime Way, nothing hindering your progress at all. The instant you reach the web of fissures, however, reality itself seems to flicker, back and forth, back and forth.

Flicker. You leap toward the rift with every bit as much grace and precision as could be expected from a master of the Sublime Way, nothing hindering your progress at all.

Flicker. You fight against the sandstorm, not yet learned in the arts of the Desert Wind. A rising panic wells in your chest as your skin is flayed and your throat is parched, nostrils clogging with searing sands. And in that moment, you learn to surrender yourself to the fury of the desert, giving in and taking the first steps down the path of-

Flicker. You leap toward the rift with every bit as much grace and precision as could be expected from a master of the Sublime Way, nothing hindering your progress at all.

Flicker. Your vision darkens as the hobgoblin calmly begins to clean his blade, which has just sliced effortlessly through your armor and flesh alike. Dimly you hear the warrior dismiss you: "You are not his equal, human, and you have no place here. Come back when you can challenge that."

Flicker. The rift.

Flicker. Another memory.

Flicker. Rift.

Flicker. Memory.

Flicker.Flicker.Flicker.Flicker.Flicker. Flicker. Flicker. Flicker.

Sensations flood your mind, biting wounds and thrills of victory, even as you continually flick back and forth between approaching and entering the rift. Too much, too fast - it begins to blur together, a white haze of pain and distorted remembrance, threatening to tear you apart body and soul with each flicker. Faster and faster, a shrill whine building inside your head, pressing against your mind like an ever-tightening vise...

...and then you find yourself on hands and knees in the middle of a thin forest, soft loam filling the space between your fingers. Trees large and small sprout from the ground around you, seemingly normal in appearance. In fact, the only sign that things are not entirely normal here is the fact that the ground abruptly ends in a ragged border some forty feet behind you, and that large fissures crisscross the landscape ahead. That, and the fact that the entire sky seems to be a single roiling mass of purple energy, like an impossibly large stormcloud. Fushia crackles of energy occasionally arc about sky, searing lines of light into your vision. Looking down, you can see that the fissures cut cleanly through the ground to reveal more of the 'sky' below.

Before you can truly begin to process your surroundings, a massive bolt of purple-pink energy strikes the ground less than twenty paces away. Instead of blasting away bits of the earth, however, the strike coalesces into a crackling field of arcing energy. The energy strikes at four nearby points of earth simultaneously, continuous streams of concentrated blasts faster than the eye can see.

Before your eyes, four figures rise from the earth, not parting the soil but simply flowing up out of it. The figures might once have been humanoid, but their features have been horribly twisted, faces rearranged haphazardly so that nothing is in the right place - eyes replaced by mouths, teeth replaced by dozens of bleeding eyes, noses simply missing or worse, and so on - each one different but each as horrifying as the last.

Worse yet is a sudden surge of realization that strikes you like a fist in the gut: the colors are wrong and the design has been twisted slightly, but each and every one of the risen figures bears the mark of Inadinryl plainly.

The instant the figures have fully risen from the earth, a process that took no longer than the span of a few heartbeats, four heads swivel to look in your direction. A wave of loathing washes over you, a desire to see you dead or worse that would likely have been crippling if not for your protective magicks. The energy continues to flow into the four risen creatures from its source, a roughly spherical mass of purple and pink sparks.

---

Initiative:
Damien:[roll0]
Enemies: [roll1]/4= 20.25

Map (spoilered for size):http://img560.imageshack.us/img560/6760/endofallthingsmap1.jpg

Brief description of your foes:Clockwise from the top left:
What appears to have once been an elf, graceful limbs twisted into horrible mockeries. The creature wears light leather armor and carries a pair of wickedly barbed shortswords.
A hulking juggernaut of a man clad in plate, bearing a flaming greatsword in both hands. A twisted symbol of Inadinryl hangs at this creature's throat.
A tiefling of some variety in life, you think. Shadows dance oddly around the robes of this creature, forming into semisolid claws at the tips of its fingers.
Some sort of quasi-fire elemental, though whether willingly transformed human or genasi is impossible to tell at a glance. This twisted creature holds an amethyst-tipped runestaff in both hands.


The shrill whine in your head has not yet abated, imposing a -10 penalty to Concentration checks.

Trees are 25 ft. tall. Crossing through a tree space is considered extremely difficult (x4 movement) terrain.

The fissures on the map are rifts all the way through the floating mass of earth, promising an endless fall if you happen to enter one of those squares without possessing flight.

Edit: Please remember to list your intended counters much as you would a readied action. You can list any (reasonable) number of possibilities, but I don't want to deal with epic combat with fully open-ended immediate actions.


Zerak:As Damien touches the network of fissures, his entire body seems to blur forward, stretching out into an impossibly thin, nearly two-dimensional line. A heartbeat later he is simply gone, and a shrill whine fills your mind from his end of your telepathic link.

You suffer a -10 penalty to Concentration checks until further notice.

[Jojomo]

Jarian:
As Damien's thoughts are eclipsed by white noise, Zerak's eyes snap open. Without an instant of hesitation he angles his body forwards and hurtles towards the rift, cloak snapping in the air behind him.

[RaggedAngel]

Jarian:
Damien Swiftarm (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=477503)
Male Lawful Good Human Warblade 20// Swordsage 15/ Master of Nine 5, Level 20, Init +16, HP 360/360, Speed 50
AC 41, Touch 25, Flat-footed 36, Fort +26, Ref +28, Will +25, Base Attack Bonus +20/+15/+10/+5
+3 Iron Heart Diamond Mind Shadow Hand Tiger Claw White Raven Greatsword +39/+34/+29/+24 (2d6+15, 19-20/x2)
Unarmed Strike +29/+24/+19/+14 (2d6+8, x2)
+1 Warning Armor Spikes +29/+24/+19/+14 (1d6+9, x2)
+5 Light Fortification Mithral Breastplate, Ring of Force Shield (+10 Armor, +2 Shield, +5 Dex, +4 Natural, +5 Deflect, +5 Misc)
Abilities Str 26, Dex 20, Con 22, Int 20, Wis 20, Cha 14
Condition Mind Blank, Freedom of Movement, Immune to Death Effect, Energy Drain, Negative Energy
Stances
Stance of Alacrity (Free Counter each turn)
Child of Shadow (20% miss chance)
Pearl of Black Doubt (+2 AC for each attack that misses him)
Prepared Maneuvers:
Swordsage Maneuvers (16):
1- Sudden Leap (Boost, Jump as Swift action)(Tiger Claw)
2- Baffling Defense (Counter, Sense Motive vs Attack)(Setting Sun)
2- Cloak of Deception (Boost, Greater Invisibility)(Shadow Hand)
4- Searing Charge (Full, +5d6 fire, fly)(Desert Wind)
5- Shadow Stride (Move, 50ft Teleport)(Shadow Hand)
6- Scorpion Parry (Counter, Redirect Attack)(Setting Sun)
6- Rallying Strike (Strike, Heal 3d6+20 in 30ft burst)(Devoted Spirit)
7- Inferno Blade (Boost, +3d6+20 fire per attack)(Desert Wind)
7- Castigating Strike (Strike, 8d6, 5d6 AoE, -2 attack, Fort part.)(Devoted Spirit)
7- Shadow Blink (Swift, Teleport 50 ft)(Shadow Hand)
8- Fool's Strike (Counter, Reflect attack)(Setting Sun)
8- Raging Mongoose (Boost, 4 extra attacks, TWF)(Tiger Claw)
8- One With Shadow (Counter, Incorporeal)(Shadow Hand)
9- Five Shadow Creeping Ice Enervation Strike (+15d6, 1-7 2d6 Dex +0speed; 8-14 2d6 Str -6atk and conc; 15-20 2d6 Dex, Str + Con)
9- Feral Death Blow (Jump vs AC, Fort; Death if fail, +20d6 dmg)
9- Strike of Righteous Vitality (Heal)(Devoted Spirit)
Warblade Maneuvers (7):
4- Lighting Recovery (Counter, Reroll attack, +2 bonus)(Iron Heart)
5- Iron Heart Focus (Counter, Reroll save)(Iron Heart)
6- Manticore Parry (Counter, Redirect attack)(Iron Heart)
8- White Raven Hammer (+6d6 dmg, Stun)(White Raven)
9- Mountain Tombstone Strike (+2d6 Con dmg)(Stone Dragon)
9- Strike of Perfect Clarity (+100 dmg)(Iron Heart)
9- Time Stands Still (Two full attacks)(Diamond Mind)

Swift Action- Add a third stance, changing one of his current stances as he does. He is now in Stance of Alacrity, Child of Shadow, and Pearl of Black Doubt.

Move Action- He teleports 50 feet to N16 with Shadow Stride. Child of Shadow and Desert Wind Dodge are now active.

Free Action- He Hides as a part of his movement, using the teleportation as his 'distraction'. Hide: [roll0]

Free Action- He shifts to N17; Shadow Stride is a maneuver, not a move action, so it should work by RAW.

Standard Action- He attacks with Feral Death Blow, starting things off with a bang (and hopefully a fatality).
Jump vs AC: [roll1] (If this fails, then I'm completely screwed.)
Attack vs Flatfooted AC (whether he Hide successfully or not), Power Attack for 2: [roll2]
Damage: [roll3] + [roll4]
If it hits, DC 28 save vs Death.

If it misses, he'll use his Lightning Recovery counter.
Reroll attack: [roll5]

Then he attempts to Hide again, with penalty: [roll6] Not all of them can have good Spot checks.

If it hits, his turn will end. He will respond to the first serious physical attack against him with either Fool's Strike, to reflect the attack, or Manticore Parry to send the attack into his first target, should it live. In both cases, it is 1d20+45 vs their attack roll. If something other than an attack comes for him, his trump card is One with Shadow, to become incorporeal, and to shift to his Immortal Fortitude stance.

Damien looks up from the loam into the horrible visages of the men- the monsters- before him. He took a moment to reflect on diplomacy. On the wholesomeness of a conflict resolved with nothing but words, and a peaceful resolution. With old conflicts being brought to conclusion, with misunderstandings cleared, with friendships forged. And then, a moment to reflect on what his foe was, and what they represented. A single moment, nothing more; and then the master warrior's reflexes took over, and he whirls in the air, vanishing into a speck of shadow as he does. There is a moment of silence, and stillness; a moment frozen in time.

And then the shadows nearest the closest of the four creatures blooms outwards like a black lotus, and arm extended on either side and a lean figure bent low in the middle. The shadow whirled and twisted around the figure with a terrible fervor, and even the keenest eye would have to fight to see him through the gloom.

And then he explodes upwards, leaping to a height that rivaled the trees around them, flipping forwards as he did, bringing his wickedly sharp greatsword into a massive overhead strike. All the force and weight of his body and the speed of his jump focused into the razor edge of his blade was brought down on the twisted being before him; and as his blade again neared the ground, Damien allowed the shadows to again rise around him, and for the flame in his eyes to raise a pearl of black doubt in his inhuman foes.

Less description than I would like, but the mechanics took a lot out of me. I'm still pretty sure I had a mechanically superior option, but this will have to do for now until I get a better grasp of his full options.

[Jarian]

Damien:You dispatch your hapless victim with a single brutal blow, striking with such force that you nearly sever head from body. A spray of pinkish-purple blood sprays from the creature's neck as it dies - and immediately begins flowing up and around the wound in a series of undulating tendrils that burrow into and through the flesh, almost like crude stitches. Instead of falling to the ground, the dead creature hangs limply in midair, unseeing eyes open wide in surprise.

Abruptly the entire conclave of twisted creatures whirl about, forms blurring as the entire group streaks through the air in a flash, only to settle a moment later in a new position, the heavily armored warrior now standing before you.

To one side, the shadows about the tiefling's fingers abruptly lash out, striking you squarely in the forehead. You feel a portion of your protections flicker and fade, then a wave of unease washes over you, threatening to drown you in an ocean of panic. (Your Third Eye Conceal is subjected to a targeted dispel and is inactive until further notice. You are automatically Shaken until further notice, but succeed on the Will save to avoid worse effects.)

Even as your sudden doubts gnaw at your resolve, the armored warrior twists his blazing sword in a series of sweeping patterns that you recognize all too well, even distorted as they are by the warped limbs of the creature. A massive blast of flame leaps from his blade an instant later, washing over you. (The armored one initiates a warped version of Wyrm's Flame. You take [roll0] fire damage, Reflex DC 29 half. Unlike the normal maneuver, the flames from this one remain in place, surrounding you.)

Were the sudden fiery onslaught not enough, the elemental creature furthest from you suddenly shouts and gestures toward you. A sphere of absolute nothingness appears just before you, a tiny bead that you notice only by the way the rest of the world seems to bend around it, rapidly growing in size until it is several feet in diameter, then streaking forward to strike you in the chest. (You take [roll1] untyped damage as the sphere settles into your space. A successful DC 35 Fortitude save reduces the damage to [roll2])

Just when things seem worst, a blurring streak appears in the air behind you, reaching several hundred feet in the air to the ground. The streak flickers several times, then resolves into the form of Zerak crouching on the ground behind you. At once the shrill shriek in your mind begins to lessen as the Gith's thoughts once more meld with your own.

Zerak:As you enter the rift, reality seems to flicker. One moment you are approaching the rift, the next you are back at the monastery so long ago. You flicker back and forth through endless memories of your adventures, each no more than an instant in length, yet seeming to take hours to resolve, and between each you appear in midair just before the rift. The memories begin to blur together, faster and faster until the sheer volume and pace of them build to a second pain in your mind, even worse than the shrill shrieking feedback coming from your bond with Damien.

And then you are through, the mental onslaught ceasing abruptly. You find yourself kneeling in the soft loam of a forest which ends in a ragged edge some twenty paces behind you. Deep fissures run through the ground, revealing a swirling mass of pinkish-purple energy that fills the entire sky, both below and above.

Your eyes snap forward, to where Damien stands, engulfed in a wave of fire. A sphere of pure nothingness presses into his chest, noticeable only by the way everything else seems to bend around it. (You automatically identify the spell as a Sphere of Ultimate Destruction.)

Beyond Damien, four figures surround a swirling mass of arcing energy identical to that of the sky above and below. The energy streams into the creatures in rapid blasts too fast for the eye to follow. The figures might once have been humanoid, but their features have been horribly twisted, faces rearranged haphazardly so that nothing is in the right place - eyes replaced by mouths, teeth replaced by dozens of bleeding eyes, noses simply missing or worse, and so on - each one different but each as horrifying as the last.

Worse yet is a sudden surge of realization that strikes you like a fist in the gut: the colors are wrong and the design has been twisted slightly, but each and every one of the risen figures bears the mark of Inadinryl plainly.

Brief description of your foes:Clockwise from the top left:
A hulking juggernaut of a man clad in plate, bearing a flaming greatsword in both hands. A twisted symbol of Inadinryl hangs at this creature's throat.
A tiefling of some variety in life, you think. Shadows dance oddly around the robes of this creature, forming into semisolid claws at the tips of its fingers.
Some sort of quasi-fire elemental, though whether willingly transformed human or genasi is impossible to tell at a glance. This twisted creature holds an amethyst-tipped runestaff in both hands.
What appears to have once been an elf, graceful limbs twisted into horrible mockeries. The creature wears light leather armor and carries a pair of wickedly barbed shortswords. (Current status: dead from a vicious slash through the neck. Thin, twisting vine-like protrusions sprout from the wound however, and seem to be stitching it back together.)


---

Initiative:
Zerak: 36
Damien: 30
Enemies: 20.25


Map (spoilered for size):http://img23.imageshack.us/img23/6760/endofallthingsmap1.jpg

The shrill whine in your head begins to abate. The penalty is now -9 to concentration checks, and will continue to reduce at a rate of 1 per round.

Trees are 25 ft. tall. Crossing through a tree space is considered extremely difficult (x4 movement) terrain.

The fissures on the map are rifts all the way through the floating mass of earth, promising an endless fall if you happen to enter one of those squares without possessing flight.

Orange squares are a field of fire. Entering or ending your turn in the fire inflicts 10d6 fire damage, Reflex DC 29 half.

[Jojomo]

Move action: Weave through the three trees centred near N11 (I think there’s a clear path there where all of the squares are grass) ending up at R17. Tumble check to move at normal speed through the tiefling’s space and another to avoid AoOs for leaving his threatened area then continue moving to R20.

Standard action: Flurry against the genasi thing. First attack is a normal unarmed strike, second is a disarm attempt to steal his runestaff, third is a quivering palm attack, activated immediately after it connects (Fort DC 34 to avoid death).

Rolls:
Tumble Check 1 (DC 25): [roll0]
Tumble Check 2 (DC 15): [roll1]

Attack 1 (Normal): [roll2]
Damage: [roll3]
Critical Confirmation: [roll4]
Critical Damage: [roll5]

Attack 2 (Disarm Attempt): [roll6]

Attack 3 (Quivering Palm): [roll7]
Damage: [roll8]
Critical Confirmation: [roll9]
Critical Damage: [roll10]


The freakish scene barely has time to register in Zerak’s conscious mind before he is moving. The flames, the twisted figures, Damien struggling against the grip of the Sphere; it is all absorbed in a single instant. There is a dull whooshing sound as he rushes forward from his crouched posture, skimming along the ground and through the trees at a breakneck pace. As he does so he reaches out to Damien with his thoughts, hoping that the distortion in the link between their minds is not so bad as to prevent him understanding, Damien, the sphere is not as fast as you are. If you retreat it can only follow at a walking pace. I shall endeavour to disable the one holding the staff.

Out of the trees and across the rifts in the ground, he rushes towards the figure that perhaps was once a tiefling, his feet alighting on the ground for a handful of moments before he leaps into the air again. Perhaps expecting an attack, the tiefling-thing only stands mute as Zerak sails past its head, spinning in the air like a top. As he lands on the ground behind it he allows his momentum to carry him along, rolling along the ground then whirling upwards, leg extending in a lightning-fast kick aimed squarely at the flaming creature.

He continues the spin, pirouetting in place. As his back is fully exposed to his opponent one long arm darts out followed quickly by the other, making a grab for the staff in the creature’s misshapen hands.

Almost as an afterthought, his hand darts forth once again, palm extended, striking directly towards the creature’s chest.

He exhales slowly.

[RaggedAngel]

Saves:
Reflex, DC 29 (Evasion): [roll0]
Fortitude, DC 35: [roll1]

[RaggedAngel]

Damien Swiftarm (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=477503)
Male Lawful Good Human Warblade 20// Swordsage 15/ Master of Nine 5, Level 20, Init +16, HP 349/360, Speed 50
AC 41, Touch 25, Flat-footed 36, Fort +26, Ref +28, Will +25, Base Attack Bonus +20/+15/+10/+5
+3 Iron Heart Diamond Mind Shadow Hand Tiger Claw White Raven Greatsword +39/+34/+29/+24 (2d6+15, 19-20/x2)
Unarmed Strike +29/+24/+19/+14 (2d6+8, x2)
+1 Warning Armor Spikes +29/+24/+19/+14 (1d6+9, x2)
+5 Light Fortification Mithral Breastplate, Ring of Force Shield (+10 Armor, +2 Shield, +5 Dex, +4 Natural, +5 Deflect, +5 Misc)
Abilities Str 26, Dex 20, Con 22, Int 20, Wis 20, Cha 14
Condition Freedom of Movement, Immune to Death Effects, Energy Drain, Negative Energy
Stances
Stance of Alacrity (Free Counter each turn)
Child of Shadow (20% miss chance)
Pearl of Black Doubt (+2 AC for each attack that misses him)
Prepared Maneuvers:
Swordsage Maneuvers (16):
1- Sudden Leap (Boost, Jump as Swift action)(Tiger Claw)
2- Baffling Defense (Counter, Sense Motive vs Attack)(Setting Sun)
2- Cloak of Deception (Boost, Greater Invisibility)(Shadow Hand)
4- Searing Charge (Full, +5d6 fire, fly)(Desert Wind)
5- Shadow Stride (Move, 50ft Teleport)(Shadow Hand)
6- Scorpion Parry (Counter, Redirect Attack)(Setting Sun)
6- Rallying Strike (Strike, Heal 3d6+20 in 30ft burst)(Devoted Spirit)
7- Inferno Blade (Boost, +3d6+20 fire per attack)(Desert Wind)
7- Castigating Strike (Strike, 8d6, 5d6 AoE, -2 attack, Fort part.)(Devoted Spirit)
7- Shadow Blink (Swift, Teleport 50 ft)(Shadow Hand)
8- Fool's Strike (Counter, Reflect attack)(Setting Sun)
8- Raging Mongoose (Boost, 4 extra attacks, TWF)(Tiger Claw)
8- One With Shadow (Counter, Incorporeal)(Shadow Hand)
9- Five Shadow Creeping Ice Enervation Strike (+15d6, 1-7 2d6 Dex +0speed; 8-14 2d6 Str -6atk and conc; 15-20 2d6 Dex, Str + Con)
9- Feral Death Blow (Jump vs AC, Fort; Death if fail, +20d6 dmg)
9- Strike of Righteous Vitality (Heal)(Devoted Spirit)
Warblade Maneuvers (7):
4- Lighting Recovery (Counter, Reroll attack, +2 bonus)(Iron Heart)
5- Iron Heart Focus (Counter, Reroll save)(Iron Heart)
6- Manticore Parry (Counter, Redirect attack)(Iron Heart)
8- White Raven Hammer (+6d6 dmg, Stun)(White Raven)
9- Mountain Tombstone Strike (+2d6 Con dmg)(Stone Dragon)
9- Strike of Perfect Clarity (+100 dmg)(Iron Heart)
9- Time Stands Still (Two full attacks)(Diamond Mind)

Swift Action- He uses a Boost, Cloak of Deception. He gets Greater Invisibility until the end of his turn, which includes a +40 bonus to Hide.

Move Action- He tumbles to R19, moving at half speed. He takes the path that avoids the epicenter of that light and any rifts on the ground. He automatically succeeds checks to avoid AoO's, in addition to being invisible. His Child of Shadow stance and Desert Wind Dodge are now active.

Free Action- He Hides in Plain Sight as a part of his movement, with the bonus from invisibility. Hide: [roll0] Move Silently: [roll1]

Standard Action- Strike of Perfect Clarity on the tiefling, Power Attack for 5. If the tiefling cannot see him, he gets +2 on the attack and it is flatfooted.
(20BAB+8Str+14Enhance+1WF+2MoN-2Shaken-5PA)[roll2]
Damage: [roll3]

If it misses, he'll use his Lightning Recovery counter, changing his Pearl of Black Doubt stance to Dancing Blade Form.
Reroll attack: [roll4]

Then he attempts to Hide again, since he's still invisible.: [roll5]

Then his Cloak of Deception ends, as does his turn.

The first pulse of magic comes unexpected to the warrior; Damien was ready for a physical assault, not a mental one. He feels the protections on his mind weaken, and immediately a power fear slams into him like a tidal wave. But Damien's mind was that of iron and diamond, and he staunches the fear before it can grow too large. It does not leave, but nor does it consume him.

Then the powerful warrior unleashes a Desert Wind technique on him, and Damien watches the flames of the twisted maneuver begin to spin and roil around him, hot enough to char flesh and blacken bone. What is more, the maneuver has been altered, the normal hot flash of chi twisted into a lingering, greasy flame that promised to clog up the battlefield with fire.

Amateurs, he muses as he raises a hand to intercept the oncoming flame. It was powerful, certainly, but he could call up fire that made these flames seem like that of a dying ember. The fire parted around him, forced aside by pure will and the strength of his own chi. It clung to the ground around him, however, and he recognized that he would be wise to move; not even a master of the Desert Wind was completely fireproof.

The next assault was one of the most deadly Damien had ever weathered; but here, the power of the arcane transformation and the unbreakable resolve of the Diamond Mind saved him. As the sphere slammed into him, he felt it attempt to rip away at his life force, tearing him to physical and spiritual shreds. But it found no purchase, as his soul and his body would not yield, and so he was barely harmed by the nearly-epic magic.

And then aid comes in the form of Zerak, and the screaming in his head abates slightly. Damien immediately sends information through the mental link, far more than words could convey in so short a time. The first died in a single blow; though it was an excellent blow, they do not seem extremely hardy. However, it immediately began regenerating. They can rearrange themselves extremely quickly, so be careful. I believe we can kill them all, or at least take them out of the fight long enough to try to destroy that energy source.

The information comes as more of a dense impression than true speech, and the moment after Zerak's last strike lands, Damien vanishes from sight; or at least, vanishes further, for the swordsage was already hidden within shadow. He folds the shadows around him through sheer will and focused power, until his invisibility was as solid as a spell.

Then he darts forward, flipping over the deadly sphere and avoiding the source of energy that connects the four poor souls. He spins in place as he moves, landing behind the tiefling and with his back to Zerak. Damien coils his body as he lands, twisting like a spring, and then with a single fluid motion he strikes. The blade moves with speed enough to cut the air, and the air itself screams as his motion concludes. The invisibility around him fades, but the shadows remain, and he is still little more than an impression against the roiling sky.

[Jarian]

A series of efficient strikes from Zerak, and the newly disarmed elemental floats dead in midair, mouth open in an unvoiced "oh" of surprise. Damien's assault proves somewhat less effective, his first lightning thrust stymied as the tiefling's entire form seems to blur into the nearby shadows, foiling his attack. The instantaneous recovery takes the tiefling in the chest however, and while the blow strikes with savage force, the creature fights on with no sign of pain or impairment. (The first attack failed to hit the tiefling's AC. The lightning recovery, on the other hand...)

A scant second after Zerak dispatches the elemental, the elf suddenly snaps its head up on a freshly healed neck, gaze locked on the gith. The forms of the creatures blur as they shift position with blinding speed, whirling through the air. Then the elf is suddenly mere feet away from Zerak, twin blades already dancing in a shockingly quick flashing form of quicksilver, every slash or thrust aimed at Zerak's neck, heart, or other vital area.

The elf attacks Zerak nine times. The first four attacks deal one point of Constitution damage if they hit.[roll0] for [roll1] slashing damage.
[roll2] for [roll3] slashing damage.
[roll4] for [roll5] slashing damage.
[roll6] for [roll7] slashing damage.
[roll8] for [roll9] slashing damage.
[roll10] for [roll11] slashing damage.
[roll12] for [roll13] slashing damage.
[roll14] for [roll15] slashing damage.
[roll16] for [roll17] slashing damage.

The heavily armored Inadinryl warrior does not slacken his assault either, pressing forward to bring its suddenly glowing blade up in a quick slash at Damien's guts, footing shifting slightly as it does so. (Damien identifies the attack as a corrupt version of the Strike of Righteous Vitality, and notices the warrior assuming a similarly corrupt version of the Aura of Perfect Order.)
Attack: 52 for [roll18] slashing damage. If the attack hits:The gaping wound in the tiefling's chest closes in an abrupt surge of purple light.

Nearby, the wounded tiefling raises one shadow-clawed hand toward Damien, and five streaks of shadow lash out to unerringly strike him in the forehead once more.

Damien:As the shadows touch you, you feel a sensation akin to a physical grasp clutching at your mind. Along with a searing surge of agony, you hear a chorus of voices rise up in the back of your mind, urging you to violence against Zerak. Your mental fortitude dims the voices to a mere buzzing annoyance, but they remain all the same.

"Kill the Gith! Kill, kill, kill!"
"Taste its blood, so sweet, so sweet!"
"Tear open its throat, rip out its heart! Blood and flesh, offerings to the Lord of Nothing!"
"Birth to death, all contained in a mere flicker. Snuff out its light. Bring shadow eternal!"

--

But then you went and made your Will save so I didn't get to do anything fun with this. :smalltongue:

Map:http://img841.imageshack.us/img841/6760/endofallthingsmap1.jpg

[RaggedAngel]

Damien Swiftarm (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=477503)
Male Lawful Good Human Warblade 20// Swordsage 15/ Master of Nine 5, Level 20, Init +16, HP 320/360, Speed 50
AC 42, Touch 26, Flat-footed 36, Fort +26, Ref +28, Will +25, Base Attack Bonus +20/+15/+10/+5
+3 Iron Heart Diamond Mind Shadow Hand Tiger Claw White Raven Greatsword +39/+34/+29/+24 (2d6+15, 19-20/x2)
Unarmed Strike +29/+24/+19/+14 (2d6+8, x2)
+1 Warning Armor Spikes +29/+24/+19/+14 (1d6+9, x2)
+5 Light Fortification Mithral Breastplate, Ring of Force Shield (+10 Armor, +2 Shield, +5 Dex, +4 Natural, +5 Deflect, +5 Misc)
Abilities Str 26, Dex 20, Con 22, Int 20, Wis 20, Cha 14
Condition Freedom of Movement, Immune to Death Effects, Energy Drain, Negative Energy
Stances
Stance of Alacrity (Free Counter each turn)
Child of Shadow (20% miss chance)
Dancing Blade Form (+5ft reach)
Prepared Maneuvers:
Swordsage Maneuvers (16):
1- Sudden Leap (Boost, Jump as Swift action)(Tiger Claw)
2- Baffling Defense (Counter, Sense Motive vs Attack)(Setting Sun)
2- Cloak of Deception (Boost, Greater Invisibility)(Shadow Hand)
4- Searing Charge (Full, +5d6 fire, fly)(Desert Wind)
5- Shadow Stride (Move, 50ft Teleport)(Shadow Hand)
6- Scorpion Parry (Counter, Redirect Attack)(Setting Sun)
6- Rallying Strike (Strike, Heal 3d6+20 in 30ft burst)(Devoted Spirit)
7- Inferno Blade (Boost, +3d6+20 fire per attack)(Desert Wind)
7- Castigating Strike (Strike, 8d6, 5d6 AoE, -2 attack, Fort part.)(Devoted Spirit)
7- Shadow Blink (Swift, Teleport 50 ft)(Shadow Hand)
8- Fool's Strike (Counter, Reflect attack)(Setting Sun)
8- Raging Mongoose (Boost, 4 extra attacks, TWF)(Tiger Claw)
8- One With Shadow (Counter, Incorporeal)(Shadow Hand)
9- Five Shadow Creeping Ice Enervation Strike (+15d6, 1-7 2d6 Dex +0speed; 8-14 2d6 Str -6atk and conc; 15-20 2d6 Dex, Str + Con)
9- Feral Death Blow (Jump vs AC, Fort; Death if fail, +20d6 dmg)
9- Strike of Righteous Vitality (Heal)(Devoted Spirit)
Warblade Maneuvers (7):
4- Lighting Recovery (Counter, Reroll attack, +2 bonus)(Iron Heart)
5- Iron Heart Focus (Counter, Reroll save)(Iron Heart)
6- Manticore Parry (Counter, Redirect attack)(Iron Heart)
8- White Raven Hammer (+6d6 dmg, Stun)(White Raven)
9- Mountain Tombstone Strike (+2d6 Con dmg)(Stone Dragon)
9- Strike of Perfect Clarity (+100 dmg)(Iron Heart)
9- Time Stands Still (Two full attacks)(Diamond Mind)

The warrior's attack hits.

Free Action: Shift to Q20. Hide in Plain Sight: [roll0]

Swift Action: Inferno Blade

Full Round Action: Time Stands Still, with Snap Kick

Attack 1: [roll1]
Damage: [roll2] + [roll3] Fire Damage
Crit Confirm 1: [roll4]
Crit Damage: [roll5]

Attack 2: [roll6]
Damage: [roll7] + [roll8] Fire Damage
Crit Confirm 2: [roll9]
Crit Damage: [roll10]

Attack 3: [roll11]
Damage: [roll12] + [roll13] Fire Damage
Crit Confirm 3: [roll14]
Crit Damage: [roll15]

Attack 4: [roll16]
Damage: [roll17] + [roll18] Fire Damage
Crit Confirm 4: [roll19]
Crit Damage: [roll20]

Snap Kick: [roll21]
Damage: [roll22] + [roll23] Fire Damage
Crit Confirm: [roll24]
Crit Damage: [roll25]

Attack 6: [roll26]
Damage: [roll27] + [roll28] Fire Damage
Crit Confirm 6: [roll29]
Crit Damage: [roll30]

Attack 7: [roll31]
Damage: [roll32] + [roll33] Fire Damage
Crit Confirm 7: [roll34]
Crit Damage: [roll35]

Attack 8: [roll36]
Damage: [roll37] + [roll38] Fire Damage
Crit Confirm 8: [roll39]
Crit Damage: [roll40]

Attack 9: [roll41]
Damage: [roll42] + [roll43] Fire Damage
Crit Confirm 9: [roll44]
Crit Damage: [roll45]

Snap Kick: [roll46]
Damage: [roll47] + [roll48] Fire Damage
Crit Confirm: [roll49]
Crit Damage: [roll50]

He will use One With Shadow as a counter to the first thing that targets him next round unless it is a damaging melee attack (in which case he will use Manticore Parry or Fool's Strike), and he will shift his Child of Shadow stance to Leaping Dragon Stance.

Damien wastes no time after the mental assault to shift his position slightly, moving away from the bulky, twisted crusader to a more central position. His stance broadens, and he holds his blade with a calm, balanced poise.

The warrior closes his eyes for a fraction of a second, allowing two of his most ancient techniques to fill his consciousness. From desert to spirit, from mind to body, and from spirit and body into the blade. Damien opens his eyes, and clean, pure fire rolls down his blade, across his armor, and it burns and roils at his fists and feet. He is anointed by flame, bright and strong, and he stands perfectly still, his light in stark contrast from the greasy, bitter flames behind him.

And from his silence and stillness comes another technique, the first and last technique of the Diamond Mind. Time Stands Still, and Damien becomes, for a moment, a blur of steel and flame. His blade licks out at the elf, over and over, faster than any mortal should be able to move. The strokes of his sword are interspersed with whirling, flared kicks; and all the while he speaks to Zerak with his thoughts.

They have attempted mental coercion, but it failed. It took the elf twelve seconds to recover from a killing blow. The crusader is able to use very powerful healing maneuvers.

We need to destroy the source, or be destroyed ourselves. Have you any dispelling magic at your command, or should we attempt to lash out at it physically?

[Jojomo]

The 5th, 6th and 7th attacks from the elf hit, thankfully no Con damage. Zerak’s DR reduces the damage to 17, 17 and 16 for a total of 50.

Swift action: Activate dispelling cord for a +2 competence bonus on dispel checks this turn.

Standard action: Cast a targeted greater dispel magic at the energy sphere.

Free action: Use DC 40 tumble check to 10 ft. step. Actually remembered this time that skill checks aren’t auto-fails on a natural 1, so that’s automatic. If the dispel manages to dissipate the sphere, move to P19. If not, move to P21.

Rolls:
Dispel Check: [roll]1d20+20[roll] Forgot to close the tag properly, see OOC thread.

There is no hesitation in Zerak’s movements as the elf blurs into place in front of him and launches its assault. Each attack is accounted for, the old gith shifting just far enough to avoid the wicked shortswords. To an untrained observer, it might seem as though he is sorely pressed. In truth though, if an attack will go astray, Zerak pays it no mind, whether it misses by the breadth of a hair or by a hundred miles is utterly irrelevant to the monk.

Under the monstrosity’s relentless onslaught though, even his defences are not perfect. Three blows slip through his guard, scoring shallow gashes along his arms and torso.

As Damien launches another devastating attack at the elf, Zerak turns to regard the coruscating nexus of energies that appears to be sustaining these creatures.

I will attempt to dispel whatever force is animating them, he sends, Be ready, I cannot be sure what other effects it might have. He murmurs a short incantation in the guttural language of his people, his hands weaving a complicated pattern in the air. With a final, almost shouted imperative he throws a hand towards the sphere, tearing at whatever magic is holding it together.

[Jarian]

Incredible though the elf's own speed is, Damien proves even faster. The elf's blades dance in counterpoint to Damien's own, fountains of red and green sparks arcing ten feet into the air as sword meets sword nearly a dozen times in a single breath. Yet for all its speed, the twisted elf's defenses are not perfect; Damien's blade pierces the whirling defense in a single quick thrust, and with a sickening hiss of burning flesh the elf falls limp once more, hanging unsupported in midair, chest a mass of scorched flesh with a gaping wound in the center.

Zerak tears away at layer upon layer of magical defenses placed upon the sphere of arcing energy, and while not entirely successful, can feel a large portion of the sphere's protection fade even as it flickers - once, twice - briefly phasing entirely out of sight before solidifying - as much as an arcing orb of energy can be said to solidify - in place once more.

Even as the elf falls, the elemental snaps its head up. The entire group of creatures and sphere blurs through the air once more, and as they streak away to a more distant location, Zerak catches sight of both the elemental and the tiefling thrusting hands toward him in twin gestures.

The sphere of nothingness streaks toward Zerak's chest even as darkness envelops you both; thick and cloying, the oppressive darkness seems to fill your nose and mouth, stifling breath and leeching strength from your bodies even as it attempts to snuff out your life in a more straightforward manner. (Zerak is struck by the elemental's sphere, taking 144 damage, or 13 damage on a DC 35 Fortitude save. You are both caught in a field of darkness that suppresses all supernatural sight, senses, and telepathy inside it, taking 60 cold damage or half that on a DC 35 Fortitude save. You also take 2 Strength damage regardless of the save. The field of darkness renders you mute, unable to speak or cast spells with verbal components.)

Blinded to the outside world as he is, Zerak can still hear the elemental cast a pair of spells, garbled and twisted though the incantations are, and his keen ears make out the rustling of metal on leather as the heavily armored warrior shifts its position into a wary stance. (Zerak hears the elemental cast Ironguard and Quickened Energy Immunity. If/when you leave the blinding darkness, you will see the warrior holding a readied action.)

Map:http://img189.imageshack.us/img189/6760/endofallthingsmap1.jpg

[RaggedAngel]

Fortitude; DC 35: [roll0]

If that fails, he'll counter with Iron Heart Focus and reroll: [roll1]

[RaggedAngel]

I actually updated his ministatblock this time around, and it should be pretty accurate.

Damien Swiftarm (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=477503)
Male Lawful Good Human Warblade 20// Swordsage 15/ Master of Nine 5, Level 20, Init +16, HP 300/360, Speed 50
AC 20, Touch 4, Flat-footed 14, Fort +28, Ref +30, Will +27, Base Attack Bonus +20/+15/+10/+5
+3 Iron Heart Diamond Mind Shadow Hand Tiger Claw White Raven Greatsword +38/+33/+28/+23 (2d6+13, 19-20/x2)
Unarmed Strike +28/+23/+18/+13 (2d6+7, x2)
+1 Warning Armor Spikes +28/+23/+18/+13 (1d6+9, x2)
+5 Light Fortification Mithral Breastplate, Ring of Force Shield (+10 Armor, +2 Shield, +5 Dex, +4 Natural, +5 Deflect, +5 Misc, -20 Power Attack, -2 Charge)
Abilities Str 25(26), Dex 20, Con 22, Int 20, Wis 20, Cha 14
Condition Freedom of Movement, Immune to Death Effects, Energy Drain, Negative Energy, Shaken
Stances
Stance of Alacrity (Free Counter each turn)
Child of Shadow (20% miss chance)
Dancing Blade Form (+5ft reach)
Prepared Maneuvers:
Swordsage Maneuvers (16):
1- Sudden Leap (Boost, Jump as Swift action)(Tiger Claw)
2- Baffling Defense (Counter, Sense Motive vs Attack)(Setting Sun)
2- Cloak of Deception (Boost, Greater Invisibility)(Shadow Hand)
4- Searing Charge (Full, +5d6 fire, fly)(Desert Wind)
5- Shadow Stride (Move, 50ft Teleport)(Shadow Hand)
6- Scorpion Parry (Counter, Redirect Attack)(Setting Sun)
6- Rallying Strike (Strike, Heal 3d6+20 in 30ft burst)(Devoted Spirit)
7- Inferno Blade (Boost, +3d6+20 fire per attack)(Desert Wind)
7- Castigating Strike (Strike, 8d6, 5d6 AoE, -2 attack, Fort part.)(Devoted Spirit)
7- Shadow Blink (Swift, Teleport 50 ft)(Shadow Hand)
8- Fool's Strike (Counter, Reflect attack)(Setting Sun)
8- Raging Mongoose (Boost, 4 extra attacks, TWF)(Tiger Claw)
8- One With Shadow (Counter, Incorporeal)(Shadow Hand)
9- Five Shadow Creeping Ice Enervation Strike (+15d6, 1-7 2d6 Dex +0speed; 8-14 2d6 Str -6atk and conc; 15-20 2d6 Dex, Str + Con)
9- Feral Death Blow (Jump vs AC, Fort; Death if fail, +20d6 dmg)
9- Strike of Righteous Vitality (Heal)(Devoted Spirit)
Warblade Maneuvers (7):

4- Lighting Recovery (Counter, Reroll attack, +2 bonus)(Iron Heart)
5- Iron Heart Focus (Counter, Reroll save)(Iron Heart)
6- Manticore Parry (Counter, Redirect attack)(Iron Heart)
8- White Raven Hammer (+6d6 dmg, Stun)(White Raven)
9- Mountain Tombstone Strike (+2d6 Con dmg)(Stone Dragon)
9- Strike of Perfect Clarity (+100 dmg)(Iron Heart)
9- Time Stands Still (Two full attacks)(Diamond Mind)

He makes his save. His Cold Resistance reduces the remaining Cold damage to 20.

He charges to J9, flying for the duration of the charge. Because he can fly, and has a very high Tumble, and there seems to be a convenient gap between the trees in a rough line between himself and the tiefling, I'm going to assume it's possible. If not, I suppose he'll charge the warrior.

If a readied attack goes off against him, he will Counter it with Fool's Strike and change his Dancing Blade Form stance to Leading the Charge, and this fight will get serious. If that is the case, he ends up in J9.

At the end of his charge, he equips his Pendant of Unimpeachable Fortitude as a free action. The point of Str it heals this round does not affect his rolls, so when it happens is unimportant.

Searing Charge attack, Power Attack for 20 (penalty to AC instead of attack)(20+14+7+2+2+1-2): [roll0]
Damage: [roll1] + [roll2] Fire damage.

He then initiates Raging Mongoose. The Power Attack and charge bonuses and penalties carry over to these attacks.

Blade Attack 1: [roll3]
Damage: [roll4]

Blade Attack 2: [roll5]
Damage: [roll6]

Unarmed Attack 1: [roll7]
Damage: [roll8]

Unarmed Attack 2: [roll9]
Damage: [roll10]



The cluster of twisted enemies moved before Damien lost his sight, and the swordsage was not one to forget the arrangement of the battlefield due to little things like loss of senses or pain. Unable to coordinate, he turned to face the place where his enemies had stood, and then he followed the tactical doctrine instilled in his by one of his first teachers.

The man had been a barbarian warlord, a brawny warrior that could grapple bears and fight scores of men on his own; fight, and win. Damien could still hear his rough voice, booming through the silence. "To fight, and live, don't do it like a man. Fight like a animal, starving for blood. Move like any less speed will leave you crushed, strike like any less force will be shunted aside, and when your foe falls, crush their body until you know they are dead. Any less, and you're just fighting like a man. Men die."

Damien calmly, rationally decides to stop fighting like a man.

There is an explosion of fire within the darkness, and though Zerak cannot see it, he can feel the heat. Damien moves with the flame, and the flame moves him; pouring out of his feet, streaming out from under his cloak, wreathing his fists and his blade, and hurtles through the darkness and over the lingering sickly flames.

The trees, likewise, do not impede his flight, and as he whirls and tumbles closer to the tiefling the twisted creature can see that the flames in his eyes have become truth instead of metaphor. A light blazes, and a gleaming pendant wraps itself around his throat, a faint healing light pouring out from it to the rest of his

Damien strikes with the force of an avalanche, and then he lashes out with a vicious, rapid series of strikes, whirling in the air and striking with both his feet before flipping backwards and landing with ground between him and his enemies. His blade glows with heat, and his eyes blaze with a feral rage. "Come at me, with everything you have. Come at me, strike out at me, let your rage burn. If you are not truly dead, if anything vital remains, then show me. Show me your anger."

I'm using "Come at me" in the classical, Shakespearean sense. Just to clarify that Damien is not a bro.

[Jojomo]

Save against sphere using Moment of Perfection (Fort DC 35): [roll0]

Save against darkness (Fort DC 35): [roll1]

Zerak takes a total of 43 damage and 2 Strength damage.

Free action: Drop the runestaff (into the sphere if possible :smallamused:).

Swift action: Activate belt of battle (1 charge) to gain an extra move action.

Move action: Move to I9, passing through the flames on the way. I think jumping from K17 in a straight (or at least as straight as I can get on a square grid) line will keep him out of the crusader’s reach, so he’ll do that too so long as it’s kosher. His Jump bonus is stupidly high enough that it would be automatic.

Full-round action: Full attack, starting with the energy sphere. For what it’s worth, his unarmed strikes count as adamantine, alchemical silver, cold iron, ghost touch, lawful and epic weapons (YAY MONKS!). The last one will go to the tiefling, using Freezing the Lifeblood (touch attack, Fort DC 34 to avoid paralysis for 5 rounds). For every attack that connects, Crushing Strike adds +1 to his attack rolls for the remainder of the turn.

Rolls:

Save against [roll2] fire damage (Ref DC 29, Improved Evasion): [roll3]

Attack 1: [roll4]
Damage: [roll5]
Critical Confirmation: [roll6]
Critical Damage: [roll7]

Attack 2: [roll8]
Damage: [roll9]
Critical Confirmation: [roll10]
Critical Damage: [roll11]

Attack 3: [roll12]
Damage: [roll13]
Critical Confirmation: [roll14]
Critical Damage: [roll15]

Attack 3: [roll16] Natural 1
Damage: [roll17]
Critical Confirmation: [roll18]
Critical Damage: [roll19]

Attack 4: [roll20]
Damage: [roll21]
Critical Confirmation: [roll22]
Critical Damage: [roll23]

Attack 5: [roll24]
Damage: [roll25]
Critical Confirmation: [roll26]
Critical Damage: [roll27]

Attack 6 (Touch, Freezing the Lifeblood): [roll28]

If his attacks work on the sphere he'll add Fists of Iron to the following attacks to increase their damage by 10d6 each. I'll leave these here:

Attack 2: [roll29]
Attack 3: [roll30]
Attack 4: [roll31]
Attack 5: [roll32]

If he obviously isn't affecting the sphere, he'll switch to the tiefling early and open up with Freezing the Lifeblood. If that doesn't work for whatever reason I'll settle for good old-fashioned ass-kicking.

Phew that felt like a lot of contingency planning. :smallsigh:

Zerak feels the light breeze as the sphere closes in on him, followed by the first pricks of pain as it tears into his flesh. Instead of recoiling, he places his hands on either side of the sphere and centres himself. Even in the rift, where reality has been twisted to breaking point, he can feel the gentle rhythm of the universe at large. Embracing that rhythm, he allows the sphere to press closer, until the right moment. Then, with a push lighter than a feather, he simply repels the sphere, casting the runestaff towards it as he does so.

The sudden darkness doesn’t faze him. He learned the art of “seeing without seeing“ before he left the monastery all those decades ago. There was an entire training hall there that never saw the light of day. Sparring there was a crucial step in an initiate’s training, meant to remove the common over-reliance on the sense of sight. He endures the biting cold stoically, feeling ice form on his long limbs and his breath condense on his face.

To say he stopped to think would be to do a century of training a disservice. He never really thinks in combat, acting solely on finely honed instinct. If his thought process could be put into words it would be something like, It flees. We worry it. We can hurt it. The thought takes but an instant, he is moving before it is finished.

He hurtles towards their opponents again, skimming across a rift and out into the light. The layer of ice on him cracks and sheds, sparkling in the sunlight.He sees the warrior in a defensive stance, waiting for something, Avoid. He drops to the grass and sprints along the ground in an easy, flowing gait. He skips through the flames that still rage on the ground before launching himself into the air. Despite his slender build, he soars like a bird in flight: above the warrior; above the sphere; landing lightly beside the tiefling.

Once on the ground, he spins towards the sphere, Strike. He unleashes a combination of strikes that rival Damien’s and the elf’s in speed.

[RaggedAngel]

I actually updated his ministatblock this time around, and it should be pretty accurate.

Damien Swiftarm (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=477503)
Male Lawful Good Human Warblade 20// Swordsage 15/ Master of Nine 5, Level 20, Init +16, HP 300/360, Speed 50
AC 42, Touch 26, Flat-footed 37, Fort +26, Ref +28, Will +25, Base Attack Bonus +20/+15/+10/+5
+3 Iron Heart Diamond Mind Shadow Hand Tiger Claw White Raven Greatsword +38/+33/+28/+23 (2d6+13, 19-20/x2)
Unarmed Strike +28/+23/+18/+13 (2d6+7, x2)
+1 Warning Armor Spikes +28/+23/+18/+13 (1d6+9, x2)
+5 Light Fortification Mithral Breastplate, Ring of Force Shield (+10 Armor, +2 Shield, +5 Dex, +4 Natural, +5 Deflect, +5 Misc)
Abilities Str 25(26), Dex 20, Con 22, Int 20, Wis 20, Cha 14
Condition Freedom of Movement, Immune to Death Effects, Energy Drain, Negative Energy
Stances
Stance of Alacrity (Free Counter each turn)
Child of Shadow (20% miss chance)
Pearl of Black Doubt (+2 AC for each attack that misses him)
Prepared Maneuvers:
Swordsage Maneuvers (16):
1- Sudden Leap (Boost, Jump as Swift action)(Tiger Claw)
2- Baffling Defense (Counter, Sense Motive vs Attack)(Setting Sun)
2- Cloak of Deception (Boost, Greater Invisibility)(Shadow Hand)
4- Searing Charge (Full, +5d6 fire, fly)(Desert Wind)
5- Shadow Stride (Move, 50ft Teleport)(Shadow Hand)
6- Scorpion Parry (Counter, Redirect Attack)(Setting Sun)
6- Rallying Strike (Strike, Heal 3d6+20 in 30ft burst)(Devoted Spirit)
7- Inferno Blade (Boost, +3d6+20 fire per attack)(Desert Wind)
7- Castigating Strike (Strike, 8d6, 5d6 AoE, -2 attack, Fort part.)(Devoted Spirit)
7- Shadow Blink (Swift, Teleport 50 ft)(Shadow Hand)
8- Fool's Strike (Counter, Reflect attack)(Setting Sun)
8- Raging Mongoose (Boost, 4 extra attacks, TWF)(Tiger Claw)
8- One With Shadow (Counter, Incorporeal)(Shadow Hand)
9- Five Shadow Creeping Ice Enervation Strike (+15d6, 1-7 2d6 Dex +0speed; 8-14 2d6 Str -6atk and conc; 15-20 2d6 Dex, Str + Con)
9- Feral Death Blow (Jump vs AC, Fort; Death if fail, +20d6 dmg)
9- Strike of Righteous Vitality (Heal)(Devoted Spirit)
Warblade Maneuvers (7):

4- Lighting Recovery (Counter, Reroll attack, +2 bonus)(Iron Heart)
5- Iron Heart Focus (Counter, Reroll save)(Iron Heart)
6- Manticore Parry (Counter, Redirect attack)(Iron Heart)
8- White Raven Hammer (+6d6 dmg, Stun)(White Raven)
9- Mountain Tombstone Strike (+2d6 Con dmg)(Stone Dragon)
9- Strike of Perfect Clarity (+100 dmg)(Iron Heart)
9- Time Stands Still (Two full attacks)(Diamond Mind)

He makes his save. His Cold Resistance reduces the remaining Cold damage to 20.

Swift Action: Jump [roll0] feet towards the cluster with Sudden Leap. That should easily take him over the flames, though his Evasion makes them less than dangerous. He aims for M13/12.

Move action to close the distance with the group; he moves to K11. Child of Shadow is active.

If a readied attack goes off against him, he will Counter it with Fool's Strike.

At the end of his movement, he equips his Pendant of Unimpeachable Fortitude as a free action. The point of Str it heals this round does not affect his rolls, so when it happens is moot.

Then he attacks with Five Shadow Creeping Ice Enervation Strike.
Attack (20+14+7+2+1): [roll1]
Damage: [roll2] + [roll3]
Effect (Fort save DC 25 to half Ability damage and ignore Special): [roll4]
1-7: [roll5] Dex damage; Special: speed is reduced to 0ft.

8-14: [roll6] Str damage; Special: -6 to Attack rolls and Concentration checks.

15-20: [roll7] Dex and [roll8] Str damage; Special: [roll9] Con damage

The cluster of twisted enemies moved before Damien lost his sight, and the swordsage was not one to forget the arrangement of the battlefield due to little things like loss of senses or pain. He was blind, surrounded by cloying shadows, and his arms felt weak and heavy in the chill power of the shadow. But this was not the first time Damien had faced darkness.

Damien learned the Shadow Hand school from a group of drow that lived deep beneath the mountains, and they had been completely ruthless in his training. The drow could see perfectly well in darkness, and their lethal training often took place in pitch darkness. Damien was not born to the darkness, but he adopted it quickly, with only a few scars to show for his trials.

And so now, surrounded by shadows, Damien smiled, faintly. They had not taken away his sight, or weakened him, or hampered his movement. They had given him a tool; a gift.

Damien took that gift of shadow and wrapped it around himself, like a streaming cloak. He crouched, and then leaped through the air in utter silence, bursting forth from the darkness like a bat gliding on soft wings. He landed in the shadows of the trees, and the shadows clung to him still, moving and shifting like a living thing.

And then Damien lunged forward, his blade roiling with pitch darkness, and he delivered that darkness to the corrupted warrior's heart.

[Jarian]

As Damien closes with the heavily armored warrior once more, the creature surges forward in a burst of speed belying its bulk, blade thrusting toward Damien's chest. The brutal strength of Stone and the fluid grace of the Setting Sun clash in a heartbeat as Damien attempts to turn the blow aside with a quicksilver parry, but the warrior twists its blade at the last possible instant, sparks flying as razor edges scrape past one another - then the blow slips past Damien's guard and continues onward. (Attack: 50 for [roll0] + [roll1] damage. Damien identifies the attack as Ancient Mountain Hammer. I also failed to mention that the warrior changed its stance to the corrupted version of Swarm Tactics again last round.)

Damien's beshadowed counterstrike takes the warrior not in the chest but in the leg as the creature backsteps suddenly. Damien's blade pierces through the thinner protection of the warrior's inner thigh, but the creature does not so much as blink, seemingly entirely uncaring of the purple blood that begins leaking from the wound.

Then Zerak is there, moving in a blur of perfectly economical motion, strikes lashing toward the sphere over and over again faster than any mortal should be capable of moving. And while the sphere is clearly not a physical foe, Zerak's attack encounter resistance with each blow, fists and feet sending ripples throughout the sphere even as it recoils from the attacks as if in pain. Yet even his intense training and incredible speed are not enough to land every blow - the sphere is simply too ephemeral to be struck cleanly with anything but an absolutely perfect strike. Apparently realizing that his attacks alone won't dissipate the sphere, Zerak sends a blindingly quick palm strike toward the nearby tiefling before the twisted creatures can mount a counterattack, eliciting nothing more than a soft exhalation of breath - and suddenly frozen muscles. (Zerak strikes the orb four times, each reduced significantly by damage reduction that his unarmed strikes do not overcome. Oh, and the tiefling is paralyzed.)

Then the creatures are blurring through the air again, streaking away to a safer haven. The elf returns to life once more as it spins past, twin blades flickering toward Zerak in nearly a dozen strikes, little more than flashes of darkened metal dully reflecting the purple sky above and below. (The elf attacks Zerak ten times. The first four attacks inflict one point of constitution damage.)

[roll2] for [roll3]
[roll4] for [roll5]
[roll6] for [roll7]
[roll8] for [roll9]
[roll10] for [roll11]
[roll12] for [roll13]
[roll14] for [roll15]
[roll16] for [roll17]
[roll18] for [roll19]
[roll20] for [roll21]

As if the quicksilver assault were not enough, the elemental also sends one of its own attacks Zerak's way, a pinprick-thin beam of pure white light, but the spell is poorly aimed in the blurring speed at which the creatures move, and it zips past the gith's head to strike a nearby tree instead. Undeterred, the elemental makes a pulling gesture, and Zerak feels the creature attempting to rip away his magical defenses. (The elemental casts Antimagic Ray at Zerak, but it misses laughably (nat 1). It follows that up with a targeted Quickened Greater Dispel Magic against Zerak. Rolls in the OOC thread.)

Then the sphere and its guardians are once more at a distant location, this time floating unsupported above a large fissure. Three warped faces regard you impassively, while one stares blankly into space.

Map:http://img829.imageshack.us/img829/6760/endofallthingsmap1.jpg

[Jojomo]

The 8th and 10th attacks from the elf hit, no Con damage again. DR reduces the damage to 18 and 16 for a total of 34. His ring of counterspells counters the elemental’s dispelling attempt. It is now empty. :smalltongue:

Standard action: Use wholeness of body to restore all 127 of his lost hit points.

Free action: Take a 10-foot step to I7.

As the elf zips past him, Zerak unconsciously falls into the same dancing rhythm as before, either evading or parrying all but two of the elf's vicious attacks. The wrenching against his defensive spells persists for barely a moment before being abruptly cut off.

With the sphere and its loathsome defenders momentarily out of sight, Zerak takes a brief moment to centre himself. As he closes his eyes, the twisted surroundings drop from his mind. The coruscating nexus of energy in the sky above, the sound of Damien’s breathing, the smell of smoke, all these sensations fade into a dull chorus in the back of his mind.

In their place comes a hypersensitive awareness of his own body. It starts with his heartbeat sounding louder in his ears. As it builds in volume, he begins to feel the pulsing flow of blood through his veins, the gentle stirring of air currents against his skin. Where his flesh is missing from his brush with the sphere, he can sense where the skin and muscle should be.

With an effort of will, he increases the tempo of his body. The cuts along his limbs and torso that by rights should take months to heal knit closed in a matter of seconds, leaving only a few solitary bloodstains on his tunic. His eyes snap open again and what might almost be a smile plays across his lips.

In a single graceful movement he steps around the nearby tree, spinning quickly on one foot before coming to rest in a crouch facing the otherworldly quintet.

[RaggedAngel]

Damien Swiftarm (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=477503)
Male Lawful Good Human Warblade 20// Swordsage 15/ Master of Nine 5, Level 20, Init +16, HP 300/360, Speed 50
AC 42, Touch 26, Flat-footed 37, Fort +26, Ref +28, Will +25, Base Attack Bonus +20/+15/+10/+5
+3 Iron Heart Diamond Mind Shadow Hand Tiger Claw White Raven Greatsword +38/+33/+28/+23 (2d6+13, 19-20/x2)
Unarmed Strike +28/+23/+18/+13 (2d6+7, x2)
+1 Warning Armor Spikes +28/+23/+18/+13 (1d6+9, x2)
+5 Light Fortification Mithral Breastplate, Ring of Force Shield (+10 Armor, +2 Shield, +5 Dex, +4 Natural, +5 Deflect, +5 Misc)
Abilities Str 25(26), Dex 20, Con 22, Int 20, Wis 20, Cha 14
Condition Freedom of Movement, Immune to Death Effects, Energy Drain, Negative Energy
Stances
Stance of Alacrity (Free Counter each turn)
Child of Shadow (20% miss chance)
Pearl of Black Doubt (+2 AC for each attack that misses him)
Prepared Maneuvers:
Swordsage Maneuvers (16):
1- Sudden Leap (Boost, Jump as Swift action)(Tiger Claw)
2- Cloak of Deception (Boost, Greater Invisibility)(Shadow Hand)
4- Searing Charge (Full, +5d6 fire, fly)(Desert Wind)
5- Shadow Stride (Move, 50ft Teleport)(Shadow Hand)
6- Scorpion Parry (Counter, Redirect Attack)(Setting Sun)
6- Rallying Strike (Strike, Heal 3d6+20 in 30ft burst)(Devoted Spirit)
7- Inferno Blade (Boost, +3d6+20 fire per attack)(Desert Wind)
7- Castigating Strike (Strike, 8d6, 5d6 AoE, -2 attack, Fort part.)(Devoted Spirit)
7- Shadow Blink (Swift, Teleport 50 ft)(Shadow Hand)
8- Diamond Defense (Counter, +20 bonus on save)(Diamond Mind)
8- Fool's Strike (Counter, Reflect attack)(Setting Sun)
8- Raging Mongoose (Boost, 4 extra attacks, TWF)(Tiger Claw)
8- One With Shadow (Counter, Incorporeal)(Shadow Hand)
9- Five Shadow Creeping Ice Enervation Strike (+15d6, 1-7 2d6 Dex +0speed; 8-14 2d6 Str -6atk and conc; 15-20 2d6 Dex, Str + Con)
9- Feral Death Blow (Jump vs AC, Fort; Death if fail, +20d6 dmg)
9- Strike of Righteous Vitality (Heal)(Devoted Spirit)
Warblade Maneuvers (7):

3- White Raven Tactics (Boost, Ally gets extra turn)(White Raven)
4- Lighting Recovery (Counter, Reroll attack, +2 bonus)(Iron Heart)
5- Iron Heart Focus (Counter, Reroll save)(Iron Heart)
7- Ancient Mountain Hammer (Strike, +12d6 dmg, no DR)(Stone Dragon)
9- War Master's Charge (+50 dmg, +2 atk per ally, ally +25 dmg, stun if both hit)(White Raven)
9- Strike of Perfect Clarity (+100 dmg)(Iron Heart)
9- Time Stands Still (Two full attacks)(Diamond Mind)

He takes a full round action to reprepare his maneuvers, as listed above.

He then takes a swift action to use White Raven Tactics on Zerak. The most powerful use of a swift action in the game.

Damien watches the crowd of monstrosities spin away again, and he decides to follow Zerak's lead and center himself before rushing into further conflict. He folds both of his hands over the hilt of his blade, drawing himself into his center. In his mind, he ran through the battle, each motion and moment of the fight perfectly displayed before his mind's eye. He watched his own errors, as well as the mistakes and weaknesses of his foes. He took it all each, each stroke and counterstroke, and then he opened his eyes, his powers renewed and readied for further conflict.

He then turns to Zerak, a knot of power brimming forward, and he shouts out a clarion call like a drill sergeant might over the field of battle. "Keep up the momentum! Don't stop the assault, Zerak!" In his words is something more than just talk, more than just meaning; it is the force of will to make his command reality. Zerak feels a surge of energy and speed rush through him, and though he had come to a point of pause, he finds himself moving forward, engaging the foe before they have a chance to react.

[Jojomo]

YAY! Thank you RA! :smallbiggrin:

Full-round action: Full attack using the gloves of endless javelins, augmented with ki shot (adds ki strike benefits and removes range increment penalties for the round). Since the javelins are force effects they should hopefully bypass the beachball’s DR. If not... there are worse things than an honourable death. :smallamused:

Attack 1: [roll0]
Damage: [roll1]
Critical Confirmation: [roll2]
Critical Damage: [roll3]

Attack 2: [roll4]
Damage: [roll5]
Critical Confirmation: [roll6]
Critical Damage: [roll7]

Attack 3: [roll8]
Damage: [roll9]
Critical Confirmation: [roll10]
Critical Damage: [roll11]

Attack 4: [roll12]
Damage: [roll13]
Critical Confirmation: [roll14]
Critical Damage: [roll15]

Attack 5: [roll16]
Damage: [roll17]
Critical Confirmation: [roll18]
Critical Damage: [roll19]

Attack 6: [roll20]
Damage: [roll21]
Critical Confirmation: [roll22]
Critical Damage: [roll23]

If the javelins fail to affect the sphere, switch targets to the elemental, soft cover be damned.

Free Action: Take a 10-foot step to I5.

Zerak wastes no time after hearing Damien’s words. Riding the surge of energy, his mind runs through the possible outcomes of his next action. He narrows his eyes as he regards the crackling sphere of energy, remembering the bizarre feeling of it recoiling from his blows. In a span of time shorter than a heartbeat, the decision is made, his body already moving.

He draws back one hand and his fingers close on… something, a sliver of force called up as a weapon. With a sudden motion that almost spins him around, the sliver is hurtling through the air towards the sphere, barely visible but for the odd distortion of light as it passes by. After the first is loosed, he grasps another sliver with his other hand loosing it with an identical motion.

His arms become a blur as he looses a fusillade towards the sphere and it’s attendants. Before they can react, he is moving again, jumping away from Damien with a quick handspring and backflip to put another tree between himself and the sphere, Let us see if they will come to us this time.

[Jarian]

The flow of the battle ebbs and surges with the astounding speed, like a racing heartbeat, each rapid beat another quicksilver motion. It is a heartbeat that is abruptly ended as Zerak sends another flurry of attacks hurtling toward the sphere, surging with the speed of Damien's nigh-magical command.

Amorphous as it is, three of the bolts of force manage to strike the sphere cleanly, ripping through it like darts through wet paper. The entire mass ripples, careening wildly through the air in a downward spiral, carrying the bodies of the twisted Inadinryl forces along with it. The sphere wobbles momentarily, inches before it passes through the rift in the ground, seemingly on the verge of righting itself; the Inadinryl spellcasters reach hands toward you, flows of arcana coalescing around their fingertips as they begin to weave more destructive spells, and the others set their blades in wary postures.

Then the entire world turns white.

It is several long moments before your hearing and vision return, the former with a persistent ringing and the latter with much blurriness around the edge. Of the sphere there is no sign; indeed, the entire landscape has been scoured of all distinguishing features for several hundred feet in every direction, leaving no place for the sphere or the Inadinryl forces to hide. In fact, the only thing that remains within the blasted area is four small, pinkish-purple crystals on the ground near where you last saw the sphere. The crystals are cracked, but not shattered; each of the fractures in the crystals pulses with radiance in a steady rhythm, a pale pink light that drifts up from the crystals in faint clouds.

A moment later you realize that you are not alone any longer. A figure formed entirely of coalesced shadows stands to one side of the crystals, though its humanoud figure is indistinct and oddly thin. As it turns to regard the crystals, it seems to blur into a hair-thin line, before resuming a normal width as it regards you once more.

"You enter my domain and slay my servants. You trespass where no mortal may enter without succumbing to my touch, and yet you resist me. Why?"

The voice that poses the question does not come from the shadow, though the strangely two-dimensional jaw of the thing moves as though speaking. Rather, the words come as a whisper of wind from every direction, as soft as any voice you have ever heard, yet easily penetrating the ringing of your ears. And they are powerful words, for all their quiet nature and simple question. Simply hearing the words sends reverberations through your body that run counterpoint to your own natural rhythm, physically shaking you to your core with every syllable.

"Why?" The voice repeats, another whisper-soft shuddering impact against your very being.

[Jojomo]

From his momentary hiding place behind the tree, Zerak watches as the sphere careens through the air. Readying himself for another assault, the sudden brilliance catches him off guard. For the first time in many years he is really, truly blind to the outside world.

As his senses return, his head whips around, searching for any new threats. His eyes linger for a moment on the crystals, some part of his mind contemplating the possibility of recovering and attempting to restore the beings so corrupted by the rift.

When he notices the shadowy newcomer, his eyes narrow to barely more than slits. Its strange two-dimensional nature elicits momentarily raised eyebrows, but that oddity is forgotten the instant the voice issues forth from the air. The sheer wrongness of it sets Zerak’s teeth on edge, every word like an affront to the natural order of the universe.

Worse though, is their meaning, rather than their nature. As the voice continues, he feels the first stirrings of anger, an emotion normally only experienced in combat and even then only tightly controlled. After the voice finishes speaking there is a long moment of silence while he attempts to regain his normal composure. Finally, he manages to grate out an answer in a quiet, if somewhat clipped voice.

“Why? It strikes me that we could ask you the very same question. We have come because the very presence of your domain in our world is tearing it apart. We slay your servants because the beings they once were would sooner die than live as twisted monstrosities bound to your will. As long as there is a single breath left in our lungs, a single ounce of strength in our arms we will resist because it is in our nature to do so.”

[RaggedAngel]

Five years ago, Damien would have never stopped moving. The moment he regained his senses, he would have charged, bringing absolutely all the force he had to bear down on the shadow-creature. He would have ignored its words, and instead listened only to his own heart and mind; both of which told him that the creature was beyond evil, profoundly wrong, and should be destroyed.

Five years ago, Damien likely would have died, or worse. But then, he was still young, and natural wisdom is different than the heart-earned wisdom of experience and age. He does not charge; but nor does he drop his guard. His feet shift slightly, and the shadows roiling around him fall away. His balance changes, from a poised state of defensive grace to a more aggressive bent.

A hand goes to his throat, and the gleaming brooch falls away, tucked into an inner pocket of his gently flowing cloak. A faint shadow falls over him, though there is no light source around that could cast such a shadow.

And then he closes his eyes, and he begins to speak. "You ask why we resist you? Do you ask this in jest? Why would any being resist the influence on another, but to remain in full control of his own person; to maintain his own faculty of choice. I can choose, and I seek to maintain that fact as long as possible. Choice and freedom are above all other things."

Damien's eyes snap open, and the very air around him warps with power, shimmering like the air above a fireplace. And for a moment, just a moment, the reality around him seems to revert; green grass, blue skies in the distance, clean, cold air. The moment passes, and the space around him is warped once more; but for that bare moment, that reality was his, and his alone.

"You absolve choice. You destroy freedom. You kill, and warp, and indeed seem to be hurtling our reality toward its ultimate destruction. So yes, we will enter your domain. We will slay your servants. And we will slay you, unless you will speak with us rationally. You cannot stand against us, but we need not devolve to violence. Can we be civil?"

Damien tenses the muscles in his legs and arms, preparing to devolve into violence in a distinctly uncivil manner.

Screw this thing, I'm staying in combat-mode. Damien smash.

I won't re-quote his statblock, but here's how his turn is laid out.

He shifts from Pearl of Black Doubt and Child of Shadow to Balance on the Sky and Leading the Charge as a Swift Action.

He takes off his Pendant of Unimpeachable Fortitude, reasserting the power of his Collar of Umbral Metamorphosis as a move action.

Then he uses Iron Heart Surge to revoke any illusions or taint that may be before him or upon him. Even if there is nothing to Surge, he still gets a bonus to attack next round. And that bit about the space around him reverting for a moment could be pure fluff, or it could be something more, depending on the 'brewed mechanics of the warped area and your own personal interpretation of Iron Heart Surge.

And in the meantime, he'll use [roll0] diplomacy.

[Jarian]

The shadow-thing listens impassively, giving no sign of either interest or worry. Even when Damien exerts his will upon his surroundings, the shadow simply stares back as it momentarily stands in a field of grass instead of a glass-smooth blast crater.

Then it sighs.

It is a resigned sigh, like the one a houndmaster might give when he finally realizes that he must put down a favored dog gone rabid. It is equal parts sadness and determination, and altogether more human than might be expected from something so clearly inhuman.

"Set aside your weapon, warrior. Attacking my messenger would be futility itself." The whispering words continue to batter you, an experience made all the worse for the fact that the shadow does not stop for breath as it speaks. "You speak of resisting, yet you have entered my domain with no means of escape. You speak of freedom, yet it was by the hands of your own kind that I was imprisoned for time out of memory. You speak of the right to live, yet would deny me my own life for nothing more than the desire to exist. You paint me as a killer when I have done nothing but give those of you who came before immortality in my service, a fate far more generous than they deserved, and a fate which you saw fit to end for your own purposes. Which of us is truly the monster, and which the harbinger of salvation?"

The shadow makes a quick motion with one hand, and Damien's version of reality abruptly comes back to being, spreading across the landscape in a wave of vibrant life. "This is your desire? To force your ideals upon others, no matter their preference? It will not be. You. Will. Not. Be."The shadow regards the altered reality for a scant second before moving its hand again; as quickly as that, every fresh blade of grass twists and wilts, turning black and grey as if spotted with a horrible disease, while the sky returns to its odd coloring and the air becomes stale and lifeless.

Jojomo:Something in the shadow-thing's words sparks a memory of a memory within you, a bit of lore so long forgotten that even historians regard it as little more than a folk tale.

Legends speak of the death of the demon prince Orcus ages past, and how, before his eventual return, his soul sought ascension to godhood. It was a living shadow that walked the planes, slaying gods and men alike with equal disdain. This thing that was both Orcus and not was given the name Tenebrous, and it was feared beyond all else in that age so long forgotten. Tenebrous sought to reincarnate itself as a true god, and came so close to that goal that the fate of all the planes nearly ended then and there. But Tenebrous was thwarted by a band of mortals in an act of heroism that spawned a thousand tales of its own. The details are indistinct, as much of what might have been known has been lost to time, but many sources seem to agree that while Tenebrous was defeated and Orcus restored to his former glory as a demon prince, the god-slaying shadow never truly died. Rather, the essence of Tenebrous simply faded from existence, slipping between the planes into ultimate obscurity, known only to the most learned of the occult arts.

Also, you recognize the reality-altering effect as the divine ability Alter Reality, something only gods or godlike entities normally possess. Strangely, the creation and destruction of such vast quantities of landscape happened far faster than even most deities could manage; it is probable that in this place, Tenebrous (or its messenger, for the thing before you is clearly not actually Tenebrous) can use this ability far more often than normal.

[Jojomo]

Listening to the response, Zerak has to suppress a sigh of frustration; the universe, it would seem, is nothing if not repetitive. The ensuing transformation of the landscape puts him on edge though, for he recognises it for what it is. Damien, be wary, what we are witnessing is not an illusion, this entity is able to shape reality according to its whims. Such power is normally the exclusive province of deities and their ilk, he pauses for a moment, considering whether or not to continue, Also… I believe I now have some notion of what it is we face, but for that information to be of any value we must ensure that we return to Inadinryl. For now, suffice it to say I believe we are communicating with a deity, or something closely akin to one, albeit by proxy. Furthermore, I suspect that this rift is part of its realm.

Aloud, he responds to the shadow in an almost dismissive tone, “Hypocrisy does not become you. You chide us for forcing our ideals on others while your domains devour our world and you enslave any who enter? At least you could spare us your egomaniacal lecturing. I cannot speak for my companion, but I have heard similar justifications more times than I care to remember, each just as flawed as the others.” As Zerak speaks, a series of memories rise unbidden in his mind, aspects of them echoing inside Damien’s: an odd frog-like creature spitting a curse as life leaves it’s broken body; the bestial face of a demon twisting from smug superiority to abject terror as a sword that blazes like the sun descends towards it; that same sword wielded by an angelic figure shouting something barely heard above the screaming of a storm…

“You equate the value of your own life with the value of the lives of every being in existence, and endless servitude with a fulfilling, albeit impermanent, life lived free. You claim that such a fate is salvation, but neglect to mention exactly what you claim to have saved them from.” He pauses, clearly deep in thought, “It gives me no pleasure to say this, but I suspect this conversation is without purpose. Either you will relinquish your hold on this place or we shall strive to wrest it from you. I very much doubt anything we could say would convince you to do so, and I am certain nothing you say will convince either of us to relent.”

He stares unblinking at the shadow, and in a tone now empty of all emotion he adds, “Call me monster if it gives you any pleasure. Others have before… though most had more reason than you.”

[RaggedAngel]

The energy seems to drain out of Damien as the shadow speaks, and makes a display of its utter control over their environment. He grows still, his eyes dark and his face grim. The tip of his blade lowers towards the ground, and the seething force of will that had surrounded him merely moments ago was gone; gone as if it had never been.

He is quiet and still as Zerak speaks; and once the monk has said his piece, Damien replies as well, his voice hollow. "I've never met a being like you before. I have never before encountered the divine; if you are truly divine." He bows his head further, and his weight shifts forward slightly, onto the balls of his feet. There is a pause that seems to last ages.

"I have never heard of a mortal slaying a god. But there's a first time for everything."

Damien moves with a speed that, were he among mortals, would be invisible to the eye. As it is, even Zerak has trouble tracking the blindingly fast charge; but as Damien charges, the gith feels a blazing, burning power rolling out from the warblade, the same power that gave him speed and energy only moments before, when in conflict with the sphere and its attendants.

Damien crosses the distance between the shadow and himself in a bare moment, and then his blade flicks out to meet the messenger, it's edge seething with strength and hatred and the righteous anger of an avenging angel.

We're not getting anything out of a conversation with this thing except giving it time to call in reinforcements or restore its retainers. And since it's not an illusion, that mean that it can be attacked. Perhaps not favorably, or successfully, but I learned something very early on in my D&D career: if you don't want something to get killed, don't give it stats. Anything less than that, and it can be slain.

War Master's Charge as a full-round action. Zerak has the option to charge. If he does, he gets a +25 bonus to damage and a +4 bonus to attack, and he does not provoke AoO's. He also gets another +20 bonus to damage due to Damien's Leading the Charge stance.

Damien uses Power Attack for 20, shifting all of the penalty to his AC with Shock Trooper. He also uses Stone Power for 5.

Charge Attack: [roll0] (+2 if Zerak charges)
Damage: [roll1]

If his attack misses due to the enemy being incorporeal, he uses his One with Shadow counter to become incorporeal.

Either way, he then initiates Raging Mongoose as a swift action.

Sword Attack 1: [roll2]
Damage: [roll3] or +68 if you don't think Leading the Charge applies to these

Sword Attack 2: [roll4]
Damage: [roll5]

Unarmed Strike 1: [roll6]
Damage: [roll7]

Unarmed Strike 2: [roll8]
Damage: [roll9]

[Jarian]

Damien's blade passes through the shadow as easily as, well, steel passing through shadow, and with identical effect.

The shadow's head tilts slightly, watching the blade pass through itself, then moves to regard Damien again. When it speaks, its voice is no longer a whisper, but a bellowing roar that rattles your teeth together and fuzzes your vision as echoes of it resound through the air and ground.

"If this is your choice, so be it. You were told attacking my messenger was folly once already. The idea that you would surrender easily was a faint hope, but one I was willing to entertain. No longer. Your presence here is an affront, one that I will tolerate no more. You have proven yourselves willful and unsuitable, and I will no longer allow you to remain. Come to me and be reborn in my service, or remain and be torn apart by my followers. I would not waste further lives in this irksome sojourn of yours, but your broken bodies will be laid upon my altar one way or another. The only choice that remains is whether you will slay more of your kin or succumb quietly to your fate."

With that, the shadow vanishes, dissolving rapidly into individual motes of darkness before disappearing altogether.

In the distance, the sky pulses with a ring of shadows, quickly roiling across the entire mass of energy from some central location. You are reminded of something Nysris said back in Inadinryl: each of the rifts seems to have a central source, a 'heart' of sorts, from which it is born. Whether or not the shadow-thing's master will be there or not remains to be determined, though its threat of death seems to indicate that a search of some variety will quickly become necessary.

[RaggedAngel]

Damien pauses for a moment, waiting to see if the shadow would return or if some dark monstrosity would rise out of the ground. After a few seconds of silence, he rests back on his heels, bringing his thoughts into order. He exhales once, slowly, and then he tucks his greatsword inside his cloak. The blade is too long to fit underneath the garment, but when he turns back to Zerak the sword is nowhere to be seen.

"Well, I had to try. Even if I accomplished nothing with that attack, I'm still comfortable with the message it sent." He looks to the sky, and the whirling lights and shadows. "I believe it is high time to get moving, unless you would like a moment to heal. I am more or less uninjured, but you were taking the brunt of their aggression in that fight."

Damien leaves his Leading the Charge stance and refreshes his maneuvers.

[Jojomo]

Zerak closes his eyes and nods, smiling, "I agree, continuing the conversation was pointless, better to try and fail than waste more precious time." He lifts his head and stares into the unnatural display of lights in the sky, "I am uninjured: I had time enough to heal my wounds in the lull before the sphere's destruction. Do you require healing?"

[RaggedAngel]

Damien blinks at Zerak's statement, and it seems like he has not yet paused to consider his own injuries. He looks down, noting the damage in the center of his chest from his contact with the Sphere of Ultimate Destruction. "I am a bit injured, I suppose; no open wounds, but a few of my ribs are broken, and I'm going to have a truly spectacular bruise.

I'd use the pendant to heal myself, but I was informed that it only had a few uses each day, like most magical items of the sort. I hate to ask you to deplete your remaining spells for my sake, but I suppose I'm doing exactly that. How much magical power do you have remaining? It was hard to keep track of what was being cast in that fight."

Damien is of the opinion that even high level casters run out of spells very quickly; in my unwritten backstory, he worked with a sorcerer that heavily favored metamagic and quickened spells for a while, and it left him with a permanent opinion on the longevity of Vancian casting.

[Jojomo]

Zerak glances at Damien's injuries and nods once, just once, with a knowing look, "I suspect even a few broken ribs would be too many. The bulk of my powers remain largely untapped, my only contribution to the magical exchange was my attempt to dispel the sphere. Anyway, there is more than one way to heal a broken body. If I may?” With that, he places a hand on Damien’s shoulder.

He feels the young man’s heartbeat through his skin and unconsciously matches the rhythm with his own. In the same fashion as his own wounds moments before, Damien’s begin to fade: contusions and broken bones replaced with perfect, unblemished flesh. In the wake of the healing comes a feeling of quiet wellbeing, the joy of being whole again.

“While we are dealing with such matters, might I prevail upon you to lend me the pendant that Nysris gave to you? I could repair the damage to my muscles caused by the tiefling, but it seems wasteful to use a spell to reverse such minor damage. It would also give me some time to examine those crystals a little more closely.” As he finishes the sentence he mutters a quick incantation and cups his face in one hand before turning to face the crystals with eyes that now glow with a soft white light.

Uses wholeness of body on Damien to heal 60 hit points, then cast detect magic and examine the crystals.

Spellcraft: [roll0] (to determine school (if any) or generic other weirdness).
Knowledge (Arcana): [roll1] (just in case it's useful).

[RaggedAngel]

Damien closes his eyes as the surge of healing power washes over him, feeling his injuries knitted back together with flawless skill. He notes that not a mote of power seems to be wasted, nor is there a speck of hurt left over when Zerak is finished; an impressive feat for a cleric, in Damien's experience.

At Zerak's request he takes the beautiful pendant out of the folds of his cloak, passing it over without a word. He turns his own eye to the skies and land around them, staying quietly observant of any approaching threat while Zerak heals himself with the pendant and studies their immediate surroundings.