Mad Mad World IC: Suzeramis the Impure

[Don nadie]

Suzeramis the Impure (http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheet.html#id=1034336)
https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/564x/b6/f1/26/b6f126515393df12bad0bb33d97370c2.jpg


Before you stands a monster. It must be. He has the size of a man, but of one who’s long dead and decaying. Most of his flesh has gone, leaving behind bones animated by dark magic. Where skin remains, it is dried off and clutching to the bone almost desperately. Where its eyes once were there are now empty sockets… In the depths of which shine two motes of green light.

The monster has a royal bearing. Its head holds a crown made of gold and the horns of a goat. It wears a robe and jewellery of great quality, eroded by hundreds of years. Is it strange that you are not repulsed by this creature? That you feel it smells seductively of dust and wisdom and exotic spices? Its voice is soft and sibilant, convincing, persuasive. When you hear him speak, you begin to forget his appearance…

…For he is speaking such sweet truth…

Suzeramis is a creature moved by pride, selfishness, resentment and fear of death… But also by a great ability to think by himself, unburdened by dogma, and a genuine desire to make life better for all the intelligent races.

He fears his own annihilation. It was this fear that made him resent the gods who made him sick in the first place. Fear drove him to blasphemy and, eventually, to defy death by becoming a lich. No matter the prize, Suzeramis believes he must survive. The sacrifice of those he wants to protect, Suzeramis justifies by his own importance. After all, if the head is lost, all his efforts would be in vain.

He is proud of what he has achieved and of his own intellect, unwilling to bend his knee. In the final stand of the faithful, Suzeramis was brought down because of pride: he wanted to humiliate the followers of the gods, to demonstrate he was more powerful. Had he refused to give them the chance of a last stand, his undead armies would’ve won.

Suzeramis believes it is his duty to guide the unenlightened masses. He will lead them into knowledge and freedom, into a world free of dogmatic lies and of lying gods. In this ideal world he will have all the power, of course, for he alone can lead mankind. He will become an eternal emperor, his faithful subjects living long lives and, after their death, joining in body or spirit into full undead citizenship. All gods will be forgotten, the energy of faith and the planes channelled by those who never ask for power, but take it.



From the Analects of Ishmere the Sage.

The following text was written in the Seventh Age by the famous Ishmere of Caremis. Many of the cities and gods referred here have changed their names or been entirely forgotten. Ishmere was a chronicler-monk of the goddess Pallas Athena, the Green Eyed, and his writing has the inflexions of an ancient cleric. Ishmere seems to believe in what he writes, and may in fact have taken place in the events as a war-chronicler. It is the conclusion of this panel, however, that Ishmere is merely turning one of the biggest wars of his times into an epic, as was the custom at the time. There were a series of plagues and wars with some religious inflections, but it is entirely unrealistic to expect that this “Suzeramis” was a real historical figure. That it has survived when so many of Ishmere texts burn in the War of the Three Gods is something to celebrate. The following is our most approximate translation.

(Panel of the University of Carim, old Caremis)


For all things come to pass, this passed too: a boy was born. He was sick of heart and skin and entrails. None thought he’d survive. He did.

(May the gods have mercy on us, for we come to life to learn humility)

His parents gave him over to Apollo, The Shining, The Giver of Prophecy, He Who Strikes from Afar. It was a gift and a sacrifice, for they hoped the god would protect the child, heal his sickness, give him life. They oracle burnt the offerings and spoke with Apollo’s voice. The boy was named Suzeramis, “Gift to the Light”.

(May the gods have mercy on us, for names lead to hatred)

Suzeramis was taught, he was faithful but bitter. His body was bent over by sickness no matter how many prayers he raised to Sun. Apollo refused health, Suzeramis’s grew blisters, coughed blood, had fever and faints. Pain and weakness were his companions.

(May the gods have mercy on us, for pain breeds revenge)

Suzeramis sought answers beyond the gods. If his health was not given to him through prayer, Suzeramis would take it by force. Suzeramis sought knowledge and power. He followed the notes in heretic books, went down paths that the gods forbid us for a reason. He found knowledge and power, but never health. His blasphemy brought the wrath of Apollo over all, his city fell to the plague.

(May the gods have mercy on us, for knowledge grows resentment)

As the city died of sickness, Suzeramis rose. “Why sacrifice to He Who Strikes from Afar?”, he asked the crowd, and the crowd listened. “He brings sickness and health, so this plague is his cause”, he argued to the sages, and the sages listened. “Apollo deserves not our worship”, he suggested the king, and the king listened.

(May the gods have mercy on us, for words are the door of falsehood)

Suzeramis rose higher. With power taken from the gods, he healed the plague and protected the city. With power taken from the gods, he rose the dead to defend it. As the armies of the faithful led a crusade against this rebel, the dead-by-plague stood like a shield. Suzeramis moved like a shadow through the battle. A living would fall and his body would rise. The crusade retreated.

(May the gods have mercy on us, for war is only won through Their will)

After defeating the First Crusade, Suzeramis went forth. He visited other cities, he whispered to other kings and preached to other crowds. “No god deserves worship! No man should be a slave to the gods!” Many fell for his lies. Temples burnt, priests died, sacred texts were lost forever. Suzeramis’s power grew, and the faithful grew scared. Where once he’d been subtle he was now full of fury; where once he’d been full of sweetness he now preached through fear. Sickness still visited him, as Apollo’s arrows tried to send him to Hades.

(May the gods have mercy on us, for power never brings the wisdom to wield it)

Suzeramis feared the death the gods were pushing him to. He finally broke. Thinking himself more important than the crowds he wanted to liberate, thinking himself more essential to the betterment of mankind, Suzeramis enacted a ritual. A city died, their souls consumed. Suzeramis rose from the ashes, unliving and eternal. His soul forever bound to this world on an artefact.

(May the gods have mercy on us, for he who has defeated Hades has nothing left to fear)

Suzeramis was now so powerful that stopping him seemed impossible. To the gods, however, the impossible is merely a challenge. An oracle rose, touched by Zeus’s lightning to lead the faithful in a last stand. All would either be won or lost that day. The faithful fought bravely against the never-ending dead. Six times they caught Suzeramis and six times he escaped killing the faithful by hundreds. Finally, on the seventh time, Zeus’s oracle struck the killing blow. Suzeramis was taken down.

(May the gods have mercy on us, for victory is never too far from defeat)

Suzeramis was immortal, his soul bound to an artefact crafted through the sacrifice of thousands. When the faithful tried to destroy it and cast Suzeramis’s soul into Hades, however, they found a contingency, a spell heinous and blasphemous. To destroy the artefact would burn the souls of those related by blood to the thousands who were sacrificed in the first place. The gods were divided as to what to do. In the end, a compromise was found. Each of the seven gods would take a fragment of the phylactery, each would set upon it all the wards and defenders he could muster.

(May the gods have mercy on us, for blasphemy is always lurking)

As long as all seven wards stood Suzeramis would remain defeated.

(May the gods have mercy on us if a ward ever breaks)

[Don nadie]

Ledger of the Blasphemer


Bluff 11
Concentration 17
Diplomacy 15
Gather information 5
Hide 9
Intimidate 10
K (arcana) 10
K (religion) 15
K (the planes) 10
Listen 14
Search 11
Sense motive 28
Spellcraft 20
Spot 14





Staff of thorns

Carved from the fused thigh bones of a Solar, this staff is covered in all manner of unholy symbols that fuel its foul magics. A fist sized green gem seems to warp and smoke at its head and its foot is capped with a dusky grey metal. When the staff is lifted a rune is revealed on the bottom end. A single touch of this dark device can draw a victim's soul into the bone and trap it there forever.

0/50 charges
-Enhancement bonus equal to charges/10 (min +1)
-Cause fear (1 charge): affects creatures of up to less HD than Suzeramis
-Ghoul touch (1 charge)
-Halt undead (1 charge)
-Enervation (2 charges)
-Waves of fatigue (2 charges)
-Circle of death (3 charges)
-Boost CL (1-4 Charges) gain a profane bonus to caster level equal to the number of charges expended that lasts for 10 minutes
-If the staff is used for a coup de grace made on a living creature or a touch attack made on a living creature that died within 1 round then it regains 1 charge as the creature's soul is drawn into the staff and used to fuel its power.
-If the staff should ever be broken, all the souls currently bound within it escape and manifest as ghosts. These ghosts then proceed to attack everybody within 30 feet of the broken staff. Once everything is dead, the ghosts pass on to their afterlives.



NONE AS OF YET


STILL NONE

[Don nadie]

Suzeramis wakes.

The experience is disturbing for the Impure, the Blasphemer, for He Who Speaks Against the Gods.

Suzeramis had not slept in decades. Not since the day he defeated death. It had been such a relief, not to sleep. Suzeramis had been up to that moment a weakling, a man who woke several times a night because the heart ached or because cough latched on his chest. To be released of pain and suffering, to stand only by the power of one's mind... to never lay into bed wondering if he'd wake again, taken down by his own body. To never sleep had been such a release.

As he awakes, the lich remembers. This is no sleep, but oblivion. He is not awakening, but reforming himself. The memory washes over Suzeramis and with it, the sense of wounded pride. He remembers the battle, the last stand against the faithful. Suzeramis had risen the bones of the dead and opened gates into other worlds beyond the reach of gods, realms that were a mockery to what the gods stood for. The faithful had called miracles beyond number, but they had despaired as Suzeramis did the same. Suzeramis was winning, showing them how the power they bargained and praised and asked for could be taken by sheer intellect and force. In the end, however, a Chosen of Zeus had defied Suzeramis. The lich, prideful, couldn't resist; he'd been tricked and smitten. The gods had laid a trap.

So then, how's he returning?

The lich opens its eyes. It is just a manner of speaking, for no eyes are there in his empty skull. At the bottom of the sockets, however, two points of green light glimmer. He stands. On his bony hand, Suzeramis feels the weight of something. He raises it to his eyes and recognizes it instantly. It is his phylactery. No, it is part of it. The phylactery he created was once a bronce disc, and this is but a fragment. He made it melting the statues of all temples of the city, and engraved it with words of power that were an anatema to the Olympians. Suzearmis smiled with the memory. It had been his victory over dead and over sickness.

Suzeramis looks arround him. He inmediately recognizes the wards, the words having the intonation of clerics. Is he in a temple? Looking closer, Suzeramis recognices the writing: those are the words of believers in He Who Strikes From Afar. The Lord of Light Apollo. Yes, the room has several statues to the god of foresight and the sun, of health and sickness. But this place has been abandoned for long. Spiderwebs have grown in the corners, dust has settled over the holy tapestries. The braziers which should always burn have been cold for long.

Suzeramis lips of dried skin bend in a grim that, in a living creature, would stand for a smile.

So you're gone, old enemy? You who claimed inmortality and power, are forgotten? And here I stand...

The lich cackles in the darkness. He examines the room and reads the writing in the wall. All is explained: the attrocities commited by Suzeramis, a more heroic interpretation of how he was defeated, an explanation of why the phylactery couldn't be destroyed and their decision. They broke his phylactery, the Disc of the Godless, in seven pieces and gave each to a god for him to care. Suzeramis feels a surge of pride at his depiction in this text, though he'd not call his actions atrocities. Is it atrocious to rebel against injustice? Is it atrocious to try and bring freedom to the masses? No, Suzeramis was just standing for Mankind... And now, it would seem Mankind has another chance. The wards of Apollo have weathered, eroded by centuries unatended. The lich cackles again, throwing the marble statues of the god down and enjoying as they shatter into pieces. One of them, whoever, has something special:

The hands of this Apollo hold not a bow but a staff. The god's expression is one of disgust, as if holding a snake with both hands before destroying it. Suzeramis recognizes the item, crafted off the bone of a solar Apollo had sent against him, with a green fist-sized diamond... But the gemstone is empty. Suzeramis takes the staff in his hand.

You shall soon be fed, he whispers in the darkness. Then, he throws the statue down.

The Staff of Thorns feels soft, warm in his hands. The bone of a solar was a difficult material to work with, and of no particular use for the purposes of Suzeramis. In fact, wood or iron would've been just as useful. But the pride, the pleasure of creating such a trophy was worth the effort. The face of Apollo's clerics as they saw what Suzeramis had done was worth the effort. Touching it, once again Suzeramis has the certainty gods do not deserve our fear.

The gods and their servants will be broken, he whispers again.

After so long trapped in oblivion, it feels good to speak again. The lich still feels somewhat empty, however. There are things missing. A void in his essence. It is not only the rest of his relics, but the disc. Parts of Suzeramis are still trapped, the wards of other gods holding strong against time. The lich has another chance to fulfill his mission, but he must be careful. This time, he shall not be so easily tricked. He shall recover all fragments of his phylactery, get back his power.

Suzeramis spends hours in this chamber. He prepares. He concentrates. He writes seals on the floor to bind the shadows of gods to his essence. Naberius, which Suzeramis thinks a dark reflection of Hermes Psychopompos. Zceryll, She of Madness, the nightmares of Athena's essence. Haures, with the power of Morpheus and Nicte. Astaroth, in so many ways a twisted form of Hephaestus. These vestiges are the corpses of gods, the shadows of gods, what remains of faith that gods cannot take for themselves. To bind his essence to them grants him power, but Suzeramis must be careful. He must be strong of body and mind, bend the power of vestiges for his purposes. Otherwise, they can influence him far too much and influence his actions. And then, what's the difference between him and one of those clerics?

With the power of these vestiges, Suzeramis drags further. There's power in prayer and faith, in the way faith ebbs and flows from the borders of the planes into the Material world and back. If one has the right force, if one has enough will and daring, a mortal or inmortal soul can stand, trap the power of the planes before the gods send it to their faithful or trap the power of faith before its sent to the gods.

Suzeramis has the force, the will and the daring.

In the darkness, the lich weaves divinations. He scries and divines, he casts. He summons devils and angels and forces them to respond. He is relentless, merciless. He breaks wills and bones, leads mental battles from the exact same spot. Eventually, he learns what he wants. The location of the next fragment of his phylactery. Ready now, the lich first shatters the words on the walls with a spell. Then, he leaves the temple. It feels strange to walk again, and Suzeramis has to hold on his staff.

Outside, it is a clear summer midnight. The air is filled with the smell of wild laurel, Apollo's sacred plant. The temple must have been one of the many oracles the clerics of He Who Shoots from Afar liked to build. Suzeramis doesn't need sunlight to know the landscape must be beautiful. Trees blooming, sweet smells, green waters, wild deer to hunt and wild strawberries to pick. All that was sweet for the god of light.

Suzeramis smiles again. He raises a hand: its empty. Clerics, the weakling followers of gods, depends on their holy symbols. Suzeramis depends only on himself. He raises his voice and begins a single incantation. It is a whispers, but as Suzeramis speaks it the plants arround him begin to die. Slowly but surely. One after another, like a cancer centered on Apollo's temple. By the time the lich has finished with his magic, the moon illuminates a landscape of dead trees and dry grass. Soon, the deer will die and the few remaining trees will wither.

It is unwise, of course, to leave such a clue, to alert thus whomever may know about Suzeramis. But the lich couldn't care less. There's just such pleasure in standing up to the gods... He whispers another spell and flies off beyond the valley.


Ok, you can now tell where Suzeramis arrives.

[PallentisLunam]

With mad enthusiasm the deathly green comet that is Suzeramis the Impure streaks across the night sky. Peasants over whom the lich passes look up in horror and utter prayers of protection, making signs to ward against evil. Over leagues and leagues the lich flies, straight and true, towards the temple of Demeter, towards his second shard.

The lands that pass away beneath Suzeramis are myriad and strange. Through his divinations he has seen that the world changed much in his absence but through his journey he sees that the change has been more than even his mind could imagine. Suddenly he feels it, the shard! It is near, calling out to him even from behind powerful magics that are still tended. With a thunderous crash the lich falls to earth trusting in his magic to shield his frail body.

Wisps of green smoke clear and he is standing in a crater. Small fires burn in the brush around him. He is in a beautiful valley hidden high up in a mountain range that mortals dare not venture through. Some pure radiant magic keeps the land fertile and lush. Suzeramis is standing in a veritable jungle. Through a gap in the trees he sees a hill, crowned with standing stones, from which flows a river, clear and pure.

His own spirit calls to him from somewhere deep beneath that hill. The shard is hidden there.

[Don nadie]

The Impure looks at the land with an expression of disgust. Once, he enjoyed nature. The offered solace in a world that was not kind to the young Suzeramis. The fresh air, the clear water, all that beauty soothed him. As he grew bitter, however, he grew dismissive. Everyone said that such beauty was a gift from the gods, so Suzeramis learnt to dislike it. Once the world is free, however... Oh, then gardens and orchards shall flourish, hopefully attended by the reanimated corpses of clerics.

Suzeramis shakes off his hopeful thoughts. There's a mission at hand, and he must prepare. With a bony finger, Suzeramis draws a seal: First: Zceryll, the mad one. Her symbol is a wrigling mass of lines that the lich draws expertly. From its bounds, long mirrored surfaces raise. They all reflect the same beautiful woman, each with something off about her. Suzeramis traces more gestures with his fingers, his mind bending the Will of the vestige until the woman becomes a mass of writhling tentacles and the mirrors inmediately shatter, their pieces dissolving as they touch the grass... The vestige's power is now his.

He repeats the process, this time drawing the seal of Naberius. The shadowy cerberus's shape is soon forming into the seal's bounds, its paws and mouths tearing a corpse as it speaks. Scholars in Suzeramis's time related Naberius with Cancerberus, the guardian of Hades, but it is clear his power and influence comes rather from the shadows of Hermes Psychopompos, the messenger and trickster in its facet as the one carrying the souls of the dead into eternity. The dog, too, is bound to Suzeramis's will.

Then the lich extends an empty and bony hand into the air and whispers a single word. Aster By now, it is an archaic form of the word "star". Stars were considered symbols of the divine. For long the highest clerics of the gods could summon stars to protect them from wounds and magic or to send against their enemies the light of the divine. With a flash, one such star is formed in Suzeramis hand, a mote of corrupt green-hued light of malign power. It floats arround the lich, as Suzeramis forces the power of Zceryll to maintain the magic.

Finally, Suzeramis extends the staff and uses it to draw a circumference on the floor, the power of Zceryll flowing from within. It leaves a line of darkness and, as the line closes, fills the space within with the shape of the void. Two claws grab to this frame and climb up. The creature that emerges is... a lion. It ought to be a lion. Except that this "lion" is rather an inmerable amount of body parts and deformations clustered into a lion-like shape. It has tentacles for manes, eyes opening and closing all over its skin, hair and feathers and a snake instead of tail.

Suzeramis smiles and caresses the creature. Such an abomination is, no doubt, an afront to the followers of Demeter. Good. They should be affronted and know what to expect. There will be a time for subtlety, but Suzeramis does not feel like such time is already there. Suzeramis walks towards the hill.


So... Actions to buff yourself! First, the binding:
Binds Naberius, which requires a [roll0] vs DC 15. Edit: success... So I'll use that slot to memorize Despoil.
Binds Zceryll, which requires a [roll1] vs DC 25. Failure... so Suzeramis is influenced by Zceryll and will never admit weakness and treat those weaker than him with contempt XD Not that he'd do anything else uninfluenced.
In both cases, I'm getting a -5 and giving up one ability to gain an extra level 9 slot. I have their abilities in my sheet. Only thing: Zceryll's summons have no duration and no limit listed. If that's alright with you, shall we say only one summon spell in effect at a time, but they last until they are dispelled, killed or released?
Second, Suzeramis casts Holy star and uses one of the Vestige metamagics to make it permanent. By default let's leave it at granting +6 to AC
Third, Suzeramis uses Zceryll's power to summon a pseudonatural dire lion (http://www.d20srd.org/srd/monsters/direLion.htm).

And thus protected, the lich goes on :P

[PallentisLunam]

That sounds good for the summons.

The lich and his monstrous companion stride calmly through the vegetation towards the stone crowned hill. The river running down from it carves a convenient path. Suddenly the jungle leaves flutter without wind and the pounding of horse hooves rises over the still air from both sides of the shallow water. The valley seems to awaken from a deep slumber all in a single instant.

A pair of maidens, wielding long bows of yew step from ancient oaks on either side of the river. They lay thick, ash-shafted war arrows to their bowstrings. Their skin is brown and grained like that of polished wood. Their hair is greenish yellow, reminiscent of willow leaves. Their eyes are amber and in them burns a righteous fire.

From either side of the river come centaurs, two to a side. Their horse bodies are white as fresh snow. Their human torsos bronzed and rippling. In their hands they carry long, stout lances and thick wooden shields. The underbrush parts to left them pass. White hair flows from their heads and down their back, tied up out of the way with leather thongs. Their eyes widen in shock, horror, and rage at the sight of Suzeramis and his beast. One thrusts his lance at the heavens and lets loose with an undulating war cry.

The valley answers his call. Wolves howl. Trees shake their boughs. Birds scream. Far away on the top of the hill a figure, clad all in white, appears between the standing stones. She, for it is quite clearly a feminine creature, even from this distance, seems to wrap herself in warm silvery light. Suzeramis feels a power in her, but he scoffs. She is no match for him.

Suddenly there is a great creaking of wood and the snapping of thick, sinuous roots that have long burrowed deep beneath the earth. An enormous tree, bearing a beautiful raiment of pink cherry blossoms strides thunderously through the forest. It comes to rest with a foot, or more accurately half of its trunk, on either side of the river. A great knobbly face frowns, squints, and contorts its way out of the tree's trunk. It tests its voice with a great trumpeting cry. The trees the the women stepped out of seem to answer it. They begin to thrash and shake and work their ways out of the ground.

Finally, as quickly as it started, all movement in the valley ceases. Everything that lives holds its collective breath for a moment. His long decayed eyes flicking past the treant, Suzeramis sees that the white figure has gone from her vantage point. He can feel her presence beneath the earth, suppressing the essence leaking from the second shard. The treant speaks, its voice is ancient, gravely, like the swaying of branches in a hurricane. "You are not welcome here," it intones. "Turn back, defiler, and you will be allowed to leave this sacred grove unmolested."

[Don nadie]

The Impure watches without fear as the faithful of Demeter assemble against him, a grin of dismissal in his undead mouth. Suzeramis was once brought low by his own pride, but the lesson does not seem to have sank. Perhaps he is drunk with unlife, intoxicated by the power he had not felt in centuries of oblivion. Perhaps it is the influence of Zceryll, clawing from the recesses of the lich's tainted soul. It matters not. These are not rivals.

You seem mistaken, father tree, Suzeramis says. Its voice is a deep and hissing sound which makes one think of dust settling slowly on something forgotten. I am not "allowed", he states, the emerald light at the bottom of his eyes sparkling with amusement. I have never asked to be allowed; to come or to go. I am Suzeramis, "Gift to the Sun", He Who Speaks Against the Gods. I am not allowed, and yet I am. The lich grins. He who has Will and Power does not need permission.

He turns slightly to the centaurs and the dryads. In all cases the lich's expression is dismissive, boastful. A part of Suzeramis knows this is not wise. It knows he should be using his mind and persuasion, driving his enemies against one another before any confrontation. Suzeramis was often proud of how he swayed believers into turning against the gods. He knew the Olympians found the converts much more infuriating than the dead, for did it not serve as demonstration that he, the one god's called "Impure", was speaking the Truth? But the part of Suzeramis that wants to persuade an negotiate is drowned, overdriven by a will not entirely his. Zceryll may not pull the strings, but she is certainly guiding the bones. Boastful, the lich continues:

See this?, he asks to the crowd, raising his staff. The Staff of Thorns. Apollo once sent his solar to smite me. Neither his faith nor his god's will were enough to defeat me. I used his bone to craft my instrument, I used the gemstone to trap the souls of those I defeated. What shall I craft with your wood and flowers, father-tree? What shall I make of your beautiful smooth bark, oh dryads? And what of your cured white leather, centaurs of the wilderness? Know this: either you step aside... Or you die by my hand.

As the lich pronounces the last words, he brings the Staff of Thorns down to the floor. As if responding, the diamond glows softly, hungrily. Its hum is like the growl of a starving dog. Suzeramis's threat sets in. For a few seconds, there's only the ruffling of leaves.

So, the lich continues, calmly. You are now allowed to retreat.


Trying to rp also the influence of the vestiges here. One of the things that I always liked of vestiges is how they influence your actions if you fail to bind them well... Nonetheless, you feel free to make me roll Will if you think Suzeramis is trying to act against a influencing vestige's sway...


A thing before battle... I am not sure of Suzeramis's Caster level, because Ur-Priest is kinda weird interacting with other classes. I have 9 levels of Ur-Priest "straight", but then I also have 5 of Binder, 12 of "Effective binder level" and 7 of another casting class (Anima mage). Depending on what we count for Ur-Priest (are EBL also "spellcasting" levels, seeing as they grant spell-like abilities? Is the anima mage counted as a spellcasting class at all?) we can have a number between a minimum of 9 and a maximum of 18 XD I'd personally prefer less than 18 and more than 9, but I'll manage either way :P

In case this is needed: initiative for Suzeramis: 1 (dex) + 4 (binder's Pact augmentation, 2 abilities) + 4 (improved initiative) + 2 (from making a good pact with Naberius). Roll: [roll0]
Also, in case its relevant to this interaction, Suzeramis takes 10 on intimidate and has a grand total of 20, so I doubt he'll really change anyone's perceptions too much.

[PallentisLunam]

Both dryads tremble at Suzeramis' words, their moral wavering. Two of the centaurs, one on each side of the river, glance between the lich and the deep, concealing jungle. Their brothers glare in fixed defiance, hands tightening on their lances. The two oak trees finally thrash their way completely out of the ground. The great cherry tree's face registers shocked realization as Suzeramis lists his titles, and then settles into a firm scowl. It speaks a single word, "No."

You won initiative.

Both dryads and two of the centaurs have gained the Shaken condition.

I'm not going to do a map but you have a shallow river, about ten feet wide on your left. The river as well its banks (5ft on either side) are difficult terrain). Light grass and small flowers stretch fifteen feet from either bank before low shrubs and young trees begin to appear. This light scrub continues another ten feet before larger trees begin to appear. The treant is about 50 ft away from Suzeramis. The Dryads are about 5 ft closer but farther away from the river. The centaur are closer still, the nearest being about thirty feet away standing in the light ground cover at the forest's edge.

[Don nadie]

Suzeramis nods slowly. You've chosen to die.

After pronouncing those words, the lich raises his empty hand into the air. Blasphemies against the beliefs of Demeter sprout out of his lips, words so antitethical to life that no creature can actually understand them. Light seems to falter for a second, as the lich's hand traces a semicircle in front of itself. When his spell is finished, a hemispherical shield of energy has formed arround him. It is a transparent globe and, through it, all colours seem dulled and dying... Except for the Staff of Thorns. Its diamond glimmers, if anything more intensely behind this screen.

Suzeramis touches the lion's mane once more and points at one of the dryads with his staff. Inmediately, the lion-shaped monstrosity charges against her. As he gallops forward, all eyes on its body open wide and shine with otherwordly power. The lion jumps to the creature, clawing at her chest and opening its mouth to latch at her neck. The monster does not have a tongue, but an octopus's tentacle. As it latches, the lion uses its back-claws to rake the dryad's legs.

While all of this happens, a ray of green fire shoots against the treant.


Alright, so...
Suzeramis casts Antilife (http://www.d20srd.org/srd/spells/antilifeShell.htm) shell and links it to Naberius to make it last 24 hours. Spells, ranged attacks and reach weapons work the same... But at least he wont be so easily surrounded now.
The star goes into offense mode and shoots a ray touch attack [roll0]. If it hits the treant, it deals [roll1] fire damage. This means Suzeramis loses the +6 to AC
The lion charges, using its True Strike ability for the bite attack, against the dryad. Thanks to pounce it does full attack, so...
Claw 1: Attack [roll2] Damage [roll3]
Claw 2: Attack [roll4] Damage [roll5]
Bite attack: Attack [roll6] Damage [roll7]
Free action to grapple the driad (if the bite hits): [roll8]
If he grapples, two rake attacks:
Rake 1: Attack [roll9] Damage [roll10]
Rake 2: Attack [roll11] Damage [roll12]

[PallentisLunam]

With a terrified scream the Dryad is shredded in an instant. Her oak withers and cracks collapsing into the river. The great treant lets out a cry of anguish both at her slaughter and in pain as he is blasted by Suzeramis' fire. The cherry wood of his trunk chars and smokes as his face and limbs contort violently.

With wild keening cries the centaurs on the opposite bank charge the lion. Their hooves thunder on the sod. They leap the river with grace and ease. Their lance tips gleam in the midday sun. The surviving Dryad swallows hard and draws her arrow back on the string. Spitting an epithet in a language the mage doesn't speak she lets it fly. Her tree shuffles protectively to her side, between her and the lion. The treant dashes forward. If the centaurs thundered, then its strides are akin to the shattering of stones. It clearly did not expect to impact upon Suzeramis' shield and ends up running right over the top of it. Looking back with a fearful expression it calls to the other two centaurs. "CHILDREN! YOUR AID!" the cherry tree bellows. With grim faces, the two charge at Suzeramis. Using the reach of their lances they stab through the shell of unlife. The metal at the tips of their spears tarnishes, the hafts blacken.

1 Dryad-Dead
1 Animated Treed-Dead
Centaurs vs Lion:
1st [roll0]; Confirm (x3) [roll1]; Damage [roll2] Tripled by charging
2nd [roll3]; Confirm (x3) [roll4]; Damage [roll5] Tripled by charging

Dryad vs Suzeramis:
[roll6]; Confirm (x3) [roll7]; Damage [roll8]

Centaurs vs Suzeramis:
1st [roll9]; Confirm (x3) [roll10]; Damage [roll11] Tripled by charging
2nd [roll12]; Confirm (x3) [roll13]; Damage [roll14] Tripled by charging

[Don nadie]

Suzeramis cackles with pleasure as the dryad is torn by the monstruousity bound to his power. You shall make one beautiful instrument, daughters of the forest!, the lich says. His whispers are somehow heard directly in their minds, sending shivers down their spines. Your flowers despoiled, your wood burnt, your bodies animated, your souls trapped!

The lich's amusement is stopped short, as one of the centaurs finally manage to stick his lance into the undead's body. It tears a hole in the lich's chest, where in a living creature one would find the left lung. The green eyes sparkle with malignant energy.

You shall be regretting this, the lich says.

A ray of fire falls on one of the centaurs from the star. He barely has time to feel the pain, for the Impure is chanting another blasphemy. The world loses its colour for an instant, as all arround Suzeramis feel the sting of negative energy bitting their bodies. Suzeramis, of course, feels it as a rejuvenation and his body's newly acquired wound closes itself... Partly.

Meanwhile, the lion faces the centaur trying to climb on it and latch to its upper body.


So... Mass inflict light wounds! I'm presuming that I can hit 2 centaurs + treant. So:

Star's attack: [roll0] damage [roll1]
Mass inflict light wounds: [roll2]+11. Will save DC 21 for half.

The lion meanwhile... Does his thing
Claw 1: Attack [roll3] Damage [roll4]
Claw 2: Attack [roll5] Damage [roll6]
Bite attack: Attack [roll7] Damage [roll8]
Free action to grapple (if the bite hits): [roll9]
If he grapples, two rake attacks:
Rake 1: Attack [roll10] Damage [roll11]
Rake 2: Attack [roll12] Damage [roll13]