Round 1 Players

Weft

The dead quadruped seems amicable to your plan, and surprisingly intellectual. You can’t quite be sure, but you registered an anomaly in your optics, something that possibly resembled batwings, off in a corner of a ceiling buttress obscured by shadows. Meanwhile, your slings strike true, the impacts causing the nearest cultist to coil in pain and look around puzzled.

Spoiler: OOC:
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OOC: Your sling style interpretation is fine, I am all about a cool visual.


Gisela

Your spell takes hold, a beautiful web erupts in the chamber, trapping two of the Lust Cultists. As the webbing binds them, they writhe and struggle in...suggestive manners, apparently the restraint is something they find appealing.

Tyrol

You saunter towards the center of the circle. No demon to be seen, just a huge axe wielding maniac in a hood chopping an undead priest in half, quite boring really. A spider lady is nearby, her wicked looking dagger just changed into a pretty spear.

Spoiler: OOC:
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OOC: Perception check if you please.


Hoja

You stretch and revel in your pretty new form. Urging your new playmate forward, you strike at the maniac in front of you. Your strike is true, you sink into the brute and begin to drink, transferring the sweet vitality to your wielder. You are so caught up in the sensation you are slow to withdraw, and the hulk yells in rage and grabs your shaft, trapping you in the wound.

Spoiler: OOC:
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OOC: You are grappled. Opposed Strength to strike again, though you can automatically bleed him every round.


Keno

Your new body is an engine of destruction, you tear a path through the temple of greed and find a gap in the in moonlight bridge trapping the cultist by the door. You squeeze your bulk through the breach, and the cultist have nowhere to run. Bellowing, crunching and the spatter of blood on a moonlight bridge follow.

Spoiler: OOC:
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OOC: Your doom charge ends in the corner near the door.


Lyra

The gladiator’s look wary, but are reassured by your words. They begin attending the many cuts they received during ritual, keeping a watchful eye on the carnage.

Karashotep

“Where…? What…? Arrrgh!” The lead Glutton feels Karashoteps impatience and her blade slices open it’s prodigious belly, spilling entrails on the floor.

“Veldrath! Veldrath!” The last survivor is quick to say. “You are in the Veldrath Valley!”
The groveling continues. “Please, spare me, ancient one!”

You may feel mercy for this pathetic mortal, but your amorphous ally doe not, a crackling pseudopod ends his mewls for mercy.

Kob

The behaviour of the gladiators seems puzzling, but they don’t appear an immediate threat. The cultists seem primarily armed with daggers, wavy bladed affairs that seem more decorative and intimidating than practical. You direct your attention towards the center of the chamber where the ritual occurred. You don’t immediately recognize any of the symbology involved, but it definitely looks Abyssal. A huge man is brandishing a large axe at another captive, an elf arachnid hybrid that you had seen dragged up to the altar earlier. You snap off another blast at the headsman, and are rewarded with a satisfying sizzling wound in the man’s shoulder. If seems to be enough of a distraction for the spider elf to wrench her weapon free of the man’s grasp and plunge it into his chest.

Gorr-Thrax

Another sensualist tries to flee the area, and you cut them down handily, your first strike hamstrings them, and the follow up drops them into a wet pile. The witch has trapped two more in a web.

Shezzra/Vanessa

The rout fully in effect, you savor the anarchy and watch the hapless envy cultists flee, only to be cut off by the moonlight barrier/bridge. This gives them an excellent view of the carnage that ensues when a huge undead ox squeezes into the gap in the barrier and tramples the cultists beating on the door in a gore fest that resembles bizarrely like someone squeezes a tube of tooth polish. The four Envy cultists seem to have enough, they turn to you and seem to be offering a formal surrender.

“We wish to parlay the terms of our surrender…”

Disappointing, but the wine at least, is quite good.


Orlob

The last fleshbag makes throat sounds about the “Veldrath Valley”, before your pseudopod caresses it. It begins to dissolve noisily in a heap. There are many nutrients to consume.

Chesstra

The weapon you have gained is full of suprises. First it metamorphs into a fine branched spear, and virtually leaps at your hulking opponent, burying itself into his flesh. As it does so, you are filled with an elating sense of vitality, as if the very lifeforce of the brute was flowing out of the wound and into yourself. The berserker grabs the spear, pinning it in the very wound while it draws back his huge axe, somewhat awkwardly one-handed. The sensation of the lifeflow is almost overwhelming in the ecstacy it brings you. Fortunately, you compose your will and prove eight telekinetically reinforced legs are better than one gigantic arm, wrenching the spear free of the berserker. An eldritch bolt flies into the scrum from behind you, wounding the headsman in the shoulder and giving you an opening. You thrust, plunging the spear into the executioner’s chest, killing him.