World of Warcraft - Interbellum (IC Thread)

[MrAbdiel]

Spoiler: Mor'Lag's Dream, Continued.

Show

“Don’t cower, girls! Stand upright, so that ALL can see you and how you do not fear.” These, the words of your grandmother Urahna, you remember more clearly than the cannonfire; though perhaps not as clearly as howls of the maimed and dying.

The crossing had gone badly. There could be no doubt at the strength of the Horde here - their ships were present in great numbers bearing sails daubed with the colors and symbols of the various contributing or clans. Black sails bearing savage, gap toothed smiles flew alongside white sails daubed with a bloody mountain, and still more with the storm-slashed moon and waves. Each of those ships cut low through the water, gravid with the green-skinned killers who had proven their worth in one world by shattering the ogre empire, and had done so in this one by devastating a continent. Yet they were transport ships, poorly armed if armed at all; and orcs were poor sailors. The only teeth the fleet possessed at all were the nine ogre juggernauts escorting them. Each belonged to one of the great ogre clans who were first to seize the ruined shipyards of Stormwind, and the dwarf thanedoms. Your father’s clan is Gordunni, an old and prestigious clan known for its warriors, magi, and - now - for your father’s power as a warlock-general. But your mother’s clan is Wavemaul, and your grandmother a high matriarch within it. Tuur’Nog’s Fist is her ship, named to honor her sons-in-law; and it is the best armed of all the vessels in the armada.

But Doomhammer, Gul’Dan and the other inner-circle leaders had underestimated the human’s command of their own oceans; and with land in sight, the Kul’Tiran fleet had attacked. Strange sorcerer-clerics commanded the winds from the decks of their tall ships, and had rolled a bank of cloud out before them to cover their approach. When they revealed their ambush, the toll they reapt was disastrous. The outnumbered juggernaughts made as strong a broadside line as they could to shield the transports, but Tuur’Nog’s Fist had hammered on through the blasted flinders of dozens of the littler horde vessels now, bashing their drowning orcs to the indifferent depths. Thousands of orcs drowned without ever setting foot on the northern shore; and two juggernaughts - the Highmaul Gor-Horn and the Stonemaul Hammerbeast were gutted and sinking from the sheer disparity in alliance poundage. Only then did the dragons arrive - red beasts of fire and destruction that the Dragonmaw had wrangled into service through their legendary beastcraft. They attacked the alliance ships, forcing them to split their efforts with cannons to the main armada and deck-guns chasing the deadly reptiles. Most of the allied ships dropped their sails and fought from anchor to prevent their sheets from being burned; and under that cover, the remaining orcs made landfall, and your fathers had touched their foreheads to yours for the last time before taking his honor guard in their own transports to the battle to come.

You, your mother and your grandmother stood shoulder to shoulder on the aftcastle while cannonfire raked through the air, killing ogre crew when they found their mark but never finding one of Urahna’s crewmembers ducking, or cowering. Her first mate - Brukk, you remember his name - took a sixteen pounder to the shoulder with a resonant crack of bones breaking, but he retained the limb, and kept the cannonball to fashion into a weapon later. But the battle at sea was just a sideshow now. If the Horde could take the beach, the Kul Tirans would surely break rather than risk an indefinite battle with the dragons while Boralus harbor remained undefended. With death whistling around you and the agony of injured ogres ringing in your ears, you watch the battle on land through your grandmother’s spyglass, trading it between Mor and Lag.

You watched as the first transports made landfall, and three human knights - small creatures in size - surged out to meet and kill them. You watched as the outnumbered human forces began to break when your fathers and their ogre shocktroops bludgeoned aside the failing orcs and begun taking their toll. You watched and counted.

A human spearman rushed at them, but Tuur snatched the spear, broke it in half, and impaled the man with its broken end through his neck.

One.

Two more rushed at the linebreakers, slipping past the foreguards, and tried to flank your fathers; but they could not be flanked, and the the human warriors died when their heads were clapped together between your father’s palms.

Three.

Elves now, raining arrows from well behind the human lines. From Nog’s hand, a lurching arc of green energy zipped through the melee and detonated amidst the elves, scattering the smoking bones of three.

Six.

Then lightning flashed in the blue sky, as clouds obligingly gathered overhead. A great bolt of blue-white power ripped from the sky, down into the upraised palm of a human mage, and then out like a thrown javelin, striking your fathers square in the chest.

Through all this, the battle played out in silence in your vision, drowned out by cannonfire and the voices of ogre sailors. The bolt of lightning, heard for miles, seemed to strike with so much power it overflowed the visual display and rattled your ears, filling your nostrils with the tang of ozone. That is the way your fathers died. Overpowered by an arcane better, falling with only the blood of six enemies on his fists.

“...Forger’s spit,” Urahna growled, “they’ll rout now. Doomhammer thinks his deathknights will turn it; but it’s over. RAISE ALL SAILS! WE LEAVE WHILE THE DRAGONS REMAIN, LEST THEY LEAVE US! RAISE THE SAILS, AND DROP THE OARS, YOU GRONN-TICKS!”

Your grandmother was at least admirable, during this shocking moment. Her shouted commands to wheel the Fist around and break south rings powerfully in your memory.

Your mother says nothing; she just bows her lonely head, closes her eyes, and grieves the loss of her husbands… and laments in silence the burden of their shame upon her.

[hand ax ranger]

"Good thinking Jakk'ari."

He will step out form the shrubbery and slowly approach the camp with his rifle-musket pointed skyward. He will gently knock against a tree to draw the attention of the old man, keeping his weapon pointed away to show he is not threat to him.

"Excuse me sir, sorry to disturb you. However I am part of a rescue effort for a few brave souls lots in this swamp, and I believe the man you have next to you is one of them." He sets the rifle down and moves up with his hands up. He knew he didn't have to in the givne situation but he wanted to defuse any hostilities before they started. Who knows wat this crazy old man might do if he belived he was threatened, and even of he did l;ash out at Zachary.....well he would still likely survive. "It looks like you have been caring for him. My team will appreciate that."

[MrAbdiel]

Zachary and Jakk’ari

It’s a kindness that you decided to knock. The man in the chair starts violently with the sound, eyes flying open, slapping numbly at the table next to him to find the sheathed knife there, and then to clutch it close to his chest. But he calms, and catches sight of you in the light of his bug-lamps, and squints, and blinks, and cautiously emerges to look at you more directly.

He’s not as old as you thought, before; just worn down by hard living packed into a few decades. And he has the unfortunate deformation in which his right eye is noticeably larger than the left, though not comically so. Enough to make onlookers uncomfortable, not so much as to make him seem like an outright mutant.

“Eh? Out from Theramore, eh? Yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah, got one of your boys here, yeah. Came crawling into my land all beat up and chewed up two day ago, and sleeped ever since, yeah.” His voice is a popping groan, like he has some kind of damage to his throat, but has muscled through it for so long he barely notices even if everyone else has to. “But I seen t’him, yeah. You want him back? I ain’t wanted to keep ‘im.” He chortles at his own joke, and snaps back to seriousness as he approaches Zachary to inspect him more closely with that weird oversized eye. “But when he wakes up, you tell’m… You tell’m he owes old Swamp-Eye Jarl ten - no, twenty eyeballs. And not popped ones, but good and not-popped. That’s all the appreciate I need.”

Spoiler: Expertise: Nature or similar, DC 8:

Show

Through the open door, you can see a number of empty jars with some kind of preservative slime coating them; and one nearly empty jar that is full of spider eyes, which range from the size of marbles to plums.

While Swamp-Eye Jarl talks amiably to Zachary, Jakk’ari hears a ripple in the swamp water that draws his eye. The puddle to which his attention is drawn troubles as if stirred by a fish, but then very quickly flattens out to a still surface.

Spoiler: Comprehend Elements {Fluff}:

Show

The spirits of the elements do not usually take a coherent form. Elements have a wide range of personal, semi-personal and impersonal spiritual forces that simply move through their respective elemental matter, as blood moves through the body of a human or troll. When a particular spirit is compelled by magic, or prompted by request, or compelled by need to take a more substantial form to do battle or perform a physical task, they muster their element around themselves and manifest as an elemental. But even disembodied, they are able to make certain measured impacts on the physical world as it please them.

Jakk’ari recognizes this unusual fluid motion as a distortion in the physical created by the act of an elemental spirit - possibly the water spirit he spoke to the night before, returning the favor of his courteous contact. Because of this, the shaman has an instinct to gaze carefully at the puddle to which his attention has been directed. There’s nothing in it - not a fish to have made the disturbance, or any track of a recently passed creature. But the water now stilled so completely makes a reflective surface, in which you can now see the reflection of the treeline from which Zachary and Jakk’ari came just minutes ago, and a stealthily hunkered, undoubtedly orcish figure watching with enduring patience.

Meanwhile...

Spoiler: Isaera’s Dream, Continued.

Show

The strange logic of the dream expressed true things, though in a collision of truths. At that breakfast table, all of your siblings chime in at the announcement of their father’s coming enlistment.

“I think it’s very noble, father.” Of course Kaleneus would say so; eldest and, you have often suspected, most favored of your family, Kaleneus is the spitting image of your father Daeden without the wry wisdom and paternal softness to temper every smile or grimace. Your brother bears the pronouncement that he is considered unready for war with grace and admiration - and absolutely no fear that your father could be among those who will be required to give their lives.

“I’m enlisting whether or not you let me! But if we enlist together, then we can be attached to the same battle groups. I can help you!” Aleeana’s hands grip the edge of the table with such restrained frustration that her usually perfect nails are grooving the wood. She bounds her declaration in words that suggest a virtue of impetuous courage, and a desire to follow your father’s legacy; but knowing Aleeana, it’s hard to discount the possibility that she like so many elves has not understood the gravity of the war, and is angling for the action that will provoke the maximum rancor from your mother. To your young eyes, Aleeana’s purpose in life has been to counterperform every rule or requirement your mother has given her. Only some years later would you reflect and consider that she trod the path trodden by so many middle children before her, defining herself away from the ‘dutiful scion’ pattern so completely fulfilled by Kaleneus, whilst stinging with resentment for how quickly she lost the mantle of youngest and most adored to Tarien, and you. Your mother rebukes Aleeana, and they go back and forth with an expected series of charges about youthful ingratitude and matronly tyranny.

Tarien says nothing. He looks to you, some hope dying in his eyes as he sees that you haven’t miraculously changed your mind about his idea to run off and spontaneously become Farstriders together. But with his foolish hope breached, he can do nothing; and he turns his eyes to the woodgrain of the breakfast table.

Your father performs some of his magic, then; that supreme art of the masterful patriarch, standing up to lean well across the table and to clap one hand over his wife’s, and one over the clenching, wood-grooving grip of his eldest daughter. “No one else is enlisting. It’s my decision, and it’s final.” This, you know, is a half-truth. It was the decision of he and your mother both, if the latter only by convincing; but he frames the matter as unilateral and so disarms Aleeana of her grounds to gripe. Not prepared to attack her father with the same readiness as her mother, Aleeana simmers with disapproval, but holds his hand and accepts his verdict.

You weep, as your recollection drags you back down this road; but your father does not extend his big comforting hands to take yours, and your mother does not enjoin you to calm in soothing tones, and Tarien does not hug you in your distress. Your grief, flung backward in time to this moment, is unable to penetrate the reality of the past. Your father left, that day. You did not see him again for five months.

In his absence, your mother moved your family to Windrunner Village, your mother’s home town and the primary port dealing with the human ships. With so many battle mages being sent to the Alliance, your magical studies lost their consistent teachers. Hiring a rotating series of tutors from those magi on shore leave was a cunning solution, and dovetailed nicely with your mother’s desire to dwell near to her own sisters, Jaana and Reyna, whose families were also struggling with the departure of their patriarchs. Your life in those months found plenty of distraction with exotic visitors from human lands and magical training from magi with tales to tell of orcs, and ogres, and monsters from another world. Not to mention a mess of younger cousins who found you, moreso than your brothers and sister, worthy of their fascination. Kaleneus was your partner in crime to impose some sense of order on the swarm, for much of that time; with Tarien more a follower than leader, and Aleeana more of an obstacle than either.

But the dream blurs through all of that. It takes you not to the happy and peaceful interim, but straight to the day your father returned. He hadn’t shaved in his time away, grooming when he could affort to, and the presence of facial hair made him seem ancient. He had indeed acquired a scar, and not a subtle one; a crescent moon that began just above his right eyebrow, cut through it, and arced around the socket to terminate just on the inside of the cheekbone. He would explain to you, after the war was over, what caused the scar. But on the day he returned, he did not offer stories; only grim tidings.

Your mother seemed almost to know it was him by the manner in which the door opened behind her, and she spun about and flew into his arms, assaulting him with needy kisses. But even these he could barely afford to receive; and he brought much more grief with him than joy. Aunara’s husband had returned; but Jaana and Reyna’s had not, and they never would. The defense of the human lands had gone too well: the Horde, halted at their landing, had been forced not to advance north, but jagged eastward and in doing so found willing help in the ancient enemies of the Quel’Dorei: the Amani forest trolls. Even now, this bolstered horde was surging into the Eversong woods, bringing with them warlocks capable of dismantling the ancient runestones that for countless years kept the trolls at bay. The ships broke from port with all the supply they could take from Windrunner; and you, and your parents, and your now widowed aunts and their swarm of confused and frightened children, and a thousand other desperate elves made their break to the road on all the carts, and hawkstriders they could muster. Most, like your family, made the march to Silvermoon on foot. You remember the sight of the smoke on the horizon behind you, as Windrunner was put to the torch. You remember passing a unit of two dozen Silvermoon guard, marching down the road as you came up it; proud and strong songs and daughters of Silvermoon destined to delay the oncoming trolls by giving blood in combat, and then their bodies to the bloody appetites of those creatures. And you remember the words of your father to you, as your flight to the capital was coming to an end; the grand archway open and in sight as refugees streamed in from the roads all over.

He takes a moment to steer you away from the rest of the caravan, and walks with you alone for a little. He’s quiet at first, like his time away has robbed him of the easy charm with which he commanded his family’s love before; but it starts to come back to him, with a clearing of the throat.

“They tell me you’ve been practically keeping the family together with your own strength. You and Kaleneus. I don’t know if your mother has been saying it, but you’re an example to your siblings, and cousins. We’re very proud of you.”

He means these words as much as he has meant any in his life; but there’s a little trepidation in his eyes, like he is hedging against the slim chance that you might consider throwing his compliment back in his face for abandoning you these five months.

[Plaids]

Jakk'ari's blood runs cold his breathing ceasing trying to further affirm what he sees. Frozen in fear realizing the horde scout hiding beneath the swamp canopy intently observing them.
Jakk'ari swiftly dashes from his hiding spot at first panting calling to Zachary intent on truly concealing his party within the cabin.

"We can't stay here we've been found out. The horde scout knows we're here."

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis

Marion's eyes widened at the news: the Horde knew they were here, and it was unlikely that they would be hospitable neighbours.

Ducking back into her tent, Marion collected her things into her rucksack. When she believed no one was watching, she hummed softly with her eyes closed while drawing an imaginary glyph with her fingers. The tiny chant only lasted a second before the pattern materialised, wrapped itself around her body and then seemed to fade from view.

OOC

Gathering her things and, when she thinks she's alone, casting Demon Armour.

[MrAbdiel]

Jakk'ari's warning is sufficient to get himself, Zachery, and Jarl into the hut with the door closed; and the discussion on how to proceed transpires in hushed tones between the scouts. Jarl is wary, but doesn't kick up a fuss. He has survived this long out here by agitating as few people as possible. He agrees to keep watching over the Theramore cadet until the medical team can come to extract him, and tolerates the pair of newcomers in his little home for as long as they need to speculate on their escape. But after a few minutes, even the best efforts to locate where that hunched figure was hiding in the grasses and trees seem in vain; and a speculative scouting of the area on foot shows that the orc has left them in peace. But not with peace of mind - hanging from a throwing knife pinned into a mangrove tree is a small trinket: a small woven cord of sturdy grass, with beads and feathers tied into its length.

Spoiler: {Fluff} Being a Troll (Automatic Success); Being a Hunter (Automatic Success)

Show

Beneath a carved symbol in the wood in rangersign that suggests threat from a third part (not the carver or intended recipient) and to another third party is a trinket both scouts will recognize as belonging to a raptor. Raptors in Azeroth are only a little less intelligent than people, and even then the line is blurry. They demonstrate high complexity pack tactics, limited tool use, and even a rudimentary religious observation and enshrinement of their dead. Some are skillful enough to braid grasses into cord, and to make these bead-and feather trinkets that are often worn on the arms and tail, with unknown significance. They are a dangerous and deadly enemy; but when bonded, they make excellent mounts and hunting partners for trolls who have the patience to acquire their respect.

If the orc's message here is to be believed, then there is a raptor threat to someone other than Zachary and Jakk'ari. And since the two didn't find any indication of raptors on the way here, they must be approaching that third party from another angle - one that the orc felt compelled to warn them about. The obvious candidate for the potential prey must be on the road by now, expecting to rendezvous with Zachary and Jakk'ari at the appointed time - they'll have to hurry if they're going to get back in time to benefit from the warning!

- - - - - -

There had been a 'green scare', that morning. Other-Oscar had claimed to have spotted an orc watching them, and the cry that the horde was coming had awoken the camp. Closer inspection found no orc at all, and other-Oscar had copped some good natured abuse for his jumpiness. Once everyone had calmed down, breakfast had been devoured and camp deconstructed, the convoy was once again on the road with the added assurance that their scouts were clearing the way ahead of them, and would alert them of any potential threat. Brother Bright hadn't seriously expected they'd find anything worth worrying about. But then a few hours into the second day's travel, with the sun high in the sky making the marsh hellishly humid, the Brother called a halt to the wagon's travelling chorus as Jakk'ari and Zachary break from the marshy treeline with obvious haste towards the group.

"Hold the horses," he says with a demeanor that lurches from friendly to soldierly in a heartbeat, "and take up your arms. It seems like it won't be a straight-shot to the Northpoint tower after all."

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Jak N Zac get back just in time to warn the convoy to prepare. They have slunk past atleast eight sleek, reptilian predators with red scales and hunter-killer eyes; partially obscured in the grasses and waters as they wait for their leader's signal to strike. Everyone can roll initiative, and get one free round of preparation before the raptors attack!

The drivers turn the wagons inwards so all the horses are in the centre, and draw spears as they take up positions in the spaces between the wagons to protect the beasts. The medics cluster together in the centre of the wagons with wands drawn, and Brother Bright himself stands up in the seat of the foremost wagon, staff in hand, scanning about for the threat while inclining an ear to whatever the recently returned scouts have to say.

[WindStruck]

Spoiler: Isaera's Dream

Show

Isaera remembered this conversation well, stuck in her mind years afterward for some reason.

She looked at her father, uncertainly. Then she looked down. "I don't know, father. It doesn't seem like I've done anything special. Mother is the one keeping us all together. If she were gone, I.. I don't know....."

Looking back up to her father's eyes, she gets yet another close look at the scar on his face. Kind of unsightly. A grim reminder that he came very close to losing his eye, or even his life. Then that would have been three in their family that lost their father figures.

Isaera loved him, but she hated looking at it, hated looking at what those beasts had done to him, what they were doing to their lands, their home. She turned away to gaze ahead. "So is it true?" she asked. "Mother said she would find another man if you came back with a scar upon your face... I find it hard to believe that anyone could just replace you, though."

In truth, that was all probably just some jest, dark humor at its finest. Still. Those words had bothered her.

Isaera tries to fan herself off in the humidity, but it's so much. Thankfully, lots of skin showing to help cool off. But the downside likely meant more bug bites and some sunburn. She really thinks she should have brought a parasol. Or even an umbrella.

Then Jakk'ari and Zachary returned in a hurry with some grim news. Something was coming! Or...

"Did you lead them to us?!" she cries, though perhaps it couldn't be helped in any case.

With the wagons circling up, Isaera takes up a position closer to the healers in the center and begins to charge up some arcane energy. The magic took but a small amount of time to charge up, but that was time she felt she could not afford. At least, she could hold this magic for a while, ready to unleash some arcane wrath on their would-be assailants.

[MrAbdiel]

Jakk'ari and Zachary rejoin the wagons, puffing from their desperate dash to get there on time; the hunter sliding into cover in one of the wagons and scanning the treeline with his musket; the shaman keeping his feet on the sacred earth even as he begins incanting words in Kalimag that first stir and then wildly compel the air around the wagon defenses. A vortex of whipping winds spirals around the group, battering and pushing outward but keeping the central zone calm and clear for the defenders. The escort from Theramore are not at all used to having a shaman on their side - indeed, the element-speakers are seen as the traditional counterpoint to the Alliance's paladins, and therefore usually regarded with disdain. But as the sleek red reptiles emerge from the treeline all around the wagon charging forth only to stumble and stagger at the defensive winds, it's hard to fault the shaman's results.

Marion's fist unclenches as she sees a pack of three of the carnivores rushing towards her position. An almost imperceptible wink of red light flickers in her palm, and then is replicated far across the field in the midst of the raptors. Immediately, the grass around it blackens and dies, and begins to putrify; one of the raptors desiccates on the spot, collapsing with a whispered hiss as a bag of bones and skin, and putrefying meat. A second raptor from the trio perishes similarly, left mewling in craven confusion while its scales slough of its legs even as it carries itself out of the zone of the arcane decay. Only one of the three makes it out intact, hacking a reptile cough and powering forward through the winds.

Three other groups of raptors emerge from three other vectors, through two packs of three seem to be led by slightly larger and fiercer versions of the predators. Both these groups don't fail to notice that one of the prey has isolated itself - and they have no fear of Mor'Lag's size.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Marion's turn. She can maintain the Death and Decay, but the surviving raptor has escaped its zone, and crossed half the distance between its starting point and the warlock.

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis

Marion couldn't repress the corners of her mouth from arching as she watched her spell rot away a cylindrical swathe of both flora and raptor, the plants withering and curling in upon themselves as blackened char while the beasts disintegrated into putrescent chunks.

"Die..." the Warlock uttered under her breath as she stared in wonder, until the persistence of the lead animal drew her attention away from fantasy and back to reality.

Appreciating one of the men performing his raison d'etre and moving to shield her from the incoming predator, Marion focused her mind again with an utter and a gesture at the bullheaded raptor.

ooc
______________

Ongoing effects: Demon Armour
Standard Action: Casting Corruption against the last Raptor. It's Perception so hits automatically, DC 19 Toughness check and next round a Secondary Effect requires another.

[Plaids]

Jakk'ari is surprised by having seen Mor'Lag's brazen lack of caution running towards the raptors with the wind to their back and the putrid cloud of miasma blooming to his flank.
But the enclosing raptors leave no time to remain surprised.

While retaining control of the raging wind surrounding his allies Jakk'ari shouts.
"Leave us!" Seeing the opportunistic hunger amongst the raptors that would never have occupied the eyes of a druid.

Jakk'ari dashes to the flank of the nearest guard.
A streak of lightning coils into a ball within his hands before being released at the closest raptor.

Spoiler: Attack roll

Show

(1d20+7)[11]
I know that a 3 DEX, 4 Ranged advantage, and Rank 5 Blast will be relevant. Please correct me if I used the wrong attack modifier I am pretty new to Mutants and Masterminds too.
Jak'arri attacks the lead raptor in group 2 and moves closer to the guard by him if possible.

It's no problem, I just assumed Jakk'ari's attacks would occur independently of Marion's and I knew Jakk'ari would be going right after her.

[MrAbdiel]

The final raptor from its hunting trio leaps high, punches through the wind barrier and into the open air, tongue flapping like a salivating war pennant… but when it hits the ground, it’s leg bones crumble, leaning it’s torso and skull to take the impact and splat on the earth as if they had been made of chalk. The wincing, hissing mess makes the pathetic sounds of an animal confronted with an incomprehensible death, and the driver nearby reaches out and pierces its heart with his spear as a mercy, before casting a haunted look over his shoulder at the woman who commands such forces.

Meanwhile, the hunting trio approaching Jakk’ari muscle their way through the wind half the distance to the troll. It’s only a matter of time before they make it all the way.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Corruption kills the third raptor, wiping that group out with fel power! It’s Jakk’ari’s turn!

Edit: just saw your post, plaids! Will resolve your attacks on my next break.

[MrAbdiel]

Snarling, the raptor jukes aside just in town for the lighting to glass the ground where he stood!

The raptors closest to Mor’Lag close to engagement range, but the winds rob them of the pace they would need to charge.

Spoiler

Show

The lightning misses! Alas, those raptors proceed unabated. Group 4 closes to melee with Mor’Lag but it costs them their whole turn to get there. It’s Zachery, Isaera and Mor’Lag’s turns!

[MrAbdiel]

Mor'Lag has caught the attentions of a hunting group now, and the three beasts swarm around them. The ogress reaches out claps a hand around the neck of the largest raptor, hoisting it off the ground and squeezing it until its eyes bulge and its predatory hiss is a frightened squawk. Only desperate flailing, sleek scales, and a little luck manages to permit the raptor to writhe free, and circle around behind its more expendable kin warilly.

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

Mor'Lag hits with the grab attack, but the raptor managed to overcome the hold check. Zachary and Isaera have their turns!

[WindStruck]

In all the chaos, there's not much time to gawk at Marion's fell power. And to be fair, Isaera wasn't really paying too much attention in that direction; Mor'Lag running out to the open, making herself a very likely target seemed to be holding most of Isaera's attention. But there wasn't really time for admonishment either.

Among the group of raptors that Mor'Lag had grabbed at, Isaera fires her arcane missile to take out one of the smaller ones.

Spoiler: rolls

Show

attack: (1d20+3)[19]

And this thing has homing 3, so it would have another chance to hit for the next 3 rounds...

Toughness save 19

The missile squarely hits the raptor, and Isaera keeps channeling her magic, intent on blasting away the next.

[MrAbdiel]

A twisting spark of raw arcane power leaps from Isaera's palm. When it begins the arc, it's almost a sphere rippling with imperfections in its light-form. But as it lances towards its target, it seems as if the front of the energy is moving twice as fast as the back of it; and the ball distends within that fraction of a second into a spear of arcane light that strikes a raptor square in the middle of its head, then pulls its arcane mass through the injury; snapping its head back, leaving its body twitching in the grass.

Two raptors remain entangled with the ogress in melee; the three north of them begin adjusting their approach to join the pile on, losing their immediate interest in the wagons.

Spoiler: OOC

Show

Zach's shot remains for the PC's, this round!

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis

Marions heart thumped within her chest from a surge of adrenaline as she watched the last raptor before her violently twist, contort and sprawl across the ground before it was put out of its misery. Marvellous!

This section of the caravan now clear, Marion withdrew herself, breathing heavy, smile widening as she turned to focus on the other side of the make-shift barricade. Narrowing her eyes and bobbing her head about, the Warlock could see the packs of raptors snaking in and throwing themselves against the towering ogres, the hulking woman-thing swinging her club-like fists at the vicious reptiles.

Pursing her lips and assessing the situation, Marion squeezed herself between two sets of horses and made her way to the centre of the improvised keep. Focusing, glaring at that field and the struggle between ogre and raptor, the warlock drew her hands up to cast another spell - but this time, she had to think on the spot. Pursing her lips, furrowing her brow, the Alteraci exhaled as she uttered some extra words to the formula of the incantation, her efforts manifesting as a strained grimace and perspiration across her brow.

OOC:
___________________

Sustained Spells: Demon Armour.
Move Action: Moving back inside the "fort".
Standard Action: Power-Stunting her Death and Decay spell to add "Feature: Mor'Lag is immune" and casting it with her as the centre to catch most of the raptors.

This'll cause Marion to become Fatigued, as I'm not spending a Hero Point to off-set that.

[hand ax ranger]

The combat was wild and distracting, but Zachary was a natural warrior. He could find the calm in all this fighting and did so as he maintained his aim on one of these Raptors. He was aware of the efforts of his comrades, more so then they might realize, but he could engage only one at a time. So he needed to pick one.

"Focus.....It's only a waste if you don't add to their casualties." He whispers to himself, reminding himself of a principle he came to during his years of asymmetrical warfare. Even if ti did not kill it would wound, and sometimes the wounded were a liability even....

With his target picked he pulls the trigger back 'to the pressure wall', ready to squeeze it home at the exact moment. When certain of his shot he exhales, squeezes the trigger the rest of the way and his musket kicks off as his round seeks it's intend target.

Spoiler: Blam!

Show

(1d20+6)[8]
Damage: Not actually sure, don't know if Gm told me yet lol

[MrAbdiel]

With a bark of gunpowder, the weapon discharges; but to the hunter's dismay, what might have been a fine headshot actually chips the horn off the raptor's nose, leaving it angry and confused, but undeterred in its approach!

The medics Helaina and Tamberlyn slash the air with their wands, sending scintillating flickers of divine light whipping across the field that, between them, manage to down one of the raptors in the trio charging towards Jakk'ari, leaving a pair of beasts pushing through the wind towards the wagons. Brother Bright begins incanting in the classical language of the lightbearer texts; but whatever miracle he is trying to produce does not manifest yet. The driver who was guarding the raptor's approach to Marion, now that those beasts have been rendered to paste, moves to the side of the driver north of him. Now both drivers brace for the dual raptors left from that vector, and they do so with the backing of Jakk'ari, and the medics aiming their wrath in the same direction!

On the other side of the battlefield, the tide of scaled killers converges on Mor'Lag who has presented herself for just that reason. The group from the north west veers to join the south western hunting party in assaulting the ogress. Once they punch out of the cyclonic winds, they vault into the fray, all claws and teeth and furious primordial menace. But Marion is working her suspicious magics again, and a field of smoking, foul smelling reddish energy erupts in Mor'Lag's melee. One of the smaller raptors wheezes and dies on the spot, aging and decaying as it falls. One of the larger raptors seems to lose a step as well, its flesh peeling and one eye going milky; and all the other raptors around seem to be experiencing the beginning effects of the same imposed rot and decay. Yet Mor'Lag is unaffected - the energy seems to harmlessly move around them, causing suffering only to her enemies.

And it's now, at the least convenient time, that Mor'Lag and Isaera begin to feel an inexplicable chill, and weakness creeping into their muscles. Activated by the wash of adrenaline in their respective systems, whatever illness had been passed on by the mosquitos the night before starts to take a toll on the party members who bared the most skin, causing them to suffer either for the sake of their beauty, or as just another negative of the inability of ogres to find tailors and armorers willing to work in their sizes!

Spoiler: OOC Update:

Show

Two raptors have made it into contact with two drivers near Jakk'ari; and four raptors are swarming around Mor'Lag, with group 4 ready to attack. It's Jakk'ari's Turn!

[Plaids]

Upon hearing the first affliction upon his allies Jakk'ari vaults onto the cart inhabited by Zachary.
Upon seeing Mor'Lag surrounded by raptors he attempts to summon a protective ring of stones.
Making a quick prayer to the steadfast earth he attempts to beat back the threat.

Spoiler: Deflect roll on Mor'Lag

Show

(1d20+1)[6]
Assuming Mor'Lag is at medium distance resulting in a -2 mod.

After roll: I think the roll get +10 due to it being bellow 10.
Action: Move 1 distance class closer to Mor'Lag. Long->Mid or Mid->Close. Then use Deflect to protect them.

[MrAbdiel]

Two raptors - the large female hunt leader that Mor'Lag almost throttled, and a smaller creature blistering from the corrosive magics in the area - launch a co-ordinated strike on the ogress. The smaller creature moves to flank, and lunges in to bite at Mor'Lag's ankle with the intention of bringing them down to a more fatally accessible level. But in the midst of the lunge, the earth cracks and expresses a vertical plane of stone just three feet high. While no monument in itself, it's the perfect height to cause the raptor to smash its face into the obstruction and stagger back, dazed and missing teeth. But the hunt leader bounces up, strikes with is foreclaws to provoke a block from the ogre's arm, then slashes at her midsection with its large, hooked toe talons!

Spoiler: OOC:

Show

That'll be a toughness check for Mor'Lag. Raptors have critical 18-20, and that attack was an 18, so the DC to resist will be a muscular 24. Zachary and Isaera can go, now at initiative 8; and then Mor'Lag at initiative 3! Present targets are the 2 minions and 2 non-minion raptors in melee with Mor'Lag (also in a decaying magical field); and the two minion raptors coming from the north east, towards the two drivers, Oscar and other-Oscar. A reminder that for a combat where I have a lot of rolls to make in succession, rather than clutter up this thread with 6 posts in a row, I'm posting rolls here.

[hand ax ranger]

Having missed his shot due to the imperfection of his long rifle, he draws his sword, leaps off the wagon and rushes to the nearest raptor. He lunges the saw-backed blade at them while trying to keep these aggressors off the wagon crew.

Spoiler: Rolls

Show

Attack: (1d20+7)[17]
Damage DC: 19

[WindStruck]

Isaera is a bit shocked to see such dark magics begin decaying things all around them. What in the hell was going on? A wave of chill and nausea had begun to overtake her as well. Was this a coincidence? On the bright side it seemed Mor'Lag was unaffected by the decay.

That field of death looked extremely damaging. It could potentially wipe out all the raptors surrounding her, so despite the ogre's current predicament, Isaeara checks her surroundings quickly to notice two other raptors closing in behind them.

She turns around, attempting to launch her next arcane missile at one of those raptors, which were about to attack the Oscars.

Spoiler: rolls

Show

expertise magic: (1d20+12)[30] This is for determining what power Marion is using.

attack roll: (1d20+1)[10] With 3 more chances for homing next round if is misses.

[MrAbdiel]

With his shot going wide and the raptors closing in on the Theramore escort, Zachary launches over the cart's edge, blade in hand, and hacks down with such a ferocious swipe that the target reptile's head is severed almost entirely at the neck, its body skidding to a halt before the wagons and writhing in reflexive, post-mortum spasms.

Isaera's arcane missile snaps just past the cheek of the remaining raptor, and as its fellow is cut down beside it and the projectile arcs around in the air for another pass, it looks as though it is about to run, and veers to turn from the combat. The Oscars, however, are not slouching in their duty; and as the last beast on that side opens its flank, they strike out and spear it, arresting its movement. It lets out a mournful kiss, cut short by the execution blow of the boomeranging arcane missile that neatly penetrates its temple.

On the other side, where the combat carries on, Mor'Lag's grip won't be denied for long, and one great, crushing hand reaches out and snatches up the largest raptor she can see - the one that had so rudely accosted her - and catches it around the neck. Incredibly, she is able to hold the writhing beast at full extension of the arm, strangling it progressively as while laying about defensively with the other arm.

The remaining drivers move up and toss their spears, but with care not to strike the ogre, they overcompensate and their weapons sail wide. Tamberlyn and Helaina begin zinging away with their wands into the melee, but likewise struggle to find targets. But Brother Bright succeeds in his prayer, and with a snap of divine energy manifesting and an aural glimpse of some distant cathedral choir, a gleaming barely visible sphere of energy englobes the ogress, stacking protection on top of protection. Now, they stand in a field if wicked magic that declines to injure them, defended by the intervention of the elements and sheathed in a protective manifestation of the light. This concentration of powers is sufficient to give the surviving raptors the encouragement they need to flee.

Only four raptors of the hunting pack entire remain; all of them are suffering from the fel blight cast upon, and one is locked in Mor'Lag's phenomenal death grip. The three shift their hiss-and-click hunting shatter to distressed trills of retreat, and begin scampering desperately back toward the treeline. One of them doesn't even make it, collapsing and perishing from the decay and heaping itself on the pile of destroyed reptiles. The two survivors stagger off into the treeline, pursued by buzzing wand flashes and any parting shots and spells the part dispenses in their direction.


The last living raptor on the scene struggles breathlessly in Mor'Lag's fist. It scrabbles with its toe claws at the ogre's body, but they glance off the defensive magics now, leaving its situation even more pathetic. It would be a simple matter for Mor'Lag to execute this creature now, if they are not flooded with a sudden onset of mercy.

Spoiler: Victory!

Show

With the surviving raptors routed, and the one left over entirely within Mor'Lag's mercy, the battle is over and the threat has passed.

Spoiler: Isaera's Expertise Roll:

Show

That's fel magic, plain and simple. Known in magical parlance as "The Gravedigger" or less dramatically "Death and Decay", the spell dredges up energy from the Twisting Nether, that twilight realm of demons and dark energy, and binds it into the substrate of matter in an area which manifests as a zone of escalating entropic breakdown of creatures and objects in the area. Visually, the damage looks like the target is being shoved through years of decomposition in moments. The spell has ancient origins, but was reintroduced to arcane theory during the second war at the Battle of Hillsbrad Foothills, in which Gul'Dan debuted his death knights (orc warlocks bound into the bodies of dead human knights) for the first time. Since then, the spell has been studied and replicated. Mages, strictly speaking, do not use such spells. They require a great deal of parallel learning about managing Fel-bleed and minimizing demonic attraction, none of which is productive to advance standard arcane magical learning. It is warlock fare; but today, after such dark knowledges proved many times to be invaluable in fighting and banishing the demons of the Legion in the third war, warlocks are tolerated and often respected... But rarely entirely trusted.

[Feathersnow]

"I am tempted to spare this poor, dumb animal..." Says Lag.

"Unfortunately for it, it is made of meat." Argues Mor

"Do we have time to clean the kill?"

"If not, I might as well let it go."

[MrAbdiel]

Mor and Lag debate the benefits of animal butchery on the raptor, now oxygen deprived and hanging slack in their grip. They probably have time to clean the kill - but between their keen three eyes, the signs of scale-shedding, blistering, and mystically induced rot suggest that even if they were to eat this raptor alive, there's a good chance it's already 'bad meat'. That might be a battle for their stomachs to determine; but a glance over the shoulder reveals there are more than a few of the beasts over the other side of the wagons, atleast some of which have not been afflicted so. If one's not averse to gamey meat, they'd be a much better use of meal-prep time.

[Feathersnow]

"Get out!" Shouts Lag as she tosses the creature down
"Teach your chicks to fear that which walks on two legs!" Rejoinders Mor.

[WindStruck]

Most if not all the raptors were dead and fleeing. Just one had remained, flailing in Mor'Lag's hand.

Isaera passes a weary glance toward Marion. "A warlock..? How intriguing..." And, perhaps worrisome.

She may have said more, but wasn't really feeling well. She leans on one of the wagons as a spell of dizziness takes her.

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis


And just like that, it was over!

Marions smirk remained, though it was tempered by the visible exhaustion across her features as she drew her hands down and exhaled heavily. Thick beads of sweat had crossed her brow and glistened her forehead while her breathing now came in long, deep intakes as her shoulders visible rose and fell to accommodate the recovery - but that didn't matter. They had won! And not only had she tested one of her new spells upon...disposable subjects, she had even shown enough mastery to alter the procession on the fly in a way that eschewed an ally from the entropic effects. Just wonderful.

With the cessation of Marions directive over her spell, the sheet of blistering, crimson bubbles dissipated into the air, but the blackened, putrescent effects of their passing remained.

Turning her head to look at whomever was her right, Marion flashed a smile across her deceptively friendly face, "well that was exciting!"

[Feathersnow]

Spoiler: MISUNDERSTANDING HER POINT

Show

Most if not all the raptors were dead and fleeing. Just one had remained, flailing in Mor'Lag's hand.

Isaera passes a weary glance toward Marion. "A warlock..? How intriguing..." And, perhaps worrisome.

She may have said more, but wasn't really feeling well. She leans on one of the wagons as a spell of dizziness takes her.

"Indeed! We are blessed to have such a one among us!"
"But your magic is perfectly good, too, I'm sure!"
"Our fathers were also masters of the Fel."
"Sadly, we have no such aptitudes."

[BananaPhone]

Marion Mordis

"A warlock..? How intriguing..."

"Indeed! We are blessed to have such a one among us!"
"But your magic is perfectly good, too, I'm sure!"
"Our fathers were also masters of the Fel."
"Sadly, we have no such aptitudes."

Instinctive reflex caused Marion's shoulders to purse a little, as if she were about to be discovered by Paladins of the Holy Light back in Azeroth. Her study had prompted her ejection from the Kirin Tor and expulsion from Dalaran, as well as suspicion and mistrust at every port of call she had ended up in afterwards. Not that she could blame them, the fel was so...capricious.

Pursing her lips, turning to look at the elf and ogre, Marion hesitated before giving a shrug.

"I would not be in this fetid swamp were I in the good graces of the Kirin Tor..."