Religion: 13

Slove is a cleric with 0 in Religion: 13.
Ask him about animal and wild that a different thing.

Religion: 8
Just a bad roll. My skill is not that bad.

17:04, Today: Jorn Brightcaller rolled 29 using 1d20+9. Knowledge Religion

OOC: I'm assuming I can use collector of stories for this. Then again, rolled a 20 so...

OOC: Yeah, that'll do it. :D Pity it's a bit late to know everything about it now.

Flameskulls are undead guardians created from the fresh skulls of humanoid spellcasters. Deathless, intelligent, and vigilant, these creatures are often found guarding hidden hoards and secret chambers centuries after the clerics or wizards who created them have died.

As they saw, the skulls had the ability to heal themselves, even to recreate themselves after destruction. Some adventurers told of slaying such a tomb guardian and going about their delving, only to be be attacked a second time around on the way out, by a very angry and very prepared flameskull. Others reported finding them floating in patient watch over long-emptied crypts.

Most claimed a sure-fire solution was to wash the bones in holy water, or subject them to a spell that remove the magic, evil or curse that held them together. But the only way to be really sure was to lock away separately or carry the fragments far across the land and hope they were never reassembled.


OOC: That's holy water, dispel magic, dispel evil, remove curse. If you're out of spells, I'll find an NPC to take care of it.

I am out of spells and out of holy water :)

Get Alandiira in here, she will know what to do! Gurgun orders the orc, while trying to burn the fragments with the torch.

"We need to consecrate the remains! Holy magic would do..." called Jorn, pulling a morningstar from his side, "Be quick! We'll delay the skull's reformation until then!"

The dwarf swung the weapon, smashing the regathered fragments back into dust. Despite his fatigue and weakness, Jorn forced himself to continue. The last thing they needed was for the commander to return and revitalize the undead army.

Slove carries on smashing the skull.  This time he tries throw one bit across room from another so takes little longer for them join up again.
"Come here little skull I WANT SMASH YOU FACE IN"
He says as does this.

It Clear Slove maybe enjoying this little to much.

Jorn shoots a surprised glance at the normally calm elf, then shrugs and continues smashing the fragments into dust. Seems like everyone was more than a little frazzled at the moment...

OOC: It's Allessandra, not Alandiira. ;) Though I've done it often enough to Gwendol. :p


Allessandra was dragged away from her spreading her healing magic, protesting all the way to the orc that grabbed her hand. "What's going on here?" she demanded of the others, almost indignant but mostly picking up the desperation of the others. The Lathanderite priestess was still badly scarred with burns after the battle the previous day, and now seemed exhausted after spending most of her divine power on battling the undead hordes.

Slove turns to other cleric.
"A undead skull seems to be the main controller of the battle.  We had defeated it but it keep trying to put it self together.  None of us cleric have any divine magic left after this battle.  We need you stop it joining itself together.
With it out way the other undead will not be so strong."

Slove holds up two peaces of skull he just smashed and let them join in front of the other cleric.

It's now clear undead one of the few things slove hates.

Jorn hurriedly explained what he knew about flameskulls to Allessandra, who nodded calmly. "Very well. Someone please fetch a broom and a bucket." she asked the orc. "There's no haste, it should take an hour to reform. Leave it a bit so the pieces are larger." the priestess told the others and returned to her healing work.

A few minutes later, the requested items were delivered. What passed for a broom was in fact a few rags tied to a spear-butt, and a bucket was a pot helmet with a few blood-marks. Not even the hobgoblin mercenaries had expected to have to prepare for janitorial work on this expedition. The scattered bone dust was swept up and flicked into the helm, followed by some slightly larger fragments of the skull. A thorough inspection was made to be sure that they had all of it.

Next Allessandra retrieved a bottle of holy water from her belt. "One left, we may need to conserve it." she tutted, and poured the bottle into the helmet. The holy water began to boil, with pieces of bone jumping around beneath the surface. Sparks of green flame appeared out of the bursting bubbles. "Stir it, make sure each fragment is washed." She held her holy symbol over the concoction, and intoned prayers to Lathander, consecrating the bones and warding against the evil curse that had bound them.

The bubbling slowed and died away, leaving unmoving bone fragments in the bottom of a helm filled with plain water.

"All done!"

Jorn badly hurt. Allessandra have power to heal him? Gurgun asks the priestess before she has time to get back to the main army.

Slove does all he can to help other cleric in her work and tries learn something from her.

"Oh! Yes, I can heal him." She crossed to Jorn, and laid her hands on his stubbly cheeks, murmuring a silent prayer to Lathander. Golden light emanated from her hands, and he felt their warmth spread through his body. But he had been very badly burnt, and required longer than expected. "That's all. I can't afford to give more." she apologised.

Slove watched her as she healed the others, the adventurers and the orcs and the hobgoblins. There were rather a lot of wounded and many more dead, and was she was forced to conserve her healing magic for the most severe cases, like Jorn. For the less injured she used only minor cantrips to stop the bleeding and bandaged their wounds with the skills of a talented healers.


OOC: Jorn you heal 21 hp from two cure moderate wounds. Don't forget to include the potion you were given earlier.

Gurgun assists as best he can.

OOC: heal 18

Slove picks his head up.
"Right what next?"

Jorn sighs in relief as the healing magic washes over him. The dwarf stands a little straighter, his appearance much more healthy than before;

"Me thanks lass, that feels much better. Now, onto our next course of action. Perhaps we should clean up the remaining catacombs? Me thinks there be more undead lurking around in the rooms about the place. And treasure too," added Jorn, his eyes gleaming as he said so.
[Private to DM BadCatMan:
OOC: Also DM, we might need to change threads soon]

Have not all rooms in this tower been cleared? Gurgun asks, trying to visualize the layout of the tower.

And so they went through the messy, hard and often tragic business of clearing up after a battle. A number of orcs and hobgoblins had been brutally slain by the undead, many by their former comrades, and just about all could claim a wound or injury of some sort. Those who had healing skill, with magic or simple bandages and needle-and-thread, did their best to save those they could. But some were too badly wounded, and died screaming under the knives of their kin as they ended their suffering. It was a time of tragedy, yet also of celebration, as many brave warriors had died in glorious battle and their souls went to their gods.

The glass floors had become slippery with blood and ichor, and an oily stench of burning flesh drifted through the halls. One small room had been appropriated as a furnace in which to burn the bodies of the dead, since they could no longer trust the seas not to give up the fallen to an unbreathing lich.

Thraka stormed up to the adventurers; once weary and under Savera's domination, the battle had given him new courage and vigor. The half orc had lost an eye to a skeleton's claw, and he'd done nothing to cover the socket. He was honoured by the imitation of Gruumsh One-Eye.

"Ha! A glorious battle. If we are to die in this stinking elf-world, then at least we will die fighting with courage."

"Now we control two towers, and will not give up another inch to the undead. Two remain, and the bridge house; we can assault them once we have healed our wounds. You may scout them if you wish."
This message was last edited by the player at 11:29, Thu 01 Apr 2010.

Thraka and his braves fight with great heart! Gurgun and his companions will take the bridge house tomorrow, and with help of Thraka we will launch the final assault on Mourel. Gurgun will look for way to defeat the lich. Better keep your archers with Wickers above the bridge for now, we'll help keep watch down here.

Gurgun then pulls out his notebook, noting in it the many learnings of today, and walking around the battlefield draws sketches over fallen goblins, orcs and undead. He spends quite some time describing the floating skull and their battle with it. Finally, after meditating, he prepares for a well-deserved rest.

Slove looks over the battle feild.  As normal he show little of his feeling.
For the first and only time he looked at elven structure and wish he had some arcane skills.  This would be great home for him if he had.
Turn a prison into heaven for elves.  That would be great.  This was not for him or his ways.
Now slove understood.  Home was nowhere, home was the place he layed his head.
He face the sea and thanked Solonor Thelandira for his help and guidence.
Then he slept.

The clean-up after the battle went on and on, and at some point it evolved into a drunken celebration, where the orcish and hobgoblin mercenaries broke out some noxious liquor and laughed and brawled deep into the night. But this timeless, unchanging realm was in constant state of twilight, so the party could well have gone on forever, but most fell down drunk and exhausted before then.

With only a few staying half-sober enough to stay awake and keep watch, it would have been an excellent time for the undead to attack again. But the warriors felt secure in the knowledge that they'd seriously depleted their forces.