In reply to Autarch (msg # 794):

The spirit is not done with Lyriel. Even as she strikes the foul thing, the spirit vanishes, filling her once more with power. Only to reappear and heal the paladin before anything else could happen...

(OOC-Spirit Infusion. Lyriel gets free BMA, +4 to hit, +6 damage. Spirit vanishes.

Minor action-Spirit reappears in M5. Gethin gets 4 temp HP. Any ally next to spirit gets +2 to all saves.)

  Lyriel's muscles quivered as the spirit infused her flesh; on some levels she found the experience disquieting, but there was no time to linger on the sensation - that power (and truth be told, the adrenaline that had already been coursing through her system) demanded a percussive release...

 
  Free: MBA crits Voice for 43 damage.
 

The woman joins the onslaught against Dagon's voice, helping to expediate it along its way out of her (and its) life. Her small attempts are outdone by far by the wolfish woman though - she has pegged this one as an archer, and so she's rather surprised as the wolf-woman suddenly whips out a twohanded sword and cuts into the tentacled monster like no one's business. ''Oh!''


IMMEDIATE: Calm Before the Storm vs Voice, hit Ref 17, at a miss grant CA to Voice (until start of my turn, which is now)
           I'd use tips, but I guess that's still a miss?
STANDARD : Fallen Needle vs Voice hit Ref 22 (use tips if neccessary), 12 dmg
           Voice has attacks-2 vs Levkojen
NO ACTION: Desert Wind Flurry, 6 fire dmg to Voice
MOVE     : -
MINOR    : -

Ravex joins the others in keeping up the pressure against the infragable voice.

Standard: Reaping Strike vs Voice. Rolled 27 vs AC, dealing 12 damage.

There is simply no conclusive way to limn the silencing slice. For to be limned, it would have to be identified. Is it the slayer's near severing of the voice's third carotid artery? What about the warrior's spinal column filet? Or is any one of the monk's cavalcade of nerve ganglia gouging?

It is not, and this much is clear, the lupine's last slash, for by this time the hulk lies listless in the lagoon. That it remains in this plane of existence surprises; you had expected a cloud of vapor signifying a return to Dagon to receive its punishment for manifold failures, a ride on the night current among them. But, no, nothing. Perhaps, it is all stuff and nonsense, the thought of an endless channel of night sea for each and every one of you.

The chamber lies quiet. The water recedes a bit, exposing the bride's erstwhile bed. Even though you're underground, you know the storm has ceased and the cultists have been cleansed. Ashenport can breathe again, maybe even hold a street fair that doesn't thrive on murder and deception.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:29, Sat 28 July 2012.

  Lyriel pulled back from the corpulent hulk, breathing hard but keeping her weapon at the ready - she wasn't willing to assume that the beast's death meant that the danger had ended completely. There was still a town full of cultists, to say nothing of whatever evil magic might linger within the cave and its contents (and the cathedral, for that matter - the altar there still had to be demolished).

  The tainted waters swished faintly as Lyriel circled around the altar and statues to assess how best to finish the demolition that she'd begun during the battle, though she remained somewhat wary of Levkojen. "Don't remember you from the inn." It wasn't anything personal; she'd just experienced too many cases of people turning out to be something other than what they seemed to instantly extend her trust to yet another stranger met under questionable circumstances.

After the death of Great Dagon's emissary the woman treads water for a moment in the cave lagoon. She resists the tide wanting to carry her out into the sea though - she has come to Ashenport to do away with the sea for a while anyway. Also the small group which has rescued her from a pretty dire fate is waiting there.

She comes out of the water, dripping wet, and looks at her rescuers. What a strange assembly of creatures. ''I thank you.'' She can't give them anything for their help though, except her name. ''I am Levkojen.''

She inclines her head to the side, listening to the intense wolf woman. ''I haven't been at any inn. Is it a nice one?''
They are all so interesting! Her gaze wanders from the woman to the dragon to the crystal-that-walks to the knight (venturing a bit of a smile in his direction), wondering what it would be like to be one of them.

  "Sure, if you don't mind the mad cultists and murderous guards." Lyriel broke off with a muttered curse as that reminded her of another pieces of unfinished business. "We need to go collect those clowns and haul them off to some magistrate, assuming that the cult didn't get to them in the meantime."

  It would save them a great deal of trouble if the cult had had their way with the mercenaries while the company was off dealing with the cult itself, but much as they might be seen to deserve that fate, it still wasn't one that she wished on them - an execution was one thing; a corruption of body and soul was quite another.

''Yes, I'd notice the mad cultist thing. Is that vile old man still around? He tried to impart quite the strong sense of family, and what an honor it actually is to marry the Great Dagon and populate the land and seas with his get. I begged to differ, but to no great avail. Is everyone at Ashenport so inclined? I had hoped it would be... different.''

Levkojen's gaze is drawn to the wolf woman she's talking to. She's so fierce! And she wonders what it really would be like to be her.
Will she lend me her face if I ask?

  "Althanis won't be preaching his idea of family values anymore, but yes, the whole town was in on it. We tried to save the other guests, but... a group of slimeballs among them decided to shank their fellows and try to make off with their gold in the confusion. We left that lot rotting in the town jail." The harshness with which she referred to the traitorous mercenaries contrasted with the note of regret over the company's inability to save any of the other innocents who'd been caught up in the madness.

  She didn't react to Levkojen's scrutiny, having more important things on her mind - like shattering the altar so that its taint wouldn't continue to work its ill will upon the region.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:36, Sat 28 July 2012.

''You are so fierce. I wonder how it feels to be you?'' Whispers Levkojen aloud, fascinated by the other woman.
As in trance Levkojen raises a hand to touch the soft fur on the wolf-woman's cheek as Lyriel turns away to survey the remains of the cult and how to destroy them best. Lyriel's battle reflexes take over though and let her shy back out of reach instantly, and Levkojen's gesture remains unfinished in midair.

A soft ripple runs over Levkojen and then the transformation is nearly instantaneous. A second Lyriel suddenly stands in her place, a perfect mirror image of the original. Except her armor and clothes - the Lyriel who has been Levkojen is still wearing the same wet, partially ripped dark robe.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:52, Mon 30 July 2012.

In reply to Levkojen (msg # 806):

Dawnstone is checking the corpse of the Voice of Dagon. Beware my friends. Even in death, this foul thing can taint those around it. I must perform the proper rite to insure it will no longer corrupt the land or sea.

When the monk assumes the wolf woman's form, the Crystal Man seems nonplussed. Well, he always SEEMS nonplussed. In fact, he seems to have no trouble telling the two apart when he sends the mental message to both. Ah! Very useful. This way you can groom yourself without a mirror, Lyriel.

  Lyriel pulled back as the stranger suddenly closed in and reached for her face, an act that would have been met warily in the very best of circumstances, which this most certainly was not. The woman seemed to have been a victim of the cult, but 'seemed to be' did not mean 'actually was' in this town, and in any case, the woman's hands had erupted in enough fire and other dangerous elements to make an uninvited grasp very much unwelcome. It certainly didn't help that the accompanying comment was - once again - that of someone treating her as a curiosity. In fact, that was probably the worst part of it!

  "What are you playing at?" she demanded, only to take pause when the transformation followed. The moment grew increasingly long and awkward before finally being broken by a deep breath. "Great. From tentacle monsters to body snatchers. This really isn't my day." The tone of that statement shifted from grumbling to resigned, and her visible bristling also subsided; a rare moment of wry humor on her part?
This message was last edited by the player at 15:51, Mon 30 July 2012.

''Yes, this day sucks.'' Says the other Lyriel and shakes herself in a failed attempt to get rid of the water in her short fur. In contrast to the original Lyriel, who is still reasonable dry. ''And to top it off my robe is ruined. Splendid.''

''I take offence at the term body snatcher though. That is not what I am doing. You judge too soon over things you don't know about.''

She furrows her brow in sudden worry. ''Wait. That...''

''... came out wrong somehow. I don't want to be rude! You saved me.'' In a fluid transformation Levkojen has changed back into the form she's been wearing before. She is cautiously feeling for words. ''And yet it was difficult to... apologize... as you. I think I will stay in this form for now. If you don't mind?''


OOC: Lev is doing her best to 'stay in character'. Alas, her Insight score is way better than my own, so I apologize for any rough misinterpretation ;).
This message was last edited by the player at 18:55, Mon 30 July 2012.

Gethin cuts a less-than-heroic figure as he sloshes back up out of the water.  He's drenched, covered in slime and spit and seaweed, his plate boots are full of muddy water and make heavy sucking sounds with each step.  That he didn't lose them in the battle seems like a minor miracle, in retrospect.  Two more of those and he's up for canonization.

Nonetheless, he smiles back when the new girl smiles at him.  He makes his introductions ("Gethin Ballider, milady, a paladin of Pelor.")  He claps Ravex roughly on the shoulder, all the communication that the two veteran comrades need, nods to Lyriel in muted recognition of her devastating strike, and thanks Dawnstone (again) for saving him from the water (again).

He is in fact surprised that the huge tentacled monstrosity doesn't vanish to some other plane.  So while Dawnstone deals with the altar -- "I can help you with that in just a minute, friend" -- he sloshes back through the shallows, wearing a grim aspect.

He searches the creature, because why not?  Maybe among the digested he will find something useful, maybe he will find some clue to its weird existence.  He can't get much grimier, so what's the downside?

After the search and a perfunctory "washing up" in the brackish shallows, he rejoins the group, just in time to see the new girl's... trick.

"What is this sorcery?" he demands, suspiciously.

Levkojen is somewhat crestfallen. ''Sorcery? No, this what I am. I change shapes.''

''I came to Ashenport to meet humans, to walk on land. Instead... this happened.'' She gestures around with her white hands, indicating the altar, the alien carcasses, the whole cave.

"Then... who are you?  Is this the real you?  Or is it only a mask?"  Gethin had heard of shapeshifters, but in most accounts they were villains, or unpredictable tricksters at best, not to be trusted because they were  dissimulators by nature.

  Lyriel regarded Levkojen skeptically as the shapechanger briefly twitched and thrashed as if not completely in control of her borrowed form, and the following emotional swings - from lament to umbrage to apology to doubt - didn't do anything to counter that impression. Still, there was a valid point amidst the tumult, and Lyriel's tone shifted to conciliatory as she issued an apology of her own. "No, you're right. It was meant in jest, but it was still insensitive, and I've been on the receiving end of enough of that sort of thing that I should know better."

  --

  When it came to dismantling the shrine, Lyriel was at a loss as to appropriate ceremony, but she was quite willing to take the direct approach; if there was one thing crowbars were good at, it was breaking things, and the altar and statues were no exception...

Levkojen is relieved that the wolf woman relaxes again and becomes friendly. But confronted with the suspicion of the knight, she feels unsure and defensive. ''I am me, and I am real. I am the real me!''

One of her hands rises to touch her own cheek. ''Or do you mean this form? I found her on my way to Ashenport, drifting in the waves. She looked so beautiful and sad. She died with some regret. I wanted to be her and learn what it is. But I know so little about her... but I do not mean any harm!''

''Harm!'' Exclaims Levkojen a second time with quite another intonation as she suddenly remebers, and she reaches to an empty place at her throat. That awful old man, the high priest, leering something about her 'not coming to any harm (probably)', while he has her coral necklace in his hands. She is lying on the altar and he is doing something under her line of sight, and then his hands are empty again.
Her necklace might still be at the altar!

She turns away, forgetting Gethin for a moment, and hurries to the evil black piece of stone which is already receiving the attention of Dawnstone and Lyriel. Unlike the wolf woman Levkojen has no crowbar though and she is not shy to use her hands.


10:49, Today: Levkojen rolled 24 using 4d20 with rolls of 9,5,5,5. examining the altar.
Good grief! About as bad as Dawnstone.

Ravex suddenly perks up, his eye's filling with an odd certainty that until that moment, had never been there before. "Well, that's the answer, then." He declares, though it's not clear if he's referring to the alter or not.

He walks up to Gethin and extends his hand out to the paladin. "Holy man." Is all he says.

***

But he did't really have to say anything more. It was a simple declaration, made complex by the context of his body language: the warrior, the dragonborn, the fighter, the man with the deadly Khopesh, had decided to take his leave.

He grinned a toothy grin at the human that had been his compatriot for so long. He could always spare a few more words for an old friend. "Take care of them." He nodded in the direction of the others, still all strangers, in his eyes. "Like you took care of me... and take care of yourself, while you're at it.." He chuckled, a throaty and disturbing sound.

He reached back and unsheathed his old khopesh. The blade was notched and pitted with age and use, but still as true as ever. He took it by the edge and held it out toward the paladin. An offering. His final goodbye.

That done, he nodded once more, then turned and made his way toward the exit.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:47, Wed 01 Aug 2012.

Pacing absentmindedly, DawnStone kicks at the dirt near the altar. Clank! He bends down and scrabbles at the sand for a bit and uncovers a footlocker. The cultists must have stored precious minerals, surely no more precious than himself, within it. Paying no mind to the rotted latch, he peels the lid off. Pebbles! Nothing in it but goop and sludge. Sea water must have spoiled the loot.

Levkojen approaches the religious rock with more measured steps. Kneeling before it, she depresses a panel as black as the rest which reveals a drawer -- filled with her post precious possessions! Or those of the drowned woman. She has about as much luck as DawnStone finding anything else.

Lyriel waits for the changeling to busy herself with her wardrobe; she wishes to establish some boundaries, some personal territory -- and fast. With Lev fiddling with a pair of feathered goggles, the slayer smashes the altar with her crowbar. She stands rigid as released ecto-energy courses up the length of her crowbar, along her paws, past her arms, settling, ominously around her neck, a cincture of corpse light. Foosh! Her amulet pulses sweetly and feeds even more so (Amulet of Life +1 -> +2).

As for the altar, it crumbles beneath the one smash, chunks of it already pulled toward the sea.

Ravex, curiously inscrutable despite his primitive passions, retires from the party, pulled by his own lost equanimity to wander the wilds, to wander them, sometimes, alone.

500 Exp for the destruction of the altar 

Gethin knew, even as Ravex approached, where this was headed, and he didn't like it one bit.  A lump grew in his throat, and tears (manly tears, of course) welled in his eyes.

"Ravex, old friend," he begins, but he's not really sure what to say next.  So instead he just clasps the grizzled veteran by the forearm, then pulls him into an embrace.

"I will.  Find me if you ever need me.  And... thanks for everything."

He accepts the khopesh wordlessly, but as he watches the dragonborn depart, he calls after him a benediction:

"May the sun light your path and warm your way;
may your nights be brief and your days be long.
Amen."

He is mostly withdrawn after that, expressing only briefly his insistence that they return to Ashenport to see what became of their prisoners.

Levkojen watches the dragon man depart. He appears... resting in himself. It's a strange emotion to witness. Her own form wavers at the edges, yearning towards the experience, but then she stops herself. The knight has not reacted favorably to her changing forms, and he might not approve of her borrowing the face of his friend. She's usually more comfortable with female forms anyway.

She is not quite sure where she stands now with the knight, Gethin, and he seems too distraught now to insist on continuing their argument, and Levkojen certainly won't do so on herself. So she stays meekly in the background, contend that at least the wolf woman and the crystal man do accept her.

There is nothing left to keep her in this cave however, and she is curious what Ashenport and its people will be like.