Semong invisibly spends the preposterous amount of time of 20 seconds holstering his crossbow and drawing his sword. He vows to reduce the number of purposeless buckles on his weapon sheaths.
Zem hums a quiet tune as he loads his crossbow. Peering around the wall he aims at one of the cultists who tried to grab him earlier, smiling in the darkness. The string goes taut, the oiled metal of the bow flexes, and the arrow is merely a flicker of shadow in a greater darkness.
Rolled a 12, +2 base attack bonus, +2 dex bonus, +1 because it's a magic weapon, total of 17. That's a hit. Rolled a four for damage, plus one, total of 5 damage.
The bolt vanishes into the dark robes of the cultist, who screeches in pain. Zem smiles from behind the wall.
Sorry to be a pain but I've been following this and its bugging me, Blayze - the -4 penalty only happens when you are firing into melee, at the minute that is not the case so it doesn't apply.
For the record Shotaro, I thought it was going to be a combat when I started shooting. Now it looks like it's just chaos. Oh, if only I could cast Fireball... I had such plans for the flammable cultists and their equally-flammable clothes.
I'm here for a bit longer but will be gone soon. I'm not sure if I've had time to do this but seeing as things are dying I'm trying to move them along again.
Semong circles around behind the smirking cultist, the presumed leader of this group. He draws his sword back to strike...
Attack=14+3=17
Damage=4-1=3
...unless he heard me coming and was lulling me into a false sense of security. What say you Larenxis?
The amused cultist does in fact see the gnome coming, and stealthily grabs the hilt of Semong's sword at the last moment and pulls him close. "These cultists are pathetic, shall we slaughter them?" he whispers in your ear, grinning.
"I'll take that as a yes," the man says, as Semong mutters a quiet "Uhhh..." in response to the original query. "It is a good thing you're doing things so slowly, it means there are still over 15 of them. Ooh, and how frightened they look," he said with glee. "Oh, and you might want to back up a bit," he says peering at the cultists who had spread out a bit. The gnome moved quickly away from this smiling man and behind a piece of rubble. "Quick everyone! To the centre of the dais!" The remaining cultists did not need to be told twice, and they all rushed where directed. As soon as the fifteenth man lay his foot down in the inner circle of stone all of the robed men were overtaken by acid, burning through their flesh. "AAHHHH!" they screamed in anguish, "WHYY?". After an agonizing selection of moments they all fell to the ground, and all was silent but for the rain and the man's laughter.
Sorry, I was on holiday. I think Semong's reply was about right and I also appreciate the ambiguous nature of what he did.
Semong stands aghast, staring at the wisps of smoke rising from melted bodies and the falling rain. "What just happened? Who are you? How did you see me?"
The man stops laughing after a bit of a struggle with the hilarity of the situation, and turns to Semong. He takes off his hood, revealing a human face with a selection of scars and a small beard. "I shall answer the third, then the first, than the second."
"I'm familiar with invisibility," he said, before pausing to remembering good times, laughing a little before continuing in a technical tone "You also stepped on a few vines that wriggled under my feet like thin little snakes trying to get loose of th- Oh sorry, I'm rambling. Uh... the first, oh yes. That needs a bit of an introduction, you see. I had heard rumours of a Shard being in this city, and I was lucky enough to be in Braethwick when a few of these pathetic little robed bastards were gathering supplies, so I disguised myself as one of them and allowed them to bring me through that accursed forest. Nerull was surely on my side as an assassin vine tore apart one of the party, so that upon my arrival the numbers remained the same. I stayed here searching for the Shard when I could and otherwise being stuck with these scummy little putrid wastes of space that dare dwell in this home of- sorry, rambling again." He kicked one of the cultists that was now bleeding to death and said "Stupid twats." He looked up again and remembered where he was. "Oh yes, so I found where the Shard must be, but there was no way I could get it on my own and these dingbats would only make things worse if they accompanied me. Rather out of luck, wasn't I? And then I saw the birds flying from the forest and heard the call of the owlbear, and I knew visitors would be coming who must be competent enough to get through the forest. Elated, I started casting a blast glyph of an acidious nature on the centre of the dais, set to go off when a certain weight is upon it. These mouthbreathers were easily led to believe it was part of the sacrificial ritual. Ooh, too bad about the sacrifices, eh?" he said looking at the dead pair on the altar. "Oh well, it's not my fault you weren't here to rescue them. If you ask me, they deserve what they got." He laughed again, "But then I say that about everybody!" More laughter before saying "Where was I? Oh right! The second question."
He stepped forward, "I," bowed a little, "am Mavryck Harvester, a cleric at your service if you happen to be searching after a particular shiny object."
1380 experience, and feel free to coup de grace or heal the dying cultists or whatever.
"We are," Varstl says, pushing an burned corpse onto its back. Small crunches can be heard as acid-eaten bones snap and crack with the movement, and the charred and mangled flesh glints in the sunlight. The whole of it lets out an odor he'd only smelled a few times before, and those times had always involved Black Dragon Extract. It's a hideous sight, but he needs to know what this man is capable of.
It seems he's capable of creating potent magical acid, given enough time. The Dwarf vows never to give him any.
"Mr... Harvester, did you say? Cleric of Nerull?" Varstl, stepping through bodies, allows himself a smirk. "I'm actually quite a connoisseur of pseudonyms. Yours is worth of prize." One of the mangled corpses was still moaning in pain. "I'm not, however--" He gave it a quick stab with his shortsword, and it stopped. "--a big fan of puns."
Velve, the warrior? A bit of a trigger, but manageable. The Sorcerer? Brainless, but slightly entertaining. Varstl could even see himself growing to ignore that blasted Gnome. But, by Laduguer, a cultist of Nerull? What had he gotten himself into?
Click here for full party-on-cultist action! [http://i119.photobucket.com/albums/o126/DireHuman/AgainsttheCultists.gif]
Eyeing the charred corpses of the cultists from a safe distance away from the psychopath, Luja sighed. Those arrows were lost to him - as well as the awesome Arrowboot. He was going to take that one for himself.
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