Hearing the moaning and strikes against the door, Dellas readies himself and takes out his crossbow, loads a bolt and hopes that at least once it could be useful. Waiting patiently, he flinches every time a little when he hears something banging against the door. But as the doors gave up and those 5 monstrosities threatened to swarm them he took his shot without aiming.
He didn't exactly see where the bolt went, staying behind taller companions can have its disadvantage, but he is pretty sure that it went too high.

08:58, Today: Dellas Nump rolled 22 using 1d20+2. Initiative.
08:58, Today: Dellas Nump rolled 4 using 1d20+2. shoot Undead.

If the undead are stopped and there are at least 3, then Dellas will drop his crossbow and shout to the others to step aside while casting burning hand
Today: Dellas Nump rolled 4 using 1d4. Burn undead burn
(I'm writing this from my phone, sorry but I can't copy any dice roll)
This message was last edited by the player at 00:35, Tue 02 June 2015.

Bruenor jumps when the pounding on the other side of the door begins.  The ominous thudding indicating someone…or something…really wants to get out.  He takes a step back and grips the prince’s longsword in his hand; knuckles white as he prepares for whatever comes out.

He grunts an exclamation as the door finally slams open, revealing a horde of undead soldiers; these ones with rotting flesh, and not just animated bones.

09:32, Yesterday: Bruenor Sedricson rolled 14 using 1d20+6. Initiative.

With Volsh in line to attack the foremost soldier, Bruenor is standing off to his right, and attacks the next closest undead guardian – he tries to lunge in and use his legs and strength to trip the abomination and slow its approach.

09:37, Today: Bruenor Sedricson rolled 18 using 1d20+5. Trip attack at closest undead.
09:38, Today: Bruenor Sedricson rolled 25 using 1d20+7. Trip STR check (+4 Improved Trip).

09:39, Today: Bruenor Sedricson rolled 25 using 1d20+6. Impr Trip Attack longsword +1. (this is the attack roll if trip is successful)
09:41, Today: Bruenor Sedricson rolled 9 using 1d8+3. Dmg.

09:41, Today: Bruenor Sedricson rolled 11 using 1d20+6. Crit confirm.

As Farian pulls at him, Averdante willingly drops Lantamori's picks, snatches up his bow, and gets clear of the door.

Coming to his feet behind the priest, he backs up further, drawing an arrow and readying it as the doors crash open. His first look at the shambling corpses doesn't help settle his stomach; even in that first glimpse, the things are disgusting to look upon. They're not skeletons and the clinging remnants of flesh makes them look far more appalling. He has the unhappy suspicion though, that they'll be no more vulnerable to arrows than the skeletons were -- but he intends to test that notion before giving up his bow.

If the priest can turn the evil creatures, Dante will hold his fire. If not, he'll hope he's wrong about the usefulness of an arrow against the things.


14:54, Today: Averdante rolled 24 using 1d20+4. Initiative.
14:59, Today: Averdante rolled 7 using 1d8. Damage if hits.
14:55, Today: Averdante rolled 11 using 1d20+5. Shoot undead.

After leaving the prince and amazed by Bruenor performance in the duel, Haazheel followed the group staying at the back of the party. Lantamori petrification curse quiet surprised him, it was the first time he ever witnessed such a curse effect. The undead entrance made the wizard jump. Haazheel, uncertain of which spell to use in this situation, prefered to draw his crossbow and shoot toward the undead.

20:39, Today: Haazheel Thorn rolled 13 using 1d20+2. Initiative .
20:44, Today: Haazheel Thorn rolled 13 using 1d20+3. Attack with crossbow.
20:46, Today: Haazheel Thorn rolled 1 using 1d8. Damage.

Averdante snaps out a shot quick as summer lightning, and watches it ting off the undead's armor, shattering against the wall.



Volsh readies his sword for a mighty swing as the first of the dead warriors shuffle into view, stepping up to swing down, fit to sever head from shoulders.  But these warriors are better armored than the wretched skeletons guarding the Moon Knight's tomb, and the crystal blade makes a ringing sound as it slides along their golden plate and chain, skittering off without doing damage.



Dellas' shot goes high and wide, smashing against the ceiling as the undead pour out of the tomb.



Bruenor lunges in with speed and strength, kicking out at the undead's leg and bringing the creature to its knees.  He follows it up with a strike with his longsword, slashing across a weakened section of the armor to part the undead flesh and send ichor sheeting across the floor.  While the abomination is still moving, Bruenor has struck the first solid blow! 



With more luck than Dellas, Haazheel's shot actually sticks into the undead on the left, the bolt making a horrible sound as it penetrates the rotting flesh.

Narthian grabs Lantamori from Sir Aberlayne and hauls her farther down the corridor.  "Go, go, I have her!"

Sir Aberlayne charges the undead with a yell, her momentum carrying her battleaxe into the one Haazheel had hit, slicing more gray meat from the decaying bones.

09:56, Today: Sir Aberlayne Nump rolled 5 using 1d6+1. Battleaxe damage.
09:54, Today: Sir Aberlayne Nump rolled 12 using 1d20+6. Attack zombie with battleaxe.  +2 from charging.



Farian presents his holy symbol with conviction and vigor and the strength of unyielding faith.  Holy light blazes from the metal, falling upon the undead, and they moan and writhe in fear and pain of a light of life.  All turn and flee into the dimness of the tomb, their cries echoing off the stone as they shuffle away as fast as their feet can take them.
This message was last edited by the GM at 17:24, Sun 07 June 2015.

Volsh watched the creatures flee, taking a few steps forward, but then stopping.  He wanted to chase his foe, and hack them down, but leaving his companions behind and charging into a dark chamber against who knew what would be the epitome of foolhardiness.   Since these creatures seemed more substantial than the skeletons they had fought earlier he slipped the mace back into his belt and prepared to move ahead as soon as the others were ready.

"We should not tarry...his guardians are weakened, but I doubt this will work on the king himself.   We have a slight advantage let's not lose it."

Nodding in grim agreement, Farian takes his mace in one hand, his shield in the other, then nodding at the warriors of the group, "Let us finish this task that was set before us, and lay to rest these tortured souls once and for all. Their King awaits his holy judgement."

Farian casts Light on his shield, creating a glowing 20' radius centered on his shield, providing the equivalent of torchlight. Keeping his shield in front of him, Farian boldly steps into the room and then lets the warriors flank him before moving farther into the room.

Haazheel wa reading another bolt in his crossbow when he saw the undead fleeing in front of Farian's holy symbol. "That was really impressive my friend Cleric! "He says. "But before you and Volsh walk further in the chamber, allow me the time to cast a spell and detect any magic roaming in there." Haazheel then concentrates and casts detect magic focusing on the chamber lying ahead and illuminated by Farian's shield.

Bruenor wrinkles his nose in disgust as he slashes the undead soldier before him...the smell almost overpowering.

Moments later, the grotesque forms retreat before the cleric's holy light.  He uses the pause to regain his composure and adjust his grip on the prince's longsword.

He says nothing, but stands ready to follow Farian into the chamber, positioning himself just to the cleric's right, as they wait for the wizard to cast his detect magic spell.  He peers into the dark chamber, but sees nothing of any detail.

Gripping his crossbow, he curses and reloads. Before Using his magic he would have loved to actually hit something with his crossbow. "I shall concentrate on my magic, but want to try my crossbow at least one more time." he proclaims and adds quietly "Though wouldn't it have been easier to fight his servants now, then to let them regroup?" Nonetheless he follows behind the warriors.

Volsh stepped in to position covering Haazheel's flank, once teh man had set his shield to glowing.  The light would make it far easier to fight effectively against whatever lay before them.  "I am ready."

With another arrow laid ready, Averdante was prepared to follow the others into the room. The king's undead were clearly going to be much harder to take down than the skeletons had been -- and much... messier, too. He still wasn't certain just how damaging arrows were to the things, but he wasn't eager to get into melee with them, either. That was the province of warriors and priests.

Although, if Farian could turn them again, it would probably be wise to close in and dismember as many as possible while they were at a disadvantage. And have Dellas indulge his pyromania to burn the pieces immediately. If the skeletons could rise again, odds were strong these undead would, too.

As Farian advances inside the tomb, the gleam of gold throws back his light and multiplies it.  The walls of the tomb shimmer with precious metal, a vast room easily triple the size of the Prince and Princess' tombs.  Yet the gold here seems tarnished, blackened, the scenes in relief on the walls looking sinister.  The five rotting warriors are cowering at the far side of the room, behind a vast throne of polished stone and gold, upon which is the desiccated corpse of a powerful and regal man in blackened armor.  A tall crown sits upon his brow, blistered with black gems and sable pearls.  He bears a huge spear, the head made of jagged obsidian, and looking wickedly cruel.

As Farian's light touches the old king, he raises his head, and arm, and spear, until it points straight at Farian's heart.  Then he abruptly turns his eyes, wells of pure darkness, on Dellas.

"It has been long since I have looked into the eyes of a moon-born.  Almost as long as it's been since I have killed one," the king grates, his voice rasping over a throat dry as leather.

Feeling the black eyes of the king nearly piercing through the deepest parts of his heart, Dellas fights the urge to hide behind his new best friend, Farian. He promises himself to find some time and talk about religion with him.. but now he feels small and after looking at his sister for a second he regains his posture and answers rather flimsy: "We found it and it proofed to be useful in a place where light is scarce." he clears his throat and takes a step forward (still behind our holy man) "Do you know that your children are still suffering? That they can't find their well-deserved rest among your ancestors?"

Bruenor watches the animated corpse before them...the strong magic allowing some fragment of the king's soul to remain, much as it did for his children.  How corrupt or black it was, time would tell.

He holds the prince's sword down at his side, keeping it from clear view until they ascertain the king's disposition and purpose.  He's not sure how the king will react to seeing his son's sword in a stranger's hand.  The king would have no way of knowing it was given voluntarily.

The king rises, his arm coming up, the spear following to point at Dellas' heart.  Sir Aberlayne takes a few steps closer to her brother as the king speaks again his raspy voice.

"They are suffering?" he thunders, "You, who killed them, make them suffer still?  I placed them here to preserve them, to make you protect them as you should have done.  And yet you burst your bonds I placed on you and torment them?  Demon, fiend in human flesh, moon-born scum!"

"Yondalla preserve," Sir Aberlayne said, her axe angled out, her legs tensed to move.

There seems to be some dark power gathering around the king, blackening his armor, making his eyes glint red and black, fires in their depths.

"Your Daughter, the Princess, assisted us of her own free accord. She found a fellow follower of the Sun God. Your son, the Prince, tested the mettle of our own as well. We passed their tests in proving our cause is just. As a holy follower of my God, Pelor, I will not let you continue to darken their paths. They have asked for release. I will ask of you only once, since you are King. Will you release your spell on your children to let their souls move on to their loving kin, or will we have to assist you in moving onto the abyss since you heart has fallen into the darkness and dragged this entire tomb along with it."

Farian steps more firmly in front of Dellas, raiding his shield to cover his chest and tightening his grip on his mace.

Volsh was very attentive, but kept silent, knowing that his words would likely only incent violence.  As such, he kept to Farian's flank, prepared to act should the situation get sideways.  In particular he did not wish to get ambushed by the undead, they had encountered earlier, or any new foes that might appear during this dialogue.

Bruenor raises the prince's longsword before him, and calls out, "We are not your Moon-born, highness...merely travellers who have been called upon to help your children find some peace. They in turn asked our assistance to help you, their father, find your own peace.  Let us help your family."

Seeing the gathering darkness around the king, Bruenor widens his stance and grips the longsword in both hands...hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst.

He still feels the eyes focusing on him, but the darkness rising made him take a second look. "Attack! He is casting a spell" Is the only warning the others get before stepping in front of his sister and unleashing a cone of flames towards the undead king. Aiming for the King and trying to give him no place to escape, he channels his magical forces while remembering the suffering of those that rely on him and his companions.

15:02, Today: Dellas Nump rolled 6 using 2d4. Burn Undead Burn!

Haazheel hearing the Dellas' call, shoots at the undead King. Unfortunately the flames created by his colleague's spell prevent him to aim correctly.

09:17, Today: Haazheel Thorn rolled 10 using 1d20+3. Attack with crossbow.
09:18, Today: Haazheel Thorn rolled 3 using 1d8.

Dellas' claim that the dead king is casting a spell serves to confirm Averdante's personal suspicions. He takes a shot at the corpse in the wake of the halfling's expected fire spell -- and then moves sharply aside. If he's lucky, he'll get beyond the edge of the door frame where the stone wall might block most, if not all, of the effect of any spell.



17:54, Today: Averdante rolled 16 using 1d20+5. Attack with bow.

Knowing as soon as all started their attacks that the time for words and attempted reason has passed, Farian steps in for a swing. Moving swiftly and surely he strikes out from the side with his mace, trying to keep an opened path for possible arrows and/or other possible ranged assaults.

"IN THE NAME OF PELOR, prepare your soul for the lowest level of the Abyss, where it surely belongs!"

OOC: Farian Raymellie rolled 14 using 1d20+3 ((11))

Swinging as Farian moved in, he hit a very glancing blow on the King causing nothing more than sparks, doing no real damage. Then pulling back after the blow, Farian gets ready preparing for another swing.

Volsh moved as warning of the spell was given, surging forward with a roar, heedless of the ranged attacks, or for that matter his own safety.  He lifted the crystal sword overhead and brought it down with strength born of the anger and pain, fueled by his own losses and shame.  There was nothing now, just the wildness of battle.  Either he, his foe, or maybe both would lie stricken by the time his senses returned.

The king does not seem interested in fencing words.  He is too far gone in his insane morning for reason.  But you tried, you truly tried, and that is more than most would have done.

Dellas doesn't wait for the result of the king's anger, and steps forward, barking out a few words as a fan of flames flashes forth from his fingers.  The fire catches the king squarely, and sparks race across the resin-dry form of the king's body.  Fire explodes from the king as he roars in anger, staggering forward, hands crooked to bony claws.

Haazheel's arrows goes wide, smashing against the opposite wall.

Averdante's arrow, on the other hand, hits squarely, thudding somewhere in the flaming king's chest and causing another gout of sparks.

Farian steps forward, lowering his holy symbol and he lashes out with his mace.  He just misses the king, but more importantly, with the lack of holy power continuing to be channeled forth, the five remaining undead start to turn back from their cowering positions against the wall.

Volsh charges forward with all the rage of his ancestors, the crystal sword lashing down in a punishing blow that nearly lays open the king's chest to his backbone.  Grotesquely, that is not enough to fell the abomination the king has become, and sparks scatter as the fiery corpse somehow remains upright and moving.

The king lashes out with bony claws, golden rings flashing in the fire's light as he rakes across Volsh's chest, bringing a freakishly cold, withering pain in its wake. 

Sir Aberlayne and Bruenor see the other undead about to make their move, and go to flank Fairan and Volsh.

"We'll keep them off your backs!  Destroy the abomination!" Sir Aberlayne shouts, as Bruenor raises the prince's sword, ready to hack at undead necks.