RP:Rorin Goes to Camp

Part of the Larketian Fault Lines Arc

Summary: Rorin, at the request of The King and Queen of Larket, takes a squad into the Eternal Forest to clear out a Drow encampment that was put in place during the Rage Knight's tumultuous rise to power in The Hard City. The raid group begins their operation in stealth, but they are discovered in short order and a full battle breaks out.

End of Eternal Forest

Macon has had Fort Freedom send Rorin the briefing on the Drow encampment inside the Eternal Forest. It is fairly accurate as the dark elves have been here since well before the earthquake and even before the battle at the bridge over the Vibrance. They appear to have taken advantage of the instability in Larket surrounding the capture of The Fallen Paladin and Macon’s rise to power to move in and solidify their position. As such, the area is built out well. The camp is in a clearing of the drow’s own making with several wooden But-like structures at the center for lodging. They have chosen not to build into the trees, as that is something ‘nasty elves’ would do, instead they have torn what flora was in their way down to make way for their needs. The camp is open on all sides to the forest, though the Vibrance River nearby walls it off for the most part on the western side. There are two towers of wooden scaffolding where lookouts with bows and arrows keep watch, ready to shoot first and sound the alarm second should intruders wander too close. Inside the camp, aside from those stationed here specifically for protection of the outpost, the drow are mostly Vakmathras worshipers; death knights and necromancers. Rorin, thanks to the Fort Freedom information, will know when shift changes at the watchtowers usually occur, as well as when the camp is somewhat light on occupants. ~40 drow rather than 50+.

Rorin studied the reports again and again. He had deliberated on much yet set plans for little. This was because by the nature of the drows encampment certain pieces of information othwerwise critical could not he gleaned. It would have to do. He took with him three mercenaries, a mage of the local academy specializing in destructive magic, a ranger for the crown, and a learned student of alchemy. Rorin forbode them heavy armaments for he knew that only with a matter of tact and surprise could he win this battle over. He could jave rushed in with fifty roused men under the coin Frostmaws Thane had provided but that would be ill advised. The drow wete cunning and the most dangerous sort of men. Rorin himself had only wore dark leather armors though they be of thickest hide, carrying on a weapons belt a bastard sword, paired with heater shield, and his advanced crossbow. This part of the forest was thin- unlike the drow to hide somewhere they could be found- but it appeared they'd had time to work in fortifications. Just getting in would be tough. As they drew closer Rorin could feel the dark magics of the drow thickly blanketing the area as if the fort itself held an aura of damnation and doom. It tasted like sulfur on his tongue and he sent a quiet prayer to Arkhen that they go unseen until the time was right. This would have to be quick, quiet, efficient. Unluckily for Rorin that was not how his 'tag along' percieved it. Larket had sent it's "best and brightest" Priest of Cyris with a fledgling templar scribe seemingly stuck to his hip. They asked stupid questions such as why Rorin did not appear in full platemail and why he did not simply storm the fort with sword charged in faith to dilerevance these foul beings of evil. Rorin had explained, rather calmly, that he wished not to be seen or heard until the mist tactical moment, though he'd admittedly had a tongue of snark when he adresses his want for none of them to die. 'Arkhen, forgive my pride and arrogance,' he prayed. At an agreed rendevue point some meters out of the fort he stopped the group in a crouch and turned to adress them. "All right," he began quietly, "the Ranger- Gorden, and I will take the two watchtowers. They have not noticed us yet much to our luck and the scouts resourcefulness. Once we've taken them we'll look for a way to cause a distraction before raising the gates. Then you four come in. Remember- once we're in, it will be chaos. Focus on the leaders, watch your backs, stay close enough for healing magic, and fall back if need be. What we face are some of the most highly skilled warriors in the realm, trained to kill since birth. Show no mercy- that is for our Gods. May they guide our blades tonight," Rorin clasped a hand over the token of Arkhen about his neck and felt the calm reassurance of his faith within him. Deep breaths. Arkhen, guide my hand. Once everyon e had gotten themselves together Rorin would pace forward on the flanks between tree and raised ground opposite the Ranger. He was nimble and drew little noise more than a breeze thanks to his half elven heritage. A dagger in his hand, he would have to scale the tower whilst the watchman looked elsewhere, and end him quietly in one sudden slice, should he reach the battlements unnoticed. If not- well- his faith held true. And that was stronger than 50 or 500 hundred Drow.

Inside one of the central pop-up buildings several drow have gathered around a large cauldron. There is no mystic ritual to their congregation, just a late dinner in the form of a stew in the pot over a fire. Heat and non-harsh smoke rises through a ventilation hole in the roof while the Death God worshipers help themselves, filling their bowls. Spirits and conversation are light this evening (for Drow) and so it comes as a disruption when a young looking, white haired drow female tells the death knight sitting across from her that he is going to meet Vakmatharas tonight. K’thris’s voice is sweet, almost envious sounding when she breaks this news to the male drow as an absolute fact. Her eyes are wide as if she is watching him die in this very moment, and perhaps she is if one is to believe her when she speaks of the visions she has almost daily. She has predicted death before, but not with 100% accuracy, and so the Death Knight takes this announcement as more of a threat than anything else, standing and slamming his fist on the tabletop in front of him, shooting a promise of violence back in his language from the Underdark. K’thris raises her hands and smirks, smugly showing she means no threat and displaying that she has only four fingers on each hand, both her thumbs missing, punishment for a failed attempt at a coup that would have made her the matron of a powerful house of Trist'oth. The death knight is quick to take her show as an apology and sits himself back down, showing that he would rather not pick a fight with that particular necromancer if he can avoid it. Even with only eight fingers it would seem she is highly regarded as someone of great power in this camp. Outside Rorin slips in unnoticed while the guard on the watchtower he means to scale is distracted by something or another. A light in the distance? The wind? We’ll never know, but the end result is the paladin of Arkhen is allowed to scale the scaffolding unopposed. Rorin’s dagger finds the watchman’s throat and slits it, but rather than reach for the cut, gargle, and go out like a punk, this insane dark elf immediately reaches for his own dagger at his him and uses the last bit of his life to take a backwards stab at the stealthy paladin’s gut. He does still gargle because he can’t help it though.

Rorin smellee the smoke in the air, the breeze on his skin, the moisture of the dew that further cushioned his footfalls. He felt oddly serene and wondered if predators felt this way before the lunge. Nothing but focus on the kill. The wood of the watchtower seems to near welcome his hands as hold for them are found easy in Rorins climb. He hated this, he really did, catching someone unawares. It held no honor- no truth- there was no moment when one knew that death would come. But that is what must be done. A single grunt escspes Rorin as the already dead drows take fruit in the finding of the blade in the pilgrims side. Nothing lethal, Rorin already knew, and this one had not time to poison it. The body was disposed easily over the side of the tower into the spring brush. Across from him he hoped the Gorden had managed to take his tower as well. Now to disable the alarms. That would mean finding theur source and destroying it quietly, be it magic, or some systemic item, and it would take care. Rorin would have to move with utter stealth and discard the patch over his right eye. The organ beneath was inhuman and here it would serve him well. The flesh was a dark blue, with a ring and dot of divine essence where his iris and pupil once were, lost with the strange white scar that travelled that side of his face. He did not know it's limitations and was not practiced with it in full. That eye did not see this world for it saw beyond, in a way without color, black and white starkly contrasted, and through door or wall or all but magically concealed obstacles he saw not people but souls. The eye searched with seeming independence throughout the wooden fortress as Rorin picked his movements with care. Disable the alarms, cause a distraction, raise the gate. That was the mission and now that he could see the enemy he could avoid them with ease. Save for those without magical covers at least.

Rorin’s counterpart finds similar success in taking out the guard on the other tower, but the drow that he felled was in a more ready position to shoot something (ie. doing his job properly), with his bow and an arrow in his hands. So when he is taken out he weakly misfires the arrow upward in the direction of the center of the camp. The projectile embeds its head in the soft, upturned ground at the feet of a roguish dark elf that is also here with the sole purpose of defending the camp and the Vakmatharas worshipers within. He knows the guy who is stationed at the watchtower and glares with his drow, heat-sensitive vision towards the tower, expecting to see his ‘friend’ cheekily glaring back at him. What he sees is quite different though; two silhouettes instead of one. Luckily for the raid group though, this rogue slinks towards the tower instead of running off to alert the rest of the camp. He wants to see who else is up there first, as he still believes that he is just being messed with. He reaches the base of the tower and curses up at his dead comrade and Gorden in drow asking ‘what the hell!?’ only a bit more colorfully. The alarms are simple bells and can be disabled easily enough. Inside the ‘banquet hut’ K’thris is back to being creepy. Smiling maniacally, she tilts her head towards the entrance of the temporary building and tells anyone who will listen ‘He is here.’ She’s right, of course, The God of Death has already claimed two and is perhaps just getting started. Some of the drow with her get the chills, but pretend not to because they are hard dark elves that aren’t afraid of anything. Outside of that hut and the one guy yelling up at Gorden, the rest of the camp goes about its routine undisturbed for now.

Rorin cursed as he spotted an arrow heading straight for the middle of the camp. That would cost them. The pilgrim would take immediate cover behind something dor the moment and wait. With luck, only a singular investigator would come. Rorin would find a bell just overhead but first it seemee the inquisition would lead to Gorden at the base of the opposite tower. With quick thought Rorin would draw his crossbow, extend the pieces, and lever in the three bolts to their tracks. Gorden would have only one moment to be on the drow and he failed it was up to Rorin to quiet him. He praid he would not miss. Seeing but a moment of hesitation for Gorden, as the ranger would have been forced to take on a fully aware drow some levels below him, Rorin took the shot regardless and aimed for whatever vital spot he could hit- most likely the males head. It would be up to Gorden to hide the body or engage him if Rorin missed but either way Rorins next move was to slip his dagger against the bell string and disable the alarms. Only then could the next crucial step be decided.

Gorden hesitates within the anonymity of drow infrared vision, and Rorin takes the shot. In the time between when the trigger is pulled and the bolt finds its mark, the drow shouts up at the tower top obnoxiously loud. The bolt enters through the left ear of the poor rouge and his right eye starts twitching involuntarily as he tries to shout out his friend’s name again, but cannot form the syllables and apostrophe with a piece of metal in his brain. He drops sideways, away from Rorin’s tower and perpendicular to the one he stands at the base of, dead. Inside the central hut K’thris’s head jerks in the direction of the newly felled drow and she abruptly stands. ‘Again.’ She mutters to herself in the drow’s mutated version of elvish, before looking over to the death knight whose death she has predicted, examining him like a piece of meat. After an uncomfortably long moment she tells him to go outside to see what is going on, but he refuses with some transparently false bravado. Gorden has a very short window in which he can move the dead body on the ground to somewhere it will not be detected. That shout has three curious drow skulking towards the tower to investigate. If they catch the man in the act they will move to apprehend. If they only find the dead body, they will surely alert the camp. If they find nothing, they will wonder why there is no one at the tower and go and tattle… Even before any of that, the camp is becoming more lively than when this operation began, some drow are starting to file out of the huts. Death is in the air and they can perhaps sense it.

Rorin needed a deep breath. Arkhen, I beg you, the time is not yet right for us to be found. Though I do these without honor they are things I must do. Let me be prepared. Please. Rorin would nod in sight of Gorden- they both needed to move- quickly. Gorden should be skilled enough to drop, hide the body, and dissapear into the camp. At least that was the skill Rorin wished him to possess. For Rorin the next move was to descend his tower opposite the crowd and find a distraction. Beasts to set free, explosives to set off, drink to poison, by the heavens the Pilgrim would settle for a damn beehive to drop somewhere right now. Get the crowd away from the main gates and fling them wide open. Perhaps they had a stable and mounts he could spook? A stampede may accomplish both tasks at once if the number of creatures was with strength to fell the gates. Whatever worked. Then it would come time to descend upon the drows leaders and as he went Rorin was already scanning the crowd. The largest, the fastest, the most skilled. He was truly thankful that he had yet to see any females among them for there true terror lay. Terror that could only be beaten with Rorins faith. His faith in the gods would not be shaken but faith in himself? He prayed for strength, courage, and swiftness. The distraction would have to come fast while they were gathered. Gorden may find one first if he manages to escape to the back of the camp. Otherwise he may become the diversion and that would end badly for him. As well as put Rorin on the task of opening the gates. For now he crouched and stalked and climbed his way while still avoiding the majority.

Rorin will be able to find makeshift stables that house the drow mounts, but he will find that there are not Larketian horses lodged here. Not at all. This camp is filled with men and women from Trist’oth, and they don’t ride horses, they ride giant lizards capable of navigating the tunnels of the Underdark, scaling underground walls and ceilings with ease while carrying dark elves on their backs. The Rage Knight himself has ridden one of these monstrous mounts during his relatively brief exile from Larket, but that particular mount is not here at the moment. These massive, four legged reptiles can be spooked by whatever means the pilgrim means to use, but some of them don’t take kindly to the attempt. While the majority of the lizards are coaxed into the stampede Rorin meant to cause, two of the creatures stay behind to stand off with the paladin of Arkhen, circling him and waiting for an opening before they lunge forward with sharp, pointy teeth bared. (The drow at the main gate actually rush to open it before it can be knocked over by the charging mounts, so as to avoid permanent damage.) In the meantime the trio of drow find nothing at the watchtower and they would be about to alert the camp, but the commotion Rorin has caused does the trick of rousing the rest of the residents. The dining hut clears out, K’thris among them, walking calmly through the clamour. The camp for sure knows something is up now, but not exactly what. About 13 drow rush off to gather the lizards that have been unleashed, thinning the numbers within the camp. Meanwhile five death knights, including the one K’thris has predicted the demise of, head for the stables to get to the bottom of this…

Rorin found stables. This was good. There were no horses. This was confusing. These men had giant lizards the like of saurians Kreekitaka captured. They were big, ugly, tough beasts, and Rorin knew just what to do with them. He crept behind the disquieted quadrapeds and took out something from a belt pouch. Ironically, the drow used these as well, often called Light Pellets, to daze others. In the dark of the stables Rorin would throw a handful of them down, resulting in seversl loud pops and flashes of light that would scare most people he knew let alone mounts. Two of these turned to face him and Rorin smiled. It was only with smart maneuvering that he would be able to avoid their quick jaws and lengtgy claws but he would get to the side of one and feint it beford throwing another pellet. He hoped to daze it enough to mount the beast and take off on a sort of wild charge with his bastard sword swinging wildly. This was true insanity for certain but perhaps armed with enough light pellets, a giant lizard, and his blade, he could cause enough of a distraction for his plan to come into place. Gorden should be able to find a high spot and start picking off targets at random between hiding places. Outside the walls the remainder of Rorins party would begin their charge. It would not be until the last possible moment that the drow would find themselves in something of an impromptu pincer movement with a crazed paladin on a mount having a hidden archers support keeping their flanks busy while a mage, an alchemist, a priest, and a fledgling of the divine assaulted them through gates they'd opened themselves!

Chaos! That is what this mission that started stealthily enough has plunged into. Rorin blinds and cuts through two of the death knights that came to check the stables easily, The light pellets are specifically designed to be especially effective against the infrared vision of the drow. The dead drow walking is bested by the mounted paladin too, but he doesn’t lose his life just yet, just his right arm and his bastard sword, which both go looping through the air to land gruesomely on the ground. He roars and curses in drow while dropping to his knees to crawl towards his dropped weapon to pry it from his own fingers and take it up again in his only remaining hand. The remaining two death knights show their skill, after managing to shield their eyes effectively from the burst of light. One parrys Rorin’s passing blow while the other utters a ‘prayer’ to Vakmatharas. He rolls at the last moment, out of the way of the charging lizard, but throws a balled fist at one of its scaled legs, connecting a glancing blow. It is not meant as a forceful punch, but as a means to inflict his dark magic on the mount. Pain! Unnatural and searing radiates from the point the drow struck and the lizard drops to a skidding stop, writhing in agony and biting at its own leg in a desperate, illogical attempt at getting the pain to stop. This leaves Rorin up against three death knights, with five arms, all with swords now imbued with this same painful magic as they descend upon him. Elsewhere, camp residents are dropping to the marksmanship of Gorden and magic of the light and dark variety is clashing at the gates. K’thris hangs back and gets a sense of where the arrows are coming from. She moves towards the watchtower where it seems Gorden has returned to gain the high ground. Just as an arrow moves through the skull of one of her comrades she instantly raises him with her necromantic magic so that he never falls to the ground, shambling now instead of walking. This is meant as a distraction and appears to work, as Gorden fires again towards this already dead man. She reaches the tower undetected and places a hand on the corner of it while muttering a prayer quietly into the air. Raw death permeates through her fingertips and decays the side of the tower rapidly. The wood rots and turns to ash in a matter of seconds and in that same time the whole structure comes crashing down around K’thris. A massive portion falls towards the necromancer, but she raises her dainty, four fingered hand up to meet it and it is instantly reduced to harmless ash upon contact, coating the powerful dark magician grey soot. Outside the gates, the drow that rushed out to catch the escaped lizards have sent a pair back once the sounds of battle erupted from the camp. These two move behind the raid party that came through the gates and move to strike the invaders down through stealth and poison coated knives...

Rorin amdittedly loved the chaos. He was a righteous hawk descendant upon the wolves. Let them scatter and cower, for now was the time of fruition, the time defenders of the weak would strike down the wicked! Two are felled as his metal finds flesh, one injured, these last two had the time to prepare though. His new mount disabled Rorin is left to roll off and ready his sword and shield before they were upon him. Across the shield a heavenly glow spread like liquid light and he braced. Against him he feels the cold undeath of the enemies magic raise another. In it's socket his right eye turns- there- such a dark soul was as a beacon of sin to the pilgrims inhuman eye. A priestess. Damn! He prayed to Arkhen to give those before him a quick death, that he may turn the tides against their foes and save his allies. A tower fell and from it Gorden leapt, already loosing arrows at those that would flank the intruders, joining the incoming party there. Rorin would have to make his way but first these. Rorin focused on the two uninjured knights with his holy shield high. Only after them could he hope to end the one armed man.

The dark magic infecting the weapons of the two death knights clashes with the light spewing from Rorin’s shield. The foes are illuminated and plunged into unnatural darkness with each blocked blow over and over. In a similar move to the one the current King of Larket deployed against the Hellfire Hero on the bridge between Sage and Larket, one of the death knights, while his blade clashes with Rorin’s frees one hand and reaches out to grab at the paladin. Should he make any contact at all, the Protection of Arkhen and Vakmatharas’s Will will struggle against each other as they are always meant to; to a violent stalemate that will blow both of them backwards. Regardless of what happens between those two, the remaining two death knights will flank Rorin and swing their blades downward simultaneously (one of them obviously holding his weapon in only one hand). Meanwhile, Gorden’s heroics saves the lives of the rest of the raiders from the assassins behind them. This pisses K’thris right off. The ash covered woman marches forward in pursuit of the landing marksman. It would appear that she has taken the word ‘necromancy’ somewhat literally in her mastery of this death magic. Not only is she raising the dead bodies of her felled drow brethren as she walks past them, chanting spells at an alarming rate in a vicious voice, but with simple waves of her four-fingered hands she is able to magically lift the awakened corpses into the air and hurl them where she wishes. In this case, that is -at- Gorden. Three living corpses she throws in this manner, all of them still clutching their weapons, daggers in this case, making them pointier Drow projectiles than they would be without them. Though not of K’thris’s doing those two would be flankers are also raised by some of the many necromancers present and they start to move again on the backs of the main breaching force.

Rorin stood strong against his foes despite the jarring in his arm. The shield itself felt like light as blanket and he wielded his faith with brilliant devotion. He saw one of them coming beneath his blade and Rorin would have none of it. Deflecting on his right Rorin aimed to bring down his blade on the drows arm to his left. Magics collide, though Rorin wagered his oppenent felt it more than he, for he retained most of his stature. Two of them came now and Rorin retaliated the one way he knew- a feint would have their blades toward him- then a complete backstep with his shield up. Against two blades it would flare all the more strongly and in hopes give him time to gather his thoughts. At the gate his companions were in equal position. The mage stepped forward to to destroy the bodies flung with elemental sorcery. The alchemist flung potions to confuse, enrage, arouse, inebriate, and generally keep their opponents in chaos. The priest repelled the living dead as much as he could with waves of holy light. The pledge gave blessing to strengthen the ranger as he drew a shortsword from his side. The enemies were in waves and Rorin knew their plight was without meaning if they could not fell the priestess. Rorin had an idea. He'd only used this trick once but here it might just work. In a pouch he mixed the remaining Light Pellets with a number of silver coins. He held it and quickly uttered a prayer which would spill holy runes upon the coins. Protracting his cross bow with one hand Rorin would fire the teo remaining loades bolts in it's track at his attackers to give him time. The other hand would spin the pouch and use it as a sling to spread its payload over the army. At its height Rorin shouted the trigger word that would explode blessed silver and blinding light in shards and shrapnel over the enemy. It was more of a distraction than an actual attack however as Rorin would storm through the effected towards the gate party to regroup. He was likely to injury during this charge but no matter. Now he coudl defend them and strike up a domed barrier with the strength of Arkhen and Cyris to defend them whilst they prepared. One last surge to defeat their evil foes and kill the servant of the dark gods!

The pain magic employing death knight is blown back by the clanking of light and dark energies before he can fall victim to Rorin’s retaliatory strike. The young Paladin defends himself against the subsequent two blows and once again death and light clash in a wild display of bottomless blackness and blinding white. The drow are blown back and the pilgrim has bought the time he needs to make his little mixture of coin and confined light. At the open gates it is clear that defeating the risen corpses is a useless endeavor so long as they stay intact. The non-dismembered undead, as well as any newly felled drow and anyone who might fall on the other side of the battle, are revived again and again by the back line of necromancers. The alchemist succeeds in slowing this unending sequence by disabling a dark magician or two with those potions. The Holy light too, from the priest, only serves to slow the waves of undead, cleansing them of their unnatural life only to have them see that life poured back into them by the Vakmatharas worshipers, turning his battle into one of attrition involving magical stamina. Rorin’s pouch of light and silver serves its purpose and then some. While the wild light acts as a brilliant distraction, the silver within rains down and actually kills someone. How!? The death knight roars in what seems like exaggerated pain based on the damage done to him, as the Holy imbued silver clings to his skin and he goes down. Turns out this guy was a secret lycan, and silver is no good for them, at all. The undead too, are slowed by the holy light bomb and Rorin can find his position with his crew after one of his crossbow bolts finds the neck of the two armed death knight he was escaping The Doomed, one armed drow is spared by way of a deft duck of his head to avoid the shot. While the undead recover, a new method of attack is being launched by the drow. A ‘pain sharing’ spell is being cast on the ranger, and he will find, when his short sword strikes a target, that he is feeling the very same pain that he is inflicting, as well as any other damage done to that particular opponent. K’thris is involved in this spell casting, as it takes some serious time and power to pull off, thus the lack of more corpses being thrown around. When Rorin’s barrier comes up the two groups find themselves in a brief stand off, awaiting each other's next moves…

Rorin took structural damage to his right arm every time he used his shield but he knew it was worth it. His party had suffered similiar attritions. If they could not finish this quickly the unending tide of corpses would surely fell them. Rorin could not allow this to happen! The ranger is barred and deterred with each of his own strikes and comes to his knees. The healers are quick to his sides rising him. They have but moments to gather themselves before the barrier falls. Here Rorin is forced to reveal the nature of his fight, discarding his glove and right sleeve, the bluish scaly skin of his right arm as monstrous as ever, the whige scar of his face continuing down this limb to become a glyph of divine might on the back of his hand. "Do not fear comrades, as we have only moments to concile, and as the hand of Arkhen I will smight these dastardly foes!" They looked frightened, tired, heaving. He stood and straightened his back. "No. I will not! Not alone can this be done! Not so scattered could any of us hope to win! We must strike together! As one," he held out that hand to the ranger who felt a stirring inside. With Rorins cursed arm he stood. The Pilgrim spoke to their hearts, "we must do this. We must finish them all at once or here die upom the battlefield. I refuse to die a broken man, I refuse to die without taking them with me! We will end this! They pillage the forests, they poison our waters, slaughter children, and burn the homes and crops of those who cannot resist them! These cursed fiends would raid or very graves and throw our corpses upon the barricades of the weak! No more. No more. We will bring them to their knees! We will take them here and never give in." He looked to the priest, "we will protect the weak." Each spoke a promise, "and slay the wicked," "for god and glory!" "For the children of the forest!" "For king and country," "together." Rorin told them, turning the blade of his sword towards the priestess, the white barrier slowly failing, "together. We stand as one!"

K’thris is very clearly the head of this encampment. This is likely in no official sense, but it is only natural for the drow to gather around a powerful female, even if it is this fallen one, operating without thumbs. During the stalemate afforded by Rorin’s barrier, she too takes the time to ‘inspire’ her group. Though where the pilgrim instills hope and Valor, she pokes at the hatred and Fury of the drow. ‘How can they hope to put an end to the elves if this band of fools can defeat them now?’ Her words are short and soon replaced with orders. As the white ward falls she gathers necromancers to her side and they all begin to ‘pray’ in unison. The corpses of the drow shamble toward each other and into each other. Their newly dead flesh melds together monstrously while the deceased dark elves climb on top of the growing mass of corpses. This death magic creates something new to the sound of bones cracking and muscles melting and morphing. When the barrier finally falls the raiders will be greeted by a roughly thirty foot tall golem made of dead drow. Its fingers are arms, its arms are entire torsos. Its eyes are faces and its body is just a blob of dark flesh. It roars and stomps forward, ita voice a mashup of several voices yelling in uncoordinated unison. A fist of curled arms comes crashing down towards the raid group, Rorin in particular, now that the barrier is down.

Rorin watched the black soul of the priestess with his inhuman eye. They had one chance and a crazed half mad plan. It would be enough. By Arkhen, it would be enough. Rorin grasped the hilt of his bastard sword tightly in his left hand as holy light pours over the veru edges of the blade. A flesh golemn. Damn these monsters, using their own dead to assault them! It drove only anger into him where fear might be in others for he could see each tattered shred of every dark soul conjoined in this nightmare. "Together!" Rorin cries once more as the beast hurdles towards them. The alchemist winds his sling loaded with dry ice, holy water, sulfuric powder, as many and as fast as possible. The ranger prepares all the arrows he could possibly fire to rain over it. The mage chants and incants and gesticulates until arcane power flows at his hands. The priest and his fledgling call upon their god. The time is now. As Rorin charges forth, the bottles burst in air, producing a sort of holy mist full of herbs and alcohoks of purification. The rangers arrows rain through and now each is covered in this divine liquid striking dozens at a time. The mages sorcery culls forth a storm crackling and sizzling where the edges brimmed with power. The priests great prayer came to an end, the heavens themselves seemed to split, light being absorbed into a grand spell of holy smight, thundering through the air. The beast was sure to meet its end with their combined might! The pilar of judgement would fall as the sorcerers crackling storm turned blue and white with the lightning blazing, aided by the gods, drawn down into the flesh golemn with the rangers arrows acting as holy lightning rods! Finally the scribes prayer echoes on to alight Rorins arm as he charges not for the beast but between it's legs toward the evil priestess herself! Rorin allowed one final transformation unto him as the dark magic triggered his holy defense. His right arm changed like the beast above him, cracking, splitting, stretching, the blueish scales and clawed hand becoming white and like hardened bone, larger even than Rorins whole chest. The blue power of the gods poured over this monstrous apendage as he cried out to them above and came with sword raised and inhuman arm ready to cut down all these blackened hearts before him.

The Lightning and light and arrows and holy potions all come down on that monstrous amalgamation and it roars its disgusting unnatural roar again in some kind of feigned show of pain. This tremendous onslaught is not enough to fell the thing at first. The necromancers keep chanting their spell and the mass of flesh and bone regenerates and continues to have unholy life breathed into it. While Rorin slides by the monster, it continues rumbling forward, looking again to slam its people-fists down on the raid group. It swings with such ferocity that body parts come flying off of its hand and become undead projectiles once more. It is only when Rorin completes his charge, easily felling one of the necromancers that steps in front of K’thris to protect her, that the flesh golem’s regeneration is cut off. The priestess’s massive dark magic power no longer flows towards the abomination as Rorin has gained her attention now and she seethes and hisses. She starts another spell, the incantation so fast it almost sounds like gibberish, but the result is crisp and focused. Dark magic flows outward from her four fingered hands, forming long, black tentacles. One set reaches out over the fallen sacrificed necromancer and meets Rorin’s cursed hand, entangling with it and locking the pair together in a decidedly unromantic bout of hand holding. The other set lashes out like whips to strike at the brave Paladin and inflict him with that same painful magic he had experienced earlier.

Rorin grins in a way that would seem almost evil. The symbol of holy power on the back of his hand had grown with it, the tentacles would come to him, perhaps to some shock he did not fight the first. No. He clutched them and uttered a few words of power to begin one of his abilities; Rorins hand was sucking up the dark magic to drain the priestess where she stood. Even if she let go he would not let her- he could turn her tentacles into long crackling rays of holy might in mere moments to encapture her and assault her with body rocking shocks and waves of paralyzing pain. His sword hand was bestowed the charges he took from her enlarging and growing his newly fed power to slice and second set coming towards him. Rorin was not finished though, for as he grasped her darkness, despite the aching pains which shot up his arm, he would send waves and slices of power from his sword towards the other necromancers. With that he would start to pull and tug and swing. She could run no longer- neither of them could. Behind him the party was forced to scatter. The ranger and young advocate landed on one side, the other was the priest, the wizard, and the alchemist. The alchemist would mistify them with healing powders and salves, the sorcery and priest never stopping their assault on the beast, while the initiate blessed the ranger who aimed to cut out the beasts legs and climb it. Together they would not fall, together they would not falter, together they would bring this fortress to the ground!

K’thris’s red eyes widen at the obvious draining effect she can feel tugging her power into Rorin. In the drow language she questions aloud what exactly the paladin before her is. She tries to pull back, but is not allowed. All of the necromancers have stopped their spellcasting on the abomination now, some flee, some stay to defend the priestess. Those that don’t run (and one that does) are cut down where they stand by the redirected power of their own ‘leader’, unable to contend with her stolen magical strength with their own, despite their efforts. K’thris cries in pain as he holds her in place before he countenance hardens and she decides to turn towards her final gambit… Behind Rorin the flesh golem is failing. More and more parts are knocked off of it in sprays of blood and broken bone. Without its creators actively keeping it together, it is no match for the barrage of magic, and blade, and bow raining down upon it. Each of its powerful, desperate swings speed up the deterioration as it shrinks and loses power against the squad of raiders. K’thris uses the remainder of her magical power in a single spell, but that alone is not enough to pull off the dark magic she has in mind, not with Rorin still draining her. Her life is poured into this final cast as well, the woman visibly aging rapidly as dark energy pours out in a sphere from her body. The grass beneath her and Rorin’s feet wilts and dies almost instantaneously and this rapid aging magic will soon start to affect the half-elf pilgrim as well if he remains locked in the proximity of the priestess while she is casting it. Many of the few remaining drow left with their lives still see the writing on the wall with K’thris’s final spell and attempt to flee as well, including that one guy with only one arm left…

Rorin cut them down like a true crusader of Arkhen. Those that flee have nowhere to run. Those that stay will be met by the gods. Yet this priestess prepares a last defiance? Rorin is forced to release his hold on her as his party gets equal what they give behind him. The pilgrim turns for it is done, she will die soon, and he is left with only moments to save those he brought to this war. Rorin would leap and mount the beast, planning to split it in twain with one mighty blow, before rescuing the ranger and plummeting towards his allies. He would gather them all to flee this place for it was clear some black finality would reduce it to dust. As far as he dared to take them he would in a mad dash. Only then could he erect a barrier in a triad formation, Rorin himself facing the dark servants sacrifice, commiting himself as a blessed bastion to their defence.

K’thris, an old woman now, curses at Rorin in drowish, her spell unstoppable now that she has finished the final words of it. All that is left is for the effect to run its course. The other drow were right to flee. Nothing living can survive here for long now. The lifespan of anything living is visibly accelerated in the growing sphere of influence from the dark priestess. Rorin slices through the abominable monster and finds that its innards are limbs and fingers that reach out towards him, attempting to entangle him and hold the pilgrim so that he might enjoy the approaching effect of K’thris’s final spell. They pull at his light armor, but don’t have the strength to compete with his slices that inevitably come to free himself from their clutches. The golem is a crumbled pile of arms and legs and bodies, writhing on the dying ground, reaching feebly towards anything they can before the spell reaches them and they are reduced to dust in a matter of seconds. The magic is growing in power as K’thris dies, her own body crumbling and decaying where she stands. Rorin’s new barrier visibly clashes with the black death magic and clearly stops its advance, as one side still houses green flora, while the other is ash and death. With the increasing strength of the spell however, how long can the young paladin keep this defense up?

Rorin watched as a pit of death erupted amongst the forts remains. That right eye of his watched as souls fled it's path, as life was sucked away at its touch, as all before it crumbled. "Not I. Not I! You hear me? I will not fall here!" And so Rorin pushed. He pushed and pushed with all his might even as the white bony shell of his clawed monstrous right arm cracked and splintered. As the magic he had absorbed left him. As he prayed aloud, his words pleading of the gods, soon joined by first the fledgling, then the priest, and it was that all they gathered here became righteous. Their chant reached upto the sky through the earth as they prayed and sang. For they were the righteous, the good, the godly, those few who would stand upon the mounds and cry out! Shout and denounce evils, cut down their competitors, destroy their foes, none would stand before servants of the land, of the crown, of gods, and glory! They who fought so bravely would not die here! They would live to fight and fight- to save the forests, to save their races, to save their countries, to protect the weak, and slay the wicked! Evil would break upon them as waves upon the cliffs! The might of darkness would take knee before them! All who opposed would know the strength of heart and blade and faith! Together, they cried, together, they would not fall here! Together!

The drow have all fled or died. This deathly magic is the final thing for the raid group to contest with. The extent of the range of the spell can be seen in the edges of the sphere that is not being fought back by Rorin and the others. It stretches out past the limits of the camp, chopping down trees that are reduced to dust before they can slam against the ground, the sound they make is that of distant ‘poof’s rather than the crashes of falling lumber. K’thris’s body fades into oblivion while her spell focuses all of its might now on breaking through the barrier. The reinforcements come and the struggle against creeping death goes on for minutes rather than seconds. The tremendous force behind the final life draining spell perhaps making it feel like hours. It seeps through cracks in the barrier, turning flora brown before it can be beaten back again. Eventually it ends and the forest is silent, any animals within have fled this quadrant to be as far away from the aura of death as possible. The only life left is Rorin’s party. They have served Larket well, ridding the Eternal Forest of The Drow. Rorin has served Macon well. Outside the sphere of influence of K’thris’s spell, the one armed drow death knight turns and looks back in the direction of the emptied out camp and spits. That damned priestess was wrong. He didn’t die tonight. He and the others will have to return to the Underdark after this resounding loss. Whoever they must report to will not be pleased.

Rorin collapsed onto his backside with heaving breaths. He was exhausted and drained and so many pains came to him now. It would be time before he came to the camp again. He would search ashes for one single thing, a proof, an artifact, of true victory. He searched for the drows fabled house seal. There was more here if they could find it for sure; maps, plans, documents- nothing they coukd read but things that someone in Larket could surely use. Weapons, items, whatever spoils of war they wished to claim before a crew of the crown would he summoned surely to pick it clean. None of that was as important to Rorin as this damn seal.

Rorin and anyone else looking will actually be able to find multiple different seals inside the encampment. D’Artes is displayed most prominently, but there are others for sure. K’thris, having never given up on her coup, even after her punishment, had on her a seal of her own creation. Searching where her body was reduced to dust will reveal that seal, as well as on several others who were present and remained loyal towards her. A thorough search will turn up even more evidence that other houses had infiltrated this camp, partaking in the ever present past time of drow espionage and sabotage. Make of these findings what you will, young pilgrim.

Rorin smiled at his much earned treasure. In truth, this may be the first of many in his life, but the thought of eternal holy war against the dark and ancient drow does not yet cross his mind. Instead it is only relief. The drow are dead. What remains of this part of the forest is safe. He would clutch the despicable artifact to his chest in whelmed triumph and elation that the gods would be with him. And so they would soon return to Larket smiling.