The Misfits: Ashy's Storyhour! (updated 06/06/05)

Placeholder post - session #4

Vaskesh sucked in several lungfulls of the sharp, salt air; the lizardman ranger was very happy to be out of doors once again, he had been cooped up inside for far too long and could bear no more of Daubenspeak’s “lesson” when he had begun doting over Jekka’s new cohort, the horned goblin Ug, and that thrice-damned artifact, “the brainrock”. The lizardman snorted slightly, thinking how the party had been duped by the seemingly sentient item – it had even begun calling itself “Huntress” as of late! Vaskesh did not trust it one mote, and had told Jekka and Karma that it needed to be dropped over the side of a ship in the middle of the Eternal Ocean!

Regardless, he was away from it now and even though he could feel the item’s presence hovering at the edge of his consciousness, like a pesky bloodfly, he had “closed” his mind to it for now. He knew that this cut him off from the rest of the group, but it mattered little to the ranger – he needed a spot of time to himself. Vaskesh looked down to his right hand and saw the familiar sight of the pale, almost bone white metal ring upon his finger. His sharp reptilian eyes studied the strange, squiggly purplish-blue pattern that wriggled across its entire surface – he knew that he could contact Jekka and Quela whenever he wanted to…

The lizardman stalked his way through the crowded city streets – many folk steered well out the way of his seven-foot, green scaled bulk – he had business to attend to, after all.

The next several hours passed quickly with each of the Misfits set to their own tasks. Quela spoke with her contacts within the Temple in regards to the High Inquisitor and his standing in the church. Oricx meticiously made certain that all of the proper paperwork was filed and the necessary “field reports” were compiled so that the group could proceed with their intended plans. Jekka spent her time in the library with Karma, Dromar, and Ug doing research. Jekka was interested in learning more of the history of her new sect within the Church and found that her new mantle as a “Champion of the One” stretched back to the very foundations of the Church itself! Dromar and Karma delved into the history of the elves, which soon transformed of its own accord into a history lesson on the whole of the Urth itself… Ug ate several books, but did not think any of them were particularly tasty or remarkable.

Within the library, Daubenspeak passed by now and again, assisting the druid and the sorcerer with their research. He would now and again ask Jekka if she would mind leaving the “new species of goblin she had discovered” with him to research. Each time, Ug would look wide-eyed to Jekka with fear plastered across his horned features and yell, “NO! Please, Wowee-zowee, please, please, PLEASE don’t leave Ug in ‘orrible book room!!” The half-orc warrior had to try hard to hide her smile, but continually told the aged half-elf librarian that Ug would have to stay with her for the time being…

Vaskesh returned shortly before time to depart, weaponless and grumbling. A scowl was etched upon his draconic features, making him even more fearsome looking than usual. The nixie paladin, ever sensitive to her friends and their feelings, spoke up quickly.

“What’s tha matter, Vas? Why tha scowl?”

“Let’sss jussst sssay it isss not a good idea to threaten magesss in thisss city who are membersss of the Wizzzardsss Guild. They do not take it lightly…” The lizardman returned, the words falling from his mouth like poisonous grapes.

“At least ya’re not in jail!” Quela commented cheerfully.

“Yesss – they decided to releassse me once I apologizzzed.”

The nixie placed her hand to her forehead as if a sudden pain had come upon her and shook her head slowly. Jekka merely chuckled…

As the group traversed the winding hallways back to the ‘portal prayer room’, Quela quickly filled them in on the information that she had gleaned about the High Inquisitor. Apparently, her contacts had been quite forthcoming, but only to a point.

“Bacillius’s a very powerful mage who’s only been a member of tha church for a while now. Little’s known about his past, but it’s widely rumored that he’s solidly in tha pouches of tha extremist sect. Apparently, he’s very good at doing his job, which’s generally, routin’ out, persecutin’ and flayin’ heretics.”

Karma, unused to church politics of any kind, spoke up, her deep but purring feminine voice reverberating in the chests and ears of those around her. “Why, then, does the church support such heinous actions?” she asked, the surprise evident in her tone.

Oricx answered for Quela, the quickness in his voice belying his true feelings on the subject, “The church, as a whole, does not, but there are many who feel that the church’s current leadership – Marszten – is far to weak to deal with the rapid expansion of the church’s borders. Many very powerful and influential church members feel the current open and accepting tone of the church should be forsaken for a more severe and unforgiving stance.”

Quela sighed, her usually vibrant, sea-green eyes dimming somewhat with her apparent sadness.

“Why?” asked Ug, unusually inquisitive. The horned goblin’s question drew a few surprised glances from the group, but none spoke their thoughts. Quela smiled and answered, patting Ug on the arm.

“Tha unforgivin’ folk believe that openin’ our doors an’ hearts ta anyone and everyone – literally – that wants to hear tha word o’ tha One is foolish and dangerous. Those folk feel thaat only “civilized folk” should be allowed entrance and membership into tha One’s Flock.”

Ug’s heavy-set brow furrowed a bit and a slight frown overcame his usually blissful features. “But den Ug can not come to One…” he stated as well as asked, his words tinged with sadness.

Quela nodded, her mouth down-turned, “Ya’re right, Ug. But that’s not tha way tha One wants it: nor Oricx, nor me, nor even Lord Marszten. And that’s why we must be wary of tha High Inquisitor.”

The horned goblin nodded; lapsing into silent thought. Jekka looked on and held her tongue, thoughts of her own filling her usually-rage clouded brain.

Reaching the portal, Oricx asked, “Is there anything more that we should know about Bacillus? If he is the new mayor of Seafoam and is as hard-lined as we have been told, I doubt he will take kindly to our traipsing about through his parlor.”

Quela nodded again, “Ya, Lord Marszten keeps Bacillus on a long leash, for a couple of reasons-“

“Hopefully giving him enough rope to hang himsssself.” Vaskesh interrupted.

Again Quela indicated the affirmative and then continued, “--As well as ta separate himself from tha Inquisitor’s actions. It’s said that Bacillus is powerful, well-connected both within and without the church, that he’s tireless an’ ruthless in his pursuit of evil. He’ll stop at nothing ta insure that tha evil’s completely rooted out and utterly destroyed. However, that means that in tha past he’s often stepped o’er tha line, but ta date, tha Church’s done nothin’.”

“So as long as he succeeds, he is given carte blanche…” Oricx stated with disgust. He looked to each of his companions with his dark, unreadable eyes. “We must be doubly cautious.”

Jekka was almost disappointed when she pulled her massive, muscled bulk through the portal. No threat awaited them, no High Inquisitor glowered over them like a brooding carrion bird – all was as it had been when they had left. “Meybe him not get here yet”, Jekka spat, offering a helping hand to Quela. The diminutive nixie scanned the room as well, looking for signs of danger, but saw none.

The paladin shrugged, “Perhaps ya’re correct, Jekka. Regardless, we’ve much ta do. Preparat’ns for tha arrival of Gunnar and his troops, defenses ta be bolstered, and tha ruins-“ the nixie stomped her sandaled foot on the stone floor, indicating the secret ruins the party had discovered only days before; then continued speaking without missing a beat, “need ta be explored.”

“What about Yilren?” Dromar asked with a hint of concern in his husky voice. In his heart of hearts, the fey’ri was more concerned with getting his hands on the items that he had weaseled out of the young, impressionable apprentice, but one does not survive for long in the Abyss without learning a few tricks about motivating others. He knew that if he played the “soft side” with the paladins that they would quickly help him obtain his goal.

From somewhere deep inside the tanar’ri-spawned elf, a portion of his sylvan heritage screamed out and demanded to be heard. Dromar throttled it for the moment; flashing a winning, yet concerned smile to his companions.

Oricx nodded, “Yes we do need to check up on the boy, Uuren, in order to make sure that all is well with him. We must also check the progress of his research. We requested it, after all.” The water genasi’s tongue, used to forming words in the near-weightlessness of water, had some difficulty with many of the air-breather’s word-sounds, in particular the young cotton-haired apprentice’s name.

Jekka moved through the parlor to the front door of what was only a few days earlier the home of Mayor Morningstar and opened it - only to be taken by surprise by a hulking, helmeted figure filling up the space like a cork in a wine bottle. A large, hairy, smelly and armored cork at that…

“Bosh wanths ta shee yash.”, the thicked-lipped creature slurred, sending a not-so-fine spray of ale-smelling spittle all over the half-orc barbarian’s face. Jekka’s thick jaw clenched and Vaskesh could see the cords in her neck standing out from where he stood, near the portal. He instinctively reached for his tridents, only to remember that he had left them with the Wizard’s Guild in the City of the One to have them enchanted! The lizardman spat a curse underneath his breath, drawing a cutting look from Quela, despite the seriousness of the current situation.

The brute at the door, who looked (and smelled) more ogre than human as he stood in his patch-worked, battle-scarred armor, lifted a spiked mace – the head of which was easily twice as large as Jekka’s skull and bellowed. “Ish shaid Bosh wanths ta shee yash! Ish yoush deef?”

“I see Bacillus has sent out the welcoming wagon”, Karma growled with disgust, twitching her tail sharply in agitation…

Bacillus sat, brooding, atop his newly gained mage’s tower – the structure was far inferior to his home back on the mainland, but it was apparently the best that could be found here on the shores of this uncivilized, barbaric continent. He let his honed gaze glide around the room like a snake in an oil-slick – there were a few arcane baubles that might amuse him for a day or two, perhaps a week, but it would seem that there would be precious little distraction here from his primarily goal.

The High Inquisitor felt his blood heat and the back of his neck grow hot, as it did each and every time the opportunity to grind evil into paste beneath his boot presented itself. There was little he loved more than slowly flaying the skin from a screaming heretic and it seemed that this “new land” was literally brimming with them. He would be busy, oh yes, o so very busy…

A silent, magical alarm sounded in the High Inquisitor’s mind and he spun languidly in his overstuffed leather chair and peered out one of the tower’s small windows (making a mental note to glassteel the tower walls at his first opportunity) and saw that the “famed” Misfits had entered into his courtyard, below.

’Misfits indeed’, Bacillus thought, a sneer crawling across his pasty features; a trio of beetles scurried up out of his blood red collar and began anxiously touching the corner of his mouth with their antenna and forelegs. The Inquisitor raised a sallow, smooth hand into which the beetles scuttled. They were instantly joined by several flies which buzzed from a darkened corner of the room and a small trickle of squirming maggots that wriggled their way out from under Bacillus’ cuff.

“Yes, yes, my dear Noctuula…” Bacillus crooned to his swarm familiar, as a mother would to a child, “I know, I know, my sweet.” A faint glimmer of a smile played around the edges of his usually down-turned mouth and flashed in his dark, maroon, bloodshot eyes. The Inquisitor spun back to face the doorway of his inner sanctum, knowing that soon, his manservant, Forthington, would usher in his first “visitors”. Suddenly, a long, flat, gleaming black centipede scurried onto the polished surface of the desk and into Bacillus’ sleeve while a fat bloodfly landed in his graying hair next to his ear; he looked up just as the door opened.

Bacillus wordlessly nodded as Forthington introduced the Misfits and backed from the room with a bow. The High Inquisitor leaned back casually in his chair and toyed aimlessly with the gleaming, ice-blue rod of frost that he had appropriated from the Tower’s previous owner. Bacillus took special note and perverse pleasure at the half-fiend’s raised eyebrows upon seeing his newest toy. He smiled a small, sharp smile revealing a set of perfect, bone white teeth and spoke, his voice deep and dangerous, like a night-black pit filled with deadly, voracious vipers.

“Well, well, well! It is so very good to finally meet my newest servants, the well known Misfits!”

Bacillus warily eyed the group of oddities arrayed before him; gauging their reactions, mentally noting and recording their subtle body movements and responses. The High Inquisitor knew, after the decades of interrogating prisoners and suspects, that the slightest mouth twitch or batting of an eye could tell volumes about an individual and their innermost motives.

The lizardman hissed quietly through clenched, pointed teeth as his nictitating membranes quickly flicked over his orange eyes; his tail snaked back and forth slowly – all three were signs of irritation and unease.

The half-demon’s red eyes were still trained intently on the glowing rod of frost in his hand; other than his greed, which he wore like a garishly colored festival mask, the demon-spawn did a fair job of masking his innermost thoughts. Bacillus thought, for a moment, that he glimpsed the slight furrow of a brow and a shifting of boots – signs of fear or at the very least, uncertainty.

The giant half-orc female was easy to read – she widened her stance immediately, grated her grossly protruding tusks and her hands clenched into white-knuckled fists – it was utterly obvious that she wanted to attack. Bacillus sighed inwardly, he had hoped that these Church-led buffoons would have provided a bit more challenge, really; so far, they had been nothing other than predictable.

The High Inquisitor glanced to Oricx and instantly discovered the challenge for which he was yearning. The accursed water genasi was utterly unreadable – its eyes like black pools of perfect oblivion and its cold, near featureless face betraying nothing of the thoughts that played in the mind behind it. Further, the blasted creature’s stance had not changed a single iota since it came to rest in the room – trying to read those horrid creatures was like trying to delve into the mind of a statue, Bacillus silently cursed.

Bacillus passed his bloodshot eyes over the wemic for a moment and the word “savage” flashed into his mind like an eldritch beacon. The Inquisitor knew, from hard-earned experience, that trying to extract reason from barbarism was a near-fruitless cause; he knew in his bones that this brainless creature was capable of little more than cognitive thought. The wemic would pose no problem to him, ever, the High Inquisitor thought haughtily.

Finally, the High Inquisitor let his eyes rest upon the “leader” of this rag-tag group of abominations and half-breeds – the nixie paladin known as Quela. Her steely gaze met his with a righteous indigence, instantly conferring to Bacillus her utter reliance (and subsequent weakness) on her faith. Her mouth was a thin, tight line and her posture exuded defiance: arms cross tightly across her fish-scale armored chest, brow furrowed deeply, feet exactly shoulder width apart.

Bacillus smirked – perhaps this one would prove to be entertaining, if nothing else. Philosophical sparring and verbal fencing played a close second in the High Inquisitor’s list of true loves.

Quela spat her words to him in a thick, fluid accent – like a mud-choked brook. “Ya mean servn’ts o’ tha One, right High Inquisit’r?”

Bacillus noticed that while she instantly defied him with her tone and her implication, she was careful to toe the line in regards to Church protocol, addressing him by his formal title. The pasty-faced man arched his left brow slightly as he replied, waving his hand slightly.

“Oh yes, yes, of course, my dear Quela!” he said with mock apology, his tone sickly sweet and wholly false. “Servants of the One, yet --- completely beneath my care, concerns and instruction…”, Bacillus followed up his initial verbal feint with a hammering blow, his tone gliding back over itself like a deadly viper, switching in a single instant from open, pleasant and light to direct, cutting and venomous. “I am, after all, the new Mayor of Seafoam and I was appointed, of course, to investigate your recent actions and the inexplicable results thereof.” Bacillus bared his teeth in the vaguest resemblance of a smile and glared at the tiny paladin – visually daring her to challenge his authority.

The nixie backed down only slightly, but quickly retorted. “An’ as tha new Mayor, why’re ya not livin’ in tha Mayor’s house?”

Bacillus let his smile melt into a wide, satisfied smirk. “As the Mayor of this “town”, if it can even be called such, I have the authority to claim any unattended structure as my own, to do with as I see fit.”

The lizardman could bear no more, apparently, and his words burst from his scaled lips like a crocodile from the dark waters of a swamp. “But thissss tower wasss claimed! By Yilren!”

“Who?” the High Inquisitor asked in false concern – none in the room doubted that Bacillus knew exactly to whom Vaskesh referred.

“The apprentice of the Mage who once owned this tower.” Oricx stated flatly.

“Oh, yes…” Bacillus leaned forward, elbows on the polished hardwood desk, and laced his fingers together. Noctuula, in the form of several score maggots and beetles, writhed out of his cuffs and onto his hands. The High Inquisitor continued speaking without pause, “…the child. I offered to let him remain here, with me, but he declined. He also declined the ownership of this tower. I have a document in my possession, stating such, signed by his own hand…” Bacillus eyes narrowed like a predatory cat closing in for the kill.

“Then where’s tha boy?” Quela demanded, setting her jaw with determination.

Bacillus waved a hand dismissively, slinging maggots to the floor with tiny, wet plops; drawing a look of disgust from Karma. Beetles’ wings unfurled as they too were launched into space, and they quickly zipped back to their master, their thick wings droning in the still, emotion-charged air of the tower. “Oh, you know, children. Terribly unpredictable… I’m afraid the poor boy ran off into the night…” the Inquisitor paused for a moment, letting those in the room hang on his every word and then delivered a verbal jab to the throat, “…crying unpleasantly, I’m afraid…” Again the feral smile crept across his pale lips like a jungle cat through long grasses.

Jekka growled, “Wot’d’ya do to him?!?!” There was murder glowering in the half-orc’s eyes and her tusks grated audibly. Her muscled, calloused hands strayed towards the hilt of her massive magical greatsword, almost of their own accord.

Bacillus knew that she was no match for him, especially within his inner sanctum, but deep within himself, he could not deny that she was formidable. The thought sparked something within the Inquisitor’s foul, maniacal mind and the horrible, off-kilter, gore-splattered gears of Bacillus’ mind began churning with the foundations of a plan. He pursed his lips, sat back easily in his overstuffed chair and shrugged his shoulders.

“I did nothing but tell him the truth. I even offered the whelp more than he deserved --- a chance at greatness at my side-“

“-He refused.” Karma stated flatly, her voice supported by the underpinnings of a deep-throated growl, interrupting the Inquisitor mid-sentence.

Despite the rage that boiled up within him at his interruption by an uncivilized animal, he nodded silently. ’Let them think what they will…’, he thought to himself. He held his tongue for several heartbeats and then spoke quietly, “Yes. He refused. I offered him that shack that Morningstar was living in, but he refused it as well.” A pair of bloodflies buzzed around the Inquisitor’s right ear and he nodded, “Yes, Noctuula, I know, my love, there’s just no pleasing some fools.” As he spoke the last word, he stared into Quela’s eyes, as if directly challenging her to act. When the nixie did not take the bait, Bacillus continued, “I’m not really sure what set the whelp off, but he started bawling like a baby and ran from the tower, ahem, excuse me, my tower. Furthermore, I know not, nor do I care, where he has gone!”

“I’ve heard enough!” Vaskesh spat, turning to head back down the winding, hand-crafted stairway. He placed his hand upon the ornately carved balustrade, fashioned into the likeness of a fearsome, spiraling dragon, “I’m going to find the boy before ssssomething happensss to him!”

“Not just yet, lizardman.”

Bacillus voice was as empty and as emotionless as any that had ever been spoken within the Tower of Arravis; his words were as cold and as deadly as the grave and the weight of magic was woven into and carried along with them. Despite his will to leave, Vaskesh froze in his steps.

The Inquisitor continued. “I am not finished with you just yet…”

Can I have a glass, please? I LUV lemonade!

Just thought I'd give you all a little peek at one of my current Session Write-ups... This is the beginning of Session 17 (the bit I wrote above is for Session 5 and we're currently on Session 31!), more will be posted soon at WOWWEEZOWWEE.COM... Let me know what ya think...
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Session 17 - 02/16/06 - "Away Team"

Far away from Seafoam, the soft light of the morning sun struggles through the heavy blanket of clouds that surround and swirl about the snow and ice-coated peaks of a lonely, windswept mountain. Sleet-saturated wind howls around long abandoned stones as it swirls and eddies in and out of a solitary archway. The only sounds that compliment this mournful wail is the occasional sharp crack of ice and the rough rumble of stone upon stone. Snow falls in blinding drifts, piling up among tumbled-down blocks that once stood tall and proud in service and testimony of the One.

A single, isolated archway flares to life, spilling holy, golden light into the early morning darkness, causing the gathered drifts of snow to glow with a heavenly light; for just a fraction of a second, a glimpse of the structure’s former glory could be glimpsed – if there was anyone present who would even care…

The light fades and the archway then regurgitates something else: three of the Misfits – the doorway exploration team, none other than Vaskesh, Dromar and their newest member, Tsidkenu. They instinctively pull their cloaks tighter around their bodies and try and gain some secure footing in the half-frozen, rock-laden muck into which they have stepped. It is obvious that these heroes were not expecting the sudden change in environment and temperature. As their eyes adjust to the early morning gloom, the realization dawns upon them that they are nowhere near their home - when they last saw the sun in Seafoam, the sun was quickly setting…

As they take stock of their situation and the area around them, they can see behind them, towards the rising sun, there is a great valley far below; within that valley they catch the glimmer of light on water as well as a fairly large settlement of some sort. Nearer at hand, it seems that they stand amongst the ruins of what was once a grand temple to the One; however, only a fragment of its prior glory has stood the test of time: the single archway through which they have just passed. They have little time to ponder over that revelation, however, as their collective attentions are quickly drawn to a sound before and above them. The snow-driven wind swirls around an up-jutting spar of rock and through the swirling snow and clouds they catch a glimpse of their welcoming party.

Nearly identical, two massive, grotesque humanoids move sure-footedly down the rocks towards the subset of the Misfits. Their pockmarked, boil-filled faces leer with evil pleasure as the eye their prey warily, trying to gauge how difficult this meal will be to obtain. Red bulbous noses dominate their faces and make their beady black eyes seem all the smaller and more feral; clothed in the furs and skins of countless animals, they are equipped for battle: patch-worked and obviously handcrafted studded leather and ring mail armor adorn their bodies; battleaxes the size of the Misfits themselves are strapped to their backs. The giants speak in thick, guttural tones to one another, and seem to be coordinating their efforts – with a few short grunts and thick-tongued words, the twins move into position and cast their eyes upward, as if for approval.

Above the twin giants, atop the flat-topped rock spar, squats a monstrosity of a beast. Similar in form and function to the twin giants below her, this creature is easily twice their size in both height and girth. Rolls of fat that in themselves are larger than most humans dangle from her grotesquely huge arms, legs, and face; a swollen, globular nose dominates this horrid creature’s features. Blood and gore rain down the matron creature’s twisted, malformed face, spilling down the mountains and valleys of ghastly fat of her body as she devours what seems to have once been a badger. She finishes the entire creature with a single, squelching gulp, burps wetly and then barks a sharp command to her underlings. The winds shift again and her terrible form is once again mercifully hidden by the raging snow and wind...

Sensing battle in the air, Vaskesh springs into action, literally, jumping towards the oncoming giants. One foot slips on the icy ground, however, and he does not quite obtain the lift he had intended. The quick lizardman ranger quickly compensates, however, and lands on all fours, ready for the blow that he knows is coming. He instantly rolls to the right and comes up with his tridents whirling in a fiery cage around him, landing a single blow on the giant despite his icy mishap. The bulbous-nosed giant grunts with the lizardman’s attack but the flame from Vaskesh’s magical tridents is quickly extinguished by the icy winds.

The behemoths chuckle in unison, as if sharing a private joke amongst themselves, and before any of the other Misfits can make a move, the ground beneath their feet instantly transforms into a massive, wet morass. Thick, slick cold mud clambers, as if with a life of its own, up the calves and around the ankels of the three heroes threatening to mire them and slow their actions. Vaskesh, already in the heightened awarness of battle, leaps just in time, perching awkwardly atop to rocky nubs above the mud. Dromar and Tsid, still gaining their “battle-legs” sink quickly and deeply into the muck, their eyes widening in fear and horror as it instantly returns to cold, hard stone. As if adding insult to injury, the lead giant grins ferally as he barks a harsh-sounding word in a magic-laden, foreign tongue; unleashing a massive lightening bolt at the group, many of whom are now hopelessly mired.

Vaskesh, tipping too and fro widely, manages to erratically avoid all of the radiating spokes of charged death, but his companions do not fare so well. Tsidkenu, immobile and caught at unawares, takes the full force of the lightening bolt square in the face and for a moment, the entire area is brightened with the forceful explosion of positive energy conjoining with electricity. Snow sizzles and pops into non-existence as the two energies collide and Tsid screams in equisite agony. Before the scream has even ended, however, the bolt arcs to Dromar and enters his right hand, races across and through his chest, finally leaping out the left side of his body in its irrepressible search for ground. The bolt strikes a massive boulder to Dromar’s left and discharges in a brillant flash that sends red-hot shards of rock flying in all directions.

Gasping in pain, Tsidkenu calls upon the power of the One and feels the divine energy course outward from him, physically shaping the stone down and away from his and Dromar’s entrapped feet. The demon-fey instantly, instinctively takes to the air - cold, artic wind and snow swirling beneath his leathery wings. Tapping his heels together thrice, Dromar hastes himself, leaving a trail of firey hoofprints in the air behind him; hoofprints that are quickly doused into small puffs of steam and blow away on frigid eddies. Quickly casting a spell, he fades into invisibility, manaeuvering into the best position to sneak attack the massive female giant. Despite his best attempt however, the demonic-fey misses, dispelling his invisibility at the same time.

At that moment, two sounds split the frosty air: the high-pitched wail of a very large object rapidly soaring through the sky and an almost inhuman bellowing; rumbling upwards from farther down the steep slope of the mountain top. All eyes turn towards the sound as an enormous figure, fully ten feet tall and equally as wide steamrolls through the doorway - the portal, and the Misfits’ only way home - shattering it into pebbles and dust. The figure, what seems to be a massive stone golem, does not hesitate. It continues pounding up the hill - right past Tsidkenu, who stands, slackjawed, as well as Vaskesh, still balancing precariously on slippery rocks - and slams a boulder-like fist into the face of one of the bulbous-nosed giants with a cry of “MaFURRIESSSS!!!”

Wanting to be as far away from the enraged stone creature and hungry for the taste of battle-stained blood, Vaskesh jumps into the swirling snow and wind, flips and lands sure-footedly atop the flat rock before the bloated she-giant. Wasting no time, the lizardman ranger wails into her bloated mass, only to withdraw as her form dissapates before his eyes. An illusion! His keen ears catch the basal sound of a monstrous laugh from somewhere up above, in the cloud- and snow-filled skies.

“RAWR-HO-HO-Hohohoho…”

The lizardman spits a curse at the skies as his orange eyes search in vain to locate the source of the laughter…

Then the rain of stones begins… Massive boulders, freshly ripped from the frozen sod, rain down upon the heroes and ugly giants alike - however, the giants seem familiar with this tactic and quickly jump back before each slab slams forcefully into the ground. Vaskesk takes a hard hit to the head, spurting blood down upon his companions below, but manages to maintain his high perch upon the flat, slippery stone. The stone golem takes a large boulder to the shoulder, but it fragments into spinning stone shards and the stone-made-man barely seems to notice. Luckily, Tsidkenu receives only a peppering of stone fragments as a boulder hits the ground nearby and Dromar, still flying, is missed altogether.

Vaskesh screams a draconic warcry and leaps down, kicking one of the giants square in the face. The giant’s bulbous nose crumples, spurting blood and snot everywhere. The giant tries to grapple the lizardman, but Vaskesh is too quick, twisting away from the giant’s massive mitts and dropping to the ground lithely. The second giant is ready, however, and harshly barks the same arcane word as did his twin, before, and another massive lightening bolt rips across the mountain top. Vaskesh manages to evade the bolt, but the stone golem catches it full force in the chest; the creature bellows in rage and pain as the bolt leaves a smoking crater in its chest.

The dark clouds above flash with eldritch energy as twin groups of scarlet, magical barbs streak downwards and strike the lizardman and demon-fey with peternatural accuracy. Again comes the booming (and yet somehow matronly) laugher from above, “RAWR-HO-HO-Hohohoho…”

Dromar grits his teeth and scans the skies, over-weary of being ambushed from above. “Ambushing is my job, wench…”, he spits under his breath, “…let’s just see where you’re hiding, shall we?”. The Abyssal Rogue narrows his crimson eyes and soars into a icy-cold cloud bank, searching for his enemy…and next target.

On the ground, Tsidkenu calls again upon the divine power that glows through his very skin to mend himself. Precious life energy ceases to pour from his open wounds and the cleric audibly thanks his Lord for his mercy and healing. Tsid scans the horizon, catching glimpses through the swirling clouds and snow of many other giants further up the moutainside - several hefting boulders… He calls out to the group, hoping to warn them, yet not tip the Misftis’ hand to their enemy above.

Slipping through the algid air like the shadow of death itself, Dromar spots and targets his prey. It is just as he thought - the image of the grotesuely fat mother-giant was not far from the mark: if anything it was flattering; had he not grown up on the Abyss, where such horrors are commonplace, then the demon-fey would likely have retched on the spot. Instead, spurned by his magical speed, he draws upon his innate sorcerous powers, channeling the very fires of the Abyss towards his target.

Like a new sun, twin fireballs erupt in the early morning sky, vaporizing the clouds hiding the mother-giant and instantly turning the snow to rain. The massive outrush of heat and wind nearly topples those on the ground and turns slicks of ice into quicksilver pools. The matronly giantess never gets the chance to fully realize her doom: her extraordinary stores of fat, covering her entire form, burst like mini-novas in the sky, scattering human-torso-sized chunks of burning flesh, fat, and gore in a massive sphere. Her skin and hair crisp instanly, along with the many layers of ingrown animal furs and hides that had become one with her blubbery folds of putrid flesh. The scream is short-lived, but terrible, sending chills down the spines of all present, even the battle-hardened Vaskesh. As its echo fades, the only sounds are the gentle rain of boiling blood and gore, punctuated by the occasional wet, meaty plop of a hunk of smoking, smoldering flesh.

It is then that her skeleton falls among her children: shards of still-burning bone rain down upon the numerous giants, severing both the emotional and what seems to be a deeper, more tangible bond with all of the twisted monsters close enough to see. Suddenly, howls - beastial cries that express pure rage, sorrow, and hatred all at once - are forced into the sky by scores of malformed lungs. Howls that quickly distort into screams of rage and muderous intent.

Still burning with anger and hatred for these giants, the stone golem quickly takes advantage of their momentary distraction. Dropping his rock-sized fists like twin stone hammers, the golem flattens the head of the first giant like a ripe melon. The golem does not falter nor waver, however, as it instantly reverses its momentum and steps forward, brining down the hammer once again upon the head of the second giant. Bellowing in rage, the golem squishes the second giant’s head, and shifts to its left, where it again repeats the tactic, this time brining the hammer down upon a man-sized, upright boulder, pounding it into powder. The fluid, up-down, piston-like movement continues and the golem shifts again to its left; its hammer-hands now bearing down upon the unwary Vaskesh!

At the last moment, the golem diverts its enormous hands to either side of the lizardman, leaving twin smoking, shattered craters in the stone at his feet. A sheepish grin passes over the stone golem’s face, “Uh er…Konk sorry. Konk almost make Squishy more-squishy…”

High on the mountainside, the screams and howls have stopped… Now scores of eyes, filled with incarnate rage stare down at the Misfits and see only the murderers of their mother - that which was the complete and utter center of their small, sad worlds. Scores of burly arms launch boulders into the air; scores of behemoth feet begin loping down the mountainside; scores of colossal hands draw equally colossal weapons.

Below, nearby their recently-destroyed way home, the Misfits stand, catching their breath and wiping gore from their eyes. Tsidkenu points up the slope and utters with grim finality, “The giants….they are coming….”

LOL! Some of Yae'reen's "early experiments"... But that does beg the question - if the Lorn are not the true remenants of the elves, who are????

:shock: :shock: :shock:

LOL...