Meta Ruins of Myvolia

T 'Alen - say hello to my...
man i need a repeating crossbow

T ’Alen lines up his shot at one of the advancing zombies and squeezes the trigger and reloads.

I fear the worst is yet to come, i must hold back my magics until that time is nigh

Light X-Bow d20+4+1(high ground): [d20}7 +5= 12
Damage d8: [d8]5= 5

Alma - Undead are so STUPID!
Death to the.... er redeath t..ah who cares.

You know if you were mortal warriors you’d be scared right now… lucky for me your too stupid to be scared!!

Alma swings a vicious backhand through the two Zombies menacing his flank.

(3pt Power Attack)
Attack: Roll(1d20)7:

Damage: Roll(2d6)10:

Cleave Attack: Roll(1d20)7:

Damage: Roll(2d6)10:

Turning back to the wight with his trademark cocky grim Alma quips.

Rough couple days huh…. my mother has a skin care regime that could work wonders for you!

Back to work

Finding his footing upon the barricade, Talton once again grips his holy symbol firmly in his hand. Gritting his teeth and steadying his calm he waits for the horde to get as close as possible: then bellows into the wind torn night,


With that he thrusts his hand forward toward the advancing undead and unleashes the power of Pelor upon them.

With a flash of silver light the creatures start crumpling to dust in front of him.

Turning: all within 60’ starting with closest

lvl check (d20) = 14
dmg (2d6+4 x 1.5) = 21HD worth of undead
greater turning = all destroyed
(2 of 5 turns left)

Battle Renewed

Veniset Town Square: 7:25 pm

The rush of battle renewed washes over the village defenders. Those watching the southern barricade wait, hardly daring to breathe as the plodding undead recover their feet after falling at the trip lines and surge forth against the defences.


Kaberllee’s words seem to unleash Terrence who turns without word and bolts towards the ladder. Gritting his teeth against the biting wind the young man quickly makes the ramshackle bridges. Treading cautiously across the ice encrusted planks and onto the slick roof of the church is no easy feet and requires considerable care.


As Terrence heads for the rooftops, Father Talton raises his mace and bellows into the night:


Rushing to the barricade he extends his hands towards a villager:

Help me up, damn it!

With the help of the militiaman pulling from above and another pushing from below Talton manages to haul himself onto the defensive works, puffing and red-faced as the line of attackers draws near.


Meanwhile Alma hastily casts a spell that greatly augments his speed. Putting the effect to use he turns and barrels headlong over the barricade, leaping past the first line of attackers, easily avoiding their grasping hands and nearly running into a wight that is taking cover beside a nearby building. Levelling his sword, Alma prepares for battle.


The first line of the lumbering undead arrive at the barricade, stumbling up the logs and reaching for the defenders. Their eyes are empty, their faces slack but for their gnashing teeth. Lornaal and one of the loggers are both bit by the hideous, blackened mouths of the attackers and one of the militiamen is dragged screaming right off the barricade to the ground. Two of the others, seeing Alma in their midst, turn on him, but the Cyonian is too quick, darting away from their clumsy assaults.


T’alen, clambering onto the barricade, keeps a sharp eye peeled for further signs of attackers as he winds the windlass of his crossbow and fits a bolt in place. The keen mind of the sorcerer senses a graver threat, but evidence of it has yet to appear.


A look of pleasant surprise crosses the withered face of the menacing wight as Alma rushes before it. In life the creature was a young woman, pleasantly shaped and filled with vigour. In death she has become a wretched and hate-filled abomination, with leathery flesh drawn tight across her bones. Reaching out with baleful claws she lashes at the dark-haired southerner, seeking to draw his life force as water from a tap.

Alma is too fast, however, and with a cocky smile he side-steps the attack.


Watching in disbelief as Alma leaps amidst their enemies, Lornaal steadies himself against the coming onslaught. The undead close quickly and their hungry assault is not in vain. As the vile creature before him sinks its teeth into his thigh, Lornaal swings his mighty axe, severing its grasping arm and staggering it back a shuttering step. The second slice of his axe relieves the creature of its head, sending it tumbling to the ground amongst the jumble of logs and lumber.


The druidess stands calmly in the village square, turning her eyes slowly about, searching for weaknesses or signs of further assault.


Laying perfectly still, buried in snow, Cora can barely hear the crunching of the wight’s footsteps over the pounding of her own heart. The undead is stalking about, plunging its cold hands into snow banks and searching amongst the piles of stone. Waiting for a moment when the creature is far enough away so as not to immediately discern the location of her voice, Cora offers a taunt:

Wait so you want me to surrender to you. So I can be turned into an undead being. I like being a halfling, wight and will fight to stay one for as long as I still draw breath.

Wild, frantic eyes scan the rock garden as the wight stamps its feet in growing frustration.

Cora slowly and carefully reaches into her pack, drawing out a pair of vials before she continues:

So unfortunately I’m going to have to decline your offer. Be a good lad and let you leader know I’ll be see her very soon.

Bursting from the snow Cora throws both vials at the wight. The first vial smashes across the creatures face, covering it in a sticky goo that quickly ignites with contact to the air. As the undead’s hands thrash at the flames the second vial smashes against its chest, the acid within eating quickly into its flesh, drawing a sickly black smoke from the injured area.

With the creature distracted, Cora slips behind another pile of stones, cloaking herself in the darkness.


20 – Terrence
19 – Talton
15 – Alma
14 – Undead
7 – T’alen
6 – Wights
4 – Lornaal
3 – Kaberllee

Undead attack of opportunity against Alma: 11, unsuccessful

Undead attack against guardsman: 6, unsuccessful

Undead attack against logger: 20, hit
Damage: 7

Undead attack against Lornaal: 21, hit
Damage: 6

Undead attack against militiaman: 22 (crit), hit
Damage: 7

Undead attack against Alma: 15, miss

Undead attack against Alma: 13, miss

Wight attack against Alma: 16, miss

Wight spot against Cora: 10

Wight listen against Cora: 15

Lornaal - I didn't know we were allowed to do that!

Disgusted with his errant spear throw, Lornaal drew his axe and prepared to meet the plodding enemy at the barricade. His shock at seeing Alma leap over the obstacle and rush headlong at the enemy filled the northman’s heart with the raw thrill of battle. Raising his axe like a reaper amongst the bearded barley, Lornaal awaited the first of his enemy.

Attack 1: 10 (d20) + 12+ 1 (barricade) = 23
Damage: 4 (d12) + 7 = 11

Attack 2: 7 (d20) + 7 + 1 (barricade) = 15
Damage: 3 (d12) + 7 = 10
AC: 19 + 2 (barricade) = 21
HP: 59

T 'Alen - Is this the storm

T ’Alen takes in the scene around him. Funeral pyre to the north north west, billowing clouds of oily black smoke clogging the air to the west as the fires of Pelor cleanse the fallen, attack from the south, upset barbarian and the Bravo Alma taking care of business, all quiet so far from the east and the north.

So what are the odds the attack in the south is it, the final push from this evil horde? Why don’t they rush us from multiple fronts, make us divide out forces and then pick us off one small scattered group at a time? Why the push from the south when there is cover from the smoke to the west?

T ’Alen climbs the barricade off to the side out of range from the barbarians wicked looking axe.

I fear we will be attacked soon when our focus is south.

T ’Alen loads his crossbow and looks for an opportunity for a shot

Initiate: d20+2 = [d20]5+2 = 7

Cora - stalls

Wait so you want me to surrender to you. So I can be turned into an undead being. I like being a halfling, wight and will fight to stay one for as long as I still draw breath.

Cora say as she reaches inside her pack for her vial of acid and a alchemist fire. She is careful to speak in the opposite direct of the wight in hopes of not giving him a better chance to pin point her hiding spot.

So unfortunately I’m going to have to decline your off. Be a good lad and Let you leader know I’ll be see her very soon.

As Cora fires both the Alchemist fire and Acid at the Wight’s head and disappears into the night.

Attack= 1d20+10
30=20 (1d20)=10 Crit Chance
20=10 (1d20)+10 Crit?? Ranged touch attack

Alchemist fire= 1d6 I dont know if i get crit damage on that throw but if i do please just roll it im not going too

Rapid shot= 1d20=10 I don’t know if i can rapid shot potions so if i can’t I’m fine with the Alchemist Fire.


I don’t know if can call shot head I’m trying to blind him though To make my get away that much easier.

Move Silently: 1d20+11

Hide + 1d20+12

Terrence-Out of the fire, into the Cold.
neaky neaky

Terrence stands quietly in anticipation after his speech while looking into the faces of his comrades and allies. Alma steps up and volunteers himself and Lornaal to leave once again. Is he mad? Why would the two most powerful melee specialists be sent off when when an attack is eminent.? Terrence shakes his head. Alma winks and chuckles and rubs the top of Terrences’ head. Alma smiles at his attempt to get a few laughs from the young warrior in front of the group. The group then again smiles and laughs when a light double tap of a dagger next to Almas prized family jewels takes him by surprise and causes him to jump slightly. He looks down to see the crafty rogue was positioned quite well. Terrence winks at Alma and smiles followed by a smile once again from Alma and group is amused.

Perphaps this task requires more stealth than you can possess my large friend. But do not judge me suddenly by my age or size when many trials have we been in together, and from against great odds we triumphed, and we will once again.

Kaberllee starts to speak and with an authority that silences the room, bringing us back to the serious task at hand. In the end it is decided by Kaberllee that the young rogue is more fitted for the task. Terrence soaks in her advice and memorizes the map.

The discussion is broken by news of a fire and the mayor rushes outside. Kaberllee verifies with Terrence that he is willing to go and he ensures her that he is before the group heads outside. The village is buzzing with action as something approaches from the south. The captain turns to Terrence and gives him the directions to the Old lady. He quickly prepares and takes to the rooftops and disappears from sight.

Move silently=d20+13=18+13=31
Search=d20+9=20+9=29 natural 20
Listen=d20+8=20+8=28 natural 20

Alma - Attack Time

Alma casts Expeditious Retreat upon himself and Leaps to the Attack

Sorry … I’m done playing Defence!

Alma Charges thru a gap in the defenders on the barricade letting out a battle cry as he leaps the line of zombies and charges the more offensive wights behind! He hopes the deathward yet protects him as he hurtles thru the air… He chastises himself for thinking of such things as or after he hurls himself into battle but, as usual to late to worry about it now.

Alma will long jump off the top of the barricade at the wights.

d20 + 6(skill) 12(speed)

… following the leap Alma begins the obvious process of hacking vile undead to pieces.

Init: Total:15

A fresh wave
No rest for the good guys

Veniset Town Square 7:25 pm

The first cry from the guards on the southern barricades sends a wave of fear through Veniset’s tired and miserable defenders. Amidst the men scrambling to the fortifications, Lornaal is the lone member of the Company of the Manticore to react. Taking to the barricade the northman wordlessly grabs a torch from a villager, holding its meagre light aloft and searching the dark for enemies.

Squinting into the night he sees the first of the shambling figures emerging from the dark and skirling wind. Within a heartbeat a dozen or so of the mindless thugs can be seen. Behind them, four of the slithering, hate-filled wights marshal the lesser undead along, herding them towards the barricade and its living defenders.

Captain Gregor directs the men on the barricade as they notch and loosen arrows, easily striking the shambling undead who seek no shelter from the onslaught, and show only the slightest effect from it. The wights remain back further, out of the light, frustrating attempts to hit them.

Taking a long shot, Lornaal hurls his spear at one of the wights, but his aim is poor and the spear buries instead in a snow drift far from its intended target. Cursing loudly in Thentic, he reaches to his shoulder to draw his axe.

Less than twenty feet from the wall, the first of the undead strike the hidden trip line that is buried in the powdery snow, falling flat and slowing the approach.

In the square, Kaberllee, clutching her cudgel shouts a rallying cry to those who are yet inactive:

Now is the time! Be ready for anything!

Looking to Terrence she hisses,

If you go for the Widow Selma, then do so at once!


Wait!! One moment please. Why are you doing this?

Cora crouches piteously to the snowy ground.

The wight, its wicked eyes tyrannically delighted with this apparent display of pleading, cackles and slows its approach, as though savouring the moment. The undead creature must have been a merchant in life, for its clothing is thick and well made, its face once fleshy with a drooping reddish moustache.

From her knees the halfling gathers a handful of snow as she whimpers:

We are simple townfolk what possible reason would you have to attack us in the middle of the night?

The wight, ignorant to her maneuver, responds in an arrogant, sneering tone:

We are all servants of Death-that great and consuming darkness that eventually swallows everything. I would see it hastened, until even the sun itself is extinguished and only cold and black remain. You and your villagers are like flickering candles that shall be snuffed out. Once that wisp of life is gone you will rise again, to serve as I do.

Standing over Cora, the wight raises its blackened hands, the fingers arching with the expected attack…

…but Cora strikes first!

The handful of snow takes the wight full in the face. Stunned, the creature lashes out blindly as Cora slips between its legs and lunges behind a nearby rock, thrusting herself beneath the powdery snow. Clearing its eyes with a swipe the wight turns, howling its frustration as it looks vainly for the vanished halfling.

Stalking about the creature screeches:

I can still smell your blood, little one! I shall find you yet! Why not surrender to me and I shall assure you a place of honour in my masters growing army! If not, you shall stumble along, without a will nor even a single thought, your useless flesh fodder for worms and maggots.

Initiative: 23
Sleight of Hand: 27
Bluff: 17 (d20) + 9 bluff + 4 improved diversion = 30
Hide: 16 (d20) + 12 = 28
AC: 23 (fighting defensively)

Initiative: 10
Spot: 18
Sense Motive: 22
Blind Attack: 7
Spot: 10

Barricades: the barricades offer high ground and some cover, so anyone on the barricades will get a +1 to melee attack against an opponent below them (ie: not on the barricade) and +2 to AC.

The barricades are difficult terrain.

Jake, here is how things played out: I gave you an extra action for successfully bluffing the wight into thinking that you had given up. You used this to gather up a handful of snow. The wight was still approaching, planning on striking at the end of the round, but you threw the snow in his face, successfully using your improved diversion to slip past him and hide to get out of his sight. The wight is close still, and is searching for Cora. In the howling wind, however, sound is difficult to locate and you feel confident that you could continue to speak, though it would add a small bonus to the wight’s search check.


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