Lac Dinneshere

Skaudmol tugs at his beard. It seems odd for the burly man to have such a tell for his nerves. "Those who stand with us look to be about one hundred strong. Against an equal number of our tribe, supported by giants, devils, and that..." His eyes trace the crystal tower’s outline again. "We would need an army many times stronger than what we have."

Hjollsted points to the horizon, where the sky is beginning to lighten. "Dawn will soon come, and with it sunlight. You remember the power of Crenshinibon? It draws its strength from the sun." The old shaman shakes his head. "Even with those orcs back at the cave, I don’t think it will be enough, so long as that tower stands. But maybe your friends can do something about it when they get inside? If they get inside..."

Tansia grips her spear tightly, brow furrowed. "I do not wish our people to die here. But from what you and your friends say, we will certainly die later if Belhifet is not stopped." She puts a finger to her lips. "We cannot yet assault the tower, not without the orcs. But there are townspeople imprisoned within a warehouse in town. Perhaps we might free them, at least, while we wait for the orcs to reinforce us." She winces at the thought of working with orcs, but says nothing more against them.

"We must bolster our numbers, whatever we do. A dwerf would have us unshackle those in town. Perhaps some may have skills that would be a benefit to us."

Tansia raises a brow. "Skills? I doubt that. But as you will, Chief of Chiefs. They are being held in a large warehouse that used to belong to a weasel of a shopkeeper. It was guarded by a handful of giants before, but with all of the commotion I do not know what changes may have happened. But if we wish to free them before sunrise, we must move quickly."

She looks around at Reòthadh, Hjollsted, and Skaudmol. "How many warriors should we commit to this rescue? A skilled handful? A score? All one hundred?"

"Let us take only the most skilled warriors."

The new chief of chiefs checks his equipment twice before gathering those chosen to go with him.

"Like the dew frost, we will swiftly be upon them before they are caught awares.

"Fly this one near the front, the troops need space to flee the zombies."

Hands raised in the air, Reòthadh draws deep within himself, never had he ever summoned so much from his bloodline before. Taping into all he can muster he unleashes the fullness of the northern lights upon the zombie horde. Emanating from a single point, the light silently flashes from the center, instantly covering the frontline of undead. Steam rises as the rotting flesh burns from the radiance.

Zombies in a 60ft radius must make a DC 18 constitution save at disadvantage or be blinded.

Reòthadh indicates to Halla to circle back to survey the aftermath.

As Reòthadh’s spell reduces nearly two hundred zombies to ash, Halla swoops low and drops Morrugh down among his people. Immediately the orc sprints off to locate the army’s commander and organize a retreat towards Easthaven.

Halla gains higher altitude once more and moves over the next wave of zombies, behind which Presio’s mouth moves in curses that cannot hope to reach Reòthadh’s eats over the moans and groans of undead. She throws herself into a spell of her own, and Reòthadh and Halla immediately feel a magical tug threatening to banish them from this plane.

Much to Reòthadh’s dismay, he feels Halla succumb to the spell and wink out of existence. The dwarf tumbles through the air above a horde of worm-riddled zombies...

As the druid is banished away, Reòthadh quickly finds himself tumbling to the ground. This seems to bring some comfort to the dwarf as he manages to land on his feet, letting out a sigh of relief to be back on solid footing. Zombies nearby and taking precautions to not be overwhelmed, he unleashes beams of light at those nearest to him while backing up towards the orcs.

Reòthadh casts Sunbeam, creatures in a line of 60ft make a DC 18 con save, zombies are at disadvantage or take 34 radiant damage.

The sorcerer shouts to the nearby orcs as zombies smolder around him.

"A dwerf will hold them back as long as he can; leave him, do not try to rescue this one."


HP: 161/162

Reòthadh hits the ground hard, but this dwarf is no novice to falling. He bounces back to his feet, and light blasts from his hands as if propelled by some gnomish plumbing contraption. Zombie after zombie is consumed before him as he directs the flow from one to the next, always wary to focus on those closest. Far behind him, orc horns sound calling a mass retreat from the battlefield.

For a moment, it seems as if this lone dwarf sorcerer might hold back the undead tide all on his own.

But Presio is clever. Where once she dropped a ceiling of zombie-filled mud onto an adventuring party, this time she has another trick up her black sleeve. She points at the handful of zombies nearest to her, then flicks her wrist, teleporting the five undead monstrosities just behind Reòthadh to cut off his path to safety (Presio casts Scatter). Suddenly inside his guard, these zombies tear at the dwarf with withering claws (Reo takes 35 slashing and 34 necrotic damage, or only 21 and 19 if he casts Shield). Even worse, Reòthadh can feel a few of those cursed worms wriggling underneath his armor (Reo has 3 worms on him. They can be targeted and killed like any other creature, or they can be scraped off one at a time as an action each. At the end of each his turns, Reo will take 2d6 necrotic damage for each worm on him - which he can roll himself, depending on if they’re still there).

Presio’s victorious laugh is cut short suddenly as an arrow flies from a nearby copse of trees to strike her in the thigh. A second follows, piercing her shoulder (Presio takes 19 damage). Her concentration escapes her as she mutters curses through teeth gritted in pain, and Halla’s eagle form appears once more in the air above the battlefield. The transformed druid seems slightly dazed by the plane-hopping, but quickly rights herself in the air and gets a look at the how the battle fares. She begins to dive to Reòthadh’s rescue, but it will take precious seconds to reach him.

New horns ring through the air, and these ones are not at all orcish. A human man holding a longbow steps out of the nearby trees. Reòthadh recognizes the archer as one of the soldiers in Targos, one who the companions said was helpful in organizing and defending the militia there. Isherwood knocks another arrow and takes aim at Presio, and a smaller figure moves to stand by his side. Reòthadh recognizes this one too, the small, pale gnome who pulled him from the depths of Lac Dinneshere. Maverick raises his hands and twirls his mustache, then begins to cast a spell of his own.

Presio
HP: 80/99
AC: 15

Reòthadh casts Shield.

Blocking as many attacks as he can with his arctic winds, Reòthadh’s focus is lost as worms begin to cover his body. Unleashing a ribbon of light to cut himself off from his enemies vision, he lets the light pass through him to cleanse the worms off his body as he also grows in size, hidden behind the wall. The winds around him quicken, striking anything next to him in a burst of force.

Reòthadh quickens Wall of Light and casts Sword Burst, also using his rage of Fallen Ostoria. Nearby creatures take 13 radiant damage and 10 force damage on fail.

Reòthadh takes 6 and 12 radiant damage from the wall of light.

HP: 119/178
AC: 15
Size: Large (9’2")

Reothadh steps through his wall of light as zombie limbs claw futilely at his armor. As he moves through the colorful curtain of the northern lights, he feels the worms on his armor sizzle and die, then fall to the ground. The stink of charred rot assails his nostrils as zombie after zombie attempts to follow him through, and each is consumed.

Behind him, the orc army pauses in its retreat to watch the shining display. Morrugh stands at their head, apparently unwilling to leave.

Above, Reothadh sees Halla turn away from him, for now he is too large to carry. Instead, the druid focuses on Presio. With a screech she tucks into a dive towards the necromancer, who is hurriedly chanting. Talons and claws dig deep, and then Halla is once more gaining altitude (Presio takes 13 damage).

Presio finishes her spell, conjuring an orb of volatile acid over Isherwood and Maverick (They both pass the save and so take only 12 acid damage each). The two dive out of the way, avoiding the worst of the acid, and then Isherwood rolls to his feet and takes quick aim. Two shots, and each arrow finds its mark in Presio’s palms, discouraging further spellcasting Presio takes 30 damage. The necromancer screams, and score of zombies breaks off from the horde to shamble towards the two newcomers.

Maverick’s own spell is far deadlier. The pale gnome ignores the oncoming undead and focuses on their master. "You call yourself a necromancer?" One hand dips into his jacket to retrieve a large black gem. "Let’s see who the Lord of Bones favors!" Maverick finishes his spell, and the black gem seems to suck the light out of the air (Mav casts Finger of Death). Presio’s eyes widen, and then she puts a hand to her chest. Her mouth opens as if to retch, but only sticky dark blood comes out (Presio takes 61 necrotic damage). Face paler than Maverick’s, she falls to the ground, dead. A moment later, Presio’s corpse twitches, and then rises as a zombie under Maverick’s control.

The deep gnome walks forward through the zombie horde, which for some reason ignores him, until he comes to Presio’s animated corpse. "You couldn’t have managed this horde on your own. Where is it?" He rips a pouch free from her belt, then looks inside. A cold smile passes his lips as he sticks his hand in and pulls out a black spike – and Reothadh recognizes it as very similar to the one Alalla took from Jhonen’s body not far from here.

Maverick raises black gem and spike as high as his short arms can reach, and the zombie horde stops in its tracks. For a moment, all is silent but for the sound of zombies charring inside Reothadh’s wall of light. Then the clamor of arms and armor reaches Reothadh’s ears as a third army approaches the battlefield behind Isherwood.

This force is made up of perhaps four-score humans, with a few dwarves and halflings mixed in. Lord Ulbrec Dinnesmore leads them, dressed in armor that still bears the scars of the battle at Targos. He frowns and shakes his head at the orc and undead armies before him, but he hardly seems surprised. His experienced eyes pick out Reothadh. "Well! I believe we all have somewhere to be, dwarf? Where is the Lady Alalla, and the rest of the Heroes of Targos? A bird told me they were in dire need, and I hate to think I heeded its counsel in vain."

A dwerf is ready to serve. If ye would be kind enough to carry him there."

Wearily Reòthadh collapses from exertion, shrinking in size and releasing his spell. After catching his breath, he steadies himself and dusts off the zombie gore.

"The ruins of the temple to Tempus bears the fiendish army. Follow the druid, she will lead true. This one's legs still carry him, but Halla if you would please, a dwerf is willing to brave the skies again if you would allow him to."