Briefing and questioning. Yvah's favorite. When she used to be out on the prowl, she'd always let the shorties speak for the group. They always had a way with words, and with the people they were having words with. She mostly kept her mouth shut unless someone was asking for a display of force. That, she was decent at. Sneaking and sniffing, however, was what she was great at. And punching. And sneak-punching. Stabbing too, but that got messy.
While considering all of this, Yvah spent her time idly pacing about the back end of the office room, sipping her tea absently. Sometimes little snippets of information graced her delicate, furred ears, but for the most part she drifted across the sidelines of the conversation never the wiser. It didn't quite bore her, not in the yawny, 'I might as well nap,' sort of boredom. She was getting antsy and, as it was always her curse, impatient. By the time the general complimented their haste in the party's duties, Yvah blurted, "Yes, haste, on to the next place -- Sorry for the rhyme -- We should be doing stuff -- Interrogation stuff -- The fun, nice kind, of course -- Fun, nice interrogation with tiny Pilly -- With a discount! -- We should be off on that, then -- It was great to meet you, Mr General -- Bye!" The whole thing came out in a rapid-fire barrage of syllables that hardly cohered into a viable message. Immediately following this, Yvah slipped through the door and silently shut it behind her.
Shifting most of his weight onto his staff as he intently listened to the General's replies and his companions' additions, Ulor plunged the hooked claws of his mind into the river of words flowing into and past him, clutching on to those which he perceived to be most distinctly related to his plight. Some were clearly visible to him, akin to smooth, oval black stones borne along by the stream; yet a few were more diaphanous, more difficult to spot and capture in the current. That speech of envenomers and infiltrating acolytes might not immediately have struck him as particularly interesting, but, as he reflected on it, it seemed to gain in importance moment by moment. While he may have been unable to reach for the concealed forces directly, he could still touch their intermediaries, and learn from them the lore necessary to uncover this occult mystery.
Then came the three names - the Serpent, the Sea and the Worm. Catching hold of them, Ulor began the descent he had been preparing since he had queried the General on the presence of cults and religions in the city. He climbed down into a hexagonal well, grasping the ledges and shelves built into its walls as with multiple limbs, as he sounded deeper and deeper layers of his memory in search of answers to the interrogatives those esoteric titles brought with themselves. The bestial invoker had spoken of a sect of Venomers, and those were with the Serpent, for indeed there was one such being who lurked in the shadows and spread his poison with dripping fang. The Serpent's adversary was the Worm, yet not just any worm. It was a Worm divine and potent, one of wind and fire; and likely it lacked the malice of the Serpent, for which the latter would fain have struck at it. If this was true, it could be none but the Worm-father.
Last was the Sea, ally of the Serpent; and this was more arduous, for the sea was vast, and was many things at once. For this, his mere memories would not suffice. Further down Ulor crept, until there began to appear from below wisps of a pale mist which brought knowledge and clarity from an unsoundable abyss within him. He swept up these nebulous strands, and saw that the Sea could take on the shape of a twisted Hag. He swept again, and saw the aquatic wilderness that knew no fetters, the presence which flew over the murky deeps on wings of wood, and two watery beasts, one of which had a hide encrusted with salt. He swept a third time, and now the mist was no longer pale, but of a dim grey; and he saw the sinister lord of the deep, the trident that shook the lands, the reptile with its toothy grin and the fulminating tempest cloud. Over them, there dimly appeared the coils of the Serpent; and the Deep One rose to meet him, and the beast with the salty mane, the trident and the storm-cloud followed suit, for it was their nature to partake in wickedness or destruction. Now he knew, or, at least, he could guess.
Returning his attention to his surroundings, Ulor briefly glanced around the room, then, raising his gaze, which had in his meditations slid downwards, to meet that of the General, he spoke:
"Do not be hasty to dismiss the words of the touched, for in them there might lie the key to the riddle. While I cannot know for certain, from what you have said alone I divine that venom calls upon the water to extinguish the flame. This is well, but it is not enough. It would be good if we could speak with the convict himself at some later point, so that his altered thoughts may be sounded. But it is true that this is not as urgent as other matters."
Raising himself from his partially hunched position, Ulor began to turn, without undue haste, towards the door. Though he had not said anything aloud, or even gestured, at the same time the octopus detached itself from its corner and swam down, in its peculiar way, to rest upon his shoulder once again.
With how determined two others of their eclectic band seemed to disappear, Arthera's amber eyes narrowed, looking neither upon the gnomish company or the man stationed over him. It was a scowl that telegraphed her emotion upon the matter of them dismissing themselves. This man, this general, was one of the few people in this entire damnable city that had earned a post or station by some deeds; he looked the part, not some pathetic common-blooded ilk like the people outside drunk on some holiday they hadn't even the faintest of. And this was how they would offer any thanks?
Much too short lived, but I suppose there's little else to learn from this.
The woman's mind wandered thereafter for a moment, before her lips again moved and the rest of her remained most idle; cloak and clothes still other than her calm breathing. In truth she was gauging who else would see themselves out before any real comment was given, but to her pleasant surprise, none did. Knowing nothing more in this moment was to be said, or so it seemed, she drew up her weathered hood to mask her head and almost offered the man a smile from under it.
"And some of us appreciate you lending us added insight." The feral eyes blinked thoughtfully, looking then to Cavanaugh, "You have my word that what has been said here I will not share."
The wording was phrased carefully, methodically, as the invoker knew well she had no power over the rest. The only person she might hold any influence over was her elven compatriot, in that they shared a common interest and a common bond, but even then there were no such promises. People, unlike the beasts of the realm or the primordial building blocks that made it up, were often unpredictable; you knew well fire could burn, for better or worse, all that changed was who handled it and just how they did so. Rare was it to find any you could really put faith in, making the information entrusted a bit more personal to her.
She looked down to Ceria, who she towered over, next to the place she had chosen to stand. The other woman was still holding on to her bow and visibly shaken by the seeming lack of dignity displayed earlier in the effort to gain goods.
"Shall we go?" Arthera inquired, gently slipping each of her hands into her loose sleeves and folding them behind her back.
Ceria sat there in a stupor, suddenly and inexplicably melancholy. The primal Arthera's lowered voice awoke her from whatever mental pool her thoughts had sunken into. "Oh yeah, sure. Lead the way," she mumbled still staring down at her hand-crafted bow.
The group bid their adieus to the General and his assistant, leaving the barracks and beginning the journey northwards towards the prison away from the center of festivities. As they traveled further from the center of town, the quality of the architecture steadily declined from the wide and well-maintained cobble streets and pristine buildings to muddy narrow passages and crumbling mud-brick walls.
The populace gradually shifted from humans and elves to a higher quantity of tieflings, half-orcs, and other races generally assumed to be low-lives. If it weren’t for their kurjian ally leading the way promising that the prison was just ahead, many of the party may have thought they were being led towards a den of thieves. They wouldn’t be far from the truth, in any case.
“Watch it!” came a voice from up ahead, angrily calling out after a half-elf maid who was sprinting towards them. Behind her was a group of several less-than-pleasant-looking ruffians. A goliath with blue tattoos crossing his angered face led the charge of a rodent kurjian, a human, and another form whose face was covered with a mask.
“Get back here and face your death, you cowardly snake-oil salesman!” came the angry bellow from the goliath. “That potion did absolutely nothing, and you know it!” The townsfolk in the street pressed themselves against the wall as the group barreled through the narrow streets. The half-elf didn’t slow down at the call, but instead ran directly into the party. Unable to push past them, she looked to be trapped between these newcomers and the ruffians behind her.
The half-elf darted ahead of the men, eyes wide with a mixture of apprehension and adrenaline as she twisted and turned her lithe body to avoid the stream of passerby doing the same for her. Nimble footsteps were drowned out by thunderous ones in the narrow alleyway as the group came barreling through the general population. Araerys's hands clutched at the loose folds of her dress and hiked them up above her ankles as she ran, hair flying out behind her and pack making a ruckus against her back.
It was a strange - possibly worrying - sight, surely; this little maiden on the run from a bunch of brutish men, all seemingly intent on getting their hands on her for who knew what. If only they could catch sight of her eyes, in which there was something of a glint, as if some small part of her was enjoying the chase. Eh, not enjoying, per se. The idiots had really ruined a morning of sales to a fresh crowd at the tavern, but last night's mischief with these fools was something to be proud of. Maybe it was smugness that lived there in the green orbs of her eyes? Ah well, her gaze was there and gone in a rush of red fabric and black strands before anyone would be able to tell. Most would probably never assume that she wasn't so much the victim, anyway -
- Until that massive brute with the blue on his face called out again, pretty much explaining the situation to their audience. It almost, almost urged cheeky retaliation from the half-elf, who decided against it, quick to realize that any acknowledgement of her victory might work against whatever salvation she could scrounge up from any sympathetic allies in the crowd. Still, unable to keep her mouth shut properly, Araerys shot back over her shoulder in the most convincingly innocent tone she could muster at the time: "I swear - Honest mistake! Wrong bottle, lads! That's all!"
Whipping her head back to face ahead, whatever was left of her curious excitement drained away at the sight of the oncoming wall of bodies blocking her way. They were getting nearer and nearer, making clear that they weren't going to be moving aside as the rest of the passerby had been doing. "Excuse me, please!" she called out, and when they didn't oblige, Ary was forced to come to a stop before them, chest heaving and pulse racing. Unsure of who they were, or what they meant to do by preventing her from advancing, Ary's glance shot from creature to creature until finally they landed on the tiefling, immediately discerning that she might be the easiest to sway onto her side. Something needed to happen quickly, lest she be sandwiched between these strangers and the men who were more than a little bit angry with her.
"Please, mam!" With her Irish-like accent coming out fully in her distress, Araerys directed her attention towards the young woman, putting on whatever she could muster of a sympathy-inducing demeanor. She swallowed gulps of air and saliva between her words, the fatigue catching up with her as she spoke. "You must help me, please. They've - They're trying to - " The group of angry brutes were closing in, and the rest of the words seemed to just tumble from her pout, clearly distracted by the males' proximity. "These men - They were preying on innocent women like some uncivilized louts at the bar last night. I merely stepped in to help, that's all!"
Ary rolls an insight of 22, and is able to discern that Daisy would be the best choice for help.
Icons with an E are Enemies. Icons with no label are townsfolk (ignore that some seem armed and / or obviously as good-looking as PCs). I had to choose images for Lex and Ulor (also octopus). If you have others in mind, please let me know.
Of course it would not be their adventure if they were not to find themselves into the side of the city where the lowest of pawns played their game; these people managed to be less than peasants, because at least peasants performed a role. Not a glorious one, admirable in its humbleness at best but still utterly deplorable. This area? It was the decay left behind when civility stretched its bounds too far, forcing its reach to exceed its grasp as Arthera had best heard it. The entire foray into this lair of urban, broken sprawl was distracting enough that she had almost forgot why they were here in the first place.
That was until the yelling began, but not just any kind of yelling, no, this was the sort that signaled fell news afoot. That it was too, for a woman came rushing on to their group, running seemingly for her life and followed by a band of thuggish men. All of the wanderer's body came on edge at this, but her intellect was enough to keep her calm rather than blatantly reactive. So much so that she proved overly scornful rather than immediately hostile.
"I do not care who is responsible or what for," Arthera's stare from beneath her hood flashed with a glare of levelheaded albeit near callous exasperation, "But if you are going to prove problem, be certain we will end it."
The biting words were just as leveled at the woman fleeing the scene as they were at the men in pursuit of her; there wasn't time to determine who was right or wrong, with the bitter truth being that Arthera did not care in either circumstance. This ordeal wasn't her squabble, not over this pit of dirt and detritus confined to the city - they could keep it. But it became overly apparent these men were intent on doing whatever it took to get after the woman, the same who pleaded with the tiefling for aid, even if it meant coming to blows.
And this was not something the towering robed woman took lightly.
"You made your choice."
Arthera's hand outstretched from her sleeve and with it, a faint skitter of blue static formed on the ground at a distance just beneath the feet of the rushing men and near centered on the street itself, radiating out from there all at once. Whatever it was, odd even for magic if it were, the warped stone and mud instantly shimmed with pure, steaming ice following the faint discharge of static; an audible pop. The gesture wasn't even needed, neither the sound nor the theatrics at that, all committed through act of will alone, but she was going to make good on her threat... and buy her companions some time to act.
She drew back her arm unhurriedly.
"I think it would be your turn, Ceria." She remarked, despite the tattooed man still in motion.
Arthera manifests Ice Sheet as an action, spending 2 psi points of her 14 to do so.
From the point which the goliath is standing on, a sheet of psionic ice snaps into existence under their feet. It radiates out 20 feet in all directions and lasts for the next 10 minutes. It is difficult terrain, with any creature moving 10 or more feet on it needing to beat a DC 13 Dexterity saving throw or fall prone. If the surface is sloped at all, they fall prone and slide to the bottom automatically.
The goliath skidded forward as the traction beneath his feet was suddenly removed, but by sheer force of will alone, he managed to keep his feet. The goliath wore a layer of chainmail that looked like it had been battered through years of combat, and he carried a greataxe in his hands as he charged forward. Seeing that his prey was blocked off, the goliath reached behind his back to one of the several spears he carried and leveled it at Arietta. With a grin, he let it fly, but his feet were not firmly planted, and the spear fell harmlessly to the ground at Ary's feet. With a snarl, the goliath wasted time to get a stance. "Go on, take them down!" he shouted to his allies.
Ceria cast Hunter's Mark (Concentration, Lvl 1 spell) on the Goliath, then proceeded to shoot his face. Attack: 24 for 12 piercing damage.
Ceria's stats: HP: 22/22. AC: 14. Spells Remain / Total: Lvl 1: 2 / 3 Currently concentrating on: Hunter's Mark
New effects: Ceria shoots the ground at the goliath's feet, the arrow landing directly between her toes. She steps to the side as if to allow the enemies to pass.
Ceria remained lost in thought for all of the group's journey out of the general's quarters. Only subconsciously did the elf recognize the transition from paved cobbles to muddy paths. Recognition and acknowledgement were two very different things, the latter of which Ceria did not have at the time. She did not even so much as look up from the road or bat an eyelash when she heard footsteps splashing through the muddied earth toward them.
It was only when those footsteps came to a stop somewhere in front of them and when a woman's voice issued forth from that general direction asking for help that lifted Ceria's brow, and gaze, to behold the distressed woman heaving before her. It seemed as if in slow motion that, next to her, Arthera suddenly did something magical and the Goliath running full tilt toward the new woman's back nearly stumbled. Ceria stood frozen as the large being regained his balance and chucked a spear toward the woman in question. All of a sudden Ceria's mouth wouldn't work and her feet refused to budge. ALl she could do was watch helplessly as the spear sailed through the air....and sink harmlessly into the path at the woman's feet.
It was only now that Ceria's eyes traced a line up the new girl's form, pausing with peculiar interest at the subtle tips at the ears indicating the presence of at least some elvish blood. Not to mention the green eyes that Ceria swore sparkled with some sort of almost merry glint. Ceria Verkorcoran made a split-second decision to take her bow off her back, nock an arrow, fire it at the feet of the big man, and then leap out of the way of the charging men as far for the side of the street as possible. Her intent was to let the majority of the horde of thugs pass her.
Ceria's stats: HP: 22/22. AC: 14. Spells Remain / Total: Lvl 1: 2 / 3 Currently concentrating on: N/A New effects: Ceria shoots the ground at the goliath's feet, the arrow landing directly between its toes. She steps to the side as if to allow the enemies to pass.
Oblivious as ever to his bodily surroundings, Ulor trudged alongside the rest of the party through the populous streets. The octopus on his shoulder, seemingly more engaged by its surroundings than its master, cast about vitreous gazes that nonetheless were laden with uncanny purpose, to the extent that unsettled passers-by took wide and deliberate detours to avoid brushing by the bizarre pair. As they advanced, the city appeared to progressively decay around them, orderly stone structures giving way to ill-shaped clay and grime in a putrescent transformation, filth seeping up through the cracks in the cobbling of the road and submerging the pavement in a layer of viscous uncleanliness. The motions of its denizens grew more furtive, and snarls and grunts fluidly - as far as either Ulor or the octopus could tell - replaced cheerful greetings in their mouths. As his mind was briefly prodded by viscid tentacles in warning against a possible stumble in an especially treacherous point of the path, the enchanter idly noticed the fleeting scrap of thought telling him they were being led by someone and laced with doubt as to whether this guide, whoever it was again, was reliable, but he unconcernedly swept it away, gladly replunging into his ponderings.
Or, at least, he would have, had a surge of cacophony from on ahead, combined with a second, more vigorous mental prod from the octopus recalled his attention from its deep lair and, much to his irritation, forced it back into the flow of events. A group of miscreants was rushing down the foul alleyway, bellowing what were presumably incoherent taunts at each other and displaying a general lack of concern about those that even contingently found themselves near their path. Now, the latter Ulor could not truly find fault with in and of itself; what displeased him in this situation, however, was that he and the octopus were apparently among the number of those unfortunates. Concerned as he was with this fact, he was barely aware of the first scoundrel coming to a halt upon reaching the group and pleading something with the tiresomely loose-mouthed green tiefling. Had he even paid greater attention to this fact, it would soon have been forgotten, superseded by the sight of a large rodent-creature rapidly drawing closer to his person, its shrouded accomplice close at its heels, provided rats had any.
As the grotesque being approached, Ulor swung his left hand backwards, elbow and wrist oddly twisted, to reach into his backpack for the magical orb stored therein. At this abrupt motion, the octopus detached itself from his shoulder and remained hovering near his head, its eyes never leaving the assailants. But, before he had retrieved the conduit necessary to channel much of his void-gifted knowledge into enchantments, the ferine invoker called upon her own arcane might, conjuring a treacherous frozen surface under the thugs' feet. As it happened, this made things worse from Ulor's perspective, since the foremost brute slid sideways, coming to a halt directly before him and readying his weapon. The elven archer seemingly attempted to wound him, but her shot, if it was aimed at all, went wide, leaving the burly figure unharmed.
Fortunately, all of this had given Ulor time to prepare his own response. In his left hand there now was a large, opaque black crystal, almost spherical in its curious many-faceted shape; the right, having left the staff leaning against the shoulder and supported by the forearm, was slowly weaving its fingers through the air, tracing invisible sorcerous symbols. As his arm twitched in a series of darting gestures, a gnarled index pointed towards the warrior, he intoned a string of half-whispered, ululating formulae, resounding eerily between the rows of malodorous walls: "Ygnaiih . . . ygnaiih . . . thflthkh’ngha . . ."
All of a sudden, there appeared in the space around the tattooed brute what could only be described as a swirling, translucent angular cloud of grey shadow unnaturally stretched in such a manner as to appear similar to a solid object. The apparition writhed in place for a few moments, then shrank inwardly, flattening itself against the warrior's skin and fading from sight. What was not so apparent was that the abnormal darkness, in a distorted semblance of parasitic life, hungrily clutched at its victim's strength, seeking to sap and consume it.
Yet that was not all. While the shadow was still twisting around the warrior, Ulor abruptly stopped his gesturing in a final lunge of his right hand, and brought his incantation to a close with a loud "Iä!". As the limb darted forward, it became wreathed in pale, colourless spectral flames, which sprang into being with startling abruptness and without any apparent premonition, accompanied by a crackling sound as of thunder. The unnatural fire then fluidly stretched into a stream of fluid power, which flew through the air akin to the trail of a ghostly comet towards the thug.
Unfortunately, it seemed that something particularly stunning had come to Ulor's mind just when he was completing the spell. His teeth reflexively clenched, and his hand twitched aside in the very moment the wraith-flames were magically propelled from it. The result was, if not disastrous, a rather sad sight: the flow of mystic energy wildly spiralled aside, narrowly avoiding a terrified bystander, and soundlessly crashed into a puddle, raising a splash of rank, foul water.
The octopus, which had until then remained suspended in place almost motionlessly, presently twisted its tentacles in alarm, and began to hover-swim upwards in mounting circles. Realising that, now that his incantation had failed, he would likely be at the mercy of any adversary who managed to reach him, Ulor, now ever so slightly more concerned, cast his thoughts into the familiar's mind as a grasping hand seeking something onto which to hold in a storm, and found its clammy, somewhat hesitating tentacle. In the blink of seven inward eyes, he conjured before the two of them the image of a plan of action. It was crude, roughly outlined and, in all honesty, quite improbable, but it was the best he could think of, and the octopus convened it did not just then have any better ideas.
The airborne cephalopod stopped its ascent, and, drifting aloft, brought itself a mere two or three steps forward from Ulor's position. There, in an extraordinary display of acrobatics, it turned its head to the sky, and its beak and gills, exposed between the radially splayed tentacles, pointing towards the ground. However, it was not the beak or the gills that warranted such a position. No, it was something less conspicuous; a defensive mechanism which would now be made to serve a double purpose, shielding octopus and master alike from harm with an inky blackness should a foe draw near. Or, at least, this was the plan, which, to Ulor's credit, was one of the least deranged he had devised in his adventuring life.
Not that this was saying much.
As a bonus action, Ulor casts a Hex on the goliath, imposing disadvantage on his Strength checks while the spell persists (1 Level 2 spell slot spent, 1 remaining). He then follows through with an Eldritch Blast, which cleanly misses its bulky target.
Ulor then telepathically convinces the Octopus to ready itself to intervene should an enemy approach into melee range, squirting ink onto the attacker's head from above.
The human seemed completely unaffected by the ice forming under his feet. When he saw the surface form, he leapt into the air and turned, landing sideways as if skating along the surface. During his skid, he nocked a bolt to his crossbow and took aim. Instead of aiming for their quarry, he turned and leveled his crossbow towards Ceria who had shot at his leader. The bolt struck true, embedding itself into Ceria's shoulder.
Mechanics: Human uses Acrobatic Feat to ignore difficult terrain, passing the DC with ease. He deals 8 piercing damage to Ceria @Mistiel.
Daisy casts Hex and Dissonant Whispers on the Goliath. He fails the WIS save, begins to run away, then fails his Dex save and falls prone. He picks himself back up again, but his movement is spent. Dissonant Whispers deals 14 psychic damage, and Hex adds 2 necrotic damage.
Daisy HP: 24. AC: 14. Current Spell slots: 0 / 2 1st level. Current Psi Points: 4 / 4 (Psi Limit: 2) Currently Concentrating on: Hex on Goliath.
Everything would have been so much easier if the group had just stepped aside and let her pass. So far their resistance has earned them a lump of a goliath sliding all over the ice on the floor, and an arrow in one of their female's shoulders. Wonderful. Worst of all, the blame, and whatever wrath might come with it, would probably be falling on Araerys's shoulders. Even worse than that was the fact that this whole ordeal really was her fault, and her guilt sat like a stone in the middle of her stomach. She had led these hell-spawn straight to this uninvolved motley crew, had pleaded that they rally to her side of the fight, consequently involving them permanently; the result was a flat out brawl that began in the blink of an eye. She had hoped there would be time for at least some negotiation before resorting to combat, but it seemed one of the more forward - or perhaps, reckless - of the group had other plans.
Still, she was grateful for their help, whether it was intended or not. Undeserving though she probably was, Araerys felt some stirrings of camaraderie towards these travelers, and remained rooted to the spot instead of simply taking off while they distracted her foes. The half-elf, somewhat shocked at the speed with which events were unfolding, remained beside behind her original point of contact as she cast her spells on her blue-faced predator until her senses returned to her upon watching the bolt imbed itself into the elf's shoulder.
She knew that her next move required her to create space between the ingrate and the group for their safety. Taking a half-step from her place behind the tiefling, Ary took a quick breath and began singing a melody of disjointed notes, harsh and jarring in their complete lack of harmony. No one else but the human male could hear it, and Araerys made sure the dissonant melody was continuous as she waited for it to take its effects on him.
The magical whisperings conjured by two of the party sent the ruffians at the head of the pack sliding backwards along the ice, one skidding along the floor while the other dancing upon its surface. The other two goons slid forward gingerly. The masked figure placed a hand on the crystalline stones that hung on his belt, whispering an incantation in a language lost to time. A perfect copy of him appeared directly in front of Ulor and attempted to whack Daisy with its staff, but it missed by a wide margin. At this close range, it was easy to tell the state the cloaked figure was in. He appeared to be a tiefling of some sort, but his skin was withered and greyed as if left out in the sun for eons. The copy sneered at the group, preparing for another attack.
Meanwhile, the ratfolk slithered along the ice with care, drawing daggers from beneath its cloak. He took up position alongside his leader, and with careful aim, pinpointed Ary, Daisy, and Ulor, the latter of two just beyond easy reach. The daggers flew, one striking in Araerys's gut while another hit Ulor's shoulder. The third whizzed past Daisy's ear. An inch closer, and it would have been nearly deadly.
Mechanics: Araerys takes 16 damage from a critical hit, while Ulor takes 7 damage.
Seeing the enemies obviously attacking indiscriminately, Yvah rushes in and performs a flurry of blows on the Ratfolk (-1 Ki). The initial and final hit miss, but the second blow definitely connects, and the ratfolk's eyes go cross-eyed before he turns his attention back to Yvah with a snarl.
Mechanics: First attack: QStaff - 7. Second attack: Punch - Nat 20 for 6 damage. Third attack: Punch - 12.
As Lex takes his action, the commoners in the street begin to flee from combat, heading to the closest safe places they can. One catfolk woman trips on the ice, landing face first on the ground. The enemies appear to be ignoring them, not lashing out as the commoners rush by.
As the brawl raged, the knight took a moment to assess the situation, his attention mainly caught by that unexpectedly appearing damsel in distress. But that moment seemed more than enough for two of his groupmates and the previously mentioned woman to suffer serious injuries by a potentially untrained rabble. Only that robed spellcaster seemed actually formidable, but he too would be dealt with just like the others. One could argue that Lex felt a hint of annoyance at his allies' incompetence, but if any such feelings were present, they were masked under a faint snarl. He remained still for a short while, raising his hammer and assuming an offensive posture. When his eyes stopped darting from blaggard to blaggard, fixing themselves upon the one that Lex deemed as an ideal target, he commenced his attack.
The unfortunate object of the knight's aggression was none other than the goliath, who was previously struck by his allies' magic. He charged in a curved trajectory, so as to avoid stepping into the bulk of that most impractical sheet of ice which covered a large part of the alley, and taking wide, heavy steps he steadily built up momentum. As he neared his target, he paid no heed to the sound of the magical frost crunching against his boots, and swung his battlehammer in a sideways arc, aiming to strike the crook somewhere near his chest.
Lex attempts to Attack the goliath, after moving two spaces diagonally southeast and two spaces east.
Attack Roll: 23 Damage Roll: 12 (14-2 due to error)
A field of blue static charged around the goliath's figure and subsequently detonated with a vicious electrical crack that sent cobalt sparks cascading across the ice until they winked out of existence; the rest of the energy, which spread out in the air like tendrils, vanished as well. Where it came from or quite why was unknown to any observer, the very nature of psychic power, but the band of adventurers present knew well otherwise.
"Enough loitering Ceria, finish the brute off." A familiar tone chimed telepathically in the ranger's mind, that of Arthera.
Her voice, that spoken moments later and the words thought now, rose in frustration with the scent of blood in the air, the psychic fury that burned within her feral spirit, and the severity of conflict that had only further evolved; their delay early on cost them in precious blood and dearly at that. Maybe now they would realize life here in their beloved, filthy city life was as much kill or be killed as it was in the wilderness the woman had come to experience. Knowing no less this exchange could have faired far better, the primalist was needing to escalate and fast, in particular when an added threat came from the odd, greyed figure who joined the fight and called forth some sort of ancient power from the stones he bore on his belt.
"Kill that old withered fool, not the copies - he's our greatest threat." She said audibly to the rest, hoping they'd break the enemy's ranks and morale if the huntress killed the crippled giant as she wished earlier and focused their attacks on the unusual entity.
From there, she slipped to the most northern stone corner, not more than a few paces from the wounded elf, and readied her next attack with the desire that the odds would swing in their favor this go around. If anything there was added disdain in her gritted expression that burned for these pathetic nothings, those uninvolved in the fight, and in part arose from the truth they prevented her from striking all her foes at once.
No end to the complications this wretched city had.
Arthera manifests Hungry Lightning as an action, spending 3 psi points of her 12 to do so.
The goliath is her target and must make a DC 13 Dexterity saving throw at disadvantage due to his worn armor. If he fails, he takes 16 lightning damage or 8 if he succeeds.
She then communicates in secret to Ceria through her Telepathy ability and moves 5 feet north on the grid to be closer to her. As a free action this turn, she makes a 25 Intelligence (Arcana) check to determine that the grey figure is an "Eonic Drifter" and prioritizes accordingly, notifying her allies as well.
The goliath roared in pain and anger as the lightning coursed through him. "Enough playing around! Kill them all!" he shouted, the red fury reflecting in his eyes as he hefted his greataxe, swinging it around to drive straight down on the paladin before him, nearly felling the seasoned veteran with a single blow. As the blow landed, a deep sinister laugh sounded from the goliath.
Mechanics: Goliath uses Battle Cry, enhancing his allies' abilities for a round. He also uses Great Weapon Master, landing an extremely powerful blow on Lex, seemingly enhanced even further by his fury. Lex takes 21 slashing damage.
Ghosting 
