“These bodies,” Flynn, still in a crouch near the heap of priest corpses, started to say, “look to be less hacked apart by blade or rendered asunder by beasts than carefully and precisely cut apart…”

Whatever further thoughts or theories played in the bard’s head as a result of this discovery, though, went unspoken in that moment as the disembodied voice returned, again; speaking this time, as opposed to simply laughing…

I want the pretty!
…and up went Maximus as if something took hold of his sword and tried to snatch the thing from the big gladiator’s grip. The pit cat’s muscles strained, though, and wrested the blade free. Whatever had wanted the vorpal blade wasn’t easily dissuaded, though, and made another attempt… but Maximus was prepared, now, and managed to keep the weapon free of that invisible force…

Naughty boy!
The head at Flynn’s feet rolled away then, calling the bard’s attentions back to the pile of corpses that he had so foolishly taken his eyes off of in deference to seeing what was going on with the others. An almost eloquent curse, spoken in the gypsy tongue, spilled past Flynn’s lips when the head reattached itself to the neck from which it had been freed. He shot to his feet and backed hastily away from the macabre stack of bodies, eyes wide as all the priests began to piece themselves back together… The scimitar whirled in his right hand, carving a defensive figure eight in the air ahead of him as he retreated from the sickening display, and his left found the neck of his fiddle, bringing the thing to bear as if it might serve as a shield, somehow…

“Kilgim,” Flynn heard Char call out behind him as a litany of spellsongs coursed through his mind, “Undea’!”

Having heard the ranger’s voice, the bard adjusted course even before Char had finished speaking his next; “Ba’ ta ba’, Flynn! Mo’ ba’ t’ da wall!”

The bard nodded, maneuvering to comply with Char’s orders even as a song that he hoped might be helpful started to form on his lips….

((OOC: As noted, Flynn’s moving to get back to back with Char… scimitar in one hand, fiddle in the other (using as a shield for the most part but will use as an offhand club if necessary)… and Summon Monster, please…))

The galaxy spanned on for what seemed to be an infinite stretch, doubled in the time-space expanse. Millions of galaxies all thrown together all at once, in an explosion of sorts. Magic has the ability to create such a temporal disturbance, one, yes that's it, one that has literally caused him to displace himself in time and space, and one... there it is again... one that has shown him all that is and that will become. One... Yes, step one complete. But this is a difficult one. One again. Too difficult. Two? No, not the same. I need another. This magic, we have used it and arranged things so that almost no one, one yes I already got that one, understands the arcane anymore. Those that do are driven mad, like Spellbinder was, and like I too am destined to become should I continue down this road. Too... no still not right. This is a prescription for disaster. I might get away with it for a while sure, but eventually I must make the choice to either become like those ignorant to the awesome abilities of the arcane and live a normal life, like those Grays I so admired growing up, or to fully embrace the combustible mix of raw energy and brilliance that resides within me. Those two things cannot exist at the same moment of time and space. Two things. Yes. I should have paid more attention. Those two things. I must never forget those two all important things. Two things. The two things that will save us all. I cannot continue on like I am doing, in denial of my own abilities and my own destiny. I am now the only one left that can comprehend and see the things beyond the veil. If I do I could doom myself and the entire universe. Such an awesome responsibility rests with me. One, Two. Like a linear progression. Time is a linear progression! Wait...

This entire existence, the demons, the Iron League, all of it, the universe itself, it's not good nor evil, merely indifferent. This brilliance cares not what mere men or mer do and say. This was all becoming clear. Time itself could be changed, the cracks in the universe could be created or destroyed at will, and the madness that results from those attempts cannot be undone. Only with death. Time is not a strict progression of cause to effect. It explodes in all directions at all times in a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, not linear at all! Yes there is a third path. Three paths to take. Three things from which to choose. Three. One temporal disturbance, one explosion. Two things: magic and sanity. Three choices, there must be a third, but what? I must not get furious because I am stuck. I must keep thinking of a way to see this universe in another light. It will take years. no it can't take years. The priests must be found. But this is... so much more important. The whole history of arcane study has been the gradual realization that events do not happen in an arbitrary manner. Everything has an order. There is a pathway set out for me. I need not choose to forsake my abilities, nor should I go mad from them. I can find the balance. I do have three options. Three options.... Three. Ready? Three.

One...Two...Three... Adrian shook his head violently as he snapped back to reality. Magical fibers were everywhere in this room. They were hypnotic. He had fallen prey to an easy trick, one that should have never gotten him, but he admittedly walked right into it. Mesmer's were parlor tricks, but this one was powerful enough to snare him momentarily. Even most disturbing was the power of this place to reanimate the dead. An immediate threat that must be dealt with.

Valentine readied his bastard sword in the first position and prepared to engage. If they came to him he would fight. If they went to an ally he would flank, and if they did something else, he would move to the wall. Adrian could sense what was coming from the bard. Although he didn't use components, and the words were pitched differently, and the gestures were lyrical, it wasn't hard to recognize the summon monster spell Flynn was attempting. It was too dangerous for Adrian to risk casting another spell just yet, although should the situation turn grim he might have to consider it. One does not survive as a prize fighter on recklessness. He would do the smart thing. Let someone else try first.

(OOC: Special thanks to Carl Sagan, Stephen Hawking, The Elder Scrolls, and of course Doctor Who for the inspiration and quotes contained in this post)

He'd been expecting something like this to happen, but still the way the horrible undead began to reform like marionettes, made Kilgim flinch. The evil magical energies swirling around the room seemed to be pulling body parts together and pushing the monstrous beings to their feet. There was no time to observe the patterns the evilness was forming. The time to wonder about it would come later, if it would. The The dwarf gripped the leather covered handle of Black Axe tighter and gave his neck one final twist. "Oh yeah? 'is t'best ye can do? Brin' 'em on!"

"Kilgim!", Char's yell caught the cleric's ears at the very moment he raised up the holy symbol of Clangeddin: a circular pendant made of the purest of silvers with an engraving of two crossed axes - a picture not unlike the tattoo on Kilgim's forehead. "Undea'!" The bald dwarf nodded at the ranger and muttered: "Me 'ears ye, laddie. Me 'ears ye." Holding the amulet in his left hand, Kilgim could feel the familiar feeling of warmth which seemed to be radiating from the holy symbol. It made his fingers tickle, in a good way. He could feel the power of his God at his disposal. Well… at list a tiny fragment of it.

The dwarf stood his ground despite the approaching monsters. He knew Arien would be there to keep him safe for the while it would take him to banish the walking dead, and so would Maximus. The mighty gladiator had proved his courage and power of will many times before. Even the unseen magics which had tried to pull the mountain of a man's huge sword from his hands had failed to intimidate him. Kilgim felt no fear. He was amongst friends. And those friends were the ones he wanted to have beside him in dire situations such as this.

"Father o'Battle, 'ear yer child's call. Let yer power cleanse 'is 'oly place from these abominations!" While quickly saying the little prayer, the iron hard dark eyes of the priest observed the undead's approach. When he felt the might of Clangeddin surge through his body, Kilgim relaxed his muscles, drew breath and yelled at the zombies: "Begone!" He knew the theatrics weren't needed nor was the prayer. But it always helped him concentrate on the task and to direct the holy energy better at the enemy.

...If only he'd concentrated more on the teachings of the elders back at the temple as a youngling. The way of the warrior had drawn his attention, divided the lad into two parts so far from each other - a healer and killer, in one body, sharing one mind. He was a hero or so the songs the minstrels weaved said. He'd never felt like one. It was his work, his duty, his life. His. But at times such as these a shadow of doubt worked its way into his otherwise strong mind and made Kilgim wonder. What if he'd made a choice? What if, instead of picking up the jet black axe, he'd followed the path of his mother. What if he'd filled his mind and body with only the words of the Silverbeard. Would he be here? Probably not. But were his mind and heart not divided, his belief might be even stronger and his powers far greater. The non-living evil in the temple would not pose a threat. Kilgim could channel greater amounts of Clangeddin's power through himself and even the greatest of the undead would fear the messenger of the Lord of War...

But that was not how it could be. This was here and this was now, hopefully? He was both a fighter and a priest - a prayer and an axe. He could not change that and neither could anyone else. Where his axe would fail him, the God's power would stand in to help him survive and bring down the enemy. He was Kilgim Blackaxe, a wielder of both weapons and divine magic. And he would avenge the deaths of the priests.

Without waiting to see what happens, Kilgim begins another prayer to Clangeddin...

---

OOC: After he's done with the turning attempt. Kilgim will cast Prayer, then pull the second axe and join Arien and Maximus in the fray. Helping the "tanks" where he could, but making sure he can move quickly to anyone in need of healing.

The childish laughter echoed through the hall, and Dapple sent a startled “I thought there was no one here?” to Sunset, keeping her mental tone gentle despite her surprise. As the dead priests began their macabre dance of re-assembly and attack, she sank back into the shadows, her back up against the wall. The childish laughter had spooked the little thief, but at the same time, the childishness of the hair alarms and the display of the dead (like broken toys peevishly pushed aside) now had an explanation. Whatever they faced may be powerful and deadly, but it lacked subtlety.

Dead’s dead, little monster, whether by clever means or brute force admonished her inner darkness best you figure out how to leave. This isn’t your fight.
Dapple ignored the voice and watched the struggles of the others. Maximus struggled to keep his sword from invisible hands that sought only the sword, and that would leave him vulnerable to attack by the priests. Char and Flynn had moved to fight back to back, khukris backed by scimitar and ...violin? Was the bard really going to use a precious musical instrument as a weapon?

“Must have taken a blow to the head when I wasn’t looking,” muttered Dapple to herself, but saw that Kilgim was moving his hands and chanting in the manner that she’d come to recognize as a divine means to channel power. Arien and Adrian both, in the meantime, moved to intercept the attacking priests. The spectacle was almost laughable, armed and armoured warriors against priests holding kitchen tools, but the priests would not feel any pain, could not be killed, and would continue as long as they were compelled.

Dapple’s eyes widened as she made her realization, and looked around the room for any furniture that could be used as shields against the knives and cleavers. Alas, sitting comfortably was not akin to godliness, and even visitors were expected to use only pillows and mats for repose.

“Arien, Char, Valentine, Maximus...Flynn,” she called from the shadows,” don’t waste your strength trying to disable or kill them. Those aren’t battle weapons in their hands, just kitchen grade metal. Use what you can to blunt and warp the edges.”

Her warning shared, the fighter pushed away from the wall, drawing daggers but clutching them so that the blades lay flat along the outside of her forearms, additional protection against an edged attack. She began to circle the cluster of priests, not engaging directly, but ready to come to the assistance of any of her party that was attacked. For this, her powerful kicks would have to be enough; she knew that her daggers would do no good.

The nightmare scene continued to worsen; apparently, no one would be waking from this horrid dream anytime soon. Just as Arien had feared, the mutilated priests rose to attack. It fleetingly occurred to the knight that it was quite possible that the priests had dismembered one another while under the influence of this puppet master. The thought roiled his stomach.

Kilgim began chanting in a manner that Arien recognized; the dwarf was seeking the power of his god to remove the hold on these priests, or at the least, to drive the abominations back from the party. However, he would need protection while he completed the chant. Aside from being able to directly threaten whoever (or whatever) was controlling the corpses, it seemed to Arien that his best option was to defend Kilgim while he attempted his task.

"Is there any way to tell where she is?" Arien called as he moved to take a defensive position by the dwarf priest. "We need to stop her to stop these attacks!"

With that, Arien prepared his flaming blade to attack any of the animated priests who came close enough, with the intent on protecting Kilgim while he tried to turn them. It was a horrible, grisly task, but the knight did his best to distance the concept that these were people; now, they were simply threats, and must be dealt with as such.

“Kilgim,” Char calls out behind him, “Undea’!”

The bodies reform in front of you like marionettes. The heads, arms and legs don’t match but they form together - yet the flesh doesn’t reconnect nor do they take on a hideous form of life. They are puppets on invisible strings ruled by an invisible master.

Kilgim attempts to turn the spirits but as the bodies have none, they do not succumb to the holy power of the cleric. He immediately switches to a prayer that will aid the party more directly.

"Is there any way to tell where she is?" Arien called as he moved to take a defensive position by the dwarf priest. "We need to stop her to stop these attacks!"

“Arien, Char, Valentine, Maximus...Flynn,” Dapple called from the shadows, “Don’t waste your strength trying to disable or kill them. Those aren’t battle weapons in their hands, just kitchen grade metal. Use what you can to blunt and warp the edges.”

Flynn finishes his spellsong and there is a flash and a brief “paft!” noise. Four hobgoblins in battle armour stand before the party. They look to their summoner for orders and Flynn commands them to take arms against a sea of trouble and by opposing, end them. The hobgoblins charge the priests in formation.

“Hehe.” the girlish voice laughs and suddenly the first two hobgoblins are pulled into the air, arms and legs stretched out spread-eagle. They scream a guttural cry which is cut off suddenly as they are cut apart in an instant, through neck, shoulders, elbow, hand, hip, knee and ankle. The blood and parts rain down upon their companions who are stopped in their charge at the mere sight of their death.

The hesitation is taken advantage of by the priests, who do not step forward, but rather cast forth arms and hands that fly out across the room and hack mercilessly at the hobgoblins. The disembodied hands hack and thrust with great fervour, slaughtering the warriors with nothing more than kitchen grade utensils. The flying hands and arms return to the sides of the dead priest puppets.

The hands fly again, this time at the party. A butcher cleaver soars at Flynn with deadly accuracy but he blocks the blow with his fiddle, which surprising turns the cleaver aside without a scratch to its finish.

Another flies toward Kilgim as he continues to pray. Arien waits a moment and then brushes the weapon aside with his shield. He swings out of reflex more than intent, but when he does, the flying hand drops to the floor. It stays for a moment and then begins to roll back towards the dead. When he attempts to move closer, he finds that his left arm and shield are being pulled upwards as if something was holding them.

Adrian faces a set of flying hands as well, which he dodges and parries with his sword. Then the battle mage finds that his feet are pulled out from under him and he is being lifted upside down.

Maximus easily deflects two hand attacks but as he does both hands are dropped to the floor with barely an effort – and these ones do not resume the movement back to the bodies again.

Kilgim finishes his prayer and the divine favour of his god passes to all within 60 feet of him. The strength of the blessing is strong enough to aid Adrian in breaking the bonds on his feet, and for Arien to pull free as well.

The body parts of the bisected hobgoblins begin to move, slowly reforming much like the priests did before.

OOC: Okay – you are in full combat with dead people with (very handy) range weapons. Pick your actions wisely.

Turning of the dead priests failed as Kilgim had feared it would. The corpses held no evil soul or spirit in them. They were just empty husks controlled by an unseen evil force. The heroes and the dwarf in particular would have to come up with some other plan and quickly. Going through the prayer for Clangeddin's strength Kilgim, watched four hobgoblins appear from thin air and move to face the terrible puppets at Flynn's command. There was a flash of surprise visible on the orange-bearded face as he reconsidered the bard's skills. It was followed by a nod of approval, but there was little time for anything else.

As two of the hobgoblins moved into attack, they were lifted from their feet to hang in midair and cut into pieces as if some invisible force had pulled them apart. The grotesque chefs then launched their knives along with the hands holding the weapons at the remaining humanoids and hacked them into a bloody mess. Apparently trying to attack the priests was not a wise thing to do. Somehow, Dapple had understood it right away. The lad had earned his pay once more. To avoid sharing the hobgoblins' fate, blocking the blades seemed like a wiser approach and fortunately for Kilgim, Arien was right next to him to do so.

"Seems t'me the corpses are 'ere only t'lure us into a fight so that the spirit can tear us t'pieces. So don't attack, but move t'me." Without waiting for his companions to comply, Kilgim began another prayer, pulled a bottle of holy water from within his backpack and hastily began tracing a circle of some 20 feet in diameter around himself and his companions. "Me hopes they can't cross the line, so get yer butts inside it 'n hold yer attacks fer a 'heartbeat."

---

OOC: The benefits of level 7: casting Protection from Evil 10' Radius. Hopefully it'll give us some time to think.

What madness is this? Flynn wondered as the summoned hobgoblins proved to be of little more use than a momentary distraction… the way the first two of his summoned reinforcements were drawn up into the air and the way the undead priests jerked around like marionettes when they moved, though, cut through the bard’s initial shock at the recent events and set his mind to working. There was something vaguely familiar about all of this…

…something from a tale I once heard, he mused as Kilgim called the party to him, Something about an Elven Princess, a ranger with a magical sword, and a spider demoness…
“I believe I know this tale, ranger,” Flynn said over his shoulder, returning his scimitar to its slings… his eyes went wide when he looked back to see the cleaver flying in his direction and, thankfully, his reflexes were as keen as his vision in that moment and the bard managed to get his fiddle between the blade and his face… He flinched a bit when the kitchen steel thunked against the instrument’s belly – as if the thought of putting an instrument in harms way was somehow equivocal to sin – but made no indication that the fiddle’s sturdiness surprised him... In fact, the instant the cleaver bounced away, Flynn settled the fiddle under his chin as if things like this were an everyday occurrence and finished what he had started to say to Char; “Mind my back for a moment longer, friend, and we’ll see if I can’t reveal what makes these puppets dance, hm?”

The bard’s fingers danced along the violin’s neck and the bow slid and skipped across the strings, evoking an effervescent melody that seemed to visibly spark from the strings and cling to the bow when Flynn whispered a soft, magical lyric over them. When the last word was sung, the song ended abruptly and Flynn thrust out the bow to point at a spot above the disjointed attackers….

((Glitterdust, if you please... hoping to perhaps reveal some strings here… If this works, Maximus is gonna get to play tailor… *snipsnip*… *crosses fingers*))

Long ago, horrible things happened to Sapphirine, and she’d died because she couldn’t live with it. Dapple had been helpless to prevent any of it, and she’d trained long and hard to never be helpless again. She stole for money to pay for training, she’d cheated and lied to get the training, and she worked herself relentlessly to be strong and hard enough for the moves the training taught her.

Watching the dead priests attack the party, Dapple felt the acid burn of helplessness eat away at her. What was the point of becoming a weapon if magic could defeat you? Dapple shook her head, pushing panic down into the ice, sending fear and doubt after it.

I am nothing, I feel nothing, I am nothing, I feel nothing…
When her breathing had slowed, Dapple could again watch dispassionately. The others were managing quite well, deflecting the blows and perhaps even having some effect, by the few hands lying still on the ground. There’s nothing you can do here, time to move on whispered the dead voice, coiling in the empty place where fear had been.

Dapple resumed her earlier path, edging her way within the shadows towards the stairs leading deeper into the monastery. Whatever controlled the dead priests wasn’t in the room with them, but had to be close by.

“Show yourself Demon and face me then try to take my sword if you can!!”
Though Maximus was not granted his wish to go toe to toe with their mysterious adversary, he still found himself in combat with two hands. Easily deflecting them he watched as both fell to the floor at his feet as if desiccated from whatever power was controlling them. As he was about to move forward to seek out the hiding place of the female, voice he heard Kilgim’s call to all.

"Seems t'me the corpses are 'ere only t'lure us into a fight so that the spirit can tear us t'pieces. So don't attack, but move t'me. Me hopes they can't cross the line, so get yer butts inside it 'n hold yer attacks fer a 'heartbeat."

Following the Cleric’s advice the big gladiator, being right handed, moved to cover Kilgim’s right side with his left handed shield leaving his own right side open to swing his sword without complications if any more bodies or body parts were to attack..............

There was no time for disbelief as the grotesque, animated carnage began to throw its dismembered hands at the party. As was always the case with combat, Char kept his mind focused on the present danger and how he would counter it. Back to back with Flynn, he clenched and unclenched his jaw, shifting his balance to adjust with the movements of the enemy. First his left blade was forward, his right back. The bard deftly deflected one flung severed hand with his fiddle, and Char responded by rolling his weight to the ball of his left foot, right hand coming forward and up to place the blade horizontally before his face as he retracted his left to prepare for an underhanded slicing attack should the opportunity present itself.

Kilgim had heard his unnecessary cry and responded that he knew, calling on Clangeddin to banish the spirits.

"Damn!" Char swore as the dead kept up their macabre dance. Turning slighting, he brought the weight back to his right, and spun the blade in his right hand about as he brought it back to his hip replacing its position with his left weapon again, this time, holding the blade in reverse so that it rand down his forearm, jutting out from his elbow at its curve. If the divine might of Kilgim's god couldn't help, they were truly in trouble.

"Is there any way to tell where she is?" Arien called as he moved to take a defensive position by the dwarf priest. "We need to stop her to stop these attacks!"

“Arien, Char, Valentine, Maximus...Flynn,” Dapple called from the shadows, “Don’t waste your strength trying to disable or kill them. Those aren’t battle weapons in their hands, just kitchen grade metal. Use what you can to blunt and warp the edges.”

Char spared Da'Moon a glance, wondering what she had seen that he hadn't. Quickly disengaging his icy blue eyes from the rogue, he turned his attention back to the puppets, spinning the weapon in his right hand to run down the length of his forearm as well. It was one of the best defensive positions for the short, curved blades, and provided his forearms with thick, strong steel guards so that he could get in close and personal without overextending his reach.

Battle weapons or not, a blade was a blade. Char had at least three tales he could tell of mercenaries who'd been done in by a kitchen wench with a cleaver when the soldiers intentions had been less than honorable--such was the way of war, especially where most sellswords were concerned.

Flynn's song ended and Char realized he hadn't even really been paying much attention to the music as the hobgoblins made the ranger's heart jump into his throat before he realized that they were rushing the corpses on Flynn's word. Their fate wasn't too promising.

How t' git close enou' t' attack, Char-lad? Was attack even an option? And then the hands were flying again and Char was shifting about to prepare himself for the possibility of an attack that never came.

"Seems t'me the corpses are 'ere only t'lure us into a fight so that the spirit can tear us t'pieces. So don't attack, but move t'me." Without waiting for his companions to comply, Kilgim began another prayer, pulled a bottle of holy water from within his backpack and hastily began tracing a circle of some 20 feet in diameter around himself and his companions. "Me hopes they can't cross the line, so get yer butts inside it 'n hold yer attacks fer a 'heartbeat."

Char gave a quick nod and stepped back with Flynn, changing direction so that they were no longer heading for the door, but for the dwarf. Char had no idea what Kilgim was up to, but he had faith in his companion...more so that he had in the deity the red-bearded priest worshiped.

“I believe I know this tale, ranger,” Flynn said over his shoulder as he sheathed his sword (much to Char's dismay). “Mind my back for a moment longer, friend, and we’ll see if I can’t reveal what makes these puppets dance, hm?”

"I go' yer back, bar'," Char muttered, still pressing the man back towards Kilgim's growing circle, his eyes darting from potential attack to potential attack. "I don' care if'n ya sing a jaunt' tune, Flynn. Jus' keep movin'."

This battle, such as it was, had turned out to be every bit as frustrating as it was horrifying. While it was clear that something was controlling the bodies of the poor priests, Kilgim's turning attempt had had no effect at all - so they were not technically undead. Adrian's spell had done nothing but provide further fodder for the disembodied hands and the blades (that Dapple had seen fairly dismissive of).

Arien was at a loss on how to fight these things, and that fact terrified him. In virtually every other fight he had ever been in, the enemy could be cut, could be made to bleed, could be killed. But what could one such as he do against the likes of these? What he would have given for Alloryen now!

Kilgim growled out a new plan of dealing with the threat, and the newcomer, Flynn, spoke something of knowledge. With no real idea himself on how to continue, Arien fell back into a defensive position near the priest, being careful to stay within his circle. "To Kilgim!" Arien cried, hoping against hope that either the priest or the bard one would uncover some way of dealing with these abominations.

OOC: Arien will fight defensively against any direct threats, with the focus being on protecting Kilgim. He will stay by the dwarf's side throughout the ritual, but will not press the attack (for once).

All the party moves to Kilgim as he begins to create a ring of protection, except Dapple who prefers the protection of the darkness. Flynn casts a spell of his own towards the puppet priests, creating a cloud of glittery dust around them. The spell is uneffective against the dead, as they can not be blinded, but the glitter sticks to the threads in the air. The pattern of control is complex, but now you can see the threads holding the body parts of the priests and hobgoblins.

There is a girlish scream of frustration and the hands come flying again, seeking to strike at Kilgim so that he cannot complete his spell. But the defense of Arien, Char and Maximus proves mighty indeed, especially now that the glitter reveals the true nature of the creatures. The threads cut but Char and Arien reform and reconnect quickly because they do not truly break. However, Maximus' vorpal blade does slice through the strands like a barber with a straight razor.

Soon body parts strewn the floor and Kilgim completes the spell. Hands with weapons within the circle stop moving and when the few remaining attack again, they pass through the shield but become inert and tumble to the ground.

"FINE!" The girl's voice screams in a tantrum, "BE THAT WAY!" Suddenly the priests and hobgoblins are pulled hard inmto the air above the party. Then they are released from the threads and the body parts fall upon you from the height of the ceiling. You all dive out of teh way or use shield to protect you from the body parts raining down on you. Arien holds his position to protect Kilgim and is slammed hard with a torso to the shoulder. Maximus deftly cuts another in half as it falls towards him.

The glitter remains so that you see threads are retreating from the room. You are blood spattered from the freshly dead hobgoblin parts. But the parts all seem very dead now.

OOC: Arien has a Minor wound.

As Maximus stood on the defensive, his shield covering Kilgim and his sword ready to slash at any dissected body part to come close enough, the dwarf completed his spell. Maximus watched as hands with weapons within the protection circle stopped moving and the few remaining attacking ones as they passed through the shield become inert and tumbled to the ground.

"FINE!" The girl sounding voice screamed in a tantrum, "BE THAT WAY!" Suddenly the bodies and body parts of the priests and hobgoblins were airborne above the party, then released from the magical threads to fall upon the big gladiator and the rest from the height of the ceiling.

His shield up to protect both himself and Kilgim, Maximus rode out the rain of body parts to stand ready to chase after their “female” adversary upon Arien‘s command.....

It worked! Both spells worked, Char didn't have time to be too elated as the pouty voice declared her frustration and dropped her macabre gifts on the heads of the heroes. The woodsman watched in fascinated horror as the body parts were lifted overhead. It was only when the thick and viscous blood fell from the severed appendages striking his cheek that the ranger's instincts kicked in. He couldn't dodge all of them, and was struck my a leg on his shoulder as well as plenty of blood when they all came down with a sickening, wet, splat. Sticky with the cool blood, Char shook his mane of hair out like a wolf fresh from a stream, and clenched his jaw against the revulsion that threatened to overtake his cool. It was the tendrils and their link to whomever this puppet master was retreating from the chamber that really provided him with strength.

"Kilgim," Char stepped to the edge of the circle the orange-bearded dwarf had drawn, tucking one sword underneath his right arm and using the gloved palm of his left to wipe some of the blood from the corner of his mouth. "do dis magic move wi' us if'n we move."

(OOC: assuming a negative.)

"Dos strings be tracks dat once be gone I canna follow. We mus' be off,"

Despite the urgency he felt he didn't give chase right away as he was neither the party leader nor keen on chasing down someone with the power he'd just witnessed on his own.