On Cursed Ground
Twenty-Ninth Day of the Eleventh Month 292 AC
You cannot drive the things into the night to spread their foulness where they will, nor can you chance a great fire that may come alive to set alight the whole of Lys and all within it. Where fire may be lacking, ice can yet serve...
"Keep them busy a moment longer!" you shout to the others as you rise heavenwards once more, hoping that the darkness shrouds your form from most eyes at least. "I need to know..." Before you can even finish speaking Dany begins to chant a spell of clear sight upon you. And so you see all that lies beneath you laid bare to your gaze.
Here Waymar, a ghostly crown of beaten bronze upon his brow, and in the left hand that is no more he carries a shield of duty untarnished. There Garin, running along the razor's edge betwixt the darkness and the light, drawing strength from one to which he is bound with chains of adamant and yearning for the other.
You fear to turn this gaze upon yourself... almost you welcome the horror at understanding the horror of your foes and of this cursed place.
The land defiled in the blood of those who nurtured it... a nameless monster that sought nothing more than to slay those who made it... the monster chained and made to serve, a monument to hubris, the lands fecundity turned to forge abominations undreamt in darkest nightmares, to give form to the formless in a blasphemous union.
Pity stirs in your soul, yet it serves no more purpose than the anger that had come before. Whatever this had been, whatever it might have become, it was now a blight upon all that lived... and sickness to be purged. Now at last you can see the true foe from the echoes spun of ageless hate. Of winter's grip of killing frost you speak, passing between one world and the other... old bones halt in place, caught between your command and that of the tortured will that drives them, the formless spell-beast still pulsing about it.
The act seems to drive the remaining creatures into a frenzy of hate, ripping and tearing at all in their path... driven to share a pain beyond knowing. Even as your friends hew the trapped monster as a woodsman does a rotted tree, its fellows converse upon Waymar, drawn to the blood already spilled upon these cursed grounds, and bleed he does anew, almost being drawn down to his death by the monsters.
Waymar takes 41 Damage
The Valeman half-falls-half-throws himself upon the misbegotten spell-beast. The thing pummels him blindly even as its very essence soothes his wounds.
Waymar takes 8 damage
Wayamar heals 32 damage
Among the clamor you hear the sound of stones breaking, the stone griffons begin to crack and move, and for a moment you fear that they might come alive before you see that the true perils comes from bellow... the broken
landwarden screams in pain beyond pain... You must end this quickly least the towers of Lys tumbledown like broken toys and the guilty and innocent should be devouring by the maw of the earth.
The fount is the keystone and the gap, you realize in a flash of insight. To break it is to allow the spirit to fall into its dark dreams for an age more. Or else you could try to speak with it in this final hour, to sooth its pains.
What do you do?
[] Draw back and try to communicate with the tormented spirit
[] Destroy the fountain
[] Write in
OOC: To be clear, the CR 30 spirit can't come up and kill you all, but it can cause a major earthquake in its rage at not getting all the king's blood in Waymar's veins.