Larenxis:
The chuckling man stops as another cultist looks at him suspiciously. "Ahem" he coughs, putting on a straight face.

Zem laughs. "Good to see that someone is finding this as amusing as it should be," he says. He bows towards the laughing cultist.

Velve charges the nearest of the hooded beings closest to him, and let's out a cry of rage!

His blade cut's in to his enemy, just the way Velve likes it.

EDITED DAMAGE

(Let me know the real damage if you can, please. Until then:)

The cultist Velve strikes at falls to the ground in a bloody, unconscious mess. A few cultists scream, and one of them goes "Oh-ho!"

Zem seized his chance as the cultists are distracted by Velve. He waved away the remains of his lights and lept from the pillar he had been standing on, counting on the sudden darkness to hide his location from seeking eyes. He tossed his shortspear to his left, sending it clattering across the broken stone to distract the cultists further. Slipping behind a wall he pulled his crossbow from his back, hoping the cultists would be fooled as to where he now was.

(Evil parties are so much fun, you guys are totally playing with these poor cultists' heads.)

A fair few of the cultists are frightened by the loss of dancing lights, and many look at the shortspear. One cultist sighs, and holds his ground.

Semong invisibly spends the preposterous amount of time of 20 seconds holstering his crossbow and drawing his sword. He vows to reduce the number of purposeless buckles on his weapon sheaths.

Luja fires off another arrow, hoping for a better result than merely striking shoe leather this time.

The arrow hits a cultist!

It's... not super effective!

Another of the cultists is hit and screams out. Two more flee the scene.

Zem hums a quiet tune as he loads his crossbow. Peering around the wall he aims at one of the cultists who tried to grab him earlier, smiling in the darkness. The string goes taut, the oiled metal of the bow flexes, and the arrow is merely a flicker of shadow in a greater darkness.

The bolt vanishes into the dark robes of the cultist, who screeches in pain. Zem smiles from behind the wall.

Blayze:

Spoiler: Click to View

Luja fires off another arrow, hoping for a better result than merely striking shoe leather this time.

Spoiler: Click to View

The arrow hits a cultist!

Spoiler: Click to View

It's... not super effective!

Sorry to be a pain but I've been following this and its bugging me, Blayze - the -4 penalty only happens when you are firing into melee, at the minute that is not the case so it doesn't apply.

I'll go back to lurking on this thread now

Semong circles around behind the smirking cultist, the presumed leader of this group. He draws his sword back to strike...

The amused cultist does in fact see the gnome coming, and stealthily grabs the hilt of Semong's sword at the last moment and pulls him close. "These cultists are pathetic, shall we slaughter them?" he whispers in your ear, grinning.

"I'll take that as a yes," the man says, as Semong mutters a quiet "Uhhh..." in response to the original query. "It is a good thing you're doing things so slowly, it means there are still over 15 of them. Ooh, and how frightened they look," he said with glee. "Oh, and you might want to back up a bit," he says peering at the cultists who had spread out a bit. The gnome moved quickly away from this smiling man and behind a piece of rubble. "Quick everyone! To the centre of the dais!" The remaining cultists did not need to be told twice, and they all rushed where directed. As soon as the fifteenth man lay his foot down in the inner circle of stone all of the robed men were overtaken by acid, burning through their flesh. "AAHHHH!" they screamed in anguish, "WHYY?". After an agonizing selection of moments they all fell to the ground, and all was silent but for the rain and the man's laughter.

Semong stands aghast, staring at the wisps of smoke rising from melted bodies and the falling rain. "What just happened? Who are you? How did you see me?"

The man stops laughing after a bit of a struggle with the hilarity of the situation, and turns to Semong. He takes off his hood, revealing a human face with a selection of scars and a small beard. "I shall answer the third, then the first, than the second."

"I'm familiar with invisibility," he said, before pausing to remembering good times, laughing a little before continuing in a technical tone "You also stepped on a few vines that wriggled under my feet like thin little snakes trying to get loose of th- Oh sorry, I'm rambling. Uh... the first, oh yes. That needs a bit of an introduction, you see. I had heard rumours of a Shard being in this city, and I was lucky enough to be in Braethwick when a few of these pathetic little robed bastards were gathering supplies, so I disguised myself as one of them and allowed them to bring me through that accursed forest. Nerull was surely on my side as an assassin vine tore apart one of the party, so that upon my arrival the numbers remained the same. I stayed here searching for the Shard when I could and otherwise being stuck with these scummy little putrid wastes of space that dare dwell in this home of- sorry, rambling again." He kicked one of the cultists that was now bleeding to death and said "Stupid twats." He looked up again and remembered where he was. "Oh yes, so I found where the Shard must be, but there was no way I could get it on my own and these dingbats would only make things worse if they accompanied me. Rather out of luck, wasn't I? And then I saw the birds flying from the forest and heard the call of the owlbear, and I knew visitors would be coming who must be competent enough to get through the forest. Elated, I started casting a blast glyph of an acidious nature on the centre of the dais, set to go off when a certain weight is upon it. These mouthbreathers were easily led to believe it was part of the sacrificial ritual. Ooh, too bad about the sacrifices, eh?" he said looking at the dead pair on the altar. "Oh well, it's not my fault you weren't here to rescue them. If you ask me, they deserve what they got." He laughed again, "But then I say that about everybody!" More laughter before saying "Where was I? Oh right! The second question."

He stepped forward, "I," bowed a little, "am Mavryck Harvester, a cleric at your service if you happen to be searching after a particular shiny object."

"We are," Varstl says, pushing an burned corpse onto its back. Small crunches can be heard as acid-eaten bones snap and crack with the movement, and the charred and mangled flesh glints in the sunlight. The whole of it lets out an odor he'd only smelled a few times before, and those times had always involved Black Dragon Extract. It's a hideous sight, but he needs to know what this man is capable of.

It seems he's capable of creating potent magical acid, given enough time. The Dwarf vows never to give him any.

"Mr... Harvester, did you say? Cleric of Nerull?" Varstl, stepping through bodies, allows himself a smirk. "I'm actually quite a connoisseur of pseudonyms. Yours is worth of prize." One of the mangled corpses was still moaning in pain. "I'm not, however--" He gave it a quick stab with his shortsword, and it stopped. "--a big fan of puns."

Velve, the warrior? A bit of a trigger, but manageable. The Sorcerer? Brainless, but slightly entertaining. Varstl could even see himself growing to ignore that blasted Gnome. But, by Laduguer, a cultist of Nerull? What had he gotten himself into?

Eyeing the charred corpses of the cultists from a safe distance away from the psychopath, Luja sighed. Those arrows were lost to him - as well as the awesome Arrowboot. He was going to take that one for himself.

"Do call me Mavryck," he said. "I suppose you'd have told me your name already if introductions were to take place, but instead I'll ask a less personal question; how many of you are there? I recalled seeing some arrows, but I cannot see their bows. And you might imagine the confusion that results in." He prodded a dead cultist and giggled a bit as it's jaw snapped off.

Semong stared at the demented Mavryck, ignoring the screams and groans of dying cultists. His hands began shivering - Semong hoped because of the rain. Needing to hide the shivers anyway- Semong knew from long experience that weakness among thieves and murderers was worse than blood to a shark- he began silencing the cultists. He didn't enjoy the job but it was the best excuse to keep moving.
I can work with crooks, but crazies? I'm getting over my head - and I'm already pretty short!
"Mavryck Harvester...that's not the name you were born with, was it? Or did your parents have a sense of humour?"

Zem had watched with narrowed eyes as the laughing man killed all the cultists. A dark cleric of Nerull, after the same prize as they were? He listened to the man babble for a moment, then went off in search of his spear. He found it wedged between two rocks. The sourcerer hefted his spear and stared at the gleaming edge.

He gave his reflection in the blade a mirthless grin. Annoying, and definately dangerous was this dark cleric, but perhaps he could prove useful. And if not...a swift blade to the back had a way of solving problems. He turned, straightened his clothes, and began making his way back to the charred alter.

Varstl, back at the gate, begins re-loading his supplies. Self-consciously, he sheaths his shortsword into a pocket in his vest; he trusts anyone involved with death gods about as far as a crossbow bolt could stick into their back. Still, an adventuring party is an adventuring party, and at least a token amount of trust is necessary.

"There are five of us, I believe," he says. "With you it makes six. I must warn you, 'Mavryck', that this is a contracted job, and that I am a professional." The Dwarf moves closer to the Cleric to emphasize his point. "No games. No motives. No hilarious double-crosses. Funny business will not be tolerated." He offers his hand to Mavryck. "Varstl Silverhand."

"Hmm, six. That should be enough," Mavryck said smiling. He shakes Varstl's hand saying "It isn't me you should be worried about. I've only been here a little while. The Shard has an effect on people. Robs from the weak, and compared to the Lich Emperor, everyone's weak." He laughed some more, than turned to Semong.

"My high priest gave me my name, and he," Mavyrck traced his finger along the scars on his face "had a sense of humour." He laughed again, head thrown to the sky, rain falling in his mouth. "Ah..." he sighed after his bout. "You folks ready to go into the dungeon?"

Larenxis:
"You folks ready to go into the dungeon?"

"I'd rather wait for a little while," Zem said with a smile from the edge of the dais. "I have some preparations I'd like to make first, if it's all the same to you.

OOC: How long will it take me to get my spells back? I used up way more than was necessary on the owlbear and cultists.

OOC: I assume the normal night's rest.

"Well then," Mavryck said, lighting his lantern in the darkness, "I think I'll get out of this blasted rain if you don't mind!" laughing again he started to walk away. "I'm headed to the cultist's barracks, by the way," he shot a look at Varstl "team." He smiled widely and plodded through the mud, his small light making the water on the leaves around him glisten and reveal just how dark it had become everywhere else.