Combat Log from Jain Zar's Helmet
Log Index 10.1: Insertion
Our purpose clear, our goal defined:
To purge the rot this god confined.
To find the assets, orc-kin brave,
(Borg-ka and Grok) we sought to save.
A taint expected, from a source so deep,
A mental plague while allies sleep.
We left the prow, no time for reprieve,
And plunged into the wound to cleave.
A profane fusion, flesh and stone,
A stench of death, a god's low moan.
This place is wrong, an arcane blight,
We are the blade to bring it light.
Log Index 10.2: Chamber of the Oculus
The allies moved, their skills impressed;
Their shadow-arts put to the test.
The rogue, Sugar, like a wraith,
A fleeting, silent, deadly shape.
And Gnarls, the bard, became the wall,
A perfect blend, unseen by all.
The Wielder, Jain, uncloaked and bright,
Stood ready for the coming fight.
A central chamber, vast and deep,
Where a great Oculus did keep...
Its watch upon a web-spun thread,
Where xeno-forms, our targets, tread.
Log Index 10.3: The Purge
The ambush sprung, a flawless thing,
To feel the blade of battle sing.
The bard's strange art, a crashing sound,
(Tasha's Hideous Headbanging)
That dropped the foes upon the ground.
The rogue's force cage, a trap of might,
Contained the alpha in the fight.
And Jain, the Wielder, was the storm,
A blur of speed, a perfect form.
The targets purged, their foulness gone,
A cleansing fire before the dawn.
Log Index 10.4: The Sundering
A disk was found, a membrane strange,
That pulsed with power, out of range.
The rogue, Sugar, bold and rash,
Then struck the thing, a foolish slash.
A tactical misstep, a trap exposed,
As to a distant room she closed.
A data-stream, a cry of pain,
A vivisection-lab's domain.
A troll-kin regenerating fast,
It seemed her moments were her last.
The Wielder and the bard, delayed,
Then followed where the rogue strayed.
Log Index 10.5: The Vivisection Lab
The party joined, the fight was met,
The troll-kin, a resilient threat.
It rose, and fell, and rose again,
Five times it died, a brutal chain.
At last, it lay, a broken heap,
From promises the blade must keep.
We checked the pods, the captives' doom,
Within that cold and sterile room.
One asset, "Borg-ka," orc-kin strong,
Was found alive, where she'd been wrong'd.
Her state is optimal, her mind is clear,
She seeks her brother, held in fear.
The rest were... spent. Their songs are done.
Our temporary ally: one.
Log Index 10.6: The Abomination
We moved ahead, a final door,
To find the core-rot we abhor.
A floating thing, a xeno-blight,
That bathes the lab in evil light.
And on a table, flayed and bound,
The final asset, Grok, was found.
The monster... works... upon the orc.
It turns its gaze. It sees us plain.
The blade is drawn. The song begins again.
