[WP] You are a wizard that specializes in summoning magic. Unlike other summoners that forcefully bind otherworldly creatures to do their bidding, you are the eldritch equivalent of “I know a guy.”
The battle-hardened party leader looked back at his companions, the concern on his face far more apparent than he’d prefer. “Uh, guys,” Broman the Barbarian began. “I know I’ve got top tier strength and endurance but I’m not sure that’s going to do us much good in dealing with that,” he says thumbing back over his shoulder.
Beyond their narrow rock bridge–suspended over the glow of molten rock–is an undead army of over one thousand zombie and skeleton foot soldiers. Ahead of them is a Wrath Knight, sitting atop its undead stead with a greatsword lying over its shoulder.
Flying over the army of doom is a sickly-green dragon with a wingspan wide enough to stretch from one side of the army to the other. The dragon is flying back and forth over the soldiers in a continuous figure-eight path.
Broman looks to each of his companions for both their input and more ideally, a lifeline to get them out of this mess, considering that the door behind them just slammed shut.
Bardotious Max readies his harp sideways like an electric guitar, then strums his fingers down in a single riff only to raise the hand back up to extend a fist with his index and pinkie fingers protruding. “I wanna rock!” Bardotious exclaims. “…so you can count on my support.”
Broman just stares back at him, slowly blinking before shaking his head. “Really, not sure what I was expecting there,” he grumbles to himself, before looking to their mage. “What about you Frozenheart the Wintery Witch of Polararctica? Have anything powerful enough to help us live to fight another day?”
Frozenheart’s attention is somewhere down towards the molting magma as she tries her best to not make eye contact with Broman, thinking it equates to dinosaur rules where he wouldn’t see her if she remained still didn’t make eye contact. But then Broman starts snapping his fingers like he’s trying to get a toddler to look at the camera for the photo and she knows she’s been seen.
“Sorry ’bout that Broman,” Frozenheart begins. “I thought you were talkin ’bout some other Wintery Witch of Polararctica. You see…the thing is…I just respec’d and I only really got the weak-flame spell so far. So if we get through this, you can count on me to make one hell’ova smore…granted you got the chocolate, marshmallows, and graham crackers, of course.”
Broman’s left eye starts to twitch, and he just stares blankly until his shocked-but-not-really-surprised status times out.
Broman looks over to their healer Whitewind and his eyes don’t even stop as they continue to move over to the last party member. He just sighs and pinches his nose. “Well, we’re boned–and that’s going to be literal in the next few minutes.”
“Hold up, now.” the last party member says. “I might have an idea.”
Broman looks back over with his hands on his hips. “Really, Jerry? What kind of idea could you possibly have that could help us here? The blue flame that you selected for your eyes doesn’t give me the greatest confidence in your eldritch capabilities.”
Broman kicks a rock off the bridge as he looks away. “I knew we should’ve brought that necromancer.”
“Come on,” Jerry insists. “I might know a guy.”
Jerry’s staff becomes outlined in blue flame and floats away from him, where he begins moving his hands around one another to channel his spell.
“A guy?” Broman protests. “Geez, Jerry, I’m a guy. Hopefully you’re not trying to summon me because that’s not really going to help us here.”
The ten second cast time expires, and the staff floats back to Jerry’s opening grasp. The rest of the party look around their bridge to see that it’s still empty. Broman shakes his head and rubs his forehead. “Oh, I hate my life.” He glares back at Jerry. “Did you actually just try and summon me?”
Jerry shakes his head. “Of course not, I summ–
A projectile fires from a ledge above and behind them. The ordinance corkscrews across the molting chasm and the party’s gaze looks up to follow it as it makes a final hook and slams into the dragon. The dragon lets out a mewling cry as its wings fold and it falls back towards the army.
The party looks back up to the ledge as a barrage of gunfire opens up, stretching back across the party and moving like the spray from a fire hose. The steady stream passes back and forth in a continuous swath as it moves through the army of dead, laying down everything it comes in contact with.
The Wrath Knight’s mount gets spooked and begins turning in circles as the rider fights to regain control. Another projectile launches as the swath of bullets continues to hammer the rest of the army. The projectile spirals upward, then hooks back down, striking the mounted leader and sending him flailing one direction as the mount collapses another.
The shooting finally stops and a slack-jawed Broman looks at the newly installed graveyard. The party turns back up to the ledge to see a lone bearded-man step into sight, give a thumbs up, then disappear.
Broman looks back over to the party’s Eldritch Mage. “What the hell was that, Jerry?”
“I cast identify on it,” Bardotious replies. “It was something called a Chuck Norris.”