Gameplay thread!
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The camera swings in from a high angle over the dreary hilltop that houses Oronod's dead. It is just after sundown, with enough ambient light for normal living beings to still see by.
As the camera pans down over the cemetery, passing over grave markers of wood and stone, there comes a sound of chewing and swallowing. A macabre feast is in full swing.
Then, the camera swings in closer, to reveal one of the revenant's faces, pulling away with a hunk of quivering red muscle in its teeth. The revenant's face is your own.
All at once, as the necromancer is finally killed via massive traumatic blood loss, your consciousness is renewed. You come to yourselves in the middle of a cannibalistic feast on the body of what once was a young human necromancer. Random nerve impulses cause twitching in the extremities. You look up to see 4 other revenants, all similarly awakening to themselves again.
Nearby, you see the necromancer's cart, an open-roofed wagon with an elevated driver's seat and a wide bed, with an old dire donkey strapped to it. The animal is 7 feet high at the shoulder, but it's all skin and bones, and it stares at you all with an unperturbed look on its face. Clearly, it has seen some sh!t.
What do you do?
Ganzorig sags back on his heels, bracing his arms on his knees. He looks at his gory hand for a moment before sticking two fingers in his desiccated lips and blowing experimentally.
It would seem it was going to take some time to re-learn to whistle. Hep was probably long-dead anyway. He himself was dead... had died? There were several hard facts the peddler was going to have to come to terms with.
Astre recoils in terror. Were their digestive track still working they would have heaved up their most recent meal. They scramble to their feet, dragging themselves up onto one of the graves.
They instinctively try to catch their breath, and discovers that they are no longer capable of breathing. I wonder- they says, discovering that, despite their inability to breath speaking is still within their power. This merits further study. They mutter to themselves.
Recesserunt velum humanas vis abdita quaedam revelare he intones quietly, walking over to the cart to examine the contents.
Astre, your vision becomes attuned to magic. You see that the necromancer had a backpack that is currently underneath the corpse being consumed that has something magical glowing inside. Also, there is a small hourglass that has been tossed aside nearby that is also magical.
Inside the cart is a Bag of Books with 3 uses, 1 weight. Also, there is Adventuring Gear with 10 uses, 1 weight, and 10 dungeon rations - 1 weight. Underneath the driver's chair is a heavy chest with a word-lock on it. The word-lock has 5 letter options.
Ganzorig, you're able to move some eldritch wind through your lips, not that you can feel it. Certainly not well enough to whistle, and your faithful yak is nowhere to be found.
Thra'raxes looks at his hands which now hold a human spleen. As he bites into it he thinks to himself, If I'm alive that means I'm undefeated still right!? Pauses for another moment, I don't remember liking spleen.. and continues eating again. Meh, it's not that bad.
Thra sees a thin one scramble to it's feet and utter gibberish while looking around. "Hey, I don't know what you were eating, but this spleen isn't too bad," Thra says offering the thin one the other half of the spleen.
As clarity comes to Amarant, he pauses his feasting and takes a bloody hunk of flesh out of his mouth. He scowls a moment...and finishes the chunk of flesh he was eating. He couldn't just leave it, for some reason.
It's then he realises that he's apparently now dead. Undead? Living impaired? Whatever you called it, it didn't change what it was. Also, that he eats people now. Though admittedly, some folks probably thought he already did anyway. In any case, it wouldn't do much to his reputation.
He looks himself over as he wipes blood from his mouth. He'd lost a lot of muscle, though he didn't really feel weaker. Not like he didn't still have a decent bulk. Scars still scored his skin, which had now taken a rather disconcerting hue. On his hands (and wrapped around one arm) was the bloodied gauntlet and chain setup that was Bonebreaker. He couldn't help but grin at that. They'd stuck with him even beyond the grave.
He looks around to find the others adjusting to their new state...mostly. His eyes are on the one offering a spleen like a piece of bread. "For a flesh-eating zombie, you aren't really bothered about it, are you? You a cannibal before you died or what?" He raises an eyebrow at Thra, before wondering if he even had eyebrows after his time in the grave.
He really needed to stop thinking about this.
The former peddler pushes to his feet and staggers on numb limbs to the cart, but he's much more interested in the cart and its donkey than the items Astere was rifling through. He makes a sarcastic gesture, thumbing his chin, fingers moving forward from his eyes, then bracing his elbow against his other arm and twisting his wrist a few times.
Ganzorig approaches the donkey, careful not to spook them. If he can get in close, he'll run a hand down the beast's calves and check their hooves.
Maude leaps back from the 'feast' as soon as she becomes self aware. She wipes her hands absently on her dress smoldering dress.
"Who in the hells are you lot!?"
Maude looks about in exasperation, looking for someone to shout at
Astre stuffs some of the more useful looking equiment in with the bookbag, and slings it all over their shoulder
They notice the three still at the corpse as they walks over, stooping to retrieve the hourglass. Revenants are powered by profane energy. Food is irrelevant they inform the two as they discuss the consuming of corpses.
Then the burning woman How unusual, I haven't heard of that happening before they think as they stride over to her My name is Astre, A sorceror of the third class... deceased apparently. And you are?
Maude: it occurs to you that revenants are weakened by sunlight and you glance at the sky briefly, only to be relieved when you find that it's after sundown. Astre approaches you after your skyward glance.
Ganzorig: You've always had an affinity for animals. Your gentle nature when it comes to beasts does shine through, but your undead nature impedes your efforts somewhat. The creature shies its head away from you, and its skin ripples in a shudder when you touch its flanks.
It's all skin and bones, as I've said, but it doesn't appear to have anything wrong with it other than malnourishment. Dire asses aren't naturally occurring near Oronod, so this one must have traveled far to get here.
Ganzorig nods his head and hums a few placid tones. Trust would take some time, but the animal looked to be in good shape, if a little mistreated. A thought occurs to the peddler, and he hops into the back of the cart to shuffle through the food Astre discounted. Surely if it were so useless, no one would mind if he shared it with the poor donkey. The peddler looks for something mealy like grain or a package of trail biscuits to feed the starving beast while the others pontificate existentials.
You don't expect to be able to find what you're looking for in the coming gloom of night, Ganzorig, but as you climb into the wagon you find that the darkness doesn't impede your sight as much as it used to. You grab some hard-tack biscuits and climb back down out of the cart; you see the donkey looking at you over its shoulder.
Amarant's head whips around to Maude, and he points a finger at her. "Who the hell am I? Who the hell are YOU!" He lowers his arm and walks up to her, glaring at her. "Nobody teach you any manners, girlie? Introduce yourself before you start demanding names from anyone else!" He gestures toward Astre with his arm. "He's got the idea! Though..." He then turns his head and points at Astre, before lowering his arm and stepping over to loom over him. "Gotta tell you, I don't like people being smartasses. Whether we need food or not, doesn't change the fact he was digging into some a%~#~@+'s spleen without a care in the world AFTER he got back what little brains he seems to have. Seems like something's wrong with him, don'tcha think? All I'm saying here."
He takes a couple of steps back. "Still, you gave me your name, so I'll give you mine." He punches his fists together, and the sound of metal hitting metal rings out. "Breaker Amarant! That's the name that people learned to fear on the road once I started taking gold and breaking legs!" His arms drop to his side, and his face develops into a smirk. "You guys? Just call me Amarant. Breaker's just a title, and one I heard far too many time from idiot bounty hunters and guardsmen. Kinda wore it out."
"Reminds me...anyone got a clue what year it is? Need to know if there's any chance I've still got a bounty on my head."
Ganzorig rolls his eyes. He's crouched in front of the donkey, tossing biscuits to the ground at their hooves where they can reach.
The peddler snaps to catch the thug's attention. Hopefully the clod payed attention in crime school, almost no one had Ganzorig's bredth of vocabulary.
His hands flash rapidly, opening with a few casual, and easy-to-recognize insults, then moves on to describing the time, the date, the month, and a fair guess at the years since his own burial... it's been awhile. So long the whole sky seems askew in adition to being unnaturally clear. He ends by holding his palm forward, pressing his fists to his chest, holding his hads out, palms facing together, then turns them like falling dominoes, then a sweeping motion over his shoulder. "Your loved ones are long-dead." A pause, then he points to his skull. "I think..."
You rolled above a 10, Ganzorig, so your assessment of Amarant's death information is roughly accurate. It's been years since Amarant died; his bounty is long since expired.
Amarant... I remember your name. Not especially fondly. They say, rummaging around in their memory. there is precious little there. faded childhood memories, a smattering of spells, they would have to write those down at some point soon. and pieces of a life in Oronod.
Then the scoffing animal lover starts examining the bandit. That particular trick won't work for me, I think. they say, examining their hands. They are pale from exsanguination, and they can sense profane power flowing beneath their skin, but otherwise, they could pass as living. I apologize, I'm Astre, deceased wizard. you are? they say, considering offering their hand, but ultimately deciding against it, for reasons of decomposition.
The figure that was once Thra stands dropping the half-a-spleen. He seems to be about half decayed, in an odd way though. A fair amount of the muscle and sinew remains but much of his skin is gone. "Now hold on!" Thra says through lipless teeth and raising a muscle exposed hand. "There's no need to start sayin' nasty things about people! I saw you," now pointing a meaty finger at Amarant, " finish off that chunk of leg! I know my place and it ain't doin' the thinkin'. Klethinal told me that my job was fightin' and defendin' and so help me that's what I did. It's no matter that I liked my job or was the best at it! Thra'raxes was my name!" Thra now stands proudly, hands on his hips, "Klethinal and others took care of the other stuff, the smart stuff. Everybody had a job and, together, we all did good."
"I am Maude Scu. Maude the Deliquescent, the Splendiferous, the Ever-right!"
When Amarant speaks up she approaches him like a biologist approaching a rare butterfly
"You're Amarant? The Amarant? My da told me tales all about you, about how you were a scourge of the road"
Walking around him and looking him up and down as he towers over her.
He was magnificent! I could learn a thing or two about power from him.
"I thought you'd be taller, more impressive... shame."
The sun has fully set while you all are talking. Visibility has dropped to about 30 feet in all direction, but the stars are starting to come out; it's a clear night. There are no night sounds of animals or insects; it is eerily silent, as it always has been on this hilltop. All around you, your fellow townspeople sleep the peaceful sleep of the dead in their pine boxes. The dire donkey just chews its biscuits, unperterbed.
What do you do?
The burning girl is a fascinating case... The clothing does not seem to be being consumed, it must be consuming some other power. I wonder, no, I probably shouldn't touch them, especially without asking. he thinks as the immolated girl examines the bandit.
You haven't introduced yourself. Astre says, settling down onto a gravestone beside Ganzorig, twirling the hourglass between their fingers, waiting for the behemoth to abandon the corpse so that they might get at the necromancer's pack.. they reach back into his vast repertoire of knowledge, looking for anything related to a magical hourglass.
The hourglass is bronze inlaid with bronzite minerals. In your studies in wizardry, this combination was mentioned often as the prize standard by which all other magical containers are compared. It has no inherent magical properties in itself, but as a material it can contain tremendously potent spells.
What the necromancer was going to use it for, is not clear.
Amarant grins as Ganzorig relays the info. "Perfect. Say, Boney, guessing you lived the life too? You wake up, and it's not long before you're looking for loot." Amarant snorts. "Different trades I'm guessing, but not a problem for me. I like you already."
Ignoring Raxes' babbling, he turns back to Maude. "Don't pretend you aren't impressed when you're looking at me like that. Yeah, I'm THAT Amarant. Look at these gauntlets, and tell me they aren't the most bloody things you've ever seen!" He holds out Bonebreaker, in all its glory. "Proof of the legend, girlie! I'm the real deal! And if you're still going to act unimpressed, then why dont we hit the road so I can break some legs!"
He starts to stroll off, and stops. "Actually, the hell are we going anyway? I don't plan on waiting til the sun's up, and we all need to do some catchup."
"Pretty sure I remember an old way into Oronod. Let's go check if they found the place yet - I gotta see the broker and find out what's been happening."
Ganzorig leans back, amused and relieved that he'll have someone other than the bandit to talk to. He presses a hand to his chest, taps the first two fingers of each hand together, then his hand flashes through several signs. Then, he places a closed fist over his mouth. After a pause he furrows his brow, points to Astre, appears to draw something from his palm to his forehead, makes an alternating circular gesuture with the index fingers of both hands, then waves a finger.
Sure, Breaker, you remember an old way...mark an XP.
Ganzorig flashes Amarant a few signs, not really caring if he's too fast. Prejudice made him blunt, but practicality made him answer.
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Astre is surprised to realize that he can, in fact, recognize the sign language. He pockets the hourglass, and turns back to the peddler, , saing, in a series of florishing, fluid gestures
Thra starts toward Amarant clenching his fists and then stops. I will deal with that weakling another day. The hulking figure turns and moves toward Astre. "You look like you might need some muscle," as he says this he adds a flex.
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Amarant smirks at Ganzorig. "Sucked to be you, didn't it? Here's hoping for a better life as a dead man." He nods to him.
As Thra starts to advance, it's all Amarant can do not to laugh. When he starts flexing, he finally loses it. Laughter rings out, harsh and mocking. "Sorry Rashes, but you just remind me of one of the brats. Act like a big shot, really a nobody! Let's see you use that muscle, hey? There's a bunch of gravestones here. Can you lift one? Break one? Can't be that hard for 'the beeeest', right? Or is that muscle just for show?"
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The peddler practically swoons watching Astre's hands, then his eyes pop when he realizes the question being asked. He looks back and forth between the elf and the bandit, dumbfounded. In place of an answer, he opens his mouth and wiggles the shriveled stump of his tongue.
I believe we would all benefit from staying together. Particularly as, to most observers, we would appear to be monsters. They tell Thra'raxes And most observers would be right. My first priority is to lift the curse, and return us all to proper life. Astre thinks
If my opinion is being counted, I think we should head for a wizards tower, or a university. Somewhere with a large collection of magical tomes. It is our best shot at restoring us to our former conditions. they say, signing it also. They are not entirely sure why they do this, perhaps in a gesture of solidarity. at the end, they add on in sign It is regretfully that I observe you to have suffered thusly. You possess my deepest sympathies.
Ganzorig returns to the dire donkey, checking the yoke and harness to make sure it's not chafing before climbing into the seat of the wagon.
The dire donkey has a fixture on the wagon where a lantern can be lit. It appears the previous owner traveled at night quite often.
Thra moves to a gravestone nearest the group and grabs the top with both hands. Heaving, he rips it out of the ground and into the air. He pauses for a moment, I could just begin beating that @#$% with this...HA! I could 'breaker' it over his head.. Thra takes a few moments to laugh to himself and compose. He shifts his grip so that he is grabbing it on either side and begins attempting to bend it.
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Thra'raxes shifts his weight and lifts up the gravestone. Barbarian, you are able to heft its weight, but you can't break it apart with your bare hands. Some parts of it crumble and break off, making your grip difficult to hold on to. Eventually, you have to heave it to the ground in order to prevent it from slipping down and braining you.
It just so happened to be Astre's gravestone that you just yanked out of the ground.
Amarant snorts derisively at Thra's display. "Well! That muscle isn't entirely for show! You're just using it wrong. Try this on for size!" Amarant strolls up to a gravestone - a different gravestone to Thra's, the sturdiest looking, most intact one in sight.
He smirks, grabs the gravestone in one hand...
...swings it up out of the ground and over his head, puts another hand on it somewhere along the side, and snaps the gravestone in his hands despite the audible protest it makes. "Easy."
At Astre's words Maude snaps from her Amarant reverie
"Wizards tower! Yes! I know of one, it's...
...that way."
Please, not Onorod, too many memories
Muade is too involved in her own interests to realize that there is signing happening. Hoping to steer the group in her directions, she moves over to the cart. Without pausing she hops up onto the seat next to Ganzorig
"You're a quiet one aren't you? Too slow to follow the conversation? Long story short mr, we're all agreed to head this way."
Perhaps we should stop defiling gravestone's as a show of machoism? Astre suggests, shaking their head at the two. Mind you, I've never really put much by burial, always seemed odd to me. But to the people of Oronod, I suspect they bear a little more
[b]Oh,you, you know one? Astre says to the burning girl, suddenly stumbling over his words somewhat that old guy, Beb'kin or whatever? Their hands tap put a simple rythm on the back of the cart. never really made his aquantance.... Or yours really. I- I'm Astre. You're Maude, right? he says, eyes downcast as he extends his hand to the girl.
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Like a cat doused in water, Ganzorig simultaneously hops six inches into the air and tenses his whole body. He lands on the end of the bench, one foot planted on the seat, the other on the toeboard, and immediately starts hissing, snapping, and furiously shooing the smouldering woman.
Before he's really given Maude the chance to exhibit the good graces to comply, he's drawn an arrow and proceeds to prod her with the fletched end, especially anywhere she's touching his cart.
"Fire! Off!" The peddler knocks on the cart to demonstrate how made of wood it is. (Profoundly.) There's nothing wrong with his volume, but the word fire comes out sounding a bit like "far".
Amarant, you snap the gravestone quickly, though it's unlikely you could put the stone pieces back together again.
Before Ganzorig interrupts Maude's concentration with his wild flailing, poking, and prodding, Astre is able to prod her memory back to life with their help. Maude, you point due east of Oronod, to Witches' Hat Tower. In your lifetimes, the tower was owned and operated by an old hedge wizard named Beb'kin. It would take mortal travellers about 2 and a half days to make the journey from Oronod. Astre, because of your 7-9 roll, you were able to aid Maude, but you left the Witches' Hat Tower on very bad terms last time you were there. Why?
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Thra walks up to the cart near Maude. "I don't think he likes you Miss Maude," He says offering her a giant hand to step down.
Maude looses her tentative balance and tumbles off the cart at Ganzorig's pokings.
The fire picks up along her arms as she is about to loose her temper but Thra'raxes' outstretched had cools her.
"Thank you sir, it is nice to see that some of us kept our manners when we lost our lives."
"Astre, right, you're a wizard."
it is not a question
"Maude... that's me. I always though magic was a silly beautiful, wonderful, perfect... habit. but maybe you could show me something interesting... Please!!!!"
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Oh, I don't think Ganzorig meant anything by it Astre says, absolutely butchering the pronunciation of the name (close to Gain zo reeg) They are simply... unable to express themselves eloquently in the spoken tongue. They tell her, signing something to Ganzorig off to the side.
I am, actually... well, I was an apprentice. but I do know a few spells he smiles at the girl, before wordlessly conjuring an illusion of a shimmering gryphon, and having it canter around the party.
I'll grant you, It can be a little silly at times, but it an be quite fun. I could show you sometime, if you would like. he offers
Ganzorig looks to be about to respond to something productive, but then Astre makes a unicorn. Fingers spread, the peddler flicks his hand a few times like he's stubbed a finger. He points at the unicorn and passes a hand over his face. Then, he points to Astre, presses the heel of a balled fist to the palm of a flat hand, and points pack at Astre, cheeks puffed out.
He's speaking to to the level of detail in the image. He knows nothing about magic, but he knows animals, and he's seen a fair few misguided artistic renderings in his time... or has reason to believe he has. He can't remember any specifically.
Rashes wasn't paying attention as he effortlessly showed him how far he's got to go.
Of course.
Amarant shrugs, shoves the bottom half of the gravestone back in the ground, and puts the other part on top of it. He'll have plenty more chances to knock the skinless idiot's ego down a notch later.
As he watches the display of illusion he finds himself unimpressed, but he can't help but get the nagging feeling that he knew someone who would have loved it. They'd have just sat there, watching the display until...until what? Who was it? Where was this coming from?
...a feeling of sadness and a lurking fear of loss creeps into his mind.
Trying to push it from his mind, he hardens his expression and grabs Astre's shoulder. He'd knock the bastard out if he had to, but the show of illusions had to stop.
"If you're done with the pretty lights, we've got things to do, don'tcha think?"
"You said we look like monsters to most people, and you have a damn point. So, hitting the road before we can hide that don't sound smart. So, why don't we hit the town, and 'requisition' some clothes to hide that with before we go anywhere? You know, so people don't start talking about a bunch of monsters on the road!" He releases his grip on Astre, but not before giving him a shove meant to throw off his concentration on the illusions.
"Of course -" Amarant turns to Ganzorig. "- we still haven't heard what you think's smart, have we? You know, apart from sticking by people, which might be hard on the road. You agree with me here, or have you got different ideas?"