Fort:
As Tararr gives some more dwarven care to Daeron, he thinks he may have figured out what the problem is. Again attempting to fix the issue he tends to the injured wizard. "I'm used to woking with more muscle than this." he grouches.
Shirish sneezes loudly at the gas rising up from her foe, almost chuffing like an animal, but shakes off any ill effect of its death.
Fort:
Daeron's self-inflicted wounds along with Tararr's 'assistance' manage to clear the elf's blood and the rage passes. Leaving everyone to ponder the other unconscious elf and their next move.
Ach, what madness has befallen me? This gore and muck..and untimely coincidence that I have not prepared my usual spells of cleaning and must wallow in this filth until we return to the surface.
His bewildered gaze falls upon the unconscious Chitleen.
My kin did not fare too well either it seems. He does not look too badly hurt from a cursory inspection. Some grace from your holy patron Ragathiel may revive him to wakefulness, Surak and ease some of my wounds as well.
Chitleen continues to be unconscious... he snores quietly.
Shirish glances at Daeron. "Carrying was good enough for the priest," she suggests furtively. "Though I am not certain how we will continue through to an exit large enough for us both..."
"We need to set up camp here. We are in no shape ta contiue on like this. The elves 'ave gotten pretty beat up an' Surak canna do a thing for them, but keep 'em comfortable for now."
"Alright, ifin' y'er afraid of what's in there, then let's get to moving along."
Rousing groggily before you, Chitleen puts his hand to his neck and grimaces when it comes away wet and red with his own blood. Nodding thanks to Surak, he moves his hands to his satchel and removes a small crystal vial that he applies a smear of liquid to temple and cheek. Looking much improved he then stands and casts a raised eyebrow at the dagger shaped hole in Daeron's leg that appears to have been self inflicted "It would seem I missed some interesting activity?" also retrieving his sword from where it fell.
"How many times am I gonna need ta tell ya to stand behin' me,elf!?! I thought ye were a goner that time." And with that the dwarf continues on his tirade of how elves need to stick to their bows and flaky magic all the while trying to hide his obvious concern for the less stout folks.
With Chitleen restored to consciousness, Tararr moves to the door. The smell of incense grows as you approach the door. At first try, Tararr finds that it is unlocked. However, a moment later, there is a click as the door is unlatched.
"Stand aside...", he whispers,"..likely more ambushers."
Pumping himself up and drawing throwing hammer from his belt, the rager throws open the door with an earth shattering roar letting the hammer fly at the first moving thing he sees.
You would have missed some embarrassing activity, my kin. I would have thought to bath my new pointed implement of battle in the blood of my enemies, but alas I had to wipe elven blood off as it plunged deep within my thigh, courtesy of foul magicks.
Daeron picks off the remaining crusts of clotted blood and watches as positive energy knits back his wounds partially. Being in a much better position, Daeron rips a fold of his own clothing, fashioning a tight bandage as he hobbles back up.
The crash of the door opening signals the use of a dwarven stealth as Tarrar barges into the next room.
Bow in hand, Daeron follows not far behind.
The door slams open sending clouds of gray incense smoke swirling about. Through the haze, you can make out that the room looks to be a bedroom and study. There is a bed in the corner and a table near it holds a lit lantern. Once fine rugs and tapestries provide some warmth to the room. Shelves along the walls holds books and various curios, but you see no occupant.
Tararr pulls up short, letting his rage settle. "Damned magician! Should have known."
Putting a hand of solidarity on Daeron's shoulder Chitleen jests "Your leg looks finer then I wager my throat does brother." before moving after the subtle and delicate dwarven berserk.
Perception:
Nose twitching at the scent Chitleen's face darkens with concern...
Chitleen feels an odd sensation as if his soul were stirred by a unearthly breeze though he sees nothing in the haze.
...and he hisses "The scent of yamuun... likely he has fled to the spirit realm."
Shirish rolls her eyes when Tararr mewls upon entering the chamber. Surely discretion would have been the better part of valor when traveling further into the complex with no advanced knowledge of its denizens, but then... he did not seem to encompass huge mental reserves, or patience. So few of her brothers and sisters raged so, and were often immediately sold to the gladiator pits, lacking the temperament required for strict training in defense.
At Chitleen's word, Shirish lowers her sword slightly. The spell caster was not abed, "How long might he be away?" she wonders. She does not want to camp in this place, knowing only one, extremely narrow and difficult to navigate exit.
Chitleen shakes his head "I do not know Shirish... but I would not yet lower our guard." With that Chitleen moves into the room and begins to look over the notes and equipment, seeking both enlightenment... and wealth...
Perception: take 10 for 23
Chitleen quickly finds a stub of burned yamuun incense on the table near the bed and a small jeweled box with two sticks left. There is also a golden brooch left lying on the bed. He turns to look over the texts when there is the crash of a sarcophagus lid being thrown open in the next chamber!
Chitleen
Tarrar
Daeron
Surak
Shirish
Return of the Livid Dead
Round 1:
Chitleen sweeps the jeweled box and brooch into his satchel as he turns to face the way they have come. His gaze settles lightly unto Tararr... awaiting his inevitable charge forwards into the fray.
RD1 AC 16 , Rage 5/10, HP22/22
"So much for not handling the problem earlier, eh orc?", he says with a raised eyebrow. Drawing his Urgrosh from his back me moves to the door."Quickly, we can hold them to one at a time if stand shouder to shoulder.
I was sure I secured the coffers well and tight.
Daeron considers the use of of his arcane spells, giving the noisy dwarf barbarian a size boost but thinks against it, considering the waste if the warrior needed to use the door swiftly.
Gently Daeron pulls out his familar, Ghema, who stretches his wing after a long nap.
Fly, and keep a look out for any hidden foes at my back! Daeron commands.
Then, bow drawn and ready, Daeron awaits his first sighting of the undead.
Ghema flitters above as Daeron draws his bow in preparation and Chitleen fills his satchel. Tararr charges to the door ready to deal with more rage zombies. In a moment the hemorrhaging corpse lurches into the room.
Daeron's shot goes high as Tararr moves into the line of fire, bu tthe dwarf lands a solid blow. The quickened corpse retaliates with a twisted claw that clubs the dwarf.
The heavy blow of the undead fiend nearly knocks him senseless, but the thick skin and dense muscle of the dwarf carry him through. The attack fuels the warrior's battle fury driving to greater heights.
Shirish moves to M7 and attacks the undead fiend!
Round 2:
Not yet trusting his aim in such confined spaces with his acidic brew, Chitleen unlimbers his shortbow and takes a shot...
Shortbow:
...proceeding to shoot the roof.
Surak shouts a prayer of blessing, and a faint light passes from his hand to each of his allies. He readies his weapon to attack.
Shirish moves up beside the maddened dwarf who nearly backhands here in his fury and spoils her strike. Surak calls upon the blessings of Ragathiel and readies a weapon. Chitleen cannot get a clean shot and holds his arrow as Tararr literally foams at the mouth as lays into the corpse destroying it and splattering diseased gore everywhere.
Surak attempts to help scrape the gore off Tararr while avoiding it himself.
Chitleen takes a few paces back and watches the gore spattered pair with a quizzical eye... this having been the first time he has seen one of the corpses literally explode.
I believe it would be prudent to take a step back and see what foul effects has the undead filth upon our comrades. Sometimes it just needs a small prod to propel someone already living on the edge.
Daeron eyes Tarrar warily, cautiously moving behind the bed and continues to observe.
Shaking the blood and guts from his face,Tararr lets loose a great, booming laugh. As the fury slips from his body his muscle relax slightly and his face untwist. "That is what I call a good time! See how much safer you are when ya me handle these things,Chitleen?"
Chitleen smiles meekly as he puts a hand unconsciously to his neck wound.
Though he calms himself for a moment, the desire to continue on his warpath seems stick with the slayer. Calling on his years of training the dwarf again attempts to calm his bloodlust, though it seems even harder than ever. Thrashing widely about with no enemy to attack, the rage grips Tararr causing him to slam the spiked end of his axe into himself.
As Tararr struggles with the rage poison, you all hear the worrying sound of another Sarcophagus lid crashing open.