Fenyx follows the party's lead, and stows away his ioun torch at the mention of potential danger. Expecting the worst, he makes ready for a perceived inevitability of conflict. Hands quietly trace well practiced forms in controlled gestures before his abdomen. He silently whispers an arcane phrase, "Со Мандрак наметка, ме заштити." A nebulous cloak of midnight seems to settle upon the man's shoulders. Its black tendrils reach around to envelop him fully before it disappears beneath his robes and skin entirely.
As the spell concludes, Fenyx crouches low and quietly shuffles over to a nearby table, placing it and as many chairs as possible between he and the entrance to the inn.
Seeing nothing of what the masked elf spoke of Ar'Zarrcal backs away from the window with slow careful steps. He pulls free his warhammer, running one hand along its masterfully forged head, suspecting that it was the living that would be encountered here and not the dead.
He waited. He could feel the tension growing in the gap between voices. In the silence and cold the Goose and Gander seemed far less inviting then it had been a few minutes earlier.
Giving a nod of encouragement to Rasso, Styvanus moves towards the door. Hesitating for a moment, the Captain readies his shield over one arm and pulls his scarf up over his nose and mouth to shield himself against the blistering cold outside. Gingerly turning the latch of the door, Rasso pulls it open into the inn, allowing a torrent of wind and driving snow to blow inside.
As it becomes readily obvious that something is amiss, Teladon sees it again outside. A shame moving in the dark, walking through the drifts of the snow. It's visible only but for a moment in a gulf between gusts of driving snow, but it looked like a human slowly stalking between the buildings, ten or fifteen feet out from the tavern. There were shadows that resembled more, but those could have been tricks of the eye.
Naasvit's head jerks in another direction and the mink hustles up to a window, leaping into a chair to press its nose up against the frosted glass. He makes a trilling sound, looking back to Talavuc, then hunches back and scrambles away from the window.
As the whiteout calms again, Teladon can see clearly again out the window, and a silhouette of a humanoid figure can more clearly be seen this time. Where the light strikes him glistening with a multifaceted refraction of frost and snow. It's not heading towards the inn, but rather towards the harbor.
Towards the ship.
Creeping out of the tavern alongside Rasso, Styvanus gives a waving hand motion to the others to have them follow him out into the snow under the principle that if the snow obscures the attackers from their vision, it should do the same for them. As he moves through the shoveled trail that Fenyx and Ordrud made in front of the doors, Styvanus keeps his shield raised in the direction of the wind. Ice has already caked onto the shield's surface, crusted over his pants and clumped to the woolen fabric of his scarf.
Then, in the dark, as the wind dies down, Styvanus and Rasso both see figures in the night turning to face the inn. They are armored figures in battle-worn breastplate, partially consumed by sheets of jagged ice. Their eyes burn with a pale, heatless blue flame and their weapons are covered with a glistening sheen of frost. Even through the snow, they seem to have noticed not only Styvanus, but the others still inside the building obscured from sight.
Out the open door, Talavuc recognizes their appearance from legends of home. Ekimmu, the restless; creations of the hungry storm.
Talavuc was right, races through Styvanus' mind, the dead walk the storm.
<< | | : Heavy Snow | : The Frozen Hollow >>
__________
__________
KNOWLEDGE (RELIGION) CHECKS
These are an exotic variation of minor undead known as Frostfallen. They lie somewhere between a zombie and skeleton in physical composition but above both in terms of power. They are vulnerable to fire, but their icy coating is strengthened by necromantic magic to make them resilient to harm and is channeled through their weapons as additional cold damage. However, bludgeoning weapons can make short work of them. Frostfallen do not rely on their eyes, typically, and have lifesense which allows them to sense living creatures with pinpoint accuracy out to 60 feet. Fenyx, in fact, could make these creatures himself with animate dead, ice equal to the corpse's weight, and two blue topaz gemstones.
__________
"Make them come ter us mate. This snow is f*cked." Rasso says to Styvanus, stepping forward but a few feet and casting a spell of magical protection on himself.
______________________________
As Fenyx catches a glimpse of the horrors lurking without, he stands and replaces his ioun torch. The tall wizard then walks briskly to the window beside Marcellano.
"No point sneaking any more. Blades and spears will not avail any of you against that thick ice. Something blunt, on the other hand, should more than suffice. And for any who have not arrived at the most obvious conclusion yet: they don't like fire."
Marcellano busts open the window, and a bluster of wind whips Fenyx's robes about wildly. The necromancer nods in approval of the marine's intent before fixing his gaze in the direction of the two frostfallen creatures that roam the snow-choked streets. A palpable pulse of energy wells up around Fenyx—the same that a few encountered during the zombie attack on the deck of The Red Wraith.
____________________
Carrying himself with a rigid posture, Teladon slowly blinked from behind his mask. In an unemotional and detached manner as if practicing an archery lesson the elven magnus calmly picked up his bow that he had left leaning next to the door. Using as little movement as possible the masked elf drew his bow and knocked a blunt arrow to the taunt bowstring. Raising an eyebrow from behind his mask the elf watched the human wizard open a window for the pale chelish man. Ineffective.. the magus mused before firing the arrow though the window in an explosion of glass towards the icewalkers beyond.
Looking at Rasso, Styvanus breathes out an exasperated sigh through the cloth of his scarf, sending a puff of steam out into the air. "You take that side," he points down the street, "I'll take this side," and then Styvanus leaps into the snow, sinking down to his waist in a drift. Struggling against the wind, he makes room for the others to emerge from the inn, raising his shield up to both block the freezing chill and to protect himself.
"Come on!" The Captain shouts, slamming his gauntleted fist against the shield with a ringing report, almost like that of a dinner bell. "Come get me!" Much like on the deck of the Red Wraith, Captain Rozier is putting himself out as bait to draw in the icy dead.
____
|
____________________________________
As Marcellano moves towards one of the windows, he notes how the elf just simply fires through a window with his blunt arrow. Heh, knife-ears trying to act tough eh? I'm surprised he doesn't realize how the glass would likely not only affect his aim, but weaken the force of the arrow.
When he gets to the window, he takes the butt of his rifle and smashes it open, and quickly clears the bottom half of the window of shards of glass. He then kneels down and braces his musket on the windowsill, aims it at the nearest undead-thing, and pulls the trigger.
Insantly, a loud boom like thunder roars over the sound of wind and whispers - all around Marcellano, snow is kicked up, icicles are knocked loose from the building's shingles, and Marcellano feels the hard kick of the musket against his braced shoulder -
- Only to find out his musket misfired, and the bullet do nothing more than slowly roll out of the end of his barrel along with what looks to be water. '^@#$ing son of a !%*$#'s hairy ^*@# ^*@#$! Must've got some snow jammed in the damned barrel!"
________________________________________________
Talavuc grimaces and advances up behind Rasso, gripping her spear tightly enough to whiten her knuckles. She whistles high as she moves, ordering Naasvit to follow. "More of these killers come. The dead forced to slay not only strangers, but also family and friends." Fear creeps into her eyes, but she steels her face and begins incanting a spell. "Духови ватре, дај ми своје благослове, да бих могао да видим ваш светлости, остани топлину ваш врућине и обори своје непријатеље са својим гневом."
Fire springs to life in her hand as she finishes the gestures, the brilliance illuminating the area around her as a torch. Naasvit follows alongside her, moving behind Styvanus.
_________________________________
Hp: 20/20
AC 16, FF 14, T 12
Spells Prepared:
1st - magic fang, obscuring mist
0th - detect magic, guidance, mending, resistance
Spells Active:
produce flame (2 minutes)
Ordrud stops packing his food and takes one last longing look at his personal banquet. Snapping out of his reverie, he fishes a torch out of his backpack and tucks it into his weapon's belt. He moves toward the door behind the fishman shouldering his backpack and drawing his sling along the way. The Necromancer did say slam damage worked best.
The assumptions about the frostfallen creatures was right, they did not seem to be impeded by the snow at all. As the team makes to defend the inn, the four ice-encrusted warriors turn their burning blue gaze in the direction of their efforts. As the frostfallen march through the snow, it parts around them effortlessly, small eddies and currents of snow flurries swirling around their bodies. As they get closer, Teladon's arrow flies through the window towards one of them, but it rings off of its frozen armor like a steel drum, sending a few flakes of frost and ice outward from the impact, but the creature seems unharmed.
The gauntleted hands of the frostfallen curl tightly into fists then flex open with cracking pops of bone and ice as they approach the inn. Just as they begin close in, a pulse of darkness tinged with violet light explodes outwards from Fenyx sending a palpable chill through the room. As the wave of energy hits the approaching undead, they momentarily falter. Two of them halt entirely, their blue eyes flickering like candle flames guttering in the wind. Fenyx can feel their minds brush against his, feel the strings of a puppetmaster wrap around their limbs, feel in control.
Undeterred, the other two continue their approach to the inn, waves of unearthly cold radiating off of their bodies.
_____
______
Ar'Zarrcal considered the possible courses of action open to him. The gifts the goddess of runes had granted to him this day offered several potential choices in dealing with the frostcoated undead. Hearing the words of his fellow ambassador from Shalast, the dwarf nodded his head and took a step forward as he began a chant, even as his fingers traced a pattern of intricate Thassilonian runes across the length of his plate covered arms and over his gauntlets. When completed the arcane symbols flashed briefly with the glow of the sun, before fading to a dim white lambency.
Hefting his dwarven forged warhammer in his hand, he felt the strength and power of mountain iron flow from his arms and into the crushing weapon. As those same arcane runes appeared on the hammer, Ar'Zarrcal lifted his shield and prepared himself for combat.
---
Carrying himself with a rigid posture, Teladon slowly blinked from behind his mask. In an unemotional and detached manner as if practicing an archery lesson the elven magus calmly picked up his bow that he had left leaning next to the door. Using as little movement as possible the masked elf drew his bow and knocked a blunt arrow to the taunt bowstring. Raising an eyebrow from behind his mask the elf watched the human wizard open a window for the pale Chelish man. Ineffective.. the magus mused before firing the arrow though the window in an explosion of glass towards the icewalkers beyond.
Looking at Rasso, Styvanus breathes out an exasperated sigh through the cloth of his scarf, sending a puff of steam out into the air. "You take that side," he points down the street, "I'll take this side," and then Styvanus leaps into the snow, sinking down to his waist in a drift. Struggling against the wind, he makes room for the others to emerge from the inn, raising his shield up to both block the freezing chill and to protect himself.
"Come on!" The Captain shouts, slamming his gauntleted fist against the shield with a ringing report, almost like that of a dinner bell. "Come get me!" Much like on the deck of the Red Wraith, Captain Rozier is putting himself out as bait to draw in the icy dead.
"Make them come ter us mate. This snow is f*cked." Rasso says to Styvanus, stepping forward but a few feet and casting a spell of magical protection on himself causing the air around Rasso to shimmer like a heat mirage for a moment.
As Marcellano moves towards one of the windows, he notes how the elf just simply fires through a window with his blunt arrow. Heh, knife-ears trying to act tough eh? I'm surprised he doesn't realize how the glass would likely not only affect his aim, but weaken the force of the arrow.
When he gets to the window, he takes the butt of his rifle and smashes the rest of it open, and quickly clears the bottom half of the window of shards of glass. He then kneels down and braces his musket on the windowsill, aims it at the nearest undead-thing, and pulls the trigger.
Instantly, a loud boom like thunder roars over the sound of wind and whispers - all around Marcellano, snow is kicked up, icicles are knocked loose from the building's shingles, and Marcellano feels the hard kick of the musket against his braced shoulder -- Only to have his musket misfire, and the bullet do nothing more than slowly roll out of the end of his barrel along with what looks to be water. '^@#$ing son of a !%*$#'s hairy ^*@# ^*@#$! Must've got some snow jammed in the damned barrel!"
Ar'Zarrcal considered the possible courses of action open to him. The gifts the goddess of runes had granted to him this day offered several potential choices in dealing with the frostcoated undead. Hearing the words of his fellow ambassador from Shalast, the dwarf nodded his head and took a step forward as he began a chant, even as his fingers traced a pattern of intricate Thassilonian runes across the length of his plate covered arms and over his gauntlets. When completed the arcane symbols flashed briefly with the glow of the sun, before fading to a dim white lambency.
Hefting his dwarven forged warhammer in his hand, he felt the strength and power of mountain iron flow from his arms and into the crushing weapon. As those same arcane runes appeared on the hammer, Ar'Zarrcal lifted his shield and prepared himself for combat.
Talavuc grimaces and advances up behind Rasso, gripping her spear tightly enough to whiten her knuckles. She whistles high as she moves, ordering Naasvit to follow. "More of these killers come. The dead forced to slay not only strangers, but also family and friends." Fear creeps into her eyes, but she steels her face and begins incanting a spell. "Духови ватре, дај ми своје благослове, да бих могао да видим ваш светлости, остани топлину ваш врућине и обори своје непријатеље са својим гневом."
Fire springs to life in her hand as she finishes the gestures, the brilliance illuminating the area around her as a torch. Naasvit follows alongside her, moving behind Styvanus.
As Fenyx catches a glimpse of the horrors lurking without, he stands and replaces his ioun torch. The tall wizard then walks briskly to the window beside Marcellano.
"No point sneaking any more. Blades and spears will not avail any of you against that thick ice. Something blunt, on the other hand, should more than suffice. And for any who have not arrived at the most obvious conclusion yet: they don't like fire."
Marcellano busts open the window, and a bluster of wind whips Fenyx's robes about wildly. The necromancer nods in approval of the marine's intent before fixing his gaze in the direction of the two frostfallen creatures that roam the snow-choked streets. A palpable pulse of energy wells up around Fenyx—the same that a few encountered during the zombie attack on the deck of The Red Wraith. He holds this charge of energy within himself, waiting for just the right moment to strike out.
Ordrud stops packing his food and takes one last longing look at his personal banquet. Snapping out of his reverie, he fishes a torch out of his backpack and tucks it into his weapon's belt. He moves toward the door shouldering his backpack and drawing his sling along the way. The Necromancer did say slam damage worked best.
The assumptions about the frostfallen creatures was right, they did not seem to be impeded by the snow at all. As the team makes to defend the inn, the four ice-encrusted warriors turn their burning blue gaze in the direction of their efforts. As the frostfallen march through the snow, it parts around them effortlessly, small eddies and currents of snow flurries swirling around their bodies. As they get closer, Teladon's arrow flies through the window towards one of them, but it rings off of its frozen armor like a steel drum, sending a few flakes of frost and ice outward from the impact, but the creature seems unharmed.
The gauntleted hands of the frostfallen curl tightly into fists then flex open with cracking pops of bone and ice as they approach the inn. Just as they begin close in, a pulse of darkness tinged with violet light explodes outwards from Fenyx sending a palpable chill through the room. As the wave of energy hits the approaching undead, they momentarily falter. Two of them halt entirely, their blue eyes flickering like candle flames guttering in the wind. Fenyx can feel their minds brush against his, feel the strings of a puppetmaster wrap around their limbs, feel in control.
Undeterred, the other two continue their approach to the inn, waves of unearthly cold radiating off of their bodies.
<< | | | >>
_______________
Seeing the frostfallen near him apparently controlled causes Ordrud to arch his eyebrow and accord the Necromancer more respect. He loads his sling with a bullet. He winds up his sling and lets fly targeting the trailing frostfallen.
_____________________
targeting E22
No movement
Talavuc glances grimly at the undead under the control of the necromancer. What has happened to those two? She holds for the moment, dropping her spear and grabbing the loop of leather that hangs on her belt, grasping the weapon in one hand, while she holds the fire in the other. She gives a sharp, shrill whistle to Naasvit, pointing to the undead between Styvanus and Rasso. The mink darts ahead, circling to one side and attemtping to wrap his paws around the terrible creature's legs in order to bite and tear into the undead.
"What has happened to them?!" She shouts through the fierce snow, cold flakes biting at her face and her breath coming out in steaming puffs.
____________________________
AC 16, FF 14, T 12
Spells Prepared:
1st - magic fang, obscuring mist
0th - detect magic, guidance, mending, resistance
Spells Active:
produce flame (2 minutes)
Dispassionately blinking behind his mask, Teladon watched as his as his first arrow ricocheted off the icewalkers armor in slow motion. Frowning slightly the elven magus cocked his head to the right, examining a single crack that his first arrow had created in the creature’s icy exterior. Nodding to himself he drew back his elven wrought bow, as he did so he concentrated for a hairsbreadth uttering the 23th incantation of empowerment. As the incantation spilled from his mouth, a faint hint of blue eldritch power began to flow down his arm and into his nalwood bow causing icy blue elven runes to flare into life. Closing his eyes the elf took a single breath and held it just long enough for his heart to slow before he released the arrow through the shattered window. As the arrow flew true, Teladon gave a single predatory smile from behind his mask. The first shot was not a miss; rather it had opened a kink in the icewalkers defense that the elf had exploited to maximum effectiveness.
Rasso, seeing the two undead next to him are under the necromancer's control, turns his attention to the other two. He squints at them through the snow, readying himself for when one come within reach of his jaws.
_________________
|
Styvanus can't help but reel backwards slightly as two of the undead approach within striking distance. If the foul creatures had actual eyes, he could have seen the white of them. Just as his muscles tense in his shield arm in preparation to strike, it becomes apparent that the two of them closest to him have fallen under control of the pale necromancer.Useful trick, He thought to himself. I'm sure it'll prove invaluable in this unholy winter.
While still keeping a wary eye on the ice-covered cadaver adjacent to him, he turned his body and attention towards the other two, seemingly undeterred, approaching undead. "Come on!" His voice demanded of the creatures once more. He slapped his gauntleted hand against the shield once more, the sound ringing out only for a brief moment like a low bell before he clasped his hand around the edge of the shield, preparing to deliver a two handed upward strike if one took him up on his invitation.
__________________________________________________________________________
|
|
Frowning that his musket is now useless for this encounter until he can get around to unclogging the barrel, Marcellano slings it over his shoulder. Bah.. going to take me an hour to fix that.. damned snow getting jammed up in the barrel. Well, at least we seem to have the situation under control.. that necromancer is really beginning to show his worth.
"Barrels jammed, musket's useless until I can fix it. Good work on taking control of a few of them, Necromancer. These bastards will come in handy in the long run, I think, with this weather."
After slinging his musket over his back he pulls out a small round glass container, tightly sealed on all sides, that contains a thick, viscous bright-red liquid. "They don't like fire, eh? Well then.. lets see if I can avoid hitting our own with this."
_________________________________
Fenyx commands his new minions from behind the broken window of the Goose, "Beset!" He indicates the two frostfallen that remain free from his will.
The necromancer turns to the closer of the two remaining threats and raises his arm, uttering a familiar incantation as he does so. "анатема!" A streak of positive energy coalesces at the tip of his finger and leaps at the nearest frostfallen.
"Ignore those at the door, focus your efforts on those further without!"
____________________
Given the difficulty of the terrain, it seemed that Ar'Zarrcal would not be able to engage an frost covered walking corpse that was not already under the control of the Thassilonian Necromancer. Gritting his teeth, he began to push forward through the deep snow. He took a defensive posture and moved forward, banging his warhammer against his shield.
----
Following Fenyx's orders, two of the frostfallen dead turn their icy stares away from Styvanus and the others, even as Naasvit mistaken'y tries to take a bite out of one of their legs. The mink's teeth do nothing to the ice-crusted armor, however, and the two vigilant corpses simply ready their clawed hands to strike out at whatever approaches per their new master's orders.
Through the window, one of Teladon's blunt arrows whistles in an unerring line to strike one of the frostfallen dead with stunning accuracy. Striking the creature in the helm it shatters the ice sheath on its brow and sends it staggering back, ice-clawed gauntlets grasping at the air in a moment of blind fury. Just as the creature rights itself, however, a burning ray of positive energy blasts out from the same window and lances through the frozen corpse, leaving a burning hole of glowing orange embers around the impact wound. The frozen carcass wrapped in ice and armor staggers and then begins to crumble to ash and soot, collapsing into the snow with a clatter of its armor and cracking of ice. Most of its body remains, but mostly bones and glowing embers of positive energy devouring the undead flesh.
The other frostfallen begins to move, but comes to an abrupt halt when a sling stone is hurled through the air, striking it square in the breastplate with a resounding clang of stone on metal. The creature jostles backward, turning eyes of blue flame back towards the group, and while damaged remains undeterred. The creature of frozen nightmare marches towards the nearest living creatures not behind a barricade. Unhindered by the snow, the creature sets itself on Ar'Zarrcal, quickly closing the distance as it lashes out with its gauntleted hand ending with talons of jagged ice. The horrific claws slam soundly up against Ar'Zarrcal but the dwarf's runecarved shield deflects the blow, leaving deep grooves through the steel rimed with ice.
Up and over Ar'Zarrcal's shoulders Rasso lunges with his snapping jaws and grotesquely telescoping neck in an inhuman display of flexibility and reach, but the shark-beast's jaws snap hard around the steel of ice-encrusted breastplate armor, leaving scratches and grooves in the metal but no harm to the undead creature contained within.
_______
Dispassionately blinking behind his mask, Teladon watched as his as his first arrow ricocheted off the icewalkers armor in slow motion. Frowning slightly the elven magus cocked his head to the right, examining a single crack that his first arrow had created in the creature’s icy exterior. Nodding to himself he drew back his elven wrought bow, as he did so he concentrated for a hairsbreadth uttering the 23rd incantation of empowerment. As the incantation spilled from his mouth, a faint hint of blue eldritch power began to flow down his arm and into his nalwood bow causing icy blue elven runes to flare into life. Closing his eyes the elf took a single breath and held it just long enough for his heart to slow before he released the arrow through the shattered window. As the arrow flew true, Teladon gave a single predatory smile from behind his mask. The first shot was not a miss; rather it had opened a kink in the icewalkers defense that the elf had exploited to maximum effectiveness.
Through the window, that blunt arrows whistles in an unerring line to strike one of the frostfallen dead with stunning accuracy. Striking the creature in the helm it shatters the ice sheath on its brow and sends it staggering back, ice-clawed gauntlets grasping at the air in a moment of blind fury.
Out in the biting cold and howling wind, Styvanus can't help but reel backwards slightly as two of the undead approach within striking distance. If the foul creatures had actual eyes, he could have seen the white of them. Just as his muscles tense in his shield arm in preparation to strike, it becomes apparent that the two of them closest to him have fallen under control of the pale necromancer. Useful trick, He thought to himself. I'm sure it'll prove invaluable in this unholy winter.
While still keeping a wary eye on the ice-covered cadaver adjacent to him, he turned his body and attention towards the other two, seemingly undeterred, approaching undead. "Come on!" His voice demanded of the creatures once more. He slapped his gauntleted hand against the shield once more, the sound ringing out only for a brief moment like a low bell before he clasped his hand around the edge of the shield, preparing to deliver a two handed upward strike if one took him up on his invitation.
Given the difficulty of the terrain, it seemed that Ar'Zarrcal would not be able to engage an frost covered walking corpse that was not already under the control of the Thassilonian Necromancer. Gritting his teeth, he pushes forward through the deep snow. He takes a defensive posture and moved forward, banging his warhammer against his shield.
Inside the inn where he's ducked for cover behind the wall, Marcellano assesses his rifle and the choking black smoke issuing out of the barrel. Frowning that his musket is now useless until he can get around to unclogging the barrel, the Chelish soldier slings it over his shoulder. Bah! Going to take me an hour to fix that, damned snow getting jammed up in the barrel. Well, at least we seem to have the situation under control. That necromancer is really beginning to show his worth.
"Barrels jammed, musket's useless until I can fix it. Good work on taking control of a few of them, Necromancer. These bastards will come in handy in the long run, I think, with this weather."
After slinging his musket over his back he pulls out a small round glass container, tightly sealed on all sides, that contains a thick, viscous bright-red liquid. "They don't like fire, eh? Well then... lets see if I can avoid hitting our own with this."
Seeing the frostfallen near him apparently controlled causes Ordrud to arch his eyebrow and accord the Necromancer more respect. He loads his sling with a bullet, then winds up his sling in a quick spin and lets fly the heavy load targeting the trailing frostfallen. Ordrud's target had already begun to advance, but comes to an abrupt halt when the sling stone impacts square in the breastplate with a resounding clang of stone on metal and a shower of shattering ice. The creature jostles backward, turning eyes of blue flame back towards the group, and while damaged remains undeterred.
Talavuc glances grimly at the undead under the control of the necromancer. What has happened to those two? She holds for the moment, dropping her spear and grabbing the loop of leather that hangs on her belt, grasping the weapon in one hand, while she holds the fire in the other. She gives a sharp, shrill whistle to Naasvit, pointing to the undead between Styvanus and Rasso. The mink darts ahead, circling to one side and attemtping to wrap his paws around the terrible creature's legs in order to bite and tear into the undead, but the mink's teeth do nothing to the ice-crusted armor.
"What has happened to them?!" She shouts through the fierce snow, cold flakes biting at her face and her breath coming out in steaming puffs.
Rasso, seeing the two undead next to him are under the necromancer's control, turns his attention to the other two. He squints at them through the snow, readying himself for when one come within reach of his jaws.
Fenyx commands his new minions from behind the broken window of the Goose, "Beset!" He indicates the two frostfallen that remain free from his will.
The necromancer turns to the closer of the two remaining threats and raises his arm, uttering a familiar incantation as he does so. "анатема!" A streak of positive energy coalesces at the tip of his finger and leaps at the nearest frostfallen. The burning ray of positive energy blasts out from the same window Teladon had shot through and lances through the frozen corpse Fenyx targeted, leaving a burning hole of glowing orange embers around the impact wound. The frozen carcass wrapped in ice and armor staggers and then begins to crumble to ash and soot, collapsing into the snow with a clatter of its armor and cracking of ice. Most of its body remains, but mostly bones and glowing embers of positive energy devouring the undead flesh.
"Ignore those at the door," Fenyx instructs, "focus your efforts on those further without!"
Following Fenyx's instructions, two of the frostfallen dead turn their icy stares away from Styvanus and the others, even as Naasvit mistakenly tries to take a bite out of one of their legs. Ignorant of the transgression, the two vigilant corpses under the necromancer's sway simply ready their clawed hands to strike out at whatever approaches per their new master's orders.
The last creature of frozen nightmare that stands as a threat recovers from the sling impact and marches towards the nearest living creatures not behind a barricade. Unhindered by the snow, the creature sets itself on Ar'Zarrcal, quickly closing the distance as it lashes out with its gauntleted hand ending with talons of jagged ice. The horrific claws slam soundly up against Ar'Zarrcal but the dwarf's runecarved shield deflects the blow, leaving deep grooves through the steel rimed with ice.
Up and over Ar'Zarrcal's shoulders Rasso lunges with his snapping jaws and grotesquely telescoping neck in an inhuman display of flexibility and reach, but the shark-beast's jaws snap hard around the steel of ice-encrusted breastplate armor, leaving scratches and grooves in the metal but no harm to the undead creature contained within.
<< | | | >>
_______________
Rasso bites out at the creature again, trying to break through its icy shell. His face rebounds off the slick ice, eliciting a garbled "Sharksh*t!" from the merman. He wades through the heavy snow, closer to the undead hoping to bring his claws into play.
_______________________
Ar'Zarrcal raised his shield upwards as those horrific claws reached for him and repelled the attack. Moving an instant later, he abandoned his defensive stance and shoved forward with his shield, seeking to create an opening in which to strike. Silently he came at the armored creature that towered over him. Swinging just above the deep snow, he slammed the magically enhanced head of his warhammer into the knee of the life-hungry corpse.
|
|
Seeing the undead attack his dwarven ally, Styvanus trudged forward through the snow. He used his shield as a makeshift plow, an instant before snapping the shield off into his hand. "Keep your head down!" He warned, already in throwing motion. He let the shield fly free, a slight clang of metal as it came loose from his gauntleted hand and soared over the sea of snow.
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As Talavuc clacks her tongue loudly, Naasvit backs down from the undead, settling into place. She pushes forward, moving around the rune-scarred dwarf to get within range of the undead monstrosity. Trouble the living no more, restless spirit, she thought as she reached out with the flames in her hand. The flames flare and roar in response to her will.
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Hp: 20/20
AC 16, FF 14, T 12
Spells Prepared:
1st - magic fang, obscuring mist
0th - detect magic, guidance, mending, resistance
Spells Active:
produce flame (8 rounds)
Watching the combat unfurl from his stoic eyes, Teladon examined the possibilities bloom around him. Along one track he watched as he drew back his bow again. As the arrow was launched he saw it split. In one possibility, faint and weak the arrow struck true shattering the ice and felling the walker. In the second, much stronger possibility-arc it was deflected by the creatures icy armor ricocheting off into the snowy expanse and in the third; the most unlikely of them all, he accidently struck the dwarf who was now locked in combat with the abomination causing a spray of blood and a muted grunt. Closing his eyes he let the knowledge flow out of him and as he did so he carefully laid down his beautiful hand carved bow. Releasing the riser and setting it against floor the incantation of empowerment was instantly dismissed causing the runes to subside back into the wood whorls.
Rising, Teladon made his way towards the entrance of the Tavern. Walking slowly towards the door he withdrew his black scimitar while internally chanting 3th invocation of combustion. Focusing on proper cadence Teladon felt the energy rise within him as he always did and watched as his black blade began to glow red, hissing with heat as the snowflakes fell upon his sword.
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Hrrmm.. there's only one of the undead freaks left thats not controlled by Mister Bones here.. not to mention that these sods are all crowded at the entrance trying to get at the bastard. I think we have it handled.. it would only cause more of a ruckus for me to go out there and try and trip the bastard - snow's too thick and they're in my way.
Holding back with his alchemist's fire in hand, Marcellano yells, "Oye.. you guys got that handled over there? Too many piling on a single guy.. I can't even hit the bastard with my bottled fire without hitting one of you. I'm going to see about trying to get my musket unjammed - hollar if more of 'em come, or in the hopefully unlikely case that last remaining freak bests you!"
With that, Marcellano takes a moment to stow his alchemist's fire back in his bandolier and then moves over to one of the tables, taking out his misfired musket in the process, before getting ready to sit down at one of the tables, effectively removing him from combat unless yelled for.
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The necromancer repeats the incantation once more, "анатема," and positive energy issues forth from his pointed finger again. As he summons the energy for the spell, he begins willing his frostfallen servants to flank and tear the remaining foe apart from behind with a single command: "overwhelm."
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Watching the combat unfurl from his stoic eyes, Teladon examined the possibilities bloom around him. Along one track he watched as he drew back his bow again. As the arrow was launched he saw it split. In one possibility, faint and weak the arrow struck true shattering the ice and felling the walker. In the second, much stronger possibility-arc it was deflected by the creatures icy armor ricocheting off into the snowy expanse and in the third; the most unlikely of them all, he accidentaly struck the dwarf who was now locked in combat with the abomination causing a spray of blood and a muted grunt. Closing his eyes he let the knowledge flow out of him and as he did so he carefully laid down his beautiful hand carved bow. Releasing the riser and setting it against floor the incantation of empowerment was instantly dismissed causing the runes to subside back into the wood whorls.
Rising, Teladon made his way towards the entrance of the Tavern. Walking slowly towards the door he withdrew his black scimitar while internally chanting the invocation of combustion. Focusing on proper cadence Teladon felt the energy rise within him as he always did and watched as his black blade began to glow red, hissing with heat as the snowflakes fell upon his sword.
Seeing the undead attack his dwarven ally, Styvanus trudged forward through the snow. He used his shield as a makeshift plow, an instant before snapping the shield off into his hand. "Keep your head down!" He warned, already in throwing motion. He let the shield fly free, a slight clang of metal as it came loose from his gauntleted hand and soared over the sea of snow.
The shield soars through the air like a discus, and whizzes past Ordrud's field of view. The orc warrior watches with surprise as the seemingly impossible attack strikes true and the shield smashes into the undead warrior, shattering all the ice across its body and sending a sonorous hum through the air as the shield rings with impact before dropping into the snow.
The creature wobbles backward, its arm detaching from its shoulder and landing in a heap of metal, chain and frozen meat. Watching this happen from his vantage point at the window, Marcellano's mind races. Hrrmm.. there's only one of the undead freaks left thats not controlled by Mister Bones here... not to mention that these sods are all crowded at the entrance trying to get at the bastard. I think we have it handled... it would only cause more of a ruckus for me to go out there and try and trip the bastard - snow's too thick and they're in my way.
Holding back with his alchemist's fire in hand, Marcellano yells, "Oye.. you guys got that handled over there? Too many piling on a single guy.. I can't even hit the bastard with my bottled fire without hitting one of you. I'm going to see about trying to get my musket unjammed - hollar if more of 'em come, or in the hopefully unlikely case that last remaining freak bests you!"
With that, Marcellano takes a moment to stow his alchemist's fire back in his bandolier and then moves over to one of the tables, taking out his misfired musket in the process, before getting ready to sit down at one of the tables, effectively removing him from combat unless yelled for.
Ar'Zarrcal raised his shield upwards as those horrific claws reached for him and repelled the attack. Moving an instant later, he abandoned his defensive stance and shoved forward with his shield, seeking to create an opening in which to strike. Silently he came at the armored creature that towered over him. Swinging just above the deep snow, he slammed the magically enhanced head of his warhammer into the knee of the life-hungry corpse. The severely disabled creature blocks Ar'Zarrcal's attack with its one remaining, gauntleted arm and hisses freezing breath at the dwarf in defiance.
As Talavuc clacks her tongue loudly, Naasvit backs down from the undead, settling into place. She pushes forward, moving around the rune-scarred dwarf to get within range of the undead monstrosity. Trouble the living no more, restless spirit, she thought as she reached out with the flames in her hand. The flames flare and roar in response to her will.
On seeing the flames approaching, the frostfallen dead scrambles backwards, but there is simply no time to escape. As Talavuc's hand comes down to its icy armor, the creature howls like an animal as it is engulfed by the inferno, sizzling and popping before simply shattering inside of its armor in a gout of steam. The breastplate and fragments of its body drop to the snow, helmet landing at Talavuc's feet.
Behind her, two more frostfallen slowly approach, though these horrors of unlife come to a halt just short of their master ordering an attack. These abominations are on their side.
The Hollow grows quiet again, not a word said in the dark and the cold. By now, the sky was a faint shade of blue, the morning sun hidden behind thick clouds making the skyline and horizon visible as night recedes. In the distance, a whirling blot of gray and white like a tornado can be seen spinning miles high down into the Darkmoon wood, the nearly obscured tracks of the frostfallen looking to come from that very direction.
This was far from over.
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The shield that soared over his head and smashed into the frostfallen was a welcome surprise. Though he could not yet look back, he did see that insignia on the shield as it sunk into the snow. The Captain of this expedition had impressive combat skills, that much was clear. Whe fires consumed the frozen corpse within the armor, an appreciative look was given to the Erutaki, though it was quickly subsummed by the usual frowning visage of the Herald of Shalast.
He slipped his warhammer back on his belt and retieved the captains shield from the snow, tossing the heavy weapon back to the man. "Your throw was well timed." he said to the man, before looking to the two undead soldiers that were now under the power of his fellow ambassador from Shalast.
"These two may yet serve us well. Can you instruct them to lead them back to their source?" The dwarf said, even as he eyed the well forged armor now littering the snow from the other two entities.
Pointing them out with his finger, he sniffed at the cold. "That is fine steel and could be well utilized should I find a forge. The Ulfen know their armaments of battle"
"That was easy enough. Good work everyone." Rasso says. "I suppose if we can follow them back to their source we ought to."
Cutting off the flowing power roiling within him, Teladon’s blade slowly changed from a searing red back to its onyx hue. Sheathing the scimitar, the elf magus looked down at the tracks leading away from the town and then followed the edge of the horizon up to the whirling tornado of snow and ice in the distance. Wordlessly turning on his heel the elf glided back into the tavern gathering up his bow and pack before standing near the entrance of the human structure. Clearly indicating by his stance he was ready to leave.
Examining the Icewalkers surreptitiously, Teladon gave an involuntary shutter. Forcing his natural revulsion to the abominations down into the back of his mind, the magus revised his evaluation of the Shalast necromancer. Blinking slowly in consideration Teladon frowned. Necromancy was not unknown within the Spire. All magic, regardless of its nature was coveted among the Mordant elves. Teladon himself had worked briefly with Giseil Voslil during the battle for Celwynvian and he had been far more accomplished in death-magic then this Thassalonian upstart. The magic itself did not bother him.. no it was the human who commanded the magic that did.
Turning his gaze away from the ice-enshrouded ab-dead, the elf took a single long breath. He would meditate on these emotions later. Now was not the time.
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Dwarf, before we do that, could I have a moment?" Marcellano gestures to Ar'Zarrcal before continuing, "It would take me an hour or more to get my musket back into working condition - is there a spell that you can do to unjam it that'll take a shorter amount of time? Normally I'd be fine with doing it myself, but we may lose out on any strategical advantage if we stay here too long."
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Ar'Zarrcal turned his head toward Marcellano and narrowed his eyes at the Cheliaxian Marine. While he was not as prickly about the subject of race as the Mordent Spire elf was, he did not exactly like the idea of being called 'Dwarf'. For the moment however he kept his tongue in check and instead merely waved the Marine over.
"Bring me your broken weapon and by the blessings of the goddess and my own power I will fix it for you." As he spoke steam escaped his mouth and he rubbed his cold hands together. The weather certainly wasn't getting any better.
While not truly a spell, he knew the proper runes to trace to enable any object he handled to mend itself in a manner similar to the prayers of artifice. His power however was at will and required no complex chants or invocations.
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Although not hugely fond of giving anyone his musket, Marcellano walks over to Ar'Zarrcal and hands it to him. "Hopefully next time this damn thing won't misfire.. I'll see if I can't put a thin piece of cloth over the muzzle so snow won't get down in it. The cloth won't do crap for stopping a shot, at least." As an afterthought, he adds, "Thanks."
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The fire in her hand flared brightly again as her gaze turned towards the undead now commanded by the necromancer. "Now, we should destroy these ones as well. They are dangerous." A dark look had crossed her face as she was staring at them. Naasvit seemed to grow agitated by his master's mood, as if he could sense how she felt. Her own voice screamed in her head. They are not tools, but abominations! Destroy them now, while they are bound! It was obvious just by looking at the woman that she was holding herself back, but only just.