Male Human
"Ha, perhaps it is time to finally deal with the living!" Riven pauses then looks at the others, "Of course the may die then rise again to be fought as the dead."
Hague narrows his face as they approach the inhabited sections of tunnels, his breath evening as he pushes in and out a deep steadying breath. He slides the staff into its resting place behind his back and drops into a low crouch, pulling out the kama. He gives a pointed glance to the others and then silently rolls out into the darkness away from the dim magical light. Scouring the passage for clues with lightly probing fingers and toes he crawls his way down the tunnel, low with his limbs splayed out--like a hunting spider, each limb seeming only to tenatively, delicately make each move. In the darkness he lets the sounds and vibrations and physical senses combine to create a whole picture of his surroundings as with a final backstepping whirl he skitters nimbly into striking distance, back against the entry of the chamber from which the chanting emminates, peering inside hoping for some illumination provided by the cultists within.
Appologies if my description of the area between where we are and where they are isn't totally accurate. Just trying to get the post out without having to go inch by inch over what's where. The desire is to be at the entrance of the main chapel (or whatever) pressed up against the inside doorway, as much out of sight as possible, so as to get the drop on anyone who might come close to spotting him--but mostly to scout it out so he can go back and let the party know what we're dealing with. That's the hope anyhow.
All good, I'm encouraging a certain amount of "make it up yourself" to allow us to just get on with it.
The chamber is immense, its domed ceiling perhaps fifty feet above, and circular, perhaps sixty or seventy feet across. The outsides of the chamber are lit by little clusters of candles melted into the join 'twixt floor and wall, but the main illumination comes from a few large (wagon-sized) wooden racks with candles melted to every surface. After travelling so long in dim light, the dazzle of hundreds of candle-frames almost blinds you all.
Scattered around the chamber are a horde of shambling corpses, the odd chanting coming from their dead throats. In the middle of the chamber, seven robed shapes caper and dance about two central figures- a robed figure, difficult to see due to distance and dazzle, and a tough, lean-looking zombie, stripped to the waist, but with tight, animal-like muscles. The robed one seems to be leading the chanting, and is holding a glass ball in one hand, alight with yellowish-green colour. The zombie is glaring about the room with hate-filled eyes, and occasionally grimaces or sneers at one of the worshippers.
Above, most threatening of all, is a reddish, misty substance forming in the air. For now, it swirls harmlessly, but it appears to be taking nightmarish shape.
Hellard:
Brother Thomas:
Riven:
Hague:
And I have a map, as well. That's just for a rough tactical idea of how the place is laid out.
Male Human
Spying Malcolms fate, "Well at least the lad wasn't a spy." Riven turns to the others, "Do we have a plan?"
Hague stares helplessly at the big northerner, jaw slack. He tries to talk, but can't force himself to form words. Already the blood has started to leave his face and fingertips.
"A plan..." he gasps out weakly, almost laughing from the prepostrousness of it, hand going up to his mouth as a tear carves a path of cleanness across his filthy features. He sinks down to his knees and looks into the den of roiling dead. "...what plan? A plan? If they find us...we're all going to end up like...them." The last word comes out in a wheezing exhale, his eyes fixed on the inside of the room, at the hissing angry undead within and the profane dancing of the cultists, unable to look away, eyes bulging out of his skull. "We...can't. We can't."
Male Human
Riven puts a hand on Hague's shoulder, "Relax lad, if you succumb to becoming one of them I'll be sure you rest well! Ha!"
Doesn't seem to relax much at that, but he does wince and reach up at the bruise now forming at the site of the compatriotic shoulder squeeze--now both tense and bruised as well.
For lack of a more ..planned... plan, here we go
Riven breaks the eerie silence, hurtling into the chamber with his sword shearing wide arcs through the zombies. Nearly half a dozen are destroyed before they react. Following him quickly are Hague, fists, elbows, and knees at the ready, Brother Thomas, with his silver mace and holy symbol held high, and Hellard Byzenkampf, a pair of lethal shortswords in his hands.
The zombies turn as one, their strange, moaning chant interrupted by the primal need to eat brains. The robed figures continue their ritual, but most look over their shoulders or through the crowd to see the intruders. With a short, chopped command, the 'living zombie' springs to action, bounding through the crowd with inhuman agility, a snarl on his rotted face.
Male Human
Riven vanquishes two more zombies with ease, "We need to get the robed ones!"
Hague spins in following Riven's arcing blade for cover, staying low and close and as the next wave of zombies rise up behind those felled by each stroke, he follows up with a crouching high kick bringing his heel down onto the knee of one zombie, palm striking another onto the ground, and sweeping the leg of a third.
As the willed undead stomps forward, Hague readies his kama, ready to cut grab the first limb the creature strikes with with his free hand and peel it free of muscle and ligament, like peeling a potato, with his weapon hand.
M Goblin Beer Snob 1/Freethinker 3
Hellard lays about him with his swords -- one great bastard sword, the other a murderous shortsword -- with great abandon, as if this is the most fun he'd had since last Sunday's cricket match. Every time a zombie falls, though, he always follows through and steps in the same direction -- towards the robed figure.
During one particularly brutal corps-a-corps, he leaves his off-hand short sword in the skull of one of the zombies, and draws a dagger with that hand as soon as possible. Unlike the short sword, however, the dagger sees relatively little work...
Riven and DM:
The grand melee is chaotic and brutal- Hague and Riven chop their way through the crowd with vicious power, leaving a wake behind them. Hague crunches and smashes several of the horrid undead, and Brother Thomas follows quickly, his hurried incantations keeping any of the corpses from rising again.
One of the chanting figures completes his portion of the ritual and turns to deal with the intruders, his hands raised and crackling with barely-restrained magical power. He opens his mouth to spit a word of power, and, as if by magic, his left eye sprouts the hilt of a dagger. Hellard's fine blade whizzes across the room, piercing the man's brain, and he topples, his spell incinerating one of his companions (who perishes with a horrific wail). The noble flashes a quick grin, his left hand already reaching for the corpse being his blade-caddy- only to find it grasping his left arm! The zombie tears at Hellard's upper arm, grasping with rotten fingernails at him, gnashing teeth ridden with grave-dirt. His momentum halted, the big noble wheels to hack it apart, and another zombie hurtles into him. Within moments, the noble is downed, grappled by at least half a dozen of the monsters and with no room to swing his long blade. The offensive drive grinds to a halt.
Riven, leading the charge, crashes through the zombies' lines without noticing his companion's stumble, quickly planting his blade squarely in the chest of another of the robed figures. Blood fountains forth from the wound and his mouth, and he gasps out his last breath before being rudely kicked from the Northman's blade. The other four cultists turn on the warrior, hands raised and words ready, and curses split the air with a hissing sound and a smell not unlike burning sulfur. A blast of energy hisses from one towards the big man as another draws a long, straight-bladed knife from his sleeve and gestures in an odd, lithe, perhaps Southern, gesture as he approaches.
Hague slashes out and severs the limb of the first zombie to touch him, kicking backwards and shattering the skull of another with his tough foot. He wheels, coming face-to-hideous-face with the 'living zombie' who snarls and roars a wordless challenge before thundering forth, marble-strong fists raised. He strikes with inhuman strength, the first b low (blocked by Hague's upraised arm) nearly shattering bone, and stunning the limb for a few moments. His agility is astounding, faster than an average human, and definitely on par with the stinker's own reflexes.
Brother Thomas swings about with his silver mace and holy symbol, keeping the dead at bay. His faith is strong but wavering in the face of such obvious unholy power, and the seeming manifestation of... of... something unexplainable. The lead figure continues in his chants, calling out even louder as he gestures with what Brother Thomas now recognises as the Orb of Elwar. It seems to be part of some kind of summoning ritual. And then, an opening comes up- Hellard's collapse, and Riven's cometary collision with the cultists allows a small path to open between the combatants- a dangerous path through the melee that might allow the scholar to close with the head worshipper.
Sorry for the big post, I'm moving into a new house tomorrow and I'll be offline for 4-14 days (AAGH!!!). Hopefully by the time I'm back on, everyone will have posted and we won't even notice the difference, but I'm trying to 'section off' the combat to a small extent, letting everyone get a bit of a focus moment.
Human
Sorry for the delay; I've been negotiating a remortgage, too. What a time to do it!
Human
As the group huddled at the entrance, debating their plans, Thomas took the opportunity to remind them all of the weaknesses shared by the zombies; though resistant to blunt trauma and impalement, they were just as susceptible to slicing weapons as any living man, and their attention could be diverted by simple sidesteps and feints, to reveal their neck tendons.
As the chanting rose higher, he could see the others shuffling nervously, fearful that the ceremony would be completed, or their prescence detected.
"Let us delay no longer. Each of us must clear a path for Riven, to allow him to use that holy sword on the leader and his bodyguard. They are most likely to have wardings that the blade will ignore."
"This blessing will prevent him subverting your mind."
With that, they could wait no longer, and erupted into the main chamber. Thomas called forth an ectoplasmic hammer, to harass the cult leader, then joined the others to beat a path through the horde, with his sickle. Though not as competent a warrior as the others, he could at least try to keep pace with them, prevent them from being surrounded, and restore the fallen.
Actions taken: Dark Knowledge(undead). (Roll 13+13=26).
Attack bonus +2 vs undead to all party.
Spells cast: Spiritual Weapon (4 rounds at +6/1d8+1)
Protection from Evil (Riven +2 deflection AC, +2 saves and suppresses mental control).
Male Human
Recalling the priests beneficial spells placed upon him Riven laughs at the dagger wielding foe, he readies his blade and steps in with glee...for some today is a good day to die!
Hague stepped out and away from the living zombie, shifting his stance to keep his injured arm behind his guard. He springs back and forth staying at the edge of the creature's attack range, watching its movements carefully--launching a few quick punches and kicks, a few flourishing strikes with the kama, fast enough they lack real killing force but designed to guage the reactions of the monster, how fast it responds and what it's likely to do in response to a given attack. In the meantime, as he watches, he keeps his defenses fully up, dodging rather than blocking--he can't take much more blocking, looking for his opening to take all that strength and turn it against his opponent.
FYI
Aaaaaandddd.... I'm back. Long days of trying to get internet reconnected... I live in Australia, not Tatooine! Surely it can't be that difficult!
The dagger-wielding cultists lunge at Riven in amateur moves, but their blades are razor-sharp. One slithers off his chain shirt, grazing his ribs, while another whistles past his face, severing a finger's length of hair from his ponytail. They are driven and fanatical, and seem to be muttering the word "Chanarax" as some kind of mantra as they attack.
Hague's blade slashes in a few times, scoring creases across the creature's skin that, disturbingly, don't bleed. The flesh peels back, but the zombie doesn't even seem to be slowed down by the blows. For its part, it rains down blows mercilessly, making Hague's task of dodging very difficult indeed.
Hellard, buried under the zombies, struggles and kicks with the strength of desperation. From somewhere, he finds a dagger, and lays about with it, showering himself in rotten ichor, but having little effect on the undead.
Brother Thomas' spiritual hammer strikes at the cult leader, who jumps aside, concentrates, and makes a gesture, causing the hammer to fade from sight. He gestures with his other hand, sending a blood-red bolt of crackling energy hurtling across the room towards the priest.
Bump just to remind everyone I'm still alive...
Male Human
It's nice to hear there is someone out there worse than BT!
Recent threads in Play-by-Post
|
