Growl turns to a frothing howl when Grommuk processes what's happening. He had a solution for dead things that moved when they shouldn't: hitting and breaking them. Come to think of it, that solution applied to just about everything the orc could think of... except for food. Although there was that one piece of bread that was so stale he had to break it off of the wall and soak it in water.
"" Grommuk yells by way of informing his fellow Pathfinders. Then he steps forward and starts hitting one of the frozen corpses. Hard. Bits of rime and ice explode from all over the zombie's frame from the impact of the orc's meaty fist.
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>
>>
Cladissa simply frowned and allowed Nyugusk to pontificate. She said nothing more, but shifted a bit on her new paws that her feet had become. Then she cleared her head and brought herself back to the present.
Great. More undead. At least we can hear this time, she mutters under her breath while thinking of something she can do against them. Then she remembers the rather severe-looking wand in her hand and she moves down the steps. Saying a command word that feels vile and unclean, she activates the magic and discharges it onto Grommuk in case he is wounded.
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Nyugusk's impossibly wide mouth splits open in a grin. "Time to give this new body its first real test."
He shakes the mutagen he'd been fingering, flips he cork off, and hollers, "Bottom's up!", throwing his head back to chug it down.
The room is suddenly full of an overwhelming odor of banana custard being served within an overfull military latrine. Nyugusk shudders and howls as his body contorts and expands. For a few seconds it looks like there are thick pythons chasing each other around just beneath his leathery hide, leaving new muscles and random tufts of fur to pop out in odd places.
Seconds later the transformation is complete, and the even-brawnier-than-before half-orc mutant drops down the hatch and heads off toward the zombies, cracking his knuckles as he goes.
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HP 19/19
Mutagen 0/1
Extracts enlarge person, CLW, [open slot]
Buffs Mutagen (round 1/200) +2 to AC, +4 to STR, -2 to INT
Hrimnagel stealths into the hold. Seeing the withered human wearing an Ulfen burial mask is the leader, he snaps off a longbow strike, which lodges in its shoulder.
Argor mutters, with all the focus he can muster, the incantation to bring forth some light. The floating red orb dives down the tunnel behind and just above Grommuk.
Growl turns to a frothing howl when Grommuk processes what's happening. He had a solution for dead things that moved when they shouldn't: hitting and breaking them. Come to think of it, that solution applied to just about everything the orc could think of... except for food. Although there was that one piece of bread that was so stale he had to break it off of the wall and soak it in water.
"Dead men! Make dead again!" Grommuk yells by way of informing his fellow Pathfinders. Then he steps forward and starts hitting one of the frozen corpses. Hard. Bits of rime and ice explode from all over the zombie's frame from the impact of the orc's meaty fist. The zombie cracks in half and falls to the floor of the ship, unmoving.
Great. More undead. At least we can hear this time, she mutters under her breath while thinking of something she can do against them. Then she remembers the rather severe-looking wand in her hand and she moves down the steps. Saying a command word that feels vile and unclean, she activates the magic and discharges it onto Grommuk in case he is wounded.
Nyugusk's impossibly wide mouth splits open in a grin. "Time to give this new body its first real test."
He shakes the mutagen he'd been fingering, flips he cork off, and hollers, "Bottom's up!", throwing his head back to chug it down.
The room is suddenly full of an overwhelming odor of banana custard being served within an overfull military latrine. Nyugusk shudders and howls as his body contorts and expands. For a few seconds it looks like there are thick pythons chasing each other around just beneath his leathery hide, leaving new muscles and random tufts of fur to pop out in odd places.
Seconds later the transformation is complete, and the even-brawnier-than-before half-orc mutant drops down the hatch and heads off toward the zombies, cracking his knuckles as he goes.
Hrimnagel stealths into the hold. Seeing the withered human wearing an Ulfen burial mask is the leader, he snaps off a longbow strike, which lodges in its shoulder.
The frozen zombies shuffle forward slowly en masse, quickly forming a wall of groaning, moaning frozen death that reaches out with icy fingers to drawn life from the bones of the Pathfinders before it. Long-dead digits radiating intense cold grasp at Nyugusk's hulking form. They grab ahold of his wrist, and he experiences a spike of intense pain as supernatural cold sears through the limb.
Haldyr moves up behind his dead warriors, grinning. His eyes flicker a malevolent red from behind the burial mask. As he approaches a palpable dread and sense of foreboding washes over the Pathfinders, and the zombies seem to move a little quicker, and with more force.
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Hit
Argor moves down the stairs behind the others, and takes in the sight before him. He mutters the words of the magic on the scroll, and another layer of invisible defenses takes shape in front if the mage. He wills the ligt orbs to scatter about the room as best they can, providing plenty of light for the living.
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Nyugusk shivers as the frozen corpse grabs his arm, and then without thinking about it Nyugusk bites the arm right off. A split second behind his claws come in for the lumbering zombie. One just shreds ancient cloths but the second rips below its ribs. spilling decayed, frozen intestines onto the deck of the boat.
Realizing what he's done, he spits out the arm, disgusted by the taste. "That one's magic is making these things stronger and more resilient. For those who can, follow Hrimnagel's lead!"
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HP 19/19
Mutagen 0/1
Extracts enlarge person, CLW, [open slot]
Buffs Mutagen (round 2/200) +2 to AC, +4 to STR, -2 to INT
Hrimnagel remembers something that he forgot in the granary. His magic stones are very effective against undead. He puts away his bow and imbues three of his sling stones with magic.
Cladissa's mouth goes dry as she recognizes the foul influence the one with the mask is having. Then she hears Hrimnagel's quiet chanting and sees he is getting ready to use magic.
She lends him her luck-bending hex, and cackles madly.
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As he often does, Grommuk begins his quick descent into a battle fueled madness. Blows begin raining more rapidly, with more force and less accuracy. A couple of errant swings clip his foes without much effect, but he manages to deliver a colossal haymaker into a zombie's temple, cracking through ice and bone and sending considerable amounts of both into the air. The momentum of his swing does not relent, the full weight of the blow coming to bear against another dead oarsman's face even more ruinous than the first victim.
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>
>
Argor moves down the stairs behind the others, and takes in the sight before him. He mutters the words of the magic on the scroll, and another layer of invisible defenses takes shape in front if the mage. He wills the ligt orbs to scatter about the room as best they can, providing plenty of light for the living.
Nyugusk shivers as the frozen corpse grabs his arm, and then without thinking about it Nyugusk bites the arm right off. A split second behind his claws come in for the lumbering zombie. One just shreds ancient cloths but the second rips below its ribs. spilling decayed, frozen intestines onto the deck of the boat.
Realizing what he's done, he spits out the arm, disgusted by the taste. "That one's magic is making these things stronger and more resilient. For those who can, follow Hrimnagel's lead!"
Hrimnagel remembers something that he forgot in the granary. His magic stones are very effective against undead. He puts away his bow and imbues three of his sling stones with magic.
Cladissa's mouth goes dry as she recognizes the foul influence the one with the mask is having. Then she hears Hrimnagel's quiet chanting and sees he is getting ready to use magic.
She lends him her luck-bending hex, and cackles madly.
As he often does, Grommuk begins his quick descent into a battle fueled madness. Blows begin raining more rapidly, with more force and less accuracy. A couple of errant swings clip his foes without much effect, but he manages to deliver a colossal haymaker into a zombie's temple, cracking through ice and bone and sending considerable amounts of both into the air. The momentum of his swing does not relent, the full weight of the blow coming to bear against another dead oarsman's face even more ruinous than the first victim.
After Nyug and Grommuk's onslaught only two zombies remain standing. They lunge for Nyug with their frozen dead fingers. They grab ahold of him, and the supernatural cold radiating from them burns into Nyugusk's flesh before he can shove them back.
Haldyr moves over to help his mindless minions. The withered corpse hisses as it swings a gnarled fist at Nyugusk. The shivering alchemist absorbs the blow harmlessly against his armor and thick hide.
--------------------------------
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Hit
Hit
Miss
Argor, seeing the pack of undead fall upon their new companion, decides it's time to turn provide a bit more help now that his defenses are properly in place. He begins the practices motions and incantation of a summoning spell.
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Hoping the undead minions will fall quickly to Grommuk's fists, Cladissa focuses her hex on the leader. She unsuccessfully tries to warp probability against Haldyr and continues the menacing laugh that stretches the duration of the effect on Hrimnagel.
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Hrimnagel hefts one of his new magic stones and hurls it at the deadman next to the new guy. Even as fortunate as he now is, the stone bounces harmlessly off their frozen leathers.
Stepping forward over the shattered remains of his most recent victim, Grommuk continues his clear-cutting approach with the frozen oarsmen. While the first in his path nearly explodes under the weight of his backhanded swipe, the second of his intended targets is merely clipped in the shoulder. It spins back slightly for a moment, but rights itself soon after to begin lumbering forward anew.
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>
>
Seeing the opportunity to get past the zombies and take down their leader, Nyugusk throws himself onto Haldyr in a blur.
The zombie master avoids Nyugusk’s bite, but in doing so he opens himself up to two massive claw swipes, tearing into his upraised arm with one while the second rips into his ribs, Nyugusk hugs Haldyr close in order to hamper his movement, and starts to squeeze.
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Grommuk steps forward to finish the final walking corpse. He extends both arms to either side, the left slightly lower than the right, and swings towards the zombie with two fists. His left catches the thing under the armpit, while the right takes the frozen head clean off. It sails across the lower deck to shatter across the inner hull, while the stiff body is sent sprawling onto a nearby oarsman's bench. Grommuk grunts as his blood fervor begins subsiding. He gives his right fist a brief sniff and grunts louder.
Argor watches as the two brutes in front of him dispatch the last of the undead, and ceases the motions of his incantation. He then points to the set of stairs at the other end of this level with his staff, saying, "Th...that must b...be the w...way to the rest of the sh...ship. Let's end this quic...kly."
As they move forward, he slowly retrieves another scroll from his hip, his hands shaking as he does so.
Nyugusk will search Haldyr's body before continuing on, right behind Grommuck.
Besides his silver and gold mask, Haldyr has nothing but clothes.
I guess we should keep going? Her breath comes out in a frosty mist. Oh, Nyugusk, hold still. This will heal you, but I don't think it's pleasant.
She voices the command word on the wand and touches it to the alchemist. Sorry, I guessed wrong. But it's good that you weren't hurt this time, Grommuk.
Grommuk sounds off another grunt, though this one seems to hold a more appreciative tone. "More boat still. Skelg's friend not here?"
Seeing nothing but ruined ice-zombies and, presumably, the deceased-but-not-quite-deceased-but-deceased-again owner of the boat, Grommuk approaches the only other exit out of the room. He remains wary of further trouble ahead, still poised to bash something to bits even as he moves forward.
Hrimnagel hefts his two last magic stones and says in his small, thin voice, "Let me scout it out again." He goes through the exit looking for the next encounter.
Hrimnagel walks up the steps, and with considerable difficulty due to his height, climbs up the railing and shoves the trapdoor above him open. He's forced to forsake his stealthy ways for a moment as he scrambles up into the next chamber.
He climbs up the ladder to the deck of the ship. The soft glow of sunlight again penetrates into this ice cave, and several braziers burn near the walls. A beautiful, blonde woman stands next to a simple bed, facing him. Other furniture in the chamber suggests that this is her private quarters. The woman looks the shadow shrouded gnome over as though judging a draft animal, and asks, “Have you come to work the oars? I am in need of more rowers.”
"Umm. Yes. Let me go get them." Hrimnagel drops back through the trapdoor as quick as he can let go of the hatch leaving the trapdoor open.
When he returns to the team, he describes what he saw and takes a position behind Gromm and the new guy thinking to himself, Very dangerous. You go first.
Argor listens to the speaking shadow, then says, the optimism clear in his voice, between the stuttering, that is, "Sh...she didn't outr...right attack. P...perhaps she is w...willing to t...talk this out..."
Grommuk squeezes his way up through the trapdoor. When he sees the pretty lady he just stares blankly for a moment. "Who that?" he asks to anyone willing to answer.
"I am Natalya Yagevna, the widow of Haldyr Bjornsson. I am a winter witch of Irrisen and Jadwiga," the woman repies to Grommuk (as she's the only one there). She surveys Grommuk, and says, "You look like you will make a fine rower. How is it that you and your little friend have come to my ship?"
Most Jadwiga are proud and arrogant people who gleefully lord their higher position over anyone below them. The direct descendants of the current queen are of the highest social order, with the progeny of previous queens relegated to lesser positions. Those who have no lesser Jadwiga to look down upon take their frustrations out on the Ulfen peasants of that frozen land. Although technically part of the same, enormous family, Jadwiga often oppose one another.
Grommuk bristles at the thought of being made to do manual labor under the woman's direction. He was a Pathfinder, after all. He was a very important orc.
"Grommuk not rower. Walk through pretty wall cloth in Skelg-House. You witch?" Grommuk recalls the scarred witch doctors of his kind when he was still a youth. It seems like an eternity ago—indistinct, but still there if he thought hard enough. The lady didn't look like she bore any scars though. Winter witches must be different than orc witches. "Not like orc witch. Your ship cold. Why live here?"
"Skelg? My savior yet lives? Is he here?" Natalya asks hopefully. "I was to be sacrificed in my husband's funeral pyre on this ship before Skelg rescued me. But then, as I was sailing north someone activated the Beacon and it encased the ship in ice. I've been trapped here ever since. Do you have the Beacon?" The woman's eyes are narrow, and she doesn't seem entirely friendly.
Hearing the woman above is interested in talking this out, Argor forces past and makes his way up the stairs. He clenches his teeth and tries to steady his shaking body, while he sizes her up based on what she has said.
Once he has managed to make his way up to the next level, he bows and says, trying his best not to stutter due to the cold radiating from his core, "Lady Yagevna, it is an honor to m...meet one of your stature in this most unexp...pected of places. I apologize for my b...broken speech, but I am suffering the s...same affliction that Skelg suffers this very m...moment. The curse of the lant....tern. Though he has suffered f...far longer than I. We have come in an attempt to s...save his life, though now, t...two lives hang in the balance. Though my life likely m...means little to one of your stature, it appears that Skelg's life is a d...different matter. What is it you require of us to have these c...curses b...broken?"
Natalya frowns imperiously at the ugly, shivering wizard. "By "the lantern" I assume you mean the Beacon of the North. You are correct in assuming I care nothing for your life. If however you could convince Skelg to come away with me, and give me the Beacon, I will free both of you from the curse. I've gotten so lonely in this cold ship all alone, and that Skelg, well..." she trails off as she absentmindedly runs her fingers up the front of her red dress from just above her knees up to the tops of her thighs. "..He's quite a man," she finishes belatedly. It's clear her thoughts have already moved on from the ants in front of her to something more...titillating.
"So you want Skelg to come here, as opposed to you going to Skelg?" The deep gnome attempts to clarify from a shadow.
"Yes, I want him to be my man. To come away with me to Irrisen," she says, head whipping in the direction of Hrimnagel's voice. "What a delightfully sneaky little rat you are. I can think of many ways I might use you.." She smiles wickedly, as if delighted by her own thoughts.
"Sounds good." The deep gnome replies, "We'll go bring your message to Skelg." He heads for the trapdoor.
Um. If we bring Skelg to you, you won't need us to still row, will you? Cladissa asks, not liking the way this woman addresses them.
Argor steps back to the stair, saying, "We will send one of our n...number to deliver your terms to Skelg."
He then turns to Cladissa, "G...go back through the p...portal and r...relay Jadwiga Yagevna's t...terms. See if h...he is agreeable t...to them."
As Argor asks Cladissa, Hrimnagel starts down the trapdoor and waits for her.
"Skelg-friend come here. Where he go?" Grommuk looks around the room as if he expects the man to be hiding being the bed or something similarly ridiculous. "Why not lady leave here, go to Skelg? Absalom nicer than cold, cold boat. Little nicer. Not Puddles, though."