When Grommuk breaks the surface with a spray of water and a gasp, Cladissa's wearied cackle becomes a laugh of relief. It renews her efforts to keep it up for Hrimnagel and Cyrill as they help haul up the other two, and when their heads appear above the surface, she leans against the cliffside, exhausted and coughing.
Can you pull us up, Doctor? she calls hoarsely to Cyrill, knowing that they still remain in a precarious position.
After the slow, but effective process to pull everyone up to the cliff, Cladissa somewhat sheepishly accepts the thanks of the old men. She smiles demurely, not revealing her sharpened teeth. Cole meows softly, and she reaches up and scratches underneath his chin.
She regards her companions. Argor was understandably limited in his ability to aid in the rescue efforts, but she watched him just to see how he responded to those who risked everything to save the drowning men. Dr. Cyrill's and Hrimnagel's efforts were vital to the rescue effort and together they saved the other two. But most impressive was Grommuk, who evidently dove all the way to the bottom and drew Yargos up from the depths. Yet his brutality in battle was terrifying.
Cladissa avoids looking at the savaged remains of the slain Puddle Dogs as she deflects whatever thanks she receives.
When the orc bellows and flings the corpse into the water, she stands agape for a moment, frozen in shock. She coughs again softly, then steps several paces away, standing closer to Cyrill and Argor.
Argor makes his way over to the cliff edge, having thoroughly examined the fallen. He arrives just in time to see Grommuk collapse on the ground, a sputtering Yargos at his side. "Ah, they are alive then. Excellent."
Argor stands over the bald man, and says, "I understand you found something interesting. Tell me about it."
The three men who aren't Yargos thank the Pathfinders a few more times, before glaring at their "friend" and running away. Yargos clasps his hands in front of his chest and says, "Oh thank you so much for rescuing me! You must be Pathfinders? Something terrible has happened! You've got to help me get the code book back! Nessian had his thugs take it from me before he chained me and my friends up and tossed us to his dogs."
The fat man wrings his hands worriedly. "If we don't do anything the Black Echelon will complete their mission and Absalom will fall!" Without any context, what he seems so worked up about is making little sense.
Hrimnagel knew he caught something when the rope tugged below the crashing waves. Hanging on to his waterskin like a buoy, he screams to Cyrill to pull the rope up. When the rope starts moving, Grommuk breaks the surface with the fat man. At the base of cliff, they first reach the newly shaped stone platform, which becomes a staging area for the climb to the top.
When everyone reaches the top, Hrimnagel sprawls on the top of the cliff, wet and tired. He lifts his head a bit to watch the orc take his frustration out on one of the thugs but then sets his head back to stare at the sky breathing heavy. Tragic memories of the loss of Konal and Maeva flash before his eyes and makes his fists clench. After recovering, he collects his longbow and approaches the cat lady, "Cladissa, thank you for the good fortune. We would not have succeeded without it." They chit chat for some awkwardly social bonding time that would make some cringe.
Then, he heads to Cyrill who pulled the rope. "You too Cyrill. Thanks for fishing us out of the drink." Cyrill politely replies, but there is no socially awkward bonding. Cyrill is too much for that.
Finally, Hrimnagel finds Grommuk. They have never been much for words, so why start now? They stare at each other sharing a moment. Hrimnagel nods and closes on their target to hear the last bit about Nessian and Black Echelon.
"Yargos, who is Nessian? And what is the Black Echelon?" the deep gnome asks in his small thin voice.
"Nessian alpha doggie? Not know Black Echelon. Why live in Puddles, greybeard? Bad place."
Grommuk looms over the mass of shadows that constitutes Hrimnagel's presence. He's still out of breath, but the outlet for his anger seems to have helped calm his tone at least. He doesn't quite follow all that the old man says, but he thinks he gets the gist of it. The orc is comfortable that his well formed questions will get to the bottom of this mystery.
Cladissa had twisted a lock of hair around her finger abashedly while Hrimnagel thanked her. Umm. Your idea with the buoy and weight was ... well, it worked! I was impressed. That was you, she replies.
At Yargos' urgent words, her eyes widens, but she remains silent while the others ask their questions.
"I'm sorry. Of course I should start at the beginning, I'm just a bit stressed out at the moment." Yargos says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "A little while ago I found an eight hundred year old military codebook. At the time it was being used by Taldor to help execute a secret invasion of the island. The book contains the codes they were using to signal the Black Echelon, a group of infiltrators who were to weaken strategic defense points and destroy Absalom’s warning system from within."
"Once their bloody mayhem was complete, the hidden saboteurs planned to signal the fleet, welcoming them to lay siege to a city now brought to its knees. Prearranged signal lights were prepared for each phase of the offensive. A red flashing light was the sign for Black Echelon to poison Absalom’s granary. A violet light with three pulses was the signal for a prearranged team to destroy the city’s bell towers, and so on. But when the mists of Desnus descended, the prearranged signal lights never appeared. Unbeknownst to the hidden strike teams, the leaders of the Black Echelon infiltration cell were discovered and assassinated by brave heroes of Absalom."
"The signal lanterns lay dark, and the rest of Black Echelon sat idle. Several hours later, the fleet’s hiding place was discovered. A quick counterattack by Absalom’s navy ambushed the would-be invasion force and Taldor’s armada was destroyed to the last mast. In the coming weeks, Absalom’s constabulary rooted out the remaining hidden members of Black Echelon and put every last one to the sword."
"When I acquired the book, I replicated one of the signals on a lark. I was horrified when members of the Black Echelon rose as undead horrors and began completing the tasks assigned to them so long ago! Further research revealed they had sworn an unbreakable magical oath to complete their mission, no matter the price. Even worse, should be they be allowed to finish their tasks, I believe the entire invasion fleet will rise from the bottom of the bay and overtake the whole city! They all were made the swear the binding oath."
"Of course, I couldn't allow such a thing to happen because of my carelessness, so I tried to alert the city and avert disaster. But before I could cancel the invasion and hurl the codebook into the sea to abort the Silent Tide once and for all, a young crime lord named Nessian intervened and stole the book from me. Now he's the only one with the lantern signal to abort the operation. We have to find Nessian and retrieve the book before it's too late!"
At the end of his worried tirade, Yargos turns to Grommuk, "I live in this shithole because I'm too poor to live anywhere else!" he almost shouts. Then he realizes who he's shouting at and immediately shrinks back, wringing his hands. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to shout. As I said, I'm quite stressed at the moment."
Really?!? Cladissa asks, incredulously. She checks herself, though, and chides herself inwardly. You're a Pathfinder. These kind of things happen all the time, right? Act like it's no big deal.
She coughs again, and laughs nervously. Well, that's very interesting! Cole mrrowrs along with her as he sits on her shoulder.
Then, under her breath, she whispers to Argor. What do we do?
Yargos looks a little worried, but then tenatively suggests, "We could go and talk to Grandmaster Torch. He's an information broker, quite notorious in the Puddles, but he might know where Nessian is."
Grommuk chuckles at the brief fire in Yargos' voice.
"Old Yargos younger than he look. Grandmaster Torch arms big or skinny? Grommuk asks hard sometimes." Catching his right fist with his left hand, the impact makes an audible thud. He doubts he'll have to beat the guy up—if he breaks information that probably leaves plenty of pieces for everyone else, too. Still, they might need to scare the guy. Grommuk is good at that too.
"Uhhh...I don't know? I've never met him before," Yargos answers.
Undead. Magical oaths. Invasion fleet. Much more interesting than a simple game of fetch.
"Where is this Torch fellow?" Argor asks bluntly.
"He's in the Siphons," Yargos says, "C'mon then. Time is of the essence." The old man begins walking off, assuming that the Pathfinders will follow him.
Shortly after they leave the area called Torsen’s Maw, everyone except Grommuk spots a red light flashing in a distinctive pattern from the top of a distant building, deep in the city. It normally wouldn't be visible, but it's near dusk and the sunlight is fading fast.
“Nessian!” shouts Yargos. “He’s signaling Black Echelon—the undead! Six flashes of red—I remember that signal… By the gods! That’s the granary! Nessian has sent those monsters to poison the granary! C’mon! I don’t know how, but we’ve got to stop them—we’re the only ones who know what’s happening.” Yargos breaks into a trot, running towards the granary. "The Black Echelon intends to lace the city’s reserve grain supply with a foul and forgotten poison called Gut Wither. In the event of a siege, Absalom would be left without its granary and the city could face the threat of mass starvation in the coming months," he huffs, while quickly breaking into a sweat.
The run is not far, taking only a few minutes. As the group approaches they find an eerie cold fog has suddenly descended on the adjoining streets and alley ways. When they arrive at the massive granary, they find the three guards posted to protect the food depot are already dead. Their bodies lie sprawled in puddles of their own blood, in front of the massive wooden doors of the granary. The doors have already been forced open. Yargos's eyes go wide at the sight of the corpses, and he leans over on his knees, huffing fantastically after the short run. He motions frantically towards the granary, too winded to speak.
Wow. This is a legendary story that will make an excellent chronicle. I can't believe I'm living it instead of reading it.
Hrimnagel carries his longbow and whispers to the group, "Let me go inside and see what's going." Without stopping, he continues inside the granary enveloped in the shadows.
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Cladissa hustles along with the group wordlessly, her golden eyes glittering in the waning light. She keeps glancing about, marveling at how well she can see even as dusk approaches.
At one point along their hurried way, she stops and pulls out her dagger. She twists around, tugs at her skirts, and plunges her dagger into the fabric, rending a convenient hole for her tail. That's better, she says to no one in particular, and hurries to catch up.
Once they reach the granary, her hand flies up to her mouth when she sees the dead guards. She pads lightly over to the fallen bodies, and inspects them to hopefully ascertain what might have killed them.
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Grommuk gives Hrimnagel a moment's time to check out the situation quietly before he allows his considerable bulk to plod its way into the granary.
Much as one might expect, silence is not Grommuk's strong suit. He violently forces the already-open doors further ajar, growling low like a wary dog as he steps over the blood soaked corpses of the slain who were once charged with guarding this place. His fists are clenched; his eyes sharp. He awaits any sign of what caused the carnage, and is eager to repay them in kind.
Argor eyes the lights in the distance carefully trying hoping to determine the nature of their source and hopefully gaining some insight on the resources available to their adversary.
As their guide informs them of the signals meaning, Argor has little time to respond with other than a frustrated sigh as everyone takes off at a sprint.
This is so ridiculous! Running through the slums like dogs chasing wagons!
By the time they arrive at the grain stores, Argor is as nearly out of breath as Yargos. He takes a moment to compose himself as the the shadow gnome and beast enter without concern. Argor, however, was not so foolish. He walked up slowly, scanning the area for any helpful details. Seeing Cladissa examine the bodies, he smirked.
"They are dead, my dear. Most likely by the hands of these mindless undead, which is likely what we face. I wouldn't bother wasting time with them. Let's follow the others, I'm sure Grommuk can tear a few zombies apart easy enough, but if it turns out our for is something...more...they will likely need our arcana."
Wow. This is a legendary story that will make an excellent chronicle. I can't believe I'm living it instead of reading it. Hrimnagel carries his longbow and whispers to the group, "Let me go inside and see what's going." Without stopping, he continues inside the granary enveloped in the shadows. The inside of the granary is totally dark, but that's no problem for the gnome's eyes. All he can see in the first room is another two sets of massive wooden doors. The right-hand side ones are cracked open, and he spots a faint, smeared, trail of blood on the floor leading from the guard's bodies outside towards the interior of the granary.
Cladissa pads lightly over to the fallen bodies, and inspects them to hopefully ascertain what might have killed them. It's quite obvious upon closer observation that the men were hacked to death with some kind of bladed weapon(s).
Grommuk gives Hrimnagel a moment's time to check out the situation quietly before he allows his considerable bulk to plod its way into the granary.
Inside, Hrimnagel continues forward to the second set of open doors. He peaks through and sees a room full of grain. The air in the chamber is full of whispy shifting mist. Ahead to his left there is another chamber full of grain, and straight across from him two tall skeletal figures in black robes and black leather armor stand silent and unmoving, gazing right past him. They do not appear to see him, but draw gleaming serrated sickles at the noises out front.
Much as one might expect, silence is not Grommuk's strong suit. He violently forces the already-open doors further ajar, growling low like a wary dog as he steps over the blood soaked corpses of the slain who were once charged with guarding this place. His fists are clenched; his eyes sharp. He awaits any sign of what caused the carnage, and is eager to repay them in kind.
By the time they arrive at the grain stores, Argor is as nearly out of breath as Yargos. He takes a moment to compose himself as the the shadow gnome and beast enter without concern. Argor, however, was not so foolish. He walked up slowly, scanning the area for any helpful details. Seeing Cladissa examine the bodies, he smirked. "They are dead, my dear. Most likely by the hands of these mindless undead, which is likely what we face. I wouldn't bother wasting time with them. Let's follow the others, I'm sure Grommuk can tear a few zombies apart easy enough, but if it turns out our for is something...more...they will likely need our arcana."
"Indeed," Cyrill agrees, while drawing a vial from his pack and preparing to drink it if necessary.
Further inside, the loud creaking of Grommuk forcing the door open more causes the undead to drop into a ready stance, preparing to fight.
_________________________
Initiative
Party 21
Them 17
Hrimnagel continues to ghost into the granary looking for poisoners and getting out of the way of the two skeletons and Grommuk.
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Argor's words buzz in her ears as she views the grisly wounds. Her stomach pitches at the sight of blood, and she briefly feels that she may lose her last meal. Then she remembers what her last meal was, and all the changes that happened in the last day come back to her. She shakes off her doubts and her eyes narrow. Bladed weapons. Maybe not so mindless, she responds, glancing up at the wizard.
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Argor shrugs, "Even a skeleton can use a sword, yet it does so with no skill or training the body possessed in life. Not to say they aren't dangerous foes, but not so much as their intelligent kin."
He then looks to the doorway and says, "Nevertheless, the perpetrators await us inside. Let's not be rude and keep them waiting."
Argor removes his hands from the folds of his black robes, and incants a spell, resulting in a brief shimmer to appear around him then fade from sight.
Before stepping inside, he looks directly into Cladissa's eyes and says, "I noted your apprehension earlier with the Puddle Dogs. Here, we will be in enclosed spaces with unloving foes. We haven't the luxury of not being certain of our actions here as we did in the open field," he places a hand on her shoulder, "steel your resolve, and hopefully we will make it out of here alive to deal with Nessian."
He then follows Grommuk into the granary.
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Cladissa stares after Argor as he moves inside, a quiet debate going on in her head. He was right, of course; she needed to act quickly and decisively in the upcoming battle, whatever they encountered. But a small part of her wanted to remind him that she had slid down the rope, and used her gifts to help those poor men while he remained up on the cliff. But she let him go while she stamps out the small voice, and bites back her reply.
She hadn't changed that much, after all.
Not yet.
Grommuk sniffs the air before him, taking in the delicious aroma of grains that fills the air. It is a welcome difference compared to the carnage that confronted them on the granary's doorsteps. Hrimnagel is not immediately evident, though only the right set of double doors remain ajar. Assuming his small friend travels in that direction, Grommuk elects to try the other doors. If he's big and loud and careless, at least the heat won't be drawn to the gnome as well. A few long strides atop the crack and crunch of stray grains and seeds deliver him to the double-doors to his left, and he lowers a shoulder into it to try and force the portal open. His right hand remains extended behind him however, clenched and ready to smash into bits anything that decides to take offense at his presence or passing.
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>
Hrimnagel continues to ghost into the granary looking for poisoners and getting out of the way of the two skeletons and Grommuk.
Argor's words buzz in her ears as she views the grisly wounds. Her stomach pitches at the sight of blood, and she briefly feels that she may lose her last meal. Then she remembers what her last meal was, and all the changes that happened in the last day come back to her. She shakes off her doubts and her eyes narrow. "Bladed weapons. Maybe not so mindless," she responds, glancing up at the wizard. She readies her crossbow and moves to the doors.
Argor shrugs, "Even a skeleton can use a sword, yet it does so with no skill or training the body possessed in life. Not to say they aren't dangerous foes, but not so much as their intelligent kin." He then looks to the doorway and says, "Nevertheless, the perpetrators await us inside. Let's not be rude and keep them waiting."
Argor removes his hands from the folds of his black robes, and incants a spell, resulting in a brief shimmer to appear around him then fade from sight. Before stepping inside, he looks directly into Cladissa's eyes and says, "I noted your apprehension earlier with the Puddle Dogs. Here, we will be in enclosed spaces with undead foes. We haven't the luxury of not being certain of our actions here as we did in the open field," he places a hand on her shoulder, "steel your resolve, and hopefully we will make it out of here alive to deal with Nessian."
Grommuk sniffs the air before him, taking in the delicious aroma of grains that fills the air. It is a welcome difference compared to the carnage that confronted them on the granary's doorsteps. Hrimnagel is not immediately evident, though only the right set of double doors remain ajar. Assuming his small friend travels in that direction, Grommuk elects to try the other doors. If he's big and loud and careless, at least the heat won't be drawn to the gnome as well. A few long strides atop the crack and crunch of stray grains and seeds deliver him to the double-doors to his left, and he lowers a shoulder into it to try and force the portal open. His right hand remains extended behind him however, clenched and ready to smash into bits anything that decides to take offense at his presence or passing.
The door swings open noisily to reveal another chamber full of grain. Argor follows Grommuk into the granary.
Cladissa stares after Argor as he moves inside, a quiet debate going on in her head. He was right, of course; she needed to act quickly and decisively in the upcoming battle, whatever they encountered. But a small part of her wanted to remind him that she had slid down the rope, and used her gifts to help those poor men while he remained up on the cliff. But she let him go while she stamps out the small voice, and bites back her reply. She hadn't changed that much, after all. Not yet.
Cyrill drinks his potion and shudders as his body warps and changes growing more bulky and muscular. He moves with Argor.
Hrimnagel watches as the undead spring into silent motion at the noise caused by Grommuk. The mist around them suddenly thickens and fills the space becoming nearly impenetrable. As the cold mist envelops the gnome, the undead walk right past him, coming within inches of him, and making absolutely no sound the whole time. In fact once they get close to him everything goes completely silent. He can barely make them out through the thick mist though two of them are within his reach. Hrimnagel's world has shrunk to a silent, misty bubble barley bigger than his arms can reach around him.
Grommuk sees a wall of mist enter the grain chamber, but he hears nothing.
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When Hrimnagel's world shrinks to a silent, misty bubble barely bigger than his arms can reach around him, he pulls out at sling bullet. After the undead pass by him and he thinks he has total concealment from them, he throws the bullet through the mist toward Grommuk. He's not trying to damage him, but hopefully the noise of the bullet will alert them.
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Cladissa steps lightly and cautiously into the granary after Argor and the enlarged Cyril. She gasps silently at his transformation, then has to stifle a sneeze from the dust-laden granary.
Something tickles her memory. Mindless undead, she murmurs softly. Then my hexes won't work. Cradling her crossbow in the crook of her elbow, she opens her pack and retrieves a flask of holy water.
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Argor steps inside behind the behemoth and assesses the situation. "Hmmm..." he mutters, then begins incanting another spell. A beam of light jumps from his finger tips and materializes into an orb just inside the next chamber.
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Something goes clattering across the ground just beyond where Grommuk has propped the door open. The warning intended in the message is beyond the dimwitted brute's ability to comprehend. Instead, he arrives to the conclusion that the Black Echelon are just inside the room and in need of a good smashing. Grommuk lunges forward with a guttural cry, fists raised overhead to smash into dust whatever monsters await beyond. Seeing instead the missile that Hrimnagel had cast across the room, the huge orc arrests his charge and stares confused at the object.
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When Hrimnagel's world shrinks to a silent, misty bubble barely bigger than his arms can reach around him, he steps away from the undead. As soon as he moves out of their reach, muffled misty sound returns to his ears. He can no longer see the skeletal creatures through the mist, so takes the risk that they can't see him either and draws an arrow from his quiver. He throws the projectile into the room where he can hear Grommuk thundering about. He's not trying to damage him, but hopefully the noise of the arrow will alert them.
Cladissa steps lightly and cautiously into the granary after Argor and the enlarged Cyril. She gasps silently at his transformation, then has to stifle a sneeze from the dust-laden granary. Something tickles her memory. "Mindless undead," she murmurs softly. Then my hexes won't work. Cradling her crossbow in the crook of her elbow, she opens her pack and retrieves a flask of holy water.
Something goes clattering across the ground just beyond where Grommuk has propped the door open. The warning intended in the message is beyond the dimwitted brute's ability to comprehend. Instead, he arrives to the conclusion that the Black Echelon are just inside the room and in need of a good smashing. Grommuk lunges forward with a guttural cry, fists raised overhead to smash into dust whatever monsters await beyond. Seeing instead the missile that Hrimnagel had cast across the room, the huge orc arrests his charge and stares confused at the object.
Argor steps inside behind the behemoth and assesses the situation. "Hmmm..." he mutters, then begins incanting another spell. A beam of light jumps from his finger tips and materializes into an orb just inside the next chamber.
Cyrill collapses on the ground and starts twitching in a full on seizure. A moment later blood begins streaming from his mouth, eyes, nose and ears. He begins to flatten out and melt like a rubber doll in a furnace.
A skeleton that Hrimnagel wasn't even aware of steps up right behind him right after he throws the arrow. Even the gnome's keen senses fail to notice to completely silent terror until its sickle is slicing through the air aimed at his head. The ancient serrated steel bites into the deep gnome's shoulder, leaving a painful but relatively superficial cut there. As the combat unfolds unbeknownst to the other agents due to its silent, hidden, nature the wall of thick mist advances five feet towards Argor, enveloping his orb of light.
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Hit
Still hit
Argor watches with curiosity as his orb of light is enveloped in a moving mist. He takes a step backward reflexively, and is then greeted with the quivering form of the good doctor melting on the ground. A look of fear is clear in his blackened eyes, and he calls out over his shoulder, "Grommuk, Hrimnagel! Get back here! Something's going wrong with the formula!"
He then reaches for the black scroll case at his hip and removes a piece of parchment. He then unrolls it and reads the incantation he had prepared on it, and a new shimmer appears and fades, this one between himself and the mist forming in the doorway. Whatever abomination was causing this cloud, he was not about to let it strike him if he could help it.
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Hrimnagel's instinctively grabs his shoulder where the skeleton struck him holding the blood. Didn't see him. Hope Grommuk got the message. He steps away from from skeleton and uses the mist to try to hide from it.
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Clarissa gasps as Cyrill dies messily and painfully. Oh, gods! Oh, oh.. she stammers in horror. Panic begins to seize her, and she looks around desperately. She pulls away from the remains of the doctor, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, still clutching the vial of holy water.
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Growling and roaring in a matter that could only be called anger incarnate, Grommuk flings an armful of soggy grains into the wall of mist before heeding Argor's plea. He turns and lopes back into the entrance of the granary, stricken with a particularly dumb look—even for Grommuk—when he beholds the oozing puddle that had once been the Doctor.
"Puddle Dogs in Puddles and puddles of Doctors. What happen to Doctor!?"
Then, noticing the lack of Hrimnagel or the miasma of shadows that cloak him, his look turns to one of concern. "Where gnome-friend?"
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Argor watches with curiosity as his orb of light is enveloped in a moving mist. He takes a step backward reflexively, and is then greeted with the quivering form of the good doctor melting on the ground. A look of fear is clear in his blackened eyes, and he calls out over his shoulder, "Grommuk, Hrimnagel! Get back here! Something's going wrong with the formula!"
He then reaches for the black scroll case at his hip and removes a piece of parchment. He then unrolls it and reads the incantation he had prepared on it, and a new shimmer appears and fades, this one between himself and the mist forming in the doorway. Whatever abomination was causing this cloud, he was not about to let it strike him if he could help it.
Hrimnagel's instinctively grabs his shoulder where the skeleton struck him holding the blood. Didn't see him. Hope Grommuk got the message. He steps away from from skeleton and uses the mist to try to hide from it. The undead being appears to be unable to see him again, it thrashes about in the mist with its sickle.
Clarissa gasps as Cyrill dies messily and painfully. Oh, gods! Oh, oh.. she stammers in horror. Panic begins to seize her, and she looks around desperately. She pulls away from the remains of the doctor, covering her mouth with the back of her hand, still clutching the vial of holy water.
Growling and roaring in a matter that could only be called anger incarnate, Grommuk flings an armful of soggy grains into the wall of mist before heeding Argor's plea. He turns and lopes back into the mist towards the entrance of the granary. As soon as he enters, he can see one of the skeletal figures looming right in front of him. Finally with a target for his rage, Grommuk temporarily forgets Argor's call, He lashes out through the mists with his great fists and an inarticulate roar. His meaty bludgeons crush bones as if they were insects, obliterating the greater part of the undead's ribcage and one of its arms. However, the blow makes no sound. In fact, Grommuk can't hear anything at all.
The wall of mist pushes forward, enveloping Argor and pushing Cladissa back into the corner she's standing in. She loses not only sight of Argor, but sound of him as well. She's completely alone with a silent wall of mist inches from her face. Inside the cloud, Argor comes face to face with one of the undead, and all sound around him is extinguished. He can see the hulking form of Grommuk on the other side of the door, struggling with the creature. Grommuk meanwhile finds himself face to face with two of the abberations, and sees a surprised looking Argor on the other side of the door at his right shoulder. The two armored skeletons lash out at him with their sickles. The one which Grommuk just wounded manages to drive its blade through armor and thick hide alike to send a spike of pain flashing across the orc's chest. Though they move quickly, the mist and complete silence of the affair make the Black Echelon agents appear to be moving in slow motion.
Hrimnagel finds the mist slowly receding around him, leaving him with a view of the now empty eastern side of the granary. He can hear Cladissa's whimpering and rapid breathing coming from the entryway.
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Hit
Grommuk, now fully incensed, finds his inability to let loose a battle cry nearly as infuriating as the injury inflicted upon him. Eyes wide with bloodlust, the orc seizes the skeleton's spinal column with his left hand just above its hips. At the same time, his right hand grabs hold of the undead creature's sternum before he rips both hands away with tremendous force. Vertebrae pop and break like a snapped length of rosaries as the mutant separates the creature's upper half from lower. The thing continues struggling against the brute's attack even as its legs and hip fall away, but is finally forced still when Grommuk, still gripping its chest in his right hand, slams it forward into the unopened door behind him. The back of what remains of its ribcage splinters into dozens of pieces, while skull and arms fall motionless to the floor.
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Argor looks around confusedly as the mist envelopes him. Then, things appear to move slower around him and the world goes silent. He raises his free hand in front of his face, trying to take in the effect, when the skeletal form of their foe materializes through the fog in front of him, slicing out at Grommuk.
He steps away from the abomination, and suddenly regains his hearing and regular speed. "Ah. These creatures have some sort of aura about them."
With the ability to speak again, he calls out, "One is just ahead of me in the mist. About 10 feet or so. Grommuk was in the process of crushing it I think..."
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