"The sooner we purge this place of evil, the better. Onward, heroes of Kassen."
Yarroth looks over his companions, old and new, and silently prays to the gods that they will be enough to suceed. Having walked through these trap-laden halls, Yarroth hopes that some of the tricks he has picked up to avoid or disarm the traps will come in handy.
"We already to move out? Can one of you magic-types create light? If I am at the front, please cast it on someting behind me. My elven sight will be up to the task of sorting shadow from reality!"
Drummer sings something to his silver mace, and it begins to glow softly, not quite as bright as a torch, but enough to see by.
"Um, light. Oh yes, I know an orison for that. Hold on a moment."
Tarric prays softly for a moment, his lips moving but you are unable to make out the words. He fingers the long loop of braid around his neck, then touches his shield, and it suddenly takes on a soft golden glow that illuminates the area around the group.
"Ok, I think that will work for a bit. I will be the rear defense as you suggested."
After giving the bones and your fallen comrades their final rest, you descend the stairs deeper into the crypt. At the bottom of the stairs is a circular chamber with three passageways leading from it. In the center is a small stone pedestal. The sound of dripping water can be heard coming from the eastern passageway, while the stench of rot emanates from the west.
The floor bears an inscription spiraling out from the pillar and written in Common. It reads: “To the south you might take your ease, to rest and reflect on Kassen’s deeds. To the east lies the wheel, to open the gate. To the west is the resting place of Kassen, hero of the Fangwood.”
"Yarroth, you're the scout. Which path looks most promising to you?"
"So, we have a place to rest, and there is a gate somewhere. I would guess that the gate is in the tomb, and we use the wheel to raise it?"
Yarroth examins the ways before him, checking the ground and walls for signs of recent movement.
"It looks like someone, or sommthing has travelled through the western passage in the last few days. I suggest we follow these tracks, perhaps it is the missing girl!"
"Aye. Lead on!"
Readying his heavy mace, Yarroth slowly travels down the western corridor, keeping his eyes peeled for traps or enemies.
The corridor opens up into a winding catacomb. The walls are skillfully carved with deep recesses where bodies might have once lain. All that remains now are cobwebs, dust, and the tattered remains of ancient clothing. The stench of rotting flesh is overpowering here, but the source is not evident.
The putrid, bloated corpse of a man in tattered clothing comes around a corner. You hear the sounds of more shuffling your way.
Yarroth moves forward and swings the heavy mace at the rotting corpse, wising he had kept his bow ready instead.
Once Drummer collects himself, he begins pounding out some good zombie-fighting music. +1 to hit and damage next round.
"AAAAAAAAAAA"
Like a maniac, Tarric rushes forward and joins Yarroth in attacking the zombie.
1d8+3[/dice]
Tarric and Yarroth pound the zombie, which bursts from the force of their blows. They are splattered with putrid flesh. Three more zombies are shambling toward the group.
"Are they supposed to explode like that?" Tarric spits goo out of his mouth.
Keeping his shield held high for both defense and to avoid any splatter, Anton wields his longsword, and attacks the nearest undead creature he sees.
Anton's blow smashes a zombie, knocking one of its arms clear off. It lurches forward to hit him with its remaining arm, but it is deflected harmlessly off the shield. Two more shamble around the corner. One attacks Tarric but he easily avoids the clumsy strike. The last manages to catch Yarroth off guard, slamming a rotted fist into his face.
Anton focuses on finishing off the zombie he partially dismembered.
"Disgusting filth!" Anton says, finding these slower targets easy to hit, but difficult to land lethal blows against, with them being rotting flesh and all.
"Fall back and attack from range. These things are contagious."
Drummer switches from drumming with his maces to stomping out a beat and readies his sling.
"My thoughts exactly...but how do we do it?" Tarric says as he swings at another zombie.
Tarric's foot slips in a patch of the gooey zombie slime now coating the floor, causing him to loose balance as he swings at the zombie.
Despite his uneven footing, Tarric's mace manages to connect with the zombie. Anton slices opens his opponent's abdomen, splashing himself with bile. The zombie collapses before him.
Yarroth cannot see a safe way to extract himself from the combat, so he swings his mace again.
Sling to hit
Sling damage
Drummer spins and slings a stone against one of the zombies. "I don't know. Crush their legs and step back?"
Yarroth and Drummer finish off the last zombie, which collapses motionless to the ground. Looking around you find a pack in the recess of the southeast corner. There is a door in the south wall.
Yarroth attempts to clean the filth off his armour as best he can. "You said these things carry disease? I think we better make a point to go to the church after we return and have ourselves checked out...unless Tarric here has the power to heal possible diseases??"
"Not that I am aware of. I might be able to tell if we are diseased though. But does it really matter at this moment?"
He thinks for a moment, his eyes scrunched up.
"I guess it won't hurt. Give me a moment."
"It looks like the crypts have been visited by someone besides the villagers. The cloths on these zombies is new, but not of the same make as the village. Who else could be here and why?
"Well the good news is, that I know that we are sick. The bad news is that we need treatment in a day or two or we are going to get really really worse."
Anton groans when he hears Tarric's proclamation. "Well then, I suppose we keep going for now, and find a priest or an experienced healer when we get back - we are going to make it back, I'm sure of that.
Anton puts his hand to his forehead, as if checking for a fever. "I'm not feeling too bad...yet.
"Yarroth, any idea who else would possibly want to venture into this forsaken place? If I find out they're responsible for raising these undead, I swear to Desna I'll know the reason why." he says, raising his sword menacingly.
"Let's investigate that pack over there, and continue onward through the door to the south"
Anton ruffles through the pack, looking for clues as to the identity of the zombies prior to their transformation.
Drummer ponders the items from the pack.
"Well, it's unlikely these gentlemen knowingly hired on to be turned into pestilent undead monsters, but perhaps we can find the fiend who killed them, and so many of the good people of Kassen town."
Then he looks over the band of heroes as he contemplates their next move.
"Yarroth, are you as badly hurt as you appear? If so, Tarric or I should look into helping you out."
"Anton, you're the one we'll be looking to for the heaviest fighting; I'd recommend you hang onto that potion."
Yarroth looks up at drummer and nods his head wearily. "Lucky shot by one of those foul beasts. If possible I could use some healing."
Drummer sings a calming song and rests his hand on Yarroth's shoulder. After a moment, a soft golden glow spreads from his hand.
"I should save some for the next fight. Tarric, can you help?"
"No, no...that is good. I am feeling much better now. Please save further healing for later..I am sure we will need it!"
"Very well. Are we ready to press on? The crypt can't go much farther."
A shallow reflecting pool divides this long chamber, running from one end to the other. The water looks cloudy and stagnant. What must have once been marvelous murals covering both walls are now scorched and ruined, the original subject lost in the destruction. The floor runs along the pool on both sides to another door. A lowered portcullis blocks the way just before the other door.
Anton sees the lowered portcullis barring the way, and starts looking for a lever or mechanism to open it, staying a cautious distance from the murky looking water.