"Oh, I have questions, too! Do you know who animated you? Was it your friend Orcish Bob? If he's up there, why are you down here?"
She's a little too fascinated by all the weirdness to be really frightened.
"I'm Larissa, by the way. I'm not a priestess or anything like that. I just . . . do things." As she says this, a breeze seems to blow her hair up into her face as what sounds like a chorus of angry voices at a distance can be heard, but not understood.
She covers her eyes with her hand and continues, seemingly to herself, "Ok, all right?" Looking back at Giraroj, "I have a gift and a burden. I can heal people, but spirits follow me - I don't know if they are spirits of people I have tried to help and failed or what, but they are there. They come and go."
Her hair settles back down and she brushes it back over her shoulder as the voices fade away. Some small relief is evident on her face.
"That's interesting.....a chorus of spirits. I think I like you."
he smiles.....
"No, Orcish Bob was mostly better at unanimating blokes, let's just say. I don't think he'd have the wherewithal to pull all of this off.
He was put up there a long time ago by bad people who gaffled him up for crimes that weren't even crimes, just to get him out of the way. His grandmother's lineage didn't help much either; these Ustalavi really don't take to orcs or their unfortunate halfbreeds all too well. I'd say I didn't blame them, but then......Wod, well you never done anything to any of these Ustalavis, right? And yet,....do they kinda seem to love you wherever you go? No?
Somebody kinda dug into my grave from underneath. I just remember a lot of giggling, and something noxious being poured into my mouth, and a little crawly hole that led to here........that's about all I remember about my birth. Nobody to slap the pap on his arse, no warm waiting teat, though I need not eat or breathe anymore, so those things were unnecessaries anyway. Just the juice that still hangs in my mouth. Making me thankful that my tastebuds don't work."
He performs a small this or that with one hand; his ring there on his bad finger is now a nimbus of light, and the crystal now sends a whirling pattern of disco lights about the room.
"So now, I believe I've provided tit. I await you lot's responding and equal measure of tat. What's your angle in all of this?"
he pulls out a little crystal on a golden chain, and starts it swinging left and right;
"... pretty..."
"Aaaah, Wod. Good old Woddy boy....." he mutters.
when Castiel enters, the plate mailed figures all step forward five feet or so;
"Well, you're not a vampire. HEE HEE!" says the gnome.
No prob's. I think it's a slow time o th year.
“Indeed I am not,” answers Castiel. “Order your thralls away, foul mannequin, put that stone down and come with us.”
"What have I done?" he says seemingly automatically.
then;
"what thralls? This is their house. Sheeesh! Rude boy....."
huzzah!!!
<Wod looks back and forth between Catiel and George, gripped by confusion.>
"Wod,.....buddy......what's wrong?" Giraroj stares at Wod with one big vulturine eye cocked wide....
“Do not play games dead thing. I have no quarrel with the Lady of Graves or her followers, but they would not suffer you to sit there. What have they become?”
"Of course! Tit-for-tat and all that!" Edwin agrees amicably enough. He taps Wod slightly on the shoulder, just a pat.
"Wow, all those colors, makes me slightly nauseous, how's your stomach Wod?" He asks, then continues as if nothing is amiss.
"Actually Giraroj, our 'angle' is nothing short of pure happenstance. We all gathered together for the sole purpose of burying a deceased acquaintance. Which we did, despite a few weak protests to the contrary. Then we met with the deceased's family in order to help straighten out the inevitable last-minute details, you know how it is,..." Edwin shrugs.
"And the next thing you know, we are dealing with juvenile delinquents who desecrate graves, and the resulting, if not altogether unexpected, rising of formerly resting inmates marching on the town! Quite exciting, actually. It should make a fabulous tale." He grins.
"I believe it is your turn now. So you say you have no knowledge of who 'awakened' you, or why they used George's body instead of your own? And might I ask you to elaborate on 'this is their house'?" Edwin asks, indicating the statue-still soldiers.
"Hell if I know, bub. I'm no necromauncer.
They were like that."
and his voice grows colder.
".....and.....they are infinitely less rude than yourself. Somebody should teach you some manners like your mother apparently didn't."
All within the cone are evil.
The most potent evil creature is "moderate."
"Of course! Tit-for-tat and all that!" Edwin agrees amicably enough. He taps Wod slightly on the shoulder, just a pat.
"Wow, all those colors, makes me slightly nauseous, how's your stomach Wod?" He asks, then continues as if nothing is amiss.
"Actually Giraroj, our 'angle' is nothing short of pure happenstance. We all gathered together for the sole purpose of burying a deceased acquaintance. Which we did, despite a few weak protests to the contrary. Then we met with the deceased's family in order to help straighten out the inevitable last-minute details, you know how it is,..." Edwin shrugs.
"And the next thing you know, we are dealing with juvenile delinquents who desecrate graves, and the resulting, if not altogether unexpected, rising of formerly resting inmates marching on the town! Quite exciting, actually. It should make a fabulous tale." He grins.
"I believe it is your turn now. So you say you have no knowledge of who 'awakened' you, or why they used George's body instead of your own? And might I ask you to elaborate on 'this is their house'?" Edwin asks, indicating the statue-still soldiers.
"They......die here; not live. It is their house. And I am Giraroj. Plain truth, man.
I think I like you better than that one....."
he points to Castiel.
"You could be useful. He's altogether too scroddily conceived. Veritable canchre on the very knob of the world....."
“Oh, manners shall be taught mannequin, the question is, will you be a willing pupil?”
Castiel raises his sword in salute, then settles into a defensives stance.
"HHHHHHHEEEEEEEHEEEHEEEHEEEHEE! Is that the way you solve everything? With a big sword and brawny muscles?!!? You kill me!
HAA HAA HAA! Kill me! Get it?!?!"
The four in plate all raise their greatswords in unison, placing their blades in a halfswording hold.
“More often than not it works.”
"Heh heh......not from my stadpoint.....guile rules all. Two bit thugs such as yourself dance to music they rarely comprehend."
Edwin facepalms himself.
"Really? Wherever your other talents may lie, you should really leave the puns to the professionals." He says, not unkindly.
"And I'll take that as a compliment, I think. Although surely you didn't expect to give good Castiel here such a straight line and NOT expect him to take you up on it? Did you?" He asks, stepping slightly back.
"And I do beg your pardon! I thought we were having a splendid conversation. MAnners are of course important to any social occasion, but I gathered that this was a more, casual, meeting of the minds. And as such called for a more straightforward approach. MY apologies for any unintentional insults good sir." He continues, looking about at his companions, trying to judge their readiness. He spreads his hands.
"So good Giraroj. Shall we continue our interesting discussion? Or are we arrived at an impasse? Which can only be concluded by seeing which is truly stronger? Living will and sinew? or Reanimated corpse-flesh?" He asks with a half-smile.
"Pray, make your choice wisely. Or your last pun may be prophetic."
"I f+@$ing don't like you any more.
Rovagug, but I hate facepalm."
Everybody can take two rounds worth of buffing or whatever, then it's initiative......
“My faith is my armour, spawn of darkness. Your insults bounce off my like rain on solid stone.”
"......I've seen....the afterlife. And there is nothing there.....nothing. All there is, is here in this world. So if you're after eternity, you better wise up and find it here.
Wod, why are you hanging around with these nimnulls? I know, you're not too bright, so I forgive ye.....but come to sense, Wod...."
*rolling init tomorrow*
“Oh, manners shall be taught mannequin, the question is, will you be a willing pupil?”
Castiel raises his sword in salute, then settles into a defensives stance.
"Why George and Castiel want to fight?"
<Wod looks upset.>
The four in plate all raise their greatswords in unison, placing their blades in a halfswording hold.
"George? Wod not like ghost men. Maybe we drink beer instead. Leave ghost men here."
<Wod smiles, unwilling to admit to himself that this is going south fast. Looks at Castiel.>
"George teach Wod drink beer. One time Wod and George drunk and fall asleep and bad men take everything. Wod and George wake up naked in farmer's field."
Everybody can take two rounds worth of buffing or whatever, then it's initiative......
Rholf casts Shield of Faith on Larissa, then moves to N-13 and casts Magic Weapon on his mace.
N13....
map updated
"Good. More religious bullyboys spoiling for an unnecessary battle royale. Oh, I so tire of your hypocrisy...."
says Giraroj, as Rholf enters the room...
The four in plate all raise their greatswords in unison, placing their blades in a halfswording hold.
"George? Wod not like ghost men. Maybe we drink beer instead. Leave ghost men here."
<Wod smiles, unwilling to admit to himself that this is going south fast. Looks at Castiel.>
"George teach Wod drink beer. One time Wod and George drunk and fall asleep and bad men take everything. Wod and George wake up naked in farmer's field."
"They're not ghosts, Wod. They're really nice guys once you get to know them......we can down some brew, liek the old days still, Wod. You and me."
“Do not listen to him Wod,” Castiel warns sternly. “The person you once knew as George is gone, he has been replaced by this foul undead creature. He wants to destroy us, or turn us into zombies.”
"Good. More religious bullyboys spoiling for an unnecessary battle royale. Oh, I so tire of your hypocrisy...."
says Giraroj, as Rholf enters the room...
"You know me not, abomination. It is time to silence your evil tongue, as it should be."
Rholf stands next to Castiel, raises his mace to a guard position, and whispers a prayer of thanksgiving to the Everlight for placing him here where he can fight in her name.
Larissa begins casting when Rholf does and is quite surprised - and grateful - when he shares his goddess's blessing with her. In a split second decision, she reciprocates, touching his shoulder to transfer a gift in return.
She remains in her current location, watching the proceedings through the open door .
Edwin Steps back, and uncoils his whip, with a murmured incantation, the blade of the whip begins to glow and shine like polished silver. When he moves it, it leaves behind an almost hypnotic gleam on the air.
He stands back, more than happy to let the burlier boys do what they do best. but stands ready to try and counter any of 'The Mesmerists' possible magic use.
"Wod old bean, I hate to tell you this. But Castiel is right. THAT is NOT 'George'. It is a creature wearing poor George like a suit. Would the George that you knew ever hang around with undead warriors?" He asks, trying to distract the half-orc from Giraroj's influence.
"Wod, it's me. Good old George,.......don't listen to them.
They thought I was dead. They're wrong now, just like they were wrong before...."
"Wod, it's me. Good old George,.......don't listen to them.
They thought I was dead. They're wrong now, just like they were wrong before...."
*SHAAAANG*
"Wod old bean, I hate to tell you this. But Castiel is right. THAT is NOT 'George'. It is a creature wearing poor George like a suit. Would the George that you knew ever hang around with undead warriors?" He asks, trying to distract the half-orc from Giraroj's influence.
<Wod takes a defensive stance as if anyone might attack him, from any side. He eyes both his friends and George's warriors suspiciously.>
George looks at Wod; something wet, perhaps a tear runs from his vulturine left eye.
"Wod,.....listen to your heart....it will be your guide....."
George looks at Wod; something wet, perhaps a tear runs from his vulturine left eye.
"Wod,.....listen to your heart....it will be your guide....."
<Wod walks toward George to get a better look, keeping an eye on teh guardians.>
A dancing tea service pirouettes around Wod's feet, the tea pot sounding eerily like Angela Lansbury; the serving tray strangely enough, like Nathan Lane.
"Listen to your heart, Wod,"
they sing,
chorus
"It always knows, Wod,"
"It might be odd, Wod,
but the heart, it always knows,....."
not really....
<Wod walks toward George to get a better look, keeping an eye on teh guardians.>
...He can try...
Init.
George acts on 16, the 4 armored ones on 11.
Nigel can whip up his Eidolon if he wishes.....
one party member roll the bones;
everybody adjust off of that according to their dex;......
LET THE BODIES HIT THE FLOOR!!!