True to the god's powers, the dead shriek back from the damage inflicted upon them. However, just a single wave is far from overcoming the ranks that slowly drag themselves forward and from beneath... the very ground is being torn apart as ranks crawl from within the remains of the sewers.
Rumha, will you kindly make a Reflex save versus Dragged into Hell?
Do I... should I...? Kobayashi's thoughts were moving at a mile a minute. Should he save this stranger, or himself? If he saved himself, he could get back home! He could warn his country! He could... no. "A man who runs may live another day, but he will always regret leaving the ones who had to stay. Never leave a comrade behind." Chuko's words rang true. Even the Ninja of Shinzo had honor, and he would rather die with it than live without it.
Kobayashi plunges into the fray. He flexes his wrist and a dagger shoots from his sleeve into his grasp! With both dagger and Wakizashi in hand, Kobayashi lunges towards the fray in a flurry of shining steel.
Ewen's heart drops... this thing does not seem like it would be willing to talk. People are dieing all around him and he realizes there might be no easy way out of this.
Tears swelling up he cries out: "I guess you're not going to talk, eh? Well I got something that speaks louder than words!! Bastards!"
He pulls a vial and throws it at the beasts...
Initiative:
Ranged touch attack(bomb):
Damage(Fire) on target:
Splash damage 5' radius, Ref DC 14 1/2: 5
Varus pulls himself together.
The worst I've ever faced was a couple of werewolves once. But those creatures back there seemed weak enough. If there are a hoard of them though I will have no chance... The only hope right now is to stay with the others. They seem capable enough.
Varus follows the axeman, priest and the ninja, slightly behind and watching their rear in case of a surprise mob.
Stealth
As they come to the centre of town and Varus sees the burning hordes, he knows they don't have a chance. He sees another man not far off charge ceaselessly into them.
"What a crazy little..." he whispers.
At least someone knows how to die with honour. Taking inspiration from the warrior, Varus silently steps up and begins unloading arrow after arrow into the hordes around him.
Attack:
Damage:
So has anyone died yet?
For all the villagers senselessly slaughtered here. Die spawns of hell.
It seems that Rumha's luck finally runs out as the rank stench of sewer accompanies a hole opening up at his feet.
Bernd is right beside Kobayashi, charging to the fray, his greataxe swinging in great arcs into the hellish undead around the guillotine.
When Victor starts to go down, Bernd tries to help him if he can, even should endanger himself. If that was me I'd want someone to help me!
Victor shouts in exultation as he smashes his way through the mass of creatures. When they begin to swarm him, the others can only hear manic laughter, as the man tries to punch, kick and swing at the things covering him.
the man shouts in a crazed, evil-sounding voice as he is being overrun.
Great, I'm killing myself to save a madman... Bernd thinks as the large man starts screaming in some devilish tongue.
Carefully Cedric goes on, inspecting the opened cupboard to get an idea of what has gone missing. This at least looked like a sign that they wanted to flee, which was enough to make him a little optimistic. He kept searching though, still looking for signs of struggle.
Jethro stops and stares at the beast from the shadows, unable to even comprehend what manner of beast this is. He sticks to the shadows, in the hope that the beast and it's entourage pass him by.
Bit of Luck - STAND: Target rolls 2nd d20 on every d20 roll next round and takes the higher result.
Sudden Shift - IMMEDIATE (after enemy miss): Teleport 10' away but w/in enemy reach.
Channel Positive Energy - STAND: 1d6 Heal/DAM vs Will Save DC:12 for 1/2
Blood. All you see is blood Victor. Yours. Theirs. Everywhere. Your body slowly smashed to pieces as they pile more and more on top of you. However, you body refuses to die alone. Cursing in extraplanar tongues, limp straining to support their weight, you relentlessly tear apart as many of the damned fiends as you can. Soon, the ground and your body become so slicked with blood that you fall to the ground.
There, on the ground of Nalvallen you meet your end. A maw of needle sharp fangs sink into your jugular and end your bloodlust.
The total dead stands at twenty to one. Your god, wherever he is... must surely be smiling on you? No?
Yet nothing. No exultation. No uplifting. Your soul screams in agony as it instead ripped from your body and then... nothing.
Your corpse litters the cobblestone streets.
It is only a few days later that it is moved off to some other site...
The end has come for Victor Von Ulmen.
Make of that what you will my GM
Perfect, was waiting for everyone to answer as I wanted the deaths to correlate. I'll have you all dead by this evening.
Kobayashi
Honor. There was no honor on this night. While certainly you showed some, the hellspawn that tore you apart had none to spare. As Victor falls, succumbing to the combined mass of the fiends, you find yourself face to face with a much larger foe, silver axe swinging towards you.
The next thing you see is the world gone spinning.
Honorable death be damned.
Your head rolls into a gutter and your body shoved into a corner.
Your soul on the other hand is also violently ripped away.
The end, my friend.
Varus Endra
The view from the roof is surprisingly beautiful... if it wasn't for the flaming corpses, screams of the innocent and the general sense that the world has come to an end.
While you certainly managed to hold back the fiends and reach higher ground without being seen.
As you gaze out over Nalvallen and the countryside, columns of fire streak skywards.
Unable to help, unable to comprehend the disaster... you simply wait.
Exactly twelve minutes and thirty one seconds later a winged fiend slams you off your rooftop perch, ending your thoughts and life.
All that's left of you is a smashed up pile of gore on the cobblestone streets below.
And death doesn't care.
Bernd Koppelbach
The fiend pack at the center of town has really worked itself into a frenzy and slaying two humans is hardly enough to sate their eternal lust.
As you attempt to fight, to stay alive you manage to get near the guillotine.
Seizing your chance, you charge towards it, hoping to crush the abominable death machine.
Funnily enough, it has other plans for you. Bony skeletal hands break free from its structure and grab you.
While you manage to dislodge a few, it's not enough.
Drag, drop, shove, chop.
Another head bites the dust.
Ewen Quinn
Hell has indeed sprung up about you.
The conflagration that surrounds you, the fiends, and innocent victims is hot enough to scorch flesh from bone and sear the faces of anyone too close.
The fiends don't seem to mind all that much however.
You end comes at a price of course, there's only so much alchemical punishment one can take, but your burning body falls after a beleaguered onslaught.
Take it as you will however, but the you managed to take out a dozen! Some fiends, some citizens.
Unfortunately, every flame dies one day, and you find death a much colder place.
Cedric Montgomery
While the others bathe in the glory of battle, you involved yourself with a fine game of cat and mouse.
While searching for your family, of which there was no trace, it would seem that some fiend has instead begun hunting you.
While you manage to outrun for it for a while, the fiend is relentless and soon you find yourself trapped, back to a river out in the countryside.
You take a running leap to clear it and... nothing. The fiend manages to land some fiendish fire upon you as you jump and you splash into the frigid waters.
The fiend wastes no time in hoisting you down into the riverbed.
As your breath runs out... your last thoughts turn hazy... and finally, death takes you.
Your corpse is there still, buried waist deep in river mud, the upper half slowly worn away by the rush of water.
You're certainly not going to be a pretty sight.
Rumha
Oh cleric, you faithfully channel you god's will into the fiends, but you sense a waning, a feebleness in your power. Certainly, the force is working but you sense a disturbance.
In any case, the yawning chasm that opened up beneath you swiftly put an end to your religious questioning.
Down there, in the dark... you found yourself praying for deliverance...
Instead, you were served only supper.
Or more correctly, you were supper.
The fiends ripped your innards out and feasted on them, leaving you to decompose in the remains of a molten, fetid sewer pipe.
Where is your god now, faithful man?
Jethro
And then there is you, meddling mage. While certainly the fates of the others were no kind affair, yours is all the more tragic. You did not meet a swift end.
Your spells marked you as a man of knowledge and this so happens to be one quality you wish you hadn't shown.
The fiends tear your limbs off, but keep you alive.
A towering abomination delves into your mind, attempting to glimpse knowledge of... something.
His raving furor drives you insane.
The end finally comes for you two days later when your stump of a body is dumped into an acid vat.
Your last vision is of a leering monstrosity, mouth agape with teeth.
Your bones were simply tossed out a window.
========================================================================
And so ends your lives... tragic really.
I require only one last thing before we turn into undead. I need each of you to show me, based on your deaths, your last thoughts.
I will be uploading the undead racial stats for the Gravebound as well as Gravebound traits.
Thank you for your patience.
========================================================================
More! More! A better fight! A stronger foe! This is a laughable end! You have not even BEGUN to challenge me! You empowered me, broke me! Left me alone to seek death, both my own and that of my enemies! Weak of limb and unable to speak, to profess my happiness to any who would hear it! DAMN YOU. I CURSE YOU FROM WHATEVER BLACK PLACE WILL TAKE ME. I SHALL RETURN, AND YOU WILL WISH YOU HAD LET ME DIE ON THAT BATTLEFIELD, THE DAY YOU HERALDED THE BEGINNING OF
At last, an armed foe! Koba thinks, as the armored hulk comes into view. Then, a flash of silver. Then nothing. He couldn't feel his limbs. Couldn't move his legs. Only a searing pain in his neck and a nauseating blur remained.
Gods, I was... nothing to it. An... insect. It... wasn't fair... Damn... you... to...
His thoughts stopped. Only darkness, then pain. He could feel his very essence being stripped from him and warped. Into what? He couldn't even form an instinctual response. So... much... pain.
No, no, no, no, no, NO! I'm the one who cho..... -thunk-
If he jumps he dies, if he waits for the beast he dies... Varus hesitates...
out of arrows and lost my bow... damit. Probly wouldn't harm the massive creature anyway. I dropped my sword climbing... this rooftop is empty. No where to hide.
He turns to run but can barely move before the beast is on him. He feels pain for an instant.
gods have mercy
Despite the searing pain from his torn open belly, Rumha is thankful for a few things. He's thankful for the stink of the sewer since it masks the coppery smell of his own blood and entrails. And he's thankful for the darkness so he doesn't have to see them feasting on his flesh. Now if only something aside from his failing groans would cover up the sounds of their chewing...
The cleric drifts in and out consciousness as the end approaches and his mind wanders unmoored to the horrific reality of the sewer. He curses his luck at showing up in this stinking town on this of all nights. And then he recalls better days as a child, stealing figs from a neighbor's tree. But the sharp spike of pain brings him to the present though the blood-loss makes it dream-like. In the end, he finds himself reciting snatches of old poetry he loved...
...this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds me... unafraid.
...matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
...am... captain of...
This was good. No sign of his family but no sign of struggle either. Those creatures outside looked like mindless, ravening things and there surely would have been traces of resistance in the house if the family got caught. Instead there was nothing. Heirlooms were gone as was most food. Yet something was off. As if something shifted among the carcasses in dad's abattoir.
At each floor he inspected it was as if something was looking at him, following him from the shadows. Then, from the corner of his eye, Cedric saw the glare of some otherworldly eye and decided to split. His family was gone without a trace, hopefully save somewhere far away, and now all he had to do was get away himself and find them. As he rushed out of the house and down the street he heard an alien cackle behind him him but dared not to look back.
Instead he ran for what seemed like hours. When he reached the river he at first though he was trapped but then remembered the ghost stories he heard around the fire, about fiends that could not cross running water, and decided to try his luck and leap.
He was up in the air, about half way, when scorching flames hit him in the back. He crossed the river, almost, but he was burned badly. All he could do for a moment is hope the stories were true but all his hope was shattered when the fiend waded into the water to pick him up and drag him back. Bereft of all hope on survival Cedric slumped and passed, content in the thought that most of his family had gotten away.
Ewen screams as his burning body drops to the ground. A loud and piercing scream of pain and agony.
His last thoughts turn into regrets:
"Why. can't die now. so much pain. so much left to learn. should have visited my family more often. have to fight. must be something I can..."
It takes only moments for his mind to give in and the world to become a peaceful nothing.
Step #1: Change your type to Undead and modify as needed according to the rules of being an undead (Constitution score for example)
Step #2: Choose a single Trait from the list below.
Traits of the Dead
Organ Shredder
Your fingers have eroded into bony claws, capable of inflicting bloody wounds upon your foes.
Benefit: You gain two claw attacks that deal damage equivalent to your size. As well, you get a +1 bonus to confirm critical hits with all weapons as you learn where to strike foes.
Hunger for Flesh
You long for the taste of raw flesh and blood. While you are able to suppress these urges, your hunger can grant you terrible powers.
Benefit: Whenever you spend at least 1 full round devouring parts of a dead creature (except undead, ooze and constructs) you gain 1 temporary hit point for each HD the creature possessed. These temporary hit points last 1 round. This ability can only be used 1/day.
Hardened Cadaver
Your undead flesh is surprisingly tough and resilient.
Benefit: You gain a +1 natural armor bonus.
Unrepentant Dead
Your death has made you hateful of positive energies wielded by divine spellcasters and you have learned to mitigate its effects on yourself.
Benefit: You have channel resistance +1.
Naught but Bone
Your flesh has mostly rotted away leaving you with a bony skeletal structure.
Benefit: You weigh 50% less than normal; -1 Str, +1 Dex.
Arcane Corpse
Your dead body was steeply infused with lingering arcane energies and this has stayed on in undeath. However, this has dimmed your cognisance as your visions are filled with flashes of strange symbols.
Benefit: Spellcraft +1; -1 Wis, +1 Int.
Blackened and Burned
Your corpse was lit aflame and left to turn black with ash in a heap. In unlife, your body has kept some parts of this final pyre within it.
Benefit: Fire Resistance 1; 1/day you may set yourself on fire for 1 round/day. This functions as the Burning Skeleton’s Fiery Aura.
Drowned
Still alive, weights were strapped to your feet and you were sunk into the bottom of Montehill Pond. Risen once again, you no longer fear the deeps.
Benefit: Swim +1; 3/day you can cause a chilling downpour of water to appear over a single target creature within 30 ft. of you. If the target fails a Reflex save (caster level is equal to your class level), that creature takes 1 nonlethal damage. This also can be used to extinguish natural fires no larger than 5 ft. in size.
Acid-Etched
Your death came at the hands of Apocian alchemists testing their deadly acids on your body. Because of this, your undead fluids have a hint of acid within them.
Benefit: Acid Resistance 1; 1/day your fluids turn completely into acid. By spending a move action you can retch acidic bile onto a weapon you are wielding. If you hit an enemy in the same round with that weapon, the weapon deals an additional 1d6 points of acid damage. If not, the acid dissolves and becomes inert.
Frightful Visage
You died screaming and your face still bears signs of the monstrosities you succumbed. Ironically enough, others now scream at the sight of you.
Benefit: 1/day you may cast the spell cause fear (using your class level as a caster level) on any intelligent humanoid creature within 10 ft. of you who has seen your face.
Lingering Ghosts
You had some strong reason to come back and would have most likely risen as a ghost had the Gravebound not done it first. You still have some spectral qualities however.
Benefit: 1/day you can make any weapon you wield (natural or not) gain the ghost touch property for 1 round.
Shadowy Figure
The shadows seem to bend around you, trying in vain to merge with your body.
Benefit: +1 Stealth; 3/day you may designate an active light source you can see (like a lantern or a candle, but no bigger) and extinguish it.
Prince of Bats
Strangely enough, the site where you died has attracted a large number of bats over the years. Crawling your way out, you find that they now follow you.
Benefit: You begin play with a bat that is loyal to you. It knows the Come and Stay commands. If at any time your bat dies, you may return to your grave and spend 24 hours resting there. At the end of that time period, one more bat descends to follow you (it also will know Come and Stay).
Looter’s Knell
Before you died, you managed to make off with some riches that you found. Luckily, you were killed where you stood and the riches buried with you.
Benefit: You gain 500 gp in treasure. This is in the form of coins, gemstones, etc.
Whispers of the Dead
The souls of the deceased whisper in your ears as you slept the sleep of the dead.
Benefit: You may choose any Talent that you could normally take.
Forego the flavor if required.
Step #3: Change your alignment to a non-good alignment.
Step #4: Make all changes that would occur (Paladins become Anti-Paladins, Clerics with holy/protection domains should choose new ones)and you also level up to 2nd level.
Step #5: Update your aliases.
If you have any questions, you know where to post.
At first, Jethro was strong despite the terrible injuries that they gave him. Slowly, however, his mind became less and less stable until eventually, the madness swept in.
Gone was the logic and reason and in it's place, a gibbering wreck of insanity and random thought.
"The tapestry of darkness calls to me," Jethro thought, his tongue long since ripped from his mouth, "It whispers sweet dark things to me. It calls, IT CALLS!"
Even as he was lowered into the acid, Jethro fixated upon that dark entity he was certain he could feel, beckoning him forth into the darkness.
The sun shines dimly on Belisaire.
After the events that transpired on that night, the region never recovered. Knights from Middenford, Opadrine and and Belisaire troops left standing managed to repel the daemon invaders... but at the cost of the region.
Seeped in blood, gore and damned energies, the land refused to regrow healthy. Blighted forests, ruined towns and corpses everywhere forced the living to abandon this place.
Soon, the construction of the Hellwall began and now, two decades later, it is finished.
In time too.
As time passed, animals and beasts began to come back from the dead, as intelligent as they were in life.
Over time, more and more intelligent creatures would return.
And now, wherever you are, your eyes open.
========================================================================
Feel free to post your description of how you arise. As soon as we all have, we can begin seeing as to what happened, how much time has passed, and what is the state of the world.
All of a sudden, there was light. Harsh, hot sunlight entered the cold, dead pupils of Kobayashi's glazed eyes.
What... what is... what is this? I'm not dead? There's no pain? For the first time in twenty years, for no other reason than habit, he blinked.
No. No, there's a different pain. Gnawing, awful, terrible pain. It's somewhere inside of me... I don't know how or where. I'm just... incomplete.
The irony of that thought dawned on him as he gazed at his surroundings, and then the desiccated stump that he used to call a neck. It wasn't this that he felt though. H e knew that there was something more intrinsic to his being that had been torn from him. He had been violated on a metaphysical level. Hope and honor were taken from him. Happiness and humanity were no longer his companions. Rage was what remained. He tried to scream, but there were no lungs to push air through his rotted vocal chords. He wished that he could just clench his fists and hit something!
That's when he saw movement. He strained his jaw muscle, trying to raise his eyes a little higher off the ground for a better view. About twenty feet away from him, a body without a head lay, its broken hands balled up into tight fists.
Then began the arduous process. He couldn't move the whole body at first. Just a single foot or hand at a time. The next day, he began to panic when he couldn't move the body at all anymore. Was it a one-time thing? Am I doomed to be headless forever?" but as the midday sun began to travel across the sky, he saw the hand of the body move once more. Why now? Is it the sun? Is it the time of day? Is it the- He noticed what had changed. He was lying between two ruined buildings, the remnants of a clothesline stretched between them. At approximately 1:00PM, the light was such that the line's thin shadow touched both him and his body. Blessing or curse, there's no way in the hells that I'm going to pass this opportunity up!
Days went by. Months passed, and the untiring undead head somehow issued psychic orders to his former body, moving it inch by inch, day by day. After the third month, he could move an entire leg. After the fourth, he could get both arms to work in tandem for a full second.
On the twelfth day of the fifth month, a cold and worn finger touched the stump of his neck. He had done it! The body was touching him at last! Slowly but surely, he willed the body to return his head to its former place. His vertebrae touched his spinal column and a spark went off in his mind. He could FEEL AGAIN. The arms, the legs, they were connected to him at last! He let go of his head in his excitement. It fell off his shoulders and back onto the ground, rolling a few feet away.
By nightfall, he had regained his cranium and was far more careful this time, always holding it in place with at least one hand.
He began to walk for the first time in twenty years as well, proving to be no more difficult than it once was. It was like memory alone was allowing him to pilot his way around. Kobayashi soon found his pack not much farther away. It seemed as though few creatures had touched this place after the attack. He could understand why. Bones and bits of flesh still adorned the streets. Bugs did not even seem to fly in the air, despite the scent of decay. Scent of decay? So he could smell!
Koba goes methodically through his pack, finding the hook and line from his old fishing rod. Now this I could use, he thinks. Using the hook as a needle and the fishing line as thread, he begins to meticulously sew the flesh on his head to the flesh on his body . His head now firmly attached to his body, he arms himself. Knives? Check. Wakizashi? Check. Everything else? He looked in his pack to verify: Check.
Now to get my f***ing soul back.
The sewn-together creature pulls the hood of his cloak over his head and begins walking, the shadows around him leaning towards his figure as he goes.
Silence seems to be the only thing here. The once-bustling city has been deserted for who knows how long, its only residents long since having died or escaped. Though recently undead animals have begun to return to the area, even they cannot be heard or seen here, especially not in this dilapidated, empty alleyway. The only things here are a few broken wooden boards, likely the remnants of a fence, and a rusty iron morningstar, jammed hilt-first into the ground, like a sort of marker... a grave marker?
Silence. Not even the wind can be heard in this alleyway. But wait, what was that?
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The dirt of the alley floor shifts, knocking the morningstar to the ground. The ground begins to swell, pushing upward. As if something is being born out of the earth. As if life was returning to this forsaken, dead place.
A clawed, boney hand pierces up through the dirt. It flexes, unused to the feel of the cool air of the above world. Soon enough, another joins it, each flexing as if tasting air for the first time. They both slam down into the dirt, clawing and tearing at the topsoil. Dirt is splattered everywhere as they begin to dig down, furiously ripping at the earth. This is not birth. This is an unbirth. A return, but not a resurrection.
Finally, an armored head and torso are finally freed to the air. Grabbing into the ground again, the undead man pulls himself free. The Gravebound groans as he finally lifts himself to his impressive full height. Looking at his hands, the man who was once Victor von Ulmen is shocked to see the state of his body. "Τι είναι αυτό; Τι συνέβη;" the undead oracle asks, seeming not even to have control over its muscles yet, struggling to even move properly. Seeing the weapon he was using when he died laying on the ground, he lifts it, before hooking it on to his belt. He begins to shuffle out of the alleyway, growling. When he finally steps into the sun, he raises a hand to shield his eyes, and is hit with realization.
His final moments. His final thoughts. The fact that he is no longer among the living. A fire begins to burn in his chest, a hatred that has stewed for many years. "I... I return... a-and I shall have," he pauses, "my revenge..." He begins to shuffle away from his final resting place, appearing to regain more and more control over his now undead form as he moves. Victor von Ulmen lives again.
...matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
...am... captain of...
of... of my... "SOUL!" Rumha sits up with a lurch, smacking his head against the haphazard pile of stones above him which knocks him back to his supine position. How could I forget that verse?
With terrible clarity, he recalls the circumstances by which he was thinking of that poem... and it wasn't good. Eaten alive!
He glances down at his belly to see if it was a dream, recalling how it felt to be torn open. He is shocked to find that he can see in this lightless hole and utterly appalled by what he sees with this strange vision. There is a large ragged hole where his belly once was, only torn and dessicated skin remains stretched across the framework of some partially exposed ribs. His organs are gone save for what he assumes to be a dried up and partially torn kidney. He stares at the bumpy trail of white bone bisecting the withered skin at the base of where his innards once sat.
I'm staring at my spine... That can't... I'm staring at my f^$<ing spine!
The cold realization of his fate and state weighs on him heavier than the stones above - forming his tomb. He screams in the darkness and it echoes down what remains of the sewer system. After some time, he stops screaming as the anger subsides. In its place is knowledge. Knowledge that comes from he knows not where. Knowledge of himself, his kind, and so many other dark things. Perhaps in the sleep of death, something whispered secrets in his ears... well, the shriveled apricots that passed for his ears.
Rumha sits up carefully so as to not bump his head again. He experiences a different pain this time. His palm burns where he placed his hand on the rubble next to him. There is a smell of cooked flesh. The cleric pulls his shriveled hand away and still it burns. Stuck to his palm and searing like hellfire is a silver holy symbol. His holy symbol - discarded in his last moments of life. With a curse, he whips his hand. The symbol peels free and spins off into the darkness of the long abandoned and dried up sewer. Rumha stares at the black brand on his palm. It is a upside-down and instead of silver, it is dark. The cleric waves his hand to cool it and thinks on the nature of the gods. His god had two faces - light and dark. The light was a smiling deity of luck, travels, and illusions. The dark was a dour deity of ill fate, hard journeys, and deception. Appropriately, the two faces shared a symbol but were oriented differently.
In life, Rumha had served - in his own way - the light. In death, grafted permanently to his palm, was the symbol of the dark.
Seems I have a new patron... Feeling better, the cleric chuckles unpleasantly and pulls his ripped and cracking leather armor down to cover where his stomach should be. His armor is almost as shredded as the man beneath it. With a wave of his hand, a spell comes unbidden to his mind and reknits his armor - at least enough to cover his greyhound's belly.
He surveys his tomb briefly, white eyes glowing. The dust and decay are evident - he's been mouldering down here for quite some time. With a fond pat on the stones, the dessicated grotesque wraps the ragged remains of his burnoose about himself and begins to dig through the stones and earth at a feverish pace...
On the ruined surface, near the heart of Belisaire, a collapsed tunnel gives way with a roar and an exhalation of dust. From the rubble climbs a gaunt, nearly skeletal figure wrapped in the crusty gore-stained remains of a burnt burnoose over leather armor. He slaps the dust from his thin frame and spies something in the rubble. He kicks the dirt from the object and finds a backpack and a rusty mace.
He smiles at them like old friends, "Ah. So that's where I misplaced you."
Ewen gains consciousness again. He's lying flat on the ground, face down. With a grunt he rolls on his back and sits up.
"What just happened?"
No one answers, there is just eerie silence around him. He looks around and sees only destruction and decay, this must be what is left over of Nalvallen. Charred and blackened ruins of buildings are all around him, one a bit further away seems to have once been the townhall.
The attack, weird beasts everywhere... I attacked them with my explosive vials, but what happened then?
Slowly he starts to take in more details... charred ground all around him. Scattered pieces of equipment that look as if they have been left unattended for ages. A dagger sticks in the charred ground next to him, blackened and rusty.
This must be mine...
Ewen reaches for the dagger and sees his own hand, a dry, blackened hand that might have once been human, but now resembles a claw more than anything else. Startled he jumps to his feet and examines his injuries further.
This is the most severe burns I have ever seen! But it doesn't hurt... strange.
He proceeds to scratch his head. The sound of bone scraping on bone startles him once more. "Gah!!, he exclaims while jumping backwards. His body suddenly bursts into flames.
Horrified Ewen looks at his hands again that are now ablaze with an unearthly fire. "WAAAAAAAGH! Stopstopstopstop!" The fire vanishes as abprubtly as it started. Ok, something has gone wrong, something has gone terribly wrong. This is not what my hands are supposed to look like, and they certainly are not supposed to be on fire! Ok, calm down, there must be a logical explanation...
He looks to the sky, trying to roughly determine the time of the day, then goes through the pieces of equipment scattered around him, salvaging what is still usable. Everything that was in his possession is more or less in a state of decay with burn damage added on top. The plants that were attached to his backpack have all but wilted away, some are just meager strings of blackened ash. Luckily the quality of the backpack kept the contents relatively safe. Ewen opens it and retrieves his waterskin. He opens it and takes a big gulp. The stale water splashes on his chest and the ground at his feet.
WHAT IS GOING ON!!!
Ewen reaches for his throat, only to notice that there definitely is something missing, it's almost as if his throat was completely gone.
I need a mirror, I need to see what happened to me! But if my throat is burned away, why am I still walking? What is this nonsense? This is wrong. This is ALL WRONG! I need answers. Let's see if there is anything usable in these ruins and then off to find some people who might be able to tell me what is going on...
Ewen sets up his alchemy kit, glad that most of his dry ingredients survived and starts to prepare a few things that might help him. After about 90 minutes he is finished preparing everything he needs. He packs all his gear and gets ready to move.
"Hello? Is anybody around here? If you can hear me please answer, I could use some help!"
At hearing the Ewen's voice, Kobayashi immediately takes to the shadows. He moves cautiously into a place he can view the skeletal figure. He draws his blade, and calls out, "Name yourself! What the hell are you?"
The flying monstrosity that slammed him into the street picked him up in its claws and flew over the town back to the tower it had been perched on before spotting him. Dropping him on top of other corpses it had collected. Another of the beasts was there also. As if keeping watch over the bodies.
An assault on the town later collapsed the tower and the forgotten corpses were buried under several tons of tower rubble.
Many years later, one of the corpses, seemingly protected from being crushed by the strategic falling of two large slabs which had created a stone tent around him, opened it's eyes. Nothing. Complete darkness.
where am I? What is happening? I escaped from the beast? I don't remember hiding...
The thing hit me... Then I blacked out! Perhaps I'm still on the street. It must be night. No more fires around. Is it over?
Varus tries to rise but can do nothing past sitting up as the stone forbids him. He feels around, thinking a building collapsed over his head.
wow. Lucky. Praise Erastil...
Can't see a thing. Can I dig myself out?
He stops to listen for people outside. Nothing. "Hello!? Help me!! I'm stuck down here!" The dead cannot respond. He notices his hoarse voice. It sounded slow. Dead even. He felt his throat. It was all there. Then he realised he could hardly feel anything. Beginning to grow panicked he patted himself down, making sure everything was still attached. All in good order but still his senses were dull. He could make himself move but it didn't feel like he was moving at all.
Need to get out of here! Some strange magic must be affecting me. No! It was the beast! It must have poisoned me! I need to find a healer or physician quickly!
Varus crawled to one end of his hole and began digging himself out. Pulling away stones and beams. All the while panicking more and more. A sliver of something new crept into his consciousness. He had no time for being hungry and pushed it away. It took several hours. Or days. He wasn't sure. Finally seeing a point of light he knew he would be free soon. Another hour and Varus finally was able to crawl out of the tiny space onto the ground where realises he doesn't feel the need to stop and rest so stands up. The sun is rising.
I've been down there for a few days most likely.
He looks at his hands to inspect the damage done from digging himself out. His hands look old and rotting. Fungus has grown between his fingers and where is was scraped off his skin is cut or pale but no evidence of blood. He stands there shocked, unable to fathom what has happened role his hands. He checks the rest of his body. Grey skin. Mould. Rot.
What in all holiness has happened to me!?? I look like an old corpse! I'm sick! I've been poisoned! I need to find help quickly!
He looked around and found himself inside the town. What was left of it anyway. Wandering through it searching for any survivors like himself that might help him. Coming across the site of their last stand. He remembers his newfound allies. The building he retreated to had collapsed but he could still walk down the alley. There in the dust was his sword, backpack, bow and empty quiver he had abandoned to climb the building. Picking them up and equipping his gear again he turned to his backpack and inspected its contents.
Food first. So hungry! Ah! I have never been so hungry in my life!
Pulling out the food satchel and opening it produces nothing but dust. This makes no sense. As if the food had rotted and had twenty years to turn to dust. He throws it all away. Angrily he throws away the empty water pouch also. Finding it rotted away with dozens of holes. He pulls out the spare daggers. Rust. Drawing his sword. Also rusty as if 20 years of neglect had worn it. He slammed it back into its sheath and walked out of the alley with his pack in hand. Becoming angry and throwing it down the street. When he finally looked around properly everything looked like an old ruin. Not a day old battle sight. Everything was worn...
"Hello? Is anybody around here? If you can hear me please answer, I could use some help!"
Hearing another sound finally, he picks up his backpack and heads towards the sound.
At hearing the Ewen's voice, Kobayashi immediately takes to the shadows. He moves cautiously into a place he can view the skeletal figure. He draws his blade, and calls out, "Name yourself! What the hell are you?"
Ewen looks around and tries to pinpoint where the voice came from:
"My name is Ewen, I'm just an alchemist hailing from Middenford. Who are you? And do you have any idea what happened here? I had just arrived in town when I got caught up in a fight with... weird things. It's good to hear another voice though, I think I'm hurt and should find a healer."He notices corpses rising nearby.
"Gah! Undead! Necromancy! Watch out!"
He draws his dagger and waits for the corpses to attack him, after they don't seem to be hostile, he ponders for a moment and starts to check himself again.
"Actually... I think I might not be hurt as in hurt. Does that even make any sense?! Am I dead?!"
Victor continues to shamble through town, his eyes glaring holes in everything and anything. When he finally hears something in the dead quiet of the abandoned town, he heads towards it. His shambling gait takes him towards the center of the town, where he discovers two more Gravebound. He glares at the others, but does not move to draw his rusted weapon. "More? Good. My crusade will require soldiers..." the undead man mumbles, beginning to shuffle over to the others. He very obviously gives them a once-over, his red eyes scanning them from top to bottom as he moves towards them.
"Ah, it seems ya are in the same boat as me... And dead? Yep, we sure are," the man says as he approaches, pulling up on the helmet of his armor, exposing the void where his throat used to be. "See? I'll ne'er forget those final moments... but that don't bother me none. This form... it's perfect. I feel like I could fight fore'er... whate'er did this t' us, I don' know whether t' hate it or thank it." Victor clenches his fists. "Oh, how I've longed f'r battle again. Though i' only feels like a couple hours, from th' shape o' us, it must 'ave been months or years." Reaching up, the Gravebound removes his helmet entirely, a strange expression on his face - some kind of combination of a smirk and a frown. His face is gaunt and heavily decayed, and the gaping wound in his throat appears to have long since bled out. The man's short, slightly messy hair now hangs limp and clings to his scalp, while his once green eyes now burn a hateful red. "In life, I was called Victor," he states, though he doesn't seem terribly interested in hearing the others introduce themselves in return.
Varus heads towards the voices but upon seeing the dead rise from the ground he snaps.
Necromancy is doing this! That's hey I look sick! It's trying to change me! NO! I won't turn into those things!
Ignoring 20 years wear on everything, he blames necromancers for the situation and believes if he destroys the undead he will stop the magic and return to normal. In the back of his mind is the niggling thought that he was already dead but he ignores it.
He draws his rusted sword and runs at the corpse intending to take its head off along with any others that might rise.
Seeing no immediate danger, Kobayashi sheathes his wakizashi, noting the screeching sound that it makes as he places it in its saya. He glances at the steel, noting that in addition to its chips from battle that it is heavily rusted. I'll take care of that later, he thinks.
Despite having no weapon in his hands, Kobayashi is far from unarmed or unaware. He is ready at any moment to draw his daggers or... something else. He puzzles for a moment. A power, a strange power, seemed to be residing inside him. It was limited, but made him feel as though he could achieve speeds exceeding those that he had in life. Also... hiding. Hiding should be much easier now, but he didn't know why. The shadows? Their new bond with him? It seemed to be more than that. But these were all questions for later.
When Victor's monologue, Kobayashi does the same. "I remember you! Your armor, your voice! I followed you into battle, against those things. That's what got me killed. Sorry I couldn't do much for you. I was Kobayashi. I'm sure we are undead. Nothing else could take this kind of abuse and survive."
Kobayashi takes off his hood and pulls the collar of his cloak down, revealing his self-made stitches. His now waist-length hair, bleached almost white by the sun, falls across his back and shoulders.
"I awoke much earlier than the rest of you. Five months and twelve days. That's how long I have been conscious, but I have only been walking for the past hour. The fact that we have all become fully animate at the same time cannot be a coincidence. There is no doubt some foul force is at work here. I don't know about you, but I feel... incomplete. I remember my soul be torn from the very fiber of my being. I want it back."
Victor waves the man off. "No one coulda survived that onslaught, not even me. I don't blame ya f'r nothin'." He nods, mostly to himself, before shifting the grip on his helmet. "Incomplete," he says, seeming to ponder the word for a moment, "Yeah, ya could call this feeling in me chest 'incomplete.' Like a big ol' bit o' me is just poof, gone. But 'ere's this fire where it used t' be. Hot 'n' angry." The oracle's fist clenches tight again, his clawed fingers glinting dangerously. "I've a hell o' a grudge t' bare, and I don' think I'll be content until the debt has been paid in full..." His voice sort of just falls off, as he seems to ponder the feeling that has been welling inside him since his return to the land of the unliving.