As there are no more questions for him, Yuln bids you good night and good luck. The rest of the evening and night passes with relative ease.. though your sleep is fitful and filled with vivid dreams that fade from thought when you waken.
The pre-dawn sends the first rays of light o'er the horizon as you assemble in the town square in preparation. The large statue of a beautiful woman called “the Lady,” by the locals looks over you as your thoughts turn away from hearth and towards the road ahead... and what lurks in the shadows beside that road...
Cearb stretches from his berth on the floor, arms outstretched, a knife in each hand. "Sleeping indoors is so unnatural...but I appreciate the warmth on these evenings. Only going to get colder out there with a white witch on our side of the river."
Olaf shrugs.
"The cold does not bother me. It builds character. Only the strong survive o'er long in this sort of clime."
Hilde is ready to go first thing in the morning. She takes a long stare at The Lady, to try to burn the features into her memory.
He is strictly knives (d3 damage) but d8s with a sneak attack. He can throw the knives but without the opportunity to sneak attack with it, the damage will be minimal.
Waking early in the morning at his cousin's, Kelgar rubs his eyes with his meaty hands and yawns. Finally willing to brave the chill air in Argus' small home, he pivots and rubs both hands together for warmth before sliding both of his feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers.
"Well, 'this the mornin' for our job n' all that", he mumbles to himself before taking a knee as his beard dusts the home's floor.
"Blessed Torag, protect me n' th others as we rescue this lady. And wise Grundinnar, please see to it that we dun git into too many squabbles lest our foes take advantage o' us."
Continuing for a few more moments, he rises and begins a thorough process of inspecting every single piece of his gear. Finally convinced he is prepared (at least given his petty remaining funds), Kelgar meanders his way to the Stoat for some hot tea to take the bite off the morning chill and waits for the others to depart.
Cearb spends the early morning, sharpening a few of his knives selected at random, while seated on "the Lady's" feet, kicking his feet into the air with each twitch of the sharpening stone. He wonders out loud, "They be planning to feed us 'for we go, ain't they, all that talk of grinding up bone meal last night, got me to hunkering for some fresh bread, better with butter of course, a side a rashers, roasted nuts, something warm before we freeze our own off."
The Halfhand spends his morning looking over his spell notes with a cup of something hot in hand. He briefly considers finalizing his research on the mist spell he had recently acquired, but decides to leave it for another time.
Cantrips - Spark, Detect Magic, Read Magic
1st - Shadow Spray (Colour spray)x2, Shield, Silent Image
After feeding himself and Ormr, he'll head out to the square.
Marching Order
Bastagar's long curled fingers and crooked nose emerge from under his barrow, as he springs shivering from his hiding place and bounds spryly into the square. He sets his rucksack down at the feet of the statue, setting himself down beside Caerb. "The humans do not share their bread nor butter, and quick you must be to catch their chickens."
Before they set out, Bastagar will leap to his feat, climbing deftly up the face and cupping her face in his gnarled hands, kissing her on each cheek. "Once for luck..." he says, chuckling gleefully, ".. and twice for mirth!" He perches, bow-legged, atop her shoulder and grins down at his companions. "This one must fill his belly. 'tis a long road to walk on an empty stomach."
The old dwarf kept his arms in constant motion, using his clearly visible breath to blow into his hands before rubbing them together as well.
As the two gnomes made the rendezvous, only the best trained observer could make out the dwarf shaking his head a little, while reminding himself of the hopefully limited scope of the day's activity.
"... just a quick stroll to save a lass. Won't be long til we're back and by th'fire. A quick stroll..."
As Kelgar waits in the brisk morning air beside the statue, his eyes follow the Halfhald's to the statue of the woman.
His morning voice croaking with disuse, Kelgar clears his throat before asking a question of the Halfhand about the statue, "hr-HRMM-hrmm... friend o' yers?"
Halfhand doesn't note any specific similarity to religion or nobility... though the sculptor does have a distinctive style.
Food and water is easily taken at the Stoat, there being a small crowd of farmers and workers sating their hungers before the sun rises high. Thus sated and with the yellow orb starting it's ascent across the sky, you are ready to set out. Yuln comes to the doorway of the Stoat to give you a wordless witness to your departure... but few others of the townsfolk pay much heed... many are likely thankful that it is outlanders mostly who will be delving within the Grungir.
The first part of your journey is easily borne with little that portends anything is out of the ordinary. You pass over the ford and see the Grungir looming up in the distance... passive, yet foreboding all the same. Following the directions of Yuln you make your way along the bank of the river a ways and find yourself drawing closer to the site in question as the sun nears it's zenith in the sky. Your path then cuts Northwards and towards the Grungir.
Near the forest, the temperature grows noticeably colder. The road ahead is littered with debris and the corpses of slain humans and horses. A carriage stands in the roadway, its team of horses missing or cut free, while another overturned carriage lies sprawled and broken next to the tree line. To the south, more bodies have fallen around what appears to be a statue of ice. A snowy trail leads deeper into the forest.
The wizard shakes his head at the dwarf's question. "No." he says simply. "Nobody of note. For a moment I thought I recognized it... But it was just a trick of the light."
Ormr seems to be quite excited by its master's new companions, much to the Halfhand's chagrin, frequently glancing over at the tiny gnomes with eager eyes.
---
The Halfhand scratches his beard wordlessly as the group arrive at the site. With a few whispered words, magic invisibly suffuses his eyes, giving his pupils a ring of red as his sight is enhanced.
He takes the weasel from his shoulder, lowering it to the ground. "Look around, Ormr. See if any still draw breath." The Halfhand watches silently as the weasel zips ahead, stopping every now and again to look around.
With a silent and somber nod to the others investigating the overturned carriage, Kelgar steps away from the others on the main road, kneeling in the snow to search for signs of the aggressors.
As he begins to push aside the snow and examine snapped twigs, the old dwarf continues muttering to himself.
"Ach, m'knees. Why did th'carriage hafta be so far?"
Dranngvit - show this old dwarf th'signs fer we have debts t'mind that need yer guidance..."
Kelgar sniffs the air like a trained hound, nearly wandering away while distracted by the snowy trail. He keeps his eyes trained on the shadows for anything in the trees that may be hostile.
Hilde's gaze focuses on the statue of ice.
Her thoughts:
Picking her way through the tangle of bodies, she counts dead humans as she passes, trying to divide them into groups of guards and bandits.
Her thoughts:
Hilde picks up the first few axes she sees on her way across the battlefield.
Cautiously approaching the statue, she exams it closely, without touching it, to see whether it is true statue, a frozen corpse, or something altogether different.
"The light has many tricks, it does." the gnome says with a knowing nod, as he begins his way down the trail, rucksack flung over his shoulder, grumbling as he contents himself to the last of the stale bread in his rucksack.
The gnome takes the journey to Grungir in a merry mood, practically skipping down the road as he whistles to himself. His mood seems to brighten still as they reach the forests edge, though he is disconcerted by the forests chill. His mood does not dampen as they approach the wagon, and he examines the corpses with a morbid glee. "Many fallen, yet no crows to peck their eyes out. A strange sight Bastagar sees." he says, pacing about the site. He approaches the statue and raps three times on it's surface with his shillelagh, peering at it curiously.
-
-
Olaf regards the scene of carnage grimly, and draws his axe.
"See what you can find, by all means. I will keep guard. I dare say, though, that we will ultimately simply have to follow that all-to-convenient snowy trail..."
The Halfhand folds his arms, looking over the others like a foreman as they busy themselves. He sweeps his view over the entire site, making note of any magic, on both his allies and the environment. He makes sure to look over the statue.
"In my experience," the wizard says, turning towards Olaf, "It is often a wiser course to walk beside the trail than on it."
The Halfhand whispers another spell. A look of displeasure flashes across his face as he speaks, and he halts mid-chant. "Damn these leathers..." He undoes his coat at the front, opening it to adjust the straps on the leather cuirass beneath.
Satisfied, he fixes his overcoat once more and continues his whispered verse, refreshing his Detect Magic spell.
Ormr does not pick up on any immediate threats or danger - so you are emboldened to step a little closer. As you do you're able to pick out more details from the scene. One carriage is rent and broken, smashed apart and lying on it's side. Amidst the wreckage you see the bodies of two women, what look to be courtiers or handmaidens as opposed to warriors.
Hilde does not see any weaponry left behind on the field. Her count accounts for all of the guards of the carriage bar two - and she does not spot any dead bandits left on the field. The bodies of the guards are pierced with tiny needles and shards of ice.
The second carriage is expensive and decorated in a Varisian air... but the grandeur has faded as it is studded with the remains of many arrows. The wheels are broken on one side so you doubt that you would be able to make it mobile once more without a lot of work. Curiously a spear has been wedged between the handles of the carriage doors to hold them closed. As you pick through the debris... you hear muffled thumping sounds coming from within it.
The ice statue grows more grim as you approach. The figure is a proud Ulfen man frozen solid within the embrace of ice. A look of mixed horror and fear upon his face. After he had frozen, it appears that something had been chipping away at the ice to carve into his body. His right arm has been broken off of the main block, lying beside the ice statue in a separate block of ice. Where most of the bodies on the ground have been stripped of valuables - he still bears his chainmail and his dismembered arm grips tightly upon a sword within the cold encasement.
The statue does not respond to Bastagar's percussive inquiry.
At the edge of the massacre site, an obvious trail leads between a copse of trees and over a snowy plain toward the Grungir. The trail shows booted feet and the hooves of horses that are stark and true in the heavy snow.
At the ford, Cearb hesitates to cross river. He paces the shore while everyone starts across the river. With the others nearly reaching the far shore, Cearb finally makes the decision to enter the river. He does it with no remainder of hesitation, running with full effort to cross as quickly as possible. Upon reaching the far shore, Cearb continues on up the bank and further down the road, having crossed, he gives no further pause.
Cearb walks a quick circuit of the site. He pauses at a few of the fallen, plucking ice needles from a corpse and watching them dissolve at his touch. He gives the frozen statue a wide berth, offering only, "Ice Witch work."
He makes his way to the carriages, looking at the damage, trying to estimate what might have struck them with such force. While clambering on the tipped carridge he comes upon a spear wedged into the door handle. While testing how tightly the doors are held, he hears noise within. One hand still on the spear, he draws a knife with another. "Ho, we are not here alone, this spear separates me from friend or foe, my knives will decide, gather round and join the fun, the frozen man is not going to go any where, not without his arm, but lend yours here, pull the spear and I will see see what what I might spill to spread on my bread tonight."
The carriages show signs of axework and blunt force trauma.
The spear is well lodged, and Cearb wagers that it wouldn't be able to be budged from within. It would take a disturbance from without to release the door.
"This carriage is from the southlands. You'll find no lady in here, oh no no..." Bastagar says, pacing around the wagon, scaling its sides, and scampering atop its surface, tapping his wooden walking-stick and searching for an opening to peek inside. Suddenly, he tears his gaze from his task and fixes it on Caerb, skulking towards him and gingerly placing a hand on his shoulder, gnarled fingers curling around his arm. "What does the stranger think lies within?" he mutters over his kinsman's shoulder, watching the spear with a vacant look, but making no move to help. "It stirs, yes, whatever it is. Does the stranger mean to borrow its butter?"
Olaf cannot suppress an involuntary shudder when he sees what has been done to the Ulfen warrior.
"That is no way for a warrior to die..."
Moving on, he quickly focuses his attention on the shaking carriage.
"I wonder, could it be the remaining missing guard?"
He then turns to the others.
"Would you like me to pull the spear?"
Kelgar allows his gaze to continue beyond the snowy plain for several moments, counting the distinct tracks he can identify, before his attention is brought back to the grim scene behind him.
Rising from his knee, the dwarf brushes some snow from the tip of his beard while blowing into his hands once again.
He shakes his head as the gnomes swarm around the carriage like ants seeking entry into a picnic basket.
"Ye daft gnomes, what're ye up to now?" he wonders, shaking his head, and being sure to meet Olaf's eyes as he approaches the carriages.
Upon hearing the muffled sounds within, he waves the gnomes away, like a huntman dismissing a pair of trained dogs.
"Give it some room, lads. Let's see what answers when we knock?"
Kelgar leans forward to the carriage door and raps against it with one of his mailed fists.
"Helloooo? Who's in there? State yer name n' such."
The dwarf tries to appear casual, as if he were knocking on the door of a dear aunt and inviting her to supper.
There is no easy way to look within the carriage, given the roads that it usually travels it was built with little in the way of windows or viewports and it is dark within.
Kelgar's inquiry is not met with words, but there is an upswing in the intensity of the muffled thumping from within the carriage.
Olaf shrugs, but re-tightens his grip on his axe, just in case.
"Perhaps whomever is in there has been gagged, so they cannot talk? Kelgar, do you want to open it?"
"The White Witches left no man here alive, but one guard ran away, how another guard hide himself in here with the spear on the outside, neat trick but not fool me, more White Witch work, door does not feel cold, but icy claws likely awaits, why else leave this for us to open, tie off the spear, pull from over there, let the frost come find us, rather than enter its frozen hall for a bite of cake and a splash of tea."
Cearb's heavy boots carry him to the edge of the carriage and he hops down.
A curious look takes over Bastagar's features, as he takes a tentative sniff of the air. What little colour he has seems to wash out of him as he mutters a wordless prayer and makes a warding gesture on his lips and brow. "Astute this stranger is, Bastagar smells death within." he says, hobbling away toward the distant trail. "Witch work the stranger says, perhaps so... But darker things are found in Grungir grove."
You take your positions at the fringe of the massacre site as the rope is tied off against the spear that bars entry into the carriage. Then when all is in place, Olaf gives it a solid tug and the spear is wrenched clear of the door. With the force of the release the door swings open and you get view of the interior.
What was once a finely appointed carriage has been plundered for all of value... and given a crimson re-decoration. Blood is sprayed across the opened door and interior... and you see why. Reacting with vigor now that light streams in through the open window are two draugr... dead men that walk.
One has it's chest cavity rent asunder and the second has it's chest drenched red from an opened throat. Vacant eyes and slack faces turn towards you as the draugr groan with open mouthed intent and begin to lurch towards you...
Hilde:
Caerb:
Bastagar:
Kelgar:
Halfhand:
Olaf:
Action Tracker (Round 1): Caerb, Kelgar, Hilde, Halfhand, Ulfen Zombies, Olaf, Bastagar
Map - Zombies are in the carriage at J-4/5
Kelgar presses his ear to the carriage door and listens.
"Aye, sound muffled. We best let 'em out, they might be starvin' if they've been locked inside for long!."
I wonder why th' bandits would bind and lock someone inside? It dun make no sense...
***
As the draugr shamble forward, the dwarf's eyes narrow and he exclaims the obvious, "Th' walkin' dead!"
Kelgar holds up a meaty hand as if to indicate that Hilde should stay back while he steps forward a step and readies his dwarvish axe.
"Ormr, to me." the Halfhand looks to his weasel as he draws his crossbow, loading a single bolt into it.
Cearb sets into motion closing on the wagon. He runs around the tree he had been crouched behind and has a knife ready for tossing into the carriage. "Not of the Forest, not of the Fae, no butter tonight, spoilt it is, but still it goes down, all flesh yields to knives."
...."well...most knives" The knife sails wide of the opening and clangs against the carriage side.
To Kelgar, "Thank ye good dwarf but I plan to fight, we'll both stand here, and show them our might."
To the Daugr, "Your pitiable state is no fault of your own. Mercy we bring thee and fare to Pharasma's throne."
Hilde takes a 5' step diagonally to I9. She draws her sword and readies her shield, holding her action until they charge. She is going to step up close to the body of the horse and try to use it for low cover (+2 AC) if possible.
If they charge -
Her AC is 22 if the dead horse provides some cover, AC 20 if it does not.
Caerb steps forward to send a blade harmlessly into the wood of the carriage as Hilde and Kelgar move past each other in an attempt to be the chivalrous combatant. Their blades standing ready to meet the attack that surely must come. Halfhand sees to his companion's safety as he loads a bolt.
The draugr then react with a predictable but direct approach. The one with a torn neck steps to the nearest living body and flails with chilled flesh...
Slam at Caerb: for
...driving the fae touched gnome back with a lusty blow that creases his chin.
The other trails entrails as it shambles forward at a pace belying its condition towards the fae paladin. Her readied strike sinks into it's thigh, but it lashes out in retaliation...
Slam at Hilde: for
...though it's aim is fouled by the ground borne debris.
Action Tracker (Round 1): Caerb, Kelgar, Hilde, Halfhand, Ulfen Zombies, Olaf, Bastagar
Kelgar watches anxiously as the dead men shamble towards Cearb and Hilde instead of himself, clearly frustrated that he was not chosen as a target.
Realizing what kind of evil these walking dead are, Kelgar shouts what he hopes is profound wisdom to the others.
"Axes! N' blades! Dun try crushin' 'em! Use n' edge!"
Nodding at Kelgar's words, Olaf tosses the spear aside , draws his axe, steps up to the closest Dead Man , and delivers a punishing blow!
"These men have been forced to stay beyond their appointed time; they fell in battle, and should be enjoying themselves in the hereafter, not be compelled remain in these rotting shells, devoid of will. The Unseelie will pay for this!"
Bastagar turns on his heel, fuming. "We this one, nothing inside but the dead, oh no." Spitting curses, he frees his shillelagh of his rucksack and hobbles into the fray, brandishing his thorny club menacingly... though whether he means to set into Olaf or the dead men remains to be seen.
Bastagar hobbles forward , hopping and spitting curses, though once he glimpses the dead men he freezes in his tracks. "Ill luck to look a dead man in the eye. Ill luck and an ill fate. Three days and the Boneyard will claim you for it's own." he says, shuddering. "Bastagar knows, yes." With a fearful squeak, he crouches behind the fallen horse and out of sight.
-
Round 2
Crunching in the snow, Kelgar hobbles forward to the nearest draugr and wheels his axe around as if the undead man was nothing more than lumber requiring a good chopping.
"Back t'the mud!"
for
Round 2
Taking a hard hit, Cearb bounces in to get a strike up close.
The knife cuts a slash revealing a congealed jam, unfit for any bread.
"Tch..." The Halfhand looks at his crossbow, shaking his head at the dwarf's words. Dammit. He knew this much already. This wasn't the first time he'd seen a zombie. Was the presence of Fey clouding his mind?
Hilde seems quite surprised at the giant Ulfen and the dwarf.
Is this what mortal folk be like? Small wonder they own the entire world beyond the Grungir.
She will step up to fight if a spot presents itself, if not, she will ready an action to move/fight if someone falls.
Round 2:
Olaf steps forward and cleaves the forward draugr driving heavy axe through dead flesh and snapping it's hips. Whatever necromantic force drove it's actions fades from the body as it collapses into an unmoving heap.
Bastagar stalks forward, but his caution is unneeded as the blows of Caerb, Kelgar and Halfhand's loosed bolt combine to drop the other draugr. It falls heavily face down into the hard-packed snow, returned to the rest that a fallen warrior deserves - it's perversion of death's sanctity no more.
Edit:
Olaf breathes a sigh of relief when both walking corpses are returned to the earth.
"Now their souls may finally find peace."
He then grips his axe tightly.
"I fully intend to see whatever foul sorcerer was responsible for this split asunder upon the edge of my axe!"
Olaf then moves off to one side to clean his axe of necrotic flesh and rancid bodily fluids.
"We should probably still take a look inside that carriage, to see if there are any clues..."
Bastagar emerges from his cover sheepishly, taking two sweeping steps toward the fallen druagr. Clasping his hands behind his back, he leans over them and peers at them closely down his crooked nose, giving one a tentative prod with his stick and making a fearful face at the apparent results. "They will rise again, Bastagar fears." he strokes his moustache and stares appraisingly at the others, a twinkling in his eye. "Fierce these warriors are. A clever gnome would stay on their good sides, yes." His whiskers twitch into a smile, that turns to a snarl when he meets Olaf's gaze.
He waves his shillelagh menacingly at the skald before pointing it accusingly. "Foolish this stranger is! Does he want to kill Bastagar? Does he? Does he?"... he knows little who draws the ire of dead men. He looks almost frantic with fear.
"Hurry we should! Must, yes! Do not tarry and disturb them further. Angered their spirits shall be... and hungry. We should hasten 'cross fjord or forests edge, the dead cannot follow us hence."
Olaf stares at Bastagar incredulously.
"Strong words come from the Fey who tried to hide, rather than fight; you were not even scratched! Yes, they turned out to be the walking dead, but it could just as easily have proven to be a single bound and gagged warrior stacked like so much wood with a bunch of actual corpses. We did not know until the door was opened."
He then frowns.
"I was unwilling to (potentially) leave a warrior behind to a slow death. Had I known that the unquiet dead resided within, however, I would still have opened the door - their tortured spirits deserved rest!"