Opening gameplay.
It has been nearly a fortnight since the horrors began, since fear itself stepped into the silent burrow of Sorrowmoor - the nightly fog that snatches up the unsheltered, the rampant plague that is decimating the hard working population. Between the missing, the dead, and the fleeing, Sorrowmoor’s population is almost a quarter what it was in the not-so-distant past. Mayor Ebonheart is desperate to have peace returned to his people, and has sent out a request for aid to the capital city, Morningport, and the great citadel of Frostfall. Moreover, the families that have taken to the roads are sure to tell everyone they pass of the recent events. The distrubance can be felt at a near primal level for those who dwell within the Hagswood - a blight is leaving the flora bitter and wilted while the wildlife exists in a persistent state of panic.
For reasons each your own, you have answered the call. For some, your journey carries you along the Hagway, the road that cuts through the Hagswood to Sorrowmoor. Its looming canopy of twisted trees blankets you in a unnatural darkness. Whispers and howls echo across the mass of overgrowth, but you stick to the path as every worried mother and father cautions. For others, you navigate the treacherous woods themselves, unphased by the superstitious tales told about the dangers within. And yet some may call the secluded town home, choosing to fight for their friends, family and precious sanctuary.
As if by fate, you have all arrived on the same day. The fields on the eastern acreage are of absent of workers. The streets remain a smooth and muddy mess from the previous night’s rain, undisturbed by the usual stampede of a day’s busy townsfolk. Windows are shuddered closed and smoke plumes out of nearly every chimney, a sign of the fear that halts them from leaving the safety of their hearth. A crowd of worried widows is gathered outside the Huntsman’s Howl, where warm air escapes through the front doors carrying the scent of ale and hot stew from the lonely tavern. The townspeople are quick to inform any new comers of a townhall meeting that is to take place before dusk, which will be sounded by churchbells. In the meantime, the tavern, townhall, general store and church of Erastil are a few of the establishments who haven’t completely boarded up.
It'd been two days since Athanasius had left Elsie and headed for Sorrowmoor.
Their last conversation had been playing over and over again in his head, with him asking for assurance that she would be ok with him gone, and her laughing him off dismissively. But with her cough getting worse, the animals getting scarcer, along with this strange fog....he needed to seek out help.
From what that fleeing townsman had said, Sorrowmoor could use some help as well.
Perhaps his and Sorrowmoor's needs would overlap.
When the gangly, tired elf arrived in Sorrowmmoor, he was surprised by the silence and relative absence of life. His memories of bustling city life from decades before had lead him to expect the town to be much busier than it was, but when he remembered his reasons for coming it made more sense.
He'd have to attend this townhall meeting the townspeople spoke of, but what to do until then?
Seeing the crowd outside the Huntsman's Howl, he pulls the hood of his fur cloak tighter around his head. Athanasius heads over to see what the crowd is gathering for, taking in his surroundings carefully and seeing if there are any others like him who have recently arrived.
With a blustering flap of his lips and a shake of his head, Ghrezzd came to a halt. The young, spirited pony would have none of it. He spread his legs bracing for the inevitable swat of his hind side with the master's cane. "Oh, come along now, Ghrezzd!" the gnarled, old gnome chuckled. "I know the forest looks grim... and dangerous... but its much faster to cut the corner. If we veer from the path right here, we'll make Sorrowmoor well before dusk. If not, we'll probably roll into town during the townhall meeting. Frighten all the good folk of the town, we will!"
Pfflÿs leaned forward and whispered into the pony's ear. With a loud bray, Ghrezzd lurched forward and trusted the gnome. The shortcut proved to be difficult but worthwhile. The undergrowth was thick and on several occasions, Pfflÿs had to call upon his unseen companion, Morwen, to bend stray branches out of his and Ghrezzd's way. The ghostly boy's hands had come in handy over the years, but a day didn't go by when the old gnome hadn't thought of the young boy who died beside him in the Shadows. Pfflÿs was glad that the young spirit had stayed with him. They kept each other company and offered a little comfort and familiarity to the unlikely pair of friends.
When they finally made their way back to the main rode, Pfflÿs could see the town up ahead. It was busier than he had imagined from the tales that he heard in Frostfall. All the people that had gone missing and those, that hadn't vanished outright, had taken it upon themselves to leave out of fear. Perhaps he could help. Perhaps his knowledge of shadows and dark places would be valuable. Perhaps this time he could save a boy... or perhaps a girl he thought as a smile crossed his lips.
With some time to spare, Pfflÿs followed the sounds of the town and came upon a crowd gathering outside the Huntsman's Howl. Tying off Ghrezzd's bridle to a sturdy post outside the tavern's stable, the gnome hobbled toward the crowd. With a quick flick of the wrist, he sends the ghostly hand to gently pull back the hood of another traveler... not enough to reveal a face, but enough that the traveler could see more clearly. "With a hood pulled down so low, master elf, it is a wonder if you can see anything at all." Not waiting for a reply, Pfflÿs cuts through the crowd to and enters the tavern.
When he feels a tug on his hood from behind, Athanasius nearly jumps out of his skin as he wheels around, hand instinctively reaching for a rapier at his waist that wasn't there.
He relaxes his stance when he hears a voice and remembers the unlikelihood of danger here, and he relaxes even more when he sees the body the voice accompanied.
The Gnome was quite right, in his eagerness to remain anonymous he had almost entirely blocked his vision. Carefully, Athanasius adjusted his hood to leave his vision open but cover his pointed ears.
Recognizing that the Gnome was likely a traveler here for similar purposes as himself, Athanasius rushed to catch up.
Perhaps he's of the woods, like I am?
"Hail, Gnome!"
"Thank ye much for the assistance, friend. Do ye hail from the Hagwood as well? What are you called, Sir Gnome?
Pfflÿs looks up at Athanasius, "Oh, no... no, no, no, no... nope." The wizened gnome shakes his head violently. "I am NO sir... just Pfflÿs." He bows before the taller elf.
Pfflÿs begins to pat his pockets, searching in vain. "Oh, yes... and your name! What shall I call you?"
Continuing in common, he answers~
"Athanasius of House L- just Athanasius is fine. Well met, Pfflÿs of Frostfall. And yes, though the unfortunate events that I have heard have taken place here seem to have effected the nearby forests as well. I came here just as much to seek aid as to provide it. My hope is that these mysteries can be resolved quickly so I may return home."
Gesturing towards his many pockets as Pfflÿs begins searching them, Athanasius asks the gnome- "Did you lose something?"
"Think he's ready?" As two figures talked, Ian faced off against a small but varied number of undead. Some still had flesh and moved sluggishly while others were nothing but bone. All were in an advanced state of decay. He was currently retreating while drawing away the
faster skeletons and using his weapon's greater reach and blunted end to bash them into powder.
"No one ever is. But he needs experience. This will be a learning experience. For everyone." As the last of the skeletons are smashed to splinters, he forgoes the weighted spear for a more feral approach. He charges the zombies with his bare hands, somehow with claws, and begins slashing them to pieces. They fall quickly and violently. When the last hits the ground, he draws his scimitar and stabs one into the ground, pinning it. A moment later, the reason becomes apparent. A few seconds after it fell, it starts thrashing on the ground, apparently still un-alive. He places his hand on its head and bends his head to pray. Light shines where his hand touches its head and it goes still.
"Good. He spotted the cadaver. He's well trained, but life is a better teacher then we will ever be. We'll send someone to keep an eye on him but told not to interfere unless necessary. Its the best we can do with so few left."
--------------------
It had been a long time since Ian was last on the road. Whatever happened to him back in Ardis had changed him. The curse had never left. The faithful of Sarenrae would never harm the innocent but neither could they remove the curse that had been laid upon him. It was too deeply ingrained. They were forced to keep him under close observation for a long time. But eventually, they discovered a means to keep it under control. Now it was time to put that control to the test.
He arrived in Sorrowmoor early in the afternoon and only when he reached the town proper did he find anyone. The roads and most of the outlying houses were completely empty. Only the stubborn and brave remained. And he found them at the Huntsman's Howl. Upon arriving, he was reminded of a very uncomfortable truth. He was an oddity to most normal folk. Standing a little over six feet and impressively strong, he was the largest person there. And try as he might, he could never tame his wild main of hair, giving him a wild look. He also carried a larger arsenal of weapons then most. A scimitar rested at his hip along with a pair of daggers. A thick wooden shield rested on top of his pack and he carried an odd spear with a fat metal mace on the other end. They probably thought him some brigand or mercenary.
Even after saying he was a cleric of Sarenrae and showing his holy symbol, they weren't completely convinced. But they told him of a meeting later that day at the townhall to discuss what was going on and what to do about it. So as not to make them nervous any longer than he had to, he left to find the temple of Erastil, leaving behind a wave of gossip that would likely continue for some time. At least at the temple he was likely to be welcome and he might get some more information. Sarenrae was on good terms with all good deities.
"Me, um, no... nothing that matters at least," the gnome replies, his nose sniffing the air having caught a whiff of the stewing meat. Without so much as a glance back at the elf, Pfflÿs steps through the doorway looking for a suitable table to rest his weary legs.
Duglin's heavy boots sank into the mud of the Hagway as he walked north through the dark woods. The going was slow with the weather-torn road, if it could be called even that. Still, despite the delays, Duglin smiled as he ventured north.
It will be a good post, an honest place to take to the forge. Sorrowmoor was a small town, but deep in the Hagwood, there was plenty need for a solid axe for the trees, or a sharp spear for the monsters and brigands that hide beyond. And perhaps, after I make my mark there and have installed a solid apprentice or two, I could take up the forge somewhere more proper. Garren's Folly perhaps? It had been quite a sizable town, and the work of the smith there wouldn't have passed muster as an apprentice's bit of practice back in dad's shop.
He had been spending the night in Garren's Folly on his journey north when he heard word of the troubles befalling Sorrowmoor. It was his destination anyway, heading there to take over the forge of a distant cousin who had grown old and ill. Now he'd be able to perhaps live up to the other duty of his lineage, the charge of warrior and guardian.
He paused for a moment. "Ah, there it is." Coming around a bend in the road, the town of Sorrowmoor was revealed to his sight. It was a cold, empty place, though given the fears and rumors echoing south from this place, the empty feel of the village made sense. Still, he saw a crowd outside a building that looked like it might be a tavern, and nodding to the widows gathered outside, "Good day, ladies. Is the food within welcome nourishment for a wary traveler?" Hardly waiting for their response, the dwarf steps into the tavern.
Dropping his pack and cloak against the wall, Duglin saddles up to the bar. Smiling to the barkeep, "Pardon me, but could I have your biggest mug of ale and a bowl of whatever smells so good from the road outside?"
As each of you approach the tavern, the group of women gathered outside shoot you suspicious stares and grow uncomfortably silent. As each of you approach, you hear the tail end of the unmistakable whispers of gossip.
"My poor grammy, when she got sick just before passing, she started going on about how this wasn't the end for her."
Inside the simple tavern, you see families filling the tables in the main dining space. Most of them look morose and melancholy. They continually turn their attention towards you as you enter, immediately recognizing you as foreigners. In the back corner, a large wooden board painted with a striding elk is pockmarked with small holes from the darts thrown by a drunken crowd. The walls are adorned with various mounting from prized kills of the local hunters. A couple works busily behind the bar and in the kitchen to attend the surplus of patrons. One, an athletic man with a small beard and long ponytail runs bowls and mugs out to the waiting tables returning with the clamor of empty dishes. The other is a taller woman with braided blonde hair serving up bowls of stew and warm bread while singing a somber melody.
Once taking a step inside, the man calls out to you, "Aye, looks like we got an outside!" A cautious smile momentarily brightening is face. "I can only imagine why your here. Grab a seat and rest, we'll all be headed to the town hall shortly."
The man stops to take your order, "Aye, that'll be Merrie's famous bobcat and shroom stew. As for the ale... well it'll help take the load off you that's for sure." As he hurries to bring you your meal, he returns with a curious look on his face, "Say, are you by chance the new smith sent to us?"
On the outer reaches of the town, a small and simple structure marked with a large greatbow above a set of double doors acts as a temple to Sorrowmoor's patron, Erastil. The doors are propped open by two heavy stone carvings of a majestic stag. Taking a step within, the ground remains dirt throughout and large candles line the perimeter.. Around the outer edges of the building are long benches for the weary. In the center, simple burlap mats provide a place to kneel, pray and meditate. At the back of the building are a few private quarters that act as an open place of rest, fitted with a simple bed and end table. The only ornamentation inside is the pedestal at the center of the room. Carved into a lavish depiction of Erastil's four allies, an ornate wooden podium holds the open pages of the deity's parables. There are two other patrons inside, crouched on opposite sides of the room on their respective mats. They give a welcoming nod as you enter, then return to prayer.
Pfflÿs surveys all the people staring in his direction and slowly raises his right arm high above his head. Keeping a vigilant eye upon the crowd, he leans his nose into his armpit and takes a quick sniff. "Not me... must be the elf," he murmurs to himself. Then looks up at Athanasius and smiles half-heartedly. Motioning to a table near the center of the tavern, he reverts to elvish uttering the formal invitation of the elvish courts.
With a nod, he moves towards the bar continuing to pat his pockets. Morven, did you move it again? I'd wish that you left my things be." Reaching the table the gnome, pulls out the chair then nimbly hops upon the seat and rests his handbo, which serves as a crutch at times, over the the seat back. Still standing upon the seat, Pfflÿs produces an elk horn mug from his belt loop and waves a hand over it. A clean water fills the bug with a spirited gurgle and is quickly consumed by the oracle.
With a sharp whistle, he calls out to the man bustling through the common room, "Me and my, um..." I can't rightly call him a friend, now can I, Morven? No, no, that might insult him. "My, um, acquaintance would like some stew, if you please. Oh, And some fresh bread if you have it."
"Strange occurrences here, don't you think?" Pfflÿs says turning to Athanasius. As he bends a knee to take a seat upon the high-backed chair, the old gnome continues his thought, "I heard a woman outside saying that her nana went on about it 'not being the end for her'. Said it just before she passed, it seems. From my experience, death is the end."
Athanasius blushes slightly at the unwanted attention from the widows outside, muttering a "Pardon me, sorry" as he turns sideways to slide past them and into the tavern.
Could just be gossip I guess, but if that woman was speaking true then something more physical than fog may be stalking this town by night..
He gives an out of character smile at the gnome's comments, responding in elvish.
"Aye, if it please you."
Joining the Gnome at the table, Athanasius nods at his request to the man for stew.
"Could I also get some water as well, if it please you? Thank you kindly."
Turning back to Pfflÿs to respond, he says ~
"Strange occurrences indeed, Pfflÿs of Frostfall. I'm not much of a gossip but I couldn't help overhear a woman outside as well, one who claimed to hear voices outside her home at night. From the way she spoke, it didn't sound like she was referring to a string of would-be suitors either. I will be intrigued to hear more at this town meeting..."
A spell to create water...If I remember my lessons, that sort of spell tends to come from a divine source
Gesturing towards the mug, Athanasius comments "Are you a priest, then? I must admit, when we met I did not take you for a man of the cloth."
Duglin smiles, "Aye, Duglin's the name, and I am the smith you've been expecting. My cousin Tobrek has grown rather old, and having not an apprentice or heir to take over the forge, sent word to my father down in Morningport that another Braehammer should take up the hammer and anvil here. So, here I am. Oh, and that stew and ale would be mighty nice, thank you."
He takes stock of the room while awaiting the barkeep's return. Mostly weary townsfolk, not surprised. Though an elf... and a gnome? Quite the odd couple. Perhaps they are here to help with the trouble, or, could they be part of it? Best to keep an eye on them. This is my town now, after all.
When the barkeep returns with his found, Duglin leans over the bar a bit to keep his voice low. "Say, what's all these rumors I heard on the road north? People disappearing and foul fogs in the night? Surely old wives' tales, yes?"
Horns? And stealthy? Hmm. Ian mulls over the bit of gossip on his way to the temple. Was it something he had fought before or read about.
No. Not really. Lots of evil things had horns and lots more were stealthy. Wouldn't be much help unless he saw it. He arrives at the temple and it as most others of its kind. Close to nature with a dirt floor and open doors to allow a breeze. He notices the two already here but no presiding cleric. It would be rude to interrupt so Ian finds a free mat and sits down to pray as well. He was essentially on a hunt for whatever evil had taken residence in this town so he asked for Erastil's blessing as well as Sarenrae's.
He keeps one ear on his surroundings, waiting for one of the other patrons to be done, before approaching. "Excuse me. Does this temple have a presiding cleric? If so do you know where he is?"
Your momentary rest is interrupted by the pervasive gongs of the churchbells. The Huntsman's Howl is quickly filled with the clamor of wood chairs pushed back against flooring. The families all break into conversation with each other. Even the barkeeps rush to prepare the building for leave. "Follow the crowd," the man says to the three of you. "And perhaps it'd be best for you to stick together. Good to have friends in these times."
As you take to the streets, you see the many shut doors opening and cautious heads peering out before finally joining the crowd. Many of the buildings you pass have a painted slash across the door which never open. Something catches your eyes however, running against the the flow of foot traffic off the main road are a pair of cloaked individuals. The crowd headed for the townhall is too absorbed to notice.
Grateful for a tasty meal, Pfflÿs bows to the purveyor of the tavern, "Well, of course, we're here to help. Came from Frostfall, I did with just that purpose in mind. Your generosity is much welcomed and noted!"
At last, the gnome sits down upon the barstool grimacing as he takes the seat. Reaching into a back pocket, he pulls out a severely bent spoon. "Ah... found it." With a quick wink, Pfflÿs calls forth a bit of magic to mend the spoon and takes to slurping up his stew.
Following the crowd out to the street, Pfflÿs turns to the dwarf and tips an imaginary hat, "Pfflÿs, at your service." Then turning to Athanasius, he continues, "Quite convenient of them to force the non-humans to associate together. I suspect the townhall meeting will prove..." Spying the cloaked individuals headed in the opposite direction, he looks quickly to the elf and to Duglin, "Now, if that isn't suspicious! What do you think those two are up to?" Ducking between the crowd, Pfflÿs tries to discern their faces and wither they carry anything in their hands, but there are two many people for the short gnome to get a good look at them. As he scampers through the throngs of people, he ducks out of sight.
"Sorry for your loss," is all Ian can say. He could empathize with the young man but he'd long sense been dulled to the pain of loss. And he hadn't realized how long he'd been here until the youth pulled the rope for the bell to toll. That was the signal for the townhall meeting. Asking him any more questions would probably be rude and get him no where. The townhall was probably the best place for that.
Until he notices something odd. Two people, cloaked, going against the flow. He needed information about what was going on but this seemed out of place. His mentors had always said to trust his instincts. And his instincts told him to follow.
He follows from a decent distance, hoping that would mask the sound of his heavy gear.
Athanasius bows his head at the barkeep.
"You're kindness is much appreciated, and I hope to be able to help this town as well."
He observes the gnomes rather interesting antics, smiling at the corners of his mouth when he sits on his own spoon.
What a curious fellow. He's obviously no stranger to the art of magics. He's likely not* a priest then, at least in the most traditional sense. But to know so many languages, he seems very well studied despite his antics. I wonder how old he is? With gnomes it can be so hard to tell....and yet he certainly isn't lacking for energy!
--------
Athanasius nods as he stands to leave along with the crowd.
"Sounds like good advice, sire. And many thanks again for the meal" He says.
Once outside, Athanasius will purse his lips tightly as Pfflÿs introduces himself to the dwarf.
Of course* it's a keg-belly here as well. Still though, perhaps he'll surprise me.~ Damn it, Athanasius, you aren't your Uncle Aemilius, let the dwarf introduce himself before you go about making judgements.
Athanasius will give a curt nod at the dwarf, saying "Athanasius. Well met, Stonelord." as Pfflÿs scampers off.
"Hmph, that is somewhat suspicious...I suppose I should make sure he doesn't wander too far before the meeting starts, if you'd excuse me-"
Digging in to the stew and ale, Duglin listens carefully to the lady's words. "So it's a real threat then, whatever is comin' in the night. Hmm, well, I came to be your smith, but we Braehammers don't allow harm to come to our town, and as I am now the smith, then I guess that means that Sorrowmoor is my town as well."
He was just about finished when the bell tolled and everyone began to exit. He upended his bowl and swallowed down the last of the stew, then with a happy sigh, placed 3 silver on the table. "Supposed I will be going to the town meeting with everyone else."
Amidst the crowd Duglin walks calmly until the curious gnome introduces himself. A little puzzled, Duglin manages to respond in kind, "Pfflys, is it? I am Duglin Braehammer, the new town smith. I am not sure what you are referring t-" His words cut off as he also sees the cloaked individuals heading opposite the townsfolk.
"Right suspicious I would say..." while tempted to simply call out to them regarding their intentions, Duglin holds for a moment to see if their actions might give a clue to their purpose in heading opposite the crowd.
The three new-comers from the tavern peel off from the back of the large crowd in pursuit of the cloaked figures. The cloaks are a dark charcoal wool with generous hoods draped overhead. As they cut down a byroad, you convene with a weapon-bound man of great stature and wild hair. You are quick to identify that neither party is associated with your quarry. Maintaining a careful distance, you approach the road they took and peer around a corner house. From a distance you can see the two figures are stopped in front of a residence. The door cracks open for a moment before being swung open wide for the two to enter. It is quickly shut behind them. A shrill breeze rips across the road carrying the foretelling scent of rain to come.
Athanasius is startled when he sees the wild-haired man, but he brushes and straightens his own fur cloak with his hands in an attempt to steady himself.
He says shakily "Hail, friend. I suppose you're keen to know what the cloaked figures are up to as well as us. I am Athanasius-" He gestures to his much shorter companions "And this is Pfflÿs and uh, Duglin, was it? We all seem to be new in town but I'm sure we'll have time for lengthier introductions later, for now we should makes haste not to lose the cloaked ones."
I hope this doesn't take long...it might shine badly on us if all of us happen to miss the town meeting
-----
After stopping in front of the residence a ways off and witnessing the pair they've been following go inside, Athanasius turns and whispers to the others-
"So, then? Any ideas? I don't have any invisibility magics prepared myself and don't wish to risk getting closer, but it may behoove us to be able to identify whoever those two were and what they're up to. It could be possible that their activities are innocent. My vote is on simply making note of this activity, returning to the town meeting, and letting the town officials know of the details. It seems they'd be the ones who'd know how to proceed. Thoughts?"
There is a moment of tension when Ian is approached by three others. He hadn't even seen them coming and he had pretty good awareness. A good lesson in not letting yourself get too focused. His hand rests on his scimitar for a long moment as he goes over them with a critical and somewhat predatory eye. He comes to the conclusion that they probably weren't part of this. "Ian Black. Inquisitor of Sarenrae," he says by way of introduction.
Ian watches the house intently and listens to Athanasius' suggestion. He comes to a different one. "Yes. Stay here please." He steps out from the hiding place and approaches the house. He then knocks loudly on the door and waits patiently, taking a non-threatening stance.
Duglin catches sight of the gnarled, crooked figure with the hideous expression. A concerned look crosses his face as he turns to the others. Keeping his voice low, "there is a third, highly suspicious figure within. Perhaps an ear to the door to hear what transpires within? I could always walk up to the door and listen, then knock, asking for the location of the forge as the new smith in town."
He starts to get close to see if he can hear anything, then realizes the newcomer has walked directly up to the door and knocked.
Ian and Duglin approach red once the door is shut, choosing to investigate rather than report what they saw. Meanwhile, Athanasius and Pfflÿs hang back at the bend of the road. Duglin leans in close, placing his ear between two wooden slats.
Ian approaches the door carefully, yet casually, and makes several loud knocks... but no one answers.
Ugh! Fine!!!! Go ahead, KNOCK on the mysterious door!!!!!! Surely NOTHING BAD can happen!! Good gracious these people wouldn't last a week in the Hagwood!!!!!
With a short sigh of exasperation, Athanasius whispers to the peculiar Gnome as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Well, Pfflÿs of Frostfall? Are you going to try and break down the door as well or do you have a different approach in mind? We really should be heading back soon if we are to make it to the town meeting with any time to spare."
Ian waits for someone to answer but it never comes. If they were in there, they should have easily heard him. That meant they were no longer in there or intentionally being quiet and ignoring him. Both were highly suspicious. But he just got here and wasn't willing to commit a crime, yet. So all he could do now was make a mental note of this location and what few features of the cloaked men he could recall, mostly height and approximate build. He looks at the sky and frowns. Going to rain soon.
"Please tell the others not to approach me for a while," he says quietly to Duglin while moving away from the door. "If they saw me then I will be their focus allowing them some freedom of movement. And I would suggest caution." With that he makes his way to the townhall for the meeting.
"What? Me break down the door? I didn't know elves had a thing for humor," the gnome chuckles. "Nope, I prefer subterfuge when dealing with unknowns. Morven, on the other hand, is a little too curious for his own good at times." Pfflÿs watches as Ian and Duglin move away from the house, then nods at the elf. "Let's go." While the pair make their way to the town hall meeting, Pfflÿs comes an ever-watchful eye out for the strangers.
Athanasius clears his throat and cracks a slight smile. "You're quite correct about our humor, I don't think I laughed til I was well into my forties."
Morven? Did he say Morven? Curious. A companion of his, perhaps?
With that, Athanasius nods at the suggestion to head back, making sure to keep to the shadows well behind the other newcomers in case they were being watched after their rather audacious knocking.
You all hurry back to the town hall just as everyone finishes taking their seat. You can see many heads turning and looking suspiciously at you. A number of attendees lean over to their neighbor and fill the hall with whispers. A number of empty seats remain in the back. Ebonheart clears his throat, pulling their attention back to the meeting at hand. He gives you a welcoming nod and begins to speak.
"The recent events that have transpired have shaken Sorrowmoor to its core. After the first tragedy that occurred a fortnight ago, we tucked away the idea that something malicious in the forsaken woods may be invading our peaceful home. But when the same tragedy repeated itself each and every night from that day and the growing numbers of ill, we can no longer ignore the grim reality. We are under attack." Ebonheart gives a dramatic pause, letting the news sink in and tensions rise. "I have called you all here today to see who of you would be willing to join my efforts and put an end to these unforgivable acts. As I am sure you all wish to provide support, I need those with the time and resources to devote to this cause. For everyone else, continuing your work and providing for the town will be just as supportive. If you would like to join, please rise."
Duglin stands with intentionally heavy footstep. Clearing his throat, "hello all my name is Duglin Braehammer. My uncle Torbreck's anvil has rung with the song of hammer and steel in Sorrowmoor for more than three generations of men. Sadly, age has taken it's toll, and I have come to take up his forge. We of the Braehammer Clan have long been Defenders of our homes, and as I am now your smith, so too am I now one of your defenders. You can count my axe and hammer among those that will see this wrong righted."
Stand up!!! Just do it, stand! Stop being afraid, Athanasius you coward!!!!
Standing up slowly, Athanasius says quickly in a quiet voice that's almost a mutter-
"I am called Athanasius and I lend my bow and magicks to the defense of your home."
He looks around the room and attempts to crack a friendly smile, but in his paranoia the facial expression comes off as more of a grimace.
Well, there goes subtlety, Ian thinks. Well, that was fine too. He wasn't one for subtlety most of the time anyway. Figure out what was killing people then go kill it. Simple. If people in town were part of it. So be it. They'd come to him eventually.
Ian stands and nods at the mayor. He'd wait for others to file out for introductions. But really, if they couldn't tell what he was about from his many weapons and holy symbol, then it wasn't worth explaining.
Pfflÿs climbs atop his seat and raises a hand, "Hello, I'm Pfflÿs and this is, well, yes... ok. We've seen a lot in our time in the shadows under Frostfall." The aging gnome gestures to no one in particular, then continues his internal argument for all to see. " Right?!? Yes, truly!" he concludes with a clap of his hand. "This business of yours... that you've been having with people disappearing from the woods and then others becoming ill and what naught... I agree that you are under attack, and these fine gentleman here," he continues clearly pointing towards the others. "Well... if they'll give it a go, then so will I."
When Ebonheart finishes his call to action, there is a brief moment of silence as the crowd begins to look around for the first volunteer. Duglin is the first step forward. The backwards turned faces give a look of appreciation, many nodding in approval. Ebonheart responds, "Thank you. It is a great gesture for new member of our population."
Next, Athanius volunteers himself, his nerves readily apparent to the crowd who raise their brows in concern. Many shrug off the curious stranger and begin to nod in approval. Ebonheart acknowledges, "You have our thanks, friend."
In the middle of the meeting, the familiar tapping of rain begins to pour onto the roof. A strong gust blows against the side of the building, causing the wood to grown wearily.
As Ian gives his silent acceptance, you can catch the wide-eyed gaze of children who are stricken with both fear and awe at his strong presence. "A man of your... skills will certainly be welcome," Ebonheart says, with a slight grin.
When the small gnome rises up on his seat, murmurs flood the chamber as the attendees begin whisper among themselves. They silence themselves the moment Pfflÿs begins to speak. As the speech comes to an end, the townspeople are decisively silent. A moment goes by before Ebonheart stammers, "Uh - well - um, thank you for volunteering."[/b]
A young boy stands and begins to speak but is interrupted and pulled back down to his seat by his mother.
A pair of hunters rise, a brother and sister, and offer up their assistance. Ebonheart thanks them for their service, and scans the crowd, looking for any other volunteers. When it becomes apparent that no others are going to step forward, he proceeds with the meeting. "As you know we have quarantined the sick in the homes of the departed. It is important that you isolate yourselves at the earliest signs of -" The brother of the two hunters begins to enter a severe coughing fit and Ebonheart pauses to let it pass. Those seated nearby stir uncomfortably in their seats and slide themselves further away. His sister begins to console him, but to no avail. He keels over the seat in front of him, as coughs grow from raspy to wheezy, almost like a whimpering animal. The rows around him clear out, many pushing themselves into the aisle to gain clearance. When the fit finally subsides, he straightens his back and apologizes, but Ebonheart and many others before him let out a panicked gasp. Frantically, he looks around the hall trying to figure out the problem, and as he turns towards the back, you see tears of blood dripping from his eyes.
Panic begins to take over the hall and Ebonheart tries to bring order. "People please, remain calm! There is no need to -" once again, his words are cut short. His gaze remains set on the open doorway, and as you turn to investigate, you see why: billowing rolls of fog are spilling into the town hall. The crowd erupts into a frenzy, leaping over seats and each other to reach the back wall of the chamber. The coughing hunter is pushed to the ground and enters a frenzy again. Ebonheart stands at the podium in fear, his eyes slowly turn towards you looking for help.
Athanasius snaps his head towards the door, eyes narrowing as he draws his longbow. Pulling an arrow from his quiver, he scans the door entrance for any possible threats.
"Everyone! Move away from the doors and windows! Keep your children close to you and don't let your loved ones out of sight!! Pfflÿs, Sir Black, attend to our hunter friend, see if you can stop the bleeding!! Anyone else with a weapon, come towards the front!!!"
If I die here tonight, Elsie would never forgive me. I will survive this night.
Ian had heard what happened when that mist rolled in. Things disappeared. The elf was on the right track but not quite there. And his voice didn't quite carry through the panicked crowd.
"Hey!" Ian bellowed to get everyone's attention. "You heard him. Keep away from the doors and windows! And stay away from him!" he says pointing at the bleeding hunter. "Anyone with an ounce of courage, grab a weapon and barricade the doors and windows! Do not open them for any reason!" Once everyone seems to be moving he walks over to the hunter and looks him over. Since there seems to be a concern over contamination, he puts on a pair of gloves and uses a spare bit of cloth to cover his face.
Drawing his axe from the baldric upon his back, Duglin makes quickly for the front doors and grabs the first, swinging it shut. As he does, he gazes out into the night's darkness, confident his Dwarven eyes might reveal any threats beyond.
With the crowd pushing over each other and furthering the chaos, Athanasius tries to call for order. A few hear his words and act decisively, but many others choose to ignore or are overwhelmed with fear. Ian reinforces the elf's commands with an military-like bark. With it, Ebonheart seems roused. He begins helping to lead the crowd into the corners, in an orderly fashion. In their panic, a few have escaped up the stairs to the second floor.
Ian
When you rush over to the hunter, he is collapsed on the ground in the fetal position. His coughs have calmed to almost strong wheezing, but his eyes still run with blood. You look him over for any familiar symptoms that might lead to a form of treatment, but this looks like a combination of ailments - many unknown. You can see the faint spray of blood that'd been expelled from his coughing. It is dark and oily. His wheezing worsens and transform into gasps for air. His face flushes blue with suffocation. If his cough doesn't subside, you surmise he has less than a minute to live. His body begins convulsing as if sobbing. His sister watches on, screaming and in tears pleading for you to save him.
Athanasius, Duglin, Pfflÿs
While Ian tends to the wounded hunter, you maintain your vigil on the entry way. The fog has begun to slowly fill the front passageway. The loud static sounds of rain pouring into the streets fill the chamber. Distant thunder can be heard rumbling away. Duglin leaps forward and slams one of the doors shut. As you all take a steady look out the remaining door, a flash of nearby lighting illuminates the fog in the courtyard, revealing several monstrous figures. You only catch a glimpse of their forms - tall, maybe six or seven feet so, hunched, long curled horns, and arms that scrape the ground. You count four from your memory, and they were slowly marching towards the building. Duglin slams the final door shut - bringing only slightly more quiet to the halls.
Several other audience members are overcome by a violent cough... and a stifled scream from upstairs rips through the hall.
Ian was a decent hand at healing. Some of the healing magic still beyond him but he could identify most common ailments and a lot of supernatural ones. But even he couldn't pick out what disease was killing the man in front of him as there seemed to be several at play. He also didn't have the time or equipment to handle this. It was sounding like others were succumbing to the disease. And the sound upstairs? Had something gotten in?
"What in the hells is that?" Athanasius says, just barely audible among the chaos in the town hall.
Horns?????? Are they Demons? Devils? Phantasms???
Athanasius struggles to recall any possible piece of useful information, some sort of key bit of information that might give him a clue as to the monsters identity and, he hoped, maybe some weaknesses as well.
The situation is paralyzing to him, for a moment Athanasius' eyes go wide after Duglin shuts the final door. All of his survival instincts were screaming at him at once and the combination was sickening to his stomach.
When the scream splits the piercing silence that had fallen over the hall, Athanasius' head snaps upwards in a twitching, bird-like manner.
"Wha-w-what should we d-do?" he says aloud, uncertain who exactly he meant to address the question to.
Duglin pulls over whatever furniture he can reach, a table, bench, or shelf, and barricades one of the two doors. Turning back to Athanasius, "We do what we pledged to do, deal with the problem. There are four creatures out there, coming this way. We block one door, then fight through the other. If they walk on feet, then their legs can be cut from beneath them. You got a bow on your back, you can shoot over my shoulder?"
He then draws his shield and prepares to open the other side. "Unless you have another idea?"
With a quick survey of the young hunter, Pfflÿs resigns himself to the fact that doesn't have the healing arts to save the young man. His thoughts turn immediately to the figures outside. Seeing the elf's reaction, the gnarled old gnome shouts above the crowd, "No, no other ideas. That is the best we can do... funnel them through a single entryway. I'll try to aid you as best I can!"
Pfflÿs ambles forward, positioning himself within a step of the blacksmith.
Shrugging his shoulders and making sure his shield and axe are at the ready, Duglin looks back, "Then so be it. Let's do this!"
Duglin then cracks the unbarricaded door, ready to receive the first approaching beast.
Your eyes are training on the single open door. Another flash of lightning reveals the incoming enemies once more. In a few moments, you see the shadows take form as they come within range of the door. A grotesque horror barely able to be called human shambles towards you. Its skin is pale and devoid of any blood. Atop its head are attached large elk horns, jammed into the skull. Its long hanging arms are in fact a pair of severed arms sewn into the hands of its original arms, but appear to be fully articulated.
As it approaches the doorway, it lets out a hungry moan, clumsily raising its multi-jointed arms to attack.
The hunter struggles for breath, one hand clawing at his throat, the other squeezing tight on Ian's wrist. His eyes are wide with fear and pain. His life is slipping away and you can feel it. If you're to save him, you have one last shot.
The others, however, have begun to separate themselves, some willingly and others by force, so that those overcome cough are segregated to one corner and the unafflicted in the other. Children have to be pried from their parents who sit sobbing through painful coughs. Their tears are slowly stained red from blood until its no longer tears at all.
Ian looks at the hunter then looks at the door. This man might live if he was lucky because Ian wasn't too confident he could save him. On the other hand, if those things got in and the only thing standing between them and the villagers was a blacksmith, a crippled gnome and frightened ranger, everyone would die. "The only thing I can do is make this quick," he says, voice devoid of emotion. He draws a dagger and places it over the mans heart, looking him and his sister in the eye. He only needed one of them to give the okay. If they didn't, the hunter would die more slowly and painfully. He had to get to the door.
Athanasius hesitated. These things...the way they were lurching. He was not used to humanoid targets. Deer and rabbits were much faster, but years of practice had made hunting a sort of reflex for him.
Flashing through all his many lessons, he shook his head when he found nothing of use. These things were new to him, and the only way to find out more about them was to fight.
I'll have to get into a better position
Athanasius dashes behind Duglin to get a better shot. The space was still much more cramped than he preferred, the wilderness never felt as cramped as he did right now. Nevertheless, he scanned through his memories until he found the spell he was looking for.
Well it's no fireball, but it'll have to do for now
Athanasius waves his bow about like a staff, muttering an incantation as a glowing green orb shoots forth from the tip of his bow.
"Acidus-Spherus-Iacularos!!!!"
The shot goes embarrassingly wide, smashing into the closed town hall door before dissolving moments later. Athanasius mutters a curse under his breath in Elvish.