Talavuc looked about while her companions spoke about the corpse. If it is undead like the others we have encountered, then it will attack sooner rather than later. If not, then the body may be placed as a lure. Either way, this could very easily be a trap set by the ones we pursue. She begins to comb the ground, looking for more clues as to what the body might have been doing. Sighting the arrows causes her to pause for a moment. Fairies...
_________________________________________________
Ordrud solemnly replies to the Teladon, "The first team consisted of Three Humans: Captain Talisa Gwynn, Braden Tavel, and Cerasan Falentini; Girardin Shalewind, a Dwarf; Tycora Sandein, a Half-Elf cleric of Iomedae; and me."
_________________________________________________
The fae creatures that Ordrud described are sprites, though their coloration leads you to believe that they are "winter touched" faeries, a regional acclimation to fae from the nation of Irrisen. Based on your expertise with fae creatures, you know that these sprites can fly and have very sharp senses, are resistant to blows from weapons that are not cold iron, and has detect evil, detect good, dancing lights, daze and typically color spray as spell-like abilities. Ordrud seemed to imply that these ones could turn invisible.
Rasso's paranoia was warranted.
Thwip, thwip, thwip.
Tiny arrows whip out from the snow-laden branches of the trees. Two arrows pierce into Fenyx, one at his shoulder and the other at his neck. The moment the arrows prick his flesh, he can feel a numbing cold extend into his body as frost and ice begins to sheathe his clothing and skin. The third arrow finds Talavuc's thigh, punching in with the pin-prick of a needle, but followed by that same sensation of numbing cold.
Talavuc manages to shake off the cold and pluck the tiny arrow out of her leg, but Fenyx feels the cold sinking into his bones, causing his hands to shake and breath to chill, no longer leaving puffs of steam with each exhalation. At that same moment, the groaning sound of cold flesh and dried muscle creaks in the treeline, and the party can make out three humanoid shapes with luminous, blue eyes marching out of the forest -- Undead.
"Daoine dúr!" Comes hissing from the treeline in a lilting, tiny voice. "Kill na daoine dúr!"
"Ciúin! Feicfidh tú a thabhairt dúinn ar shiúl!" Another shrieks from somewhere within the trees.
"Feicim dwavein agus le portán! Nach bhfuil sé ach daoine!" A third voice shrilly yelps from the trees. "Tá na chorpáin dúr chomh mall!"
Ordrud recognizes the tiny, tinkling voices and the sudden barrage of arrows, it's the same fae creatures that ambushed Gwynn's team!
<< | | | : The Forest Trail >>
Crashing through the trees, lumbering corpses of three men dressed in snow-covered, ragged clothes look nothing like the fearsome frostfall zombies that had attacked earlier, these creatures seem to have more in common with the undead that attacked the Red Wraith at the journey's beginning, which likely means that they're villagers from Falcon's Hollow, turned into undying slaves.
Fortunately, Girardin's frozen corpse does not rise to join them. It seems that the dwarf's death had gone unnoticed by whatever necromantic force animated the townspeople.
"Stupid humans!" "Kill the stupid humans!"
"Quiet! You'll give us away!"
"I see a dwarf and a crab! It's not just humans!" "Stupid corpses are so slow!"
____________
____________
(hit)
>> + numbing cold
>>> (fail, staggered for 1 round)
(hit)
>> + numbing cold
>>> (pass)
(hit)
>> + numbing cold
>>> (pass)
Zombies: Move[/ooc]
_____________
(failure)
(failure)
(failure)
_____________
_____________
______________
GOOGLE MAP
Rasso whirls as the sound of tiny arrows thwipping through the air registers. He's unable to see any targets, but the sound is coming from the other side of the group. Thank ye Ordrud. he thinks as he pulls out the half-orc's former sling. Shuffling through the snow he makes for the trees on the east side of the group. His darkvision picks out the zombies through the pine boughs, and he whirls the sling rapidly over his head before letting a bullet fly at an oncoming zombie.
_________________________________
Ordrud solemnly replies to the Teladon, "The first team consisted of Three Humans: Captain Talisa Gwynn, Braden Tavel, and Cerasan Falentini; Girardin Shalewind, a Dwarf; Tycora Sandein, a Half-Elf cleric of Iomedae; and me."
Ordrud solemnly replies to the Teladon, "The first team consisted of Humans: Captain Talisa Gwynn, Sargent Andis Lohengrin, Braden Tavel, and Cerasan Falentini; Girardin Shalewind, a Dwarf; Tycora Sandein, a Half-Elf cleric of Iomedae; and me."
Hearing the familiar tiny fey, he stays as small as possible gripping his greatsword.
Talavuc lets the sling drop from her hand and starts it spinning as she takes sight of the fairies in the wood beyond. She glances down at Naasvit, who has coiled back a bit from the sudden appearance of enemies again. Let his instincts operate for now. He'll stay put. She looses the bullet at the nearest fairy.
"I've a spell to block vision, but it may give them an opportunity to disappear into the trees again!"
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|
Styvanus sprung across the snow and came to a sliding stop in front of Fenyx, facing the direction of the "fairies" with his shield raised high. He looked quickly towards the lumbering undead" Fenyx, take care of the dead. Everyone else, focus your fire on the Fey!" He commands.
________________________________________________________________________
Eyes widening from behind the mask, Teladon took a single deep breath as he watched the Necromancer and Druid cry out in pain as they were peppered with glittering shards of ice identical to the ones lodged in the dwarf’s body. Hearing the andoran call out to focus their fire, Teladon gave a single nod. There was no need for yelling or cursing. Now was the killing time and words would only slow his motions.
Dropping to one knee, Teladon whipped his nalwood longbow from out from his quiver, drawing an arrow at the same time. Knowing that the sprites could fly, Teladon decided that trying to engage them in melee would be a sure way to die. Instead the elf glanced at his arrow, its feathers grey from a snow goose. Let us see what the winter-touched think of cold iron. Teladon wryly mused, his lips taking on a slow smile.
Gripping the riser of his bow, Teladon took a long meditating breath as he focused on the internal well of energy that sustained and empowered his magic. He had touched on the well several times today and it was running low. He need time to meditate, time to focus himself, but he was out of time. Calling upon that well, Teladon filled the nalwood carved bow with tendrils of elven magic. Suddenly the nalwood bow erupted with blue light and glyphs of empowerment and the arrow began to radiate waves of translucent energy.
No mused Teladon, eyes narrowing on the sprites. Now was not the time to hold back.
_____________________________
Thankful for Styvanus' sudden appearance, Fenyx tries his best to overcome the numb cold spreading outward from the tiny arrow wound. A spiteful look in the direction of the treeline is soon met by the approach of the risen dead, however, and Fenyx's course becomes more apparent. Planting his scythe firmly into the hard packed snow for support, he turns to address the undead creatures he might sway to his cause.
"Послуша сега мојата волја. Почитувајте сега мојот збор. Служи!" Though the command resounds forcefully, the well of power the necromancer beckons forth remains firmly within his grasp, translucent wisps of light dampening energy steaming about his hands and the wicked curve of Dirge's blade. As the zombies emerge from the treeline, he releases it, his grim visage demanding their obedience.
_________________________
The zombies begin their slow march forward, trudging through the snow with their groans mixing with the crash and snap of branches to signal their coming. Fenyx can feel their presence before he has a clear line of sight to them, and only one falls within reach of his power to command the dead. Taking the opportunity, Fenyx unleashes a pulse of negative energy that washes like a cold, numbing breeze out from his body. The walking dead continues its mindless advance, and Fenyx can feel his will over the forces animating the corpse slip away as quickly as they take hold.
________________
Argrim shouts, "Stay away from the zombies. They're slowed by the snow. Let the necromancer have them. Concentrate on the fey." He moves toward the fey shouldering his new musket and firing at Pym.
_____________________________________
The dwarf had very little at his disposal to deal with the dangerous little fey perched as they were high on a tree branch. True he had a crossbow, but he knew he was no crack shot and doubted if the simple wooden bolts would even have any effect upon the otherworldly adversaries. His gaze drifted over the three faerie archers to the ice and snow covered top of the pine tree.
"Weakness to Strength, Strengths to weakness..." The Rune-scarred dwarf muttered to himself an old adage that came to his mind and lifted one of his snowshoes. With a deep intake of breath, he lowered his heavy shield before him and charged forward upon the snow, careening to throw his full force behind his shield as he rammed into the trunk of the pine tree. His intention was simple. Shake the tree, bring down snow and ice, and maybe even break a few branches. Whether it would work or not, he would soon discover.
At the last moment it seemed that the snow tripped Ar'Zarrcal up and he slid forward, smashing into the tree with his shield, but striking the trunk of the pine with far less force then he had intended. Sometimes thinking outside the box didn't pay off. Sometimes the box was there for a reason.
For all the preparedness the winter-touched sprites had, none of them were prepared for the keen senses of a Mordant elf and his prowess with the bow. Shor was a competent archer, but when faced with a comparative giant and an arrow that -- to Shor -- is the size of a ballista bolt. Teladon's cold-iron arrow whips through the air with remarkable speed and slices through Shor's midsection, spraying the snow with violet colored blood that has a rainbow-like oil-slick hue. The sprite barely makes a yelp before falling out of the tree and landing face down in the snow with moth-like wings twitching.
"Shor!" One of the other sprites shouts as their comrad falls in battle. "Uimh!" Flying out of the tree, the sprite begins to glow a bright icy blue, dropping it bow in mid-flight and shrieking in a tiny voice. "Bastaird tú daoine! Feicfidh mé tú a mharú!" It zips through the air with birdlike speed, coming to stop at the party's flank.
For all of its tiny size, the sprite warrior Pym musters a powerful magical effect far greater than itself. The tiny, glowing spot of the sprite erupts into a scintillating cone of searing colors, cacophonous sounds and strobing light with geometric patterns clashing against discordant hues. A scream erupts from the expedition team and Marcellano clutches his head, eyes wrenched shut as he drops his weapon and falls onto his back in the snow, writhing around before going deathly still. The same happens at Talavuc's side where, through the haze of colors, she can see Naasvit curling and writhing in the deep snow with limbs twitching wildly. She and Ordrud manage to shake off the shocking effect, only to see the glow of another sprite zipping by.
Vossi is far less loquacious, following Pym's lead to unleash another devastating blast of coruscating colors across the group's side from a different angle. The new angle of the blast catches Styvanus off guard and his muffled scream comes with an aborted jerk of his shield up to protect himself. He falters, loses his grip and as the shield falls into the snow Styvanus collapses onto his side. Once more, though, Ordrud manages to maintain his composure and force through the cold. Vossi stares wide-eyed as the muscular man -- no, orc -- is still standing, and then dawning recognition comes in.
It's the same orc from before.
Shor! No! You bastard humans! I'll kill you!
_____________
Rasso's paranoia was warranted.
Thwip, thwip, thwip.
Tiny arrows whip out from the snow-laden branches of the trees. Two arrows pierce into Fenyx, one at his shoulder and the other at his neck. The moment the arrows prick his flesh, he can feel a numbing cold extend into his body as frost and ice begins to sheathe his clothing and skin. The third arrow finds Talavuc's thigh, punching in with the pin-prick of a needle, but followed by that same sensation of numbing cold.
Talavuc manages to shake off the cold and pluck the tiny arrow out of her leg, but Fenyx feels the cold sinking into his bones, causing his hands to shake and breath to chill, no longer leaving puffs of steam with each exhalation. At that same moment, the groaning sound of cold flesh and dried muscle creaks in the treeline, and the party can make out three humanoid shapes with luminous, blue eyes marching out of the forest -- Undead.
"Daoine dúr!" Comes hissing from the treeline in a lilting, tiny voice. "Kill na daoine dúr!"
"Ciúin! Feicfidh tú a thabhairt dúinn ar shiúl!" Another shrieks from somewhere within the trees.
"Feicim dwavein agus le portán! Nach bhfuil sé ach daoine!" A third voice shrilly yelps from the trees. "Tá na chorpáin dúr chomh mall!"
Ordrud recognizes the tiny, tinkling voices and the sudden barrage of arrows, it's the same fae creatures that ambushed Gwynn's team!
Hearing the familiar tiny fey, Ordrud stays as small as possible gripping his greatsword while the ambush begins.
Crashing through the trees, lumbering corpses of three men dressed in snow-covered, ragged clothes look nothing like the fearsome frostfall zombies that had attacked earlier, these creatures seem to have more in common with the undead that attacked the Red Wraith at the journey's beginning, which likely means that they're villagers from Falcon's Hollow, turned into undying slaves.
Fortunately, Girardin's frozen corpse does not rise to join them. It seems that the dwarf's death had gone unnoticed by whatever necromantic force animated the townspeople.
Talavuc lets the sling drop from her hand and starts it spinning as she takes sight of the fairies in the wood beyond. She glances down at Naasvit, who has coiled back a bit from the sudden appearance of enemies again. Let his instincts operate for now. He'll stay put. She looses the bullet at the nearest fairy, and the heavy sling stone crashes through branches with an explosion of ice and snow, but the tiny fae creature narrowly avoids the impact, fluttering up to the next branch. "I've a spell to block vision, but it may give them an opportunity to disappear into the trees again!"
"Bah! Another ambush? ZOMBIES! Damn them to the Hells, I'm really beginning to hate this place!" Marcellano stows his new found rifle, before moving through the snow towards the new threat while getting his old musket ready. For now, he's out of range, however.
Styvanus sprung across the snow and came to a sliding stop in front of Fenyx, facing the direction of the "fairies" with his shield raised high. He looked quickly towards the lumbering undead. "Fenyx, take care of the dead. Everyone else, focus your fire on the Fey!" He commands.
Thankful for Styvanus' sudden appearance, Fenyx tries his best to overcome the numb cold spreading outward from the tiny arrow wound. A spiteful look in the direction of the treeline is soon met by the approach of the risen dead, however, and Fenyx's course becomes more apparent. Planting his scythe firmly into the hard packed snow for support, he turns to address the undead creatures he might sway to his cause.
"Послуша сега мојата волја. Почитувајте сега мојот збор. Служи!" Though the command resounds forcefully, the well of power the necromancer beckons forth remains firmly within his grasp, translucent wisps of light dampening energy steaming about his hands and the wicked curve of Dirge's blade. As the zombies emerge from the treeline, he releases it, his grim visage demanding their obedience.
The zombies begin their slow march forward, trudging through the snow with their groans mixing with the crash and snap of branches to signal their coming. Fenyx can feel their presence before he has a clear line of sight to them, and only one falls within reach of his power to command the dead. Taking the opportunity, Fenyx unleashes a pulse of negative energy that washes like a cold, numbing breeze out from his body. The walking dead continues its mindless advance, and Fenyx can feel his will over the forces animating the corpse slip away as quickly as they take hold.
Ordrud calls out, "Stay away from the zombies. They're slowed by the snow. Let the necromancer have them. Concentrate on the fey." He moves toward the fey shouldering his new musket and firing at Pym. The musket has surprising kick, sending the barrel jerking up into the air with a puff of white gunsmoke from the muzzle. Branches on the tree that the fey are perched on are blown apart, but the shot goes too high.
Eyes widening from behind the mask, Teladon took a single deep breath as he watched the Necromancer and Druid cry out in pain as they were peppered with glittering shards of ice identical to the ones lodged in the dwarf’s body. Hearing the Andoran call out to focus their fire, Teladon gave a single nod. There was no need for yelling or cursing. Now was the killing time and words would only slow his motions.
Dropping to one knee, Teladon whipped his nalwood longbow from out from his quiver, drawing an arrow at the same time. Knowing that the sprites could fly, Teladon decided that trying to engage them in melee would be a sure way to die. Instead the elf glanced at his arrow, its feathers grey from a snow goose. Let us see what the winter-touched think of cold iron. Teladon wryly mused, his lips taking on a slow smile.
Gripping the riser of his bow, Teladon took a long meditating breath as he focused on the internal well of energy that sustained and empowered his magic. He had touched on the well several times today and it was running low. He need time to meditate, time to focus himself, but he was out of time. Calling upon that well, Teladon filled the nalwood carved bow with tendrils of elven magic. Suddenly the nalwood bow erupted with blue light and glyphs of empowerment and the arrow began to radiate waves of translucent energy.
No mused Teladon, eyes narrowing on the sprites. Now was not the time to hold back.
For all the preparedness the winter-touched sprites had, none of them were prepared for the keen senses of a Mordant elf and his prowess with the bow. Shor was a competent archer, but when faced with a comparative giant and an arrow that -- to Shor -- is the size of a ballista bolt. Teladon's cold-iron arrow whips through the air with remarkable speed and slices through Shor's midsection, spraying the snow with violet colored blood that has a rainbow-like oil-slick hue. The sprite barely makes a yelp before falling out of the tree and landing face down in the snow with moth-like wings twitching.
"Shor!" One of the other sprites shouts as their comrad falls in battle. "[/b]Uimh![/b]" Flying out of the tree, the sprite begins to glow a bright icy blue, dropping it bow in mid-flight and shrieking in a tiny voice. "Bastaird tú daoine! Feicfidh mé tú a mharú!"
Rasso whirls as the sound of tiny arrows thwipping through the air registers. He's unable to see any targets, but the sound is coming from the other side of the group. Thank ye Ordrud. he thinks as he pulls out the half-orc's former sling. Shuffling through the snow he makes for the trees on the east side of the group. His darkvision picks out the zombies through the pine boughs, and he whirls the sling rapidly over his head before letting a bullet fly at an oncoming zombie, though all it does it whip over its shoulder. The sling feels a bit trickier to get the hang of than Rasso had first though, and his crablike appendages make it even more awkward yet to wield.
The dwarf had very little at his disposal to deal with the dangerous little fey perched as they were high on a tree branch. True he had a crossbow, but he knew he was no crack shot and doubted if the simple wooden bolts would even have any effect upon the otherworldly adversaries. His gaze drifted over the three faerie archers to the ice and snow covered top of the pine tree.
"Weakness to Strength, Strengths to weakness..." The Rune-scarred dwarf muttered to himself an old adage that came to his mind and lifted one of his snowshoes. With a deep intake of breath, he lowered his heavy shield before him and charged forward upon the snow, careening to throw his full force behind his shield as he rammed into the trunk of the pine tree. His intention was simple. Shake the tree, bring down snow and ice, and maybe even break a few branches. At the last moment it seemed that the snow tripped Ar'Zarrcal up and he slid forward, smashing into the tree with his shield, but striking the trunk of the pine with far less force then he had intended. Sometimes thinking outside the box didn't pay off. Sometimes the box was there for a reason.
Ar'Zarrcal's slam only sends a shower of ice and snow down from the branches, barely managing to shudder the old pine more than that. Shield scuffed from the impact, Ar'Zarral's charge of the tree has an inintended effect of sending the remaining fey scattering to safety to stay out of the dwarf's reach. It also leaves their fallen ally dying in the snow not far from the rune-scarred dwarf, zipping through the air with birdlike speed, Pym and Vossi alight from the branches of the trees coming to stop at the party's flank.
For all of its tiny size, the sprite warrior Pym musters a powerful magical effect far greater than itself. The tiny, glowing spot of the sprite erupts into a scintillating cone of searing colors, cacophonous sounds and strobing light with geometric patterns clashing against discordant hues. A scream erupts from the expedition team and Marcellano clutches his head, eyes wrenched shut as he drops his weapon and falls onto his back in the snow, writhing around before going deathly still. The same happens at Talavuc's side where, through the haze of colors, she can see Naasvit curling and writhing in the deep snow with limbs twitching wildly. She and Ordrud manage to shake off the shocking effect, only to see the glow of another sprite zipping by.
Vossi is far less loquacious, following Pym's lead to unleash another devastating blast of coruscating colors across the group's side from a different angle. The new angle of the blast catches Styvanus off guard and his muffled scream comes with an aborted jerk of his shield up to protect himself. He falters, loses his grip and as the shield falls into the snow Styvanus collapses onto his side. Once more, though, Ordrud manages to maintain his composure and force through the cold. Vossi stares wide-eyed as the muscular man -- no, orc -- is still standing, and then dawning recognition comes in.
It's the same orc from before.
<< | | | >>
Round 2
The musket had surprising kick, sending the barrel jerking up into the air with a puff of white gunsmoke from the muzzle. Branches on the tree that the fey are perched on blow apart, but the shot goes too high. Damn. Need more practice.
Two times, Ordrud managed to maintain his composure and force through the spray of color while the captain, marine, and female slump into the snow. Mother, protect me. I'll make you proud.
Vossi stared wide-eyed as the muscular man -- no, orc -- is still standing, and then dawning recognition comes in, It's the same orc from before. Ordrud fiercely grins at the recognition dropping the musket into the snow.
He swiftly shuffles through the snow toward Pym deftly drawing his cold iron greatsword from his waist scabbard. Adrenaline floods every part of his body. He roars, "DIE BUGS!"
______________________________________________________
Drawing back another arrow to his cheek Teladon holds it at the ready. Without releasing the tension on his bow, the elf cocked his head to the right, peering at the tiny fluttering form of the winter-sprite. A gust of wind swirled the snow around his feet as the bodies of his team crumple to the ground. Tá mé aon duine, Fey gheimhridh. Cé a chuir tú?! Labhair nó Die! Teladon intoned in the light, skipping tongue of the first world. A thairiscint mé seans amháin ag an trócaire, roimh fhaigheann tú bás cosúil le do chara. Peering at the sprite, the elven warrior kept his magically infused cold iron arrow trained on it. He had spent years learning patience, the chance to know more of who stalked them from the freezing shadows was worth a moment’s consideration.
_______________________________
I’m no human, winter fey. Who sent you?! Speak or Die!
I offer one chance at mercy, before you die like your friend.
Rasso moves over next to the unconscious Styvanus. Stretching out his long neck he snaps his large jaws at the nearest winter faerie, but the tiny creature proves elusive. Instead he gets a mouth of pine boughs, snow and ice. Mmmm, tastes like gin.
________________________________
Seeing the zombie advance undeterred causes a fair bit of aggravation to wash over the necromancer's face. His jaw sets, and he shakes off the last vestiges of the arrow's frigid bite to rise back to his full height, fixing the encroaching undead with a far more severe expression. "Learn your place, feeble husks! When you are commanded, " Fenyx brings Dirge down in a swift arc, gesturing towards the shambling corpses as he summons up the willpower to exert another wave of negative energy. His breathing becomes forced—if not ragged—and the length of his arms tremble slightly from the strain. The concentration yields a far more concentrated pulse than prior attempts, but Fenyx wears plainly the weight of this burden, sweat beading upon his brow despite the stifling pall of cold that lay over the forest.
_________________________
Round 2 - Initiative 21
"Naasvit!" she shouts as she looks down at her companion's writhing form. She starts lean down to aid him, but stops. No! Focus on the battle! There's nothing I can do... She gives a last worried glance, reaching into a pouch holding her sling bullets. Be alright. She slides the bullet into her sling and starts it spinning, taking aim at the nearest fairy.
She glares at the tiny fey creature and looses the bullet, wishing sorely for a bit of cold iron right now.
_____________________________________________________
|
"Nrrghghrghghgh!" was the sound heard from Marcellano as his ocular senses are raped by the spray of colors. His grip on his musket failed, and as it fell to the snow, his hands instead went to his head, as if holding his head and covering his eyes would help shut out the pain in his eyes and head. Unsurprisingly enough, his efforts were futile, and he slumped foward in the snow, landing in a crumpled heap next to his musket, his hat falling off his head in the process.
_______________________________
Relentlessly marching forward through the thick snow and hindered by its depth, two of the zombies march directly into Fenyx's readied snare. A burst of chilling negative energy washes like a pall of darkness over the wood and both of the approaching undead stagger and falter in their approach. Fenyx can feel one ensnared by his will, though it is a struggle to break the zombie free from the orders of another force that had given it clear instructions. But controling one is a hard enough affair, for while these are more basic creatures than the frostfallen dead Fenyx had commanded multiples of earlier, they are also more suffused with negative energy and it takes more of Fenyx's attention to direct. The second of the trio breaks free of Fenyx's commanding snare when the strain of trying to manage both overwhelms him.
One of the three zombies, however, halts on its progress and turns to Ar'Zarrcal. The zombie lunges out from behind the tree, crashing through a curtain of hanging fir branches, sending pine needles and snow at the dwarf. With shield raised, Ar'Zarrcal is able to drive the shambling corpse back, causing it to stumble and stagger in the snow without much threat.
__________________________________
_____________
Zombie CR 1/2
NE Medium undead
Init +0; Senses: darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +0
DEFENSE
AC 12, touch 10, flat-footed 12 (+2 natural)
hp 12 (2d8+3)
Fort +0, Ref +0, Will +3
DR 5/slashing; Immune: undead traits
OFFENSE
Spd 30 ft.
Melee slam +4 (1d6+4)
STATISTICS
Str 17, Dex 10, Con —, Int —, Wis 10, Cha 10
Base Atk +1; CMB +4; CMD 14
Feats: Toughness
Special Qualities: staggered
SPECIAL ABILITIES
Staggered (Ex)
Zombies have poor reflexes and can only perform a single move action or standard action each round (it has the staggered condition.) A zombie can move up to its speed and attack in the same round as a charge action.
Having encountered its kind before, the rune-scarred dwarf is able to raise his shield and repel the sudden attack from the walking corpse. Unwilling to fall before the hungry dead and having learned a thing or two since setting out on this journey, Ar'Zarrcal kicks up some snow and draws free the Ulfen battle-axe he had bargained away his coffee for. It was now time for the weapon to prove its value in trade.
With a skill born of decades of training which even the tortures and reeducation of Xin-Shalast could not erase, Ar'Zarrcal ducked beneath the outstretched arm of the Zombie and got at it's side. With a quick sideways cut, he drove the bladed head of his weapon into the soft flesh above the hip, intending to cut deep and to the spine.
------
Move Action: Draw Battle-Axe
Standard Action: Attack with Battle-Axe
Ordrud's heavy blade swings wildly through the air, driven by memories of defeat and dreams of vengeance against these winter fey. The sword strikes Pym with an unrelenting force so brutal that neither Ordrud nor Pym actually feels the sword hit. For Ordrud there is just a sudden spray of warm blood across his face and armor, and for Pym the sudden loss of feeling in his legs as he is divided in half. The sprite is dead before his bisected parts hits the snow, staining it red.
Vossi's only reaction is a primal scream of terror and anguish as Pym is slain before her eyes. The sprite begins to glow brightly in that icy blue hue. "Beidh an rí fianna tú a mharú go léir!" The threat comes in Vossi's tiny, tinkling voice as it bolts straight up in the air fifteen feet, then zips over the group's head like a bolt of lightning in a storm through the forest.
Seeing Vossi move, Teladon lets loose with his arrow and the shot streaks true through the air. However, this shot comes short of striking Vossi down, instead leaving a vicious gasy from thigh to shoulder that weeps blood through the rift in Vossi's woven leaf armor.
Trying to fly away as fast as possible, Vossi winds up moving right past Rasso's shark-like face, and with the stunning speed of a snapping turtle the eidolon-bound merfolk lashes out with a tremendously powerful bite, snapping Vossi out of the air with little more than a muffled yelp and a puff of blue-white sparkles.
Between Rasso's shark-like teeth, a bloody mess of moth wings and mangled limbs bristle out.
Minty.
____________
"Naasvit!" Teladon shouts as she looks down at her companion's writhing form. She starts lean down to aid him, but stops. No! Focus on the battle! There's nothing I can do... She gives a last worried glance, reaching into a pouch holding her sling bullets. Be alright. She slides the bullet into her sling and starts it spinning, taking aim at the nearest fairy.
She glares at the tiny fey creature and looses the bullet, wishing sorely for a bit of cold iron right now. Though no matter what metal that airborne lump was made out of, it wouldn't have mattered. Teladon's sling bullet flies far too wide, landing in the snow away from the fey creature with a puff of ice and snowdust.
"Nrrghghrghghgh!" was the sound heard from Marcellano as his ocular senses are raped by the spray of colors. His grip on his musket failed, and as it fell to the snow, his hands instead went to his head, as if holding his head and covering his eyes would help shut out the pain in his eyes and head. Unsurprisingly enough, his efforts were futile, and he slumped foward in the snow, landing in a crumpled heap next to his musket, his hat falling off his head in the process.
Seeing the zombie advance undeterred causes a fair bit of aggravation to wash over the necromancer's face. His jaw sets, and he shakes off the last vestiges of the arrow's frigid bite to rise back to his full height, fixing the encroaching undead with a far more severe expression. "Learn your place, feeble husks! When you are commanded, " Fenyx brings Dirge down in a swift arc, gesturing towards the shambling corpses as he summons up the willpower to exert another wave of negative energy. His breathing becomes forced—if not ragged—and the length of his arms tremble slightly from the strain. The concentration yields a far more concentrated pulse than prior attempts, but Fenyx wears plainly the weight of this burden, sweat beading upon his brow despite the stifling pall of cold that lay over the forest.
Relentlessly marching forward through the thick snow and hindered by its depth, two of the zombies march directly into Fenyx's readied snare. A burst of chilling negative energy washes like a pall of darkness over the wood and both of the approaching undead stagger and falter in their approach. Fenyx can feel one ensnared by his will, though it is a struggle to break the zombie free from the orders of another force that had given it clear instructions. But controling one is a hard enough affair, for while these are more basic creatures than the frostfallen dead Fenyx had commanded multiples of earlier, they are also more suffused with negative energy and it takes more of Fenyx's attention to direct. The second of the trio breaks free of Fenyx's commanding snare when the strain of trying to manage both overwhelms him.
One of the three zombies, however, halts on its progress and turns to Ar'Zarrcal. The zombie lunges out from behind the tree, crashing through a curtain of hanging fir branches, sending pine needles and snow at the dwarf. With shield raised, Ar'Zarrcal is able to drive the shambling corpse back, causing it to stumble and stagger in the snow without much threat.
Having encountered its kind before, the rune-scarred dwarf is able to raise his shield and repel the sudden attack from the walking corpse. Unwilling to fall before the hungry dead and having learned a thing or two since setting out on this journey, Ar'Zarrcal kicks up some snow and draws free the Ulfen battle-axe he had bargained away his coffee for. It was now time for the weapon to prove its value in trade.
With a skill born of decades of training which even the tortures and reeducation of Xin-Shalast could not erase, Ar'Zarrcal ducked beneath the outstretched arm of the Zombie and got at it's side. With a quick sideways cut, he drove the bladed head of his weapon into the soft flesh above the hip, intending to cut deep and to the spine, but only managing to leave a superficial gash in the stiffly frozen carcass.
Two times, Ordrud had managed to maintain his composure and force through the spray of color while the captain, marine, and female slump into the snow. Mother, protect me. I'll make you proud.
Vossi stared wide-eyed as the muscular man -- no, orc -- is still standing, and then dawning recognition comes in, It's the same orc from before. Ordrud fiercely grins at the recognition dropping the musket into the snow.
He swiftly shuffles through the snow toward Pym deftly drawing his cold iron greatsword from his waist scabbard. Adrenaline floods every part of his body. He roars, "DIE BUGS!"
Ordrud's heavy blade swings wildly through the air, driven by memories of defeat and dreams of vengeance against these winter fey. The sword strikes Pym with an unrelenting force so brutal that neither Ordrud nor Pym actually feels the sword hit. For Ordrud there is just a sudden spray of warm blood across his face and armor, and for Pym the sudden loss of feeling in his legs as he is divided in half. The sprite is dead before his bisected parts hits the snow, staining it red.
Drawing back another arrow to his cheek Teladon holds it at the ready. Without releasing the tension on his bow, the elf cocked his head to the right, peering at the tiny fluttering form of the winter-sprite. A gust of wind swirled the snow around his feet as the bodies of his team crumple to the ground. "Tá mé aon duine, Fey gheimhridh. Cé a chuir tú?! Labhair nó Die!" Teladon intoned in the light, skipping tongue of the first world. "A thairiscint mé seans amháin ag an trócaire, roimh fhaigheann tú bás cosúil le do chara." Peering at the sprite, the elven warrior kept his magically infused cold iron arrow trained on it. He had spent years learning patience, the chance to know more of who stalked them from the freezing shadows was worth a moment’s consideration.
Rasso moves over next to the unconscious Styvanus. Stretching out his long neck he snaps his large jaws at Vossi's fluttering form, but the tiny creature proves elusive. Instead he gets a mouth of pine boughs, snow and ice. Mmmm, tastes like gin.
Vossi's only reaction is a primal scream of terror and anguish as Pym is slain before her eyes. The sprite begins to glow brightly in that icy blue hue. "Beidh an rí fianna tú a mharú go léir!" The threat comes in Vossi's tiny, tinkling voice as it bolts straight up in the air fifteen feet, then zips over the group's head like a bolt of lightning in a storm through the forest.
Seeing Vossi move, Teladon lets loose with his arrow and the shot streaks true through the air. However, this shot comes short of striking Vossi down, instead leaving a vicious gasy from thigh to shoulder that weeps blood through the rift in Vossi's woven leaf armor.
Trying to fly away as fast as possible, Vossi winds up moving right past Rasso's shark-like face, and with the stunning speed of a snapping turtle the eidolon-bound merfolk lashes out with a tremendously powerful bite, snapping Vossi out of the air with little more than a muffled yelp and a puff of blue-white sparkles.
Between Rasso's shark-like teeth, a bloody mess of moth wings and mangled limbs bristle out.
Minty.
<< | | | The Forest Trail >>
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Rasso gulps down the fairy, then spits a few bits of armor from his mouth. Confronted with two zombies trudging towards him through the snow, he calls back over his shoulder "Oi, Fenyx! You gonner get these bodies under control, er should I eat 'em?" Rasso holds his claws up at shoulder height and width, his beady red eyes trained on the zombies. He crouches, tensing his legs to attack while awaiting a response.
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Marcellano Kain
Styvanus Rozier
Robert Brookes
