Grendel had a lot of trouble getting the sight of Dimqu's final moments out of his mind. He had thought it was his failure that she had died the first time. Unless she had already been a vampire. Still, the terror in her eyes stuck with the half-orc. The sight of their bodies being buried clean by the sunlight would stick with him for a long time.
The druid was puzzled by the fact that the falling rain did not freeze to the chains. Getting analmost solid outline of what this thing might be. He was glad that they had managed to stop the stream of corruption from hitting the nearby stream. Grendel dreaded the outcome of that happening.
Holy water is liberally applied to the undead remains, which are passionlessly torn asunder and buried in numerous undisclosed locations.
The rest of the day, and one more passes without incident, but the morning of the next proves to be unsettling.
En route to the area of blight you find the body with torn flesh, and dark, savage bruises, some of them in the clear outline of impossibly strong fingers, lapped around his neck. His hands and feet are grotesquely swollen. They had been broken so badly and in so many places that they looked more like sausages than human limbs. His belly and chest had been torn so severely that you can see organs. The head is all but removed.
There is very little blood for so vicious an attack.
A half-bloodied boot mark leads you away from the town and toward the forest. The creature is less cautious the further it gets away from the site of the attack, making it easier to track.
Further along the path you find an animal torn asunder. It does not appear to have been fed upon, and only appears to have died to fulfil the sadistic needs of immensely powerful monster.
Hours lay behind you as you find its hide deep within the ground. It is slightly darker than you would imagine it to be for this time of day, which makes you wonder if you've made a mistake in tracking the position of the sun.
Thunder cracks in the distance, despite having no clouds in the sky, and it has been days since there has been any rain.
You are perhaps 3-5 miles from Dewsdam.
Following the trail away from the near bloodless, torn asunder corpse, became easier the further away the town. At the sight of the cruelly slain animal, Grendel ground his his teeth. The thought of dragging this thing out into the day light to be cleansed by the sun was feeling very good.
Of course, that made him think about the execution of the other vampires. They hadn't been asleep when dragged out into the day. They had been very much awake at the time. Naturally, Grendel couldn't help but think about the look of terror that had held in Dimqu's eyes. He didn't think she was terrified about being slain. It had seemed like something much worse then that, if at all possible.
"So, there's a pretty decent chance that this one will be awake. Dimqu and the other guy were awake, just so you two are aware of that possibility," Grendel had quietly told the other half-orc's while standing near the mutilated animal. He breathes a silent prayer out to the spirit of the slain creature. Mis-matched eyes couldn't help but look at the damage the vampire had caused with it's bare hands.
As they continued to track the monster down, Grendel was seriously wondering if they had all gone completely insane. Just absolutely barking mad, wandering off into these woods. They were tracking down a vampire of all things. Taking a deep breath, the young druid slowly exhales, attempting to calm himself once more. It was tough to regain anything resembling a sense of calm that his training had instilled in him. He suddenly missed the open expanse of the desert. These woods seemed a bit to closed in for his initial liking. Perhaps if he wasn't on the trail of an undead monster he might be more willing relax.
Running a hand through his spiky, fiery hair, he looks at the trail that had been left. At this point, it didn't look as though the monster put any effort into concealing it's tracks. 'And why would it bother? He can only tear people apart with his hands,' Grendel thinks to himself. 'Perhaps I wasn't as lucky as I thought to have landed on this shore,' the druid silently muses.
Grendel jumps at the sudden crack of thunder, his mis-matched eyes going skyward, and a frown growing across his face. The druid peers at the sky for several long moments, trying to get a better guess on what the weather had in store for them. He was also hoping he hadn't misjudged how long they had spent tracking the vampire down to it's burrow. 'I'm seriously regretting getting out of bed today,' the young prince briefly thinks to himself.
"Well, here we are," Grendel says, after leaning in close to the other two. The druid was barely whispering, completely unsure as to how well the vampire could hear them. "Get it in the daylight and chop it's head off right?" he breathes to Cal and Dandelion.
You bear witness to something that has never been seen in the thousands of years of recorded history of the realms.
It starts with the sun being slowly choked from the sky by ominous clouds that simply form in an unnatural manner. A sudden night douses the sun fully 11 hours before you would expect darkness.
It is then that fire scorches the umbral sky. Hundreds of thousands of lances of white-hot fire, trailing luminous purple vapour and sparkles of yellow light relentlessly collide with the ground with explosive force. This bombardment continues for hours, forcing you to ground, and even that does not save you from severe burns, and multiple lacerations.
Moving to an impact site reveals something confusing and inexplicable. Within the large crater is a blood-soaked humanoid creature with shining topaz eyes, metallic skin, hundreds of wounds, and three pairs of what were once white feathered wings. The 16' tall humanoid screams with a painfully loud alien voice, as its very being is being devoured by the noxious-smelling substance that looks like tar engulfed in yellow-white flame. The creature disappears, making you wonder if you could trust your eyes, though the impact crater remains behind to tell the tale.
Peals of thunder rumble from numerous directions at once. They are accompanied by lightning, which provides momentary illumination with a sudden angry blue fire that slowly fades from your eyes. You witness a number of lightning strikes colliding with dozens of invisible objects in the air, the closest of which would be in the exact location of the "chain" you discovered.
The world is plunged into an age of darkness.
" Well that's a nice trick." Cal's caustic humor coming to the full front. At first after the first event with the chain and of course the vampires. The pain and the loss that Dimqu had expressed, as if she had just regained her mind.
Of course the fact that she had turned into a vampire, it could have been the vampires instinctual need for blood that had been trying to lure someone for food and to protect itself.
The fact of the matter was that no one knew much at the moment of vampires, so if could have been a person that had been cursed. Cal decides that he would be documenting the new creatures that he would more then likely be coming across.
The next mourning had dawned with a creature just killing a person, leaving behind remains had been just the tip of storm of woe that had arrived.
Cal was shocked at the sight of the bloody winged being, While the storm hit, Cal hide with the other two trying to recall if he had heard anything about this creature.
" This day just keeps getting' better and better." Cal mutters to himself, while glad that he could still see.
Dandelion, freshly set upon the world, is a miasma of emotions and thoughts. An event such as this may easily change a person - indeed it would be hard not to be changed by such a thing.
The group of half-orcs chase down a potential vampire, not knowing whether they can even defeat it. But what else is there to be done?
They find bodies. Who it is is much less important that how to stop it from continuing.
Eventually they find a lair. The fear is very real as the three consider their options, and the consequences of acting; or of not acting.
Soon, the skies darken, and a great Evil rains upon the land. Dandelion sees in the faces of the others that this is not something ever seen before, not even something that is believed, until it hits them directly. And it does.
Light leads to Darkness. Day leads to night.
It seems ridiculously feeble to Dandelion to sit and treat his burned skin with water and strips of cloth; but he does it anyways. These thought circulate around his brain, and he has learned much of human (and half-orc) nature now. First, that despite the epic events occurring around them, individuals continue, and they have the same needs they always had - food (for he is hungry), water, shelter, health. Second, that people come together very quickly when faced with a common disaster and a common enemy. Third, that the power of Mother Nature can be met or even exceeded by other, yet unkown Natures. What Nature is this, that destroys the very earth everyone lives on?
The Oracle Dandelion sits after his worst burn is bound. He closes his eyes, and he is shut out from the world, hearing and seeing nothing. His connection to the Mother has always been tenuous; not a heartbeat that can be heard merely by putting ones ear to another's chest, rather a fish in a pond, which may or may not take the bait presented it. It could not be seen, or sensed, the vast majority of the time, but one knows it is there, from the occasional glimpse, from the odd wave on the water, from the quick plop and disappearance of a bug dancing on the pond's surface. One knows it is there, always. And thus one drops a line, with bait, in hopes of catching it. Sometimes the fish takes the bait and other times it is as if it is not there (but it is).
Now, he is sure the Mother is still there, as she always is. Isn't she? Suddenly, the greatest fear of all presents itself on a plate of silver to Dandelion. What if she is gone? He looks around for a sign, and, finding none, and in desperation, does what he knows should work, must work. He puts his hands in a cup shape and wills the water to form in it spontaneously (Create Water).
Calvoric is absolutely stymied by the creature they had seen.
Dandelion's hands fill with water, just as they did before the skies darkened.
The lair is nearby, after taking a moment to orient yourself, you place it about 400 yards away.
Gold and green eyes absorb the sight of the covering of the sun, bolts of brilliant energy rain down destruction all around them. The druid had been flung away by on such nearby explosion. Ears ringing, Grendel could feel his hot blood leaking down his face from a gash. Dumbly, he felt his head wound, fingers coming away red. At the sight of the blood, his nerves began to scream at him.
It took but a matter of seconds for his mind to tally up his injuries. He felt burnt, like he had been running naked in the desert for an entire day. He cold feel wetness in several different spots on his right side. A glance showed that he had been cut by bits of rock shrapnel. In quite a number of different places. He could feel Ichi's tiny fingers digging into his chest.
The little monkey had taken refugee under the robe, and looked to have escaped physical harm. Nagrish looked a little singed, and his fur was standing on end, but seemed mostly undamaged. The desert cat did shoot the druid a very annoyed look, clear that he blamed Grendel for the disturbance.
In the nearby crater the giant winged humanoid was screaming. It was a sound he would never be able to get out of his mind. So alien, and yet it's message was all to clear. Agony. It was being devoured or dissolved alive by what looking to burning tar colored a yellowish-white. Before Grendel could even try to move his numbed mind and body, the giant was gone. A single damage feather catches the errant breeze of destruction and flutters to a rest near the druid.
Crouching down, Grendel picks it up and looks at it for a moment, before sliding into the almost ruined pockets of his robe. His mis-matched eyes never leaving the strange burning tar stuff as he numbly backs away from the edge of the crater. Almost of their own will, his hands begin to mark out the mystic gestures, his lips moving in chant as he build up his power.
A faint greenish-white energy springs to life around the druid's hands . Grendel carefully runs his hands over his surprising number of injuries. It seems he had been a little too close to the crater before it became a crater.
Gasping in pain as the healing energies restore his damaged nerves, the shock to his system finally shook him out of his head and back to the others. It was then he realizes that they had been crouched low and hiding for perhaps not minutes but hours.
"Heh, he, hehehehehehe," Grendel giggles rather suddenly. "Looks like the Bruh guy who became a vampire is not a big deal anymore." Grendel screws his eyes shut and takes a deep, shuddering breath. He slowly exhales, trying to calm his thoughts. He could feel tightness in this mind that he had never noticed before. The druid was pretty certain what he laughingly called his sanity was dangerously close to taking a long dive off of a short cliff.
Nagrish lets out a low growl, staring at the druid, and crouching down like he was getting ready to pounce.
"I'm well, calm yourself down," he says looking at the angry, blue eyed cat. "You'll both be fine," he reassures the cat and monkey. 'Yet another lie,' he thinks.
Grendel finally has the mental capacity back to look around at their surroundings. Not that he was thinking anything was crazy enough to sneak up on them at the present moment. Unless it was that tar stuff.
"So boys, we gotta couple of options. One, give up and fall on ones sword. No hard feelings if that's your decision, 'cause I'm giving it a little thought myself. Two, we hide in the burrow and hope it doesn't have a vampire in it," Grendel swallows nervously. "Three, we run like hell and don't stop until we find daylight. Finally, we try and figure out what in the hells is happening and attempt to reverse it." The druid pauses for a moment and shakes his head. "That has to be the most insane thing I think I have ever said in my life."
Mis-matched eyes moving skyward, the young druid tries to recall any natural events that might even come close. The blacking of the sky, almost sounded familiar, it had something to do with the moon though. At least he thinks that is the case. What was currently happening was not part of the natural order of things.
"It might be a cycle outside of the natural cycle, that could be it," Grendel mutters out loud as he searches the sky. The half-orc still seems to be in shock.
Mystic energies play over the druid's injuries, knitting together torn and burned flesh.
Grendel remembers no event or story that provides any insight into what just happened.
" We have such great choices, let's go with the shelter for now. However if your friends don't want to go into or near the burrow, then we should make haste to the town." Cal says, after humming a tune, trying to adapt to this new situation.
In the back of his mind; Cal can hear his voice saying Nono no nonononono. Bad place, we should leave. shut up! Cal thinks back to the fear tinged voice.
The tune is a soothing one reminding others of a time spent drowsing in the shade of a tree on the summer solstice; and the taste of honeysuckle air. Cal wraps up some of the burns and cuts winching at the feel of cloth.
" Well since Jyr doesn't like working after dark, he'll have more time for ale. I guess he got his wish." Cal jokes to the other two, winking so Dandelion could understand the joke.
The Mother is still there, thinks Dandelion with a heavy sigh of relief. He takes the water and uses it to wash his wounds.
When the others mention going in the hole, Dandelion looks at them as if they are crazy. Perhaps they are, considering what has happened.
"I do not suggest going in that hole. Perhaps we should call the thing up and try to kill it, if it's in there."
With that he pulls out three pebbles from his pouch, and kisses each one in turn (Magic Stone), and holds them in his hand. They are a weapon against aberrations of nature. He takes another small rock from the ground and it starts to glow with a bright light. He makes to throw it down the dark hole, but watches to see if the others think it's a good idea first.
" Well I agree, I think we should see if we can get some aid from the local constable or maybe someone who can give us a better chance at survivn'. I've got a few tricks with bringin' magic to my sword. " Cal says, running his hand across the pommel.
Cal looks at the burrow, his eyes narrowing at the thought of fighting something that could blacken the sun and kill whatever that had lied in the crater.
"Drawing it out sounds like a better idea than trying to fight it in the burrow," Grendel nods to Dandelion. He glances back towards Dewsdam, and looks to the air where the invisible things had been struck repeatedly by lightning. The young druid does feel a little calmer after Cal sings a tune about relaxing on a summer day.
The druid realized they were going to be living an element of nature that was often forgotten. For all of it's beauty, nature only allowed the strongest to survive. Grendel knew that, no matter what would become of the current animals and people, the All Mother would continue. She would raise the next, those able to survive. Grendel's resolve to remain alive hardens, all thought of giving up brushed from his thoughts.
Focusing his attention back to the burrow, Grendel speaks up.
"Perhaps it is asleep, for lack of a better word. It could have attacked us during the.., lightning fall. When that winged creature was being.., dissolved," the druid shudders at the memory of the things scream. "We might be better tasked with seeing what happen back at Dewsdam and look for survivors. It could be possible Bragh might have fled already, given what has just transpired. I guess we should at least check, rather than let a vampire run around behind us."
The thought of being stalked by something could tear someone apart with their bear hands was not a comfortable one. Nor was the thought of actually facing it in combat.
Dandelion, holding onto the brightly glowing stone, looks into the hole. Normally he can see well in the dark, but this darkness seems somehow unnatural; or maybe that is in his head?. He feels he is, as the human phrase goes, "groping in the darkness" with respect to this vampire.
Perhaps it would suck all their blood and they would be dead. At this moment, death does not seem too bad - as though worse things he saw are before them, and death at least seems more natural.
He tosses the belighted stone into the hole and watches to see what darkness is folded aside, if any; and then rests his hand protectively on his flail. His shield is in his other hand, though for some reason he fears it will not protect him against this.
The illuminated stone rolls into the hole, falling just far enough to cast a bit of light up from the 11" drop.
Outside of the confusion wrought by the thunder and lightning you hear a muffled scream from down below.
At the sound of the muffled scream, Grendel's eyebrows shot up to his smoldering hairline in surprise. The fact that they could hear the scream over the thunder and lightning let them know that someone was certainly hiding in the burrow.
Curious as the proverbial cat, Grendel crept closer to the hole so that he could get a better look in the burrow.
Tendrils of thick fog reach out across the land. Their touch a sort of greasy, burning cold, which floods your perceptions, foul that twists your stomach in abrupt nausea, and steals your breath. You feel unclean in a way that is very familiar to Dandelion. The fog remains, since there is no sun to burn it away. You are well-versed in the ways of plants, and understand that if the clouds remain then plants will die, followed quickly by animals en masse, the humanoid races will not be far behind as the world dies.
The colour fades from your sight as your half-orc eyes naturally adjust to the lasting darkness that exists in between the jagged blue-white lightning flashes. There does not appear to be anything special about this darkness, as your vision is untrammeled as normal out to a distance of approximately 20 paces.
An oppressive charnel-house stench washes over those of you nearest the hole, it is the mix of old blood, offal, and rotting meat.
Illuminated by the magical stone your eyes shift to the normal spectrum of light, making you regret the ability to see colour. Exsanguinated bodies and body parts, in different stages of rot, are piled up as high as 3' within the small confines of the sinkhole. Their rot assails your nostrils. Everything looks to be coated with moving salt and pepper, which quickly deduce to be a swarm of feeding flies, and their hungry offspring.
It is difficult to see from your vantage point, but it appears as if the walls are painted in sigils of blood, some that are still wet.
Spiked to the wall is a emaciated young human male, garbed in rags, who is the owner of the muffled screams. His jaw looks to be broken, and his wounds are grievous. His eyes desperately seek out whomever threw the glowing stone. You can just imagine the nightmare of being in that place for someone that could pierce the darkness.
Close to the young man is a single corpse that no fly or maggot touches. It had once been a young man. Dessication had left its features gaunt in a strangely alluring manner. The vampire was not tall, as death had withered it into an emaciated caricature of a human being. Its eyes were covered with a white, rheumy film, and flakes of dead flesh fell from its decay-drawn lips and clung to its yellowed teeth. Hair like brittle, dead grass stood out from its head, and there was some kind of mould growing from it. You see a very familiar tattoo swirling around its body, which has all but faded. Upon its back is a backpack.
Its eyes.
They are open.
The creature lurches to its feet and slithers up through the hole with inhuman speed and strength. Its very presence a mockery of humanity. Though it is still "day" behind the clouds, you see no ill effects in the creature.
It is within range of your strikes.
Cal curses while drawing his sword his mind becoming crystal clear, calling his magic from the core of his being, willing it to extend out to his sword. The long sword starts to glow, shedding a faint blue glow, the magic buried for so long, hungers for something to start chewing on glad to finally be awake after slumbering in the half-orc's body.
Cal knew that he didn't have much of a chance but he took a step back starting to sing a racing bar fight song he had heard years ago infusing it with the touch of the Song " Oooooohhhhh Lads! We March for gloooory/ our cause is for Whiskey! As Our Blades Cut Those Belfast Fooools!"
Twas a stupid song for sure, made only tolerable by massive amounts of Alcohol, but the Song took the subtext twisting it to touch the bard and his friends, having the confidence that they could drive off what they faced.
Dandelion feels the miasmic, sickening vapors flow past him, and deathly memories of the Chain flood his awareness. These are one and the same, he feels.
He mentions it to the others. "This is the same... the same as the Chain I touched. It makes my soul ill."
Soon, too soon, after seeing the unfortunate boy below, the cause of today's deaths edges from its hole. Dandelion cannot think of it as a he, for it does not live, not really. It is fast and extremely frightening. He wonders if it can be killed, rather, stopped, put to rest, without the light of the sun. He wonders if some of that water they used in town would help.
No matter - they have neither of those. They will have to protect themselves right now. Perhaps if it were beat to the ground, dismembered, its pieces separated and buried, it would then be stopped for a time?
He picks out one of his enchanted stones as he moves back a step, then hurls it with force at the vampire.
Stepping back out of it's immediate claw swipe with it's rot filled talons, a chant fills his mind.
Right hand cupped as if holding an invisible orbs, Grendel begins the twisting motions required for this ritual. Words older then man flowed from the druid's lips as he summons up Nature's gift.
Appearing in a blink, a noxious looking ball of burning tar bubbles to life within his cupped hand. As the last of the druid magics settle, the Tarball shoots from his outstretched hand, launching itself at the vampire.
Ichi stays silent as the battle begins, clinging to the druid, terror pounding through his tiny veins.
Nagrish narrows his blue eyes, fear undercut by the rushing of his blood as dead-moving thing got closer. The desert cat waits for the druid's command.
The battle is short and brutal.
Your strikes land true, bypassing the monster's half-rotted leather armour and tearing into the desiccated flesh beneath. Syrupy blood flows slowly from its many wounds.
You never stood a chance.
It throws itself at you with seemingly no regard for defence, or pain. No wound, no matter how grievous, appears to slow the tireless monster. Its unholy touch drains you of your very vitality, making the air feel thick, and your movements slower and slower.
The killing blow was ever inevitable.
---
You awake into a darkness that your eyes can pierce. The light stone no longer provides illumination. Flashes of lightning give momentary glimpses of your surroundings in colour.
Your body screams out as the crude iron spikes are driven through your hands deep into the clay beyond. It props you up into a standing position, its hand with an iron grip on your throat as it works to incarcerate your flesh. You are close enough to smell the blood on its break and to look into rheumy eyes that speak of a feral sort of madness.
Impossibly fast flashes of movement rend your flesh with elongated fingernails. You look down to see wounds very reminiscent of a number of the slashing injuries you saw upon Xelien and Dimqu. It feeds on your open wounds, further crippling you as you feel your lifeforce drain out of you. It stops with a growl, shaking its head like an animal, and slapping itself in the head.
With a inhuman scream it launches itself up the hole, climbing a near vertical with preternatural ease, and gives chase after the fleeing Ichi and Nagrish.
The scene in the pit is even more horrific than it appeared from the surface, as there is a tunnel off shooting from the hole, which is little more than a blanket of spiderwebs and entombed corpses.
The wrenching inhuman scream cruelly pulls Grendel back into the realm of fully conscious. The druid hand been somewhat aware of what transpired during their defeat. Inside of his throat feeling painfully raw, the realization of why he had been screaming himself horse floods into his mind.
Pain.
Time had ceased, all that had been was pain.
Shifting his head ever so carefully, Grendel saw what had feared was true. His hands had been spiked through, pinning him to the clay wall. Just as a geyser of panic and terror was about to erupt, the druid hears the voice of the Leader of the circle he was apart of ring out in his head.
The memory blossom forth, as he feels the hot desert wind over his body, the unrelenting sun above. The two had been talking about fear, specifically, Grendel had asked if his Teacher had ever been afraid. The young druid had fallen into a camel sized trap-door spider's lair. Laying on the floor of the hole, he had stared at his rushing doom. To terrified to move as the spider rushed in, dagger sized fangs dripping venom. Thanks to the quick actions of the master druid, he had been left uneaten.
"Of course," the old man had chuckled. "Being afraid is part Nature's design. Fear, makes you faster and stronger, it gives your mind the chance to realize what is happening. It's the Prey's advantage over the Hunter. Otherwise the Hunter would have no challenge, and grow fat and weak." The druid had smiled at the half-orc. "You have to except fear, it's part of you. Take what it gives you, except whatever causes you to be afraid. Don't sit there like a scared mouse caught in the serpent's gaze." His staff had firmly clunked the top of the half-orc's think skull.
Twitching at the memory of the blow, Grendel slowly begins to shift his feet, his mis-matched eyes darting around the charnel pit. He took heart that Cal and Dandelion looked to be still alive. Although, looking at the wounds that they all shared, remaining alive was going to be very, very, very.., difficult. For what he was planning, Grendel was almost glad his arms had gone numb.
Saying a muttered prayer to the Desert Spirits in his native Ignan, Grendel closes his eyes trying to gather up what little strength that he had left in his body. He hopes that Nagrish was manipulative to bait the vampire into the burning tar in the crater. The cat was certainly evil enough to do such a thing. See how it likes being dissolved like the winged giant.
Shifting his weight and posture, Grendel leans forward, using his body weight and leg strength to attempt to pull his spiked hands free. He wasn't going to end up as these damn vampires dinner. The druid had experienced quite enough of the insane undead thing's hospitality.
Cal's body started to shake from the massive amount of blood loss, the nausea barely pierced the cold. Rather then weeping at the horror of the cruel hand that fate had dealt him, Cal started to look around at least, as much as his bonds would allow him.
Focusing on the iron spike which had brought the fear back at the ease of which the vampire had taken the three of them down with such ease. The thought of being one of those creatures also brought anger. The shock wouldn't last forever Cal knew that he had to do something.
Taking a breath; Cal went through the process of mentally getting ready to pull his hand off of the spike, thinking that tearing down would be very bad. The bard needed his hands, and he knew he had magic to at least knit his wounds.
His body was shaking, but Cal at the corr of his mind a survivor and there could be a way out still. Keeping that thought first and foremost, revenge was still ppssible, if not the Cal would settle for spitting in the parasite's eyes to enrage it. A true death would be more preferred, or if undeath was the current feature then revenge on the one that had caused the undeath.
" I.Am.Not.Sweet.Meat." Cal growls while trying to pull his hands free he leans forward
Dandelion is sure he had screamed. In the back of his mind, echoes of those unconscious memories resounded.
Now, he tries to maintain his calm. It's very difficult, when you are nailed to a wall with the prospect of having your blood and very life force removed by teeth. The fear of that time grips him. He shivers, too, though it's not clear if the shivering is from the cool surroundings, the fear scrambling his brain, or the pain and blood loss he feels he had removed.
He thinks about the others, wondering why they didn't tell him how bad vampires really were. Just how fast and crazy evil they were. Then he realizes, they didn't really know, either. He looks at them, pain coursing from his hands up his arms. Calvoric was struggling to get off. Grendel too.
Dandelion whispers to them, as he was taught by his human friends. Breath out, no voice vibrations, and say the words. He whispers, "Lips, no voice." Hoping they'll understand.
But it is hopeless, is it not? This vampire has them, and it will feast on their half-orc blood until it is all gone. Tears form in Dandelions eyes, and he is unable to wipe them away.
Jagged bits of the crudely-crafted spike lance into the inflamed, and bleeding flesh of your palm. Unbearable stabbing pains shoot up your arms emanating from the gash. Grendel and Calvoric excruciatingly draw their flesh along the taper an inch at a time, sweat beads on their shaking flesh, their breaths a mixture of held and gasping, as they work against every impulse to stop.
Each half-orc falls to the ground in a senseless stupour, leaving behind chunks of their own flesh. The gaping wounds on their hands matching the rivulets of blood that lace their bodies, along with the formation of the thick black bruising that will band their skin by morning...if morning ever comes again.
The flame of your life force is little more than an ember, which is dwindling fast as your life's blood continue to flow out of you.
It takes time to orient yourself, but the deep rumble of thunder, and the crawling things that feed upon you, both help to remind you of how time presses.
You find yourself in a tunnel where one blood-glyphed wall seems to be made of ancient, mouldering brick and the other a mixture of rotting wooden beams, clay, loose earth, ominous spider webs, and winding roots.
The young human, perhaps early in his second decade of life, is caked in many shades of dried and drying blood and filth. A young man dressed in rags, his thick hair is long and straight, hanging down to his chest. He stands in a posture of agony, his wiry body stretched in a n arch, with his hands held up and apart, his spiked legs also stretched out. The excruciating angle places all the pressure of his weight on his shoulders and legs. Agony contorts the lines of his body, veins standing out sharply against straining muscle. He screams in an anguish void of words due to his badly broken jaw.
His wounds are grievous, as he has been a meal for many, many days.
The spikes had hurt more the Cal could believe, alas nothing really had prepared him for that fun fact. Cal looks at the man and the pain that he went through, the hard wonders if he tried to climb free or attempt the tunnel. Cal wonders if any of the three could be able to climb out of this hole. Cal wonders if it would be a greater mercy to kill the man here and now if try to free him or, as the pragmatic side of his brain leave him.
Cal winches at the man's tortured screams, looking at Dandelion he mouths " Try to climb or go deeper into the earth, hoping for another way out.". Looking at Grendal he bobs his head towards the wall, stifling a groan at the thought of climbing, Cal also points to the passage way shrugging his shoulders saying "Up or deeper in the earth".
Trying to push the greying edge in his vision from his mind, Grendel nods towards deeper in the earth. The druid tried to ignore the tortured screams of the other man staked to the wall. There was nothing they could do for him. If they killed him, the vampire would certainly hunt them down.
Dandelion holds his bloody hands in memory of their extrication from the wall. His body and mnd, both, are in shock now, because of all they've seen and heard.
"Should we kill him?" He thinks of a wolf he once released from torment, as it had come up against a greater foe and lost, and was suffering.
You feel lightheaded from blood loss, and it is immediately apparent that you will not take more than a handful of steps before you collapse if your many wounds are not dealt with.
Ichi and Nagrish's head start evaporates in a moment. They had waited around too long, and had remained far to loyal. The vampire is on them in an instant. Much of their screams are blocked out by the thunder, save for the ending, which you hear in the pit. The pained animal screams are very close above you.
An oily rain starts to fall in heavy, fat droplets, disturbing the feeding of the flies and spiders, and making the maggots bodies glisten.
Cal grunts then gives a low chant, recalling the spell to mend his own wounds, shaking his head at Dandelion's words .
Dandelion knows he has lost so much blood, so he quickly makes the motions required to close his wounds. Seeing Cal doing something similar, he offers to Grendel to heal his torn hands.
He hears the screams of the animals, and looks at Grendel. He thinks he knows how much Grendel cares about them. But then he recalls how quickly and unnaturally the vampire moved. There was nothing they could do right now, except try to survive. To take Grendel's mind off what they all just heard, he says, "We can't leave him here like this. We need to end it for him or bring him with us." It is not a demand as much as a matter of fact statement.
Dandelion wonders why he is so concerned with this unfortunate soul. It is the suffering he can't bear, he supposes.
He starts looking for ways to bring him down before he heals him.
Healing magics knit the worst of the injuries closed, momentarily staunching the flow of your life's blood. There is an exhaustion that has overtaken you that is unlike anything that you have every experienced; it is as if you now have the vitality of a sickly octogenarian.
The young man shares the same fate as the half-orcs, as it is fastest way to extricate him, his flesh is rent further by pulling his limbs forth away form the confinement of the jagged spikes. He collapses into a heap finding his breath as the oracle's magics pervade his body. His hands remained clawed, digging pale furrows in his flesh as he fights to relax the contractions of his muscles. His voice is hoarse from screaming, but you think you see that he has mouthed gratitude a number of times while he fights to catch his breath. Crawling forward with agonizing intention he holds a bloodstained hand, which bears a unimpressive ring on its wedding finger, tears cut streaks down his filthy face.
An inhuman growl is heard from above the hole, and footpads approaching incredibly fast.
The screams of Nagrish and Ichi send a splinter of ice into the druid's soul. Unable to aid them, unable to heal himself, Grendel keeps moving, dragging himself further into the earth, trying to find escape. He knew he didn't have much time. Even less before the vampire found them once more.
The others had wasted what little time they had freeing the human. He didn't ad the breath left to leave him for the vampire. Now it was going to be tracking them down for food and sport.
'Perhaps I'll bleed to death before it finds me,' the druid thinks, head foggy. It takes a moment to realize that his face is warm and wet with tears. He can only hope that the spirit of Nagrish and Ichi find comfort.
Fighting to unsteady feet the young man mumbles something, that is obfuscated by his broken jaw, as his eyes linger on the fallen; the greasy rain, from the hole 11' above his head, mixing with his tears. He turns to join the others in whatever plan they have for exodus.
Your newly found freedom permits you to find a cunningly-hidden coffin, which blends rather well into its surroundings of mouldering brick. Within the coffin is a shrivelled and charred corpse that has politely situated itself along one wall of the coffin, as if to permit another person to share the confines of its last repose. A stake has been plunged through its chest, and its head is no longer attached to its body, though it has been lovingly placed into the right position. Its head has a shiny silver dust that has sunk into its nooks and crannies.
Within the coffin is satchel containing various items, a pair of slippers, an ink stained tome, rope, half full healer's kit, spoon made of what looks to be horn, flint and steel, rations, empty ink receptacle, broken quills, torches, and a bowl with the mouldy remnants of a meal that has long since spoiled.
There are two ways out, but only one that takes you away from the vampire.
The spiderwebs part with easy, revealing entombed pieces of bodies, or small animals, and a tight tunnel beyond with a low roof and rows of ancient coffins running along one wall. Even brushing against the ceiling threatens collapse, as dirt and stone cascade down in your wake. Every few feet there is a supporting wooden column, that are half rotten, which you must dodge, lest you bury yourself alive down here.
Ahead of you, perhaps 70' distant is infrequent blue-white illumination from the lightning outside that appears around the time of the thunder.
Dandelion and Calvoric move much quicker than Grendel, who staggers and fights to remain conscious. Far behind him is the young human, whose feet have been ravaged It is a testament to his grit and willpower that he does not complain as he puts one foot in front of the other.
It is on you so fast, coming up behind Grendel like a silent wraith, that it was like you were standing still.
Sagging against the concealed coffin, Grendel pulls lengths of cloth from what is left of his robe. The linen doesn't tear as just pull apart. His mind felt like it was floating feet over his body, Grendel had to get pulling his attention back to simple wrapping his hands and leakier wounds. The terror still pounding through his veins wasn't helping much, either.
Staring at the staked and beheaded corpse while he wrapped, the half-orc got an idea. Not a good one, he was pretty much out of those. Perhaps a suicidal idea might be the better term.
Laboriously, Grendel leans his battered form over the coffin. Side of his head resting on the chest of the what he prayed was a very dead vampire, Grendel bites down on the stake. He pulled with the little strength that he has left. Part of him want to burst into laughter at the thought of how he must look. Like some flat faced dog with a bad underbite holding a stick. A half-choked sob and chuckle escape from his battered form.
He slowly brings up his hands to clutch the wooden stake between his wrapped palms. 'Now the damn beast just has to leap at me when I'm facing it,' the druid thinks to himself.
The rags staunch the flow of blood from the druid's ravaged hands and the worst wounds on his torso, at least for the moment.
Oak wood slides free of the decapitated and be-sparkled corpse. It's blackened teeth cast in a permanent grin, likely giving leave to the events of the day. The sharpened stick is stained brown down near its point.
Grendel could see the others ahead of him, they wisely had kept moving after he had collapsed to bind his wounds. His desire to continue to live was the only thing still driving the half-orc forward. That, and what little blood he still had within his body any way.
It had been pure pettiness that had caused him to grab the backpack at the last moment letting it fall over his right shoulder as he staggered back to his feet. He wanted to take it so that the vampire would have it. A final thumbing of the nose, as it where.
His breath coming ragged gasps, Grendel risked peeking behind him to see just where the damned thing was. He had a point he wanted to make to the undead thing.
The predator comes in low, smashing into Grendel's leg, its maw dripping with blood. Looking down Grendel sees a limping Nagrish pacing next to the druid, with the flaccid form of Ichi in its mouth. Both show deep wounds, made all the more grievous by the light of the next lightning strike, their blood having stained their fur.
Ichi's head lolls at an unnatural angle.
The tunnel is too tight, especially with the approach of a supporting wooden column, so the hunting cougar moves just in behind Calvoric and Dandelion. Rubbing up against the walls, even momentarily caved in a small section of ceiling over the coffins, crushing them under its weight.
Rising up behind the young man is a wraith made flesh. The limping man does not even see death's approach. The vampire moves too fast and tirelessly; you will be run down panting and screaming.
Seeing as Grendel did not take Dandelion up on his healing offer, Dandelion had grabbed his hands and sent some healing magic into them. "We need to be strong," is all he says.
When the Druid takes the bag, Dandelion thinks all that stuff is not needed; the rope and the rations, yes - but he says nothing to Grendel.
Dandelion looks back to see Grendel and his animal friends, and he tries to see if the rescued human is behind him. But there is no time - the unnatural creature is coming, and there is lightning and therefore egress ahead of them. They must make for the lightning.
Going is difficult for Dandelion, as his large frame must be carefully moved to avoid collapsing the tunnel. It seems hopeless, as the vampire will just follow them out. Despair hits Dandelion hard, and he does his best to keep moving, and avoid falling in a large heap on the dusty floor. If his friends were not here, he would likely do just that, but he does not want to let them down, so he keeps on.
Oracle magics arrest the druid's descent to darkness, permitting Grendel to pad up just behind the two half-orcs and the animals.
The young human falls further behind.
Cascading dirt and stone follow in the large half-orc's wake. Being closer to 7 feet than 6 he is bent far forward to fit in the tunnel, and must slow down to nearly a crawl to sidle around the half-rotten supporting wooden columns.
There is a close call, with has everyone hold their breath as a column nearly snaps when Nagrish rushes past. The wood fractures, but remains together, dirt clouding up plumes in the cramped tunnel.
Cal wonders if they were able to get out of the cave and the vampire. Pragmaticly Cal wonders if the thing would take out the weakest person. Cal wishes he had his backpack with the potions in it. Or rather that he was back in his inn room
When the back of his leg was slammed into, Grendel's heart almost leaped out of his throat. Perhaps it was luck that he had been gasping for breath, for he was unable to scream at that moment in time. His heart did indeed soar when he realized that he had almost been tripped by Nagrish. The desert cougar moved in front of him, carrying his limp cargo. It seemed that poor Ichi had not survived the brush with the vampire, Nagrish was limping and more than a bit torn up.
Still, the presence of Nagrish did serve to fuel the druid's desire to fight for his life. Some of the dread hopelessness that was creeping into his thoughts had fled. Perhaps the Desert Spirits had not turned a blind eye to it's wandering child.
Stuck behind the others, he could see that Dandelion had to move with care, having the bulkier frame of the three half-orcs. It gave Grendel time to see if the wounded human had been close enough to retrieve before the vampire closed in.
"We get through and than collapse the beams on it," Grendel whispers, his voice raw and harsh. "I think that wood will hurt it, hurry up human!" Grendel whispers urgently, his half-orc eyes piercing the darkness of the crypt.
67' of cramped spiderweb-festooned passage later you find steep stone stairs, slick with moss, and rounded by time. Stones and sodden dirt block much of the egress point, 6 steps up, permitting only scant bits of light and oily brimstone-smelling rainwater to work their way down from the surface.
You wait until the last possible moment. Hundreds of tonnes of onrushing dirt and stone fills the tunnel in an instant.
Minutes pass filled with coughing as dust fills the air. Finally, lightning illuminates an area perhaps as large as two dinner tables, where you all crowd. Upon the second last stair is the young human's shattered arm and skull, trailing back into the collapse.
There is no sign of the vampire.
Nagrish drops the torn body of Ichi, and limps to lay down next Grendel, gazing upon the human with impassive eyes.
You are entombed.
It will take days to dig your way to the surface, as the process needs to be slow, lest you trigger another collapse.
"Well, here we are," Grendel says in between coughs. "I.., really don't know what to say.". The half-orc looks at the cave in that he had more or directly caused. The druid had waited as long as he could with the vampire closing in. "Sorry friend, I really am." Grendel tells the humans corpse.
Looking over to Nagrish, he tends to the desert cats wounds as best as he could. Reopening his own wounds wouldn't help anyone. He takes his time, aside from his badly wounded hands its not like the druid had anywhere to go. His mis-matched eye fall on Ichi's little body several times as he bandages Nagrish's wounds. Grendel moves to his own wounds after he finishes up tending to the desert cougar.
Finally, Grendel picks up the monkey's limp body, treating it gently. He pets the top of with three fingers like how the monkey had loved.
"Sorry little guy. Rest well," the druid then speaks a quite prayer for the monkeys spirit. Gentle setting the body down, he covers it with a bit of left over cloth. He would bury the body later. Once his holes in his hands where healed.
Reaching over, Grendel lays a hand on Nargrish's head. He felt the need to have contact with the cat. It was calming, an the half-orc could use that at the moment. He looks over at the other two and nods.
"I think we survived. You guys still breathing?"
Cal sputters while spitting out dirt that had gotten into his mouth. " Enter- " stopping to clear his throat "Taining. Hells Bells, this has been a fun day, we might have to dig in shift if we want to get out of here." Cal finishes while looking around, hoping that they would have enough air, his body screaming at him at all the abuse it had taken.
" Here's hoping that the leech is finally gone." Cal mutters to himself, wondering how difficult it was going to be with the dirt.
Buried alive.
The stake, torches, and dagger make for ideal digging implements.
The area you are in is not stable, which is only compounded by shifting large stones, and other activities associated with digging. Claustrophobia forces your breaths to come far too fast in a cramped location where dust constantly chokes the air, and the chill air smells of mildew and rot. Foul rainwater pools near your feet, soaking the protruding anatomy of the young human, its stench assures you that it is non-potable.
You are aware of how long it has been since you have eaten a proper meal, or slept a full night’s sleep.
Among the backpack’s contents there are two items that stand out:
- Slippers appear to be mundane, as any other well-crafted item of footwear, but there is something special about their perfection that begs further study.
- Ink-stained tome a number of pages are missing, appearing to have been torn out without worry for the integrity of the tome. Within are more of the strange sketches showing horrifying vistas and other unimaginable horrors that match the artistry of the other pages in your possession. Words within are more of the strange tongue that none of you speak. Flipping to earlier pages reveals sketches of Dimqu and Xelien laughing and sharing the embrace of either long-term friendship or lovers. Their travels are extensive, as are their exploits; having vanquished monsters across the realms. Flowers are pressed between the pages. Several pages have a vampire theme to them (these follow the first sketch of a chain) ending in several images that you take to be surroundings around Dewsdam, including the ruins of an ancient church and very familiar crypts beneath it. You find a single page, which is a collage of quick sketches around a central theme: the trio's shared tattoo. This page shows a rough sketch of the tattoo, an image of an elderly gnome female carving it into a disembodied arm, and a set of 3 spires scraping the sky.
The gnome is not familiar to any of you, but the structure is well known, as it is the Citadel of Stars from the port city of Muaem some 45 miles east of Dewsdam.
Panic and desperation were two of the main driving forces that made Dandelion continue on, despite his feeling of hopelessness. He had picked his way through the tunnel with a combination of care and speed that made his head hurt - the concentration required for such a thing was not minor.
Eventually, he finds himself coming to his full senses in a tiny room with the other half-orcs and the big cat. And a dead human, and a dead monkey. He shakes his head and looks back at the collapsed tunnel. It seemed so obvious - get through the tunnel, then collapse it on the vampire. But it had not occurred to him. "Good idea - the collapse," he whispers to Grendel. He felt much better - the despair was partially gone, replaced by the fear of such close confinement with no immediate way out.
Now looking at the cat, Dandelion puts his hands over Nagrish's most grievous wounds and lets the Mother's healing power pour into them.
And again, now, survival is the second thing in Dandelion's mind, after escape, but he addresses it first. He asks Grendel about the rations in the pack - whether they are edible, and suggesting he can remove any taint in them if necessary. And he offers clean water to any, suggesting, if no better vessel can be found, they all put their hands in cups, together, and he shall summon it forth. It occurs to him that he can fix the satchel (with his magic, of course), and then use it to carry water, at least long enough for them and Nagrish to drink their fill.
Brown eyes rise to the task above- that of digging their way out. If they can pull stone and dirt down in a controlled fashion, they could make it into a kind of floor, climbing up, over it. In that way, they could slowly but surely raise their prison up toward the surface. He mentions this to the others.
Of the slippers and the book, Dandelion shows little apparent interest.
Calvoric nods at Dandelion's words after the first initial bout of fear passed, clothing out some more dirt, Cal looks over the backpack after whatever foodstuffs are passed around along with the water that Dandelion brought from the air.
Cal says a few words over the slippers studying them intently glad that his bardic talents were not sputtering out yet. Cal knew that it was his last Minor Song until he could rest., trying to see if it had the aura of magic.
Cal had hoped that another exit lied further down the passage, calming himself with the speculation that the slippers were something unquie.
Cal finishes looking over the slippers, and starts to dwell on what little he could remember about digging in this kind of situation.
Leaning against the wall, Grendel grins faintly at Dandelion's words. He did keep a calming hand on Nadrish. The ill tempered brute had drawn his lips back in a silent snarl when the other half-orc closed in. The cat was still a bit on edge, between the vampire and being almost buried alive. Grendel was just happy that they had survived. 'Almost all of us,' the druid glances at Ichi's covered body and then the human's partial exposed corpse.
"Thanks, it was more or less a "Do or Die" plan. And thanks for the healing, from both of us,' he says with a tired nod of his head. Nagrish sniffs at his bandaged and healed wounds before half closing his blue eyes to watch the others. A faint grin finds life on Grendel's face.
"Hehehe. To tell the truth, the only reason I grabbed the backpack was so that the vampire couldn't have it anymore. At the time, I was figuring we were pretty much meat, so what the hell," the druid shrugs. "It was petty, and I'm still glad I did it. Oh, I think there was a bowl in there as well, for the water. The spoon we could probably use along with the dagger and stake to help us dig." Grendel chuckles, then coughs from the dirt and dust still in the air.
"I can purify the food as well, not to mention creating water," the druid looks between where they were going to more than likely start digging and wall that was made from the collapsed ceiling. His eyes linger on the body of the human for several moments.
"Okay, I can also purify meat, if we get to that point," the druid points at the humans corpse. "But I'd really like to avoid being stuck in here so long we have to eat.., long pork. I believe is what they called human meat on the ship I was sailing on. They didn't have any on the ship," he adds quickly. "A few of the older sailor may have run the pirate flag in their youth and had plenty of stories."
After drinking both Grendel and Nagrish find a slightly more comfortable position. The desert cougar had laid his head on the druid leg, growling at him, if he made any motions towards getting up. Grendel had the book open in his lap and was gently using his fingers to turn the pages. He spots the pressed flowers, and sniffs at them, leaving them pressed between the tome's pages. He follows the adventure s of the the two as best as he can, not being able to read their language. The sketches tell their own story, words were not necessary.
"It seems that Dimqu and Xelien were quite the adventurers. It looks like they knew something about the vampire near Dewsdam, not to mention the death cult and those damned "chain" things. Plus there's a picture of a gnome who did their tattoo, or maybe etching would be a better word," he looks over at Cal and Dandelion, tapping the sketch of the three spires. "I think you might recognize this cities landmark," he clumsily holds up the tome for the other to see what he was pointing at.
Stifling a yawn, Grendel shakes his head slightly as if the fatigue clawing at him could be brushed off like water. Not really happening.
"Okay, after I rest and meditate, I'll have more healing magics. I might be able to pull something out of my head that might helps us to burrow out of here, but don't quote me on that on," the druid says crushing a yawn trying to flee his mouth with the back of his bandaged and beholed hand.
Your wounds are terrible, and will take days to fully recover from, but the scars will remain to tell the tales of this experience.
Food is purified, rations are shared, and water is created out of nothingness, which slakes the thirst and mollifies the hunger.
Moving the stone and dirt beneath you, in a controlled fashion, works perfectly. The bard's knowledge of such situations is limited at best.
You hear something from further down the tunnel, you are almost positive it is a growl suggestive that the vampire yet lives. Perhaps it is just your imagination, since you hear nothing else after several moments of straining your ears.
The telltale aura of magic surrounds the slippers, and surprisingly the bone spoon as well. Calvoric is able to discern that the spoon is what is called a Sustaining Spoon, and though it produces foodstuffs, it is far from an exciting gastronomic experience. The slippers are magical, but their specific effect is unknown to him.
The pages reveal a side of those turned to undead suggestive that they were goodly people and not always the undead monsters you had met....though Xelien and Dimqu's actions had showed no ill will or ire toward anyone. Bragh is another matter altogether, if that was the vampire you just met, as he has issues with his social skills.