As Aterro makes his challenge, Trevor swallows hard. No way he would do the same!
Aterro issues his challenge and steps forward as two of the ticks quickly detach themselves from the horror and jump toward Finnigan and Aterro. The other three insects hang limply from the horrow's body as if dead or possibly stunned by the smoke from the building. Of those still living, one simply bounces off of the war cleric's armor as it attacks. The other finds a much more hospitable landing point near an opening in Finnigan's leather jerkin. The ranger suddenly feels the insects mandibles grab and pierce his flesh, tearing it open as it starts probing beneath his skin.
The horror itself moves forward, as if accepting the cleric's challenge and tries to batter Aterro with a stubby arm. But Thor's grace is upon Aterro, and he easy serves and jukes to the side, dodging the blow. Following Aterro, Vrindel steps up, swings his staff at the horror only to miss as it moves to keep Aterro's weaving form in its sights.
Trevor throws another javelin at the horror fighting Aterro and Vrindel.
Ibrox sends a blast of eldritch hellfire sailing toward the creature but slips just as he does so causing his aim to go wild and the blast sails off into the sky. Zove has similar luck and her blast of fire lands harmlessly in the dirt at the creatures feet.
Trevor's javelin joins the spear already impaling the horror causing it to stagger backward for a moment before it renews its assault on Aterro.
Vrindel shifts his attention to try and knock the tick off of Finnigan.
Magic Stick
Magic Struck
"Get off him! Somebody take out the other tick".
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Spinning and blocking the blows that rain down upon him from left and right, using his heavy hammer as a light staff to deflect the worst, the WarCleric stands his ground. "I shall lead this devil in the merry dance, kill his children then we can fall upon him in a closed fist of STEEL!"
Aterro intervenes himself between the horror and the ranger, as Fin already has a dancing partner.
As the tick probes beneath Finnigan's flesh, the ranger begins to feel a sense of warmth and wellbeing as the insect's toxins try to take effect. With a sudden shudder, he comes to his senses and fight's of the sedation for the moment. He tries to stab the thing with his dagger, but is still woozy from the effects of the poison and his blow has no effect. He tries again with his crossbow, but the bolt mere glances off the swelling creature's rubbery skin.
Vrindel quickly reacts and tries to knock the thing away from the ranger, but Finnigan's panicked movements and the creatures own wiggling cause his swing to miss.
Finnigan feels another rush of the toxin and watches as the tick's body suddenly swells in size, filling with his own blood.
The second tick attempts to scurry past Aterro while the horror continues to bludgeon the war priest. One blow nearly connects, but Thor is watching over the young cleric and he is able to once again duck out of the way.
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"You are too slow and too weak!" Aterro taunts as he bends almost double and a massive hoary fist swings where his head was a moment ago. "By the hammer of THOR you were a poor fighter in life and undeath has done you no favor!"
He takes only pause enough to see that a bug has left its defenses open to try and sneak past him.
"Hold there, where do you think you're going?!"
Aterro's hammer thunders down to the ground, but the oversized bug has the same ability to scuttle out of harm's reach as it's more common and much smaller cousins. It avoids the blow and manages to scurry over and up onto Zove, where its probing jaws find a soft bit of flesh to plunge into.
Zove feels the tick's toxins rush into her system. The initial jolt is rapidly replaced as the poisons react powerfully with her shadow fey blood. A strong sense of comfort and well-being fills her mind and the young wizard openly welcomes the parasite's presence on her body and in her system.
"Damn it I can't decide whether to try and kill the tick first, or heal Finnigan". When he sees Finnigans pale complexion however his mind is made up for him. He places his staff gently on the Rangers shoulder, and tries to send him some healing magic.
Cure Wounds
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"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" The WarCleric SCREAMS in rage and bloodlust as one tick defies his hammer and leaps upon the comely dark fey and the other makes a feast of a comrade at arms.
"By Odin's thronging member I am DONE with these Loki-sent insects and their COWERING lord. We shall end their foul siege NOW!"
With that he SWINGS his mighty hammer at the tick sucking on Finnigan
With that he uses the momentum and carries hammer in a MIGHTY ARC as the heavy head swings around and CRASHES into the horror that so plagues them.
Aterro turns the tick hanging on Finnigan into a fine, bloody mist, utterly destroying the creature. all that remains are a few hooked claws hanging from the ranger's armor and a bit of mandible still buried in his skin.
The war cleric's follow through carries his hammer directly into the horror's chin and lands a crushing blow that sends bits of flesh and teeth flying through the air. The undead rocks back but regains its balance and readies for another attack.
As Aterro unleashes his fury on the enemy, Vrindel sends a wave of healing power washing over the haggard and pale ranger. With the healing, Finnigan feels a renewed sense of vitality and vigor. Regaining his senses quickly, he moves over to Zove and slices the tick from her body before it can drain her blood.
Trevor, watching Aterro slam his hammer deep, feels a rush. Without understanding too much what was going no inside him, whether it be shame, teenage rebellion, or berserkness, he rushes forth, lifting his axe high, and sending it crashing at the horror.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH" he astutely comments as he runs forth.
Finnigan swoons. Deep down inside some part of him liked the feeling of the neuro toxin... no pain no worries no horror.... it was like the oblivion of whiskey.
But waking up to battle with undead terrors is worse than the worst of hangovers.
Mumbling a word of thanks to Vrindel the ranger stumbles around the corner to the first window and fires his crossbow at the enemy from relative safety.
The bright sun is simply distracts Zove too much and her fiery blast sails wide of the enemy. Trevor's ferocious charge takes him toe to toe with the undead horror, but his axe swings just a hair's breath wide of the mark and misses the target. Finnigan slips around to the side and sends a small crossbow bolt directly into the creature's midsection where it joins the old spear, one of Trevor's javelin's and a couple of other bolts.
In response, the creature takes another violent swing at Aterro, this time the cleric holds still long enough for the creature to connect and it manages to land a respectable blow.
"Let me put your tortured soul to rest fellow woodsman".
Magic stick
Magick struck
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The undead turns toward Vrindel and almost seems to open its arm wide, as if welcoming the attack from the druid. With nature's power and energy imbuing the staff, Vrindel's blow lands with a loud crack and for an instant the red glowing eyes, turn a soft gold color, then mere emptiness. The body teeters for a moment, then topples and lands with a sickening thud just outside of the longhouse where is remains unmoving. Motes of golden energy swirl across and over the body for a few seconds as the energy from Vrindel's staff slowly dissipates and a sudden sense of peace fills the area.
The sound of waves rolling in on the shore replaces the clash of weapons and roar of magical strikes.
Smoke trickles from the interior of the building, but it appears that after the recent rains and storms the wood flooring near the door was too wet to continue burning by itself. All of the foul insects inside the building are dead or easily dispatched as they lay stunned by the earlier smoke and flames.
A quick search of the building reveals a grim tale and one oddity. The oddity sits near the center of the room and is a large, ornate trunk. The lid sits open and the trunk empty except for an odd sticky substance in the corners of the padded interior. A foul stench emanates from inside the container even after what must be days airing out. The trunk itself is of very fine make, a dark wood, blood-like in its color, with silver clasps and several ornate markings or sigils on the outside edges and surrounding the lock. What is perhaps most puzzling and troubling is the sigil or Morgau woven into the fabric on the interior of the lid.
Aside from the trunk, the rest of the longhouse contains the remains of several villagers. Most were likely zombies created by the ticks and then killed by the villages druidic patron before he succumbed to the plague in turn.
Vrindel reached down, and gathers something memorable from his deceased counterpart to gift to the Forest Drake, then enters the room with the others.
Perception
Investigation (Untrained)
"We need to continue to explore the village and look for survivors, someone has to care for these children going forward".
Walking over to the fireplace Vrindel finds a loose stone, and uncovers the small box. "If we can find someone to care for these children, here are some funds to help them get started".
"Yes! The thing is DEAD! DEAD! ... I mean... It's... It's more dead." Trevor shouts, then falters, somewhat dizzy. He lets himself down and lies sitting, his head against the doorframe, head turned towards the inside to look at what the others are finding.
"That chest smells foul! What's in it?"
"Wow. I guess we found the Forest Master. Poor him." The cheery gnome concludes.
Examining the trunk further, Ibrox says, "these markings on the outside were magical in nature. The purpose isn't certain, but it is very likely they were used to keep the trunk sealed and what ever was inside preserved for a long period of time."
"The sticky substance inside the trunk is quite similar to the remains of some types of egg sacs or nests of certain insects after they have hatched."
After further reflection, the gnome wonders aloud, "I wonder if this chest was delivered to the town containing these necrotic ticks. The townspeople then opened the chest releasing them to wreak their havok. I've heard folk tales of similar design, like the one about the wooden horse."
"Chest? What chest?"
"The sigil of Morgau! I would venture a guess they sent these ticks here in this crate. I agree with Zove. Let us search the shack."
Finnigan keeps jumping and swatting his shoulders and back thinking he feels a parasite clinging to his shirt.
"Yes, we should check that shack by the water. But, let's check that small side building connected to the longhouse first, while we're up here." The cheery gnome suggests pointing out that one building is far closer than the other.
"Did you say Morgau!?" asks Trevor, standing up despite himself. "Is this... You think they shipped this... This thing? Are they trying to take this place too?!" there's a hint of fear from his voice. He doesn't want to leave and flee again, but if Morgau is pressing, how could this be different than Krakova?
On the other hand, he thinks, perhaps he can do something this time...
"Right! Let's see that shack." he adds and leads the way forward, an axe and a javelin in each hand.
Saving the side building for later, the group, led by a suddenly determined Trevor moves down the valley toward the shack. The somewhat ramshackle building sits on a high bit of rock just back from the beach and the sheltered cove. The sound of the surf rolling in beyond the natural rock barrier of the cove is much louder here and the smell of the salty sea, fish, and aging seaweed and kelp fill the air.
A few boats are staked out along the shore while another sits out on the rocks having broken its rope at some point over the storms of the last few weeks.
The shack itself sits on a slightly raised platform with several nets, hooked poles, and other fishing gear hang from the walls or lie scattered partially buried in the sand nearby. There is no door, only a curtained opening which swings gently in the wind.
"Wait, what shack are you guys talking about?"
Perception
"I guess one place is as good as any. Whichever you decide.
With his head down as the party progresses he is able to pick up a faint trail.
"Look there. I see a faint trail leading towards the cliffs along the shore".
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Aterro had spent most of the time-post battle on bent knee, leaning on his warhammer and mumbling unheard thanks to Lord Thor for success in battle, paying but scant attention to the discussion of the others.
As they agree on a new destination and move out, the sound of their steps bring him from his reverie and he efficiently follows the path to the beach, equally as curious as to the survival of the building.
Aterro grunts and nod briefly as Vrindel points out the trail leading a way.
"Hmmm. Take pause, friends. This path shall no doubt lead us away from the village, and perhaps to another den of inequity which requires purging.
Before we make tracks away from this accursed berg, let us check out the small side-building before we wash our hands of this place completely."
Before we take the road less traveled, should we not make camp and rest? Once our vigor is restored we might again play the vanguard and take the righteous fight to the enemy."
Finnigan shrugs. "I guess Aterro is right. We shouldn't leave a stone unturned. I'll look inside the side building before we walk down the beach trail to the other shack. After all it can't be worse than the long house. Was that guy with the glowing red eyes the same "master" that the forest drake is waiting for? If so I feel bad for our friend..."
Finnigan listens at the door of the side building (or preferably window if available) and carefully opens the door or window if he needs to.
Trevor leads the way inside the shack once Finn is satisfied and the door is open.
Sand covers much of the floor in the shack by the beach. Inside are several barrels of pitch typically used for helping seal boats and ships. Oddly, they've all been opened, and one tipped over leaving a filthy, sticky area covering several feet of the floor. Several sets of oars are scattered about along with a variety of tools useful for repairing nets, sharpening hooks, mending boats, etc. All appeared to be in fairly good condition until recently.
A small tin sits open, tossed on the floor. A handful of copper coins, shells, and a few pretty beads scattered nearby.
There is clearly very little of value here, but similar to the other shed, this one appears to have been searched very thoroughly at some point.
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Aterro stalks along beside Finnigan. "I have an ill feeling about that trail leading from the beach," he comments as the pair walk along. "Methinks that there is an evil here even greater than the one we have slain.
In the same vein, I would not have you go alone to the side building. With their master dead I'm sure there is little else to fear.
But, yes, from the kinship that Vrindel showed, it is quite clear that the Master was a powerful spell-slinger who helped as best he could against the tick-zombie hoard, until he himself did succumb to the evil he had fought.
'Tis a danger that Thor's Chosen are told be wary. 'Tis a saying handed down by Thor himself: 'He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster.' Sage words."
A moment after Fin slowly, deliberately, carefully, cracks open the door, Aterro SLAMS it open, his iron boots treading loudly into the small building.
Ibrox looks around for some animals that might nest around the shack to chat about what they might have seen.
'Tis a danger that Thor's Chosen are told be wary. 'Tis a saying handed down by Thor himself: 'He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster.' Sage words."[/b]
A moment after Fin slowly, deliberately, carefully, cracks open the door, Aterro SLAMS it open...
Finnigan throws up his arms in dismissal. "I almost became a monster when that tick venom got in my brain. It was... not that bad actually. Keep kicking down doors maybe you'll be next!"