After another glancing blow from Ibrox, the rider simply charges forward along the road and through the mud toward the first wagon and those in front of it.
Finnigan was about to reluctantly snap a bolt at the rider, though he was still unsure it had ever meant them any harm.
When he sees Zove work her magic he thinks best to see the result of that first. He clambers over the edge of the cart, draws his dagger in one hand, positions himself to join the fray and sets his sights to loose a bolt if the rider appears hostile even after being enchanted.
Vrindel is a bit shocked when Zove calls upon the ley line that he had sensed earlier, his hair stood on end, and the taste of cinnamon exploded into his mouth.
"I'll have to explore that later".
The big Trollkin dug his toes into the dirt and calling forth power from the same ley line... molding it into it's elemental form he banged the butt of his staff onto the ground in front of him, and pointed one gnarly finger at the approaching abomination.
Ice Knife
Piercing Damage
DEX SAVE DC13 or 2d6 cold damage within 5 feet.
"On its back! Some creature is controlling it from it's back! See the legs and the weird body behind the rider!
Finnigan hadn't been able to spot what the trollkin was on about but he tries to make out the general features of the rider now that it's closer.
Zove's magic washes over the rider just ahead of Aterro's strike with Thor's mighty light which sears flesh, but doesn't bring the enemy down. The shadow fey quickly discovers there is no mind there for her magic to grab and influence. Only the ghastly remnants of undead flesh and bone. For a brief moment, she does sense several small, dim brains, but they are more like insects and several are quickly snuffed out as Vrindel's icy blast explodes shredding both rider and several of the 'bags.' The rider is thrown from the horse by the blast and no longer moves as most of it's head and midsection are scattered across the mud.
The undead horse stumbles but the poor rotted creature continues it's mad charge. You can now see that the 'saddlebags' are actually some kind of hideous parasite, hanging from the the zombified bodies of man and horse. Vrindel's blast caused three of the creatures to burst like blood filled waterskins, spraying blood and gore in a wide radius. One remaining creature still hangs on the horse, apparently sheltered from the blast.
"Well, at least they can stop moving," the gnome utters when the rider drops.
He cocks his thumb again and points his right index finger at the zombie horse and repeats, "Ibrox," in a stern voice.
Trevor throws a javelin at the dead horse: "I'm not sure if I prefer undead or those... things!"
Trevor's javelin impales the charging zombie right before another brimstone blast from Ibrox, shatters the undead creature covering Trevor, Aterro, and Zove in grisly remains. As the zombie explodes the last parasite deftly detaches from its perch and its tick-like body quickly scuttles toward Trevor. Once close, its probing needle like mouth seeks a way through his armor but fortunately for the young knight it doesn't find a weak point.
"AHAHAHAH! Wait! No! OFF!! OFF!! GET IT OFF!!!" shouts Trevor as the explosion amuses him greatly first, until the parasite jumps on him.
Horror washes over Finnigan. He conjures a picture of a tavern in his mind and pretends he's aiming his crossbow at a dart board...
He fires once at the bug, cocks and fires again.
Dagger still in his other hand he steps in close to Trevor.
"Hold still kid I'll pry it off you."
Finnigan skewers the insect which is then quickly pulverized by Aterro's smashing blow sending yet another wave of blood, mud, and bug bits washing over Trevor and the cleric.
Finnigan's moves up and his attempts to help calm the young knight begin well enough, but unfortunately as he tries to remove a particularly large piece of bug goo he slips in the mud and falls forward. His dagger previously poised to scrape at the substance, turns as he falls and cuts deep into his own leg. Looking down at the rather deep wound, one can't help but notice the large amount of blood pouring from the cut.
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Aterro chuckles deeply at Finnigan's expert dagger work. "I would normally shun you for failing to join the initial assault, but as you have been part of the killing blow, that will win you a measure of Thor's grace."
The WarCleric extends a hand and a white light envelops Finnigan's wound.
That done, Aterro stalks forward to poke around the insects' corpses, and inspect the unfortunates that were their recent hosts.
"Poor bastard..." comments Trevor, staying well away from the corpses.
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Dear Thalion,
I hope this message finds you sober and that you're still in good with the queen and her man Wilhelm. Since we parted, things have been quiet up here along the north coast. Just as I had hoped. But alas your warnings of trouble coming may be proving themselves true.
For the last two days, fishermen have spotted a reaver ship moving along the coast. I fear they are surveying the area for a possible raid. On top of that we've had no word from Vandersthal, the village south of us. Usually we have visitors during the Lantern festival, or to do a little early trade after, but this year, nothing.
So I'm sending young Baldric south with this message to see if you can convince that old skinflint to send a patrol up this way. I realize things are focused on the border with Krakova, but it's always the dagger strike you don't see that ends the journey.
Old Rook should be coming along in a few weeks with this year's supplies, so you could send help or word with him.
Yours in friendship,
Britta
Britta dated the letter, Volsday 10th, Deep-Winter. Just over six weeks ago.
Intelligence
Perception
Vrindel watches the others descend upon the enemy bodies. He stops to give thanks to the forces of nature, and glances again at Zove trying to puzzle out their strange connection.
Ibrox blows the brimstone from his finger and virtually holsters it. He goes over to examine the pile of bodies.
”Coin purse and message.” he hands them both to the kobold caravan master.
Trevor looks back and forth at the exchange, while he walks to pick up his javelins. Then he gets up on the cart and stretches his legs and leans back against his seat, ready for a nap.
Finnigan retches as he looks at the open wound where he cut himself in such close proximity to the disgusting bugs. He's thinking about the risk of infection when the magical healing suddenly washes over him.
He thinks the priest performs divine acts with little fanfare, this being his first time receiving magical healing.
Even after being healed he feels sick.
Perhaps I am out of my league with these characters...
The kobold takes the note and coin purse from Ibrox. He hisses softly as he reads, eyes glancing from the remains and back to the note. Finally he shakes his head sadly. "So that is likely poor Baldric." He says. "Was a good lad. Orphaned during the invasion. Britta took him in to help out around the inn, mind the stables, weed the gardens, repairs, that sort of thing. Quiet, but likable enough, had that same haunted look that so many from Krakova have these days."
He slips the letter into a pouch, and shakes the rain from his wide brimmed hat. "We should give the boy a proper burial. Not right to just leave him laid out in the road." He starts to climb down from the wagon bench still talking. "Sad as it is, we've other worries if what Britta says is true."
Vandersthal shouldn't be much further up the road. I was hoping for a warm, dry stop over, but..." He shrugs with a nod toward Baldric and then rubs a bony hand along his scaled jaw, thinking for several seconds before finally turning to look at rest of you.
"You all handled...Baldric...and those bugs well enough. How about you lot hurry ahead to Vandersthal. If we've got Reaver's raiding the coast that's trouble enough. But those blood sucking bugs make me think something more might be afoot. Scout the place, see if it's safe and deal with any trouble if you can. The lads and I will take care of the remains and follow in the wagons." He glances at the gray skies above. "I think you should be able to make it before dark if you hurry. We should be along in the morning. Then hopefully we'll make Nargenthal a couple days later if the blasted weather will clear a bit."
"I'll pay double your daily pay, plus you can keep this." He adds tossing the coin purse over to Trevor.
"Woah! That's more than double my pay! Wait... Do you want us to split this amongst ourselves? I'm still not sure what this all have to do with us? We got attacked defending the caravan. That'S our duty, no? There might be other dangers. I'm not sure we should leave our post... But I guess, if you're the one asking. I mean, you're our employer, right? So you're changing the contract... Well ok then, for double the pay, I mean, I could put the money to good use." Trevor says, confused slightly but making it slowly nonetheless.
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"Yes he wants us to split it amongst ourselves," Aterro comments to Trevor without doubt. "I too have misgivings about leaving the caravan unprotected, but it is a pity that the lad took up a the solemn duty of the messanger and was so basely paid for his efforts, so a proper burial is the least he is due.
Also, 'twould not do for a train of wagon to slowly amble into occupied territory, so on this point, I must concur, and we shall recon in force."
The WarCleric shakes the last of bug-goo from his maul and hefts it over his shoulder. "We should hurry lest we hurt ourselves in the gathering dark."
That said, despite his heavy armor, he begins an easy mile-eating jog.
"We go on foot?!" asks Trevor, suddenly aware of how small his boots recently felt. Growing up came with equipment issues.
"Thor's chosen has the right of it." Rook says adding with a chuckle to Trevor "I don't see any Trombeian stallions lounging about. So your feet are going to carry you a lot quicker than my oxen will."
Grabbing a pair of shovels and a mattock from under the canvas tarp, he waves to the other two drivers and begins looking nearby for a reasonably easy place to dig Baldric's grave. "We'll be along shortly and if your lucky you'll be sitting in front of a warm fire with a hardy ale in hand by days end."
Finnigan groans. "But my shoes will get ruined. The road is all muddy. Ah, bloody hell. Fine."
Once plans are implemented to leave and head towards Vandersthral, Vindrel sighs, and following the strongest part of the ley line, walks up to the body of Baldric. Laying his hand on the mans brow he whispers a blessing.
"Though your soul no longer rests in this vessel, I pray that the elements take your tortured body, and give you the rest you deserve. Ashes to Ashes... Dust to dust".
He then follows the others on the trail, eyes open for trouble.
PP-15
"Yes. That’s a great idea. Would you be carrying boots by any chance?"
Later, Trevor will walk alongside Vrindel and ask: "I saw you said a few words to those corpses. You a priest?"
"I don't know about the rest of you lot but a fire and a mug of ale sounds spot on to me."
Finnigan fishes his crossbow bolt out of the splattered bug guts and swishes it in a puddle to rinse off the slime.
But her reason pointed towards the practical "I was prepared for a diplomatic assignment, not a skirmish under stormclouds. Perhaps the caravan could spare some supplies for our forward bivouac? Nothing that would weaken your position here, of course...just the essentials."
Rook sets the shovel into the ground and nods at Zove's request. "I don't have much in the way of clothing, boots, or spare rain or foul weather coats." He says with a glance toward Trevor's feet and the suspiciously familiar potato sack still draped across Finnigan's shoulders. "We're mostly trading bolts of cloth, grains, seeds, and other dried goods, a bit of specialty wines and liqueurs for the inn, a few tools, and a small number of other trinkets and baubles folk like to buy for festivals and such."
He flips the canvas back on the third wagon, where most of the caravans camp supplies are stored. "But you can have a couple days dry rations each...just in case. Rope, canvas for shelter if you need, and of course your welcome to take your bedrolls if you have them." He pauses in thought for a moment and then rummages further into the supplies. "Here's a few of flasks of oil. Might need the help starting a fire in these conditions." He looks at Aterro and Finnigan, the only humans among the group. "Hmmm. And one of the spare lanterns, again if you need some extra light at night. A single flask should be good for most of the night."
Later, Trevor will walk alongside Vrindel and ask: "I saw you said a few words to those corpses. You a priest?"
Vrindel looks down at his young co-worker. "Well not so much a priest, or at least no more than you or any other... but I do have a spiritual connection with all natural forces; life, death, elements, weather, and I find that un-death is contrary to the natural order of things. Thought it only fitting, that I recognize his final rest. Something I've always done, and just don't feel right without a few words over the dead".
"Do you need a priest? Confession perhaps? I'll still be willing to listen to what you have to say, and won't judge you for it".
Later, Trevor will walk alongside Vrindel and ask: "I saw you said a few words to those corpses. You a priest?"Vrindel looks down at his young co-worker. "Well not so much a priest, or at least no more than you or any other... but I do have a spiritual connection with all natural forces; life, death, elements, weather, and I find that un-death is contrary to the natural order of things. Thought it only fitting, that I recognize his final rest. Something I've always done, and just don't feel right without a few words over the dead".
"Do you need a priest? Confession perhaps? I'll still be willing to listen to what you have to say, and won't judge you for it".
"Confession? Nah! It would take weeks... Anyways. Glad you did what felt right to you. It's nice to feel a connection to something..." he replies, suddenly displaying an unexpected level of reflexion.
Zove takes her share of the burden as the body is carried away. "Thank you, Bentknee. Should we never meet again, know your name and kindnesses will reach the Court of One Million Stars." she says somewhat snottily, not realizing how patronizing and ominous it sounds.
Tipping his head to the side for a confused second, the kobold then simply tips his brimmed hat back a bit and gives the serious shadow fey wide toothy smile. "I don't suppose I need my name bandied about the shadow realm miss." He says. "But you and the others see that there's no trouble ahead and help keep these goods safe all the way to Britta's place and that'll be thanks enough for me."
After the party gathers and packs the few added supplies from Rook, Aterro begins jogging up the road soon followed by the rest of the party. The cleric of Thor initially sets a steady, ground eating pace, however, it seems that the Great Serpent, Ouroboros, has other plans in mind as the rain continues to fall. The muddy road and tangled undergrowth along the side combine with the cold, and less than ideal gear to quickly take their toll. After the first mile or two the hurried pace quickly turns into something much more like a slogging, forced march.
"I haven't seen one but I assume she's speaking of dwarves? It must be an ominous sight to see.
Finnigan's mood has darkened since hearing that Britta is a pen pal of the captain of the guard from Courlandia.
He too gazes at the sea.
"The Court of a Million Stars," he says, panting. "I can't say I've heard of it. Where is it exactly that you're from? It sounds very royal. What's your opinion of royalty? I believe in liberty, myself. Why don't we take a break and catch our breath. What do you say lads?"
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Aterro falls head-long into a thrice-cursed and rather large invisible, water-filled, unseen pothole. His wind is knocked out from him and he gets up, drenched and heaving.
"Confound! Cursed be the Wyrm Obourous and all his foul machinations! This is only a sign that we are on the right track, if so many evil obstacles are set in our way!"
He takes off his helmet and pours out the water that has accumulated in it before replacing it and addressing Zove's question. "Nay, lass. I've never seen their ships, though I had a run in with 'em once or twice. Good fighters and headstrong. 'Course, you'd have to be to---," he lets the rest of the sentence die out as he takes deep breaths.
His feet killing him, Trevor can barely keep up, until he realizes that neither can Aterro. Panting, he waits for the cleric to finish his sentence: "Toooo..?"
CON Check
Vrindel doesn't mind the rain or the mud. His big feet help him stay on top of it, and his heavy weight keeps him from sliding, however he notices that many of his travel companions are having a difficult time with the journey, so he whistles a bit trying to keep the spirits up of the group.
"Do we need to stop for a minute? I could use a break myself"?
"YES!" shouts Trevor and drops his kit in the mud and starts unbuckling his armour.
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Finnigan scrutinizes the pothole into which Brother Aterro has fallen. Very deliberately, he marks it with a flagpole and nods to himself, admiring his work.
Finnigan scrutinizes the pothole into which Brother Aterro has fallen. Very deliberately, he marks it with a flagpole and nods to himself, admiring his work.
Trevor sits in the driest spot of mud he can find and beams his best smile at Finn: "Yes, better mark that one up. We may be coming back using the same route."
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Aterro straightens his helmet and starts waving off Trevor as he starts to unbuckle his armor. "Nay nay! *breathe* We canst not afford a stop. Methinks 'twould take a hearty joint of beef and a jack of ale, followed by a good night in a warm bed to restore me to muster strength, and we can not afford the time. So too, if the Thunderer is testing me this way, then by THE HAMMER OF THOR I can not show weakness now!
If the town is in danger, then let not a moment's pause be too much time spared for its salvation."