Survivors! thinks Trevor and his eyes fill with tears. He turns to Vrindrel and says: "Well!? What is he saying?!"
Wait. Is it a he or a she..? but he doesn't ask aloud, he just tries to peer without being too obvious about it, something he's never been good at...
Finnigan is wide eyed and bewildered. "Hey I appreciate the light but can one of you guys ask it what that rune on the kids foreheads is doing? I get the feeling this creature doesn't like undead. Maybe it can tell us what to expect if we go into the town..."
Finnigan taps Trevor on the shoulder. "Are you falling this? Would be nice to get some translation, no?"
The gnomes eyes grow wide at the sight of the forest drake. He tries not to non-verbally react when he is referred to as Devil friend.
He listens to the trollkin and drake converse and follows the conversation to the children. He tries to remember if he knows what the rune on their foreheads does.
Ibrox approaches the drake and bows, "Os gwelwch yn dda i gwrdd â chi, Gwisgwch yr Amddiffynnydd. Rwy'n Ibrox Redcap of Neimheim. A fyddech chi'n disgrifio y Meistr Coedwig, felly y gallwn ei adnabod? Efallai y gallwn chwilio'r pentref a'i leoli ar eich cyfer chi. A fyddech chi angen unrhyw beth arall yn gyfnewid am y cysegr?"
The drake listens to Ibrox, its head tilted slightly to the side as it ponders the gnome's words. After a few moments it nods slightly as if making an internal decision.
"Not often does one of you kind venture from your infernally protected realm." Scorch says to Ibrox, while Zove translates the hissing, Sylvan words into Common for the whole party. "Although I would not normally risk Grandmother's wrath by associating with a dweller of Neimhiem, your words make sense and I am in need."
It steps back so it can see and speak to the whole party. "I accept your offer of aid in return for sanctuary and safe harbor in this place. But I must warn you, the Master's work is weakening and the dead continue to come. With your presence here, their hunger will grow and draw more to this place." It says with a glance at the children.
"The Master is like that one." It says pointing its draconic nose at Finnigan. "Human. But his scent and energy are of the forest, the earth, and the natural world. Similar to your trollkin companion." This time it looks at Vrindel. "For many seasons, he and I have traveled the forests, healing them of disease, revitalizing the soils and driving away those who would cause undo harm."
"As for what has happened...I do not know." Its head droops and the tail twitches slowly. "But I fear my...friend, has left this world. For he would not be gone so long and leave the little ones in such a state unless either the danger was very great or he could not return."
"I only know that a visitor had come to the village, then some time later, the dead started coming to our door. The master and I fought them off and he decided to check on the happenings in the village. For safety, he put the children into a slumber, secured the mill, and asked me to protect them until his return. I swore to do so and have not seen or heard of him since that day...nearly two moon cycles ago."
Trevor realizes the drake is asexual, like an angel he guesses. As he listens to the translation, he becomes agitated: "Wait! What? Ibrox, what are we agreeing to here? I mean, if they can't fight off those... riders, then what can we do? It's probably best to give this place a wide berth, no?" he says, half-asking, half-telling.
Ibrox turns his dazzling smile to Trevor and his traveling companions and speaks in Common. "I'm negotiating with the drake for sanctuary. The caravan will be here soon and will need protection, whether we go around the village or destroy the undead. Until Bentknee arrives, we should investigate the village. We could find this Forest Master, other survivors, or useful material. What else do you want to do?"
"Oh and the runes on the children are a combination of the runes Mannaz and Nykoping. The first is loosely tied to humanoids, especially humans and dwarves, while the second often affects time or is tied to the passage of seasons and cycles of the moon."
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Aterro frowned in concentration, putting the whole situation into tactical priorities.
"Alright, fine. We would only be hampered by taking the children with us, so that's good that they are safe here.
Yes, Bentknee will rejoice that he might not be eaten while in this structure's protection. Of course, he does have his goods to worry about, so it still behooves us to slaughter any more undead we find and thereby increase the safety of those that follow us.
As this creatures is not hostile, I give it leave to keep doing...whatever it is doing. Being busy not eating the children beseems.
as for us, we have not the time to go tramping about in the forest after some missing-and-presumed-dead mage. A mage powerful enough to make that rune is strong enough to see to his own ends. If he thinks his wards are safe, and it seems they are, if makes sense that he would not return in haste, so I'll not worry about him.
And, yes, Ibrox, as it seems that any building left standing only does so because it is infested with magic and dragons or magic dragons, we can now cast attention at the village."
Trevor shrugs, having nothing to say that would not make him sound selfish or cowardly on front of a priest of Thor...
He tries to listen to the rest of the conversation, but eventually just smiles at the children, then tries to make them laugh making silly faces.
The drake thanks Zove for her offer of food and eagerly accepts. "I have been unable to hunt and fulfill my watch. Occasionally a rabbit or squirrel has wandered near, but less so with the recent rains."
Not used to paying attention to such things, the drake really doesn't know from which direction they arrived. Although it does confirm it wasn't from the woods.
"At first all seemed well after the master left." The drake says. "But then several hours went by, and fires burned in the village. Then all was quite. I could not leave the children long enough to investigate myself, especially once the dead became restless."
The creature pauses for a few moments in thought. "There was a moment not long after his departure that I felt the master's energy blaze in the night. It was followed shortly by something else. Dark, powerful and....unknown to me. Soon after there were screams and fires.
The children remain sleeping throughout the conversation, and soon enough the fog begins to lift allowing rays of bright sunlight to shine down on the valley. Although the inner sanctuary with the children remains dark, the central millwork are lit up by the upper windows and larger windows on the southern end near the wheels, gears, and big grinding stones.
Finnigan listens and watches his companions facial expressions to see if they are satisfied with the story.
His brow remains furrowed though and he squints as he scrutinizes the sleeping kids.
In his heart he knows the drake has kind intentions but those glowing marks and the magically induced sleep make for a situation which is just... creepy.
"Ask it what we're up against. Numbers? Any powerful leaders identifiable? Is there anything in the village left worth saving?"
"So it sounds like this master of his is some kind of warden of nature. Like Vrindel maybe? But what was that dark flash? I guess there is another magic user clashing with him, probably the one who is responsible for the undead. I say we go track the master first. Then we will have a powerful ally and know what is exactly going on."
Vrindel is a bit overwhelmed. First seeing a real forest drake, then this use of runes, which he is not familiar with, and most obviously having to care about the health, and desires of others. He's used to just caring about himself, and whatever he needs to do to restore the balance of nature. He keeps to himself letting the others make the decision.
I should indeed like to meet this man with abilities like me.
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Brother Aterro shakes his head at Finnigan. "For one that powerful, he is either dead, in which case we can not help him, or he is pursuing his own ends, in which case he would only see us as interfering with a greater task. Either way, our best purpose is to see to the village, cleanse it of the evil that now infests it, and help any who we find.
Perhaps, with all the zombies and bugs slain, and with a handful of survivors found, we can then see to the bridge and let Bentknee be the first step toward resettlement.
To that end, there is nothing else for us here, so let us finish searching the building and move on."
That said, Aterro searches the South end of the mill.
The south end of the mill is mostly taken up with the massive grinding stones and various gears and mechanisms that harness the power of the creek to grind various grains into flour. There also appears to be a side area where the 'master' was experimenting with a water driven saw for cutting timber. A large circular blade has been mounted on a platform to allow for the cutting of small timbers into more useful building materials.
There is little of value, but a small closet does contain several building tools including shovels, handsaws, hammers, a block and tackle, and other various carpentry tools. There are also a few sacks of ground winter wheat sitting near the grinding stones.
Off of the main room is a small pantry with various jars and pots filled with various preserved or dried foods. Of special interest are two small bottles marked in a Druidic script.
The second bottle is labeled: "Blackberry Meade infused with Cinnamon, Cardamon, Apple, Freya's Glove Root, and Cloves." This looks like it is a Potion of Vitality.
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Aterro makes a quick mental catalog of the place, mostly staying on guard for enemies, but, given the effective defenses, not thinking to meet any.
Of the mundane items of workmanship, he has little interest. Perhaps if they are forced to make repair to the bridge, such items will come in handy. So, too, the wheat is of little value, unless they find themselves here for some time.
Of the preserved food, however, that is of use. There is little knowing where, exactly, this plague of evil will take them, and with a likely hunt in the forests for the lost 'master' the future looks even less known.
"I requisition these foodstuffs for the glory of Lord Thor by the law of conquest. Any disputing this may challenge me to single combat," he says to the empty gloom. Baring some Wraith of the Dinner Table appearing, he scoops up the rations.
He also grabs the brace of bottles. He knows not their script, but no doubt Vrindel can make sense of such gibberish.
"I found these," he says at Vrindel when he re-appears to the group, shoving the two bottles at him.
To the companions, Ibrox suggests, "Bentknee, should arrive later today."
"Zove, you looked like you knew how to reinforce that bridge, so the wagons can cross. Will these mill tools and supplies help us? We should fix the bridge and prepare Scorch for the arrival of caravan."
"Then, we can investigate the town. Sound like a plan?"
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"I have left a warning for them that the bridge is unsafe... but finding out what the situation in the village is is more important at this time".
When Brother Aterro brings Vrindel the bottles, he looks at the coding on them, nods his head and reveals their purpose. "These could be useful if we need to battle. This one is for magical healing of wounds. Not very powerful, but useful non-the-less. This other is very valuable. I have never even seen one made. It removes exhaustion, cures poison and disease, and even makes your recovery when wounded easier. Very valuable... we should save it for something really important".
He then rises with a groan. "It seems things are safe here for now. Perhaps we should do as our violent impulsive friend suggests and try to determine what goes on in the village".
He then turns to Brother Aterro. "I promised to tell you a story of the Raccoon and the Fox. Once there was a Raccoon who was very proud of his small family. He had a mate, and 6 healthy kitts. Once a fox came to make a quick meal of part of his family. He fiercely protected his clan, and was able to fend off the attacks of the fox. He came to see everything as a threat. Attacking any creature that got too close, birds, squirrels, even mice. He began to range further and further from the den, and soon found that he was looking for trouble, instead of waiting to protect his kin. Finally he strayed far from his home, and saw a hornets nest high in a tree. Though this was a threat he had no need to worry about, he still climbed the tree and stirred the next. In short order the hornets stung him and he fell to his death from the tree. Without their protector, the next day the Wiley, patient fox simply strolled to the den and killed the mother, and ate up all the kitts.
He then pauses for a moment not used to talking so much, and takes a sip of water. "The moral of the story is don't go looking for trouble, it will find you soon enough, and you'll be prepared".
The big Trollkin then shoulders his pack, and walks towards the doors. "We shall knock three times, then two when we return, so that you will know it is us".
Trevor listens but his face tells he doesn't get it: "So... My uncle had a pet fox. He showed it to me once, before..." His voice trails off as he remembers why he is here, a caravan guard, his country ravaged.
"Aterro's right. We need to clear this mess. This is our conundrum. I say we slay all the zombies, but let's find a way to dispatch them more safely, yes?"
"And we're nothing like racoons!" he adds, slapping the cleric of Thor hard on the shoulder, leaving his hand ringing in pain, which he tries to hide.
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Aterro stands silent as the story is told. And as Trevor good-naturedly slaps the hardened pauldrons of his armor, he grins and slaps his shoulder back.
"And once upon a time there was a country called Krakovia. It was a peaceful land and did not think much of war. It's people were happy and safe and devoted much time to the arts and intellectual and spiritual pursuits.
Then they got taken over by vampires and the country is now sliced up between undead and marauding dwarves."
He turns and stares at Vrindel. "The moral of the story is that to have peace, you must prepare for war. To avoid trouble is to invite it. And if you think you are frightened...you're not nearly frightened enough!"
Aterro chuckles and pats Trevor on the back again. "Come! Let us hunt some bugs!" He follows Vrindel out the door.
”Zove, with respect, Bentknee needs to cross the bridge, in order to reach this sanctuary. Otherwise, he will be caught in the open and hopes the undead don’t cross the bridge. Do you think we can clear the whole town of undead before he arrives this afternoon? Considering Scorch’s description of the magic in the, there could be a potentially a powerful magic user in the town.” the gnome replies to the fey.
Finnigan's head is spinning. He doesn't know who is brace and who is stupid, he just knows it's going to come to a vote so he has to say... something.
"The bridge can wait. Bentknee is better off stuck on the safe side of a bridge than he is strolling into zombie bug town. On one hand, I don't think this really falls under our job description as caravan guards, but for the sake of a free Krakova we should get in there and find out what caused this plague. I suspect it's part of a larger conspiracy..."
Finnigan looks distrustfully at Trevor with his slightly elvish features, and Zove who looks.... possibly even worse?
The party leaves the mill, forest drake, and sleeping children behind. Although many questions remain, spirits are lifted at having found at least a few survivors and one somewhat friendly creature. The debate over the bridge or stockade and Bentknee's possible arrival continues while you slosh through the flood waters to the main trail and back down the valley.
As the sun breaks through the fog, the valley feels much less foreboding and dreary. Sunlight occasionally sparkles on the cove while the surf rolls in beyond the natural rock jetty. Its dull roar a constant rumble in the background. A few gulls and other seabirds circle and whirl in the clearing sky and a mild breeze of salty sea-air smells clean and pure after the musty interior of the mill.
The walk back seems to take less time than the journey up to the mill and soon enough the group stands back at the crossroad near the bridge. The stockade surrounding the one remaining longhouse and the burnt remains of several other buildings still stands to the north. The open gates only a short distance away.
Leaving without the mill tools and bridge repair materials, the usually smiling gnome grumbles, ”Our first duty is to Bentknee. “
Finnigan looks at the longhouse. It looks dry inside at least but not likely to contain any whiskey.
"I say we look for a way into the village other than strolling through the front gates. Zove, how far can that trick get you? The one where you're suddenly there when we all expected you to be here?"
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"Actually I would council striding in through the front gates. It's not like undead, or insects, are known to use advanced tactics and put an elite squad of devastators on overwatch at the open front gate in case...a random band of travelers wander in.
But since Zove wishes to makes sure the buildings are first scouted, that seems reasonable, since I maintain that survivors will most likely be in the intact buildings...and, technically, that has been proven correct thus far. So we'll start there.
And, Ibrox, Bentknee specifically said, 'Scout the place, see if it's safe and deal with any trouble if you can.'
Would you not agree that his lads and workhands are equally capable of swinging mattock and hammer to build a bridge as we? But it could be said that we are more capable of dealing with trouble than his group of mule-drivers?
Hence, as he said that we should deal with any trouble that we find in our scouting, we -are- fulfilling our duty to him.
Does that give thee succor?"
Aterro begins heading for the longhouse, looking for a way in.
Turning away from the bridge and the fallen corpses of the morning's encounter, the party follows the road the short distance to the open gate of the stockade. Although the sun shines and birds circle over the sea, a feeling of darkness and menace certainly emanates from the remains of the village. A few decayed bodies lie scattered throughout the burnt, skeletal remains of the buildings. There is little left to identify them after weeks exposed to the elements and scavengers. Perhaps to the groups good fortune, the air smells more of the sea and mud rather than rotten flesh, another indication these tragic events took place some time ago.
Just inside the gate to the left and right are the remains of two buildings, both just simple longhouses, smaller than the main building still standing in the center of the village. Looking past the gate, there is another small longhouse still standing along the seaward edge of the stockade, hidden before by taller timbers of the wall.
The main longhouse located in the center of the stockade and clearly the hub of village life, is sturdy and well crafted. Built to withstand the strong storms that frequent this lonely northern coastline during the winter months. The windows are all covered with wooden shutters, but the main door at the front of the building stands open, creaking occasionally in the gentle wind blowing off of the sea.
Somewhat attached to the main longhouse is another small building with its own door. It is hard to tell without a closer look, but it appears to be a smokehouse or storage building of some kind.
"Let's clear this village of the undead before Bentknee arrives by supper." Ibrox says with a smile, but his eyes suggest less than a contented mood. He lets the tall ones lead.
Trevor is out-of-his-mind nervous. He expects something horrific to come out from every corner, from behind every door. He takes his place at the front, axe ready, but he doesn't take the lead in deciding where to go or what door to open.
[b]"I don't want to have them creep up on us... Do we know if they're thinking? Can they hear? Mayhaps it's best if make a bit of sound to draw them in, instead of surprising them?
Finnigan swallows what feels like an apple in his throat.
"Ok if we're walking in the front door let's go carefully and try to get an idea what the situation is.""
He looks around trying to assess situation. Are there any survivors visible, or any threats?
Trevor looks at Zove: "Yes, that's a great idea. We could also use some kind of entrance to limit how many can come at us. If only we could draw them towards us through a door, then we can finish them off one against the group?" Suddenly, Trevor is becoming more interested in discussions when they orbit around his surviving. He would probably show the same attentiveness to a scholarly lecture on keeping feet dry.
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"I find it unhelpful to attribute power to the enemy that they have not demonstrated. Such thinking can get you twirling in circles so that you are afraid to step out your door, least of all face the enemy in GLORIOUS COMBAT.
I would not assign these foes overall powers or intelligence. Had that unfortunate along the road been of keen mind, he could have leaped out at us from shrubbery, or those that fought us at the bridge could have met us at the bridge, slaying us one by one.
I have always been taught that the lawman entering the house is a hawk, boldly searching for prey, and the criminal hiding inside is a spider skittering about wishing not to be found.
The enemy of action is the illusion of a perfect plan."
That said Aterro enters the open door of the longhouse, wondering why it still stands.
As the group approaches the door, the first thing noticed is the smell coming from the dark interior of the building. The sickly sweet scent of rotting flesh and death wafts out of the opening, a grim warning to what may lie within.
Undaunted Aterro pushes the swinging door aside and steps into an unholy scene. The longhouse has a large open interior supported by big round timbers running in sets of two about every fifteen feet to the far end. Approximately thirty feet wide and nearly eighty feet long, the back of the building is currently hidden in darkness. The area closest to the entrance is littered with the bodies of the unfortunate men and women of Vandersthal. Many are severely burned or missing limbs and seemed to suffer devastating injuries, while others were obvious victims of their transformed neighbors. Mixed in among the dead are the now recognizable remains of several necrotic ticks as well. A swarm of flies fill the slowly warming morning air with their hum and quickly, annoyingly begin buzzing around your head, hands, neck and any other exposed area.
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"By all the powers of Asgard..." Brother Aterro begins as the smell and sight of the scene merge into the vision of a charnel house.
Then the all too familiar motion of shambling figures resolves itself and his martial training takes over.
Backing quickly out the door he holds aloft his hammer and shouts behind him, "Form a battle line!" A few feet outside the house he judges the bottleneck serviceable and plants his feet. "It looks like Lord Thor is feeling generous today, Sir Trevor! You get thy wish of drawing the enemy toward us through a door!
Now heft thy weapon and toe the line, for
He Who Stands With Me Shall Be My Brother."
"Here we go." Ibrox settles while backing behind Thor's son. He cocks his finger and aims at a shambling figure.
"Ibrox? Ibrox." He says in a stern voice.
"Guys! Look carefully! In addition to the few shamblers back there there's a bigger one hulking behind them with glowing red eyes! And in the rafters something is skittling... must be more ticks!"
Finnigan keeps his dagger drawn and pops a shot at the red eyed hulk with his hand bow.
Perception
Vrindel looks into the vile room, and immediately spots the real threats, reinforcing Finnegans descriptions. "Yes! There and there"!
If there is a chance Vrindel will cast "Entangle" in an area to best slow down their advance.
"Maybe this will slow them down a bit".
"Why don't we just burn this whole vile place to the ground with all in it. A fitting cremation for the dead, and a death trap for the undead"?
Earlier...
Trevor rolls his eyes at Aterro: "By Th-, I mean: By Kh-... Aterro, COME ON!, I'm not saying we stay and plan all day and avoid a fight. I'm just asking we put some armour on before the 'Glorious Battle. That's all! That way we can fight gloriously for another day, yes!?"'
He notices nothing, but heeds Aterro's words and forms a line behind the door.
"Wrap around them! We need one at the time through!"
Then he adds: "What do you mean 'glowing red eyes'?!"
Aterro and anyone following him quickly back out of the longhouse to form a defensive perimeter a few steps back from the door. Ibrox quickly curses one of the shambling zombies as it moves forward. The gnome then attempts one of his quick blasts, but no fire erupts from his pointing finger, instead the hair on his body all suddenly curls and hisses as if held too close to a flame and the sulphuric smell of the underworld wafts from the top of his red cap as his eyes glaze over.
Finnigan snaps off a quick shot at the eyes, but it is impossible to tell the results of his attack in the dark interior.
Vrindel plants his drives his staff into the ground outside the door and calls forth the power of nature to hinder his foes. The area inside the longhouse just beyond the door suddenly erupts into a tangle swirling, grabbing nest of vines and grasses. Several body parts from the fallen also end up in the spell creating a gruesome and macabe scene as the occasional hand, arm, or leg flutters by the open door, entangled in the druid's magic. At least two of the shambling zombies become entangled in the mass of clinging vegetation but the last one struggles through unhindered.
From the back of the longhouse, the eyes grow brighter. The sound of heavy, thudding boots echo from the wooden floor. Then a hollow, whispering, pained voice can be heard speaking words of power, similar to those used by Vrindel, but slightly different and somehow...less...then those spoken by the trollkin. But despite the differences, they clearly still contain power as a sphere of burning flame bursts into life in the area between the door and the front line of the party. The heat and flames quickly forcing those nearest further back from the door.
"Aye! Fire! Damn it!" says Trevor as he moves back and out of sight from the glowing-red-eyes.
Ibrox shakes his head causing the wisps of brimstone steam to loop and swirl. "Ouch. Sorry about that." He apologizes to no one seen.
He refocuses on a shambling zombie and says in a stern voice, "Ibrox." A brimstone blast hits the side of the longhouse.
Finnigan is singed by the flame but he manages to avoid most of the blast.
He stands outside the doorway ready to stab the first thing through the door and pop a shot into the dark hall at those red eyes.