Vrindel feeling the danger of this encounter, awaits the development of the situation. He prepares to magic up his staff again.
Magic stick
Magic stuck
Zove moves back into formation with the rest of the party and then conjures the illusionary duplicates of the runes from back in the mill. At first nothing happens, then a raging scream bursts from within the long house. The mournful, eerie, and slightly inhuman cry echoes throughout the valley sending shivers of unholy fear crawling into your minds.
Ibrox tries again to blast at one of the zombies entangled in the vines. The fiery, hell-bolt ricochets off of the entryway and ends up striking the creature directly in the chest, searing rotten flesh and corrupting it even further under the added influence of the little gnome's curse.
Finnigan fires a bolt from his crossbow that disappears into the darkness of the longhouse and then lunges at the only unentangled zombie as it stumbles through the doorway. His dagger grazes the already rotted arm of the creature, shaving off a few more bits of flesh.
In a remarkable display of shambling agility, the creature stabbed by Finnigan escapes Vrindel's grabbing vines and avoids most of the burning flames outside the door to throw itself toward the young paladin. The former villager, a matronly woman of sturdy build, swings a thick arm at Trevor, but misses as he is able to duck out of the way.
Vrindel lashes out with his magical staff, but the blow simply glances off of the zombies rubbery flesh.
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Moving more quickly than a man so big or wearing that much armor has any right to, the WarCleric dodges nimbly to one side, saving him from the worst of the flames.
"There! You see?" he states pointedly at Trevor. "NOW we can say palpably that the enemy can summon up fire and fury. But to have done so before with no evidence would have had us devoting resources to an unknown threat that might never have appeared. Only by meeting an attack head on can we gather intelligence for BATTLE."
Any further lessons on advanced tactics had to wait as another of the unliving things shambled out, defying all efforts to impede or arrest it.
"You have waded through fire and vines to meet thy end with STEEl. Grandmother, may Lord Thor himself drink a toast to thy courage as you face final death."
Aterro tries to end the woman's torment as he swings his sledgehammer in a high, arcing blow.
Trevor filters Aterro's voice out as he takes aim, while trying not to come into view of the demon inside the building.
Aterro and Trevor both land staggering hits against the undead matron. Hits that would have devastated any normal foe. But the creatures dead brain ignores the shattered ribs and severed shoulder to continue its jealous attempts to snuff out the lights of the heroes life force.
Another fierce scream comes from the thing in the building, but this one is less fearsome and powerful than the reaction initially invoked by Zove's illusion. The shadow fae's ploy appears to work as the flaming sphere shifts to engulf the illusionary sigils, but then it suddenly lurches back toward the party centered on brilliant essence of Thor's cleric. Aterro and those near him suddenly find themselves once again engulfed in the searing flames. The zombie is also caught in the fire, and its already battered flesh sears and melts away in many places, but the creature simply ignores the damage and turns its hideous gaze back to the young paladin.
Trevor manages to evade the worst of the fire again.
"Can someone close that door!?"
Ibrox refocuses on the shambling zombie attacking Trevor and says in a stern voice, "Ibrox." A brimstone blast hits the side of the longhouse.
Zove's flames immolate the uninjured Zombie, engulfing the creature in pure, white hot fire that instantaneously roasts flesh and incinerates bones and other mass. The vines and grasses entangling the creature turn to instant ash and the wooden floor blackens and begins to burn.
The brilliance of the fire, illuminates the interior of the building revealing the other zombie, still entangled in the remaining vines, and about a half dozen of the necrotic ticks scurrying around in the rafters trying to avoid the flames. They also reveal the horror hidden further back in the longhouse. A rather tall, muscular man dressed in fine leathers and a fur lined overcoat that are now tattered and covered in gore and blood. A shock of red hair hangs, grimy and wild on his head while the remains of a long beard cover his chin. Two tattoos mark his cheek, each similar to the two runes found back at the mill.
But this man is no longer a man. Five of the engorged ticks hang from his shrunken, sallow body. The eyes are gone, replaced by gaping sockets that glow with the sinister red energy of a malevolent and twisted intelligence. One of his hands ends in a bloody ragged stump while a short spear impales his stomach. A brutal blow that would not have killed instantly, but would have left the man helpless and at the mercy of ticks.
Following Zove's blast, Ibrox sends his own blast of eldritch power toward the zombie outside of the building, although it hits and tears another wound, the undead matron again shrugs off the blast.
Finnigan slashes the nearby Zombie and attempts to adroitly maneuver around it to get a shot at the more important enemy inside.
Advantage
"Aterro, your god will be proud of me. Watch this, I'm going to jump through these flames and go in there after the one who is behind all this! Here... I... goaaaaghhhhh!"
Suddenly engulfed in flame, Finnigan gets a little more than singed this time. He's never smelled his own burning flesh before. It fills him with horror, but suddenly he's even more afraid of those eyes glowing in the dark...
Trevor snarls in pain from the fire and the shrieks from Finn, but otherwise continues to hack the zombie down.
Finnigan plunges his dagger deep into the shoulder and neck of the stubborn zombie and it finally collapses in a heap at the ranger's feet. With the light of the flames inside the building, Finnigan has the pleasure of seeing his bolt strike the undead spirit in the longhouse, but it seems to do little to slow the creature down.
The entangled zombie breaks free, charges heedlessly through the flames and like the previous foul undead is drawn directly to the young paladin. But as before, the creature's flailing punches simply bounce of Trevor's armor with little effect. Powered by adrenaline, Trevor's counterstrike hits with a resounding thud causing the former villager to rock back and nearly collapse, but at the last second it manages to grab the handle of the paladin's axe long enough to pull itself upright still holding an ugly frenzied leer on its face filled with the desire to feed on live flesh.
"Why do they always pick me?! Guyyyyys? Focus on him by Th- By whatever!"
Finnigan catches himself saying a little prayer to Thor as well... but mentally amends it to his favorite Shield Maiden Saint.
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Again, showing finesse that neither heavy chain nor devastating power should allow, the WarCleric avoids the brunt of the blast, taking but small part of the heat.
"Indeed, you have the battle heart in you!" Attero yells at Finnigan. "Alas, even I would say that bravery can be tempered by discretion. I shall pray that Thor grants you a drink upgrade when you arrive in Valhalla."
Hoping that Finnigan knows what he's doing, the Armored Saint turns to Trevor. "You have called upon the power of THOR in thy heart, I know it.
Let it be said.
Let it be granted."
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Calling upon the might of Thor, thunder rumbles through the valley as Aterro's hammer smashes into the mangled zombie once and then twice. Bones shatter, airless lungs collapse, and several teeth fly from a broken, dangling jaw. And yet despite it all, the creature's hatred and desire for revenge upon the living is stronger, or Thor simply wishes to challenge his followers further, because the animated remains of the village fisherman still stand.
Vrindel pulls forth more divine might into his staff, then steps forward to smite the dessicated zombie.
Shillelagh
damage
Magical energy discharges in a brilliant shower of sparks and the smell of the deep forest when Vrindel's staff crushes the battered zombies thigh with a loud crack. But the creature seems impervious to the damage and continues to fight.
With flames beginning to spread inside the building, several of the deadly insects seek to escape through the partially blocked door. But out of the nearly half dozen that make the attempt, only one manages to completely avoid the flames. The others all perish in the sphere's cleansing flames. The one that escaped immediately leaps toward Aterro, but misses the cleric wildly and lands in the center of those fighting in the front line.
The tick encumbered horror, moves forward driven by both the insect's panic and its own broken and soulless insanity. Moving slowly, but with a strong, deliberate gait the horror tears through the swarming vines and grasses to stand at the entrance. The hellish eyes flick toward Zove, sensing the surge of power that just passed through the wizard. In a flash the flaming sphere moves away from the door to try and engulf the shadow fae in a mass of elemental fire.
"Look, the ticks are having trouble getting out of the longhouse. Maybe if we keep the enemies inskde hey'll burn to death? If I can get this door shut will you help me to keep it closed? What other exits might this freak use to get out?"
Finnigan assesses the building evaluating it for means of egress. Do the portals look easy to lock up?
Does the front door open in or out?
Finnigan grits his teeth and fights the urge to run away.
Ibrox refocuses on the lone tick and says in a stern voice, "Ibrox."
"Shut the door!" shouts Trevor, bleading badly.
Ibrox quickly takes advantage of the ticks confusion after its failed attack on Aterro and blasts the thing into hellish oblivion.
Finnigan sizes up the situation as the horror stands in the doorway. The door itself is open to the inside and currently blocked by the enemy. The closed windows are all much too small for the thing to crawl through. He tries to visualize the rest of the building in his mind, but then remembers, no one actually explored the back side of the longhouse.
Hearing Trevor's panicked shout to close the door and remembering Vrindel's earlier calls to do so, the ranger suddenly feels an unusual sense of bravery...or foolhardiness...and rushes the horror. Fate, or perhaps Thor depending on who you might ask, smiles upon Finnigan and he drives his shoulder directly to the midsection of the tick burdened zombie. The unexpected blow staggers and shoves the creature back into the building just enough for Finnigan to grab the door and drag it closed. As soon as the door closes, there is a loud pop as the sphere of flame winks out of existence.
"Bloody hell! It seems he can extinguish his ball of flames as easily as he can conjure it... Zove you might have explained this to me? Let's hope the fire is already well lit in there... can we throw any more fuel in through the windows? See this is yet another reason I knew I should have brought more whiskey!"
Finnigan looks over his left shoulder uneasily half expecting Aterro to barrel him over and burst through the door.
Zove's bolt hits one of the ticks hanging from the zombie horror. Several legs singe and curl, but the insect is seen moving and alive just before Finnigan slams the door closed.
The battered and determined zombie launches another attack at Trevor, but its flailing limbs simply bounce of the paladin's armor.
"Damn you to hell!!!" shouts Trevor as he swings his axe at the zombie.
Trevor batters away at the zombie, cleaving the creature yet again with adrenaline powered blows. But the creature seems to have some unwarranted and unknown vendetta against the young paladin as it continues to claw at him while maintaining its undead existence.
Thor may indeed be testing the party, or perhaps it is Loki working some mischief for his own purposes...or perhaps there is something else driving this enraged spirit and its need for revenge against the living.
"Why won't you die"! Vrindel's temper gets the better of him... Undead monstrosities... just not natural and he foregoes his staff, and instead swipes out at the zombie with his clawed hand.
Clawed hand
Slashing claws
But finds the vexing beast too quick for him...
While the zombie ducks Vrindel's blow, Finnigan here's the thudding, booted steps of the enemy within approaching the door. His hands holding the wooden handle, the ranger feels the wood vibrate when another force begins to push at the door. Then suddenly it jerks back giving Finnigan only a heartbeat to react and try to keep the thing locked inside.
Ibrox refocuses on the last zombie and says in a stern voice, "Ibrox." The brimstone-flavored hellfire blackens its ribcage.
Finnigan feels the creature pulling on the door. He takes a breath and times a kick just right so instead of resisting the pull he will kick into it and send the creature sprawling into its back.
"Ready with missile fire? One, two... three!"
Zove attempts to reach the broken, shattered spirit of the druidic runemaster. For just a moment her words cause the creature to hesitate; the crimson glow of the eyes dim for a heartbeat. But there is little of the former mill caretaker's true spirit left. What exists instead are the last few remnants of a tortured soul trapped in an undead body, powered by a pure, burning rage and hatred.
The rage returns renewed and fills the horror with a burst of grace that allows it to deftly keep its feet when Finnigan pushes the door open releasing a cloud of smoke from the building. It easily steps aside and recovers from the sudden change of direction. Fortunately for the ranger his maneuver does disrupt the undead's footing enough that the quick punch it throws with the stump of its arm whistles by ruffling a few hairs, but otherwise causing no harm.
Calling upon his unearthly powers once again, Ibrox sends a bolt of hellish, eldritch energy seering into the matronly zombie. At long last the struggling creature's body grows still. A few pounding heartbeats thunder in everyone's chest as they watch the swaying, smoking body teeter; its entire chest cavity little more than a horrible, smoking, hole. The torn and crumpled face turns to Trevor, the eyes suddenly burst with an energy glowing a brilliant hellish yellow-orange, the head tilts to the slightly to the side and a incorporeal voice emanates from the broken jaw; whispering in long drawn out syllables.
"I....kkknnnoooowwww....yourrrr.....ffffeeaaarrr. Willll....taaasssste....iiittt...aaaagainnn. ..sssssooooonnnn."
A soft laughter fills the air around the longhouse and then dissipates. The body then crumples to the ground; dead, unmoving and eyes nothing more than burned out black pits.
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As Ibrox drops the mutant zombie, and she turns and begins monologing, Aterro takes a heavy sigh.
"They shall be my finest warriors, these men who give of themselves to me," he intones, reciting a holy writ, and begins stalking toward fallen matron.
"Like clay I shall mold them, and in the furnace of war forge them. They will be of iron will and steely muscle. In great armor shall I clad them and with the mightiest weapons will they be armed."
He reveres the grip on his sledgehammer, holding it so that the head points down, drawn toward gravity like a lover.
"They will have tactics, strategies and magicks so that no foe can best them in battle. They are my bulwark against the Terror. They are the Defenders of Humanity." Attero stands directly above the slain devil, his weapon-hand coming to hover over her skull.
"They are my War Clerics.
And they shall know no fear."
He FORCES the hammer down, splattering the remains of the head, ensuring the speech halted.
"That should shut her up," he says, looking first at Trevor, and then around at the others, coming out of his solemn reverie.
Trevor is visibly quite shaken by the zombie's final words, but Aterro's words bring him back and keep the fear from paralyzing him: "All right, we'll see each other then... For now, we'll deal with your boss!"
And he hurls a javelin at the horror standing in the doorway.
"Bloody hell! I meant to knock him off his feet! Sorry guys... umm.. I guess it's just him against us now? Should we all shoot at him from windows while Aterro goes toe to toe in the doorway? "
Finnigan looks around at the others hopefully.
Vrindel looks around frantically waiting for something to happen to trigger his instincts. This thing... just looked wrong. Time to end it's demi-existence on the planet.
Having no ranged attack that doesn't damage those around the intended target, Vrindel waits for Brother Aterro to move into melee range, before trailing behind him, to attack with his magic staff.
Shilleligh
Magical Pounding damage
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Aterro takes pause to gauge the tactical situation. "Very well, Xeno. I believe you were once a good man with a name. And I believe that time has past. I believe the greatest mercy would be to send you to Valhalla so your soul can be free."
Aterro walks slowly up to the horror.
"I also believe that your festering brain has little in it but bloodlust, and you will attempt fisticuffs with any near you. I also believe that Ibrox can shoot you infinity times, and that the others around us have great ranged power.
So we just needs some fools brave enough to keep you busy, and to stay alive until you are killed to death.
Let the game begin."
Aterro holds his hammer in a two-handed grip, treating it more like a staff, ready to block blows while the warriors behind him continue to pour on the firepower.