Mok
A quick examination of the other rooms finds them empty, excepting beds and nightstands. The noise from downstairs is getting louder. what do you do?
Mok heads downstairs, but pulls out some of the loose papers and take a quick read of them.
The table shifted as the weight of bodies crushed against the door grew, the sounds of moans growing in intensity of each body. The hands slapped and slammed against the windows, giving the already tired traveler a slowly pounding headache. Silas regained his footing on the inn's floor, pushing hard with all his might to keep the door closed.
"Start with the windows! We can hold the g!!#~*n door." Silas hissed out, grunting with exertion. He looked over towards where the orc had just come downstairs, looking through the papers and books in a bag.
"Now ain't the f##*ing time for reading! Get your big, burly ass over here and help me!"
Upstairs, Hund hears the noise downstairs and it concerns him. What is going on here? The strange man died and became alive again. Strange noises came from outside.
He pops up at a window to see what is outside. Afterwards, he snoops around the room to see if he could find a hint of how the man died.
Mok looks around the room at all the activity.
"You got plenty to help. These might have a clue to what is happening. The old man was a priest and his journal might hold the answers to all these dead rising!"
He plunks down on the steps and begins to go through the papers and journal.
"I will still be here if you need help!"
HUIVD
outside you see what could best be described as an army of the dead. hordes shamble into town. some seem to be dragging townsfolk into the woods, while more are surrounding the Inn and other buildings, trying to batter their way in. Gods preserve you, there must be hundreds.
Mok
The gist of the journal is that the old man was here the preform a ritual to appease... something in the forest. It is called "Old Nock", and it is described as having a "Hunger for blood." You also gather he was the last of his order, and thus the last of those who knew how to quiet the god of the forest.
The loose pages are complicated descriptions of the ritual and its components. some are fairly simple, a circle inscribed with runes, given on one page, and the burning of a pinch of the sacred herbs, or the shedding of blood while chanting a few words in elvish. Others are trickier, recitation of prayers, not all of which you're familiar with, Invoking the three names of the Maiden. and some are flat-out impossible here, like shedding the blood with a Elf-bone knife (The old man didn't have a Blade pf bone, let alone elf-bone) and inscribing the 3 names of father death upon the trunk.
That said... you're pretty sure you could mock up something Like the ritual. If this is Old Nock's wrath, it might be worth doing.
Piecing together bits from his time with the cult that freed him, as well as knowledge of stars, alignments and other mystic knowledge he picked up while aboard ship, Mok realizes that he might be able to approximate the ritual that would appease the forest spirit, "Old Nock."
Ok, here is what I have discovered so far..."
The orc relays all his findings to those in the room; telling of the priest's background, Old Nock and the possibility of a ritual to appease the spirit of the woods.
Hund was not well practiced at figuring things out. His normal solution to most things was to rip their throats out.
That lack of skill was well evidenced here, as Hund could not discern how the priest died. With an internal shrug, Hund left the room to go downstairs.
Zombies. The word erupted from his voice modulator as he rejoined Mok. Lots.
Their quick-thinking seemed to spare their lives for now, the number of undead growing against the inn's windows and door. The thudding of the hammer and nails were almost reassuring now and eventually, Silas could begin to relax and not have to hold the door closed as long as the boards and nails held. What was more surprising was that the orc could read. At least it seemed like he could. As he explained what he had learned, Silas's face seemed to grow paler as he slid down into one of the few chairs that was still there.
"By the gods, we're f&@+ed." He murmured to himself, laughing a moment after at the ridiculous of it all. He lived and died an untold number of times in a dream, now he was to be ripped apart again in this terrible, waking world. "Maybe I shouldn't have run. Maybe this is punishment." As soon as the thought enters his mind, he banishes it away angrily. He did not belong to them anymore. He wouldn't belong to anyone again. Silas would be damned if this s*$%ty little town was his death.
"So...we do this ritual and maybe all these zombies will come somewhere else? Yeah?" His attention turned towards Gelda now as he pushed himself from his seat. There was still more work to be done if they weren't all going to die. "Miss, is there any other way in here or out of here? We need to secure everywhere as best we can...and have someplace to run to and out if we need to."
Mok reads over the information in the sheets to make sure he understands what is required for the ritual. He retrieves the small bag of herbs from the priest's pack and prepares to move forward with the conjuration.
Surrounded by the enemy with few supplies and limited personnel, Hund takes up a patrol around the inside the the building, biting back at any undead who try to enter from the weak positions in their fortifications.
Silas
door in the kitchen. Got a shelf up against it. Wouldn't mind nails Gelda grunts. A hand bursts from the wall beside the barricade, before a blow from Bester's board breaks the breaching limb, and is added to the barricade with a few quick nails. All around you, the dead hammer at the walls. It will be a long night.
Mok
Draw a sigil, and a circle, burn the Herbs, recite the names, and improvise an invocation to the old gods. All while surrounded by bloodthirsty zombies and murderous shamblemen... Easy, right?
HUIVD
Your waiting knife finds flesh, long dessicated, and then another limb, very nearly alive. Heads present themselves to be removed. Soon, limbs find themselves strewn on the floors
At this point in Hund's life, the clockwork hound wouldn't think to ask a stranger to help with something like this. In his mind, he is the one helping others. It was his duty, his service to those trapped within inn.
As a result, he struggled with keeping the undead at bay. His broken teeth and the lack of claws made it a real challenge.
Reading over the spell, Mok realizes that he will need a little help.
"You, boy! Come over here and give me a hand with this ritual. It could send these dead back to their graves...now come here and hold these papers for me while I copy some of their symbols!"
With the server's help, he readies the ritual.
Will Roll:
"Right, right, this is one hell of a day..." Silas grumbles, looking up the staircase again. "We're going to want to drag most of those beds downstairs, use them like the tables and bookshelves. We'll only have so many nails." The smash of one of the barricades brings him rushing over with his quarterstaff in hand, beating at the offending limb until it could be broken and removed properly. There was more work to be done.
"You." Silas growled, pointing at Ananda. "You don't want to die, right? Then get off your ass and help me." Moving to the back where, already, the sounds of undead fists hammered the walls and doors, he would get to work setting up defenses here. The orc was in the main room, preparing some kind of ritual it seemed. As he did though, Silas quietly murmured a prayer to Father Death so stay his blade at least a little bit longer.
Taking one of the kitchen knives he had Bester retrieve for him, the young orc reads out the first part of the ritual and at the appointed time, he runs the blade over his wrist and lets the blood slash down onto the mystic symbols.
Baros moves about largely ignoring the ritual being performed. He reinforces doors and windows with boards (tables/benches/chairs]) and nails.
"Gelda, help me with these boards, if you'd be so kind. My arms are only so long." Baros says through semiclinched lips, with a board in one hand, hammer in the other and three nails pinched between his lips.
the Inn is boarded and guarded... with varying levels of success. the dead pile over one another to try to break in, bot for at least an hour maybe, you all hold out. Then a great grumbling comes from upstairs, and the sound of steps upon the stair. No. NO! a voice, wizened and weary shouts Old Nock is awoken. No! it wails.
There is a man upon the stair, a man you know cannot be there.
Hund growls at the appearance of the ghost, drawing attention to it. Mok! he barks out.
Mok looks up from the ritual he is trying to conduct to see the figure on the stairs.
"Old Nock....is that you? Take these dead away from here and lay them back to peace and bother the townsfolk no longer."
He continues with the ritual while sparing quick looks at the unknown figure
Baros draws his dagger, gripping it tightly he eyes the ghost and doubts the blades effectiveness. "SPIRIT," Baros shouts, "either offer what assistance you may or leave us be for we will either succeed in returning the dead to their rest or join you and them in the afterlife soon enough."
Baros continues to grip the dagger tightly.
The voice upon the stair Comes back. I Aiten't ol' Nock. Ya can tell on account o' yer na bein' dead it says, a thick western accent in his voice I'm Horvath, Priest o'.. well, Late Priest O' the true gods. I was s'posed ta put Ol' Nock ta 'is rest for another year. Don't seem I made it. he says
'E wants blood. When 'is tree wer dyin', it wer how 'e brought back the life to it. Wer a Dryad, 'e were. Now, 'e's sommat else He steps into sight, and reveals himself to be a spectral replica of the old man whose mutilated corpse is currently shoved into a corner. He picks up his sickle (or at least the version of it not on the bar counter) and raises it, approaching HUIVD...
Silas's eyes widen at the sight of the spectral figure there upon the staircase calling out to them. This far north was a terrible idea. He should've head south maybe. At least they wouldn't have expected him to take such an unusual route.
"I...I don't think...we...uhh..." He hadn't seen a ghost before. That was a new one for him. Silas hated this place. Yet the ghost continued to talk, making its way down the stairs towards its own dead body. With the sickle in hand, Silas watched it bear down upon the clockwork...
...and strike the arm of the undead monstrosity that was grabbing upon HUIVD, loping it off onto the ground. The moment of shock was worn off by the need to try and fix the back better now.
"Ananda, thank you, but you're f@&@ing useless. Get out of my way." His arms were already beginning to ache though, the trail here and nothing in his stomach bothering him deeply.
"This is no time to take a break. We need to secure the place!" Silas thought to himself, looking back at Ananda. "Go and trade places at Bester. Bloody fool, getting in my way..." The last few words are all grumbles and complaints as Ananda eagerly escapes the surly man only to realize she has to be around the bloodletting orc now.
You hold the door another 25 minutes, but eventually the Dead clambering atop one another manage to reach higher than you'd nailed. Two corpses, one little more than a skeleton, one that of a lumberjack, Woodaxe still strapped to his back. They clamber to their feet, and...
Mok feels a growing warmth flowing through him as his lifeblood sizzles to feed the ritual. With a loud 'crack', two of the undead break-in. Looking over to the two, a sudden surge rises from the various symbols that makes up the ritual. The power flows through him and bursts from his eyes, hitting the zombies and disintegrating them completely. The young orc saggers slightly as the power releases him.
"Oh...wow!"
Rusko emerges from the closet, hopping on one foot , a boot upended in on hand as he shakes it, finally dislodging the nail that had plagued him.
Slipping on his boot, he looks up to see the 'real' orc, Mok, disintegrate a couple of zombies with his eyes, a ritual of some sort arrayed around him.
Though he has a keen interest in all thing magical...being of magic himself, the undead beating a way in through the door caught his attention much more fully.
Remembering the barmaid...or was it the bartender...mention the hammer above the bar, Rusko reaches up grabs the hammer and runs over to slam the hammer into the encroaching undead...
Two of the undead shamble into the inn but before they could do anything, light shimmered from the orc's eyes and then they were turn to dust. Silas looked over at the orc for a moment, wide-eyed and surprised, before his face began to spread in a grin.
"Well hell, I don't think it is supposed to do that but that's a good runner up. Keep up the work. As for you...do f&$*ing butter! We need to get this shelves against the doors and windows!" Bester grumpily got to work again as Silas picked up the axe on the ground, testing its grip in his hand for a moment before getting to work as well. Any offending digit that made its way in would be met with the heavy blade, trying to clear a way for Bester to get things situated.
As Bester places the shelfing down, Silas is mid-swing and catches an undead in the skull while shattering that piece of defending wood. The man looks at Silas with a look of incredulity while Silas surveys the damage he made. Looking back at Bester, he shrugs. "Get another one."
The world is going crazy around Hund and for a moment he flashes back to the war - fighting humans and orcs all around him, unknowable magics flying all about.
The undead continue to pound on the walls, breaking through shoddy and weakened defenses. The ghost appears and seems to want to help, but Hund still keeps it at a cautious distance.
He looks about - they had it in hand. He could spare a moment to check in on Mok, make sure the boy was ok. Hund ran upstairs, looking for the young orc. He found him bleeding from a wound, blood pouring down the knife held in his own hand. Why? What manner of foolishness was this? Mok? he inquired, concern dripping from his voice; his posture uncertain.
Then, he gets an idea. Hund turns and bolts downstairs to grab a severed limb of an undead. The juicier the better. None of that frail "I've been dead for centuries" crap. Something fresh. The priest? He drags the limb back to Mok to offer it to him. Perhaps the boy can cut into this thing rather than himself.
Tucking his dagger back into his belt, Baros continues to work on shoring up defenses. "Help me with this table, I can stand on it to get some boards higher up," he says as Gelda assists him.
Now the height of a human Baros finds securing the boards and driving nails much simpler.
Not having really exerted himself, Rusko continues to use the hammer to alternately bash an offending undead or re-nail a board back in place...
Still rocked by the sudden magical attack that dissolved two of the zombies, Mok looks over to the 'ghost' and yells.
"If you can help then get over here and help me!"
The orc then concentrated on the ritual, adding a little more of his blood to the spell. He sees Hund bring him a severed arm, but waves him off.
"I think it will only work with fresh blood friend...specifically mine!"
Thunder Cracks as a bolt of lighting strikes the house beside the inn. the very Foundation of the Inn shakes from such a noise, and all around you, things fall, even as the dead, utterly unperturbed by this, press in.
Agility Challenge:
Will for Ritual:
(3 boons added)
The entire structure shook when the lightning struck the inn; Hund tried to jump out of the way, but was unfortunately not quick enough, or not lucky enough. Something hit him, damaging his frame.
A little shriek sneaks past Rusko's lips when the bolt of lightning hit, almost causing him to drop the hammer. The metal fittings on the door glowed with St Elmo's Fire, but Rusko stepped away before a big spark erupted from the handle.
Baros rides out the rumble on the table, "Well at least it didn't hit our building... yet..."
Despite the lightning and thunder, and the zombies banging on the walls and entryways continues nail up boards and what can't be nailed is thrown into hodgepodge barricades.
There is a sudden flash of light, illuminating everything in white, seconds before there is an explosive boom that shakes the earth. Dishes, pots, and other things fall from all around them, a heavy pan cracking Silas in the head and earning a litany of curses in both tongues he knew. Shaking his head, his vision clearing up from pain, he would strike once more at a limb coming in through the cracks.
"You get the feeling something is mad at us?" Silas says to the terrified man beside him, an almost mad grin on his face as he takes over dragging the heavy racks and sacks of food to barricade the door and windows in the back again.
A single shambleman, a hunter by apparel and quiver, crawls through one of the cracks left by the blast of thunder. the power of the old gods unmakes him as well, Grommok all but glowing with the power. Which god most appeals to Grommok's sense, as he calls their names and praise? all that is left of the intruder are cloak, Quiver, and bow
The constant cutting, bracing, stumbling, and fighting is beginning to wear down on the man and his limbs are feeling tired. He stumbles back some, wiping the bit of blood and sweat from his head before his eyes focus on the hearth. Eyes widen and he scrambles closer as Bester tries to collect himself.
"I heard that..." Silas mumbles to himself, looking the space over for a few moments. As he leans in close, he whispers in a strange tongue that is both beautiful as it is eerie to hear. "Halo an sin? A bheil cuideigin ann? Feumaidh sinn cuideachadh a ’cur Ol’ Nook gu fois. An urrainn dhut ar cuideachadh? After whispering those strange words, he shouts back to the front. "Bester's on the ground and my head is f~#~ing throbbing, someone help me back here!"
Hund pops up to his four feet as Silas calls for help. He gives Mok a look that says, "you got this," and he runs off to help out downstairs, slamming into the wall to help him navigate his turn down the stairs.
Halfway down the stairs he leaps off and charges at the first undead he spies, once again ripping and tearing at any who dare enter this sanctuary.
Strength Contest vs. Fatigue: YIKES!!!
Bane: ....AHHHHHH!!!
Rusko gets into a rhythm with the hammer, whenever a head or hand or foot appears in the gap, he smashes it....
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
The corpse of a guard, in soft leather with a spear still in hand, breaks its arm against the barricade. it's face is half torn, and from the wound sprouts sticks and straw and bits of fur. He's a changeling, whether he knew it or not. the spell giving him the semblance of life perverted by whatever Old Nock uses to raise the deceased to his service
You all had seen this guard earlier, he'd stopped in for a drink, paid for 3 more when his shift was up. Seems he'll never get them.