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Donal looks at the others, and shrugs, then using his shield the warrior bashes the door in!
The priest prepares to cast a minor blessing
As expected, the door flies off the hinges, rusty screws slipping out of the rotten wood like a well oiled blade from its sheathe, slamming one of the 7 zombies inside the chamber squarely in its nasty jowls.
Other than the knife wounds matching the description of the murder victims, they look quite like commoners from the streets of Baldur's Gate. Commoners whose afterlives have been taken over by not-so-common necromantic energies of the damned. A distant red light burns within each of their otherwise colorless eyes, and fresh blood on their mouths suggests they have eaten quite recently.
Of course the hunger of the undead is never sated.
*ugggggggghhhhhhhhhhh*
Initiative
Round 1:
Myl, Mal <--
Zombies
Gorn, Grim, Tib, Donal
Donal is dumbfounded... caught off guard by the sheer evil that stands before them. Shaking himself out of his stupor, the warrior stands tight in the door shield at the ready!
After the initial wave of zombies charges in, the Hand of Torm swings his mace at a zombie's head!
"Obviously, it's a trap." Mal replies to Gorn while getting out of the way.
Myl yells...
Let them come through the doorway one at a time... Form a box around the door!
Readied to attack AND give the target disadvantage
Attack: Scimitar (2handed) +3 1d8+1 slashing
Martial Role (Defender): The sidekick can use its reaction to impose disadvantage on the attack roll of a creature within 5 feet of it whose target isn’t the sidekick, provided the sidekick can see the attacker.
for
Evendur stands back to allow the others to box the doorway BUT readies sacred flame.
The target must succeed on a Dexterity saving throw or take 1d8 radiant damage. The target gains no benefit from cover for this saving throw.
Elves are well renowned for their wisdom.
The halfling leaves Donal to the undead and drops back behind as many meat shields as possible and draws his second shortsword.
Mylivanni braces on the edge of the hallway waiting for Donal's tactical withdrawl while the halfling scootches past her waist out of the way.
The zombies surge.
The closest raises its arms and a pile of maggots sloughs out of a gash in its armpit, the bones in its fingers exposed and going for the Donal's eyes. Another with half a jaw crashes through some broken bottles on the floor, nearly tackling the first. Life was a magnet to these twisted spawns of necromancy...
Donal was ready for anything, and fended off the swarm of grasping hands and gnarling teeth. The zombies further back rush forward nearly climbing over the first...and soon the whole room pushed towards the door with tremendous force, caring not for tactics but only sweet flesh and the fulfillment of their dark decree.
The Tormtar jabbed forward with his lead-core warmace, crushing the skull of one of them releasing a waterfall of blackened ichor across its face...but it still came on. Donal made the tough but certainly right decision to fall back a pace, narrowing the horde to a trickle.
One managed to grasp a part of his thigh just under the tassets with the grip of the dead, and as Donal stepped back he felt the sharp bones tear at his flesh. The scent of the drawn blood seemed to drive the horde into a frenzy, their bodies jerking and moaning chaotically, all focused on the Tormtar.
They all came forward and stupidly the 7 bodies almost twisted itself into a knot, the narrow passage preventing their free movement. One wriggled free and came on however...right into Gorn's readied attack.
*SplUnK*
The already weakened skull gave way to Shellcracker, splattering a large chunk of scalp on the rough white limestone wall...but still it came. Grim was ready, preparing a minor conduit to Kelemvor's power well, cleansing the dead with sacred flame...
...and for a moment the damned red eyes flashed a clear white, the entire corpse seemed to lift a moment to the sky like escaping smoke.
But still it came.
Round 1:
Myl, Mal
Zombies
Gorn, Grim, Tib, Donal <--UP
Donal grunts at the tear, Another scar. Okay, together, we crush their skulls.
From the back row, Mal readies to throw one of his daggers at a fresh zombie in melee.
Mal somehow arcs his dagger over Grim, Donal, and the limestone corner in an amazing display of marksmanship, pinpointing the zombie in the last fluid oz of brain matter oozing out its nostrils...
...and the zombified commoner slumps lifelessly to the ground, dead a second time.
Another plops into its place, the churning crowd like some silly machine depositing bodies. It seems rather interested in the glimmer of light reflecting off Donal's helm...
...yet the Tormtar arches his shield upwards, holding the possessed flesh at bay for now.
Round 2:
Myl, Mal
Zombies
Gorn, Grim, Tib, Donal <--UP
Donal swings at the next target, setting up the disassembly line.
/ooc - Back, that said, my action is sacred flame, repeat ad nauseam
Myl combat
for , impose disadvantage
From the back row, Mal throws his second dagger at a zombie in melee.
1d20 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6
The combined might of the frontline seems to down the next zombie as quick as it funneled into place...
...but it simply pops like a bloated tick, spilling its intestines all over. The teeth and jaws clatter and moan as if nothing happened...until its filled with the light of Kelemvor...
...the eyes again swell with some inner purity for a moment, but an off balance tumble sends the corpse crashing into the wall the moment the Power coalesces in this plane, and a scorching pillar of fire burns without fuel.
The halfling sees his chance, and chucks the dagger again in an opportune instant through the line brave warriors, but it clatters off the limestone wall.
The zombie, quite slippery with its own blood, smears itself across Donal's shield, trying to climb it as the ranks of dead behind push it forcefully forward...
...and for an instant it seems its goal in undeath will be fulfilled, its teeth about to strongly clench on the Tormtars throat. "Not today!" the elf shouts, sweeping the shambling corpses one good leg with her double bladed scimitar.
Round 3:
Myl, Mal
Zombies
Gorn, Grim, Tib, Donal <--UP
Donal readies a swing, Grim, light him up again! Gorn, Myl, Mal, if he drops ready for the next, if not, swing away!
With his dagger sheathes empty, Mal spots a dagger on the belt of Donal. He grabs it as if it was in his and throws Donal's dagger at the next zombie in melee.
Myl attacks again
for
Myl doesn't do well on cuts but she's great at defending her friends...
More holy magic is invoked by Evendur.
Donal slips on an intestine (or was that a kidney?) as Gorn comes powering through with another strike...
...its bones shatter, organs further liquify, a small nest of baby rats scurries from an empty crevice in its chest. All things are not even distractions to the lifeless force of undeath.
Grims sacred flame likewise fails to find a grip on the damned thing, perhaps something about the 2 altars nearby is dampening his connection to Kelemvor...or just fate is working against the party.
Mylivanni wisely keeps her defensive maneuvers spinning, severing the hands from their respective wrists...
...and as a powdery burst of blackened flakes of dried blood spurts out the arteries, whatever force holding it together finally seems to give up, and the zombie crumbles in a slump.
The death engine jammed in the door deposits another for the adventurers to enjoy. As it rushes forward dumbly it the halfling steals a dagger and with a quick flick sinks it into its forehead.
Round 4:
Myl, Mal
Zombies
Gorn, Grim, Tib, Donal <--UP
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"That one still counts as mine!" Gorn shouts dodging the fleeing rats, as Myl finishes the zombie off.
"Does anyone else feel a great calming sensation as we are allowed to kill them on our own time?" he asks as his muscles warm to the steady rhythm of death and work methodically, laying waste to the undead scourge in a steady manner, not unlike a lumberjack knocking down a stout copse.
Tibs fires a bolt of flame over the head of his companion.
Myl and Evendur repeat...
for and Myl creates disadvantage
Mal pulls a dagger from his loot bag and gives it spin to learn its balance. With a grin, he lets it fly at the next zombie in melee.
Donal, shaking his head just swings, irritated at the waste of energy...
Gorn shoves the corpse against the wall, pinning it tight as Grim calls forth an energetic blast of radiance...
...piercing its skull. Some final twitch of undead animus contorts its face into almost a smile as the light of its eyes falls to black.
Another with a limp leg shambles into its place, stumbling over the pile of bodies. Tiberius manifests his arcane fires, confident the explosive gases are now far enough. The bolt smolders in the crusty brown blouse of the undead housewife, setting it ablaze. But Donal winks at the bright flash, throwing off his swing.
Mylivanni pierces the woman's stomach with the tip of her scimitar, holding it at bay as the resourceful halfling pulls one of the strange curved cultist daggers and launches it against the onslaught.
The corpse wriggles on the end of the elf's extended weapon uselessly.
Round 5:
Myl, Mal
Zombies
Gorn, Grim, Tib, Donal <--UP
The elven warrior is clearly an advocate of the thousand cuts school of combat
Donal, exasperated, swings again!
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"Hooo-OOOOOO!" Gorn bellows out, singing the Song of the Ancient Kings. "I like a little song when I'm out slaying zombies. Don't you guys like to sing when you're slaying zombies? I like to sing AND slay zombies. Hold up, I'll slay this next zombie."
That said, he plows Shellcracker into the barely-standing zombie.
Tibs fires another arc of flame from the relative safety of the back.
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Mal pulls a second dagger from his loot bag and gives it spin to learn its balance. With a grin, he lets it fly at the next zombie in melee.
He starts humming a tune about mowing a meadow. The song breaks his concentration and aim.
Gorn gets in the mood as a thick layer of dark red starts to cover the front-liners' bodies from all the blood-spray...
...the latest raining blood no different.
Evendur's prepared conduit activates as soon as the next animated rot bumbles over the pile of body parts (which, actually, is starting to pile precariously high...). This one is truly humorous, dressed in what seems to be a cartographer's accoutrements...complete with patterned doublet and inflated bombast sleeves and pointy shoes. The poor northerner seems to have shat himself upon first death, the waste still running down his ornamented kilt. Kelemvor seeks to grant mercy...
...but the obstinate oaf slips on a dismembered hand from one of its companions, and dodges the manifestation of radiance at the last second.
Tiberius wastes no time with the fool, setting him aflame as the Tormtar struggles to find footing in what's quickly becoming an avalanche of blood and gore. As Mal's dagger clinks off the limestone, Mylivanni cackles wildly about the importance of pacing oneself during battle like some matriarchal warlord, slashing the cartographer across its red bearded maw.
The party might well heed the elf's call however, as her methods seem to have again saved Donal a bite of the damned.
Round 6:
Myl, Mal
Zombies
Gorn, Grim, Tib, Donal <--UP