Alahazra takes a five foot step back, stumbling and cursing, and calls out to the divine energies that course through her, so that red light engulfs her frame.
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Alahazra decides to take a potshot at Flago.
Her bullet once again goes wide.
Alahazra backs up five feet and hurls another sling bullet at Falgo.
Her bullet flies wide!
Alahazra nods and places her hands on Honus' shoulder, closing her eyes as she channels her divine healing into his battered body.
"While I was leading the zombies away, I saw a dry alcove off to the left," says Alahazra. "Come. It's as good a place to rest as any." So saying, she leads the group into water, and following the rough wall to the left, wades about fifty feet through ever shallower water until she steps up onto a dry alcove. A number of barrels bob in the water, and several stand on the dry stretch of rock that curls about the inside of the wall. Shoving the barrels into the water, there's enough room for the four of them to lay out and rest. Eight hours pass as they sleep and rest, the only sound to be heard that of the ever constant dripping from the cavern's ceiling. Finally, when the group is recovered, Alahazra finishes her prayers and turns to the party. "Who is in need of healing?"
Alahazra wipes her hair from her brow, gathering her strength. "I can tend to Honus and see if I can speed his recovery. I know that time is of the essence. But as a group we are near death. If we can but rest, I will regain my healing spells." Concern flits across her face. "But I hope our delay won't prove too costly to Beecher and Railford. Perhaps we could press forward a little more and see if we can determine what happened here?" Alahazra looks deeper into the caves.
She sighs. "Let me tend to Honus, and then as a group we can decide whether to press on."
Working on Honus for an hour, she manages to help him regain 1 hp.
Mexus' dagger thunks into the zombie's frame, but does nothing to arrest its forward momentum. Fahim begins to desperately try to lift Honus, looking up at the steep climb he'll have to effect in order to escape, and just as everything's looking pretty darn grim Alahazra comes swimming silently up behind the zombie and reaches out with a fiery hand:
The zombie lets out one final groan, and collapses to the ground, immobile. Alahazra climbs up onto the steps, exhausted, her clothing soaked, her eyes wide, and sits down with her back to the wall, just staring at the zombie and shivering. "That. Was too close."
After Mexus and Fahim go, Alahazra glances back at the party, her eyes narrow in panic, and then with a cry she begins forging a path through the water toward the left, swimming with her arms as she strides deeper into the dark.
Two of the zombies groan, their heads following her path as she disappears into the cavern, torch held high, moving barely fifteen feet a round. They turn to her, and begin slowly giving chase. The zombie from the rear, however, continues to approach the steps, flames dying down on its body.
Alahazra studies Honus for another long second, then looks back up at Fahim and Mexus. "Eventually. Yes. If we could but rest for eight hours, he would heal by himself." She looks into the darkness that extends before her. "But we don't have the time. I'm going to try and revive him. I just need an hour. Maybe two." At that point a low, desolate moan floats out from the darkness from the cavern into which Alahazra and Honus have falle. She quickly snaps her gaze back down. "Gentlemen? A little help?"
Alahazra stares, wide eyed, down at the wreckage of Honus' broken body, and with a curse turns to descend the first ten feet of the broken rubble, her pack slung over her shoulder.
Realizing it's taking her too much time, she bites her generous lower lip, glances down at the rubble, then leaps to fall the last ten feet into the dark.
She lands sure-footed on a slab of rock, wobbles once, and then quickly kneels by Honus' side, drawing forth her last precious scroll of Cure Light Wounds.
When the crimson light recedes, Honus is breathing easy, but clearly still unconscious. Alahazra looks up at the others as they stand around the pit looking down. "He's not going to wake any time soon. I'm going to need an hour to work on him. With a little luck, I'll be able to heal him just enough to get him back up."
Alahazra lacks a blade of sufficient length with which to execute Mexus' command. She stands, backing away carefully, and instead nods to Honus.
Alahazra steps up and lowers herself to one knee by Honus' side, looking closely at the corpse, the back of her wrist pressed to her nose. It doesn't take long for her to look up at Honus then back to the others. "This man died of wounds similar to Jessup back at Railford. He's probably infected with ghoul fever. Depending on when he actually died, he could rise as a ghoul at any moment."
Alahazra draws forth a scroll, and steps up behind Fahim, reading quickly from its contents as she presses her hand to his back.
Alahazra lifts both hands and cries out in a foul language, casting Doom on the fungus.
It seems to shake off the effect.
Alahazra remains hunkered behind Honus, and as Fahim lobs his bomb, she watches its arc with a hope that quickly gutters as it falls far short, going off with a startling bang that sends gobs of mud high into the air and leaves a smoking crater perhaps ten yards shy of the archer. "What should we do? Retreat to Railford? Charge the archer?" Her voice is pitched low, and while directed to the whole group, she looks to Honus to make the final decision. The archer seems to be forgoing her next shot, and has instead crouched by her fallen friend to shake her shoulder vigorously.
Alahazra emerges from the hut, her stark and beautiful face grim. She slings her pack over her shoulder, and listens intently as the others speak. When Dalard returns and hands over the scrolls, she narrows her blank eyes and takes the two scrolls from Dalard without an overt expression of gratitude. "I will hold onto these until they are needed."
Alahazra pushes through the small knot of bodies standing in the hut's entrance, and without asking for permission passes through into the darkness within. Reaching out, she touches her finger to a candle, and a spark of flame leaps from her fingertip to set the wick alight. Jessup lies on a narrow pallet, his form wasted by the disease, his sheets twisted and stale with an abundance of dried sweat. There's a sickly sweet stench in the air, and whatever took Jessup's life also seemed to have consumed his vitality, for he looks aged, cheeks sunken, lips the color of raw liver. Alahazra steps up, unaffected by the appalling sight of the corpse. She draws the sheet back and begins a cursory inspection, her blind white eyes large and focused as she examines the mortal remains of the villager.
When she uncovers a grievous bite wound in his calf, she hisses and drops the sheet. The edges of the wound are thick with dried pus, and red rivers of infection run up and down Jessup's leg. She turns to the others. "This man died of ghoul fever," she says, voice absolutely certain. "If we don't burn his corpse, he will rise tonight as one of the undead and seek to kill you all."
Alahazra has remained aloof and silent, her bearing dignified despite the mud and grime that weighs down her clothing. When Fahim introduces her, she does little more than raise her chin and purse her lips, not bothering to smile or otherwise play to the crowd. If anything, this coldness seems to make the crowd even more in awe of her. Mexus enacts his arcane cleanse, and then politely inquires if she would like the same. This earns him a genuine smile. "Sweeter words were never spoken, Mexus. If you would be so kind." In short order the spinning mote of white light cleanse her clothing and body, so that she stands, radiant, her clothing pristine white, her skin glowing as if freshly showered. She permits herself a sigh of relief, and then inclines her head graciously to the tiefling.
Alahazra, standing at the back of the group, hisses with annoyance and falls into a fighting stance, her staff held at the ready. "Honus! Tell them to stop aggravating us before we lose what little patience we have left!"
Alahazra listens with an impassive mien as her companions speak, turning her blind gaze upon each and not giving any indication of her emotions. Her beautiful, stark features seem almost carved from ebony, the rain running down her harsh cheekbones and catching in her eyelashes like tears. Finally she sighs. It's a surprisingly human sound from the otherwise always rigidly stoic and controlled young woman. She lifts her face to the clouded heavens, and then wipes away the rain and pulls her hood further out over her face. "Fair enough, and fairly spoken." She straightens her back, adjusting the straps that dig into her shoulders, and firms her grip on her staff. She turns in that eerie way she has to look at where Honus stands, and gives him a rare and wry smile. "Perhaps we are not a sorry band. If so, than we are but a few notches above that status. Arriving at our destination and accomplishing our goal will see us continue in that ascent." She looks up the path at where Mexus stands, and her smile smooths away. It isn't a cold look that she gives him, but rather her familiar reserved expression. "Lead on, Lord Mexus. Greatness and glory awaits." |