"Request: Not let house-owner hold cash; we not drink drinks, we get cash again."
Aghast, the bartender kilroy’s his head over the lip of the counter and grumbles, “REFUNDS? You want refunds? Ungrateful cricket!”
Spotting the inexorable march of the skeletons towards the bar, he does a quick double take and comments to himself, “Something not right here.”
To Kirrish he says, “No way am I putting any more coin into this place. You want free drinks? Four hundred ceramics and the place is yours!”
A few of the patrons, used to the undead as an everyday part of “life” in Raam, piece together what’s left of their tableware and settle down.
He searches for something he can use for a weapon.
Zuko and Faindrac duck into the kitchen, bartender hot on their heels. Past the door, the back of half of the building is simply…gone. All that remains of the kitchen is a floor slick with years of caked lard.
The bartender shakes his head, mumbling something about “maybe 250 then.”
“That way,” he says, pointing at the completely obvious gaping hole.
The zombie offers little resistance, and as you pick her up to annihilate her remains, you discover several bolts hold her upright and in place. Chair and all, what’s left of her vanishes into the blackness outside, leather curtain flapping in her wake.
Shenker enters in time to become a material witness to Raam’s most heinous crime, the murder of the dead. Ducking beneath Radik’s volley and Holdrus’ assist, he laments the loss of the coin box as the void snatches it away.
Skansnikt and MalaKi reach the edge of the damaged wall section well in advance of the skeletons, who appear rather single-minded in their advance towards the bar in any case, while Kirrish clutches at the remains of a barstool, thinks better of it, then sprints after the Illyen.
A battered Kha-Chik shields Aso beneath her wing as they reach stucco walls and a fired-clay folding door. Despite your banging, no one replies and the door does not release.
As you lean into the entrance with your shoulder, a stout chair with bone bits affixed to it flies out of the storm and clouts Aso, nearly tearing him away.
A raven-haired male templar with a golden symbol of Dregoth and a poorly healed scar running through an empty eye-socket turns at Skarsnikt’s approach. “Citizen, attend!,” he calls out to you. “We have need of strong backs to repair this breach before the enemies of Raam use it to their advantage.”
Inside of Iz Z’tal, the scene has become somewhat calmer, with many of the patrons helping themselves to whatever can be found behind the bar, while a few wary regulars keep their eyes on the approaching undead, not sure what to make of it all.
The skeletons reach the perimeter and begin to pour into the tavern.
As they attempt to gain entrance to shelter, Aso and Kha-Chik witness the completion of the Templar’s working as a rupture of violet light forms above each priest between their upraised arms. Writhing snakes of lavender lightning connect each templar in turn, and as the storm collides with the magic, the priest’s barrier begins to shape the tempest, curving it away from them.
A quavering image appears above them in the heavens as a second division of templars begins casting. Dregoth, self styled “savior” of Raam speaks to the assembled priests with a voice powerful enough to drown out the gale, driving at least one priest to their knees, “Do not fall for the ploys of the lion, faithful. He seeks to draw power away from me through you at a critical time. You must solve this setback by yourselves; seek no more spells from me at this time. Obedience is its own reward.”
As the image vanishes and the second spell collapses, the storm surges with renewed fury. Buckling under the pressure, one of the original casters loses control of the spell and the purple light descends, consuming the man with agonizing slowness. When he is no more, the arcing light stretches thin, blazing past his position with a tenuous light to the next man, and the storm begins to leak through the barrier. The templars close ranks, attempting to contain the magic, and the tempest.
He searches for something he can use for a weapon.
Schenker looks for a passable club.
"These is no good for stabbing, I sooth."
Schenker looks for a passable club.
Shenker picks up a human femur and gives it a few test swings.
The storm outside intensifies; the entire hotel begins to shake.
Aso flips out on the door, barely missing Kha-Chik with his swings.
Attack, damage: (1d20+9=21, 1d8+6=12, 1d20+9=18, 1d8+6=11)
Attack, damage: (1d20+9=24, 1d8+6=11, 1d20+9=13, 1d8+6=13)
Faindriac looks at Zuko with a raised eyebrow as the bartender heads towards the gaping hole in the back of his building.
"The ability of the storm to bypass the walls defenses, both physical and mystical, the sudden influx of newly created undead, and their seeming ability to follow their own volition instead of the orders of the living, and your worried about the Templars? One of us needs to get his worrying priorities straight!" Faindriac says with a smirk.
I too attack the door
str roll18+2 20
enhanced claws
roll to hit door; 11+6 = 17 first claw
roll to hit door; 15+6-5?=16 second claw
damage; 4+2+1 = 7 damage 3+2+1 = 6
"spirits preserve us"
gm; how many rounds have we been in the storm?
Faindriac looks at Zuko with a raised eyebrow as the bartender heads towards the gaping hole in the back of his building.
"The ability of the storm to bypass the walls defenses, both physical and mystical, the sudden influx of newly created undead, and their seeming ability to follow their own volition instead of the orders of the living, and your worried about the Templars? One of us needs to get his worrying priorities straight!" Faindriac says with a smirk.
"What do you propose I do about it?!"
"What do you propose I do about it?!"
Faindriac raises the familiar eyebrow again.
"I have not proposed anything, yet. I was merely making an observation. As it is probable that you have more knowledge of undead than I, it would be presumptuous of me to advise you in that regard. However," Faindraic looks back towards the bar."The undead, both new and old, do seem to be taking an inordinate amount of interest in the bar. And It seemed that Malaki was grasping at something before 'Snikt carried him off. I wonder,... perhaps I should indulge my curiosity,..."
'Don't you DARE!'
'Shuttup Cair. And be ready to go mobile.'
am helping beat down the door; maybe he can get a bonus; didnt think he could take a 20 taking damage from the winds fury which is why I didnt take one.
we are not trying to splinter the door; only the lock; we are gonna need to close the door again; of course if it has a beam; well; anything goes.
well, I wouldnt call them pretty; but their fashion statement can kill at 50 yards :)
"Let's regroup with the others. Strength in numbers."
Obviously torn between returning to the bar to indulge his curiosity in why the zombies seemed to have singled it out for their attention , or getting while the getting is good, Faindriac hesitates. His crystal flashes rapidly.
"I'm thinking, I'm thinking!"
The crystal flashes once more, brightly.
"Alright! We're going, we're going!" He throws up his hands in exasperation and turns to Zuko.
"You're right, safety in numbers. Let us proceed post-haste!"
Squack; Chirp; SCREEEACCHHH!!!
where are the others; open door open scratch you; argh! Chirp!
"GWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
*Thump, crash, splinter, thump!*
gm; how many rounds have we been in the storm?
Half the party went to the bar to meet Larcos, who apparently got tired of waiting and bailed, but is coming back tomorrow (although the bar is somewhat trashed now). They met Illyen there, and were catching up when an unnatural storm blew through. In the wake of the storm a skeletal mob rushed in. Faindrac, Zuko, and the barkeep headed out the back, the a-little-too-used-to-undead patrons settled back in, Skarsnikt swept up MalaKi and are being ordered to join a work detail by an ambitious templar, and Kirrish / Illyen are right behind. The other half of the party held down the fort at the hotel, with Shenker stealing arrows for Kha-Chik and following a lead to a noble estate. Radik tailed after, then both men rejoined Aso and Holdrus in time to watch Aso poop one of the magical daggers. Kha-chik was flying between both locations but the storm battering put a stop to that. In the course of the storm, the party bailed on the rickety hotel, but finding the sandblasting too intense, Holdrus, Radik, Marada, and Shenker ran back inside. Holdrus and Radik murdered the hotel attendant, tossing her (and the cash box) into the storm. Aso and Kha-Chik are breaking and entering in the sturdiest building they can find on short notice, and a ring of templars are trying to contain the storm, a magical attack sent by Hamanu.
"PPPFFFFFPPPHT! Now what?!?"
Fearing his party not being close by; I scratch the lock and pound the door even harder; I shout:
"We must get this door open; then I will seek our lost companions as the spirits shield me somewhat from this storm"
So, with the templar's work detail, are there any guards or other templars or just the slaves and freemen saddled with fixing the wall? Are most people still huddled indoors?
Unaccustomed to repeating himself, the scarred templar asks, “Citizen! Do you hear me, or has the storm deafened you? What are you staring at there?”
Faindrac, Zuko, and the former bartender rush out the hole in the back of the building, only to discover a second host of skeletal residents closing fast. “There’s no way out!,” the man yells. In a panic, he tosses the small box to the ground and launches himself into the swarm for no reason you can fathom except perhaps a total loss of sanity. The bartender’s terror induced charge does purchase the remaining duo precious seconds, however, as the congregation falls upon the man, clawing, biting, ripping, and tearing with insatiable hunger.
Still bearing the brunt of the cyclone, Aso and Kha-Chik beat and claw at the door in desperation, clawing upon the lock and hammering down with tiny fists. The folding doors burst open at the seam, and the pair tumble into the vestibule of a public records bureau. No one is about, and they set about closing the gap behind them straight away, although some sand still blasts through recent, irreparable seams. Peering into the storm from behind their respective covers, both halves of the party which remained behind watch as the templars struggle to direct the fury of the storm. Several more of the casters collapse, consumed in an instant by the backlash of energy, before the remaining priests succeed in stabilizing the counterspell. Elemental energies sparking with fierce light where storm meets spell, the templars push the cyclone down the street, wind fading and dark sand settling in their wake as they move away from your position, towards the main entrance of Raam.
In the center of the street the palanquin shudders, and three men emerge, throwing silt and half-fleshed dead away from them. Oversized rings on over-fleshed fingers gleam in the renewed light as a corpulent man directs the two guards to snatch up a heavy looking chest from within the conveyance. Seeing Shenker’s face peering out from behind the leather curtain, the man booms, “You there! I require strong backs. Interested in earning some coin transporting my sand-clogged luggage back to my estate?”
I will go now for the rest of our companions; how this doorway and building Aso, please find something to beat on that can help direct us in this storm. Agreed?
Then I head out to return with the party.
survival 20 wow natural +8; 28
Listen 6 hehe must have sand in my ears; +5 and my elf sight? 11
spot; 16 +9; 25
couple more d20 rolls if needed, 14, 17, 11
if its been 3 rounds; I think I have taken 3pts of damage; plus one early d3. This is due to my armor, natural armor; barkskin, and survival skill at surviving inclement weather. Is this correct?
when moving I will call out to the group and emit very large cawing shreeks that hawks sometimes do; hopefully it will draw the group near and I can lead them to the newly found shelter.
Aso will sing if no noisemakers are available.
Faindriac reacts like all survivors, quickly and heartlessly. With a swift motion he scoops up the bartender's fallen cash box.
"Fire or flee Flame priest! Or both. Burn, THEN run! But I have no wish to fight a prolonged battle BETWEEN two groups of insatiable undead!" The normally unflappable mind-mage almost shouts at Zuko before nimbly dancing between the feasting undead and the remains of the wall. His long legs swiftly carry him down the street.
"Let's go, Holdrus. Totin' luggage is easy woiks."
I'll do iiiiit!
Skarsnikt lets go of MalaKi and slowly approaches the templar, making a tapping motion against the carapace covering his head. "Sorry-sorry, mighty templar", he mutters, hanging his head. "Hearing not good after storm. Repeat please, yes? Again, sorry-sorry."
While feigning hearing loss, he quickly scoops out the situation, looking for a sheltered spot where he can rip the templar into small pieces in relative peace.
survival 20 wow natural +8; 28
Negative energy permeates Raam, the people, the buildings, the ground itself, saturated with it. Life spans are shorter here, and the infirm seldom recover, but life on Athas is harsh enough that the citizens wouldn’t even notice were it not for the constant reminder of the walking dead among them. Nominally submissive, the energy pulls only a fraction away from each living thing (the spirits shroud you from any harmful effect), reacting only when Dregoth calls upon it to reshape the living. If something were to agitate those energies, especially the influence of a second sorcerer king, the result could be catastrophic.
The spirits grow anxious.
"Let's go, Holdrus. Totin' luggage is easy woiks." ”'ll do iiiiit!
Shenker shambles out of the hotel into the unnatural quiet in the wake of the retreating cyclone, feet kicking up sand hills before him. As Shenker beckons to Holdrus, the man from the palanquin approaches, blinding you with a smile that matches the shine of his rings. “Most excellent!,” he says. “This chest is unconscionably heavy, and the contents are priceless, simply priceless. I’ll need my guard’s hands free, so I’ll certainly make this worth your while.” Looking over the corpses of his bearers, he comments, “Good help can be so difficult to find.”
Kha-Chik runs into the street, waving and hooting, attempting to get your attention. It’s difficult to determine what she wants between the differences in her speech organs and the ribald signing of Aso right behind her. You weren’t even aware there was a word that rhymed with that particular part of anatomy until today.
The large man whirls at the noise and his guards snap into place before him, long years of training placing them on autopilot.
“What is that bird-thing on about…friend of yours?”
If required I will blast some out of the way to open a path for us. If any follow or move to attack I will use my instant force field power.
Not wasting a second on remorse, Faindrac scoops up the cash drawer and hotfoots it in the general direction of his companions, calling after Zuko to follow.
Do the other templars pay any attention to what this guy's up to?
"Hearing not good after storm. Repeat please, yes? Again, sorry-sorry."
The templar looks the two of you over, then shakes his head, exasperated with the whole situation. “Fine. That’s just…fine…citizen, just…you know what, just go join that other Kreen and do what it does,” he says, pointing and gesturing in an exaggerated manner to compensate for your perceived lack of hearing (at one point he mimics a set of antenna), towards the massive hole in the wall where several workers toil.
At the approach of Illyen and Kirrish, the templar asks, “Dregoth save me, is there some sort of Kreen gathering in town I’m not aware of? At least they all seem to have brought their own food supply; times are going to be lean in Raam the coming weeks.”
Seeing Faindrac running at top speed out of a blind alley and tumble into the street before rolling into a 90-degree turn and hitting the ground running, one of the other templars comments, “They sure seem particularly eager to help today. Nothing like a national tragedy to bring out a little Raaman pride. We’ll have to get out the flags, maybe scare up some donations.”
Looking a tad closer beyond the sprinting psionicist, the templar gasps, then turns to his superior, “Sir…the storm-killed! The dead march.”
More than a bit sardonic, the lead templar quips, “I’ll alert the sorcerer king.”
“Honestly, Tark, I’m a busy man…huh. Certainly are a lot of them…isn’t there? Aren’t they generally…fleshier?”
At this last, the undead reach the tavern, pouring inward through the door and open window like sand running down an hourglass. Even from here, you have no difficulty hearing the screams. Now and again, ruby colored gobbets take wing from the bar opening, only to disappear in the sea of subsequent skeletons.
The man identified as Tark comments, “I should have been a gladiator, like my mother wanted.”
Faindriac reacts like all survivors, quickly and heartlessly. With a swift motion he scoops up the bartender's fallen cash box.
"Fire or flee Flame priest! Or both. Burn, THEN run! But I have no wish to fight a prolonged battle BETWEEN two groups of insatiable undead!" The normally unflappable mind-mage almost shouts at Zuko before nimbly dancing between the feasting undead and the remains of the wall. His long legs swiftly carry him down the street.
Turning Check; Turning Damage (1d20+2=22, 2d6+6=16)
"Unclean Ones! Bow before the Power of the Flame!"
"Let me see."
Schenker palms his puchik into stabready mode, behind his back.
Radik is looking rather nonchalant about the whole affair. Whether it's the fact that none of the undead are actively attacking him, or the fact that they are hassling the templars, Radik is supremely unconcerned.
He glances over to where Skarsnikt is conversing with the lead templar, and seems to find it funny.
"Pfft..."
Radik is looking rather nonchalant about the whole affair.
"Unclean Ones! Bow before the Power of the Flame!"
A wall of flame rushes from Zuko’s outthrust arms towards the undead. Tendrils of fire lick the edges of the alley walls as the blaze pulls the very air after it, creating its own wind and grabbing at the loosened silt as it runs. The wall crashes into the assembled skeletal throng, reducing to ash all it touches on the spot. Skeletons from farther down the alley lope towards the opening, but for the moment, Zuko can stride through freely towards his companions, head held high.
If I see Shenker; am gonna head that way to collet him and the others.
"Sorry, General Jingly Jink! Iffin I don't do what Ms. Chicken says, she'll henpeck me for sure. Gotta dip."