Hell Squad Pbp

[DM Blue_eyed_paladin]

And we begin... start posting whenever you're ready, remember it's a cinematic, episodic, storytelling game. I'm not asking for dice rolls, just a reasonable amount of immersion. Click on your spoiler (I've emailed them to those who supplied me with addresses) and go for it.

Remember that if you want to add any details, leave pictures, drawings, notes, etc., the wiki address is HERE.

Hague:

Spoiler:

You have dwelt in the sewers for several years now, eating scraps from rubbish piles and fungi from the walls. For the most part, you have left the sewers unexplored- people more secretive and less friendly than you live in deeper areas, and things better left unsaid dwell deeper.
But all through autumn, people have been disappearing. You have spoken with them one day and found their squats abandoned the next. A heavy chill hangs in the fetid air, and odd noises can be heard from distant tunnels some nights. Your old mentor Kairn is as bitter and abusive as ever, but you have convinced him to move to a more-frequented area, where you think he will be safer.
Whispers that the Hell Squad will be re-formed have haunted the city these last weeks, and you have had an idea. You know the Watch are not paid well (otherwise they would not take bribes so quickly), but they do receive a steady income- perhaps enough to pay one of the indigent houses to take Kairn, and he seems to be getting worse these days.
Then, a miserable rain-soaked day in late autumn, where the water sluices through the pipes and lightning turns the sunless sky bright, a rumour rushes through the undercity- zombies! The walking dead in the marketplace!
Perhaps you can prove yourself useful here…

Hellard:

Spoiler:

Your investigations into the dark activities in Refuge have been secretive- a payment here, a favour there, a rumour whispered or stamped out.
However, due to the absolutely dreadful incidents occurring in Refuge recently, rents and taxes have dropped, and pressure is being felt among the Quality to something is done about it.
Popular feeling is that some kind of special group should be formed to combat these problems- after all, the incompetents of the Watch can barely tie their boots without help, let alone deal with the shocking crimes.
You have pushed, pulled, nagged and hinted that such a squad needs someone just like you- young, fresh, and above all capable- to command the new squad. Three months after you began your campaign, on a miserable day in late autumn, as the lightning crashes outside, there is a banging on the door.
The servants admit a man, clad in tattered servants’ livery, who has been savaged- perhaps by claws?- who your servants take aside immediately. He is muttering something about the living dead, and bears a missive with the Mayor’s seal addressed to you, instructing you to report to the House of Parliament, north of the Marketplace.

Lily:

Spoiler:

Something in you has sensed the tide building all through autumn, cresting into a black wave towering over Refuge and threatening to crush down and tear the city apart.
The city is wracked with symptoms of the tide- people are growing desperate and grim. You have heard rumours of something called the Hell Squad, and the tales from five years ago sound nightmarish.
It is now a miserable day in late autumn. You have found yourself wandering, needing to be in the right place, wherever that is, and you find yourself in the marketplace just south of the Parliament House. Sheets of rain pelt the crowded market, and lightning flashes through the sunless sky. Figures shamble, uncaring, unseeing, through the streets.
And then, you feel them. They have no souls- but they are filled with hunger, a dreadful raging hunger which cannot be quenched. They teem through the streets, savaging several surprised people in the marketplace. Screams go up like prayers, and the marketplace surges outwards, leaving only the dead and the undead… and you.

Riven:

Spoiler:

Hafford, gruff inkeep of the Tipping Tankard, frowns at you over your second drink of the day. So far, your questions to the Watch about the Hell Squad have gone unheeded, and your own doubts have not lessened at all. Autumn has been a hard season in Refuge- people are growing grim and desperate, and violent with it.
”The drink is killin’ ye, boy. Ye unnderstan’ how hard i’ is for me to say that’, ye bein’ me most reggeler cust’mer, n’ son o’ me old friend Golar n’ all, but ye must try t’ get’ owt. Perhaps take a stroll o’ the markets?”
As you down your drink, he points to the shuttered window, still leaking rain from the blackened sky outside.
”Best tek’ yer coat, boy. Ye don’ wanna be oot in tha’ w’out another skin o’er ye.”

Breyr:

Spoiler:

Autumn has been a hard season for you. Old friends have openly snarled at you, your connections in the Watch have been almost too busy dealing with the dangers already in Refuge to spend money on informants, and some have sneered at you as a snitch. The mood on the streets is grim and desperate. You have heard whispers that the Hell Squad will be re-formed, and you remember hearing how badly that went last time. But then you think that perhaps someone with your knowledge of the city’s underbelly and your skills could be useful to them.
This day is particularly hideous, with hard rain pouring from the black sky and drowning the gutters in several inches of water, as lightning strobes over the city, silhouetting the towers of the northern city.
As you approach the markets, you are bumped hard by a bulky stranger. You wipe your jacket, and you come away covered in mud. The mud smells earthy and rotten, only partially dampened by the rain. Then, you hear screams, and a crown begins to mob past you. You take refuge in a doorway for a moment, and you see the marketplace ahead.

Brother Thomas

Spoiler:

Your temple received a formal request for help from the Watch-Commander regarding the formation of the Hell Squad. It explained that the original Hell Squad only rarely had any knowledge of what they were dealing with, and that, properly armed with knowledge from your temple, the new Hell Squad could avoid many of the dangers and blunders made by the old one.
Naturally, you were selected for your studious application of knowledge in the dark arts. Your relative youth (for a brother of your order) and vitality were noticed as well, and you turned up at Watch-Commander deVere’s office early this morning, clad in the somber robes of your order and carrying your great libris arcanum. You have been waiting most of the day before someone disturbs you looking for him, and then tears off, muttering something about “zombies in the marketplace”. You peer from the window, and you can hear dull screams from the market near the Parliament House, as a mob issues from the exits.

Darius:

Spoiler:

This autumn has been a grim one for you. The worsening weather, the grim feeling among the people of Refuge… and burying your father’s charred body last week.
You have puzzled over what he left you, especially the letter of his dismissal from the Watch. Eventually, you decide to take the things to the Watch-House nearest you, a block away from the marketplace near Parliament House.
This is why, on a truly miserable day, with rain pelting from the sky and lightning crashing overhead, you find yourself waiting in the crowded, noisy, and busy Watch-House. You don’t know anyone, and no-one seems to want to know you, especially when they hear it’s not related to a crime. Your courage almost deserts you, and you almost get up and leave, but you decide to wait a little longer.
Then, screams are heard outside. The Watch pass a series of gruffly yelled conversations, then abandon the Watch-House with alarming speed, rattling in their chain shirts and bearing naked weapons. Again, you hear screams, and this time you can recognize them as having come from the marketplace. Your conscience asks you “what would my father do?”. What indeed, you wonder, glancing once more at the letter of expulsion.

[Riven Golarsson]

Finishing the last of his drink, Riven gathers himself as he stands…yep the room’s not spinning, he thinks to himself.

“You done me good Hafford”, a warm smile creases his face as he shoulders his greatsword on his back slightly under his hooded cloak, “Ye gonna have that roast chicken for this even’n’s meal?”

Checking himself once more over…coin purse...sword…yep that’s it, Riven thinks to himself always preferring to leave his bulk equipment in his room. Approaching the door he pauses a moment…should I dawn my armor…nay tis not that late an hour.

Riven exits the Tipping Tankard welcome to the fresh air even if tainted with water, “They never can taint the rain…at least yet.” He mumbles to himself and begins his walk to a better district…to the Refuge City Market; perhaps flyers will have been posted there…

[Breyr Calishul]

Breyr Calishul shudders, wiping the mud and reek off his hands with the soaked, crimson sash of his belt. He peers quietly from the safety of the doorway and tries to determine the cause of the clamor ahead.

When the figure jostled him aside his first thought was that he would find a dagger pressed into his side in another moment, but that momentary fear has only been displaced, not eliminated. 'The riot ahead might be just a distraction for some other black deeds,' he steps from the door frame, absently grazing the hilts of his throwing knives with his gloved fingers.

He slips along the side of the building, against the rush of the crowd. The rain sends rivulets down his lean, leather-clad form as he follows his curiosity towards the marketplace.

[Hellard Byzenkampf]

I turn to the servants, trustworthy men, all, whom I've known since childhood. "Broggo, an important task for you, my good friend. Please attend to this man. See to his medical needs. He may be babbling with fever; ignore his ravings, but make sure he gets well.
"Jonas -- fetch my cloak, and a lantern. No, no... no need to awaken Merrise; feed her breakfast in the morning, and mention that I'll call on her some time in the future... no, I actually don't know when... well, just make something up that sounds polite. Maybe send some roses. Or a bracelet. No... best you don't know where I'm off to. Indeed, get an extra cloak and lantern, and have Fredo take the cart out the west road; make him hunch up and try to look like me. This sort of thing will amuse him."

Stealing through the streets of Refuge in the rain, lantern unlit, dodging into pools of shadow... I take a roundabout route, and keep an eye out for watchers. Yes, I'll arrive with mud on my boots... so be it. Mother would never forgive me for saying so out loud, but there are some things more pressing even than appearance and protocol. Or maybe not! What kind of civilized man walks into Parliament with mud on his boots? Hopefully I can find a servant in the building to shine them, before I'm brought before others of the Quality, who might think less of me.

No way to bring a sword into the official chambers, of course, but the fine steel dagger in my jerkin is a comfort on this night. Just hope it doesn't ruin the line of my cravat. "Living dead" might be hyperbole, wild raving, or pure truth, but I figure a dagger will take care of any of those.

I pass some sort of ruckus on the way, but assume it's some sort of riot or brawl or other vulgar activity that the Watch will attend to... those baseborn fools can deal with their own kind.

The guards out front eye me suspiciously as I step out from the shadows and approach the gate. I throw back my cloak, hand my lantern to the nearest without a word, nod to his partner, and walk on by, saying "Official business, chaps. You know. Duty can't wait, Gods save the Quality. Toilets are probably stopped up again."

[Brother Thomas von Mandelbrot]

Hmmm; I have no wish to hurl myself into danger alone. Maybe accompany a squad of guardsmen, assuming my letter of introduction has already been seen and stamped with some form of warrant or badge of authority...

Are there any watchmen nearby, within the building, or others like me, recently arrived for an interview? If not, I will attempt to catch up with the disappearing messenger, since he may know where to round up others.

If I can't find him, then I'll pace once more round the building, looking for such folk, before venturing outside, taking the opportunity to hum a reminder to myself of the Litany Against the Grave-Touched.

Feel not empathy, these beings from Hell,
Pity them not, for they are but a shell...

[Hague Koltair]

Greasy tears rolled down his face as he sealed Kairn into his wooden shack, nailing soggy wooden planks across the door, piling up rubble, bricks. It felt like he was leaving forever. He'd fought the old dwarf into wheezing exaustion and tied him to his cot, left the last of the dried pondscum, roast ratmeat and mushrooms in reach along with a bag of clean water. He'd given him a last spongebath--who knows when he would get another. Now he just needed to board him up and conceal the entrance so that whatever it was that was taking people, that whatever it was would not take his old mentor...the only family he had.

He finished and collapsed in the slick black mud, head buried in his hands and sobbed, chest convulsing, heart shrunk down tight in his chest, eyes and forhead pinched and puckered, swollen red, nose running. Finally his grief abated enough that he could pick up his gear--an old broken handpick ground down into a kama, a frayed leather scrap he used as a headband and a sling, the warped walkingstick he used to tap his way through the black tunnels--but also as a quarterstaff. And tapped his way forward into the inhabited section, where he could feel, smell, and almost see the packed rag covered bodies of vagrants. He clambered through them, past them and out to one of the drainages, pushing out the grating.

It was daytime! The sun on his skin felt like a blast furnace. The light made him gape and skitter backward blinking. Slowly, ever so slowly he pulled himself out through the pipe and out into the ditch. He rolled onto his back and wheezed. Every time he came back out it was like being born again, covered in a black slick of slime and offal, blinking and helpless. He staggered to his feet, eyes adjusting finally to the light. He was behind the town. He made his way to a mud puddle and tried to wash the ichor from his face, hands and clothes.

Up the grassy hill he climbed, through the broken wall of a ruined building and out into the town. Self conscious of his stench he kept his distance from the folk in the streets until he approached the marketplace, hugging close to the sides of the buildings. As he approached the marketplace he lingered in the shadows, listened for the sounds of disturbance, and then with a few focusing breaths began the process of scaling up the wall of the building his back was against, up onto the roof. Better to be up there with some distance between him and whatever evil, half-dead things he might be roaming the streets below.

["Pariah"]

The whispers were maddening when she was this close. She could hear the things chattering, all droning in some collective consciousness that seeped into her psyche. Never before had she come in contact with so many of them all at once, never before had the voices been so adamant.

The screams of the dying called out to her human side, the side that she still desperately clung to. The shambling hordes pressed on through the marketplace like a roving band of starving hounds. She saw no others nearby. No one to help these people. No one to avenge the dead.

"Feed... living... must... feed..."

"No." Her mind drove out the influence, focused on her rage. She whipped her rain-soaked cloak off and tossed it casually to the side of the muddy street she traveled. The heavy cloth would only inhibit the delicate incantations she had learned... learned from the very monsters she employed them against.

"Det'kat merukhal... viete cerra..." She intoned the Words of Shielding and wrapped herself in the comforting embrace of arcane armor, it's translucent form shimmering about her lithe figure as she bolted forward into the clearing. The fetid creatures turned to face her.

"Feed... kill... must... consume... the tainted one..."

Lily shuddered a moment, the ironic contrast of hearing herself referred to as "tainted" by creatures so utterly devoid of natural life and thought gave her pause. She clenched her teeth as one group approached, their hands outstretched to grasp her. Suddenly, her bright eyes snapped open, the outer whites clouding with a malicious blackness.

"Arkinos vedran, kuthindros alante mekhor!" Her hand dipped into a pouch on her hip and produced the tiniest piece of flesh and bone. Then, with a flick of her wrist, tendrils of dark energy snaked through the air and into every open orifice they could find on the wretched creatures' heads. The creatures went slack after a moment's pause, ceasing their advance and staring stupidly at the now-seething woman in black leather.

"Kill them," she spoke sternly. The monsters turned and faced the others of their ilk, raising their hands again and advancing with a gurgling moan. "Send them back from whence they came."

Lily's sinewy fist clenched tightly as she prepared for the slaughter.

[Darius Cain]

Darius has taken a few steps towards the door before he even knows it. Then, the sight of the guards' rattling mail and bared steel makes him pause. He thinks of his newly purchased rapier and leather jerkin -- sitting safely back in his rented room at the boarding house. It did not seem the wisest course to wear them to the Guard house this morning. Although now, he desperately wished he would have.

Fumbling in his satchel, he looks at his father's weapons, the dagger and pistol holstered with the belt wrapped around them, then at the backs of the last guards heading out to the street. Darius slides his hand around the hilt of the pistol, then changing his mind, moves his grip over to the dagger. Holding the weapon still inside the satchel, he heads outside.

Standing on the steps of the guard house, Darius looks towards the market to determine the source of the disturbance. Unfortunately, all he can see is a wild mob of people running down the street towards him and away from the market square. A squad of guardsman has formed a wedge and is pushing through the panicked crowd.

Darius, makes his way towards the market square as quickly as he can. He keeps close to the walls of the buildings avoiding as much of the crowd as possible. When he nears the square, the continued screams send a chill down his back. Taking a deep breath, Darius blocks the screams out of his mind and ducks behind an overturned vegetable cart to try and get a good look at what is going on.

[DM Blue_eyed_paladin]

Sorry guys, I've just had my 45-minute, 7-section-spoilered post eaten by the messageboard monster, I was dumb enough not to copy it first, and I don't have the mental fortitude to go through typing it all again. I will post it up first thing tomorrow morning, though. Thanks to everyone for posting promptly, I promise it will be done tomorrow morning.

[DM Blue_eyed_paladin]

Hmm... running seven characters at once is proving to be more interesting than I anticipated (in the Chinese proverb sense). However, I am enjoying it... Hopefully, this will get easier when you're all in the same place. Good work to everyone so far.

Riven

Spoiler:

As a long-term former Watchman, you'd know that walking around with a greatsword in a city is a quick way to get yourself arrested. A longsword might draw some attention, but greatswords are pretty much the fantasy equivalent of going to the mall toting an AK-47. Although, you are a Northman... maybe it's a cultural/heritage thing. Like wearing a kilt. A sharp, 5-foot-long metal kilt. That seems reasonable.
As you walk through the streets, you hear a sudden scream from up ahead, in the north Markets. Your old Watch instincts kick in, and adrenalin washes away the alcohol fog. You hear screams again, and you can see people running through the streets. They seem to be fleeing the market, or something in it.

Breyr

Spoiler:

You hide to avoid the mob fleeing, but as you slip into the marketplace in their wake, a flash of lightning overhead illustrates a gruesome tableaux: A slender woman in leather seems to be surrounded by the bulky strangers. Several are chewing on limbs torn from folk in the marketplace, and there are a few dead bodies lying on the ground. Across the marketplace on a rooftop, you can see another bystander- a muscular, rag-clad Stinker (slang for 'sewer-dweller') staring wide-eyed at the scene. The woman shouts odd syllables in some foreign language as they close in around her.

Hellard

Spoiler:

As you approach, you see that the gates to Parliament House are closed, and a pair of anxious guards have crossed their halberds in front of the gate. A mob of Commonsmen are struggling to be admitted. You can hear them shouting and screaming "Undead! Zombies in the marketplace!" and "They killed my wife! Help us!".
Through the driving rain, you can see that the two guardsmen, now backed up against the door, are growing quite fearful. They are well outnumbered (at least by the angry mob) and are beginning to fumble for their shortswords.
Lightning flashes again, and your eye is drawn to a figure shambling to meet the mob from their behind. He lunges forwards, and a man's scream is almost swallowed by the boom of thunder overhead.

Brother Thomas

Spoiler:

Your letter does bear the seal of the Watch-Commander, but there don't seem to be any guards around. You wander, checking a few rooms. There are several rough-looking folks manacled to desks who angrily spit insults at you, and you can see a board on the wall with a hastily-scrawled message: "Day Watch to the Docks! Night Watch to the Temple District! Auxiliaries, if you read this, to the Marketplace!".
Thunder booms overhead, and you can hear screams follow from the north marketplace, only a block away.

Hague

Spoiler:

You scramble up the large building's pipes and awnings easily, exposing yourself to the driving rain and lashing winds above the street. Ahead, in the market, you can see an odd scene, revealed by another lightning flash: A horde of shambling figures have torn their way through most of the marketplace, killing several people. A young woman standing in the middle of the market throws off her cloak, revealing a slim, leather-clad form, and spits out several syllables in a foreign language at them as they close in around her. A young man with wild red hair slips into the marketplace, glancing around to take everything in. You can see that he notices you.
From your vantage point, you can also see a young man make his way into the marketplace, hiding behind an overturned cart of vegetables.

Pariah

Spoiler:

Your spell turns three of the undead against their former compatriots. They begin to rend the others apart, and a brutal melee results. One, however, slips through the line, and lunges at you, yellowed teeth gleaming. Its dirty fingernails reach for your belly, but snap off on contact with your mystical armour.
"Pain... hurt... kill!"
You quickly glimpse two bystanders enter the market- one, a wild-haired youth in leathers, slips in one entrance, while the other, a muscular Stinker (slang for 'sewer-dweller') crouches on a rooftop, buffeted by rain and wind.

Darius

Spoiler:

Hiding behind the vegetable cart, you quickly take in the devastated marketplace. Bodies lie torn on the hard ground, and the pouring rain makes the cobblestones slippery. At least a dozen shambling undead are involved in a fight at the centre of the marketplace, with more making their way into the market. You glimpse an exotic-looking woman clad in leathers before she vanishes in the middle of a brutal melee, seemingly between the zombies. A youth with wild red hair (and the look of a shoplifter, your merchant's eyes tell you) slips in one entrance, and a muscular Stinker (slang for 'sewer-dweller') crouches on a rooftop, buffeted by rain and lashing winds. He seems to have spotted you, but so far, none of the undead have.

Just so everyone's "on the same page"... it's daytime (but you can barely tell... there's a very fierce thunderstorm overhead). You're all in the north marketplace (or around it) and you will get to meet up soon... think of this as the 'teaser'- the section before the TV show's star credits and theme song roll.

["Pariah"]

"I mustn't be so reckless... I can't let them near me..."

Lily took a quick step back from her assailant, leveling a slender finger at him. "Andante melorum!"

A white-hot ray shot forth, slicing through the rotting creature like a hot knife through butter. The fetid flesh sizzled and smoked as it fell away from the bone, the creature collapsing in a fit of spasms almost instantly. Looking up at the man on the rooftops and glancing after the young man on the street level, she called out to them in a startlingly commanding voice.

"Either leave this place or take up arms! This is no time for idle spectating!"

[Darius Cain]

Darius took in the confusion of the swirling melee as best he could. "Why are the creatures fighting each other? Who is that woman? Could she be responsible for this? She did have a rather sinister look about her!"

'Pariah' wrote:

"Either leave this place or take up arms! This is no time for idle spectating!" the woman called out.

No it seems she is fighting these undead monsters, but I don't think anyone has seen me yet, except for that vagrant up on rooftop. "What should I do?"

Darius looked around again and saw that one of the living-dead was feasting on a corpse just on the other side of the cart, not more than ten feet away.

As he focused on the creature, Darius felt the dagger in his hand quiver like something alive. To Darius it seemed like he could feel energy begin to flow between three points; himself, the dagger and the feasting undead. Worse still the creature seemed to feel it too -- it turned and looked directly at him.

As the undead rushed him, Darius was able to bring the dagger up in both hands and the creature impaled itself in it's rush to get to him. Darius felt a flash of heat move from his chest, down his arm, through the dagger and into the creature. A second later it's eyes were consumed in a flash of green fire and the corpse slumped to the ground, lifeless once more.

Darius stumbled back dizzy and light-headed. Then he fell to his knees and began vomiting violently onto the cobblestones.

[Hague Koltair]

Hague sprang forward across the slippery tile shingled rooftops, gale buffeting him to and fro in a zigzag--his vision a blur of rainspatter, but he could vaguely see the throng below. The woman standing in the midst of rotting creatures who were chewing each other apart while she blasted them with tendrils of eldrich hate. He could barely believe what he was seeing, the snarling flashes of her face lit against the storm by volleys of cracking magic. The wrongness of it and the helplessness he felt against it wobbled his legs, nearly causing him to tumble off the roof. He scampered past it, clambering away from it, the primal fear chewing at him like a dog left chained out in a thunderstorm, driving him to flee, forcing him to find his legs and run.

Hague leaped from rooftop to rooftop, clinging to chimneys and other bits of architecture to stabalize himself. About a block down, at the far edge of the riot, the streets had largely cleared except for the wounded, the dead and the undying. A junior priest of some stripe had stepped into the square, raising his hand and shouting something at the creatures against the wind. It only drew their attention. One of them shuffled forward, eyes glazed, and planted a pitchfork in the youth's innards, making his eyes and mouth go wide.

At the other intersection, a pair of off duty guards were caught in the thick of the horde, the one attempting to pull away his injured friend. The zombies had separated them. The injured guard lay on the ground in a pool of bloody mud, one zombie tearing at his clothes, another beating him with a brick. The other guard was entangled, grabbed from around the waist and shoulder by three zombies while a fourth stumbled toward him with arms outstretched.

Hague opened his mouth, tongue out, and swallowed a bit of sweet rainwater. He focused. Breathed. Forced out the screaming. His hand went back to his walkingstick. Two running steps and then nothing under his feet but air. He landed in the mud with both feet, an explosion of muddy water erupting around him. As the water fell back, he charged forward, vaulting off his staff and lauching a leaping kick into the chest of the zombie advancing on the grappled guard to push it backward against the wall, following it with a massive two-handed overhead bash with the staff.

[Brother Thomas von Mandelbrot]

To the marketplace I go!

I take in the swirling melee, and hold up my warrant.

"To me, Watchmen! To me! Drive these vermin to dust!
Put away your clubs and staves!
Grab cleaver, axe and sword! They feel no pain!
Sever their heads and tendons!"

Know (religion) DC15: (d20+12=19)

Grant +1 attack bonus (untyped) to allies.

[Riven Golarsson]

Pride in his step as he hurry’s to the cause of the commotion, it feels good to be needed again, to be of use. Stepping up his pace to help his fellow watchmen…er what were his fellow watchmen, a momentary lapse of past events, though “no reason to be down, here’s your chance Riven, your chance to prove yerself to the watch again…after all if there is no Hellsquad perhaps you can get your old job back at least” he thought to himself.

Stepping into the market area the crowds greatly diminished with people still fleeing he pauses momentarily and the few before him…”The Dead!” he utters allowed…he had heard rumors of the dead never resting peacefully but to be in the city itself!

A woman’s scream brings Riven’s attention back to the current situation, without hesitation he expertly unsheathes his greatsword, Riven takes few large steps readies the weapon and swings; dropping the Undead monstrosity chasing woman. He finds the moment to pause from the excitement and take in the full view of what has happened to the market of Refuge…

[Breyr Calishul]

Breyr's throat tightens at the stench filling the market place, for the briefest moment the grisly scene flashes white under the stormlit sky. Lumbering figures feasting on the dead, the guard falling back in disarray, and a young girl lashing bolts of white fire from his finger tips...'Straight gates of Ever!'

'Pariah' wrote:

"Either leave this place or take up arms! This is no time for idle spectating!"

'No, indeed,' thinks Breyr. 'I ought to quit the square, but if this can happen in the blasted square - how long til all of Refuge is overrun?'

Brother Thomas von Mandelbrot wrote:

"To me, Watchmen! To me! Drive these vermin to dust!

Put away your clubs and staves!
Grab cleaver, axe and sword! They feel no pain!
Sever their heads and tendons!"

Breyr's ears harken to the voice of obvious authority and draws his short sword. 'They feel no pain...that's going to make this difficult. But my purse is lean and I need to start making a name for myself again...with any quarter.'

Breyr darts from shadows towards an abandoned food cart, absently slipping a wedge of goodfruit into his satchel - his eyes never leaving the surrounded girl. 'If a girl she be...a little magic in my debt can't hurt.' Even as he thinks it he realizes the folly of it. His attention is drawn by a scream from above, and his eyes follow the sewer-dweller's furious attack.

'Bold,' he thinks and takes cue...leaping over a fallen vendor he rolls forward and comes up on one knee, his well-worn blade swinging...cleaving through the legs of one of the girl's assailants. The figure drops to the ground beside him, and Breyr's instincts kick-in. He swings the blade expertly about and lands a finishing thrust into the heart of the lumbering creature, but - 'Bloody hell!' The creature continues to move, grasping Breyr's sword arm. 'They feel no pain...' The stranger's voice echoes in Breyr's head. "Blo-dy hell!!!"

Suddenly aware of how many of these creatures are around him, Breyr claws for a dagger with his free hand and attacks the creature's undead arm with a desperate frenzy, 'bloody hell! Bloody hell!'

[Hellard Byzenkampf]

Oh, for the gods' sake! Having come stealing through the night like a common criminal to the House of Parliament, only to have my way blocked by guards who think me one with this rabble... obviously, my mother's injunction regarding clean boots was accurate. I sigh. Snatching my lantern back from one of the cowering guards, I swallow my annoyance at not being admitted at once--obviously, to do so would be to admit this mob as well, hardly acceptable!--and I light the lamp, allowing the glow to illuminate my face and clothing.

"Disperse, good folk!" I boom, in as commanding a voice as I've ever used. And, having heard moaning about zombies, I added, "I shall personally destroy any zombie I see... you have the word of one of the Quality on that!" And I almost think they would have obeyed me at once, except that some inconsiderate lout dared take this moment to press upon them from behind.

"You!" I cry. "How dare you annoy these folk, especially given their ills, which they have brought to me for redress?" The shape refuses to respond--a cowardly churl, no doubt!--and I resolve to teach him his place quickly, be he human, undead, or other. This is more pressing than rumored zombies; one who slights against the Quality is an enemy of civilization. Drawing my dagger, and letting the lantern swing ominously in my off-hand, I advance through the mob towards that black shape. The commoners part before me, the ones further away shrieking and trying to flee the area entirely now.

"Your rent earns you goodwill, decent folk," I explain. "You came here for protection? Well, protection you shall have... first against this fool, and then against all zombies!" And then I'm on that dark shape, in a scything, flaming arc of the lantern and a swift cut from the dagger. This lesson will prove a more difficult one to teach than I had envisioned, however...

[DM Blue_eyed_paladin]

Alright, nearly everyone is together, so I'll post for Hellard separately until he joins you.

Hellard:

Spoiler:

The figure shies away from the flaming lantern, but the dagger seems to dig in like trying to saw through a side of beef. The blade grinds on bone and somehow becomes lodged there, tearing it from your strong hands.
With the lantern's light so close now, the figure's face is revealed- a rotting visage with cracked, bloody teeth and scraps of some poor man's arm. It tears at you with inhuman strength, and its limbs strike like leaden weights, hurling you to the ground. It lunges forwards, and you find the ravenous undead atop you, leaning to bite out your throat with its teeth while you struggle to hold back its arms.
You barely notice in the nightmarish fight, but the crowd has moved all the way back to allow you space. Clearly, none of them wishes to get in the way of one of the Quality.

Everyone else:

Spoiler:

Lily's controlled zombies tear another pair of the undead apart, leaving a slight gap in the offensive wave. Another disintegrates in spasms after being struck by her magic bolt.

Darius impales another on his dagger, and is left retching as the energy courses through him. His opponent falls lifeless, its eye-sockets smoking.

Hague crashes brutally into another zombie, shattering its ribs and its skull almost at once. The Watchman is able to slip free from the three holding him, and crashes his billy-club into the head of another. His eyes are wide and his breathing fast, and the zombie shudders under the blow, but continues inexorably onwards.

Brother Thomas, across the marketplace you can spy all this, and also a junior priest of your order, who seems to have been impaled by a zombie with a pitchfork. It stands over him as he gasps his last, stabbing him again and again. It seems, though, that a pair of Watch Auxiliaries have followed you, and quickly toss aside their clubs to draw shortswords. They charge to the nearest zombie, hacking at its knees and elbows.

Riven, the woman you aided flees gratefully, hiding behind a rainwater tank. The zombie is carved expertly in half, and de-animates messily. You can spy a chaotic battle ahead, and there must still be at least a score of the undead present.

The zombie attacked by Breyr finally shudders and fails, something vital having been hacked through. Around you, three more close in, their lifeless faces grimacing horribly.

For all of you, the rain is stinging and hard, and seems to occupy the air itself, making vision difficult. (for anyone who's seen it, the scene in Brotherhood of the Wolf where Mani and Gregoire are introduced is perfect... except your opponents are hordes of zombies, and in a city)

[Hellard Byzenkampf]

DM Blue_eyed_paladin wrote:

** spoiler omitted **

Awesome!

Spoiler:

I try to roll out from under him as my move action (my CMB is pretty good, after all), and then use an attack to set him on fire with the lantern.

Can't have the Quality shown up by a mere zombie!

[Darius Cain]

Once he had rid himself of this morning's eggs and ham, Darius's stomach stopped the worst of it's convulsions.

He looked up just in time to see two more of the undead abominations shambling in his direction. Darius scrambled backwards on his hands and feet until he reached a wall, where he managed to push himself upright. Placing his back to the wall, he made ready to strike at the first foe to come within range.

"What am I going to do? Another flash like that and I will probably pass out!"

Darius' Readied Attack: 11(d20) +1(BAB) +1(Bro Thomas's Dark Knowledge) = 13

[Breyr Calishul]

'Zombies...' Breyr shudders, as he recovers his blade. The stench of death, the chill of the oppressive, driving rain threaten to smother him. Looking up through the cascade he sees the lumbering shapes of three more zombies approaching him, the growl of excitement trapped by their dead throats, foaming on their grimacing teeth.

Terror gives way to rage, "you've had your chance at living - you'll not deprive me of mine!"

He brandishes sword and dagger, still crouching under that staccato of the rainfall. He sweeps out his leg, in a swift sudden motion - mud and water trailing in the wake of his kick. Two of the three fall to ground, the third is knocked back by the other two.

In a frenzy he's upon them, hacking his aged-dulled blade into one then the other, his dagger carving viciously around the short-sword's cut. He tosses his head up to find the third. Suddenly, inexplicably he wonders, 'could this poor fool have been a friend? One of the comrades he inadvertently betrayed?'

OOC: Brotherhood of the Wolf - excellent movie. thanks for the visual.

[Riven Golarsson]

Riven turns to the woman hiding, "Lass today is not a good day for the market, scurry off home and find a safer place than this!" Focusing his attention on a group of Zombies ahead, 'perhaps these other odd combatants are members of the Hellsquad, I best prove my merit!', Riven thinks to himself.

Wishing he had put on his armor this day but also realizing his path was already set before him by the Gods, he need only walk it. Riven secures his grip on his Greatsword and is thankful of the rain, like his homeland to the North, "For REFUGE!!" He screams valiantly and charges the Undead...more people need saving...

[Hague Koltair]

Twirling the staff overhead, throwing off the rotting gore of the just slain undead, he casts his eyes from one guard to the other, eyes squinting hard against the blinding spatter of rain. The one guard was free, swinging with his club and on his feet. The other was still on his back, and in that instant the zombie above him brings down his brick, two handed--illiciting a high pitched yowl and crunch of bone.

Startled, Hague sprints toward the fallen guard to help him--then a bone jarring impact. Another one of the creatures, hidden in the recesses of the square, masked by the gushing downpour, surges forward. It's fists are like iron, knocking Hague tumbling to the ground. It shambles forward out of the rain, looming over him. It's a woman, once beautiful even, but with one side of her face bruised and rotten like a bad peice of fruit, blue black and swollen with rain. Lighting crashes behind her as she lurches forward, a look of anguished sadness on her face as she reaches down to Hague. He crabs backward, just inches out of her desparate grasping reach.

More screaming from the prone guard, in much as terror as in pain, accompanied by an awful wet ripping sound.

Hague's eyes flick back to the female zombie, but she's gone--lost in the rain. Panicked he looks around, heart pounding. He gathers up his staff and tries to stand. Suddenly rictus hands grasp him from behind like talons of iron, digging hard into his skin. He bends backward into the grasp, then bends at the waist, flipping the zombie to the ground. The pole comes up in both hands and he drives it down through the bottom of her chin into her skull.

The battle stops for a second and he slumps back into the mud, horrified. He wants to run. The sounds of the guards fighting for their lives sound a million miles away, hushed and low. The rush of rain a thousand times louder. Then the girl spasms, mangled face grimacing into an ugly incomprehensible mess, arms lashing out and balling up handfuls of his pantlegs. Hague screams, ripping a leg free from her grasp and dropping it down onto the body in a series of brutal axe kicks until finally it collapses in death.

["Pariah"]

Lily saw the others wade into the fray. This fight was beginning to look more winnable every moment. She deftly sidestepped a few clumsy attacks, making her way with graceful alacrity to stand atop a badly damaged vendor's cart. Surveying the field of battle and seeing one of her enslaved undead getting torn apart, she turned her attention to the group that was gathering around the man with the dagger and the furious attitude. (Breyr)

Reaching out again with her arcane power, she weaved a spell on the minds of that group as well, hoping to buy the man enough time to at least stand and mount a proper attack. As she intoned the words of power, she felt a burning hunger inside. Something... unholy. She had never used her magics so furiously and so carelessly before. Never had she encountered so many of these creatures in the same place. The dark powers she invoked were taking their toll on her body and mind, she could feel the evil influence intruding upon her sanity.

As the newly-commanded zombies fell under the sway of her spell, Lily let loose a primal scream, drawing her dagger and slashing the throat of a nearby zombie, sending it gurgling to the ground. She drew heavy breaths, seething with obvious rage.... rage that was not entirely her own.

[Brother Thomas von Mandelbrot]

I rush to the side of the fallen priest, drawing a handaxe as I go.
I may be too late to save him, but not for want of trying.

"You shall not mar his flesh!"

The axe hits the walking corpse, but not at the spine that I had hoped, but at the shoulder-blade, not hard enough to cleave through bone. I squint in anticipation of the fount of blood, which does not fly. Instead, black pus spatters my cheek, and leaves a trail like a snail-track along my arm.

The corpse turns its attentions to me, and a tug of war ensues, as I grasp the haft of its spear, but fail to prevent it from driving the blunt end into my forehead. I stumble over littered pots with my adversary in a clumsy dance, pressing down with my weight to hold it under me, across the planks of the stall with the spear across its neck. Not needing to breathe, the creature reverts to instinct and leaves go of the weapon, dragging its claws across my visor, twisting at my helm, which stays on, though the leather straps chafe behind my ears. Several more strikes of the axe follow through, the first breaking through the clavicle, causing the left arm to drop, limp. The next blow, unobstructed, drives sideways into the spine, and the scrabbling talons relax their grip.

Is the priest alive? If so, some healing may bring him back to our side...

Assuming I don't get jumped, I will need to gather together with the other survivors.

(Thinks)"Where is the guiding hand behind these foes?"

[DM Blue_eyed_paladin]

Hellard:

Spoiler:

The zombie is strong, but stiff in death. With a little effort, and the power of your strong muscles, you heave the creature aside and smash your lantern into its shoulder. The oil floods out, covering the thing's head and shoulders, and light almost immediately. However, the flame sputters in the driving rain, and the zombie leans back for another blow at you.
Then, a blow shatters its skull- a Commonsman, his face wrought in fear and his hands gripping an ox-driver's heavy wooden goad white-knuckled. Another rushes to aid you in regaining your feet as he nods briefly, and you hear the voice of one of the Watchmen.
"'Ware! More come this way!" And more indeed come, lurching from the rain like shadows, they come from the marketplace district. Dozens of them.

Everyone else:

Spoiler:

A zombie lurches at Breyr, split fingernails outstretched. He dodges its clumsy grasp and whips around, lightning-fast, to hack deep into its throat. The soggy windpipe catches his blade, and it turns to bite at his exposed arm. Two more approach, then jerk, turn, and pull the other off of Breyr, tearing at it hungrily until its throat is opened like a child's gift.

The group of zombies fall like ninepins at Riven's cometary approach, crashing into them like a bladed tree-log. Several hands and limbs bounce wetly on the cobblestones, and more than one head falls to his tremendous strength. Scratches and small tears cover his forearms, but he laughs triumphantly as he fells the last.

The wounded Watchman dies messily and loudly, torn apart by two ravening horrors. The other puts his back to a wall and slices frantically- fingers are chopped and hacked, but another two creatures move in, and a moment of indecision spells his end, too. The once-beautiful female zombie shudders, and then expires under a series of kicks, leaving Hague exhausted and sore.

Pariah whips her blade across one zombie's throat, wounding it but leaving it functional. It closes in, but the voice comes faster. Feed... hunger.... warmth... ...and she obeys, throwing herself at the creature and burying her face in its throat as she dashes its skull against the pavement. Only as she tears a strip of decaying flesh away does she realize her actions, immediately falling aside to vomit forth the mouthful.
Her four controlled zombies stand quiescent, dripping in the rain. Their hands are filthy with rotten gore.

As Brother Thomas fells his chosen opponent, the fallen priest gurgles something horribly, choking on his blood. More than a dozen holes show in his cassock, and his young eyes shine with tears in shock and abandonment. The senior priest's presence may not have been in time to save him, but it certainly comforted the young one- his hand reaches up and grasps Thomas' as he passes. The grizzled priest looks around, but sees no-one (except perhaps the young woman vomiting in the centre of the marketplace?) who looks as if they were controlling the undead.

Darius, back against a wall, breathes fast and deep, and his eyes dart from one figure to the other as they approach, ready to slash at tendons and throats. They approach almost simultaneously, leaving him in confusion. And then, just as they seem about to strike, they walk past... out of the marketplace and north, toward the Parliament Building.

The marketplace is clear... but the cost is high. Over a dozen stall-keepers have fallen here, and more than a dozen of the undead. Two officers of the Watch, and a junior priest were killed. The six survivors have clearly seen more zombies, over a score, pass through the square, heading north towards the Parliament Building. All across the city, bells are ringing in alarm, and shouts can be heard from farther away (specifically, for anyone with good hearing, the Docks district and Temple Street).

Immediately to the north, a call can be heard: "'Ware! More come this way!"

[Riven Golarsson]

"Nothing like fighting the Dead to brighten the day, eh? HAHAHAHAHA!", Riven looks over the area taking the scene in...it stings his soul to see the simple folk of Refuge beaten or for that matter eaten by what may have been kin at some point. 'What could do this? What kind of creature could raise the dead like this? Were they sent to feed to upon these folk or are they fleeing something darker?'

Rivens' thoughts are brought back to the current situation by the sound of alarms, "Of course there are more. Why wouldn't there be?"

Riven looks towards Parlimant, then back to the survivors in the square, "All right lads! If you've got strength left there's more to be returned to their final rest!" Hoping that others follow, though not willing to turn back and look, Riven begins his journey to Parlimant.

["Pariah"]

Lily's eyes go wide with horror as she realizes her actions. She quickly wipes the blood from her lips and casts her gaze to the surrounding survivors, hoping no one had seen what just occurred. She could not continue to use the power this way. It was simply too dangerous.

When the cry came out that more creatures were approaching, Lily gestured to those remaining under her control. "Come."

With that, the lithe woman bolted across the market with fierce determination in her eyes, followed by a small host of the undead...

[Darius Cain]

Darius breathes a sigh of relief as the two walking corpses shamble past him and head down the street to the north. "Where are they going?" he wonders.

Realizing he is woefully unprepared, Darius pulls the weapon belt from his satchel and dons it, making sure both the flintlock pistol and dagger can be drawn easily. Then he slings the satchel around to hang behind him, out of the way.

Pushing the rain soaked hair out of his face, Darius looks around for a better.. no, safer weapon. He moves over to one of the slain watchmen and picks up his fallen club. The guard's dead eyes seem to stare at him accusingly. "Sorry sir," whispers Darius, "but I need this more than you right now." He reaches out and quickly closes the man's eyes.

"Nothing like fighting the Dead to brighten the day, eh? HAHAHAHAHA!" Darius looks up to see a large blond northlander wielding a greatsword and taking in the carnage in the market square. "Insane! He's insane. I think he's having fun!"

Immediately to the north, a call can be heard: "'Ware! More come this way!"

The Northlander looks towards Parlimant, then back to the survivors in the square, "All right lads! If you've got strength left there's more to be returned to their final rest!" Then he heads north, after the undead.

Darius began to feel a grudging respect for the insane warrior. "I must be insane too!" he thinks, as he gets to his feet and runs to catch up. "Wait, what are you going to do when you catch up to them?" he asks the blond warrior.

Oops! Fatespinner sneaked in his post while I was writing. I guess I am a slow writer.

[Riven Golarsson]

Darius began to feel a grudging respect for the insane warrior. "I must be insane too!" he thinks, as he gets to his feet and runs to catch up. "Wait, what are you going to do when you catch up to them?" he asks the blond warrior.

Riven turns to the small fellow now beside him, "Why put them back to sleep of course!" Riven gives Darius a good pat on the back, "Hahahahaha! Bet you never thought today was going to be this much fun?"

[Hellard Byzenkampf]

I stagger to my feet, helped up by this ox-drover, or whatever he may be, who so valiantly overcame the sloth and timidity of his base heritage. Obviously, the blood of the Quality must run in his veins -- otherwise he could never have done what he did -- a by-blow of some tryst with a common wench, perhaps? I don't know, but surely he merits consideration -- as a companion, if not as an equal. I look him in the eye and clasp his arm, briefly, as a cry rings out: "Ware! More come!"

A shambling horde of the monstrosities is advancing on the Parliament building, pursued by a small number of enraged not-quite-commoners -- people like this one who aided me, perhaps. Better than the norm. Out of the whole marketplace, only these few would fight -- no wonder this city has so many commoners, and so few of the Quality, and no one in between. But even with help from these people, I am nigh-unarmed... the dagger useless against the undead, and the lantern's oil spilled on the cobbles and too diluted by the rain to burn. My fists cannot be of much use against these things if a dagger would not bite them. My swords, back in my manor, might as well be on the moon. Fatalistically, I shrug, and pick up a large, heavy chunk of cobblestone in each hand. Muddy and armed with peasant's weapons -- like a commoner myself -- I'll still hold my head up and comport myself as befits my status.

As the first of the zombies approaches, I leap forward and smash it with both stones. And I notice, with something like amazement, that the pursuers from the marketplace have caught up with them, and are exacting a heavy toll.

[Hague Koltair]

Hague hears the call to advance on the Parliament building, the commander's voice ringing out against the roar of the storm, a call to charge into a throng of yet more undead monsters. He stands wearily, dipping his hands into the rain puddle and running them trembling through his plated hair. He stands, watching the handful of other adventurers turn together and rejoin the battle and blows out a long, terrified, exausted breath, knocking the staff against the cobblestones a few times to dislodge the gore and ichor, and rejoins them. Looking down the street he sees the woman sprinting with her bewitched undead escort lagging in a trail behind her. He shudders, shakes a spray of water from his hair, and runs after.

[Brother Thomas von Mandelbrot]

Thomas quickly administers the last rites for the fallen priest, though he stumbles over some of the words due to his lack of practice and his hurry to perform the service before the man breathes his last.
The grip on his hand tells him that the words were heard and understood before the hand goes limp.

He looks up to see a large Northerner, waving a greatsword in the air, and calling for others to follow. Several other survivors pick themselves up, dust themselves down, and look around.
A slight young man steps out from behind a cart, fumbles in a satchel, and stoops to retrieve a mace from a dead Watchman, before jogging ahead to join the swordsman. A grubby street-urchin stands over the body of a rotting girl. An even dirtier fellow, possibly an Underdweller, grasps his staff in both hands with clenched knuckles.

Did I see Pariah's 'snack'? Either way, I assume I see the quiescent zombies standing around her, and the way they follow her from the square?

[Breyr Calishul]

Breyr staggers back, his eyes locked upon his undead rescuers. 'What the blazes is going on here?' As they tear at his foe he turns and leaps towards a cart and pushes his back against it, ready to take on any new foes.

But when he turns, the marketplace is for a moment becalmed, with the angry downpour washing blood and gore into the gutters. The strange girl - 'a witch?' vomits and then recovers, looking about.

Breyr's eyes can barely make out her features in the rain, as she wipes her mouth. Suddenly he realizes that the remaining zombies are in her thrall. 'A witch...and almost certainly she's got something to do with this. Else I'll wager she'll have some answers. Answers I might profit from...'

More cries of alarm, and the other defenders move towards the Parliament building. A northerner brandishing a massive sword rallies them to battle once again. Even the witch, and her zombies rush toward the battle.

Breyr hesistates, 'I must be out of my head,' but follows the others, tightening his grip on his sword and dagger, as the rain continues to wash madly over them. Lightining cracks overhead, splitting in the northern sky, Feh...good thing I'm not superstitious - else I'd say we're heading toward our doom.'

[Brother Thomas von Mandelbrot]

A scrawny, hollow-cheeked young woman rises from the cobbles with strings of vomit dribbling from the corners of her mouth, which she wipes away with her ragged sleeve. She staggers, as if drunk, to stand between a group of the undead, who make no move to attack her. As the sounds of alarm commence, from the centre of town, she motions to the group to follow her.

Despite this, none of the others make an attempt to accost her or block her path, which strikes him as odd, considering the circumstances. Perhaps she was not the cause of the danger, despite her obvious necromantic abilities? If that were the case, she could prove useful once the true malefactor was run to ground?

A holier Inquisitor than he might kill such as her on sight, or attempt to extract the names of her accomplices on the rack. While many deviants are more than deserving of such treatment, how many honest scholars had to suffer the same fate?
What on Earth was she thinking, leading a troupe of walking cadavers through the streets? It was simply asking to attract a mob of torch-wielding, frightened citizens, to put her to the stake.

The exhortations of the Malleus Malleficarum ringing in his head (“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!”), he sets off after her, keeping a wide berth from her pets.

“Let us hope I am not seen cavorting with a servant of the damned”, he thinks to himself grimly. “I must have taken leave of my senses”.

["Pariah"]

Lily could feel their eyes on her. She knew they feared her, knew that many undoubtedly perceived her as the cause for all this. Still, the only thing she could do now was aid them in the hopes that they would be willing and able to see beyond what was obvious and appreciate her assistance for what it was. When this whole ordeal was ended, she would order her thralls destroyed and return to the shadows of the city where she belonged.

For now, though, there were lives to be saved.

[Darius Cain]

Riven Golarsson wrote:

Riven gives Darius a good pat on the back, "Hahahahaha! Bet you never thought today was going to be this much fun?"

Darius smiles uneasily and nods in agreement. It can be dangerous to upset the insane, especially when they have greatswords.

Darius looks back to see if any of the other's from the market have come to join in the "fun" as well. He see's the strange leather clad woman following behind them with her escort of undead. "Watch out!" he cries, "there are more of them behind us!"

[Riven Golarsson]

Riven turns quickly, weapon at the ready, "Behind me Lad!" Riven sees the Undead circled around a woman...though they don't seem to be attacking her...perhaps she has caused the dead to not rest..."Lass! If you brought this monstrosity to my city I will not make your death quick!"

Riven begins placed, planned, steps towards this group of the dead...waiting for any sign of attack...any sign for him to teach this disturber of the dead the peace they so deserve...

["Pariah"]

Lily stopped, a grave scowl on her face as the massive sword-wielding man turned to impede her advance.

"This is not my doing!" she hissed. "I merely employ the weapons of our enemy against them."

The woman was young and beautiful, that much could not be denied, but there was a feral aspect to her, a predatory trait in her countenance that bordered on inhumanity. She clutched a gore-soaked dagger in one hand while the other stood poised at her side like a cobra ready to strike. The undead surrounding her halted when she halted, staring blankly ahead.

"If I were your enemy you would not have the honor of this discussion. Now move. The time for talk is later."

[Breyr Calishul]

Two figures turn to face the dark woman, and Breyr narrows against a near wall, instinctively. He flips his dagger into a throwing grip and watches through the heavy rain, weighing the situation and straining to hear their voices.

'Pariah' wrote:

"This is not my doing!" she hissed. "I merely employ the weapons of our enemy against them."

"If I were your enemy you would not have the honor of this discussion. Now move. The time for talk is later."

Breyr's eyes narrow, 'Interesting,' and he slips foward. She's too valuable to let that loud oaf hew down.'

He approaches, stealthily through the rain, waiting for the giant and his companion to act.

[Hague Koltair]

Hague turns the corner, giving a wide berth to the bewitched horde of undead. He charges down the open street, hearing their challenges yelled back and forth as he approaches, his face stiffens, wary eyes moving between the big city guard and the fearsome woman nearing what may be a violent clash if neither side relents. He wouldn't be able to pass the guard without bringing himself into the arc of his sword, but similarly he was loathe to stop running, to draw himself into their conflict. Crouching low in a run past the guard on his left side he reached back and spun the quarterstaff into his hand, bringing it up in a defensive position. He'd have to react quickly if the big sword came sweeping his way. No way he could block a weapon like that by just meeting force with force...

[DM Blue_eyed_paladin]

As the party reaches the square in front of the Parliament Building, they can see that the building's gates are closed and barred. The rain continues to pelt down, but the faint illumination from more-distant lightning strikes shows a panicked crowd attempting retreat, and a pair of panicked Watchmen with halberds trying desperately to hold the gates.

Hellard: Hellard crouches in a fighting stance, flanked by a Commonsman with an ox-goad, and another with bared brawny fists. He clutches a pair of cobblestones, muddy, bedraggled, and with torn clothing. His faces bears some scratching, as if he has been savaged already, but his eyes show signs of life.
Through the driving rain and darkness, he spies a group emerging from behind the zombies- a mismatched group of perhaps ten, some armed, all bloodied. They seem to be on his side... but in this city, who can tell?

The others: The square is growing full- a few dozen panicked city-dwellers, the three who stand ready to guard them, the and the twoscore zombies that approach are rapidly filling the area. As the mismatched sextet and their four undead companions emerge from the marketplace, they arrive behind the shambling horde. For now, the flow seems to have mercifully ceased, elsewise this battle would be a foregone conclusion.

Everyone: The zombies close with a low moan on the Parliament Building, and you can all hear the windows of the second and above stories being bolted. The thunder punctuates the rain with an occasional ear-splitting crack, making it seem like the heavens themselves have opened up and are pouring forth their nightmares upon you.
The undead are numerous, ravenous, and implacable. There still seems to be no driving force behind them but hunger. Their lifeless eyes gleam eerily in the odd half-light as they lurch forwards.

[Riven Golarsson]

"I see vile in you woman. Though you are right in the situation." As Riven turns back to the zombies in the area, "Though if your minions get in the way of my blade it will not stop its motion."

Without giving her time to retort, Riven charges into the horde of undead, 'there are civilians that need saving' he thinks to himself as he brings his blade back to it's purposefull task.

[Brother Thomas von Mandelbrot]

<Huff, Puff>

<splish, splash>

<Huff, Puff>

"Oh, good, they've slowed down...no, they're off again..."

<Huff, Puff>

"Stand aside for The Watch! You, with the sword; we can discuss this later, if any of these creatures are still standing..."

["Pariah"]

With a few rough gestures and commands, Lily ordered her commanded undead to form an unliving wall between herself and the throng of approaching zombies. Steeling herself against the voices, for they had once again reached an unholy crescendo, she commanded the creatures forward to break ranks against the horde... and buy her precious time.

[Wurzel McFurzel]

"Let us in! Damn you!"

"Oi'll RIP these gates off! You see if oi don't!"

[Darius Cain]

Darius looked from the leather clad witch-woman to the others. Were they siding with her or just reluctant to get in the middle of the confrontation?

The way she commanded her docile servants made his skin crawl. Better the company of lunatics, then the damned. Without a word, he turned and followed the northman into the fight.

To protect the store from thieves, his father had showed him how to fight with another, watching each other's backs. He did that now, though the warrior needed little help. In truth Darius' blows with the watchman's cudgel did little damage, but they did create openings for the warrior's flashing greatsword which took a heavy toll on the walking dead.

In game terms Darius would be flanking and/or using the aid another action since he can't really overcome the zombies DR.

[Hague Koltair]

*splish-splish-splish-splish-splish*

Hague whooshed past the front lines of fighting and disappeared deep into the midst of the zombies. Like navigating a shallow sea full of shipwrecks at full sail he weaved and ducked his head, bent and arched his body. He felt angry bone white fists windmill around him--a few crunching the nearby corpses of fellow undead. Twist and bend and turn and suddenly the dim light was gone completely, swallowed up in the stinking crush of bodies dripping with dark water.

He put the staff down low and twisted his body around. It was too close for them to fight in earnest, just lean close and hungry and try for a bite. He coiled like a spring, soaked up all their energy. For a moment his mind flashed to his training, stacks of flagstones crushing him until blood gushed out of his nose. Then he switched footing and found the natural angle for his body to return all that force. Stones and stones of it. Then as though the world started low and spun out and around him like a stone on a sling he came around with the staff.

"Aaaauuurrrgh!" he untwisted, staff spinning over his head, the force of it tossing the undead away from him in a circle as though a meteor had landed in their midst. They fell back and away like trees in neat rows. In the middle stood Hague, staff back in one arm, cradled against his ribs, his other arm out in front of him, palm out and fingers tight in a guard, all the fingers curled except his forefinger. He breathed. For a moment, he felt serene, all around him the undead were down, a hole blasted in the center of their line like a storm giant had slammed down his fist.

Then the moment that had lingered was gone, and as though nothing had happened, the undead began to pick themselves back up...and he was right in the middle of them. Hopefully they had noticed--the others. Hopefully they could use this chaos to their advantage, and soon. Else he would be torn apart.

[DM Blue_eyed_paladin]

OK, while I loved the 'bacon bits' map, I thought I should probably clarify. This is closer to what I'm seeing: MAP HERE.

Hague tears into the undead line, scattering them like ninepins. Several are hit hard, but few seem to take any damage, and they all crawl back to their feet, murmuring "kill...kill...kill..." in hushed tones. Several grab for his feet and outstretched limbs as Hague recovers his position from the devastating spin.

Riven hurtles into them as well, cleaving them apart. His mighty claymore hews limbs, snaps bones, and severs a head, which goes arcing high into the crowd, setting off another scream from a panicked washerwoman. Again the undead close on the large warrior, their claws tearing and their jaws snapping.

Lily's zombies crash into the other line with the grace and destruction of glaciers striking, tearing at each other hungrily. One tears at another's gut, grabbing loops of rotten intestine and yanking the unfortunate corpse to the ground, where others set on it. The zombies become indistinguishable. The voices lie silent for a short time, perhaps sated on the carnage they are causing.

Darius flails with his cudgel, creating opportunities that the large swordsman can take advantage of. One zombie loses its focus on the Northman and turns its back in time to be split crown-to-collar, collapsing with a hideous gurgle. Another reaches for the young man, only to be driven back by his desperate defences.

Brother Thomas arrives just in time to defend the commonsman with the ox-goad, quickly overtaken by the undead. He lashes about with his mace, shattering wrists and jaws with equal effort. Clearly the battle is taking its toll on the middle-aged librarian-warrior, but he proves his worth and mettle. The man gasps his thanks, and swings about him with the heavy wooden tool.

Hellard, back-to-back with the other commonsman, fight frenziedly against the oncoming wave of corpses. They clear a small space around them, temporarily halting the horde from taking the crowd. A blow with one rock shatters the skull of one zombie dressed in Watch uniform, and a well-timed duck allows the noble to draw the dead man's belted shortsword. "At last! A blade!"

Breyr's daggers cause little damage to the soaking undead, but they do distract the creatures. Several swing heavily at him, but the man's agility proves too good for the monsters.

The zombie line is broken- they are reeling and their push to the steps of the Parliament Building has halted. Now, however, there are at least two dozen zombies remaining, and your momentum is no longer giving you the advantage.

[Hellard Byzenkampf]

How did I end up behind the zombies? -- Wait! Never mind; I see now that those are the commoners behind me -- where they belong.

Crushing the skull of the nearest zombie -- one who wears the livery of the Guard, I note with great foreboding and some contempt as well (what kind of worthless commoner allows himself to become a zombie?!) -- I sieze the guard's short sword with a gleeful shout. "At last, a blade!" While not the fine steel of my hand-and-a-half blade at home, at least this is a proper fighting weapon, not some street-sweeper's broom or a common brawler's chair -- the cobbles were almost too embarrassing to use. Hewing with renewed fervor, I notice that the ox-herder (or whatever he was) is down -- have to remember to send some silver to his family, maybe make some sort of speech. I remain back to back with some other varlet, one who, again, deserves respect for his doings this day. He'd make a far better guardsman than the one whose sword I now wield -- maybe I can get him that job, if he survives this, and wants it.

Social obligations filed away, I keep fighting. Wounded, I'm not yet exhausted, although I should be -- all that time spent swimming in the river must be good for one's wind.

I notice that the heroes from the marketplace include some kind of Northern warrior, slashing away with a will; he seems to have some sort of grimy varlet with him, who cleverly uses a cudgel to create openings for the northerner. A priest of some kind has come to the aid of my ox-herd friend -- hope he's not too late! -- and a small, agile man foolishly attacks with daggers -- I shout to him that daggers are useless against these zombies, but I'm not sure if he hears me over the tumult.

Some of the zombies have gone berserk, and are destroying one another.

Then I look past them, and my heart stops in my throat. A small, dark-haired girl stands behind the zombies, half-hidden from the carnage. Something in her face -- tragic, some massive sorrow -- makes me forget the Parliament building, and my status, and the even need to chastize the guards for allowing their idiot members to become undead. Suddenly, I can think of nothing else. The rain runs into my eyes, heedless. Only the flailing of a zombie snaps me from my reverie; with a renewed surge of energy, I begin to slash my way towards the girl, cutting down the walking corpse, as I will anything else in my way.