MOAR ZOMBIES
((This was an 8-9 hour scene, so it’s very long. Still, it’s also epic, especially after the fighting starts. It was so crowded that I might’ve missed a few poses, so apologies if random things don’t really make sense. Also, I did not succeed on a single check... :/))
The party met up at Eastgate, to head out along well-used trade routes into the north of Arden, past Immeraus and up toward the dragonspine mountains, to the arguably safest part of mutable shadow on the borders of deep Arden. This meant a rather more circuitous route than was originally taken, as shadows shift, but they do not shift so much in relation to their 'parent' shadow; in this case, the port town so stricken as was visited before. The journey takes about two hours of riding from Eastgate to the point of shifting and then past the mountains, one slight shift at a time, to the coastal road.
It looks much the same as when some of the party visited it -- eerily deserted, mostly structurally intact and with no lights to speak of, no signs of life in the periphery. The road is overgrown in spots, with moss, but realistically, the disaster, whatever it was, did not truly happen all that long ago. The sea rocks gently against the harbour, where the boats remain many of them intact. Mists roll in from the high moors behind the township though, a disturbing, faintly eldrich green glow to it and for those that know coastal winds and such, it goes against the flow of air as it usually is, from sea to land in late summer, early fall.
Zachary's style of shifting is very fluid and quick, as is most of the man when one thinks about it. At the head of the column of riders, he does not ride, but rather jogs ahead of trotting horses, making those shifts one at a time. When the city comes into sight, he stops for a breather and a smoke, by a signpost whose lettering has long since faded.
Being in the saddle affords Balthus the luxury of smoking while on the move, his pipe's stem nursing puffs to his lips with his reigning hand while the other keeps a knocked and loaded crossbow ready in his lap as they go. Tobacco wisps trail behind him as he peers about him, warily. When he reaches the signpost where Zachary lingers, he halts. "So. What were our objectives here, again?" he'll ask quietly, peering dubiously towards the desolate expanse of disintigrating structures in the distance.
Harp strapped securely to him as he rides, Alec has been playing the occasional tune as the party travels closer toward the city. When they near their destination, he returns the instrument to his back and and looks around as he follows.
--[ Ysonde ]---------------------------------------------------[ idle 7m ]----
Though only of average height, this woman appears taller thanks to the precision of her carriage. She is slimly built and athletic, and given over to a certain stern kind of poise: squared shoulders, straight back, and economic motion all pointing to long-drilled military precision. Her skin is very fair, so much so that blue traceries of veins are visible at her temples. Likewise her eyes are blue, the vivid shade of gas flame, hot and bright under her lashes. Likewise vivid is her mane of hair, this the color of polished copper. She currently wears it pulled away from her face and braided into a tight bun on the back of her skull.
She is in full uniform, hers a combination of black and charcoal gray, decorated with red and gold piping. On the breast is a gold dragon rampant. Boots, gloves, and belt are black leather. Her boots are polished to a mirror shine, while the stitching on the gloves is suggestive of scales rendered in gold thread. Also golden is the chain around her neck, upon which is suspended the symbol of the Unicorn.
------------------------------------[ female pbg no-chatter trouble-ok/4 ]----
Atop her handsome Shire gelding, Maeghan is perched at ease in the saddle. True to her word, the girl has but one pack - stuffed obscenely full but it is just ONE - and her boar spear. She rides quietly - somewhat abnormal for her - and at some point in the day having removed her duster and rolled up her sleeves. After the first shift, she opens the clenched fist of control on her powers and views the world around her in a Kalidascope of shadows, shades, light, and dark attuned to the flow and ebb of life and death. As the reach the signpost, she pulls the large horse up and looks around "So, where are we Zach? I can imagine that the undead or restless spirits inhabit this place." Calmly, she rises up in her stirrups and looks intently all around her to see what - if anything - she can see of the uncanny.
Questions about the nature of the expedition are left to its leadership, in whatever form that takes. Likely it does not include Ysonde, content to ride toward the rear of the little column, her grey's rains held loose in one hand as if she trusts the horse to keep pace with the others. Which he does, admirably, if one is willing to forgive the quirk of his ears flattening as the air shifts at last around them to this, misty and murky. Like as not she shares his thought about the empty-looking town ahead of them, though all she has for it is a look of extremely dubious interest.
Dashton Feldane has one gloved hand on the reins of his horse while the other rests comfortably in front of him. With a pleased smile and easy demeanor, his eyes wander about them, taking in their surroundings along the way and then doing so more intently as they come to a rest. A hand reaches up, removing a wide-brimmed hat he had chosen for the expedition, runs through his hair and ruffles it a bit, and then redeposits it.
No birds, nor animals haunt the afternoon air. It's very quiet. Not even a seagull can be heard over the rush of the ocean and the creak of distant timbers.
"There's sommat here, Balt, ol' buddy. I felt't th'last time I was 'ere, but we were on a mission. Dunno how else ta put that," Zach replies as he puffs on his roll-up, flicking ash as he looks over the party. "Objectives're ta lay th'dead down best we can, Dashton n'Maeghan're real good at that... an' figure out where the whatever it is, actually is. S'somewhere in, or real close to th'city, I know that. Might have an answer or two as ta what 'appened here."
Zachary adds to Maeghan, cos player is daft, "We're along th'coast, near-shadow ta Arden. Roughly, that place's ... parallel ta Ennisport or Baylesport. This is very close ta Amber and Arden."
Balthus listens to Zachary attentive and businesslike, his features preserved frozen in the grim, stony coolness of his martial demeanor. He glances back towards Ysonde, glance briefly communicative to assure himself of her state, while giving his own mount's neck a pat and rub to soothe it. His brows both crane aloft at the mention of laying down the dead, as, frankly, there had been a lot of those. But his balking only last a moment, and he glances towards the Feldanes with visible hopes that their reputation is well earned. "Very well," he acknowledges soberly. "Let's try to stick close togeather, this time, shall we?"
Alec nods. "You don't have to worry about me. I'm definitely not going to wander off on my own." He keeps his own horse close to the others, sticking closest to Dashton and Maeghan.
"Death happened here. Lots and lots of death" Maeghan replies quietly as she remains poised standing in her stirrups. The reins are gathered all in her left hand while her right hefts up her spear. Clicking softly she nudges a heel into her geldings side and murmurs "Comeon Pryderi...lets go a couple steps in... get away from this life and let me get a better feel." Looking around as the stalwart gelding slowly crabsteps further into an area it clearly does not like. The girl glances over her shoulder at Zachary and says "There are no ghosts in this city Zach. If there were, they would have come to me by now. Even for the unnatural that is not natural. In a place like this I would expect many restless undead...not perhaps as bad as the Haunted Forest, but definitely not a happy place." Turning back around she pulls the gelding to the halt a few paces ahead and begins to make an assessment of the place - buildings, geological features, and the like as she continues calmly - not seeming at all spooked - "I would like to find a...a building...a corral of some form and bring the undead there. That will ensure no one is taken by surprise. It will take a small amount of time for me to prepare the ward." There is a pause as she turns her upper body around and adds "Or we can wander around and find them as they find us." Her expert opinion given, she waits for a decision to be made.
"This. Time?" Ysonde repeats those most important words back to Balthus with a careful arch of one eyebrow, which is followed up by a slow, appraising sort of look at the other members of the little group. Maeghan in particular appears a curiosity as this assessment is offered, the suggestion clearly not exactly inspiring confidence, if the continued quirk of her eyebrow is any indicator. It really is all in the eyebrow too, communication of dubiousness so clearly etched that the question she asks afterward is strikingly neutral. "How many undead did you say you saw here, previously?"
Looking over to his daughter, Dashton says aloud, "Very strange. You feel that as well, yes?" The man's ordinarily hazel eyes have taken on the extremes of the colors normally present with a darker core and more vibrant outer edge. Nodding in agreement with his daughter, he says, "This is certainly not right at all. No ghosts and yet... such a tremendous amount of death energy. And the life... it's just draining out of the place. Moving further in may give us a better sense of the source of things." Reaching up, he repositions his riding cloak to now drape over his right shoulder, allowing clearer access to his sword.
"Reckon a building ain't outta th'question," Zach offers, crushing the end of his cigarette between the fingertips of his gauntlet and pockets the stub, pushing off the signpost. There's a nod to Balthus though, observing where Alec is, with one pale-eyed glance, then to move ahead again, skirting the dancing Pryderi, so as not to get shoulderbarged by the cob. "Lets jus' put it this way..." he calls back to Ysonde "...there weren't any living people in that city. And that city was once thrivin'." Hordes. Hordes of undead.
To Dashton as they draw closer, the horses becoming more and more reluctant to get closer to the forsaken port town, it rings a couple of bells. That used to be called Greenhaven, one of the cliffs that form the natural harbour has a distinctive shape of yawning man, where once the chalk and bedrock fell into the ocean. Now, the Yawning Man looks like he's screaming silently...
Balthus peers towards Maeghan as she speaks her expert creepiness. As for if he's spooked? Well, there is a reason for that stiff-lipped demeanor, after all. At Ysonde, though, he nods in confirming zach's answer. "Too many to count," his tone drops quiet, so as not to disturb the Feldane spookiness. "A couple hundred, at an estimate. They don't move like men so it's harder to guess. But we killed the ones we saw, though having an infantry company with us, then, helped. I'd say it was likely a relatively tiny percentage of the the numbers, here, though. They're not terribly dangerous individually. Easier to kill than your average garden variety mortal; they're slow and unthinking. It's when they cluster that it gets risky." He briefs her with somewhat more detail. At least now that she's already volounteered.
Frowning, Maeghan sits back down in her saddle "That many??? No...I am not capable of performing a mass purging yet." Inhaling deeply, Maeghan's brow furrows "Lets wait on that then. It may be more than I am able to hand, keeping so many contained in place while laying them down one by one." Biting her lower lip, she looks over at her father "Find the source do you think Papa? See if the source is something we can deal with...like another necromancer." Her wide green-grey eyes, review each of her team and she offers a reassuring smile "The undead can be laid to rest. They can be taken down. I will not say that this will be a walk through the Palace gardens, but you have Feldanes and this is OUR duty. To make sure that what should rest remains at rest." With that the girl glances back to her father, "Too many for me to do all at once. Twenty I might have handled, a hoard...not so much." As she speaks Meg props her spear against her side and reaches into her shirt, pulling out a silver knife strung on a leather thong, letting it rest outside her shirt in easy reach.
"On the one hand, a good number of them were cleared out when we were last here," Alec says. "On the other hand, if there's a necromancer is behind this, that might mean there's probably more of them that've been created to replace them. So... how do we find out if it's a necromancer or not?"
Bit by bit, minute by minute, Dashton's smile cracks some. With each push he needs to give the horse to move a bit closer it wavers. "Your mother and I enjoyed a festival here once. Very nice people. It's a shame." As Balthus gives his appraisal, the Feldane gardener looks to him and takes it in with a blank expression, merely nodding once at the end. "Indeed. Find the source. Could be any number of things, but I won't begin to speculate just yet." Ysonde's question draws back the man's cheery smile as he turns toward her and says, "Oh, you'll know." His eyebrows bounce for a moment and he winks "But we'll more or less smell it about them."
Ysonde's other brow goes up as well as additional details are laid out. And from the look that she gives Balthus specifically, some of this is information she might've found useful earlier. But really she merely -looks- at him, even as Maeghan revises her sentiments about how to proceed, and after a few moments she lets out the very softest of long-suffering sighs. "No, I don't imagine anyone will be moving an entire city full of the restless dead on in the immediate future. I imagine they will find us, as we go deeper into the city. But more to the point." Her gaze shifts now to Zachary, who gets that same steady look, full of weights and measures and intently focused calm. "Would you like to be a little bit more specific about what you felt? Good, bad, animal, vegetable, fundamental force of the universe?" The last bit is entirely deadpan.
Zachary sniffs as they crest the hill overlooking the harbour proper, by periphery white stone buildings that look as if at least a couple were once taverns. No lights flicker there either. "Alrighty," he says with a sigh, looking over at Ysonde, "...I find things. Someetimes, things find me. There's an artifact 'ere... dunno what precisely of, but I can feel it's pull. Artifacts're never specific as ta what they are, 'til ya finds'm, but they ain't none of 'em easy. Fer me, I can feel th'pattern's pull kinda... bein' a bit squiggly around it. Could be that it's major. Could be that it's minor. Ain't no way of tellin' afore I get an eyeballin' on it. I just know it's >here< and it's pretty close." He gestures vaguely east and a bit south, "That directon vaguely." -- and looking that way... there's nothing obvious that sticks out like a beacon of craziness in the sad, silent world. The first zombie they see, is actually a dog. It's shambling along, pulling a complete lack of back legs along the ground, mindless.
Very shortly after that though, a rotten corpse of someone that was perhaps a baker or a cook, given the plumpness of the dead body, shambles across the street ahead. The horses? This is it. No further. Nope. Not going in there. NO!
Balthus lifts a gloved hand to rub his fingers thoughtfully in his chin whiskers, contemplating Maeghan's words. "Whatever happened here," he considers to the collected, generally, "Seemed to have happened fast. It's the reason I thought to come here to hit the food stores for supplies. Maybe we could find some oil store. Maybe we're far enough out to even find some black powder if we're lucky. Possibly contrive some sort of makeshift ordinance to dispense with large masses of them, clear us up just to deal with the remnants that get through?”
Then he frowns and calms his horse so much as he can, sliding down from the saddle onto the ground. He doesn't use the crossbow yet, holding that in reserve in his off hand as he unsheathes his saber, readying himself in cases the corpses come closer.
Alec dismounts when his horse will go no further and ties it to a nearby post. He seems much more comfortable on his feet, and is still keeping himself close to the pair of Feldanes. He draws his sword, although seemingly with some reluctance. "Sounds like a plan," he says to Balthus. "By the way, remind me later that I need to talk to you. I have something to invite you on to return the favor of you inviting me here. Twice."
"Well...that answers my question most thoroughly." Maeghan glances over at her father, holding the geldings's reins firmly "Hsht! Stay still you. It won't eat you sweet Pryderi. It'd have to eat me first." Exhaling the girl says quite practically, giving a bit of a lesson, "What you see there is, essentially what I would term a minion. It is dead flesh that has been animated by someone or something that possesses death magic. Do not feel bad, guilty, or sorry for doing what you must to take one of these down. There is no life, no spirit, no semblance of soul, no thought process capabilities...it is made up entirely of decaying flesh." There is a pause as she considers, "Papa, if we cut the source off these poor creatures will cease." There is a pause as she regards Zachary steadily, "What sort of artifact are you going after? Or rather...what sort of feeling is it giving off?"
Ysonde dismounts as well and gives her own grey mount a few quiet words, followed by a pat to his neck before she ties her reins over the saddle. "How intelligent are these things? Dead, certainly; are they likely to be drawn by loud noises?" Like explosions? "Or would we best be served by quiet progress through the street?" Another nod is given in Maeghan's direction. "Your artifact may be the source of the unrest here. However, if it is not, dealing with that might make extracting the artifact easier. Fewer unfriendlies to worry about."
"Artifact, eh?" Dashton looks over to his daughter, nodding in agreement with the assessments as she gives them. "Indeed." Now at the end of the riding portion of the journey, he slides off and ties up the steed. All the while, he keeps an eye on the wandering minion. Once the task is completed, he takes in a breath and begins moving over closer to Zachary, seeing as he is the man with the nose for artifacts. "I don't know about you, but I'm not much of one of believing in coincidences. I imagine that either the artifact is the source, being wielded by it, or was in some way created there.
Zachary nods toward Balthus. "Might be some stuff as might burn in the taverns too, jus' a thought," he observes, nodding a little at Dashton as he approaches. "Cow-inky-dink don't offen happen. Or rather, there's usually sommat ta be said fer knowin' yer probabilities," this is said with a wry grin, looking at both other patternwalkers in the vicinity, looking over at the corpses as they just... amble. He frowns a moment as something strikes him. "Ya... ya notice none o'them got an obvious cause o'death to'm? I mean th'dog's only haffa dog, but tha might actually've happened afore, or after whatever 'appened." He muses that, then thinks hard, very hard, about the 'feel'. "Whatever it is, it feels sad. And unhappy... which ain't quite the same thing. I mean, well... it don't feel chaosy or ordery or anythin' like that, jus... emotional."
The cook stops, stares at them all, makes a moaning noise and shambles closer, only to stop, stare at the greenish mist rolling in from the moors and makes a low, sonorous moan. In the sky, sheet lightning crackles of a sudden, also greenish tinged. EVERYONE can hear a bell tolling. A single, slow, dong, followed by another and another, clang. DONG. DONG. DONG. It appears to be coming from somewhere close to the harbour.
"Genocides often can be sad. I doubt coincidence as well, but we have no way of knowing. Whatever caused the unrest," suggests Balthus towards his conjecturing companions, "Could also motivated by the artifact, perhaps seeking it, itself. Something valuable enough to magically nuke a city? And the residents will turn from an obstacle to a natural hazard to other interested parties. Well, a supernatural hazard, rather." He sighs, looking at his timorous horse still held by the bridle and soothes it. "Shhh. It's alright Cupcake. That's it. Tons of apples for you, when we get back. That's right, all for you. Who's your favorite human? Good boy. I knew I should have brought some spare men to watch the horses," he grumbles. "Think they'll be safe if we leave them here in a bunch?" A pause. "And what in hell is that ringing? zombies don't ring bells. Do they? And what -is- that mist? I'm almost certain it's -not- supposed to be that color."
"Well, there's still that theory about a necromancer," Alec says "I'm pretty sure those can ring bells. As for the mist, well... I'm definitely not liking the looks of that. You don't need to leave wounds if you can kill through a gas."
Sliding down the side of her tall gelding, Maeghan rests the butt of her spear on the ground but keeps Pryderi's reins in her other hand, "I am quite fond of my boy here and would like to see him at the end of this quest. If no one has a problem, I would like to place a ward around our horses." Her eyes slide towards her father and then away, clearing her throat a bit, "It will keep them safe until..." Glancing up at the sky, "Sunset or sunrise...whichever comes first...it is not much but it is, perhaps, enough. Well fuck!" Maeghan scowls as they are noticed a lot sooner than she anticipated. Rushing, she leads her horse to stand beside her father's and loosely hitches him in a quick to pull away loop before striding toward the front of the group with her spear held confidently in her hands, giving it a slow twirl as if loosen up her arms, commenting "Keep talking please. Figure out where we need to go next...and more importantly why it just stopped. If I can cut it, I can lay it without a ritual...because rituals take time it doesn't seem we have. Papa, I am going to need my pack could you get it off Pryderi please?" Yes, a please...drawing room manners are acceptable in any occasion...the depths of Arden...battling the undead...or even in the drawing room. The silver knife bounces lightly against her chest as she purposefully walks to stop just alongside the frontman of their group...her eyes flicking from the minion and around to see if others are approaching. Inhaling, there is a feral wildness to the normally sweet girl's smile, her eyes lit up with excitement...for only the second time in her life able to truly open up the wells of her power. Upon her arms, the brilliantly colored tattoos come to life...the fiercesome feathered serpent begining to coil and writhe along her forearms as its jaws gape and silently hiss with a flare of fangs.
"Visible cause of death only rules out the most obvious circumstances. This city wasn't put to fire or sword, but how many ways can you think of to kill without leaving a mark?" Ysonde answers Zach after a few moments of study, then nods down the road at the poor hapless mutt. "That happened after. It looks like something might've fallen on its backside and it pulled itself loose. I rather hope the mist is not what spreads their condition." With this cheery thought the bell begins to toll and she turns her gaze toward the harbor. "Evidently we aren't alone, however. And who, do you reckon, is calling? Is that beckoning the faithful to worship, or someone calling out for aid?" And finally... "No." That's for Balthus' benefit, flat and grimly neutral. "But leave them untied and they might at least stand a fighting chance of getting away if something decides they look like supper." When Meaghan volunteers to ward them she raises an eyebrow, again. "Unless your ward will keep the dead at considerable range - say no closer than they are now - that may not be the best of ideas. If your gelding spooks, he might just pull that rail free and take it with him. Or worse." She doesn't elaborate on what worse, in this case, actually is.
The note made by Zachary about the cause of death causes Dashton to give a much closer look to the nearest walking body. He nods his head in agreement, "Indeed. The life was simply pulled from them. For their sakes, I certainly hope it was fast." His head spins toward Maeghan as she makes her exclamation, "Maeghan! Language!" Glaring at her a moment, he moves toward her horse and helps with removing the pack from it. Bringing it over toward her, his eyes stay on the cook. "Zachary, any sense if that bell is close to your artifact? I'm inclined to head in that direction, personally."
Zachary had been turning to the mists that surround them, flowing inexorably toward the city and off the cliffsides toward the ocean below, watching where the zombie had been turning to look, but the bell? Well, that makes him turn and gawp a moment, because like just about everyone else, that comes as a surprise to him. He makes a brief whistle, summoning the slim form of the stormhound from the moorland to his side and points toward the horses. "Guard," to add to the whole warding business no doubt. The flare of magical tattoos causes a glance to Maeghan's hands, then with a soft snort, he waves a backhand to the lass. "One of'm ain't a problem ya gotta worry o'er, it's a slew..." He squints in the direction of the bell chiming. "Yeah. Kind of. In that it's a thataway direction..." he waves that way, keeping an eye on the corpse, who now seems to be shuffling off in that direction, along with the dog, albeit in its case much slower, owing to a lack of back quarters.
The ringing persists. Then suddenly cuts off. There's a shriek like a Banshee in the depths of the night, then a long, slow moaning, as of a LOT of dead things slowly giving voice and moving... Lightning flashes again, briefly illuminating everything.
Balthus pats Cupcake the horse in departing and sets off after Zachary, blade in his right hand and crossbow in his left. He shrugs as he warily makes his way along behind, mindful for shambling movement and eager to get away from that mist. "As good a place as any; I'm along for the ride. But keep an eye out, in case we pass any taverns or storehouses or distilleries where we might come across the makings of some weapons. Oil. Booze. Whatever."
Alec tenses as the ringing of the bell stops, and he pulls his trumps from his pocket. With his sword in one hand, he shuffles through them clumbsily but eventually manages to pull one from the set and return the rest to his pocket. The one he pulled from the pack is raised nearly to eye level, but instead of focusing on it, he glances to Zach and Balthus. "How do you feel about adding Moxon to the mix? He seems to know a lot about explosions, and if there's anyone who can sense booze, it's him."
The warding circle is...within reason...whatever size I wish to make it and can sustain. But right now, I think it best I not start any rituals...it would divide my focus between two separate magics, not be good at this moment...even if it was possible." Maeghan replies to Ysonde. She spares a brief moment to glance at Zachary "Zach, I worry about every corpse. This *was* somebody...a person...a life. Now, it is an abomination that must be laid to rest...." there is a pause as she turns towards where there is the sense of a mass of these minions moving and stiring. Driving the butt of her spear into the ground with her right hand, the girl one by one eliminates her distractions until she is left with a space of quiet in her minds eye. Her resolve she allows to fill the space and then her magic. Her tattoos continue to writhe in a display of...dominance...confidence...a reminder to the girl that she is more than she thinks...that she is a survivor. Inhaling deeply, she reaches out with her left hand adapting one of her spells as she tries a hail mary to take control of the minions, "Your soul is bound, your power is gone. Your power is mine now and it is mine alone."
Ysonde offers no further commentary, but she also leaves her horse loose, reins secured to the saddle. She is armed, in that a cutlass hangs from her right hip, metal both pale and bright even in this baleful light, but it isn't the blade that she goes for as much as it is her holy symbol. Fingertips brush over the unicorn's form as she looks harborward, maybe trying to find the source of the ringing. And the shriek, when it comes, which leaves her frowning slightly.
"Not what I meant, Maeghan," Zach intones backward, with clearer ennunciation than usual, given the wariness of the situation. "Concentratin' on the one, when there's oodles thataway, is a bit see-sawy on the threat assessment. One can be..."
Stopped in its tracks it seems. The shambling zombie straightens, turning about to stare blindly at Maeghan, as does the dog. And then as does a cat in the building nearby, a dead crow with shabby feathers and no ability to fly, in the guttering of that house. From the moors, a decaying deer stumbles into view, followed by three cows and a rotting man with no right arm and a pitchfork clasped in its grip, a cart horse with its entrails spilling out behind it and a slew of rats. The rats are almosts the worst, seemingly bloated as if drowned...
"Uh," this from Zach again. "Moxon'd prolly be right good. He usually has a million surprises and a trick up his sleeve, too..." He glances at Balthus, nods to him and trots to pick up the pace a bit, zigzagging to the lean-to by what was the sign of the 'beaten nag' - a couple of bottles of something are tossed toward the soldier, corked and dusty looking, but also very high proof. A delivery, perhaps? Either way, "There's a crate here. load up." Don't ask how he knew it was there.
The bell starts to ring again. Hunting for it in the afternoon light, it can be zero'd in on as in what passes for the authority circle, movement of it swinging showing it comes from a tower there. Brass glints in the light that remains, in and out of view. A vague figure in the tower can JUST be made out by keen eyes, but too far to see anything but a blob in the shadow that's slightly darker than the rest. And in the streets? A lot of dead bodies, all heading that way. A lot. A lotta lot. Lots. Quite a few.
Alec nods to Zach and focuses on the trump he holds.
You concentrate on Moxon's Trump...
The contact with Moxon comes like an icy wind.
The image of Moxon is chopping wood near his cabin. Wary-eyed, as always, he asks: "Who's it?"
Balthus is somewhat less metaphysical about things. He has his saber in hand and has moved to the front of the group. He pauses for a second, eyes following Zach's gesture."It's a start." He begins shredding some cloth quickly, dousing them in the flammable fluid as fuses. His saber gets jammed into the ground, crossbow set aside for a mopment as he pulls out a couple of the bottles within. He grabs a few, hands a few more to whoever wants some. To anyone who does, he'll murmur, possibly obviously, "Don't use these closer than about ten or twelve feet." He stowes the bottles and re collects his weapons, moving back to the fore of the group, weapons ready.
The girl's knuckles as she grips the spear turn white. The young Feldane's face however remains relaxed and calm, the only other outward sign of the furious battle of wills that is occuring is the flare of her nostrils. Ten steps forward are taken, ten strides away from her group, ten strides closer towards the bell tower. The spear is regrounded with her right hand, with her left she gestures for the heart-breaking, shambling undead under her control to gather slightly to her front and left. In her head space...this quiet place of focus that she has emptied of distraction and refilled with her will and her power, is where Maeghan truly is. Whatever it is she is confronting, in the area immediately around her the temperature begins to drop as Death...in its beauty...in its majesty...in what it truly should be - a natural part of life - battles against something much fouler, darker, and unnatural. Again she calls, infusing her words with power and her will "YOUR SOUL IS BOUND, YOUR POWER IS GONE. YOUR POWER IS MINE NOW AND IT IS MINE ALONE."
To the image of Moxon, Alec is in a dismal looking place, the scene bleak and long deserted. He's holding his short sword out, but once the trump contact is made, he glances around quickly as though reassuring himself that it's safe for now and then sheathes it. "Hey. I'm back in that place I mentioned, where I helped out with a supply run recently. You feel up to killing some zombies tonight?"
The image of Moxon grins. "... oh, almost always. Bring me through?"
Moxon appears suddenly, grasping Alec's hand.
Moxon has arrived.
Dashton's eyes widen at the reaction that Maeghan draws from the myriad of dead in their area. He turns to look back at her with a questioning look that only has hope for a positive answer, "All of these? You?" Seeing the contest of wills she is engaged in, his eyes widen and drop to the ground as he looks at the flow of life energy around them, then they return to the rest of the group. Any cheeriness disappears from his features as he reaches to his side and draws his sword from the scabbard, releasing the faintest sound of eerie whispers on the wind as he does so. Tendrils of spectral energy play about the handle, clawing furiously about his hand. "Try to mind the friendlies we have now as well. Also... We are quite probably on a blight. A path to the necromancer responsible will be important."
Balthus turns towards the freshly rainbow-lit Moxon helpfully, and in way of greeting, holds out two whisky bottles, each with dirty, flammable-soaked rag fuses to him in offering. "Good evening," he offers benignly, as well, before taking up his saber and crossbow, again, and moving back towards the column's fore.
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Author: Robert Held By: Dashton
Date: Thu May 19 09:47:01 2016 Focus: 3
Title: Doomwhisper
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Created via Blade of Feldane (REC-BF): power-token rechargeable special token-3 type-magic
Gift description:
These swords are the legacy of Feldane, requiring a little bit of the blood of the house in their construction. These weapons can take many forms, but they must be bladed and suited to hand to hand combat, with swords being the preferred mode.
Without expending the token, this blade can interact with ghosts and spirits as if they were solid, though it has no special bonus in that regard.
By expending the token when the sword is used to kill someone, their soul is trapped in the blade rather than passing on as it should. A sword can only hold one soul, and the presence of a soul in the blade grants no direct bonus, though necromancers might have a use for it.
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Secondary gift used: Bonesmith (NEC-BS): necro type-magic
Gift description:
This bonecrafter has learned to make bone items of extraordinary resilience, suitable for applications that would ordinarily require metal, such as weapons and armor. He has access to relevant recipes of this sort.
All tokens created with this gift should note the appearance of the item, which, owing to the bone nature, is different from the typical appearance of such recipe items; it's always obvious that the item is of bone, and it is clearly sinister. (If the original recipe notes that something looks shiny and heroic, for instance, the bone version will exude an appropriately evil look.)
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Token Description
The shape and silhouette of this bladed weapon are distinctly that of an ordinary short sword, with the standard double-edged blade, basic hilt, and length expected of the class. Where it differs is in the materials and construction at it's very core; this weapon has been crafted from bone. In spite of this, the weapon is every bit the equal of it's kin crafted from the best steels Amber and her shadows have to offer. On the hilt of the weapon, swirls of spectral masses can be seen. When wielded, these form into small spectral arms, each about the size of a finger, which all reach out from the weapon and claw furiously at the hand of the wielder continuously.
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No, no makeshift Molotovs for Ysonde. She does muster what might constitute a sliver of smile for Balthus as she declines the offer though. "No, but thank you. I do try not to set anything I might want to drink on fire, nor drink anything that might possibly be set on fire." Yon tower, however, pulls her attention right back again and her eyes narrow, as if to sharpen the long view of where the spire is silhouetted against the harbor, where the brass of the bell catches in the wan afternoon light. It is quite possible that she is attempting to ignore the Feldane, and the undead, but it is just as likely that she is counting heads of the shambling horde that turn toward that high point. It is, again, enough to make her sigh very quietly.
From the outlying houses of his blighted port town, more dead march. A pair of children, dressed for bed, their eyes blind. Their mother follows, dressed in household clothing, a rolling pin in her mottle-skinned grip. An old man and a younger man that could be his son, come from the coaching house of the in, dressed in ostler's garb. From the inn, a man and two women that look as if they could be amberites from thier attire, move to join the array infront of Maeghan. And then another shriek in the air, cuts off the 'powerflow' from the Feldane to the horde. This it seems may be the lot of it but there's now a feeling of anger in the air... nebulous and rather directed in this direction. From this higher point overlooking the port town below, those looking can see the horde, gathering around the authority circle tower, banging on the stone and at least half turn to look up the hill. Their eyes flash eldritch green, the colour of the mists that roll in. The colour of the lightning that tinges the grey clouds above. A shadow passes over the ground from on high, coming from the screaming maw of the 'yawning man' on the cliff-side - a thing with diaphonous, trailing vapours that seem as wings. It circles once, then sweeps down into the mists, too far to gain more detail on it. The bell continues to ring. DONG. dong. DONG. dong.
Zachary nods slightly to Balthus, taking a couple of molotovs and rather ignoring the gathered infront of Maeghan himself. It's eerie. "Uhoh... so, who wants ta take the hundred odd on the left whilst i take the hundred on th'right?" he jokes.
Moxon salutes Balthus with a gigantic grin. "Oh, most heartily obliged, sir. Most heartily obliged indeed!" His eyes fairly twinkle with happiness as he makes rapid, practiced calculations -- and uses the hand formerly patting Alec's shoulder to pull a firearm from the small of his back. Thinking. Think-ing.
Balthus snorts towards Ys. "We truly need to culture your palate further, m'lady," he muses wryly to her as they go. The Feldanes? They get glances, but his allies presently are just as creepy as his foes, so he keeps his attention towards the fore, where they head. He turns to explain towards Moxon with a nod over his shoulder, summing up helpfully. "My pleasure. Okay. Situation. We're following him," as his blade's tip points towards Zach, "Though we're not sure towards what. As we go, we watch them," he point's illustratively towards Dash and Meg, "Being spooky. And we kill them," with a final gesture towards a distant, animated, slowly shambling corpse, "When they get close." After a pause, he adds, "I'm not being a smart ass, that's really just about the size of our plan." Then? Wow. He sucks in a buttressing breath, unclasping his cloak to let it fall, and sighs it out, readying himself besides Zach. "I think you offended them," he comments, mildly, towards Meg. Difficult to tell if he's joking.
Alec nods in greeting to Moxon after pulling him through and then returns the trump to his pocket with his others. He then draws his short sword again, looking toward the planners as though silently seeing where they want him.
Moxon's toss is lighthearted. Some may go so far as to say "cavalier." Like a bowling-pin, the cocktail sails end-over-end in languid slow-motion into the horde. Moxon waits, squinting -- his lips move in, of all things, counting. 'Three, two, one...' *FOOMP!* a single shot rings from his pistol. Surely one man, one bullet, one pair of eyes can't be so damnably precise...
Balthus wades in, delivering stabby labotomies towards those that come within arm's reach, keeping a little sector besides the others clear. A thurst catches an eye socket. And another. and again, rapid succession; like one does. His blade caught on that third one and he has to jerk it free hard, carrying the motion to decapitate a fourth. It thre him off, so he hefts that crossbow in his off hand. *Thwank* Then he drops it, sliding out a one of the bottles as he jams his blade through another's head. *Clank-crash-fooooosh* Then a small swath combust.
"Well, I suppose someone needs to go up the middle..." A twinkle of madness appears in Dashton's eyes as he grins with what could be glee. His sword down and at an angle, he launches himself forward to the throngs of undead. Just before he reaches the group, the gardener cuts diagonally left, his sword coming up and across one poor chap and dropping him instantly. Dashton himself drops down artfully to avoid an incoming arm and then pops back up with a rising strike against another lifeless body deeper in the mass, curving it and taking it's head off with a smooth, surgical stroke. His direction changes suddenly with a twirl, heading back toward the driverless body that had swung at him earlier as he skewers it in the chest and then kicks off of it to head straight back to the center of the group. Each zombie takes a single stroke to kill completely as he cuts a path through them, seeming to dance about gracefully in the midst of a horde.
Alec follows Balthus into the melee, swinging his sword with light flicks and ducking and dodging any blows aimed his way from the hordes of undead. He is, however, too concerned about the harp strapped to his back, and when a blow nearly strikes his instrument, he overcompensates in his dodge and stumbles, quickly losing his previous rhythm and starting to struggle against the numbers.
With a sum total of approximately twenty-eight assorted large animals and humans along with a slew of rats under her control, Maeghan feels the clip of the powerflow and gives a shake of her head as if to clear it as the immediate battle of wills for the minions is at least in a semi-recess. Her nose and her mouth makes a moue of distaste, "Evil...malevolent. This is what I have trained my entire life for." Glancing at her father, the young woman nods "You have the sword ready? When the way is cleared for you to reach the necromancer be wary, he is powerful. I know not how he managed to evade the Feldanes for so long." The girl looks towards the others and inclines her head "As needed, mine will act as shields and attack as well." Inhaling deeply, settling in her 'quiet' place, Maeghan takes her spear with both hands and begins to twirl it murmuring nearly inaudibly to herself "And this is for you Stuart! The power is mine and mine alone." Like a mantra that is repeated, she and her own group of shambling undead move forward into the mass. The halberd on the spear flashes in the eerie light she and her minions plunge forward. As her minions begin to fall - the poor dog the first to succumb, and her own spear inflicts wounds she calls out, "Your soul is no longer bound, your power is gone. The power is mine now and it is mine alone. By my word, by my blood, and by my power be laid to rest, no longer to rise. So mote it be." The words are repeated as her cold power shimmers in the air around her in invisible energies.
Ysonde does not wade in, but does not have to: the tide of the undead comes to break itself upon their living shore and she appears ready, more or less. The cutlass is drawn and she braces for the inevitable impact, wordless still as a small mob emerges from between two of the buildings. Small indeed, as several of them appear to be children, slow and blind and - what was it Zach said? - sad. This appears to catch her off her guard and it sees her falling back a couple of steps, which puts her in the unenviable position of having to stab and decapitate without any of the pleasure some other people might take in this task. Hers, rather, is grim and surprisingly clean. Black blood and bits of flesh fall, but she and the blade keep quite clean. It is the only little mercy there.
-------------------------------------------------------------------[ ccp ]----
Author: Shane Held By: Ysonde
Date: Sun Oct 24 08:03:51 2010 Focus: 6
Title: Celeste's White Cutlass
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Created via White Blade (ROO-WB): power-token rechargeable special token-6 type-order
Gift description:
This is a perfect blade forged from a whitish metal. Its surfaces gleam with its purity, and it always remains unstained; blood runs right off it. It never needs sharpening or polishing, although it is not indestructible.
Light gleams perfectly from its surface. As long as there is some ambient light in the room, the blade glints faintly, enough to ensure that a fight is not done entirely blind.
This weapon is the bane of Chaos. Creatures from the Black Road or otherwise of Chaos will burn when cut and die dramatically if unnamed NPCs, and bleed fire if cut and be more badly injured if named NPCs. PCs who are Black Road creatures (BLK-CR) bleed fire if cut, but this is simply color.
When the character is actively wielding this blade, this 6-Focus token may be expended to eliminate a consequence that has resulted from being the target of the use of a Chaos power. This includes a normal combat +compare loss to someone who is using Strength of Corruption (BLK-SC), Strength of Madness (CHS-SM), or Legion of Chaos (CHS-LC). However, this character must then take a consequence-equivalent of opening himself fully to Order's power; this likely manifests itself in extremely strong orderly compulsions that should be played up in scenes or have a dramatic repercussion.
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Token Description
This cutlass is typical of the design in most ways: short and broad bladed with a slight curve to it's cutting edge. The blade itself however is far from typical in it's whitish color that gleams with a purity of purpose and perfection that cannot be overlooked nor will it fail to glimmer given any light at all to work with. The hilt of the sword is protected by a simple yet equally perfectly wrought solid cupped hand guard. Wrapped around the hilt is a combination of shark skin and a fine metal wire that is interleaved in such a way as to provide a grip that won't slip even when wet. The only other distinguishing mark on the weapon is a small maker's mark at the base of the blade near the guard, a set of simple initials: SM.
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Zachary, in his turn, surges forward with Balthus. A close-quarters fighter at the best of times, at least the others get to see what he can be like when he gets focused and what power is in just his fists. Skulls cave, guts and ribcages are 'clawed' out, by cleverly applied 'tiger paw' style and the man is /brutal/ with what he can do with just his fists. His own molotov is tossed and sadly does little in a mis-aim and splatters the side of a building which illuminates the decimation at least, from above -- his forward progress is slowed though, by what ought to be an overwhelm of suddenly 'quickened' zombies, but the man doesn't go under. It's as if his boots are rooted to the cobblestones by some unseen means, merely surrounded and quickly disappearing from view, owing to the volume of individuals. He MIGHT require assistance on that front.
The molotovs that DID hit home, in particular the one by Moxon's clever aim, catch like a spark in dry grass. Those undead that are less soggy and considerably more tindery, go up like roman candles. A very literal thing in fact, given what a roman candle originally -was-... the stench overwhelming as flesh kindles and conflagrates. More and more catch, as do parts of buildings that are made of wood and not stone. Shacks and lean-tos go up in flames.
But there are more. More and more and more. Progress is made into the mass, headway toward that tower, calling its call into the sea air. Another crash of lightning illuminates the figure ringing the bell again, limned in green and... transparent. It -seems- to be a giant figure of some kind, twisted and ugly looking, hunchbacked and depraved...
Balthus is eyeing that creature with the bell, looking around for where he'd dropped his crossbow and eyeing his chances of making some break for it, when he sees Zach wading epically into a bit of a problem, and Ys, as well. He puts a boot up into a zombie's chest and pushes, sending him back to flail and skitter and topple a few behind it into a heap, clearing him up for a moment, them tumbling into flames to kindle as a bonus. Then he ducks under Ys, sweeping an arm around her hips and hefting her out of the way, pulling back to interpose himself between the horde of flailing undead arms and Zach, only one free hand to wield his quite ordinary looking saber, dropping Ys there beside him as he pulls out his remaining molatov and *FOOOOSH*.
Moxon wades in after Alec, eyes alight for the boy's sword (and probably critiquing his form, silently) while taking judicious pot-shots at the larger and more-intact members of the horde. He slips one of his custom-milled throwing knives between his teeth as he braves the mob in search of the Harped One.
Alec has lost any semblance of form that he might have once had as his focus is now less on killing the zombies and more on just keeping them away from him.
Moxon shouts: "Can't call yourself a musician until you can kill a guy with a harp! Garrotte, boy, *garrotte!*"
She sees Zachary go under as she is spinning 'round to slash and then jab at a zombie trying to flank her and Maeghan is in agony, torn what her heart wants her to do versus what her head and her training tells her she MUST do. As she hesitates, she loses the large undead deer as it leaps between her and a large, at one time likely quite maternal, woman wielding a cleaver. Then out of the corner of her eye she sees Blathus moving and sweeping, aiding both Ys and Zachary, and is freed to continue moving forward. Glancing up in the flash, she sees the foul creature (the foe necromancer) and there is something inside her being that recoils at the monstrosity he has wrought. Giving a war cry, she continues to wade forward - her own group diminished bit by bit - the cleaver and arm removed with a downswing of the halberd, "Your soul is no longer bound, your power is gone. The power is mine now and it is mine alone. By my word, by my blood, and by my power be laid to rest, no longer to rise. So mote it be." Her chant continuing to ring clearly as one here, two there, in small groups, Maeghan lays these poor abused bodies to rest and seals them. There are times she has desired that illusive magic she has heard of - unsoiled - where one can look lovely in all circumstances...this is one of those times. Her black curls escaping her braid to whip about her soiled face in the stirring of her energies, decomposing pieces of flesh and other less pleasant things clinging to her. As she moves towards the next small cluster, she takes the time as she says her chant to help her continue to push away the distractions...the noises...the smells...zeroing in on helping clear a way for her father to get to the tower.
Two zombies fall over as Dashton Feldane flicks Doomwhisper across them and then he spins through a newly revealed pocket in the mass. "Keep it up, Peony! Almost there!" Kicking off of a former banker on his left, he launches himself to the right and drops his sword down and across the chest of a housewife. Landing cleanly, he continues his spin to bring the sword back toward the banker to decapitate him smoothly. Repositioning, he plants a foot and launches himself directly toward the tower with his sword making a quick series of X-shaped continuous swirls to slash through a pair of zombies. Spinning in place, he shifts the position of his blade in his hand so it points downward and then slashes it around with a streak of spectral energy trailing behind, downing another pair that had leapt toward him.
Speaking of foul, Balthus's snazzy dress uniform hasn't come out nearly so well as his chaplain's; streaked and splattered with black, brackish gore and ichor, singed here and there from brawling collisions with kindled zombies, his cloak and crossbow and left hand dagger all lost in the course of the fray. But, physically, he seems to have weathered it better than most, without apparent injury, at least. He quips dryly to Zach, as they fall into an impromptu fighting withdrawl, "I do appreciate your making my earlier operation seem so smooth in comparison." He looks towards the Feldanes, then, eyes rounding at them apparently continuing to advance under the circumstances. He seems incredibly dubious of the wisdom of this.
"Different circumstances," zachary grouses, nodding to Balthus at the rescue and putting his back to the soldier, an eye kept over the crowd as Dashton spins ever on and Moxon performs quite the quipping rescue. He nods toward Alec there and the ranger that is his uncle, catches a glimse of the potency of undead wielding power that is Maeghan and turns to the on-fire hordes of zombie masses. A few more punches land...
And then there's a pocket of space at the base of the tower. Stood infront of the door with her back to it, and her arms spread, is a woman. Waiflikee and pretty, with pale platinum blond hair, she looks like the sort of person you could say 'boo' to and there'd be a suitably girlish 'eek!' and possible fainting. She appears to be staring at the circle of undead and gaggle of heros as if she cannot quite fathom what she's seeing, eyes blue as blue can be, wide and lovely in her face. It almost -screams- 'Help me!' really.
Alec grits his teeth and tries to take a proper stance and struggles to get back into a proper rhythm again as the horde closes in around him. "That would involve unstringing the thing first, and I'm a little occupied right now," he calls back over the groans of the undead surrounding him. "Mind giving me a hand?"
Moxon holsters the smoking pistol. "Love to." He produces a knife for each hand and the dance begins -- if Rambo did ballroom competitions.
"Very different," Balthus agrees with Zach, managing to tease him deadpan even amidst the chaos. Once his wards are no longer immediately imperiled, he pushes ahead to try to take in some sort of protective position about Maeghan and Dashton.
No real life can exist in Blighted areas. Even now Maeghan can feel the tug of her life energies going to feed another source. "FU...errrDA...eerr" there are times when cursing feels most natural, but in deference to her paternal unit, the girl swears obliquely "freakinholydeath!" She flails a hand and gestures towards her minions, "Attack HER!" and points with will and with finger towards the delicate flower of - of course she'd be blonde and blue eyed - maidenhood who ISN'T all covered in goo. As 8 of the remaining minions head towards the woman, Maeghan notes aloud "No life exists in blighted areas. I don't care that to my senses she looks alive, she well may be...but that doesn't mean she is not the enemy. An experiment shall we say." And indeed, the girl focuses intently on what happens as her shambling minions head in the direction of the 'new arrival'.
Reaching the pocket before the tower, Dashton's pace slows for a moment as he sees the beautiful woman standing there. His eyes narrow as he takes a circuitous path toward her, spying this seemingly random perfect specimen. Old instincts nag at him, screaming from the back of his head before he find himself. Life sight dances all about her, watching for the smaller details there and the Lethem boy in him emerges with that old, fiendish grin as the facade drops, revealing the horrid, decrepit form of a soul vampire. "Oh dear. We're all here to help you get where you need to be..." His sword moves with a swift flourish as he stretches forward with a textbook lunge with Doomwhisper, aimed squarely for her chest.
As more of the zombies fall around him thanks to Moxon's aid, Alec is able to recover his previous footing somewhat and land a few solid hits on those still shambling around him. "Thanks," he says, giving a quick nod in Moxon's direction. He's a bit distracted with helping pick off these zombies to notice what's going on with the Feldanes and the strange woman, though.
Moxon says, "Come on, we should keep your friends safe -- that's how you earn dramatic rescue from unexpected quarters? Karma."
Ysonde keeps the rear guard. That works, right?
The young woman's eyes widen at the sight of oncoming sword and for a moment, she seems simply shocked and yes indeed, in danger of fainting. The minions she glances at, left and right, then? She simply grimaces, nose wrinkling and lips pulling back from her pearly white teeth. "Well, you just took all the fun out of it," she declares as the sword comes in toward her chest, both hands come out and catch it squarely, twisting it in Dashton's grip and shoving back against him with CONSiDERABLE force. It twists in his grip, but he is of a heroic bloodline and a feldane with a feldane blade at that! The short distance though, has her rising into the air above the group, hanging there like a spectre as a veil falls away from her form...
Her face is beautiful, that much is true. But from the waist down, her body is gone, her hands wicked clawed things, her entrails hanging in a bag of pulsing energy beneath her, diaphonous trails of ectoplasm forming a kind of set of wings about her form. Her stomach pulses hideously, as do the rest off the organs that can be seen. Not a lesser undead this: This is a greater undead. EvERYONE can see the moaning faces and tortured souls that surround her in a nimbus, fading faces of men, women, children, animals... all bound to a soul-eating vampire. She points at the heros, shrieks and the bell above tolls....
It seems to make her twitch a bit, as if the sound is repulsive to her somehow, or rings through something within her... and a soul detaches from the mass, with a voiceless sigh, fading away.
Balthus doesn't go after... whatever that is. Because this isn't his area. That? That is the sort of thing one leaves to specialists. So, Balthus takes up a position near them, keeping incidental baddies form their back as they handle.... whatever the hell that is. A strange undead burd is sliced from the air in twain, a running beast charging towards Maeghan is skewered, pinned briefly to the ground. A few man-things are cut down. He lunges, skewering a charging zombie that was running for his companions, tripping it up, tumbling, coming up straddling it, and stabbing it seven or eight times in the head. because that's the kind of night it's been.
Alec shakes some of the thick, dark blood from his sword and nods at Moxon's suggestion. "Yeah, guess we're carving our way back over to them first, though," he says as he turns. He freezes as he spots the big bad engaged with what Dashton has become, and then he shakes his head as though to clear it. "I...think I might have missed something," he mutters. Still, he raises his sword and starts to carve through the fray once more, his elegant slashes and skillful dodging back to normal for him. But as he carves through one of the man-shaped zombies, his sword becomes stuck. It takes a couple good, solid yanks to free it, and in that time, he's managed to become flanked by another human zombie and an undead dog.
Moxon tackles the dog. He doesn't "solve the problem metaphorically?" He tackles the dog.
"ATTACK!" Maeghan's hand swirls above her head as she calls on every one of the minions she has left to go after the abhorrent creature - as obviously her gut was right even if her reasoning was perhaps a bit biased that no one so blonde and clean could exist here. There is no holding her back, the girl wields her spear around her to reach her father...her sealing chant repeated with barely a breath between phrases. The chant keeps her mind clear and focused, it keeps at bay the nausea that threatens in the presence of so black and evil a death magic. She does not call out to distract her father, instead as she reaches the enemy lifts her spear in the air with her hands around the bottom half and puts her full effort into a swipe all the bits hanging down from the vampire and hovering above Maeghan's head "Alll I need...a CUT! THESE SOULS ARE NO LONGER BOUND! YOUR POWER IS GONE! THE POWER IS MINE NOW AND MINE ALONE! So mote it be."
Dashton stumbles back, barely maintaining a hold on the family cutlery in the process. His rear foot twists, digging in for better grip and his eyes refocus on her in time to see her begin to transform. The gardener launches off the foot, spins his blade in his hand for a better feel of the weight, and steadies his grip. Left, right, shuffle, leap! A hint of the ole' Upper City Two Step in his movements as he goes, sword leading the way toward the foul, undead beast before him.
Once again, his movement isn't swift enough as his eyes widen, catching the very visible reaction to what so many of House Lethem know well: pain. His form is broken, hers was better, and so his sword moves over her shoulder, barely slicing her, as a set of clawed fingers sink in through his ribs. Dashton's travels through the air are brought to a very sudden stop as his eyes widen further and he gasps for breath.
Alec slashes through the zombie in front of him and turns to try to counter the dog, but sees with relief that it's already been tackled by his uncle. He plunges his blade through the beast's head. "Thanks," he says. "I guess I still have a lot to learn..."
Moxon emerges from the scenery, covered in ... dog ... bits. He doesn't appear to have bitten back, at least. "I used to cower a bit, too. You'll grow out of it." He straightens his tunic, and a tuft of diseased hair flops out.
The bell tolls again, ringing another soul free from her personage, though at the moment, it doesn't really seem to be doing a whole lot. One soul per chime really isn't all that much when she's glutted on a city... A wicked smile blossoms on the vampire's face, cruelty in her eyes as she twists her hand within the confines of Dashton's chest, claws extracting their pound of pain, if not that pound of flesh. Where the sword sliced though, her flesh attempts to reknit, but it's a slow thing. "Oh, pretty man are you trying to free me? I don't want to be free, I quite like being..." *DONG, wince* "...satisfied."
The horde under Maeghan's control move forward reaching with weapons and grabbing fingers, teeth, claws and beaks, to attempt to pierce the creature's entrails as commanded. She swipes her other clawed hand down, swiping the brainpan off the carthorse, and making it fall. This does make a bridge for the rats to ascend though, squeaking and biting and gnawing.
Around Balthus and Alec, Moxon and Maeghan, the dead fall. They do not get up again, with the chanting from the feldane and the fires beyond still rage. Zachary is lunged at by a dead hound, then another, one arm incapacitated by the deathgrip of a zombie rottweiler and he resorts to kicking out, knocking the blocks off more. Then he freezes, staring up at the tower and the bell toller that is hidden inside it, "It's up there!" he shouts. And promptly gets brained by a cudgel in a dead fist.
Alec looks about at the state his friends are in, quickly judging the damage Dashton and Zach have taken, and then glances toward Moxon. "Head toward Zach?" He asks when he sees his cousin knocked in the skull.
Moxon does as Alec suggests, carving and shooting a path for the downed Ranger.
Balthus is playing out-field and it's a long-fly Feldane that he's covering, running and cutting down the stray zombie and undead thing as he goes. He moves for the fallen Dash and motions to Moxon, calling, "Zach is down!!" with the two of them too far apart for him to go after both. When the stately gentleman lands he calls out towards Ysonde, his medic, hoping she's recovered her senses somewhat by then. There's nother dog there, which he grabs by the scruff and beheads with a single swing and a splash of gore, another half dozen of the shamblers converging and being efficiently dismembered.
Looking up, Maeghan scowls "Well damn! Damndamndamn!" as she looks between up where the bell tolls and the greater undead and her heart constricts as she sees her father who has suffered such an injury. Apparently any regard she had for not swearing before the parental unit has evaporated in the face of the need to be three places...and then Zachary falls...four places at once. "Need to know who's in the tower! Get Zach safe! Fucking Bells! Bells are not my thing! Bells are Lara's thing..." Inhale, find the center...find the center...SWIPE at the vampire "COME HERE You HALFASSED NECROMANCER!" It is, entirely likely more would be said, but she instead edges around towards the door of the tower. Her minions continue to harrass and attack, the rats swarming and biting, whatever weapons the ones with hands can find and use are used.
Alec follows behind his uncle, picking off anything Moxon somehow fails to kill.
Blood spurts from Dashton's mouth as it fills his lungs. His eyes connect with hers as his lips curl into a maniacal, bloody grin to rival the vampire's. Through it, he barely manages in a raspy voice, "Girl, you're a little too forward for my taste." With Doomwhisper in hand and his eyes still locked on hers, he swings the blade up at the arm that has him in hopes of freeing himself.
Zachary sits up in the midst of a crotch-of-Moxon in the face, peering blearily at his surroundings with a headrub. "Grunt," yes it's said as he shakes his head a bit and kips up, nodding to the ranger for the rescue and jostling as once again there's a wall of dead flesh between himself and the door of the tower and its claxon bell above. He grimaces. "Moxon, can ya gimme a boost?" he nods upward at the tower, crouches and makes to take a running leap, hopefully with a shove from the son of Caine. There may be monkey-man action up the wall of the belltower...
The entrails of the soul-vampire in this godsforsaken town bulge outwards. A bubble f flesh emerges, lined with hundreds of lamprey like teeth and engulfs the head of a zombie cow, biting it off in irritation -- there is then a shriek as the feldane blade cuts her arm slightly, rendering Dashton on a one-way ticket to the cobbles below. Thankfully the dead horse softens the blow in a rather squelchy way.
Moxon's muscles strain, and he heaves Zachary as hard as he can toward the man's goal.
LAUNCH SUCCESSFUL! Watch the monkeyman scrabble on a stone tower.
Balthus pauses to help pry that whatever is still squirming off the man, before he gathers up Dashton over his left shoulder, still wielding his saber in his right, the weapon, like most of him by now, utterly smeared in disgusting, rancid zombie gore. Because he's trying to regroup and get some sensible order back into this chaos, the fuzzy tactics seeming to irritate him as much as the copious noxious fluids. "This is what happens," he grunts to the likely insensible Dashton, tossing a parry that sends a zombie limb flying off tumbling through the air, before ramming his blade right between the eyes and shoving the twitching corpse off his weapon with a thrust of his boot heel on the thing's chest, "When you enter into un-reconnoitered terrain without a clear plan and objective." He carries Dash with him as he attempts to catch up with whoever is at the front.
The stabs upward with the speartip do puncture some of the entrails of the vampire, spilling partially digested ectoplasmic goo downward on top of the rain of Dash. It does cause the greater undead to flap upward on her diaphonous phantasmal wings, hissing downward. Oops. That might not have been the absolute wisest idea in the universe, but then neither was slicing her with a feldane blade, /precisely/...
Success! The definition of the word has been modified heavily to include falling onto a dead horse after being skewered by a soul-sucking vampire. Contact with the squishy beast causes Dashton to once again cough out some of the blood from his lung and then promptly groans as he finds himself with a shoulder wedged in against the chest. Blinking furiously, the master gardener makes some sense of the world around him. From behind him, Dashton's raspy voice response, "I say! I thought I had a lovely little plan! Set me down right side up, if you may?" Looking over toward his daughter, he puts his strength into calling out, "Maeghan! Your minions! There are *other* bell towers in town!" Or. There were, before the fire...
One doesn't dismiss the advice of gardeners in such situations lightly, so Balthus carefully sets Dashton down.
Alec keeps an eye on the surrounding horde, making sure none of the zombies come and attack while Moxon is launching Zach into the air. Once seeing that Zach has successfully latched onto the tower, Alec turns his attention to Dashton and Balthus. "Are you guys okay?" He calls.
First foot down, stumble for a second, and then the other foot saves him with a hand still on Balthus' shoulder. Looking over to the man, he gives him a swift nod of his head in thanks and then slowly straightens up, trying his best not to look down at his chest. "I fear my tailor is going to be quite upset with me." Turning toward Alec, he nods his head once more and then raises his blade. "Shall we try this again together?"
One cut...one wound...it is enough and the butt of Maeghan's staff grounds itself into the gore-slicked cobbles, "Your soul is no longer bound, your power is gone..." She begins her spell...her chant, infusing each word with power, as the young Feldane tries to once and for all lay down this undead creature never to rise, "...The power is mine now and it is MINE alone. By MY word, by MY blood, and by my power...be laid to rest. SO...MOTE....IT....BE" Everything is blocked out...her father, the group, her minions, the familiar form of Zachary catapuled through the air - the girl's entire focus is on the repulsive vampire floating above her.
Too much power was expended in the battle of wills earlier, too much given to lay so many of the zombies to rest, for a moment the greater undead's attention is elsewhere as if to see where Dashton goes but then she recoils, whirling around as she feels the lash of Maeghan's power, "Your Blood?! If that is truly what you want you insolent brat!" Flying down at Maeghan her claws outstreched, the vampire aims for the young woman's head and face - to treat it as she did Dashton's chest.
At the last minute Maeghan's chanting falls off and she throws her right arm up and twists but the wicked claws meet flesh...meet bone and shred down the right side of the girl's neck..her chest...her arm. Skin flaps, muscles and tendons flutter, only by a miricle was Meg's carotid not punctured, but even so there is only a brief gleam of white bone before the bright red spill of blood gushes from her wounds. She tries to be stoic, she tries to live her life without too much complaint and without being a crybaby...but for this, the young Feldane lets out a shriek of pain. Staggering back, she manages to shift her spear to herr left arm, angling it in a sort of protective gesture as her right arm hangs useless...barely able to keep her feet.
MEANWHILE: LAUNCH SUCCESSFUL! Watch the monkeyman scrabble on a stone tower. "This so ain't as easy as I thought t'were gonna be," muttered by the ascending Zachary, particularly given the fact that there's still an aerial menace afoot and she's got very nasty claws! Not to mention she could feast on his soul! But the bitch is rather distracted by impudent children and the man looks back over his shoulder, sees what happens to Maeghan and the colour drains from his face. About to launch off the tower and down, the door of the belltower suddenly opens wide. A greenish haze hangs in the doorway, almost like a shimmering portal and turning, the vampire attempts to go in.... only to bounce off the coloured shimmer. She shrieks as another bell ring dislodges yet another soul.
Zach swallows, looks back up and scurries upward...
With a flick of his thumb, Dashton spins his sword in his hand. His eyes return to the vampire, studying her as he ponders his next course of action. The shriek of his daughter draws his attention immediately, cutting through to sear his mind and rattle his bones with more pain than the vampire could have hoped to inflict on him with her claws. "Maeghan!" He rushes over to her side, an arm wrapping around her and carefully working to help her to a seated position while motioning for Ysonde to come over and help her. For a moment his eyes soften and he smiles to his daughter, "Hey, you're okay. You did great. Hang in here with me, alright? Focus on that?" Reaching out, he makes an effort of barring her way from Death's Door.
Alec raises his sword at Dashton's call for unity and gives an uncertain nod, his certanty fading along with the color in his face as he watches Maeghan be attacked. His left hand starts to go for his trumps, but then he stops and gives another nod, equally as hesitant as the last but with a bit more resolve behind it, and he glances to Balthus, waiting to follow his lead.
Balthus stands there, gawking for a moment. He seems at a loss, uncertain and out of his element. Then he spots Zach descend opposite him in the tower's small space as the creature lunges murderously towards Maeghan. He gestutres as hastily as he Can towards Zach and motions Alec, there beside him, forward, to; a kind of synchronized dog pile with all of them attacking with gestured angles as Maeghan... well... distracts it. As The goes he reverses his sword in his grip, stabbing down as his free hand grabs a fistfull of the vampire's hair in his balled fist, not attacking artfully, but viciously; stab-stab-stab-stab-stab as he pulls hard, either drawing the vampire back towards him or pulling himself up onto it; one of the two.
Waving her good hand, Maeghan gasps "Ahhhhoowwwhhh...not gonna get rid of me so easy Papa. Should...be...barring the door for you." As well trained as some Mandrakes with a lot of hospital emergencies under her belt, the girl ascertains "Nothing vital...just...take it down...don't let it get in the tower." The spear is let fall as the girl closes her eyes to wade through the pain, bit by bit setting it aside so she can retain control of her minions and they are not retaken by the vampire. Chalky, a bit shocky, she opens her eyes and continues to direct the undead in her control, "Go Papa! You have the sword...be ready...use it."
-------------------------------------------------------------------[ f05 ]----
Author: Maereina Held By: Zachary
Date: Wed Jun 15 10:55:44 2016 Focus: 3
Title: Earthquake Gauntlets
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Created via Earth Shaker (REC-ES): epic-craft power-token rechargeable special token-3 type-magic
Gift description:
Forged, charged, and recharged in the midst of an earthquake, this blunt weapon holds a measure of its fury. Without expending the token, the wielder enjoys uncanny footing such that they are immune to color effects of knockdown or knockback while on any earthen or stone surface. Blows from the weapon are jarring; this is noteworthy, but largely inconsequential.
By expending the token outdoors and striking the weapon on the ground, the wielder becomes filled with earth's fury; the ground trembles with their steps, and a stomp causes a shockwave that can knock down foes or cause them to stumble. Swinging the weapon, they can tear up chunks of earth and send the shrapnel at their enemy. Such attacks are colorful, but resolved like any other attack mechanically. Blows are especially punishing, and broken bones, dented armor or weapons are reasonable consequences of the wielder winning a compare.
Expending this token indoors will not provide the above benefits, except that blows from the hammer are still especially punishing, and striking objects and surfaces can cause them to break and shatter dramatically. About a cubic foot of stone can be shattered in a single blow.
NOTE: A pair of gauntlets is possible, but both must be worn for the magic to work.
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Token Description
This matched pair of forged steel gauntlets is fitted to the hands of a single man. The rampant unicorn of the House of Oberon is etched into the hardened steel. Scribed around the wrists of each gauntlet in ancient Thari is the name Zachary.
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Still smiling as always, as if the two were having breakfast in the garden back at the Townhouse on an early summer morning, Dashton moves a few hairs out of Maeghan's eyes and says, "Ysonde's going to take care of you. Just hang tight and I'll be right back, okay?" A final nod is given to her words and he drops the barrier from the Door, turning back toward the vampire and wasting no time in launching back in. The gardener's left hand loosens his cloak, giving it a wing up in the air and temporarily hiding himself as he moves in. The cloth wall falls, revealing the form of Doomwhisper now arcing in toward the vampire.
Alec charges after Balthus, sword ready. However, his dodge isn't, and when those claws lash out at him to give him the same treatment they did Maeghan, he ducks too late. The good news is that he's saved by the harp strapped to his back. However, the vampire grips the strings in its thrashing and severs many of them at once with a sorrowfully twanging snap.
STAB STaBBETY STAB stab stab! The tragedy of the harp is piteous beside that squelcing and grunt-ridden violence. That might not have worked on its own and certainly the leaping tumbling mass of Zach coming in and missing doesn't help... his punch lands upon the ground and it seems this is enough for him to get very, very irate, for his other fist, ignoring the pain of the hound bites he'd received, punches down also. There is a powerful and thunderous KABOOM! It's enough to actually startle the vampire from her attempt to swipe at Balthus on her back....
And it certainly gives Dashton an opening for the strike of Doomwhisper to land with it. There's a look of sheer surprise as the feldane blade impales her right through her stomach and it coincides with the earthquake that follows the punch to the ground. The stones heave beneath the blow, an entire chunk of cobblestones leaping up with the force of it and hitting her slightly and without any consequence in the guts. But the really important thing is this: The quaking, rattling, rumbling of the world around them sets the other bells in all the other locations of the city to a sonorous chiming. Ding-dong, dong, DANG dong, dang, along with the continued sound of the one from above. It disorients her as the world rolls around, paralyzes as the blade strikes in and Balthus' blade impales with it. Sometimes, it's all about the timing.
From above, there is a sound like a sigh of relief, a long whisper of release on the wind and the greenish glow within the tower fades away as the Killing Blows cause a silent scream and the release of hundreds of souls to the door that was so recently barred. The zombies fall, one after another, after another, nothing more than empty husks, now that the one that made them by her soul-feeding, is dissolving into dust and ectoplasm, shrivelling up to a wisened, ugly thing...
Silence is sometimes just as golden as a new dawn.
Balthus keeps stabbing it as it shrivvels, then clubs at the puddle of ectoplasm a few times before he's left there, panting. He hadn't actually expected the last assault to work; more of a final act of defiance; going out with your boots on, as it were. So, he stands there, his mind catching up with the notion that he isn't about to die slowly and reluctantly, chest and shoulders heaving with his errant breaths as he collects himself.
Her eyes follow her father, watching him join the fray once more. There is an attempt of a proud smile as Maeghan continues to do what she can to block out the distraction of pain and the dizziness of blood loss as Ysonde cuts away shirt and leather enough to work at temporarily bandaging the upper right side of the girl's body. With the skin and muscle so shredded it is a matter of triage with the worst areas addressed first. Her eyelids begin to close and then, so that she will not pass out while her undead remain, Meg allows some more of the pain into her mind...a distraction...but one that keeps her alert enough. Tears roll silently down her cheeks and she grimaces, teeth grinding, as the earth shakes and jars. Just...hold...on...for a moment more, gasping her voice is hoarse coming out ragged as she struggles to form words and not cries, "Your...souls...are..no..longer bound. Your...power is gone...the...power..is..mine now.." the words fade and her head nods, but more pain allowed to explode in her mind and she straightens a bit, "..and it is mine alone. by my words...by...my blood...and...by my power....be laid to rest. so..mote..be." And finishing off the spell, and infusing it with the last of her resources, the young Feldane ensures these husks never again may be used, the girl closes her eyes and passes out from a combination of pain and blood loss.
With his blade deep within the chest of the vampire, Dashton again looks the creature in the eyes as it begins to fade. He doesn't have it in him to remove his weapon, but instead takes a moment to give it a bit of a twist while there is still some mass for it to hold onto. "Don't let the Door hit you on the way out..." The effort of more words disturbs the growing amount of blood in his one lung and causes the Feldane to spit up a bit of it on himself. With his eyes requiring more concentration to stay focused, he drops a hand on Balthus to steady himself, releasing his sword as he does. Squeezing the other's shoulder, he manages, "Look after her..." That said, he turns to the side and then falls into the pile of ectoplasm, heaving an unhealthy amount of his own blood there as he does so before passing out cold.
Alec watches as the vampire is finally slain, after having done pretty much nothing to help except maybe to give those sharp claws of its something other than flesh to dig into. He lowers his sword as he catches his breath, making a mental note that he's probably going to need to spend some time repairing his unfortunate instrument at best. He leaves the bandaging to Ysonde, although gives the pair of Feldanes worried looks.
Zachary glances to all of them, unconscious and in the good hands of the Mandrake cleric, he meets Balthus' eye for an instant and staggers into the belltower. After a brief time, he returns, hobbling from injury and blood loss, with something on his palm. For all that effort, what is there seems small. So small. Innocuous even: It's no bigger than a walnut and appears to be mummified flesh of some kind. A tiny... wizzened... heart in his palm.
"Somehow," the son of Julian states in a somber tone "...I know that this is just the beginning. This ain't the only one..."
The end. Or is it?
------------------------------------------------------------------[ f2x ]----
Author: Zachary Held By: Zachary
Date: Thu Sep 1 09:10:02 2016 Focus: 3
Title: Chuhaister's Heart
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Created via Shadowfind Artifact (PAT-SA): power-token special token-3 type-pattern
Gift description:
This character has the ability to shadowfind magical artifacts. Each such artifact must be represented by a 3-Focus token, and its effects last for a single dramatic arc (likely the span of a single scene, but can span more than one scene for story effect, as long as the use is clearly short-term). After that, the token is consumed, and the artifact's power is gone.
Shadowfinding of this sort is general, rather than specific. The character has highly limited control over what he obtains; he can go looking for a general effect, but not a specific one, and there will be drawbacks to the artifact, as well. Moreover, the character will only have a vague idea of what the artifact does.
An artifact's effects are limited to story-color effects and the equivalent of a 5-point RPG gift, must be tied to its story, and cannot have any mechanical impact. (It is not useful in a broader sense, only one specific to its story.) It is generically "magic", and not tied to a realm/power (no Pattern, Trump, Order, Chaos, Tir, Dreamlands, etc.). Prop controllers of shadows can sign/amend the token to indicate specific effects particular to their shadow.
An artifact must have at least one drawback if its effect is purely color; an artifact that simulates a 5-point RPG gift must have at least three drawbacks. Every drawback MUST come into play during its dramatic arc.
An artifact must be found on-screen, and at peril. The other scene participants should sign the token. An artifact should specifically have a story; it must appear dramatically, have that story play out, and then have its use ended. This is NOT the way to obtain something for more general use; this simply facilitates the ability to tell stories about items.
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Token Description
This is a small thing. So small, so innocuous. About the size of a walnut, it is wizzened and hard, but looks as if once it was organic and resembles if very vaguely, a tiny mummifed heart, though the material appears to be almost wooden in characteristic. It must be swallowed and picking it up, the holder is compelled to do so. When swallowed the heart draws the swallower to other fragments littering shadow that are connected to itself: This can be resisted, but the swallower is always aware of the other items.
POWER: The heart draws the user to other fragments that are connected to it. A side-effect of this has a beneficial side-effect that allows the user to sense nature's unbalance ONLY IN THE SCENE/ROOM HE or SHE IS IN and is a much lesser effect than the RPG gift NAT-SN.
DRAWBACKS: 1) The user is physically hurt by the unnatural. This can be a physical wound that will be minor but will not heal, a mutation that is natural (and treelike) in manifestation, or a physical addiction that must be fullfilled until the issue is served, e.g. eating corpses, or consuming earth, something that will harm the character if perpetuated. 2) The user will suffer flashbacks, psychologically traumatic, of the events of the Heart. They may or may not be helpful to plot and should be used to further story purposes. The heart was once living after all and belonged to something... 3) Cold Iron and Fire will burn the character as precious metals will burn a Weir. This can be healed with Toughbit at twice the rate it normally would (partial vulnerability). (NOTE: all effects will eventually be reversed unless something prevents this process, once the story-arc of the heart and its other constituent parts has been concluded)
Balthus blinks a few times at Zach's find, his face slack, expression still somewhat numb. His brows tist but after a second, he shakes his head, looking to back to Zach, shrugging. Though he doesn't doubt the man, the significance is lost on the wholly non-mystically inclined soldier. But, he nods at the more part, lifting his non-sword hand to scratch at his head. "It looks like just another zombie bit, to me." Of which, not incidentally, they are all covered, except for Ysonde. Somehow. Then he sheathes his blade and mumurs, "I'll go get the horses."
