The Crusade Against the Shade [IC] (GROUP 1)

[MountainKing]

"Are... are you serious, Cyreon?" Robilard said, sounding a little shocked, maybe even hurt, as he arrived with about four more able bodied carpenters.

"Look out there, friend. There are hundreds of undead, and they're definitely here now. This gate must be strengthened, but I have no skill with woodcraft. I think, we ought leave a few of us here to defend the men as they work, while the rest of us return to the temple and see what that priest has to say..." the bard trailed off idly, shaking his head and muttering "A few score, he said..."

[Silkenfist]

Cyreon undertakes concious effort to keep his worries at bay and his voice relaxed. Oh, there are probably even thousands of them out there, the priest had mentioned that. But the gate has survived their assault more than once. You carpenters are well needed to add a few boards but after that, I'd recommend you return to your homes again. We will protect you for the time being.

[Another_Poet]

Plumm does not disagree with the druid, seeing more strength in unity than in loud voices. He keeps a watchful eye over the fence and the workmen, waiting to see what threat next rears up....

[MountainKing]

Robilard suddenly brightened.

"Say! You're correct, Master Cyreon! The priestly chap said there would be only scores of undead in the Tomb! We ought make haste at once, while they are still roaming... but of course, not until we are sure that this gate will hold."

[MammonAzrael]

Simon

Looking around, Simon knows there is little more he can do here. "Perhaps the bard is right. There appears little more we can do here. The dead are simply too numerous for us to fight. Perhaps if we find the source of their animation we may be able to stop them once and for all." With that Simon begins double checking, making sure he has everything ready and with him.

[Another_Poet]

Plumm

Plumm looks back and forth between his companions.

"We mustn't leave the village undefended!"

[Silkenfist]

Cyreon sits on the wall cross-legged, resting his chin on his knuckles, not paying any attention to the undead behind him. I would like to agree with both of you. I agree with Plumm on that we can't leave just now, knowing that another breach in their defenses just might happen. However... absent-mindedly he takes a thorn from his robe and twists it between his stubby fingers. Robilard is right on that we can't waste time. As soon as the Horde moves on, we will need to make a move against the source and destroy it before they reach the next town. He twists the thorn again and presses it inside his palm to have the pain distract him a bit from the idea of what one of the flying beasts would do to a town without seasoned defenders in it.

[Another_Poet]

Plumm nods. "That's a plan I can agree with. Though I see no reason not to wipe them all out now while we can, and then head to the source."

The little gnome scrambles back up onto the rooftop and begins firing arrows.

((Regord, Plumm is going to fire 1 arrow per round until there ae no more arrows. 1d20+7, 1d6+2, 20x3. I didn't write down how many arrows I have so I'll assume a low number, let's say 30. Unless some more urgent threat appears, this is all he'll do for 30 rounds.))

[Regord_Silentflame]

After several long hours, the undead seem to stop appearing from over the horizon, and several hours after that they finally start to disperse. Soon after, the larger part of the horde is hundreds of feet away, and only a couple of the creatures remain anywhere nearby, roaming aimlessly.

[MountainKing]

Robilard at this point had grown bored; to pass the time, he had occasionally strummed a few notes on his lute, or hummed a snatch of song or two, but for the most part, he had stared at the undead beyond the fence, eyes filled with unease. Finally, he spoke up.

"Well friends, they seem to have begun to wander once again... I could attempt to draw them off while you lot sneak out of the town... or shall we attempt to go around, and then locate our route that way?"

[Another_Poet]

Plumm

Plumm seems disappointed that the horde was moving away. When he ran out of arrows he started throwing rocks, and he seemed to hope the undead would stay there and get pelted until the last one was dead.

"They've barely moved away yet," he says in response to the bard, "And my steed won't be with me much longer today. We should rest one more night here, make sure it is safe for the townspeople, and then depart in the morning."

[MountainKing]

"No argument from me," the bard said quietly, staring at the shuffling horde, "We'll all probably need to be at our best before trying this anyhow."

[MammonAzrael]

Simon

Simon settles down after the initial excitement and goes back to reading. Once the undead have for the most part departed, and the group starts discussing whether or not to stay the night, he pipes up again.

"We should most likely wait til morning, not only so we can get a good rest, but it's likely that there may be creatures out there that are far more fearsome in the dark hours. Safer by far to venture out with the sunrise."

Spoiler

Show

If we decide to spend the night, Simon will heal himself up with his Healing Belt before bed.

[Miraqariftsky]

Flexing arms sore from hammer-hurling and blow-blocking, Vingsturr stretches then takes out his waterskin, sips then offers it to his comrades. Polishing the head of his hammer with a rag, he grunts out, "Aye. Them's be right. Merhest tah we'd'a'be marchin' fuirth a' crack'o'dawn"

[Another_Poet]

((Fast forward to next day?))

[MountainKing]

OOC: I'm ready to do the Time Warp again.

...it's just a step to the left...

[Regord_Silentflame]

(alright then, we're doing the time warp)

Since the undead have wandered off, you decide to take an early night. After a good rest, the sky is lightening, and dawn will break soon. There are guards along the gates, taking watch to protect the city from the small numbers of undead who still wander by, but most everyone else is sleeping.

[Another_Poet]

Plumm

When Plumm wakes up, he spends bit of time chatting with the innkeeper's wife (or whoever makes breakfast in this place) and tries to get the latest gossip, wondering if the pegnant woman's health is okay and if she has given birth yet. He also asks whether anyone else from the township was caught outside when he horde showed up.

[MountainKing]

Robilard slept fitfully that night, as dreams of hundreds of roaming undead catching him, even when he was magically bewitched to move quickly, pestered him in his sleep. The bard awoke at dawn, sunlight piercing through the haze of his closed eyelids.

After dressing and gathering his gear, Robilard headed to the mainroom, ordering breakfast; fresh baked bread, soft white cheese, and smoked ham washed away with raspberry cordial. Without a word to anyone, the bard tucked in, battling the dark thoughts that this might be his last real meal... ever.

[Another_Poet]

Plumm

((Let's see if I notice...))

sense motive - (1d20+2)[14]

((Nope))

Plumm waves a greeting at the bard but keeps chatting with the inn staff.

[Regord_Silentflame]

Plumm: You hear that the woman has not given birth yet, but that they are expecting any day now.
So far, there have been no reports of anyone being caught out with the undead, but sadly, many of them had to leave in such a rush, they left their herds behind.

[MountainKing]

After a glass of cordial and a good breakfast, the bard's mood seems to have improved. Waving back at Plumm, he gathers up his traveling pack and moves to the gnome's table.

"Master Plumm, remind me to purchase a dagger before we depart... arrows and rapiers are all well and good against goblins and their foul kin, but they do little against the sodden flesh of the undead... may I leave my pack here with you? I... need to go... well, pray." The way Robilard speaks, it's relatively obvious that he's not an especially religious person, but still a man who values his spirit.

[Another_Poet]

Plumm brightens as the bard approaches him. "Off to pray? Well of course I'll watch your pack for you!" As the bard turns tio exit, Plumm runs after him and puts a hand on his hip. "Master Bard..." he says in a softer voice. "Remember, it's not a bad sign if you don't hear an answer. Sometimes it's enough that they listen." He gives a warm smile as the bard departs.

Once the bard is gone, Plumm will purchase 3 daggers and slip them into the pack, making sure they are visible from the outside. Then he takes a seat next to the gear as he makes his own prayers for the morning and enjoys the fresh air outside the inn.

((Subtracting 6 gp))

[MountainKing]

Robilard nods, smiling a little.

"Oh, I know, I know... I don't expect a whole lot from the gods, really... just... sometimes it's good to let them know you know they're there." With that, Robilard headed off to the town wall, clambering atop it and sitting with his lute across his knees. Hanging his head and closing his eyes, the bard began to play, a melody that wasn't really intended for anyone but himself and the gods, but he wasn't going to stop anyone from listening in.

Spoiler

Show

Dice don't fail me now... Perform check!
(1d20+13)[19]

[Regord_Silentflame]

Is anyone else in the party going to do anything?

[Another_Poet]

((Huzzah, game's not dead!

Nah, I'm just waiting & ready to depart.))

[Regord_Silentflame]

(well, it's not dead in the sense that -I- have not given up on it. Unless I hear from the other players though, I'm not sure what I'll do though. I may have to recruit new players, or I might have to merge some existing groups.)

[Miraqariftsky]

Looking up from his breakfast of bacon and barley bread, Vingsturr smiles at the others, baring pearly white teeth. Rubbing down his black beard of crumbs, he hefts his hammer, checks the strap of the knapsack slung across his back. The leather and rope responds to his knowing touch with a familiar tension. Arching a brow at his comrades, he says, "Sae thar ye be! Avarra, whan's be we gonest?"

[Another_Poet]

Plumm

Plumm is sitting with his back against the bard's pack near the open door of the inn, enjoying the breeze. "The poet went out to pray. When he comes back I think we'll be ready.... if the others are, too."

[MountainKing]

After a few minutes, Robilard stopped playing. He figured, if the gods didn't know what exactly his music was supposed to be saying to them, then... well, then they wouldn't be gods now, would they? Shaking his head and smiling ruefully, the bard stood up, basking a moment in the morning sun. Giving his lute a reverent kiss, he returned to the inn.

"Right then, off to our glorious, noble, and messy deaths!" Robilard said cheerfully, his tone making it quite obvious that he was kidding about the last part of his statement. As he lifted his pack, his eyes glanced over a set of daggers... that, hadn't been there when he left the pack. Glancing at Plumm, the bard half smiled and shook his head a little; he'd have to return the favor.