Tales around the Campfire

[Sparky]

"Explain..." he rolls the word around in his mouth, "Alright," he says slowly, "I know what your friend sees," white shows all around the scholar's eyes. "I can read it in his eyes. He gazes upon the face," he draws out the word 'face' into a sinister hiss, "Of the Nightlord." The scholar points through the wall at a place roughly analagous to where Stumbin's gaze is fixed, high and towards the north.

"He gazes on the death of many thousands of innocent people." His eyes roll and he shudders, half collapsing onto the table, mewling and cowering and looking lost. The girl rushes to his side. Her touch brings him brings him back to himself and he continues, "This," he gestures weakly at the massive wooden table, "This is the key to finding and fighting the Nightlord. Place your left hands palm down... there isn't time for argument, you must trust." He looks from Mustafah to Hella, Elial, Stumbin and rests heavily on Slate. "Trust is the Nightlord's greatest foe."

Outside a shrieking cry from a thousand inhuman throats can be heard, growing louder and louder. Shouts, the human shouts of Killith's residents, can be heard as they turn out into the streets, afraid. Stumbin stares, still reciting and then, suddenly, throws his head back, crushing his hands to his temples with a cry, and falls to the floor, scythe clattering to the ground.

 

[DrZombie]

Oh Realleah, protect your humble servant in this hour of peril. Well, humble, it's a matter of opinion, really. And I am your servant, well, most of the time. But surely this is DEFENITLY an hour of peril. More than an hour, by the looks of it.. Better put my left hand on the table, anything is better then facing whatever-it-is that's outside.Quick as a snake Mustafah rushes over to Stumbin.He draggs his unconcious, plated body closer to the table, lays the scythe on the body, wraps Stumbins arm around it, takes a good hold of his shoulder with his right hand and puts his left hand on the table. "This better work, mister, or we're in deep .'

 

[doghead]

ooc: oh, what the heck. Don't know if you don't try. And if Mustafah is going to drag along his friend ...

Hella glance over at Dross as he crouches watching her every move. With a snarl she leaps down and dashes across to the corner. Grabbing her gear, she slips the bag and sword over her shoulder, and her hand into Dross' collar. "Heel!". Lightly dodging between the furniture she brings the dog along side the table. Wrapping her arms around the dogs neck she whispers quietly in his ear. "Just like we practiced. Easy. Do for me and we will have great adventures together."

With that she leaps lightly onto his back. Keeping one arm around the Dross' neck, she reaches out and plants her left hand palm down on the table. "Trust me," she whispers quietly over and over into the dog's ear.

 

[WizWrm]

Elial scowls. "That sounds foolish and romantic to me. Who's this Nightlord fellow anyhow? I think I've read this one already...."

He suddenly shivers involuntarily at the screeching cries, then starts at Stumbin's sudden collapse. Elial fingers his axe nervously. "I haven't seen anything yet I couldn't...." he trails off.

Elial swallows and starts again. "We'll all be fine." He shrugs, then removes his left glove and places his hand on the table. "Er, just to be sure."

 

[Sparky]

The tension of the moment lends a strength to Mustafah he never knew he had and the unconscious Stumbin seems light as a feather as the rakish young man drags his comrade bodily across the floor, scale armor, heavy robes, gear and all.

Dross' hackles are still raised in a nasty looking ridge all down his back. He's carrying his tail low and wags it slightly at Hella's reassuring words. He flicks her face with a brief lick before resuming the deep chesty rumble that is his growl.

The girl's mouth purses and her brows draws down at Elial's dismissal of her master's words as a romantic fable. One of the first expressions besides anxiety and fear she's displayed yet. She nods to herself as Elial tugs off his glove and puts his hand on the table.

While the table appears perfectly normal, it feels deeply carved. The effect is unsettling.

Mustafah:

Spoiler

You feel simple geometric forms, ordered patterns.

Hella:

Spoiler

You feel a lone raised shape under your hand surrounded by smoothness.

Elial:

Spoiler

You feel sinuous, organic forms.

The shrieking and screeching grows louder and a great rustling fills the air. The cries of the running village folk rise and doors slamming sounds carries low under the din. Dull thumps and crashes sound outside and the fire swirls in the fireplace, disturbed by an errant wind swooping down the chimney.

Stumbin moans, eyelids fluttering. He mumbles incoherently, "...so many... ...giant. Bat... ...big..." he groans, "...glowing..." Twisting, he wrenches his shoulder against Mustafah's grip and pain snaps him awake. He lurches to his feet loosing his hand from Mustafah's. He looks at the scholar and his companions blinking, down at Hella, her hand twisted in Dross' collar, pack on her shoulder. "Wha... Where are you, w-we g--?"

The heavy door of the Oak and Horn slams open and a few wild eyed folks tumble in with a swirl of feathers. Their pale faces are scratched and smeared with blood. Pale bodies dart and flicker through the slash of light that falls from the warmth of the Inn's front door. The racket outside is deafening and Sharra and Kennet rush to the door together to close it against the madness outside. They look at each other, worried expressions on their faces and stoop to help their neighbors.

The scholar's white-rimmed eyes now seem more fearful than mad, "This is not the time for revelations... " His hand lifts and sweeps across the table, reaching out toward the frightened villagers. His assistant swiftly props herself up under his out-stretched arm, making herself into a living crutch.

"These people need help," she says.

He nods, sagging as he leans heavily on the tall girl, "They will need more than help before this night is done..."

Will saves for those whose hands are or were on the table.

 

[Ferrix]

Slate grimaces at the commotion, his cold pallor deepening, and he tugs one of his soft black gloves off and places his long-fingered hand upon the table alongside the others. He looks to the mumbling priest alongside his other companions, then to the havoc outside the windows, his face drawn without emotion. It's a cold night indeed.

 

[doghead]

Hella.

Hella blinks a couple of times and looks around the room slightly nonplused. She had been convinced that they were to be transported away. But here they still are. She takes her hand from the table and gives Dross a big hug.

ooc: Will Save: 10.

 

[Sparky]

The cringing village folk on the floor, two men and a woman, cower away from Kennet and Sharra with anger on their faces. One, a man in his middle years, points savagely at the inn keepers, "You! This is your fault - with acursed your 'Inn,' bringing in all manner of strangers!" The man finishes with a sneer and gives everyone in the room a healthy dose of The Hairy Eyeball.

The man's face takes on a reddish glow. It takes a moment for everyone to figure out that it's not his face that is glowing, but light shining in from the north-facing window. The light flickers as forms outside continue to dart past and make thumps against the sturdy Inn.

 

[DrZombie]

Mustafah

Hairy eyeball , mmmmh, see how you like a dose of nostril then. Realleah, why am I bothring with this villager. Mmmh, that looks like a nicely filled purse. Musn't forget that.
Head held high and slightly backward, mustafah looks down his nose at the newcomer. "Well, mister, it's your village that's being overrun by 'eehm, whatever it is thats overrunning it, and by the looks of it torching it as well, not ours. If you're nice, we'll help you out, if not, you're allways welcome to go back outside and have a nice discussion with those things. Now if you'll excuse me." He says, as he turns around and takes out his razorsharp , ivory-hilted sabre-like rapier "I've got some undead arse to kick."
"Wakey wakey stumbin, cm'on, now's not the time to sleep, we need your big impressive macho-scythe."

Will save nat 20, I should have saved it for the fight.

 

[WizWrm]

Elial snatches his hand off the table as the door flies open, grabbing his axe from its leather harness on his back. He glares at the accusor. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he growls, then jerks his head towards the door. "Duty calls, I suppose." He dashes out the door.

Will Save: natural 1.