Session 23 (Part Four-A)
For the two people who are still reading this...sorry it has been so long. That ugly b*tch known as RL has Old One by the short hairs these days...enjoy!
The Long Race – Entry A
Cragen’s squat bulk blocked the top of the portico steps as the priest raised his holy symbol and invoked the power of Moradin. Violet light flared and fizzled as crackling black energy leapt from a darkstone amulet around Kyndalyn’s undead neck, parrying and defeating the dwarf’s turning attempt. Sextus and Rowan sent bolt and arrow into the press. Both missiles struck true, but barely slowed their moaning zombie targets. Drusilla, Junior Tribune Metallus and Optio Bato slashed and cut, chopping of pieces of dead flesh. The companion’s thin battle line sagged as the unorganized wedge of undeath slammed into them, lashing out with punishing claws and fists.
Sextus, recognizing the nature of the darkstone magic, cried out. “They are protected from the power of the Light!”
He grunted in pain a moment later death-hardened nails raked his face.
(DM’s Note: The party has encountered darkstone magics several times, usually with painful results. In this case, the darkstone amulets seemed to be providing turn protection to the undead band – in game turns, the amulet provided a limited number of “counter-turns” via an opposed roll vs. the cleric’s turning roll. A handy little item for undead bands facing clerics.)
For a moment, it looked as though the companions might be overwhelmed, until Quintus got into the act. The glowing pellet of a fireball, trailing sparks, cleared the front rank of zombies and exploded fifteen paces inside the ruined building. Flames roared through the undead, crisping some and turning others into burning, stumbling torches. A grim smile flitted across the sorcerer’s face as he refocused his will and gathered more magical energy.
Cragen struggled in the center of a zombie maelstrom, blocking some blows with his sturdy shield and shrugging off those that penetrated his defense. He raised his holy symbol once again, invoking his god’s name. Competing magics struggled and dissipated above the fray. The dwarf cursed and hefted his hammer to lash out at the resistant undead. A knot of zombies pushed passed the stalwart cleric and forced Rowan and Sextus back. The ranger abandoned his bow and drew the Old Man’s blade in one smooth motion, slicing it deeply into an already damaged zombie and felling it. Punishing fists pounded into Sextus to his knees, leaving the bard reeling and gasping.
The Emorians locked their shields and held their flank. Their gladii lashed out in unison and sent another corpse back to the grave. Drusilla tried to dodge away from a pair of rotting militiamen, but slipped on the steps and fell heavily. Iron-like claws dug into her flesh and she screamed silently in pain. Quintus cast a worried look at Drusilla, narrowed his eyes and sent another ball of flaming death into the rear of the zombie ranks. Fire roared out of the ruined doorway and the building shook, dropping unstable masonry into the melee.
The dwarf hewed madly with his hammer, staving in an un-breathing ribcage and knocking the jawbone from an unfeeling face. Fists and claws lashed out in return, buffeting the cleric and driving him back on his heels. Sextus pulled yanked a pair of gladii from their scabbards and helped Rowan send a zombie down, thrashing. The sightless eyes of Caro, a lanky lad with a pimply faced, stared at the bard with an empty, yet accusing glare.
Junior Tribune Metallus shout of victory as he finished off a smoking corpse was cut-off as undead hands wrapped around his neck from behind. Only Bato’s quick reaction kept the young officer from being strangled. Silent death had closed on them from several surrounding ruins and the companions soon found themselves compressed into a small knot, fighting back to back.
A clubbed fist sent Drusilla spinning into unconsciousness. Grasping claws dragged Sextus down with a cry of “Brother!”
Quintus cursed, half-turned and detonated another fireball in the midst of the new attackers. Bato and Metallus cried out as flames licked over their scutums, singing their eyebrows. The sorcerous flames ripped through the zombies ranks, felling half-a-score.
Cragen struggled against six undead that threatened to bear him to the ground. Behind the flailing zombies, the undead visage of Kyndalyn broke out in a feral grin. The dwarf knew he was doomed if they overbore him. Cragen managed to free an arm and thrust his holy symbol aloft.
“Moradin!”
Violet holiness contended with crackling black shadow. Suddenly, Kyndalyn staggered back, raising an forearm to shield his eyes. Shafts of glowing light pierced several zombies like roasting spits and they exploded in a welter of gore. Rowan seized the momentary respite to snatch up his bow and send an arrow deep into Kyndalyn’s chest. The Emorians dispatched several badly burned zombies while Quintus hammered Kyndalyn with arcane missiles.
Cragen shrugged off several more zombies blows and called upon his god once more. No longer protected by the darkstone power, another half a dozen zombies disintegrated, leaving the battered Kyndalyn with but a handful of followers. Hammer, arrows, mystical bolts and Emorian blades soon dispatched the survivors, leaving the party alone in the dead town amongst heaps of mangled undead returned to their natural state.
Cragen bent low over Kyndalyn’s corpse and stretched a shaky hand out to grasp the darkstone amulet. “Damn infernal powers!”
“No!”
Quintus and Rowan jumped forward in unison, knocking the dwarf’s hand away. Cragen looked at them quizzically. The sorcerer shook his head. “That’s a good way to get yourself killed, master dwarf.”
Rowan nodded and deftly sliced the leather cord holding the amulet around Kyndalyn’s ruined neck. “What’s this?”
The ranger backed away as the Constable’s features shimmered and changed, morphing into that of a dark-haired human man of twenty winters, with a stubbly beard and wide, dark eyes that reflected death. Quintus grunted and peered closer.
“Humph…remind you of anyone?”
Rowan nodded. “He favors that bastard Acrius…looks like he may be cut of the same cloth. A brother or cousin, perhaps?”
A quick but thorough search of the remains yielded no further clues to the dead man’s identity. Cragen soon had Drusilla and Sextus awake, functioning but unsteady. He mended several of the most severe hurts in the party and Sextus supplemented the cleric’s power with a bit of his own. Quintus sent Severus aloft into the night sky, willing the bird outward in concentric circles. He mumbled, eyes half closed, “What are we missing…a major attack to be sure, but the reports from Glynden reflect a force several times this size.”
No answers were forthcoming.
Rowan produced a lantern. “I say we continue north.”
Sextus looked doubtful. “But another ambush may lurk in the woods. I don’t know about you, but a zombified cat could probably make a quick end to me right now.”
“Har!” Cragen slapped the bard on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit, lad! Laugh in the face of danger…’nward, says I!”
The younger Scipio staggered at the dwarf’s well-meaning blow and muttered under his breath, “No pun implied at all.”
“By the light!”
The others looked at Quintus. The sorcerer held his palms to his temples, eyes shut, his face a mask of concentration.
“Fodder. Damn them…nothing but fodder! There is a distant light, several leagues or more to the north. It beckons to the bird. I think this was nothing more than a delaying tactic.”
He looked around at the ruins of the Glynden militia, frozen in the death and undeath, and spit. “They shall pay for this…let’s be off.”
The elder Scipio strode down the steps and headed for the Lords Road. For all his external bravado, doubt and a creeping fear gnawed at him. ‘Abigail, do you await me to the north?’
A turn of the hourglass later, it was Rowan that was cursing. “Damn them! This isn’t but a stone’s throw past where we stopped when we heard the horncall from the ruins of Bremerton. Look…here and here and here.”
He waved the lantern about wildly, shining its beam on several deep ruts marring the sward of a grassy hollow. “Wagons…three at least, maybe more. Dammit!”
He spurned a clump of loam, recently overturned by an iron-rimmed wheel, with the toe of his boot. Suddenly, the ranger stopped ranting and stood stock still. He rounded slowly on his companions, grinning from ear to ear. “They are in WAGONS!”
The rest of the battered band looked at him like he was crazy. Rowan shook his head, still grinning and began speaking rapidly.
To Be Continued…Soon!
~ Old One
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