drnuncheon's Freeport Story Hour - Book II: Inheritance

[drnuncheon]

Session Sixteen, Part Two: Lord of the Dead

"...they've stopped."

The words filtered dimly through Di'Fier's consciousness. He groaned, as well as he could when most of his muscles wouldn't move.

"I hate it when they stop," he heard Dru say. "Whenever they stop it means something worse is going to happen. Di'Fier, are you back with us yet?"

The mage tried to nod his head. No good. He tried to shake it. Still no good.

"Guess not. They all headed off to the center of the village like someone'd lit them on fire. I can't see what they're doing now. I bet their Zombie Master went insane."

"Gnuuh."

"You sound just like one of them, Di'Fier. Just wait until it wears off before you try to talk."

The ice in his limbs began to soften, letting them relax once more. He slowly sagged into a heap, aching over his entire body. "Wha-?" he asked. "Wha' they doin'?"

From the door, Shesara reported: "...they're coming back."

The humans struggled to their feet, Benares picking up his staff. Di'Fier let his blade dangle loosely from his hand, grabbing a javelin with the other.

The creatures encircled the hut. Two lines of them formed an honor guard along which a figure strode, straight and powerful, a spear clasped in his hand, bone armor on his chest. His skin held the same greyish pallor of the others, but he walked like a man - no, like a leader of men. He leveled the spear at the hut and began to speak in the language of the Island. "Burowao," they recognized. "Mora. Tanaroa."

"Either he wants to know where we're from, or he's got plans of conquest," Di'Fier speculated.

"FREEPORT!" Dru shouted, sending a burning brand from the fire spinning through the air at the man. It bounced from his armor in a shower of sparks, and his hunched followers screamed and surged forward.

Di'Fier hurled the javelin in his hand, seeing it sink into the man - then watched in horror as he reached up and ripped the shaft from his flesh, taking a single step forward and sending it on a return journey. He dove for cover, but it caught him, leaving a bloody line across his hip.

Light blossomed behind him, making the things hesitate, but their master was there, urging them on, and the attack continued. Undead hands lifted the ladder, slamming it into place as the bodies clambered up it.

The Watchmen and their allies could do nothing but brace for the charge. Howling corpses slammed into them, clawing and biting, the stench of the grave rolling off of them in great sickening waves. Dru's rapier sent one to the ground, but the next slammed into her, head down, and she stumbled backwards in its clutches until her feet struck wood - and they fell into the fire.

Benares leapt to cover the opening, forcing the things back with blurring blows from his staff. Behind him, Dru shoved the creature off of her blade and rolled out of the fire, clothing and hair smoldering and ember-filled. The smell of it only added to the stench that hung over the battlefield.

The mass of undead surged forward again, knocking Benares to the ground as they pushed past and into the hut. Di'Fier's blade sang, dropping one to the ground in two pieces, and Dru pierced another through the remains of its heart. Shesara's song seemed to guide their blades as they forced the attackers back or sent them crashing to the floor to die a second time.

From outside the hut, they heard an eerie chanting, and they felt something wash over them like an oily black wave, turning their stomachs and making their skins crawl.

And then, slowly, the corpses of their fallen foes began to twitch and move once more.

 

[Horacio]

Undead cliffhanger? Creepily cool!

 

[drnuncheon]

Session Sixteen, Part Three: Hunger Pangs

Compiler's Note: I like you guys a lot. How much? Two updates in one day much. How's that for Story Hour, eh?


Dru stared at the corpse as it began to rise. "No. Oh, no. Not here. When I kill something I expect it to stay dead! Her head swiveled towards the chanting form of the creature who seemed to be leading the attack. "I hate undead," she said, running at the door. "And wizards!" The enraged elf barreled through the creatures that were coming up the ladder, knocking one to the ground and using the next one's face as a springboard to launch her through the air. "And I really hate undead wizards!"

Dru hurtled towards the spear-weilding corpse, who ducked underneath her aerial form with surprising agility. She tucked, rolled, spun to her feet, lashing out with her blade.

Di'Fier watched his partner hurtling into the mass of ghouls. "Benares! Keep them back! If we kill the leader, it may win the fight!" Raising a hand, he summoned arcane energy to twist time itself. The world slowed around him, and he dodged the slow-moving ghouls easily as he, too, leapt from the hut, blade whirling above his head and coming down hard on the leader, shattering bone and flesh - but the leader seized his arm and ripped bloody flesh from it with his teeth, grinning crimson all the while.

The undead surged forward, now that their foes were in their midst: clawing, biting, tearing at flesh. Di'Fier's blade fended them off for a few moments, but then one claw and another passed his defenses, and he felt the icy leadenness of paralysis spreading through his limbs.

Across from him, Dru whirled and stabbed, sending her blade into the cannibalistic leader, ducking the spear as it swung over her head like a staff, and then launching herself forward to bury her blade to the hilt: from sternum to scapula.

The leader's head flung back and it screamed as Dru twisted the blade.

Benares stood back-to-back with Shesara, bleeding from countless wounds, scattered across his body in parallel groups of four or twin opposing arcs. So far he'd resisted the chilling touch of the creatures, but he knew he could not keep that up forever.

A scream echoed across the darkened village, and the monsters seemed to hesitate. Gaping wounds re-opened on some of them, and they dropped to the floor of the hut like stones. The others hissed and drew back. As one, he and Shesara leapt to the attack, battering and slicing at the things until they broke and fled.

Di'Fier wrapped the tattered cloth around him more tightly as he shivered next to the burning hut. It stank of corpses, but it was heat. Dru and Benares fought their way up the ladder with one last grisly burden, the heat blasting at them as they flung the final corpse into the flaming maw.

"That should prevent them from getting back up again," said Dru, with some satisfaction. "How are you feeling, Di'Fier? I don't particularly want to stay in this place any longer, just in case the ones that ran came back."

"I can walk," he said.

"Then let's go."

Shesara stumbled, fatigue making the ground seem to grab at her feet with every step.

Dru looked back with some concern - she knew that she and Di'Fier could go on for a while if need be, but Shesara - and, to a lesser extent, Benares - looked haggard and worn. If we keep up this pace, she'll walk herself unconscious...

"All right," she said, raising a hand. "I think we're far enough out that they're not likely to follow us." And if they do...well, we'll deal with that then. "Let's rest for a while."

The elven singer dropped gratefully to her knees, then toppled over on her side. Di'Fier sank down, unusually quiet, his back to a tree. Benares used his staff to help him sit, and Dru herself stood surveing the terrain. "Get some rest," she told the others. "I'll take first watch."

Sometime the next day they stumbled into Burowao: filthy, bloodstained, trailworn, exhausted - and completely unprepared for the sight of a score of warriors, spears at the ready, leveled at them.

"Oh, what did we do now?" Dru snapped. "We got rid of their stupid crazy Zombie Master for them..."

The ranks of the warriors parted, and an emormous man stepped through. His face was painted to resemble a skull, his headdress was of grey feathers, and curved bone pegs pierced both nipples. "What Zombie Master did you slay?" he demanded, his flinty gaze locked on Dru.

"The one from Panitube," she said, grateful that he could speak their language at least. "He was raising an army of creatures - I think they were ghouls, and I think he was trying to destroy the other villages."

The Zombi Master of Burowao shook his head. "Panitube has no Zombi Master. He was slain by the worshipers of the dragon. Describe the man you say you slew." As he listened, he nodded slowly. "He is known to me. A great hunter from Tanaroa. He was believed lost in the jungle with his companions."

"What was his name?"

"We do not name the dead. To do so is to call them back. It is good that you have slain him. We will hunt his serants by day. Without him they will be disorganized and weak."

Di'Fier looked down at the meal that he had been given. He was still cold, despite the heat of the day, and the fire that he sat by. He must have caught something, running around in the jungle while he was wounded. He missed being able to go to the Temple of the Merchant God.

For some reason, the food didn't look at all appetizing in his bowl. He stirred it listlessly, staring down at it, fighting the feeling of nausea he felt...nausea and fear.

Because when he looked out across the village of Burowao, he could see a group of children playing happily in the dirt beneath one of the huts.

And only then was he hungry.

 

[Jon Potter]

Re: Session Sixteen, Part Three: Hunger Pangs

Because when he looked out across the village of Burowao, he could see a group of children playing happily in the dirt beneath one of the huts.

And only then was he hungry.

Oh, you evil, evil man, Dr.N!

Is ghoulish-ness catching? Is this undead warrior carrying some unwholesome disease? Will Di'Fier be dining on human flesh before this adventure's over?

With questions like that as yet unanswered, how can I NOT keep reading?

 

[Horacio]

Re: Session Sixteen, Part Three: Hunger Pangs

For some reason, the food didn't look at all appetizing in his bowl. He stirred it listlessly, staring down at it, fighting the feeling of nausea he felt...nausea and fear.

Because when he looked out across the village of Burowao, he could see a group of children playing happily in the dirt beneath one of the huts.

And only then was he hungry.

ARRRGGGGG!!!!!!1

That is an EVIL cliffhanger!

More, please!

 

[DiFier]

he ended that weeks session like that too.

 

[Horacio]

he ended that weeks session like that too.

Then he is an eeeeevil person...

 

[drnuncheon]

Re: Re: Session Sixteen, Part Three: Hunger Pangs

With questions like that as yet unanswered, how can I NOT keep reading?

Gee, I thought it was just to see if you showed up again...

This next 'update' is new to the players as well - a peek at what's going on back in Freeport. There's a decent chance that some of you will be reading this before they do...

J
what, me continue a cliffhanger? Nah.

 

[drnuncheon]

Interlude: Freeport

The artist looked nervously around him. He was surrounded by pools of light from the many lanterns he'd brought. Somehow, they did little to dispel the darkness in the house.

Oh, he'd tried to work during the day, but the movers and the renovators and the painters were constantly in the way. One careless swipe with a rolled-up tapestry had ruined an hour of work. He'd have preferred to wait until they were all done, but Roth was insisting on his deadline. So here he was, alone, in the haunted house of Verlaine.

"I should be working in daylight," he grumbled. "It makes the hallway look completely different." He closed his eyes, tried to picture the hallway with the afternoon light streaming in through the front door, supplemented by candles...

He heard a noise. A scratching sound, and then a creak.

Seizing up a lantern, clutching his palette knife, he whirled, playing the light up and down the hallway. Nothing. It was nothing.

But if it's nothing, he thought to himself, why does it bother you so much? He eyed the door to the wine cellar - it stood slightly ajar. Was that where it had been?

"Probably just rats," he said, and the sound of his own voice startled him. "Definitely rats." But his thoughts were troubled as he picked up the brush.

It had sounded like a footstep.

The small knot of wizards gathered in the tower chamber. Collected here were the flower of Freeport's arcanists: the most powerful and skilled that the city had to offer. Perhaps an unlikely assortment, if one expected all wizards to be clad in robes, with long, flowing beards and wooden staves: in fact, only the High Wizard himself met such a description. He stood at the center of the chamber before the pedestal, arranging the golden mirror upon it.

Around him was arrayed the rest of the circle: Andolyn, her round face still flushed from the exertion of climbing the stairs. Tiera Dela, the recluse whose mastery of the arcane arts surpassed even High Wizard Tarmon's. The gnome Glunnyn Mernig, standing on a crate to bring him to eye level with the rest of the wizards, whose expertise in divination more than allowed him entrance into such august company. And of course the reason for the circle: Eleanor.

Arrayed around the mirror were items: a lock of hair, a pair of boots, a battered Watch medallion, a spellbook.

Tarmon raised his staff. "It is prepared," he said, and the other participants moved slowly forward, each to take an item: Glunnyn clambered down from his crate to seize the badge. Tiera held the lock of hair, pursing her lips as she studied it. Andolyn reached for the boots. "I remember, he was wearing these when he came to my house. You can still see the stains from the tomato sauce," she said.

Tarmon lay his free hand on the book. "Then we will-"

The door crashed open, and without looking Tarmon roared, "Glenfield! We were not to be dist-"

"Quiet, you young fool," wheezed a voice between deep breaths. "I was scrying when you were still struggling with your cantrips. And don't think I've forgotten about that incident with the mage hand and the cook's apprentice."

"High Wizard Emeritus Volund," Glenfield announced weakly.

"Father, you shouldn't have climbed up all this way - your heart," Eleanor protested.

The ancient wizard, ashen-faced, leaned heavily on the gnomish apprentice and leveled his staff at the assembly. "Nobody's going to keep me from looking for my grandson. Step aside, Tarmon."

As the High Wizard did so, Volund took a few hesitant steps, as if judging his strength, then lowered his eyes for a long, silent moment. "Eleanor. You're closer to him by blood than I am. You lead the circle." His gnarled hands gripped his staff tightly as he inched forward the rest of the way.

With a worried glance at her father, Eleanor stepped forward. The other wizards arranged themselves, and the ritual began.

This is undoubtedly the most foolish thing I have ever done, thought the artist as he crept forward. The stair creaked under his weight, making him freeze in shock, and nearly drop the sword he'd found mounted on the wall upstairs. Better not drop it, he thought. It looked expensive.

His palm was slick on the gold-wire-wrapped hilt as he shifted it nervously. Not that I know how to use it. Hopefully just the threat of it will be enough... He sucked absently on the finger he had cut when testing the blade's edge. Why is it still bleeding?

The racks of wine cast strange jagged shadows around the room in the lantern light. All from the mainland, of course - the soil of A'val was not conducive to the grape - of kinds and vintages he'd never seen before.

He eased along the racks, lantern held high, sword low. It doesn't look like there's anybody down here. It must have been rats. That's funny... He paused. From here, the shadows make it look like there's a door over on the other side. He crept forward. Wait...it is a door...

A hand fell upon his shoulder, and he screamed.

"...it's no good." The young elf let the mirror drop to the desk with a snarl. "I can see nothing, and with this lock of her hair it should be easy," he complained. "Somebody must be blocking the spell somehow."

"I see." Tensin's words were even, measured. "Thank you once again for your time, Alust."

Alust flushed, as he finally remembered who he was speaking to. "I will do my best to find out how to counter such a magic." He bowed, stiffly, and at Tensin's nod exited the room.

"I do not trust him," said Kennic, arms folded. "He is too close with your other daughter. He could just be saying he can't see her..."

"Alust merely confirms what other wizards have told me, Kennic: my daughter is somehow beyond the reach of scrying spells - even from the most powerful wizards in Freeport." Tensin reached into his desk and began to extract set after set of the slim, leaf-shaped blades he favored, arranging them neatly before him on the desk. "There is only one place I know of that would block such magic so thoroughly. I carried her out once and I will do so again."

"What if she's not there?" The loyal retainer rose to his feet, staring at the other elf.

Tensin's lips pressed together in a thin line, with the barest hint of a smile creasing them. "I brought myself out as well, Kennic."

"And what of the organization? Tensin, these people depend on you..."

"If my daughter is indeed where I believe, then the organization has failed."

Spruce stood nervously in front of Captain Donnach, with Katya by his side. The red-haired priestess nodded to him, and the clerk began to speak.

"Sir, after checking over the port records of departures, based on the underground passage we've found, we think we've discovered what ship they were on. It's the Fortune's Folly, bound for the Caliphates."

Donnach's brow creased. "The Caliphates?"

Spruce nodded. "There's more. The passage has been there a while, so we checked on missing persons reports back several years. If I'm right, they've been operating a slave ring in Freeport for over a decade."

"Slaves?" Donnach slammed his fist into the table. "All the gods damn it to the bottom of Hell! There's not that many laws in Freeport, you'd think it'd be easy not to break them!"

"I've got a feeling it's bigger than Freeport, sir," Katya interjected. "Even if half of the people they took went unreported, there's no way they could be turning a profit on voyages to the Caliphate. They must be picking up a few people here and there, to avoid notice where it's illegal...and picking up a few extra coins for 'disposing' of unwanted people."

"Unwanted people? So you think Dru and Di'Fier were deliberately targeted?"

"We do, sir. I think otherwise the slavers would have run when the fight got too hot for them."

"They've certainly made enemies," Donnach admitted. "But do you have any leads on who?"

"No sir," said Spruce. "But we did have this report." He set it down on the desk, and Donnach perused it.

The Captain frowned. "This is in the Merchant's District - nowhere near the docks. Missing artist, working on a mural? How does this fit in? Are you sure he didn't just make off with the silver?"

"Not a robbery, sir - nothing was missing. And...look at the address."

"100 Wave Street. Wait...Verlaine's house?"

Spruce nodded. "I checked with Reed at the hall of records, and he said it had been bought recently."

"By none other than Torsten Roth," Katya added. "But Roth doesn't have the title. In fact, it took a lot of digging to find out who did - it's almost as if someone wanted to bury it."

"So who owns it?"

Spruce looked at Katya, then back at the Captain. "Drusilia Naïlo."

 

[Horacio]

Evil. Now I'm sure. drnuncheon is eeeeevil...