Wednesday, August 23rd, 508 AF
Durhon insists that it is dawn on the surface, but there is little in the storeroom to say one way or another. The dark gloom is fought back only by the few glowing weapons and items of power the various veterans possess, the morning chorus replaced by the muttering and snarling of the undead beyond the barricaded door. Dawn becomes an idea, a marker of time when Warwind’s mind is rested enough to retain spells and Heironous will listen to Calmert’s prayers once more. Durhon simply paces, his hobnailed boots scraping against the stone floor with a rasp that makes Yip wince. Every now and then the dwarf will look at the small kobold, his expression questioning. Yip just shrugs, years of habit teaching him that noise in close proximity to an enemy is something to worry about. Durhon glowers, starts taking experimental swings with his axe to limber up.
“I’m ready,” Warwind says quietly. A few minutes later, the sound of Calmert’s whispered chanting ceases.
“Me too.”
They start pulling debris from the doorway as quietly as they can, letting the lightly armoured Yip and Warwind do much of the work.
“Ready,” Yip asks when the task is done. He stands by the doorway, a paw resting on the latch the holds the door shut. There is a mute round of nods, and the small kobold swings the door open.
The first thing to hit them is the stench, the smell of carrion and death wafting through the open door like a physical attack. Yip, Warwind and Durhon manage to ignore it, their sense of smell deadened after the horrors of the war, but Calmert’s presence was less and the shining cleric saw less front-line action. He gags, a splatter of vomit hitting the face-plate of his armour, but charges forward regardless.
There are dead surrounding the doorway, a morass of shambling zombies and slavering ghouls. Some are gnolls, the wounds from yesterday’s fight still fresh on their body, while others are dressed in dark robes so old that the tatters are almost threadbare. Everyone looks around, taking note of an easy target, and the Veterans of the Trollmist surge forward. Elven sword, Kobold fist and dwarven axe lash out, devastating one of the more decayed ghouls, while the lumbering form of Calmert holds his sword aloft and chokes a prayer through the mess on his face-plate.
“Shining lord of Valor, cleanse this wretches of their taint.”
Zombies burst open, a silvery light spilling out of their flesh as they burn to a crisp in the face of Calmert’s faith. Even two of the ghouls scampers backward, fleeing from the holy light. Those that remain lash out with claws and fang, tearing rents in the armour of Durhon and scoring Warwind's flesh. For a moment, the elf feels the chill touch of death settle on his bones, but his elven soul sings of immortality and he throws off the paralysing fear of deaths touch. With a grin at the surprised ghoul, Warwind mutters the words of a spell and fires a pair of magic missiles into its chest. The flesh scorches and burns as the creature drops to the ground. Durhon and Yip team up. The ghouls are fast and strong, death granting them a power beyond the ken of mortals, but Yip is skilled to dance through their defences and flank them. Even the dead aren’t skilled at splitting their focus in a battle, and the combination of whirling paws and flashing axe cut through ghoulish defences with surprising elegance. The one ghoul that survives initial contact with the pair is badly damaged by their attack, and is in no fit state to keep Warwind and a still nauseas Calmert from surrounding it and beating it to the ground.
In the space of twenty seconds, the room is cleared. The only sound that can be heard is the soft pad of fleeing ghoulish feet.
“After ‘em,” Durhon snarls, and everyone sprints. Yip runs like a hasted gazelle, his feet barely toughing the ground. Durhon barrels forth with a speed that belies his heavy armour and dwarven stature. Warwind keeps pace with a long, elven stride.
Calmert lumbers along behind, failing to keep pace in his heavy plate armour and half-blinded by his own bile. He curses quietly as he runs, silently praying that the fight is almost over so he gets a chance to wipe himself clean…
