For two days the party continue east along the Tradeway, towards Fairhill and Bard's Gate beyond.  The weather is bright, if a little cool for the time of year, with a stiff breeze blowing out of the north.

They make good progress, occasionally encountering other travellers, merchants for the most part, usually accompanied by a handful of guards.  The merchants speak of good trade in Bard's Gate, while the guards and the few other wayfarers tell tales of rumoured orc raiders near Fairhill, though none of them are able to say that they actually saw the humanoids.

The only real worry for the bold adventurers are the occasional distant cries of a lost child, interspersed with mocking laughter from the low, wooded hills which run along the north side of the road.  Those haunting sounds have not been heard for several hours now though.

By Corian's estimate they are still three or four days from Fairhill.  The afternoon is drawing on when they spot a small farm just a short distance from the road.  "Perhaps the farmer would permit us to spend the night in his barn." Corian suggests, "It would surely be better than sleeping out in the open, and more easily defended, should hat creature decide to attack again."

Ozzy perks up at the sight of the farmhouse, a smile forming on his worried little face. All morning long he had spent continually looking over his shoulder and listening to every little noise around them. Even if if the creature did not return tonight, the nightmares of it most certainly would. When Corian suggests asking the farmer for a safehouse in his barn for the night, Ozzy says, " He won't do it if we tells him were being hunted, especially by something so horrific we cant even put a name to - but maybe if Eilieen asks him real pretty like, he might consider it!" He makes it a point to say her name in a teasing tone, knowing that pretty ladies usually get what they want in life. Especially from bumpkin farmers. He just hoped the wife didn't answer the door.

Eilieen spirits, higher now that the weather has changed, hit an all-time peak at the sight of the farmhouse.  Sleep.  Perhaps in a bed, if coin will persuade the farmer to give up his own comfort for a night; if not, then at least with a roof.  And relief from the interminable tracking of the beast pursuing them, vile creature that it is.

She warns every group they pass of its tricks - the speech, the child's cries.

But Ozzy's words put a frown on her face, and not from the insinuations.  "I am unsure if we should bring our problems to his doorstep.  If the beast feels it can harm us by killing the farmer and his family, assuredly it will."  She glances over her shoulder with some trepidation.  "It has trailed us far outside its territory, I am certain.  This...thing...holds a terrible grudge."

Worse even than the Vice High Priestess (High Priestess of Vice, as Eilieen had liked to name her) after Eilieen awoke in the middle of the night to find her room and bed most rudely invaded.  Healing spells had been required after everoyone calmed down, and the woman had certainly had it in for her during the remainder of her stay at the temple.

Then she prods Ozzy with the haft of her spear (not the pointy end - she saves that for the High Priestess of Vice, hence the healing spells).  "Pfft.  I would never trade upon my looks.  Coin will do the trick, Oswald, as I am certain you know."  A small smile softens her words.  "But fear not - my coin.  You may keep yours.  I shall pay for the group."

Ozzy giggles as she pokes him with the stick and upon hearing her offer to pay for lodging for the night he says, " Rich and pretty! Are you single too?"

"... puking, dankish, sheep-biting, swag-bellied, fobbing ..."

Aarnr pauses in his litany of muttered imprecations. It's hard to keep track as to whether this latest was aimed at the elusive beasts or Bowbe, for he's been deriding both the creatures and his god in roughly equal measure for the two days since that fateful night time encounter.  Indeed, having stayed up specially on the nights since, in the hope of an attack that never came, the priest is more than usually irascible from both lack of sleep and bitter disappointment.

Indeed, in that time the only thing to improve his mood was the abject fear upon the faces of those they passed by, after the priestess had finished terrifying them with tales of the beast and its mother.

Farmers, however, are no substitute for monsters and there's little glory to be won in taking their steadings by force, so he's somewhat mollified when Oswald and Eilieen hit upon a cunning plan to save him the bother.  And for all he revels in the elements, a night in a warm barn would not be unwelcome.  The smell could be a problem, but he's sure the goats won't mind.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:16, Sun 21 Aug 2011.

The group turn off the road and heads towards the farm.  As they do so, a large raven flaps away from a tree behind them, on the opposite side of the road and glides lazily across the open ground, soaring upwards at the last moment to alight on the roof of the barn.

The party pass the barn, under the watchful eye of the raven.  They come around the side of the house, and it suddenly seems unlikely that the owner will accept payment for a night sleeping next to the livestock.

The farmer, or what is left of him, lies in the yard outside his home, half eaten and missing an arm.  His wife and three children lay nearby, in various contorted positions.  One small boy has been disembowelled, next to his sister, who lays on the blood-soaked ground with chickens pecking around her.

The half-elf is a different being compared to the companion they found in Reme. Gone is the talkative half-elf who loved watching and chatting with anyone who would listen to him. The quotes and poems that seemed to spring forth from his lips have dried up leaving a great big silent hole that surrounds the Aramil wherever he walks.

Aramil walks along with the others, yet seems to be somewhere else. Anyone who tries to talk to Aramil notices quickly that he is not in a talking mood. His face is drawn and most will have noticed the dark circles around his eyes. Those who seem intent in staying up during the night will see Aramil sitting looking into the fire rather than sleeping. He jumps at any sound both during the day and at night. The cries of the creature hunting them seems to increase Aramil's anxiety till it would seem that the half-elf is about to break. And break in a very bad way.

The conversation about the farmhouse washes over Aramil like water over a stream bed. He doesn't notice the comments and has no idea about staying the night or the dilemma facing the others about leading their hunter towards innocent people. Aramil's glassy eyes just drifts over the landscape. As the group goes around the barn nothing registers about the scene in front of them. It could be festival day back home rather than the gruesome attack upon this unfortunate family.

After a few minutes of standing aside and watching the others reaction to the scene, suddenly Aramil is shaken by what seems as an invisible force. There is a sudden strangles sound emanating from his throat that gets louder as is continues. It reaches what could only be a painful pitch, for both Aramil and those listening to noise, then is cut off by the sound of retching as Aramil brings up the contents of his stomach all over his shoes and anyone else unlucky enough to be standing by him.

Any thought of retort for Oswald's comment is hurled from the priestess mind by the scene opening before them.

"No..." Eilieen whispers.  Her hands shaking, she hurries forward, moving from body to body, any thoughts of her lost comforts or frustrations with her temple far, far from her mind.  "No, no, no," she cries, checking the children, the father, the mother, hoping for the impossible.

Behind her, Aramil vomits.  A flicker of concern ripples through her - the Half-elf has not been himself for days, now.  She should talk to him.  See what has blackened his moods.  Help him get through this nightmare before them all.  Try to...to...

Eilieen scrubs at her face, but the tears do not cease.  "Take comfort in the...the arms of Zadastha," she chokes out to the bodies as she closes eyes and arranges limbs frozen in death to more relaxed, dignified positions.  Her own cloak covers the dead boy's awful wound.  "Rise to the he-heavens in her gentle grasp, to...to...oh, Zadastha," she weeps, hunching over on the blood-soaked ground, heedless of the stains on her gown.

"Frog ..."

Even Aarnr is rendered speechless by the sight of the dead.  Grimly he takes in the scene, gaze moving slowly from one corpse to the next.  No battle this, just slaughter.

When Aramil pukes his guts up, the priest attempts no disparaging remark or attempt at humour.  And when Eilieen falls to her knees weeping over the child's corpse, he merely squats besides her, placing a comforting hand upon her shoulder.

Looking up, visage grim, his eyes flick over each of his companions in turn, settling on the Nameless Monk.  "Thee and me," he tells her, "we'll move their bodies to the barn for now.  Fergus - Corian and thou should gather wood for a pyre.  The rest of thee ... search the other buildings and keep a close watch."

Gently he pulls the priestess to her feet. "Time for prayers later," he says gruffly, but not without kindness.  "Now there's work to be done ..."

Fergus is a simple soul.  He accepts that the lurking beast and the threat of attack are beyond his control and so he puts them out of his mind as much as possible.

The nights are bad: the sight of Aramil staring into the fire, while Aarnr peers into the shadows with equal intensity, is uncomfortable.  But in a strange way Aarnr helps.  The mad priest is so confident in his battle-lust that some of it* starts to wear off on Fergus.  Also, he finds Aarnr's litany of curses soothing, like a kind of white noise.  Fergus knows farmers who talk like that.  Never around his parents, of course, but they tended to forget Fergus was there.

That thought brings Fergus' other troubles to mind.  As the road takes the group closer to Fairhill, Fergus starts to wear his hood up more, even when the weather doesn't call for it.  It doesn't help much because it does nothing to conceal his bulk but it seems Fergus is determined not to be recognised.

For the same reason, Fergus lets others take the lead as they approach the farmhouse.  He hasn't been here before but it's not impossible that he's seen the farmer or his family at market in Fairhill.

As the group rounds the barn and Fergus takes in the horrific scene, he feels his gut tighten in sympathy with Aramil's distress, but he keeps his lunch down.  He stands uncomprehending for a moment as he struggles to come to terms with the sight of the dismembered family.

"That's bad." Fergus says, his voice tight with anger.  "I should go to town and fetch out Farmer Moody and his dogs, and someone should tell the priest."

OOC: Apologies for inventing NPC's.  Also, does Fergus recognise the family?

*the confidence, not the battle-lust :)

Erista does try talking to Aramil over the journey, and if he doesn't feel like responding, that seems to be OK with her; she does her best to fill the silent space around him on her own.

The scene at the farm, however, quiets her, too.  She forces herself to look at it for a moment, but only a moment, turning quickly away.  She gives Aarnr a nod, silently, and starts walking over to the main house.  Astral's head turns as she walks, the owl watching the raven above from its place on her shoulder.

Eilieen nods, dashing tears from her eyes.  "Should I assist with the b-bodies?" she chokes out.  "I am of no use in w-watching."  Her talents do not lie in that direction; she's fairly certain the Nameless Monk would be a better choice to stand guard.  Swallowing thickly, she stands, reaching up to pat the other priest's hand.  "Thank you, Aarnr," the priestess manages, her voice a touch steadier.  Brushing back her hair, she stares down at the little girl.

"Unless you feel I should search," she temporizes, not wishing to argue, "I would be better here.  With the dead."

Did they bring this upon these people?  Did the beast that tracks them move ahead and tear the family apart in warning or amusement?  Eilieen's lips tremble with her emotions, sorrow, guilt, and anger warring within her.  Turning, she studies her compatriots.  Fergus, his youthful features full of appalled rage.  Aarnr, coldly grim.  Aramil, sick and lost.  Even Erista has fallen silent.

How will this change them? she wonders.  For it will; it has already changed her.

Soon enough Aramil gets over the urge to vomit and is able to stand back upright again. Well almost upright. Looking around him he sees the distress on the faces of the others and somehow this makes him feel better. That the others are also upset makes Aramil glad he chose this group of travellers. They have good hearts for the things that matter.

As he was preoccupied at Aarnr's suggestion of what people should do Aramil just stands there looking around, but not at the bodies. Even with the cover the horror is burnt into Aramil's eyes even when they are open. This should fade over time, but Aramil is unaware of this at moment. As the others move of to do their allotted tasks Aramil continues to just stand for a bit. Soon though he moves off as well, joining the group that is searching the farmhouse and keeping a lookout for whoever/whatever did this horror.

In silence, as she has been since the night the beast nearly killed one of them and promised to kill them all in time, the monk stands there silently looking at the massacre.  She moves over to the nearest of fallen and kneels at the body, where her eyes closes momentarily, hands held palm to palm in under her chin.  As the eye open she gestures over the body, then repeats the process at the next.

Once she finally stands up again her face is solemn as she turns her focus to the ground around the bodies.

"Without the beasts' carcasses to show for it, the town warders will as like blame us for this," the priest suggests to Fergus, with typical distrust of guardsmen and their ilk.  "And like as not the farmer and his dogs would fare no better than these poor souls."

"I ... we can pray for them," he amends his words as Eilieen speaks up.  The priestess is made of sterner stuff than he'd have guessed.  "The three of us then to mind the fallen," he agrees, frowning at the monk's ritual, but holding his peace.

Wood is easy to get, there is a woodshed alongside the house, with a good supply of birch logs stacked within.

It is clear that animals are not responsible for this massacre, the wounds look to have been made by swords and axes, wielded with considerable enthusiasm, by all appearances. 

Time is taken to straighten the bodies out, into more restful postures, and birch logs and brush are piled around them.  The monk keeps looking at the blood-stained ground, between glances around the farm. 

Looking around reveals that there are still about thirty chickens, four pigs, a horse, and three cows alive, though the cows are far away from the buildings, in a pasture close to the edge of the woods. 

Those searching the farmhouse soon find that it is empty.  No attackers lurk within.

The family had few possessions it seems, and those they had are items which would typically be associated with poor farmers - simple tools, some basic clothing, a dress embroidered with flowers, which once perhaps served as a wedding dress, a few copper pieces in a wooden box on the kitchen table...

Above the fireplace hangs a shortsword, old and apparently well-used, but in good condition.  And Colwyn, always on the lookout for such things, finds a box hidden beneath the bed which contains a little silver and some more copper.

Outside, the preparations are finished.  The makeshift pyres are complete.  In the west, the sun sits just above the horizon...

"Not beasts then," Aarnr mutters as he finally gets a close look at the bodies.  He's somewhat disappointed.  Easier to think some monstrosity did this than to know it was done at the hands of men.  He's seen enough slaughter, even with not so many winters to his name, but that in pitched battle.

"Thou wouldst speak first ?" he prompts Eilieen when the pyres are ready for lighting.  Better her words to soothe the souls to their rest before his promising bloody vengeance ...

"Prints of boots, boots no farmer would wear."

The monk says no more, having no more to say.  She helps with the bodies in silence contemplation.  The deed seemed utterly senseless and done with great enthusiasm.  Rather unsettling.  She almost hope the perpetrators of this misdeed will return here tonight to receive their just reward.

Grateful for Aarnr's change of heart, Eilieen assists with the bodies.  She cries silent tears as the Nameless Monk performs her ceremony.  She stumbles through her own prayers, sobs choking her throat.  She pauses to wipe tear-blinded eyes as she moves from body to body.

But she never slows, never stops.

The revelation of the family's possessions bring more tears, as does the discovery of the animals.  They must find the village, Eilieen considers.  Find it, and send people to care for the poor beasts, to bring them into their own farms.  In the meantime, she will see about getting the cows into the barn, to protect them from the elements and from predators.

The dress, she gently places like a banner across the husband and wife, uniting their hands beneath it, their children at their sides.

"Not beasts," she replies to Aarnr.   "There was..."  Eilieen swallows hard, waving a hand toward the terribly small bodies of the children.  "Dagger wound.  In each.  Poisoned, that much was easy to see."  Horribly, horribly easy, the edges of the wound stained with the toxin, the nearby flesh black with putrifaction and corruption already.  She bites her lip, and the taste of iron floods her mouth.  "No love given to them as they died," the priestess murmurs.  "We can do so now."

Another nod to Aarnr follows, and Eilieen steps forward to lay her hand upon the brow of each body in turn.  She stares into their faces as she does, brushing back their hair with sorrowful love in her heart.  "I know not to whom you send your prayers," she murmurs.  "But Zadastha awaits your coming, her arms held wide."

Her voice rises - not to a shout, but clear as a bell.  "In her embrace you will find the love stolen from you in this world.  You will bask in the adoration of family, parents and children together again, now and forever.  You will return to the bliss of passion as lovers reunite, two becoming one for eternity.  You will shine on in the pure care of the goddess herself, cherished and protected from pain, bitterness, and loss."

Her voice cracks as her puffy eyes well up once again.  But she holds her place.  "For love is...love is 'home'."  Her arms rise, and she stares blindly into the setting sun.  "Now go.  Fly home!  Home to family, home to mate, home to love!  Let this shadow fall from you, leaving you bright in the heavens."

Her gaze lifts to the darkening sky.

"Like the stars."

Tears leave trails down her pale, smooth skin, but Eilieen's face is peaceful as she turns back to the others, her mouth curled in a soft smile.  In silence, she returns to her place in the group, knowing the prayers will continue; dark prayers, no doubt, for retribution.

Such prayers are for the living more than the dead, to give voice and answer to pain.  They are as needed, she suspects, as her own.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:41, Wed 24 Aug 2011.

Ozzy has stood in shocked silence ever since first setting eyes on the remains of the farmers family. At first, he had wondered if the Hunter had jumped ahead of them and had set this up as an example of its handiwork, but when Eileen explains that they were both stabbed and poisoned before beind butchered, his concern only deepens. "Assassinated?" is all he can manage to say. His mind spins too fast to elaborate further on his fear.

"Very important farmers, apparently," Erista offers.  "I don't want to go all jumping to conclusions, but didn't some of those people we passed mention something about orcs?  I know Orcs Use Poison is sort of like Halflings Have Sticky Fingers, but...well...orcs do use poison, don't they?"

Aramil arrives at the farmhouse after the others and helps search, though not to much benefit. Helping the others with all the preparations helps Aramil get focused. He is strangely better for having something to do.

As they all stand around ready for the fires he is saddened, with tears welling. This is quite unusual and it seems to embarrass the half-elf. The tears stop suddenly when he hears the comment about the dagger and poison. Anger then lurches through his body, anger at the situation, anger at the creatures hunting them and then unfairly anger at Oswald's comment about assassinations. Speaking with this anger in his voice Aramil replies to Oswald "This is no assassination. No assassin would inflict these unneeded and vicious wounds on already dead victims. Also they don't seem to be the usual targets for an assassination. This is work of brutes, and ugly ones at that."

When Erista reminds them of the orcs that are roaming around Aramil shrugs at the suggestion. His knowledge is mainly stories and they are usually fiction with some unexpected fact thrown in occasionally.

Fergus stands perplexed for a long moment.  Aarnr's instructions made good sense but didn't match Fergus' expectations.  When there was trouble and somebody died, you fetched out the constable and the priest; that was how things were done.  Tradition and long habit were difficult to throw off, as Fergus had recently discovered.

As the conversation turns to the way in which the farmer and his family died, Fergus steps closer to examine the corpses more closely.  From the indiscriminate butchery, Fergus had first thought that wild animals were responsible but it seems that's not the case.  He accepts the others at their word, though he knows little about dagger wounds, poison and the like.  The thought that somebody might blame him and his friends for the deaths is particularly troubling to Fergus.

"It wasn't orcs, or bandits neither.  They'd have driven off the animals or killed what they couldn't take."

As first the Nameless Monk, then Eilieen perform their prayers and devotions over the bodies, Fergus turns his mind to the problem that's been bugging him.  "They follow Freya, 'most everybody 'bout here does.  So they should be buried, not burned.  Not that they've minded those words, Miss," he adds, hastily, to Eilieen, "That was real nice.  Loving words, they'd 've liked that.  I don't reckon the folks in town could've said it better."

Eilieen's words are ... strangely appropriate.  These were not folk to whom the sword sat easily in their hands, and such brutality had no place in their world, so while he would not wish such for himself, Aarnr does not begrudge them their peace.

"Well spoke," he tells the priestess, "well spoke indeed."

Though Fergus' revelation that these farmers offered their prayers to Freya is somehow fitting.  "Goddess of love and fertility," the priest remarks, "but fights like a vixen protecting her cubs when they're threatened.  Froggin' wager her Valkyries would want a piece of who did this."

"So then ... in Bowbe's name I'll pledge that vengeance.  Dost thou HEAR me, thou dankish, dog-hearted MALT-WORM ?!!" Aarnr's voice rises, as does his gaze, to the heavens above.  "Lest thou be taken for a folly-fallen pumpion, grant them this !"

His words are uncouth and unkind, but no less well meant than those spoken by Eilieen.

With a last narrow-eyed glare at the skies, the priest lowers his gaze, nodding at those gathered around.  "Thy stick and books," this last pronounced as dire a curse as ever fell from his lips, "will have to wait a short while," he tells Corian. "We may be taking an even longer route to froggin' Bard's Gate than even thee dreamed. !"

"So," he joins now in the discussion between Aramil and Fergus, "the pig-nuts that did this did so for sport ?  Or perhaps looking for something other than coin or stock ?"

"Thank you, Aarnr," Eilieen whispers quietly.  She stands silent while he makes his 'prayer' for vengeance to...or is it against?...his god.  While his words are crude, his purpose is pure, and the priestess can appreciate that.  She hopes the family does as well, and that Aarnr's god happens to be listening; frmo the sound of it, the relationship is a stormy one.

"Vengeance we will find," the slim woman sighs, wiping her face.  "At the least, one hopes to prevent this happening again."

The conversation calls, and she listens to the thoughts of the others.  Eilieen isn't a strategist, nor is she knowledgeable about such things as orcs, but many points here make no sense.  "Poison, the children slain by a single wound.  Why use poison on children?" she plaintively inquires of the air.  "And the coin left behind, the animals ignored, the house untouched."  And yet... "Aramil is right.  Only brutes would savage the bodies so.  Brutes or..."

She paces in a circle, pausing for a weak smile at Fergus.  "My thanks, Fergus, for your kind words.  And if it is Freya to whom they prayed, then they will be buried.  Surely I can find a shovel somewhere in this farm."  She will work all night if need be.  Splinters, blisters, oh it will ruin her hands, but Eilieen shrugs such concerns away.  They are for those who remained in the Temple, not her.

Pausing, she touches Aramil's shoulder.  The half-elf fairly vibrates with fury and sick sorrow, and Eilieen wishes she could mend hearts as easily as she mends bodies.  "We will come to the bottom of this confusion, my friend," she whispers.  "And stop it from happening again..."

Abruptly pieces begin to click into place.  She might be wrong, but...  "'Happening again'," Eilieen murmurs.  "Made to look like brutes, but so much is wrong with that.  Might it be that the wounds were caused to hide the truth?"  She waves a hand at the poor, silent bodies.  "Two children - only the children! - slain by poisoned daggers, then the bodies of all hacked and cut!  Why?  To hide the poisoned wounds from farmers who would not know what to look for!"

She strides to the pyre that they may not now use and stares down at the dead, her pale face like ivory in the growing darkness.  "Why kill two children with poisoned daggers, unless it is NECESSARY that they die by poisoned daggers?  Surely children are not so s-strong!"  Her voice cracks on the last word, but Eilieen forces herself to continue.  "The poison...the poison was a critical part of their deaths!"

"Might it have been a sacrifice?" she whispers.  "A ritual?  Erista, have you heard aught of such things?  Aarnr?"  She wracks her own brain, considering the gods of the world.  "Hecate asks for sacrifices of blood, but not poison.  Grotaag would disdain it as cowardly.  Tharizdun?  I know nothing of his practices...  Set?  That would explain the poison.  Tsathogga?"  She sways.  "No.  Too...clean.  Jubilex?  It does not fit the faceless lord."  Her lips thin.  "Hel.  Poisoned knives."

Turning, she faces the others.  "Were this a ritual, one to be hidden...Set or Hel, I think.  Have any heard aught of plagues in the land?"
This message was last edited by the player at 14:40, Thu 25 Aug 2011.

The others conversation rolls mostly over his head, but a few key words filter down and gets his small mind puzzling on the Conundrum of the Cut-up Cultivators (he would have to work on that title later) and what he recalls about the surrounding areas of the farm; including religions, relations, rapscallions and reputables worth remembering. He once again holds his lute in hand, plucking out a funeral dirge while he considers the possibilities.

Bardic Knowledge Check: 14.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:49, Sun 28 Aug 2011.

The idea of the body mouldering in the grave isn't one that appeals to the big priest, but in the bogs and fens of the Vastness, the ground is not a place where spirits might lie quiet, especially with Tsoathogga's spawn around.  Far better the cleansing fire, if enough dry wood can be found.

So it seems a pity to waste a good pyre, but Fergus is undoubtedly right. "Thou find us some shovels, lad," Aarnr suggests, and we'll bury them."

The Frog-god he knows and hates, and while Eilieen dismisses his hand in this, the priest is not so quick to do so.  "Whichever one of the almighty scuts the murders worshipped matters not," he rumbles.  "They'll all froggin' die for it."

The prayers and blessings spoken, a decision is taken to bury the bodies instead of burning them, though it will mean working far into the night.  Tools are fetched, and the work of digging the graves commences as the sun sets.  The wood for the funeral pyres is not wasted, and a bonfire soon provides light for the grim task.

The graves, when completed, are shallow and even the adult ones look pitifully small to hold a person.

The work of moving the bodies into them, accompanied by further prayers does not take long. 

As the earth is being pushed back into the first grave, a voice suddenly calls out from the darkness beyond the firelight, "Cyfod!  Cyfod plant o'r bedd!  A yw fy bidio!" and an instant later an arrow thuds into the dirt at Fergus' feet!

A short distance away, the ground seems to churn and roil, and a skeletal hand suddenly thrusts up from it, followed by a second, a third... and more follow...



OOC: Those of you who are not suffering the effects of surprise can roll for Initiative and take a partial action this round.  The rest of you should just sort of say, "Oh!" and "What the...?", or the like.  Or squeal, or something.

Listening in grim silence the monk assists with the burial, still in silence.  Moments before the voice is heard she looks up and peers into the darkness.  And so it it that no sooner has the arrow landed at the feet of Fergus than the monk sprints off in the direction from where the voice came.  Perhaps now is the time for the most foul culprit to pay this bloody debt in full.

Aarnr froggin' knew that no good would ever come of burying corpses - cleansing fire is the only sure way to stop the spirits of evil from befouling them ... so the skeletal forms clawing their way up from below comes not so much as a surprise as a personal affront !

Oblivious to the threat of arrows, Bowbe's priest takes a single step towards the undead, lifting the leather thongs that hold the wooden disk over his neck, as he bellows at the fiends.

"THOU GUTS-GRIPING, POTTLE-DEEP SKAINS-MATE, he challenges his god, "DO THOU DRIVE THESE CARRION BONE-BAGS BEFORE THEE ... OH FROG IT !!"

This last as the thin thongs slip through his fingers and the symbol of his god falls to the dirt at his feet.

Erista takes a couple of quick steps away from the skeletal hands reaching up.  "Let me try," she offers to Aarnr, pointing towards the bones.  "破壞 幽靈!"  A lance of white light spears out from her finger, into the dirt.

Ozzy is deep in thought, pondering an answer to it all. Most of the area were simple Freya worshippers which was understandable as they were surrounded by fertile farmland as far as he could see. Homesteads like this were uncommon however, with most of the farmers preferring the safety of a community rather than risk everything to a random monster attack. It is while he is fumbling for a rhyme with Freya that the attack hits starting with an arrow in the dirt "Oh!" and then followed by the rise of the dead, "What the...?" The skeletal hands completely freak the little bard out and he drops his lyre with an abrupt -CLANG- as he lets out a squeal and draws his sling from his belt, reaching quickly to load a bullet...
This message was last edited by the player at 09:28, Mon 29 Aug 2011.

Eilieen is deep in sorrow and anger at the tragedy of the farm, and still cannot work through the mystery.  The ritual of burial is...unconventional at the least, and very curiously carried out, but she takes Fergus' word for it and soldiers through, somehow without breaking down into tears again at the sight of the sad graves they have dug.

As expected, her hands are filthy and blistered.  A small thing next to the deaths of those they bury, not even worth consideration.

Then comes the arrow.  The cry.  The dead hands spiking out from the dirt.  And Eileen stumbles backward, fumbling for spear, fumbling for holy symbol, failing both and jerking around in confusion, uncertain where to turn.  What a nightmare this day has become!

<backpost>
"No plagues, Miss.  This is Fairhill land, or close enough.  Freya provides."

Fergus was happy enough to pitch in with the digging.  Eilieen tried and Fergus appreciated her efforts, but it was plain she hadn't much experience with a shovel.  For Fergus, on the other had, manual labor was second nature and he had the calloused hands and broad shoulders to prove it.  He turns some of his anger into a determination to dig a proper grave in record time and soon dirt is flying everywhere.
</backpost>

Fergus stands leaning on the shovel as the funeral services are conducted.  He'd still have felt better if they could fetch out a priest from Fairhill but Eilieen and Aarnr do a good job and Fergus is satisfied.  They've barely finished when a slight noise alerts Fergus to danger, followed by a soft thud as an arrow embeds itself in the dirt close to Fergus' feet.

Almost immediately, the nameless monk is off and running towards the sound of the voice.  Fergus is a half-step behind and gaining, hoisting his shovel in place of any more conventional weapon.

Aramil just stands and watches as the others decide to dig the graves for the farmer and his family. He stares around nervously watching for the creature hunting them and for possible others that might mean them harm. When the graves are finished Aramil gathers with the others to bless this poor family to the afterlife that they have gone to. But due to his unsettled nature Aramil has one ear on the prayers and one on the dark surrounding them.

Something seems to be moving in the dark. Before Aramil had time to comment a voice calls out in a language that is strange to the half-elf and then the arrow flies to Fergus' feet. Springing onto the balls of his feet Aramil slides the sword from his scabbard and waits to see what the others do before running off into the dark again.

Colwyn had been watching the funeral rites, muttering  phrases indistinctly when it seemed appropriate, and keeping his head bowed the whole time.  Not that he's particularly pious, but he knows enough to avoid annoying the likes of Aarnr.

His mind is actually on other things though.  Like what were the people who killed this family actually after?  And is it still hidden somewhere?  Did anybody take a look up the chimney?

The attack, when it comes, catches the rogue completely by surprise...

The voice sounds out of the darkness, speaking words in a strange tongue.  Corian turns to face the direction it seems to come from, and his face contorts into a mask of fear and anger, as he spits out a single word...

"Vortigern!"

In the confusion, Aramil is the first to react, drawing his weapon even as the attack commences.  The heat and light from the fire effectively blind his elven vision, making it impossible for him to see the enemy clearly.  Wisely, he chooses to wait and see what happens.

The Nameless Monk runs out, away from the simple graves, heading for the source of the voice, determined to silence it.  Fergus is a hair's-breadth behind her, apparently with a similar goal in mind. 

Focussing on the clawing, skeletal hands, Aarnr summons the will of Bowbe to destroy the undead things, without much success.  The skeletons, five of them in total, claw their way out of the earth, their fleshless faces fixed in grins which might be termed "idiotic" if only they were not so horrific...

In the darkness, the voice speaks again, "Hud taflegryn!" and an instant later twin bolts of energy come whirling out of the gloom, swooping round in wide arcs to strike Corian and knock him off his feet.

Aarnr stoops to retrieve the holy symbol of Bowbe, and an arrow passes through the space where his head had been an instant before.  A second arrow misses the rapidly moving Nameless Monk.

Erista too decides that the skeletons are the primary threat.  White light flares from her fingertips, but seems to have no effect on the skeletons as they continue to scramble up from the ground...

OOC: Surprise round over.  Everybody who didn't act this round can now do the whole Initiative and actions thing.  Get 'em!

Combatant         Init
Aramil             22
Nameless Monk      18
Aarnr Foultongue   17
Fergus Andarson    17
Spellcaster        16   AC=??
Skeletons          16   AC=??
Archers             9   AC=??
Erista              5
Colwyn Akbar        0
Corian              0
Eilieen             0
Oswald Osbourne     0


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Good
Aramil:           Good
Eilieen:          Good
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Good
Nameless Monk:    Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

Corian Barade:    Critical

This message was last edited by the GM at 06:17, Thu 01 Sept 2011.

Not missing a beat, or a step, the monk adjusts her course towards the point of origin of the twin bolts that zipped past her towards an unknown goal, ignoring any arrow that may come her way - she will deal with that momentarily, or so she intends.

She does not stop until she can reach out to touch the enemy, at which point she halts abruptly to extend a hand towards the middle of the chest of the magician, the heel of the hand first, uttering a guttural sound as she does.

Her companions move swiftly, already taking action against their attackers.  Eilieen gathers her wits and takes a precious heartbeat to assess.  Spellcasters, undead, and one injured friend; an easy choice, save that Aarnr seems to have dropped his holy symbol and the skeletons are moments from attacking.

Her attention torn between the injured Corian and the skeletons, Eilieen steps forward to assist in driving the undead away before they can make the situation worse.  Sadly, she promptly trips over a stone and ends up on her hands and knees, her own holy pendant swinging back and forth harmlessly.

"You dropped this," she sighs, holding up Bowbe's crossed sword and hammer for Aarnr to retrieve.

Erista continues to back away a bit.  "魔術 鎧", she mutters, although nothing further seems to come of it.

Ozzy manages to get the sling loaded and starts it spinning as his dark little eyes look for a suitable target. One of the skeletons is too close for his own comfort so he releases the shot, ...and then groans as it flies well over the undead skull and it goes skittering off into the trees. He was seriously out of practice with this thing. He considers abandoning the fight and singing along instead as he was so much better at inspiration than perspiration...

Initiative: 23
Sling a skeleton: 10

Aarnr stands, affronted as the arrow flies over his head, staring belligerently into the night to try to spot whichever milk-livered lout was responsible. And, lacking his sword, he is on the verge of taking his shovel and setting out to beat some manners into them, when Eilieen's presses his holy symbol upon him.

For a moment he hesitates ... then with a gruff nod snatches the amulet from her, turning back to the skeletons, holding it up before him once more.  "Last chance," he mutters threateningly to Bowbe, his voice rising to a roar as he yells at the skeletons.

"THOU YELLOWED, FOLLY-FALLEN MOLD-WARPS !  GAZE THEE UPON THIS SIGN OF BOWBE AND GET THY POX-MARKED, FLESH-PICKED BONES HENCE !" he demands.

Waiting to see what happens, Aramil is surprised to see the skeleton hands clawing their way to freedom from the soil. His shock at this new development makes Aramil think maybe he was not cut out for this adventuring lark. Maybe he should have stayed home rather than seek excitement that contains the horrors of stories and songs that he always didn't quite believe.

Seeing the others struggling by the hands Aramil decides to help the group in the light of the fire. He steps forward and swings him sword at the closest skeleton.  Yet he seems distracted again and the swing is just awful.

Colwyn draws his shortsword and rushes over to crouch beside Corian.

The man's gasping breath and muttered imprecations at least tell the rogue that he is still alive and conscious.  "Get yerself up, man.  There's too many buggers 'round 'ere jus' layin' in the dirt, an' not a few as should be but ain't."

Keeping an eye on the skeletons and holding his blade art the ready, Colwyn assists Corian in clambering to his feet.

Groaning as he sits up, Corian grabs Colwyn by the shoulder, "It's Vortigern!  He's caught up with me!"

Colwyn nods, "Yer said.  Look, I don't care who the bastard is.  If 'e killed this 'ere family then 'e's like as not plannin' on doin' us in too.  We needs ter stop 'im from doin' that.  So get off yer arse an fight 'im!"

Corian is upright now.  Scared, but upright.  He clasps his hands together in front of his face and starts to whisper under his breath, his eyes tightly closed...

Colwyn helps Corian to his feet while keeping watch over the injured man.  The rogue urges his employer to pull himself together and fight back against Vortigern...

Not far away, Oswald notices one of the skeletons, perhaps acting on the remnant of some bullying instinct which still rattles about in its skull, has decided to pick on the smallest target.  As it reaches for him the halfling unleashes a sling bullet which, sadly, misses his intended target entirely.  Then the agile little bard is forced to duck aside as the undead horror scratches at him with its clawed fingers...

The party's other bard, Aramil, engages a second skeleton in combat.  The elf's sword swing misses the skeleton entirely, passing through the space where a living being would keep its guts.  The skeleton is more fortunate, and its filthy claws scrape at the elf's arm, tearing his sleeve and drawing blood. 

Corian casts a spell, and a faint glow seems to envelop him briefly, and not a moment too soon as one of the skeletons lunges at him.  Its bony claws reach for him... and stop short of his flesh, scrabbling against some invisible barrier. 

Out beyond the fire, the Nameless Monk and Fergus reach their goal, a man standing among the trees at the edge of the forest.  The monk throws everything into driving her hand into her target's ribs, only to find the blow stopped by an invisible barrier of some sort.  Fergus, meanwhile, swings the shovel in a wide (and enthusiastic) arc... only to have it wrenched from his hands as it strikes one of the trees...  The Nameless Monk dodges as the heavy farm tool spins past her head, and that dodge probably saves her further injury as her opponent lunges at her with a knife, but misses.

Back near the fire, Eilieen steps forward to try and drive back the skeletons, but trips and falls, sprawling in the dirt.  She takes the opportunity to seize Aarnr's holy symbol and hand it to him, before she finds herself struggling with one of the skeletons, which tears at her flesh with its clawed hands. 

Aarnr once again summons up the power of Bowbe as a sixth skeleton pulls itself up out of the ground at his feet.  Some of the nearby undead seem to hesitate for a moment, but then continue with their previous activity.  The newcomer rakes at Aarnr's legs with its razor-sharp finger bones, and the cleric feels flesh tear... 

Two more arrows come out of the darkness, missing their targets entirely, but giving Aarnr and Fergus a little more to worry about...

From somewhere overhead, there is a loud cawing, and a large raven, possibly the one they had seen earlier, swoops down to attack Corian.  Fortunately for the sorcerer, it has no more success penetrating his defense than the skeleton had.  Colwyn jabs at it with his sword, but the bird, as might be expected, is far too nimble and evades the blow easily.

Backing up to the door of the farmhouse, and gaining a little protection from the structure, Erista casts a spell upon herself.  To the untrained eye, the immediate effect, a faint glow lasting a heartbeat or two, looks similar to the spell that Corian had used. 

OOC: Well... this is all going... er... swimmingly.  I said to get 'em!

Combatant         Init
Colwyn Akbar       23
Oswald Osbourne    23
Aramil             22
Nameless Monk      18
Corian             18
Aarnr Foultongue   17
Fergus Andarson    17
Vortigern          16   AC=23
Skeletons          16   AC=13
Archers             9   AC=??
Eilieen             7
Erista              5
Raven               5   AC=18

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Hurt
Aramil:           Severe
Eilieen:          Hurt
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Good
Nameless Monk:    Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Good

Corian Barade:    Critical

If Fergus is dismayed by the loss of his shovel, he doesn't show it.  He isn't carrying his scythe (it being too large to lug about while digging and rather inappropriate at funerals) but he has his wood axe through a loop at his belt and he snatches it out.

Fergus by this stage, has let go of his already stretched temper.  He's already convinced himself that this wizard killed the farmer and his family, that he looks to be raising skeletons simply adds fuel to Fergus' fury.  Unfortunately strength and anger are no match for Vortigern's defences and Fergus' mighty swing has no obvious effect.

"I'll kill you, you murdering bastard!"

(Rather optimistic, perhaps, and far from original but even Aarnr is unlikely to complain about Fergus' apparent enthusiasm for the job at hand)

This isn't going well at all.  Not at all.  For one thing, people are hurt and Eilieen can't get to them - if she tries to break away from the undead horror struggling with her, it will no doubt leap upon her back and bring her down.  For another, the filth, the disgusting mess...it's all too much for her.

She has to get space from the skeletons, needs to break free so she can go to Corian, to Aramil.  Even to Aarnr, now hurt by the skeletons' grasping claws.

"In Zadratha's name, begone!" the thin woman cries, brandishing her holy symbol.

It does nothing at all, sadly.

Erista takes out her sling, whirling it over her head and sending a rock pinging out towards the skeleton striking at Corian.

The gods are not with them this day, either not listening or ignoring their priests.  "Frog this ..."  Aarnr swears, tossing aside the token of his god, his face contorting as his fury mounts.

"AND FROG THEE, THOU PUS-MARROWED FOBBIN' RATS-RRAAARRRRR !!!" the litany of insults devolves into a gutteral roar as the priest batters at the skeleton before him with the shovel, beyond any reason now the battle-frenzy upon is him.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:01, Tue 06 Sept 2011.

Having dodged both the flying shovel and the blade the monk tries to side-step, attempting to flank the magician.  As she does she throws a hard punch at him, aiming in the general direction of the nose, hoping to flatten that particular feature.

Ozzy was shocked by the sudden confrontation from the skeleton and quickly drops his sling as he draws his dagger for defense. He wishes now he had brought a sturdy club instead when he lashes out and connects; only nicking a chunk of bone loose from the looming undead towering over him.

ATTK: 17 / DAMG: 2

Corian doesn't waste time congratulating himself on his successful use of magic.  Even as the raven attacks him again, battering ineffectually at some sort of invisible barrier which surrounds the man, he raises one hand and cries out, "Taflegryn yn y tywyllwch!"

A bolt of energy sparks from his fingertips, fizzing and whistling as spirals around him in pursuit of his assailant.

Colwyn still has his shortsword in hand, and is close enough to defend Corian.  And it never hurts to help the boss, right?  He jabs at the raven once more, only to see it perform a spectacular aerial manoeuvre which sees the tip of his blade missing the bird completely and, apparently, being deflected by something which surrounds Corian.

"Bloody nadgers!" the rogue curses, as he watches for the raven to come within reach of him once more.

(NPCd)

Aramil is forced to give all of his attention to saving himself as the skeleton continues to claw at him.  He slashes with his blade again, and is this time rewarded as the jolt of a solid impact travels up his arm.

Not enough to stop the skeleton in its tracks, but it is, at least, a start...

The combat continues...

Colwyn, cursing and swearing, almost seems to be involved in some sort of bizarre dance as he hops around Corian, jabbing and stabbing at the raven which seems determined to get at the sorcerer.  The rogue's acrobatic movements avail him naught though.

Oswald slashes at one skeleton with his dagger, and succeeds in shaving off a few splinters of bone, though at the cost of a little of his own skin and some blood as the skeleton claws at him. 

Not far off, Aramil hacks at the skeleton which faces him, and his blade, driven with all the strength the elf can muster, tears the undead things jaw off, sending it skittering across the ground, and cracks its skull.  This has little appreciable effect on the creature, unfortunately, and Aramil is forced to step back as it reaches for him again...

Suddenly finding himself trapped between Fergus and the Nameless Monk, the enemy leader finds it difficult to avoid both, and staggers backwards as the monk's fist slams into his face, bringing a cry of pain...  He attempts to retaliate, but blinding pain and the agility of the monk rob him of his revenge.

Corian casts a spell, ignoring the skeleton which scrapes futilely at his magical defence, and a bolt of mystical force whirls outwards, following the rapidly evading raven until it finally makes contact with the bird and discharges its energy in a green-blue flare.  The raven turns, cawing viciously, and swoops down towards Corian...

Fighting his own enemy, Aarnr roars in rage as a clawed hand rips at his arm, and responds with a well-placed blow of his shovel, which hits hard enough to scatter the skeleton's bones all across the area and very effectively discourage it from attacking anybody again.  Another arrow sails high over the priest's head, striking the wall of the house behind him.

Using an axe, now that his shovel has flown south for the winter, Fergus aims a blow at the enemy spellcaster, but the only result is flash of light, as the weapon is turned aside by the magical barrier which protects the man.  A moment later, the farmer's son grunts as an arrow sinks into his back, just below the ribs...

Eilieen struggles to avoid being hit as she attempts to drive the undead back.  Her efforts do her little good, and sharp bone bites into her flesh, drawing blood.  The shock and pain probably goes some way to explaining her disturbing lack of faith. 

From her sheltered spot in the doorway, Erista sends a sling stone hurtling across the farmyard to bounce off the skull of the skeleton which is attacking Corian.  While it doesn't stop the thing, it does distract it, and eyeless sockets peer about, briefly seeking the source of the blow.

And in the same instant the raven strikes!  Diving down the foul bird somehow gets past Corian's magical defence and seems to simply touch him as it hurtles past.  Corian clutches at his arm, as the colour drains from his face, and he screams, "Aaiiee!  It burns!"

OOC: Yay!  One skeleton smashed to pieces, others chipped, and the spellcaster has a bloody nose (right in the centre of his bloody face *snickers*).  There's just the minor matter of some trivial injuries to the party...

Combatant         Init
Colwyn Akbar       23
Oswald Osbourne    23
Aramil             22
Nameless Monk      18
Corian             18
Aarnr Foultongue   17
Fergus Andarson    17
Vortigern          16   AC=23
Skeletons          16   AC=13
Archers             9   AC=??
Eilieen             7
Erista              5
Raven               5   AC=18

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Hurt
Aramil:           Severe
Eilieen:          Severe
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Nameless Monk:    Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Hurt

Corian Barade:    Critical

Seeing the skeleton `looking' for her evidently doesn't appeal to Erista's survival instincts, and she follows her first stone with another.

Bellowing his triumph at the destruction of his foe, Aarnr shakes his shovel in the air, blood streaming down the cut on his arm, though the priest pays it no heed ... nor much more to what is happening around him, save for where the next of the skeletons might be found.  Swiftly crossing the disturbed earth to bring himself within reach of the nearest, Aarnr brings his shovel down hard, expertly striking the ground if not the walking pile of bones he was intent on.

Roaring once more, the priest leaves no doubt just how cross that makes him !

Fergus does his best to ignore the arrow wound and swings again.  The blow is well-enough aimed, if a little crude, and it helps that Vortigern is forced to split his attention but Fergus still finds himself defeated by the mage's defences.  Being repeatedly thwarted isn't helping Fergus' temper...

The monk does her best to stay on the opposite side of the mage compared to Fergus, launching another attack.  In her mind he was the most dangerous adversary, able to hit without fail if allowed to use his magic and perhaps even an attack that could hit many of them at once.

Alas, her attack goes wide this time.

She's going to have to take a chance - there's no two ways about it.  Aarnr has this situation 'under control', so to speak, even if the other priest has lost whatever control he possessed.  Or maybe, Eilieen considers as a pair of bones fly past her, it's good tactics.  Whatever the case, she herself is about to make what one might consider a tactical blunder, but...

The bleeding priestess scurries backward, hopefully weathering another attack by the skeleton, and staggers away from the battle toward Aramil with the intent of saving the half-elf's life; if he falls, the undead horror might very well go down atop him and end him completely.  He requires her goddess' blessing, and swiftly if he is to stay upon his feet.

Even though he doesn't currently have his 'axe' in hand, the little halfling still has his voice. He jabs again at the skeletons pelvic bone,
nicking loose another small chip of bone while he sings as loud as he can bellow between dodging the skeletons clawing reach,

We're not gonna take it
No, we ain't gonna take it,
We're not gonna take it any mooooooreeee...

We've got the right to choose and
There ain't no way we'll lose it
This is our life this is our soooonnnngggg...

---

ATTK: 21 DAMG: 3 / Inspiring Courage :) +1 to all attacks/saves/damage

(NPCd)

Aramil continues to make a fighting withdrawal before the skeleton's attempts to tear at his flesh wjth it filthy talons.  As the hands reach for him, he hacks at them repeatedly, though apparently doing little damage.

Suddenly he sees an opening, and jabs his blade into the things face with a satisfying impact...

Corian shakes his head and ignores the skeleton, which doesn't seem able to reach him, and again speaks the spell which sends a bolt of magical energy surging towards the attacking raven...

"Taflegryn yn y tywyllwch!"

As the raven moves away from Corian, doubtless preparing to come around for another attack, Colwyn slashes at it with his shortsword.  He actually manages to hit the beastly creature this time, and laughs aloud as blood stains the edge of his blade.

"Hah!  Di'n't like that much, did yer?"

Colwyn hacks at the raven, and derives some grim amusement from a success which proves to be fleeting, as the raven recovers from the blow and climbs higher.  The rogue's laughter dies in his throat a moment later, as he notices the greenish black fumes boiling off the blood on his sword...

Still fighting a skeleton, Ozzy uses his small size to his advantage as he ducks in close and continues to whittle the thing's bones away.  In fact he almost seems to be enjoying it, and he even starts to sing at the top of his voice.  As the words of his song ring out across the farm, his companions feel an unaccountable (in light of the current dire predicament) lifting of their spirits...  The skeleton, however, does not, and tries to gouge at the bard's flesh with its bare hands.  The halfling is too nimble though, and manages to evade the creature's attack.

Slowly retreating, Aramil defends himself as best he can from the ripping claws of another skeleton, using his shortsword to knock the attacks aside, and even seizing the chance to do a little more damage to his foe.  Still, things have looked better for the elf...

Beyond the circle of firelight, out in the gloom at the edge of the forest, the Nameless Monk and Fergus continue to harry the enemy spellcaster.  His magical defences do seem to be providing him with some protection, but the adventurers are slowly driving him backward, away from the farm, as he struggles to keep from being pinned between the pair.  Suddenly he yells out, "Help me, you idiots!" and lunges at Fergus with his knife, only to see the weapon turned aside by the big farm hand's leather jerkin.

The raven, having flown higher, turns to dive again, and flies straight into a ball of searing energy hurtling out from Corian's outstretched hand.  The bird caws angrily as it steadies itself in the air.  The lone skeleton, meanwhile, returns its attention to Corian and continues to claw and scrape at the invisible barrier which protects the young mage.

Not far away, Aarnr rushes to engage the skeleton which faces Eilieen, and continues to swing his shovel with great enthusiasm.  Apparently some skeletons, for all their reputation as mindless undead automata, are capable of learning.  Through a red mist, the priest of Bowbe sees this one duck beneath his makeshift weapon, and lunge at him, using its bony digits to tear at his throat! 

On the plus side, people seem to have stopped shooting at him...

Two arrows whir out of the darkness, one narrowly misses the Nameless Monk, who feels the wind as it passes her.  The second misses Fergus by a somewhat larger margin, and strikes a tree close behind the farmer's foe, who spits out an angry, "Fools!" at the concealed archers.

Eilieen takes advantage of the distraction provided by Aarnr, evades the skeleton's claws (though one bony hand does grasp, briefly, at her gown) and hurries across to assist Aramil in his battle.

Erista, perhaps a little irritated at being ignored, hurls another sling stone at the skeleton which has gone back to attacking Corian.  This time the stone smacks it right between the eyes, knocking its skull off completely.  The skeleton falls in a heap of disarticulated bones, relieving Corian of one worry.

His other concern still lives though.  The great black raven swoops at Corian again, a malicious gleam in its eyes.  At the last second he dodges, and the bird flashes past him, flapping hard to regain height.

OOC: A second skeleton bites the dust!  But some party members are looking the worse for wear.

Everybody gets a +1 to all attacks/saves/damage rolls, as long as Ozzy keeps singing.

Combatant         Init
Colwyn Akbar       23
Oswald Osbourne    23
Aramil             22
Nameless Monk      18
Corian             18
Aarnr Foultongue   17
Fergus Andarson    17
Vortigern          16   AC=23
Skeletons          16   AC=13
Archers             9   AC=??
Eilieen             7
Erista              5
Raven               5   AC=18

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Severe
Aramil:           Severe
Eilieen:          Severe
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Nameless Monk:    Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Hurt

Corian Barade:    Critical

This message was last edited by the GM at 14:16, Sat 10 Sept 2011.

Still keeping on the opposite side from Fergus the monk takes a chance when she spots an opening, once more going for the face.  It is an effective place to hit, after all, even more so after having literally and figuratively given their attacker a blooded nose.  It could be flatter still, however, so that is what she aims for.

Ozzy smiles, remembering last years Harvest festival back in the wealthy city of Tsar when he had performed an act not unlike this very performance. Ducking yet again from the boney grasp, he is mindful that this skeleton was not some stage actor so had better be quick in adapting his mark. Still singing,

We'll fight a thousand legions
Don't pick our destiny cause
You don't know us, you dont beloooong...

We're not gonna take it
No, we aint gonna take it
We're not gonna take it anymoooorrreee...

He stabs as he ducks, nearly missing the femur before his blade connects and splinters off another large portion of bone.

Oh you're so condescending
Your goal is never ending
We dont want nothin, not a thing from yooouuu...

ATTK: 13 - DAMG: 3
This message was last edited by the player at 11:07, Sun 11 Sept 2011.

Gasping, Eilieen stumbles to where Aramil fights on, her hands reaching for his back.  Hopefully he won't misinterpret the touch and stab her by mistake...of course, he'd have to be deaf as well.

"Zadastha knows...love of life as well," she chokes out, her palms touching the half-elf's shoulders as he ducks and dodges.  "Against despair, remember that love!"  And the goddess' power flows through her into her comrade, a cool tide against the burn of his wounds.

There is an annoying, high pitched whining noise that penetrates even the red haze within which Aarnr is enmeshed, driving him to new heights of violence.

With blood streaming down his chest from gashes where the skeleton's claws have raked his neck, opening deep cuts, the priest renews his assault upon the undead foe.  His normal tirade of insults and bad language is reduced to a gutteral roar as he is consumed by the primal rage, smashing at the skeleton with his shovel.

When Fergus sets his mind to something he isn't easily turned aside.  He isn't discouraged by his failure to land a blow and he stubbornly refuses to be distracted by the lurking archers.  He presses the attack again and his persistence is rewarded as Vortigern's defences buckle and Fergus' axe draws blood.

Erista - quite content to be ignored, actually - stays quiet, except for the whirring sound of her sling, before sending another rock hurtling towards a skeleton.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:39, Mon 12 Sept 2011.

Becoming more than a little desperate, Aramil once again lunges at his foe as he continues to back away.  Unfortunately he misses both the skeleton and his step, and ends up sprawled on his back with the skeleton standing over him.  To make matters worse, his sword is now laying on the ground a couple of feet out of his reach...

Colwyn tries to hit the raven once more.  Something, perhaps the song the bard is singing, seems to fill him with confidence.  The rogue's shortsword lashes out and strikes the raven, hard, but apparently to little real effect.

Then comes the sudden sick realisation that none of Colwyn's attacks, even the ones which seemed to make solid contact with the bird, have actually produced any real, visible harm to it...

"Damned bird's got magic!"

"I do believe you're correct!" Corian replies to Colwyn, as he once again prepares a spell to cast upon the vile avian.  But now there is a hint of panic in his action - this will be the last time he can use this particular spell before sunrise!  Once more he pronounces the tongue-twisting words of magic, and once more an orb of power flies forth to blast the despicable creature...

Colwyn hits the raven with a well-placed thrust, achieving a definite hit.  But the bird, though it's flight is disturbed somewhat by the blow, does not seem to be as seriously injured as the man would have expected.  The rogue starts to suspect some kind of eldritch wizardry protects the thing.

Meanwhile the small bard continues to sing his rousing battle hymn, and his companions are heartened by the words.  The halfling himself still battles bravely, even though the small blade he wields does only minor damage to Oswald's ossified foe.  Bony claws scratch at his flesh in retaliation, but the bard continues to fight...

Aramil, seriously injured, stumbles as he he backs away from his opponent, and falls flat upon the ground, almost knocking down Eilieen who has moved up close behind him.  The sword slips from his grasp, and strikes sparks as it clangs against a large stone a short distance away.  The skeleton stoops to attack him, but its hands scrape harmlessly at his sturdy leather tunic.

At the edge of the woods, the Nameless Monk attempts to smash the heel of her hand into her opponent's face once more, but he is too quick, and he ducks her sttack this time.  Unfortunately he ducks directly into the path of Fergus' axe, which almost severs his neck and sends him slamming back into a tree trunk, where he slumps down lifeless, his head hanging at a most unnatural angle...

The raven seems to stop in mid-flight, giving a distinctly un-corvine cry, and its shape begins to change, becoming a small, red-skinned humanoid, with bat wings, horns, and a long tail, equipped with a venom-dripping stinger.  And a moment later, Corian's magic hits it.  It flies upwards into the gloom, somewhat unsteadily, cackling as it goes...

Aarnr, still apparently a little peeved, hammers at the skeleton which stands before him.  His shovel makes a loud ringing sound and bowls the undead creature over.  It twitches once or twice, attempting to get back up to its feet, without success, and then lays still, leaving the priest without a target for the moment...

Almost laughing with relief at the sudden departure of the evil bird, or whatever it was, Colwyn suddenly screams as a skeleton comes up behind him and fastens its claws around his neck! 

At Aramil's side, Eilieen does her best to ignore the undead thing which attacks the elven bard, and prays for the blessings of her goddess.  Energy flows from her hand into Aramil's body, and the elf's injuries start to close. even as the skeleton raises its eyeless sockets to stare at the priestess.  An instant later, the thing's skull flies into scattered shards and splinters of bone as Erista's well-aimed stone hits it with a loud crack!

OOC: Two skeletons destroyed this round!  Two skeletons left.  The "raven" has fled (or has it?), and the enemy spellcaster is down.

Everybody gets a +1 to all attacks/saves/damage rolls, as long as Ozzy keeps singing.

Combatant         Init
Colwyn Akbar       23
Oswald Osbourne    23
Aramil             22
Nameless Monk      18
Corian             18
Aarnr Foultongue   17
Fergus Andarson    17
Skeletons          16   AC=13
Archers             9   AC=??
Eilieen             7
Erista              5

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Severe
Aramil:           Good
Eilieen:          Severe
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Nameless Monk:    Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Hurt

Colwyn Akbar:     Critical
Corian Barade:    Critical

Left lying on the ground Aramil excepted better from the skeleton. Surprise registers on his face as the hand that reaches for him scrapes off the armour rather than his flesh. He is also surprised to see Eileen standing so close and the flow of energy from her hand seems to give Aramil an unexpected surge of healing. "Thank you Eileen, for whatever you have just done. I shall try and use your gift wisely." Concern on his face appears when he realises that Eileen has left herself exposed to the creature, but Aramil is then relieved to see its head shatter into lots of pieces from a stone that hits the head. Unsure of where the stone came from he calls out in general "Thank you for the stone. It really hit the spot."

With the skeleton removed from combat Aramil then takes the chance to stand up and take stock of the surroundings. Not sure he can do much Aramil looks for the skeletons still standing and heads to the closer one after retrieving his sword.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:49, Thu 15 Sept 2011.

With a nod to Fergus the monk looks around and then takes off running towards what seems to be the last two visible enemies.  For the moment there are no arrows flying so she will deal with any arrow-slinging enemies when and if that starts happening.

"Not I, but Zadastha," Eilieen pontificates for a moment before hesitating, realizing how ungracious that might sound.  "And you're most welcome," she finally shoots back with an embarassed look.  With Aramil up and moving, the Priestess turns away, once again searching for the injured.

There's no shortage, but...Colwyn!

With a desperate cry, Eilieen hurls herself across the battlefield, struggling to reach the beleagured man.  "Let my hand hold the love Zadastha carries for all," she prays, "and give this man the strength to live!"

Should she reach the sorely wounded Colwyn, she clamps her hands on his arm for an instant, her own grip seeking to replace the vitality the skeleton has torn away.

Another of the foe falls before him !  Aarnr wastes no time in issuing yet another bowel-loosening roar of triumph.  Looking around through the red mist that consumes him, the priest seeks out further of the foe, launching himself in the direction of the nearest, though he stumbles for his footing as he trips over the pile of bones just felled.

Ozzy never lowers his voice and never misses a beat as he engages in the macabre dance with the skeleton.

"Your life is trite and jaded,
Boring and confiscated,
If thats your best,
Your best wont doooo....

Ohhh.....
We're Right! Yeah!
We're Free! Yeah!
We'll Fight! Yeah!
You'll See! Yeaaaaah!

Stabbing yet again with his tiny dagger, he knocks off the biggest shard of bone yet when he hits the chorus...

We're not gonna take it
No, we aint gonna take it
Oh, We're not gonna take it
Anyyymooooorrreee...."

ATTK: 15 / DAMG: 4

"破壞 幽靈," Erista snaps again, sending another quick beam of white light from her fingertip towards the nearest shambling pile of bones.

Corian draws his dagger and rushes towards the skeleton attacking Colwyn as he screams, "Begone, vile creature!"  The blade flashes in the firelight, a gleaming arc of potential death which entirely fails to meet its target and leaves Corian looking somewhat foolish...

Gripping the skeleton by one wrist, Colwyn struggles to prize its hands away from his neck, without much luck.  So he plants one foot against the thing's pelvis and shoves, hard.  That does the trick, and both he and the undead creature are pushed backwards.

Both manage to retain their footing, though not without a certain amount of strenuous gymnastic effort on Colwyn's part.

Ozzy continues his song, while still fighting the skeleton.  As he builds up to the chorus, he gets in a lucky blow with his small blade and already weakened bone breaks completely.  The skeleton's left hip snaps and drops the thing to the ground, scattering bones all around the halfling. 

A beleaguered Colwyn manages to force the skeleton back from him, breaking its grip on his throat.  Both rogue and undead stagger backwards, and the latter finds itself on the receiving end of a blow from Aramil's sword as the elf runs up behind it. 

The Nameless Monk leaves an angry Fergus kicking at the fallen sorcerer and sprints back towards the fire to assist in dealing with the remaining attackers... 

In an effort to assist Colwyn, and with little magic left to use, Corian attacks the skeleton with his dagger, but misses entirely.  As does Aarnr, who puts his foot on a loose kneecap and slips at the critical moment, swinging his shovel high above the skeleton's head.

The skeleton lunges at Colwyn again, but the rogue is more prepared for the thing's speed this time, and dodges aside at the last instant.  Eilieen comes up behind Colwyn and lays a hand on his arm, and he turns quickly to defend himself from what he suspects is a new attack, managing to stay the blow before he strikes at the cleric of Zadastha.  He gasps, as vitality flows through his body and the wounds at his neck, and elsewhere, start to heal!

The last remaining skeleton recovers from its abortive charge and leers at the cleric, its hands reaching out for her, and then it crumbles as Erista plays a beam of pale flickering light across its repulsive form.

The battle is, it appears, ended...

OOC: Smells like victory.

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Severe
Aramil:           Good
Eilieen:          Severe
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Nameless Monk:    Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Hurt

Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Critical

<backpost>Fergus' first thought after Vortigern falls is to chase after the archers, who he can hear fleeing.  But it's too dark to see and even as angry as he is, Fergus can't see the point in running off blindly.  His second thought is to follow Nameless Monk and join the others fighting the skeletons but even as he turns Oswald and Erista destroy the last undead.

Fergus stalks over to Vortigern's corpse and give it a swift kick, partly to make sure Vortigern really was dead (you can't be too careful with necromancers), but mostly out of frustration.
</backpost>

With the fight over, Fergus' rage swiftly ebbs.  He walks back towards the others but he looks aimless and confused.  Before reaching the group, he abruptly drops his axe and sits down.  He starts pulling at his cloak and tunic, straining his neck to look back over his shoulder.  It seems he wants to check on the arrow wound to his back, but its location makes that all but impossible.

Aarnr bellows once more, though the lack of coherency does not signify whether it is the skeleton escaping him or the one who robbed him of the kill to whom he takes exception.

Though the undead may be down, the big priest pays that little heed, continuing to snarl and growl as he batters the downed bone piles with his shovel ...

First Colwyn nearly stabs her...then the skeleton reaches for her with hungry fingers.  But with a flash of light from Erista, the danger is over, the final skeleton coming apart beneath the weight of her magics.  "Zadastha be praised!" Eilieen gasps, for it seems everyone has survived.  "Oh, and you too, Erista!" she throws over her shoulder, a heartfelt thanks as the priestess reaches for the savagely brutalized Corian.

It's almost enough to make her want to return to the temple.  Almost.

"Pain's icy grip melts in Love's warmth," she whispers, summoning Zadastha's power a third time to succor the viciously wounded man.  Immediately Eilieen turns away, gasping as her own wounds complain, and seeks the next most injured of her little flock.  Aarnr certainly qualifies, but...

Though the undead may be down, the big priest pays that little heed, continuing to snarl and growl as he batters the downed bone piles with his shovel ...

Perhaps in a moment, the priestess concedes, rushing to where Fergus sits.  "Please, please don't move, Fergus!" Brushing his hands away, she kneels behind him.  "Not deep, not deadly...thank Zadastha!"  It appears they have all survived.  The Priestess closes her eyes.  Her well of strength is nearly dry, but she has something left to give.  "Wounds oft take time to heal, but Love can inure one to their pain," she whispers, and again the power flows.  But the stream has become a trickle, nothing more.

OOC - If anyone DOESN'T want the healing, let me know and I'll modify the post.  Didn't want to go quite into whirlwind mode, so Oswald will be next.

Corian: CLW, 3 points :(
Fergus: CMW, 1 point.  At least the bleeding is stopped and the wound will heal.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:10, Mon 19 Sept 2011.

When a few seconds have passed and no more arrows have flown out from the trees, Erista ventures forth from her chosen spot.  She looks momentarily nonplussed by Eilieen's thanks, and then grins.  "You're welcome," she replies, unconsciously straightening out her posture a bit.

She starts poking around near the skeletons she hit, picking up the skulls and rattling them a little, looking for her shot.  "Well, least he wasn't a lich," she says, cheerfully.  "So, Cor, any guesses what would bring him out on a day like this?"

Ozzy grimaces as the battle ends and the sting of his own pain sets in. he inspects the gouges left by the skeletons claws, gingerly touching at the wound before turning to walk over to the healer. Having no comment to add to the conversation in the aftermath, Ozzy stands with his hands on his hips, catching his breath as he waits his turn to be bandaged up. Luckily he's small, so it wont take much to patch him up.

After the retreat of the enemy Aramil stands around looking bewildered and checking his sword. Sighing, he shrugs and then resheaths the sword making a note to get the sword looked at asap. Looking around at the others he is glad to see everyone alive.

Over any need to look more knowledgeable than he is Aramil clears his throat and then says quietly "Do we need to deal with the remains of the skeletons? And who was the voice calling in the dark? I would also prefer to get inside somewhere and set up watch sooner rather than later." The question ramble a bit, but it is more Aramil getting his thought in order rather than loose talk of a less sane man, well half-elf anyway.

As those behind him are able to pause and draw breath with the peril of immediate danger now past, Aarnr slows in his shovel strokes, his snarls growing quieter until they subsides into harsh pants as the god leaves him be and he struggles to draw in enough air after his frenzied exertion.

Leaning on the shovel, the priest surveys the crushed and broken piles of bones, absently noting the bloody gashes on his throat and legs as he looks about him, his gaze wandering back and forth until he is satisfied that all his companions have survived, though Eilieen looks to have taken as bad a wound as he himself and Corian much worse than either of them.

Once he has his breath back, Aarnr maintains his uncustomary and disturbing silence as he limps slowly back to the graveside, intent on recovering his sword, throwing down the shovel as he picks up the long blade.

With his familiar weapon once more in his hands, the big priest seems much happier as he returns to the site of the battle.

"Friend of yours ?" Aarnr growls softly at Corian, nodding towards the nearly headless body slumped against the tree.

Corian sighs, "That was Vortigern, the very person I had hoped to avoid by leaving Reme under a shroud of subterfuge.  I suppose his equally repugnant familiar has been spying on us.  As for why he would attack me... attack us, in all likelihood he wanted the letter and the amulet for himself, so that he can attempt the transformation into a lich."

He glances at the shallow graves, "Perhaps he killed this family to distract us until he could spring his ambush, or to provide himself with more undead... in which case the burial and blessings may have been the most vital defence we had."

Eilieen circulates, healing those who require it, and Corian thanks her.

OOC:

Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Severe
Aramil:           Good
Eilieen:          Severe
Erista:           Good
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt
Nameless Monk:    Good
Oswald Osbourne:  Hurt

Colwyn Akbar:     Good
Corian Barade:    Severe

"You are most welcome, Corian."  Eilieen continues to move from injured to injured, dispensing minor charms of healing.  Those don't last either, and she switches to bandages, her skill with the more pedestrian methods of care quite obvious.  Unless dissuaded, she takes time to ensure everyone in the group has their injuries wrapped up.

Evidently she majored in 'fixing wounds' at the temple, rather than their better-known skills.

"Monster," she mutters, glaring at Vortigern's headless corpse.  The Priestess absently sketches a sign in the air.  "Go quietly, Vortigern, and trouble the living no more.  I pray Zadastha takes you in, and heals you of your dark pain."

Finally sitting down, she examines her own wounds.  They hurt; really, all that needs to be said.  With slow, stiff movement, Eilieen bandages herself, tying the final knot on one wrapping with her free hand and her teeth.

"Thanks, Miss."  Fergus murmurs as Eilieen tends to his wound.  A quick flex of his broad shoulders is enough to assure Fergus that the injury won't hinder his range of movement.

When Eilieen finally stops long enough to see to her own pains, Fergus hastens to help.  "Here, Miss, let me.  I'm not to good with delicate stuff but I can probably tie that off for you."

Whether or not, Eilieen accepts his offer, Fergus stays close enough to say quietly, "He was a bad man, wasn't he, Miss?  Only I've never killed a man before."  The look on Fergus' face shows that the thought is seriously troubling him.  "My ma always said I had to be careful or I'd hurt someone, and now I lost my temper an' I killed him dead."

Eilieen glances up at Fergus, her grumpy frustration giving away to a sunny smile.  "Oh, thank you Fergus.  That would be most appreciated, most appreciated indeed."  Embarassing, using her teeth of all things to help knot off a bandage but...needs must, she tells herself.  "My thanks," she murmurs when he finishes, eyeing his injuries critically.  "I shall do something about those pains, Fergus, when Zadastha sees fit to bless me again with her strength."

But a confession follows, and Eilieen sits back, face growing more serious.  She brushes back an errant lock of hair as Fergus speaks - an automatic gesture, no more.  "Oh dear."  A quick glance around reveals no nearby listeners; a good thing, for she suspects Fergus would not have this broadcast to all and sundry.

The priestess lays a hand on the big man's shoulder.  She doesn't know the right, logical words.  She only knows her feelings, and his.  With them, maybe Eilieen work her way through this dark forest of loss.  "Fergus, it speaks well that you find this troubling; you are a good man.  Yes, he was a very evil man, to do what he did to this poor family.  Killing is not something to be taken lightly, for all lives have value.  That was his terrible, terrible mistake: valuing his own selfish purpose above the lives of these poor people."

The young priestess smiles softly, a sorrowful cast to the expression.  "One can hardly blame you for your temper, Fergus.  Indeed, your rage was righteously aimed.  You stopped this man from future evils.  It is a sad thing that we needed to kill him - I would urge you to never lose that sadness upon taking a life, but I think you never will.  And yet...had you not struck him we might well be dead, and he would have continued onward."

Touching his shoulder again, she points toward the sad little group of graves.  "And the world would have seen more of those."  The priestess sniffles once, emotion filling her again; shock, pain, sorrow for the dead, and sadness for poor Fergus, his innocence stripped away from him in a moment of brutality.

"I do not think your mother would speak poorly of you for this," she whispers, taking his arm and patting his wrist.  "I am so sorry you had to kill a man, Fergus.  So sorry he left you no choice."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:23, Thu 22 Sept 2011.

Colwyn eyes the house before saying, "We was goin' ter stay 'ere any'ow, right?  May's well use the 'ouse, eh?  Might be some grub in there too, so we should eat it ternight, afore it goes stale or sour or whatever."

"I mean, we already 'ad a shufty roun' in there, so it can't do any 'arm to sleep in there an' not the barn, see."  He nods to Aramil, "There's a sword in there yer could prob'ly 'ave too.  Poor bugger must've been a soldier or somethin' one time, to own a sword.  Fer all the bloody good it done 'im.  It's just 'angin' on the wall by the fireplace, an' it ain't like he's goin' ter use it again."

Ozzy perks up at Colwyns' mention of the possibility of sleeping in the house. Ceasing his pouting over the fact that he would not receive his blessing until tomorrow, the little halfling strolls to the little farmhouse, popping the door open as he says, "Don't gotta tell me twice. Dibs on the bed!" then scampers inside in hopes of getting under the blankets before one of the taller folks told him not to.

The monk, having moved over towards Fergus, waits for Eileeen to finish before she too speaks to him.  "Fergus, you did good in defending yourself and the rest of us.  This man lost his way long ago and had chosen to remain lost.  Perhaps now he can find peace, so fret not over your actions."

With that she moves back over to the corpse at the edge of the forest and performs the same ritual she did for the family in silence.  Once that is done she returns to the campfire and sits down to meditate.

Erista opens her mouth when Oswald claims the bed, and then thinks better of it, snapping teeth on whatever she might have been about to say and shrugging.  She wanders over to the semi-decapitated mage, instead, and starts methodically checking his pouches and pockets.

Dealing with the dead is not something Aramil is used to. He stands by at first watching the others and listening to their comments. Looking at the Aarnr and Eileen he again asks "Should we bury or burn the bodies again? Or leave them for the scavangers of the forest? I'm tired, a little still and the emotions of the last few days have left me with little energy. I'd rather rest now in the house." Waiting for a response Aramil seems ready to move quickly to the house and settle in for the rest of the night.

Eilieen gives the Nameless Monk a small smile as the other woman joins in the attempt to comfort Fergus.  She glances up at Aramil's question, her brows knitting as she studies the weary ranger.  The poor man seemed utterly exhausted.

"Sleep, Aramil," she calls back.  "This is priest's work."

While Corian's answer doesn't exactly inspire confidence, least of all that the onion-eyed giglet knows so much of the rituals associated with both raising undead and joining them.  Fergus's remorse, on the other hand, is more of a puzzlement than a concern to the priest.

"At least the puttock gave us a good fight, for all he was a bone-sucking, bat-fowling maggot-pie," he offers the young man as a comfort, "and thou proved thou were the better man."  He forebears from mentioning that his own mother would have spat upon his grave had he lost the fight.

Aarnr suspects that sticking this Vortigern's head on a sharpened pole and nailing his body to a tree for wild animals to feed on is probably not what Eilieen had in mind, though he's happy to assist if that's on the table.   And seeing the priestess has spent herself in caring for the injured of the little band ...

The priest turns his attention to searching the turned earth, poking at clods with his long blade, as he spouts a litany of foul imprecations.  Perhaps they're aimed at Vortigern, perhaps at Bowbe, the weather, Corian, or even himself, but they eventually cease as he exclaims in triumph, squatting to recover the symbol of his god from the ground, banging it against his boot to somewhat clean it.

"Thou did well," he tells Eilieen. "Thou bore thy wounds and helped thy friends. I am less versed in the healing arts than thou, but Bowbe grant I can at least take thy pains away."  More a demand than a request of his god.

If the priestess permits it, Aarnr will call upon his god to "froggin' heal her thou lumpish guts-griping skains-mate ! It's all thy fault anyway ! If thou had froggin' paid attention and smoted those hell-hated marrow-marms when thou should've ..."

"Thanks, Miss." Fergus seems to take some comfort from Eilieen's and Nameless' words of encouragement.  Fergus knows Aarnr means well but his sentiments are so foreign to Fergus that he doesn't know how to react.

After a moment, Fergus follows Nameless back to where they fought Vortigern.  He picks up the shovel, which is still nearby.  It's not in great shape, having hit the tree quite hard, but it might still be usable.  He waits for the monk to finish her prayers then says, "I guess I'll dig a hole for him, too.  He should get that even if he was bad.  And I'm not like to sleep any time soon."

Quiet words are spoken over Vortigern's corpse in the hopes of ensuring that he gives no more trouble, after which the bold heroes make their way to the now tragically vacant house, where they will spend the night.  Erista stays with the body, even after her companions have departed...

Colwyn searches in the house until he finds some cheap tallow candles, which are soon providing a meagre yellowish illumination, which gleams brightly off the blade of the shortsword the rogue had mentioned to Aramil.  Then he sets about kindling a small fire in the hearth to heat some dinner.

Just as small flames finally start dancing in the simple fireplace, Erista returns...

"My thanks, Aarnr," Eilieen whispers, closing her eyes and letting her body relax as the familiar power of healing washes over her.  The prayer itself is...disturbing...but she has grown used to Aarnr's curious relationship with his Deity.  With a quiet sigh, she shakes off the lingering echoes of pain, and pats Fergus' hand a final time before releasing the man to his choices.

Unsurprisingly, he elects to give Vortigern a burial.  Assuredly a good man, she notes to herself.

Once in the house, she again requests to see Corian's injuries, and calls Aarnr over to look.  "Corian," she murmurs, "I don't mean to alarm, but there might be something in your wounds.  Aarnr, can you have a look at these, and attempt a healing?  I would see if it cures the issue."

"I'm fine, really." Corian assures Eilieen, "It burned when the thing, Vortigern's familiar I suspect, first hit me.  And it itched for a little while after that, but it's fading away, even as we speak.  Dashed creature must have had some sort of venom.  I really wish I'd paid more attention to Dasidar's interminable ramblings about such creatures.  He didn't have a familiar himself, but he would speak about them at great length."

The young arcanist sighs, "If only he hadn't been dull enough to kill flies just by talking to them, I might have learned enough to recognise Vortigern's beastly little friend."

Colwyn moves away from the fire and searches around in the house, eventually coming up with a battered, but clean, iron kettle.

"'ere we go.  We can 'ave us some tea with our dinner.  I'll just go fetch some water from the well, an' we's laughin'."

With that, he heads back outside in search of water.  A few minutes later he's back, and hanging the kettle above the fire.

"Vegetable soup."

The monk walks over to the fireplace and looks into the flames thoughtfully.

She nods, slowly and then walks over to the table and taps a finger on it.

"Yes.  Very much so."

The priest nods his gruff acceptance of Eilieen's thanks, and is more than keen to see Vortigern interred, given his views on the prospect of being buried beneath the ground and the ill that can come from such.  "If Bowbe calls me to his side, be sure thou burn my body," he warns Fergus as the pair labour away (though this time he keeps his sword much closer to hand), "don't thou be puttin' me in a froggin' hole in the ground !"

At the priestess's prompting Aarnr reluctantly eyes Corian's wounds, though takes a step back at her suggestion that there might be 'something' in them, lest it be catching.  Corian's words are welcome, however, as "belike Bowbe'll not be paying a froggin' bit of notice to me till I've had chance to get my strength back to argue the point with him."

A bit of blood never hurt anyone, but he'd rather wash away the foul touch of the undead upon his person, and so the priest heads back out to the well to sluice down.  Again with his sword handy.

Vegetable soup and tea is the cap on an unpleasant day all round.

"So ... despite all thine artifice, this Vortigern learned of thy plans anyway," he looks to Corian, "probably that damn bird of his pokin' its beak in and spyin' on us."

"You think we can expect a visit from ..." he racks his brains trying to recall the name, "Feriblan next ?  Whether he's after the same books and staff that thou seek, or seekin' vengeance for Vortigern ?"

Corian shakes his head in reply to Aarnr's question, "I would think not.  Feriblan is somewhat... addled.  Others who know of him often refer to him as 'Feriblan the Mad'.  Add to which that much of what Vortigern did was without his mentor's knowledge.  In fact I suspect that, if Feriblan were entirely compos mentis, and had he become aware of some of Vortigern's activities, he would have, in all probability, dismissed the man from his apprencticeship immediately."

"I have, for example, long been of the belief that Vortigern was selling Feriblan's library, piecemeal.  Volumes that my master had consulted were, on occasion, no longer to be found upon our next visit."  He chuckles, "In fact Dasidar joked with me about it on one occasion, saying that he he thought Feriblan might be eating the books."

"So, no, I do not believe that Feriblan is aware of Vortigern's little expedition, and is probably too far beyond caring to wonder about where his apprentice has gone to."

Erista walks into the house with her arms loaded, looks briefly at the human-sized tabletop, and then dumps a pile of...stuff, rather unceremoniously onto the floor, save a small crystal flask actually held in her hand, which she then sets more carefully onto the tabletop.

"Well, selling off spare books must pay pretty well, because your friend was pretty set."  She nudges at the pile with her toes, pushing the pair of engraved daggers to one side, the two bronze tubes to the other, leaving the leather pouch and coin purse in the middle, looking down at it.


"So, before anybody gets all grabby, give me a minute to have a look over."  She holds her hands out, calling out, "偵查 魔法!" looking down at the collection in front of her.

"Please let me know if anything changes, Corian," Eilieen requests of their 'employer'.  "And I will have to examine it again in the future."  A bite.  How curious.  Well, that does explain the poison.

Digusted with the condition of her own clothing, she waits until Aarnr is finished and takes a turn at the well herself, cleaning her now-ragged clothing as best she can and washing blood off her own body.  Finished, and again in her damp clothes and cloak, Eilieen returns to the farmhouse in time to catch Erista's spellcasting on the items discovered.  Cocking an eyebrow in interest, she moves to a chair and sits, utterly fatigued by the day's exertions and stress.

Erista works a spell, while gazing at the collection of items spread out before her, and sits, concentrating on them for some little while...

"Man would have to be as mad as a froggin' clot-pole not to have noticed what that gorbellied, dog-hearted foot-licker was doin' !" Aarnr agrees with Corian.

He doesn't share Erista's optimistic view of the spoils, however.  A good knife is worth a great deal, but a bit light for anything other than a friendly brawl.  While it is traditional to sacrifice a foe's arms and armour to his god, he doubts Bowbe would be that interested in cutlery.

"How about a song to cheer us up ?" he looks to Aramil and Oswald pointedly.  "Something with a bit of a beat," the priest warns the pair.

Corian chuckles at Aarnr's assessment of Feriblan, "I've not heard him described in quite those terms, but they do seem to fit."

At the fire, Colwyn starts preparing tea as the water begins to heat up.  Perhaps in an automatic response to Aarnr's request for music, he starts whistling a well-known popular melody, He hanged with a smile on his face.

Moving to one side, to give others a little room to work close to the fire, Corian starts examining some earthenware jars standing on a shelf, uncorking each and sniffing carefully at the open neck, "Basil.  Fennel.  Thyme...  It seems that the farmer's wife may have had a talent for the culinary arts, judging by the array of herbs she had amassed."  he shakes his head and sighs, "Feriblan should have dealt with Vortigern long ago."

"And there's chickens," Erista points out absently.  "Huh.  Not bad.  Not bad at all."  She looks up towards Colwyn, and then pauses.  "And hey - our farmer or his father was definitely somebody.  That's got an aura to it, too," she says, pointing towards the hanging shortsword.  "Interesting.  So, this," she puts up the scrollcase, "Is about what we'd expect - necromancy.  Which isn't always about waking up the dead, but, yeah.  And this one," she picks up the pouch of dust, "Does something sneaky.  Illusory.  Might hide tracks, or something.  And the potion's got a creating kind of power to it, hopefully healing, nothin' against the job Eilieen's doing for us there," she adds, quickly.  "Daggers seem awfully nice, but not magicked," she adds, laying them, too, up on the table.  "Should sell for something decent, if nobody wants 'em.  But that's as far as I can figure it all."

"I'll hold onto the pouch for now, divvy up the rest as you like."  She picks up the coinpurse, hefting it a little bit.  "This'n only has the magic of coin, but that's a power I think we can all agree on.  I'll count 'em out while somebody cooks."  She moves over to the corner to start separating them into piles, keeping everything quite visible in case anybody's worried.

Ozzy had never been a fan of vegetables, even if in soup. He was of the belief that they made a person fat, after all, the larger mammals he had encountered in his short life had always tended to be herbivores. He had yet to meet an overweight carnivore. Not wanting to give up the bed, he gnaws on beef jerky, not much of a meal but enough to fill his belly. The bed was the important thing; for his father had insisted that he own a good pair of shoes and a good bed, for as Dad had always said, 'If you're not in one, you're in the other'.

Even as the treasure is sorted through the little halfling bard holds his place under the blankets (with his good shoes at the foot of it) and Ozzy shows little interest in getting his share. He wasn't in this for the money, this whole grand adventure was going into his next big performance...

...assuming he lived long enough to sing about it.

Fergus accepts Aarnr's preference for cremation with a simple nod, too caught up in the labour of digging to respond further.  Once the grave is dug and Erista has finished searching Vortigern, Fergus lowers the mage's corpse into the (shallow) grave and fills it in with a minimum of fuss.

Satisfied that there is nothing more he can do, but still unwilling to join the others in the farmhouse, Fergus goes about seeing to the farm animals.  Fergus goes armed and never strays too far from the farmhouse but it is almost certainly a foolish risk when there may yet be archers or an imp lurking in the darkness.  Still, Fergus feels that somebody ought to look after the livestock and he takes comfort from the familiar chores.


It is quite late before Fergus is ready for dinner.

Aarnr snorts at Erista's fascination with the trinkets, though he is pleased that the farmer had a warrior's weapon, though having not fought the man himself, he's not interested in it as a spoil of battle.

And while he might sniff at Corian's fussiness with herbs and spices, he'd agree that the taste of food is one good thing about civilisation - indeed some of the hotter of the condiments are a challenge in themself !

"I'm sure the mumble-news will thank us for doin' the task for him," the priest suggests to Corian, "if he can froggin' remember his own name, let alone that of his toad-spotted lackey !"

Corian, distracted from his examination of the herbs by Erista's announcement, crosses to the items which she has pronounced magical.  He picks up the tube and shakes it to drop the contents into his hand... a scroll of some kind, which he pointedly does not unroll.

Moving his other hand above it, while making arcane gestures with his fingers, he speaks in that strange tongue again, "Beth yw'r peth hyn."  After a moment he slides the scroll back into the tube.

"It is, as Erista surmised, a spell to animate the dead, in a fashion similar to those accursed skeletons."

Erista is quietly counting out coins, and trying not to lose count, even as Corian mentions her name... 

Outside, Fergus manages to get all of the larger livestock into the barn, with an ease which speaks of years of practice and a certain degree of familiarity in with the procedure on the part of the beasts.  He closes the door behind them, and turns his attention to the few chickens which still remain outside, confused by the firelight into thinking that it's still daytime.

Even among poultry, it seems, there are some which are less perceptive than others...

Appearing outside the monk moves to assist Fergus in his valiant struggle that would lend itself to any ballad of heroic deeds.  But the monk remains silent in her pursuit of those fowl that follow a stray path, leaving any poetry to those more so inclined.

She stays there until at least most of the animals are where they should be, sans any runaways that might be hiding in the forest, planning a new life on a new shore, or at least behind the next tree.

Corian, having used a spell to identify the nature of the scroll, seems to take no further interest in any of the apparently magical items, but starts poking around the house, investigating its contents.

He is, however, careful to replace items exactly where he found then.

Colwyn starts serving tea to those who want it, and Erista starts counting the coins, for the third time.  Next to her, set aside as she discovered them among the coins, sit three gems, two of them dark green and flecked with red, the third a yellowish brown.  When Colwyn reaches her, he looks at the stones with some interest, "Them's a couple of bloodstones an' a citrin." he opines as he hands Erista her tea, "Worth roun' twenty gold apiece, I'd reckon.  Maybe a bit more fer the citrin, but not much."

In the yard it turns out that chickens are (marginally) easier to herd than cats, especially when two people are working at it.  Fergus and the monk are making good progress.  Then, from somewhere up on the barn roof, concealed in the darkness, comes the cawing of a raven, sounding eerily like laughter...

Noticing the loot gathered from the spellcaster, Aramil turns away not really interested in it all. The comment about a song also seems to fall on deaf ears, but the comment about dinner doesn't. Coming for a life in a tavern, Aramil knows something about preparing food. Not flash, but a warm meal might help people deal with the thoughts and feelings they have stored in their heads.

As he using the raw ingredients around them, Aramil sings a song he learnt a long time ago. So long that he doesn't even remember the person that taught it to him. The flow of the words are strange, the song is in elven, yet the tune is not quite right, like a mistranslation, and the effect of an ordinary voice singing something designed for a better one..

Aarnr listens critically to Aramil's song, swiftly condemning it to the same dank hell as herbal teas and vegetable soup.  Apart from the fight, it has not been a good day !  He's tempted to join Fergus and the monk outside, but his leg hurts and he doesn't feel like running around on it any more than he has to.

Coming from a long line of sea-raiders, he is uncomfortably aware that taking possession of the house that was the home of slaughtered villagers might not look good, but is prepared for the nonce to allow that those folk more familiar with the ways of civilisation may know more of such matters than he.

Though he despises the brew, the priest nevertheless takes a cup of it when offered by Colwyn.  In his tribe you eat or drink anything you can keep down best out of three ...

"Just tell me how many goats those froggin' coin will get us ?" he encourages Erista, the constant chinking starting to play on his nerves.

For her third time counting, Erista isn't so much counting as just separating it into piles.  "About twenty?  Hm...thanks."  She accepts the cup, takes a sip, and sets it carefully behind herself by the wall.  Then shee looks over her piles for a moment, spends another moment counting on her fingers, and finally sets the three gems in three separate spots, pushes a couple of coins over to each, pulls the rest into a big pile again, and starts over, this time splitting it out into just five groups.

"I dunno about goats," she says to Aarnr, not looking up, flicking the next coin into the pile.  "But I'd reckon," clink, "If it's what we wanted," clink, "We could get a fair flock of sheep." clink
This message was last edited by the player at 01:40, Mon 03 Oct 2011.

Fergus is reasonably satisfied with his work rounding up the animals.  It's not easy, or as fast as he would like, but then it's dark, the animals are unfamiliar and many of them have already been spooked.

He's almost done when he hears the sound of cawing from the barn roof.  Fergus had been preoccupied with Vortigern so he was unaware of the "raven's" deception, but the noise still made him uncomfortable.

"That's wrong." Fergus says, looking puzzled, "Raven's are day birds, shouldn't be making noise after dark.  Maybe we should go in?"

"Nothing right about what has and is happening here, so yes, let us join the others."

With the task finally done the monk smiles briefly at Fergus, and wait until he either follows or leads the way, ignoring the bird completely.  It was the least she could do - both of those things.

Having headed back out to assist Fergus and the Nameless One with the livestock (OOC - something Eilieen planned to do a while back), Eilieen cocks her head in curiousity and studies the raven.  "I shall take your word for it, Fergus.  The diurnal or nocturnal activities of animals have been a touch outside my training."

Diurnal and nocturnal activties of humans have been, sadly, far too much a part of her training.

Fergus is a good fellow; she had absently noted his averted gaze when she washed up at the pump.  Kind of him, though unnecessary; Eilieen gave up any sort of modesty a long time ago.  Necessity, in the temple.  In return, she made certain to keep from studying him during his own cleansing.

It seems polite, and the goddess knew she would be cursed before painted with the same brush as her fellow priests.

The priestess nods at the Nameless One's suggestion.  "Returning within seems a prudent decision," she agrees, with a worried look around.

Aarnr looks confused by Erista's response. "What do we want froggin' sheep for ?" he demands.

Colwyn steps over to the loot and takes a good look at it.  Finally he reaches a decision, "If'n nobody else wants 'em, I'll take the pig stickers.  Don't matter ter me if'n they's 'chanted or aught, but whoever made 'em did a nice job."

He unsheaths one of the knives and balances it across a fingetip.  "Bloody nice job."

"Anyhows... I got some veg'table soup on the go, which'd go just nice with bread fer dinner, or there's some bacon what I found, fer them what wants meat in their soup."

Feeling a little better at having something to do that he knows Aramil ignore the comments about the soup and his singing. But when Colwyn points out the bacon he turns to the man and says "Bacon would add to this well. Can I have it and then I'll fry the meat to add some flavour, if no-one objects to meat in their soup?"

Soon the half-elf is busy again cooking something that might make them all feel better, this time composing a sonnet based on the things he had seen in Reme.

Aarnr's glare around the room at any who who naysay the addition of fried morsels of meat speaks volumes.  The priest is prepared to forgive Aramil both soup and song for the suggestion alone, and would suffer any number of renditions to have a bowl before him !

The loot obtained from Vortigern as divided as fairly as Erista can manage, and everybody gets their share in coin or gems.  Colwyn takes the two daggers, which leaves a couple of items still sitting in the centre of the table as dinner is served.

A scroll (declared by Corian to contain magic able to raise more undead horrors), and a stoppered crystal flask containing a clear light blue liquid which smells like freshly cut grass.  Erista thinks it might be a healing potion.

And there is, of course, the apparently magical shortsword hanging near the fire...

Dinner - vegetable soup, bacon and bread, washed down with water or tea - is soon eaten.  The party sit where they can to eat in the light of the fire and the tallow candles...

After dinner Aramil seems more relaxed than he has since leaving Reme. Glad for the roof over their heads and something good in his stomach he takes stock of the farmhouse with small amount of interest. As his eyes pass the sword above the fire, Aramil gets out his sword and has another look at it. Turning to the others he says "Would anyone mind if I took the sword above the fireplace? Mine got damaged during the fight and I'd rather use something that is less chipped and dented."

Erista clears the table when the food is ready - if anybody else wants to carry the scroll or potion, she'll pass them over, but she's unwilling to just leave them behind when nobody else is taking them just to not look greedy.

She also accepts a second bowl of soup, because not looking greedy is also not a reason to go to bed hungry.

"Mmm.  S'lovely.  Colwyn, Aramil, thanks to you both.  I'd say the only one who might've minded will be glad enough to see it used, although we'll hope his vengeance is already done."  She fixes Corian with one of her charming smiles.  "You 'ave any reason to worry about how that Vorti fellow found out where you were going to be?"

"What shall we do with the animals in the barn?"

The monk asks no one and everyone as she finishes the last of her meal, having taken no more than she needed and eaten slowly and carefully.

"They will not survive alone."

Aarnr very much enjoys the bacon-butties with side order of soup, raising his cup (albeit of tea) to Aramil in tribute.

"Take it," he tells the Bard as he sees him eyeing the farmer's blade.  "Long as you wield it bravely, you'll do its previous owner honour," he echoes Erista's sentiment.

"Free 'em," he suggests to the Nameless Monk.  "Can't eat 'em all an' now their owner is dead we can't even steal 'em.  Like as not they'll be torn apart by wild animals, but at least they'll have their chance."

When the last of the food is gone, Aarnr will find a quiet corner to unfurl his bedroll, muttering his prayers before settling down for a good night's sleep - he's still in a fair bit of pain from his wounds, not that he'd let on, but you can be assured that come morning he'll be remonstrating with Bowbe to grant him the wherewithal to take care of that !

Corian sets his bread down and regards Erista for a long moment, "Well, now... I expect that foul creature of his had been spying on us.  It could, after all, disguise itself to resemble a common bird, and I know that I, for one, have not been paying much attention to the common animals of the fields and woodland as we have travelled."

Picking up the bread again, he makes to dip it in the soup, then pauses, "Or are you suggesting that there may be some other explanation?"

Taking everyones lack of response to his question and then Aarnr's comment Aramil goes up to the sword and takes it down. Turning to the group he says "I will wield this as best I can. That is all I can promise at this stage. Maybe later I will have to skill to truely warrant it."

Fergus enters with Nameless Monk and Eilieen.  He accepts a bowl of soup and devours it with great gusto - and quite a lot of slurping.  He's back for seconds in an improbably short time.

He accepts his share of the loot with rather less enthusiasm and a worried question, "This all came from the nek, um, necro... the bad man, right?"

It seems Fergus is unhappy about the idea of taking the farmer's belongings.  He casts a dark look at Aramil when he takes the shortsword from above the fireplace but he doesn't say anything to contradict Aarnr or do anything to make Aramil put it back.

"I've got most of the livestock in the barn now with some extra feed, they should be okay for a bit as long as those archers don't come back.  We could tell the people at the next farm and they'd help.  We could just tell them we found strays on the road if you didn't want to tell them what happened." It's clear from Fergus' expression* that he'd rather tell the truth.

*Most of Fergus' thoughts show clearly on his face.  If there was a competition for world's worst poker player, Fergus would be in the running.

Erista shrugs.  "Wasn't so much suggesting as asking," she replies to Corian.  "You were so careful not to talk about your plans back at Reme, it's a bit worrisome to me your rival not only found you, but figured where you were headed clear enough to set up an ambush.  Just something to think about, seems to me."

She pats Fergus on the hand, and nods.  "All from the bad one," she promises.  She follows his darker look, and her hand stops patting and rests on his a moment, squeezing slightly.  "'Tisn't comfortable for any of us," she says, "But it's just a thing.  We'd all rather have the family still here never needing it, but as they're gone... it's just a thing."

The monk listens to the suggestions regarding the animals and nods to Fergus' suggestion.  "That is a good idea, Fergus.  I have had no hand in animal handling, but that sounds good to me."

She takes her share of the bad man's belonging, a dark green gem with red splotches, and a few silver.  Somehow she manages to hide it somewhere in her outfit, despite never having had much of it.

"As for the ambush, it was no secret that he was heading this way, only his destination was not quite the one he claimed, remember?"  A smile that sits lopsided is aimed at Corian.

"The path of the migrating bird is easily seen if you lift your eyes to the sky."

"Froggin' bird probably told the fool-born hedge-pig," Aarnr says with some certainty.  The priest is not at all comfortable with the idea of a talking raven and is keen to put his mind to rest on that score if the bird ever comes within reach of his sword arm.

He doubts any good will come of either giving things away or telling the truth,  but is happy enough to let Fergus do what he must.  Happy enough too to pocket his share of the mold-warp's coin.

"Perhaps we'll have a quieter time of it now," he remarks with some disappointment.  "Unless thou hast any more old enemies that might try it on ?" he asks Corian brightly.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:13, Fri 14 Oct 2011.