Stan had studied his grimoire at Kaele's and hadn't cast a single spell since. He slept little on the journey, and when he could not sleep, the arcane glyphs of the ancient Art burned in his mind like fireflies pleading to be released.

Now, he answered that plea.

The magician stretched forth his hand and uttered a phrase indecipherable to the untrained ears of his companions.

His pointed finger split open like a blossoming tree, disgorging what appeared to be two tiny sets of bodiless batwings. The missiles flew around Ilsa in erratic curves before homing in on the strange creature. They hit its grey skin in a burst of color, ending their brief existence and inflicting enough pain to end a normal person's life.

Initiative 9
Standard action: I cast magic missile at the darkness creature. 9 force damage.

19:16, Today: Stan Fetchin rolled 9 using 1d20+5. initiative.
19:25, Today: Stan Fetchin rolled 9 using 2d4+2. magic missile

Taken by surprise, Roth backs away from the fray, pulling his new goggles over his eyes and a dagger from is belt.  He prepares to throw the small blade at the creature, but hesitates when he sees the rest of the party charging in and instead trains his elven eyes on the distant shadows at the edges of the campfire's illumination.

Move: Back away about 10 feet, draw dagger
Move: Spot: 11:48, Today: Roth Daos rolled 14 using 1d20+7. Spot.
Low-Light vision should give him 80' dim vision by torchlight, 40' clear.

In a blaze of rapid responsiveness, and like a well-oiled machine, the entire party snaps into combat!  Neya and Shirok lead the way, breaking away from the fire-ring first.  The large wolf charges headlong into their attacker and delivers a terrible bite to the creature.  Instantly she begins to twist and attempt to bring the creature to the ground.  It is strong, but the loose gravel and dirt make it difficult for the decrepit creature to remaining standing.  It falls to the ground in a heap, but Shirok is there to take advantage to its failing defense.

Being so close to the creature, Shirok can see the tough and leathery skin, sunken eye sockets, and course, thin hair.  He had heard of these creatures before, terrible mockeries of life.  Legends speak of grim warriors who give their souls over to the Dark One, and worship blasphemous death and wonton destruction can escape death’s embrace and return as such creatures.  Shirok grits his teeth as he forces his spear deep into the monster’s exposed chest, drawing forth a terrible shriek.

Still it struggles to eat of the flesh of the living, that is until Ilsa gets close enough to deliver the killing blow.  With a great heave of her greatsword, she lops off the ghoulish creature’s head, cleaving it at its neck.

Seeing that the situation is now under control, Stan bites his lower lip and restrains himself from allowing the slur of arcane energies from his mind.  Roth and Porto take it upon themselves to scout the surrounding area before deeming it safe to return to their nightly activities.

+180 Exp!

Neya waited until the foul thing had definitely stopped moving before she released her death grip upon it and stepped back, her look of disgust easy to see. The thing both smelled and apparently tasted horrible; like chewy, rotten maggots. Neya's tongue kept working as she tried to clear the awful taste from her mouth, yet she still stared out into the darkness, searching for signs of any more things.

"It is a creature of death; warriors who served the darkness and were repaid by this temporary escape from death," Shirok declared after studying the creature for a few moments, taking great pains to remove every trace of the thing's blood from the blade of his spear. "This one may have come alone, but it must have come from somewhere."

He glanced at Porto. "And what of you?" he asked. The creature had singled him out and apparently bitten him; disease and poison were the least of the possible problems that held.

Ilsa spit on the ground. "A poor warrior, at that," she grunted. Giving Porto a once-over glance, she said, "He might be infected. We should kill him now to be sure..." She then laughed uproariously. She paused and wiped a tear from her eye. "I kid. Tying him up should be enough. If he begins craving our flesh, then we kill him." She made a sideways grin just to keep them guessing as to whether or not she was skill joking.

The words receded into Stan's brain as his spell remained uncast. He was trained for battle, like all college-sponsored wizards. But he didn't really have the stomach for it. He was glad to let others do the killing. Still, a strange feeling of remorse crept over him as the spell sunk uncast into his subconscious. The magic wanted to be let out.

Stan walked over to Porto and put a friendly hand on the halfling's shoulder. "Are we being a bit rash here? Surely he will not turn in the next few minutes."

The wizard was visibly exhausted. A lack of sleep and a head full of belligerent magic made for a poor state of mind. Although he did not have the raw fury of the half-orcs, Stan definitely seemed on edge.

After accompanying Roth for a quick perimeter search, Porto slumps down next to the fire and stares at the dancing flames.  The pain in his side is excruciating and will be tender for many days he’s sure; but to his credit he simply allowed Ilsa’s banter to sail in one of his ears and out of the other.  He felt that if she truly deemed him a threat, she wouldn’t waste her energy making joke, he’d simply find that his belly was cut—or worse.  The fact that he was still living was all Porto needed from his surly half-orc companion, to put his mind at ease.
After taking a few moments, he hummed a familiar softly to himself, and he seemed to sit a little straighter.  The spell hadn’t done much for the blood stain on his new jacket, but his wound was on the mend.  By morning it would be fully closed and all that would remain was the soreness of his flank muscles.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he answered those around him and waving them off dismissively.  It was apparent more than just his physical being had suffered from this attack.  Why had he been singled out, he wondered to himself as he continued to stare into the flames.

"Maybe tying him up wouldn't be a bad idea." Roth comments after he finishes his sweep and sets his loaded crossbow down near the fire, not wanting to be caught unprepared again.  With a helping of dread and a slight quiver in his voice, Roth explains, "I've read about these things before.  Their bites seem minor at first, but most people--in a few hours or a day at most--get a terrible fever and are wracked by pain until they finally die and rise again as another of the beasts."  He pauses for a moment before reassuring the halfling, "But we can kill you before the pain sets in once you get the fever ... spare you the misery."

"I agree," Shirok added, already rummaging through his pack for a long coil of rope. "If nothing is wrong, then you spent a night tied up. If there is something wrong, we can either attempt to cure you or simply kill you without you succeeding at your attempts to kill us." He held up the rope and looked at Porto questioningly; would the halfling agree to what Shirok saw as a perfectly reasonable suggestion, or would he be forced to get Ilsa involved?

Ilsa covered her mouth so as to conceal her smile at (what she perceived to be) Roth agreeing with her. She turned and walked out of the campfire light to the edge of the clearing where Porto had been dragged off. She studied the darkness with her orcish vision while she wiped the ichor from her blade. She waited for Porto to be bound or for a call for her to assist by holding him down.

Porto listens in horror as the other contemplate killing him. He looks around in dismay and curses the fact that he has short stumpy legs and has little chance of making a run for it. I shall concede to being tied up. But please my skin is soft can you at least tie me up with this silk rope instead of your rough one. Porto says hoping that he may still be able to sleep ties up.

OOC:I'm gone for a couple days you all decide to off me

"It's really our only option." Roth assures Porto as he takes the rope and begins making his knots around the halfling's wrists that are both secure and as comfortable as he can manage.  When finished he asks Porto, "Is there any kind of meal we can have Stan or Shirok provide for you?"  He pauses for a moment before turning to explain to Shirok and Ilsa, "A last comfort for those doomed ... it's our way."

"Do not worry, my friend. We really do not want any harm to come to you. Imagine if you were to turn into a zombie and wander off - you would be lost for days."

Thanks that's very comforting Stan. Porto says humorously. And Roth could you at least pretend that I have some hope of surviving. What kind of damned place is this where a guy scrapes his knee and everyone assumes that he's going to become a damned monster. Roth I distinctly remember you not turning into an orc or a sword when Ilsa here thought to give you an extra smile on your shoulder. Couldn't we head back to that elf chicks house. If I am infected she could help me and if not... we lose a couple days SO WHAT?

"Kaele is a wizard, and a very good one. But this sort of thing is in the realm of priestly magic."

Stan stayed near Porto, trying to demonstrate some kind of solidarity between the two, even if it was only by staying up the night with him. Sleep wasn't a boon anyway, lately.

Shirok is silent for a moment, looking at Roth, before he turns and speaks to Porto. "We would lose ten days, more if you turn and make traveling difficult. The faster option would be to simply kill you now."

Now that Porto was bound he approached the halfling, pausing to rummage through his belongings for the small pack of herbs he carried. If there was some necromantic infection, with luck he would be able to detect it.

23:15, Today: Shirok Rezkala rolled 15 using 1d20+12. Heal check. Checking for disease, poison, etc.

Roth sets about tying Porto up with his own silk rope as Shirok inspects the wound.  However, Porto’s own bardic magiks have closed the wound, and thus the half-orc druid learns next to nothing.  In the end, he does concede that the wound does not appear infected or diseased, and almost completely mended.
That night the others sleep and Porto and Stan stay awake by the fire.  They speak of few things, as the two find it more pleasant simply sitting in each other’s company.
Earlier that night Ilsa had acquired a pair of jack-rabbits and meant to cook them for the party’s supper; however upon cleaning them she found them to be sickly and unfit to eat.  Throughout the night, the entire party can’t help but notice the scarcity of wildlife, and the ailing conditions of the few that make their presence known.  Something wasn’t quite right in the Redding hills, but such problems were the least of your party’s worries.  They had their task, and would seek to carry it out.

The next morning several party members find themselves feeling a bit under-the-weather.  Ilsa, Porto, and even Neya are slow to rise and carry unquenchable thirsts.  None actually openly complain, but it can easily be seen that they must be suffering from achy and sore joints.  Porto’s normally cherubic face is more flushed than normal, making him appear feverish.  Neya is the only one willing to allow another to touch her, and Shirok confirms their suspicions that they are suffering from fevers.  They each have their own reasons for not wanting to discuss with the others their conditions, but they all agree that they are able to carry on, at least to Redding.
Once in Redding, the scene is severe.  The small town appears to be in shambles, as if having just suffered an intense raid by monsters operating in the hills.  Roughly human-sized wooden boxes lie strewn about in sloppy stacks, and a terrible odor dominates the air—death.  As the party nears the center of town, the stacks of hastily made coffins give way to grizzly piles of humanoids wrapped in white sheets, awaiting additional boxes to be made.
It isn’t until the party passes a group of children playing in the street that the actual issue becomes realized.  As the children play, they also sing a haunting song:
"I had a little bird,
It’s name was Enza.
I opened the window,
And in-flu-enza..."
This message was last edited by the GM at 19:30, Mon 08 Feb 2010.

"I hate this accursed place," Ilsa said in a tone that would have been a growl had she not been feeling so poorly. Instead, it came out as an irritated moan. "We should find our man and drag him back as swiftly as possible. The sooner we leave, the better."

"I was only joking about the bite." Roth admits at seeing Porto obviously under the weather, "You didn't have to go and get sick!" And the worry on his face seemed to grow upon reaching Redding.  Without trying to draw too much attention to himself, the elf took hold of his cape which hung over his left arm and wrapped it across his face to cover his mouth and nose.  Looking over to Stan he asks, "Where are their healers?"

"I suspect they are dead or have fled," Shirok replied solemnly, reaching out to put a comforting hand on Neya's shoulder. The large wolf let out a slight whine as he did, staring uncomfortably at the pile of death before them. Disease was natural, and the death it caused could not always be prevented. That was simply life. But the creatures that had attacked them was anything but natural. Ilsa, Neya and Porto had been the closest to the thing, and they were the ones who had sickened while the rest of them remained healthy for now.

If those things had been spreading this disease, then they had to be stopped. Not only for the sake of the survivors of this town, but for the life surrounding the area. Walking carriers did not simply stop at one village. "You there," he called out to the passing children, interrupting their play. "Where can we find the one in charge?"

As the children are called on by Shirok, they laugh and scatter as only children can do.  It is obvious by their fleeting giggles that they do not fear the half-orc, and the party takes note that many of the children share the druid’s split heritage.  Before the party can move away from the spot the children were playing, a few of them reappear and approach the adventurer’s with looks of genuine curiosity in their faces.
“Are you warriors?” one asks.
“Like the Crystal Knight!” says another.
They each appear completely enthralled by Neya, although none of them appear to fear the large wolf either.  Before any of you can answer the children, another one races past you toward a two-story stone building.
“Follow me!  I’ll take you to Lord Sendars!”
The party puts their horses into slow trots and follow the sprinting boy, the other three trailing behind.  At the entrance you all dismount and step inside.  Roth stops and tosses a single silver piece to the boy before ducking inside.
The scene inside is little less bleak than outside.  Several of the wall-mounted torches are extinguished creating a dim and depressing atmosphere.  The reason for the ill-lighting dominates the wide hall: four long rows of cots and in each cot lay a single individual.  Men and women dressed in blood-stained white linen robes rush to and fro, tending to the sick and dying.  Each wears a white handkerchief over their nose and mouth.
The boy pockets the silver piece and moves past the party, leading them further into the make-shift infirmary.  He leads you through corridors once richly decorated in celebration of Redding’s history and trials as its brave men and women fought for survival against the various monsters that dwell in the surrounding wilderness.  Now it is dank, dirty, and utterly depressing.
The boy leads you into another hall, this one relatively more open and only contains two cots.  At first glance it appears to be the main surgical chamber; but upon closer inspection, it becomes clear that this area is being used as a laboratory.  Several tables line the walls and contain boiling pots of herbs, each with documented healing properties.  Salves, bandages, colored glass vials all are displayed here in a terrible disarray.
A man, a male half-elf and a male gnome stand here arguing.   The man and the half-elf appear unkempt, but do not appear to have always been that way.  The scraggly beginnings of beards and dark bags under their eyes show that neither have slept much in the last few days.
“…and he’s been gone three days—how long will you allow the people to suffer?” the half-elf demands.  His words seem to cut the man deeply and he grimaces in reply.
“What more will you have me do?  If the prayers to your god have not been answered, I fear the community coffers can do little more—”
“Bah!” the half-elf scoffs.  Before he can say any more, all three individuals finally realize that the party has entered the chamber.  The man looks at each of you and patiently waits for an introduction.

Stan was about to ask Roth the same question. It seemed they were on the same train of thought regarding the suspiciously absent healers.

Stan said little as the party took in the wounded town, but his heart went out to these poor children. Their situation was deeply unsettling.

He followed the others into the chamber.

"Answers to prayer come in many forms," he said to the trio. "Perhaps we may be of assistance somehow?"

He suspected that the missing "he" was in fact the very man they sought, but he did not want to tip the party's hand just yet. Obviously these people were on edge.

Ilsa glared at Stan, clearly irritated by his offer (and no doubt exacerbated by her illness). "These people talk too much," she thought as she snorted loudly to clear the phlegm. She took a breath and blurted out, "You Lord Sendar? Where's Sir Nachtbrise? Is he gone? If so, where? We find him."

“I am Lord Sendar,” the man replies.  He appears healthy, but very tired and slightly irrigated.  “This is Garret Nachtbrise,” he says as he motions to the half-elf with his thumb, “'though I wasn't aware he was knighted.  And this is Milo Arboraen,” he says nodding to the gnome.  “Please forgive me if I seem… inhospitable,” he says as he turns and moves over to a nearby table and picks up a red vial.  “Is there something we can do for you?”

Garret lets out a heavy sigh as Ilsa states that you are looking for him.  He crosses his arms over his chest and stands facing the party, ready to hear whatever it is they’ve come to say—although it appears he already knows what you are all about.

Despite the illness, Neya still managed to wag her tail at the approach of the children. The she-wolf waited outside of the stone building as everyone else entered, laying down on the ground while wagging her tail so the children knew it was safe to approach. A couple of the children glanced at Shirok questioningly, but he simply nodded. Neya would have ripped apart an entire army before letting any of them harm a child; even the possessed child back in the tower had only been attacked because Shirok hadn't asked her to harm him, just hold him.


Once inside the makeshift hospital, Shirok simply let the others get on with the talking while he approached the table full of their research and bubbling herbs, studying them carefully as he tried to figure out what, if anything, their work had taught them about this disease.
I guess a Heal check is most appropriate. 17:28, Today: Shirok Rezkala rolled 11 using 1d20+10. Heal check.