Realms of Dread, Chapter Four

[steveflam]

She enters the Temple now, having a quick look around.

[ewancummins]

Morningmist Hall


Rolf cannot even muster a scream as the hungry dead drag him into a dark corner of the courtyard to devour his flesh and bones. Unfortunately for the helpless night-watchman, he can definitely still feel pain. It isn't over quickly....


The obedient corpse of the drow stalks off to gather reinforcements. Several black-clad men in sack-masks arrive and fan out at the doorways and larger windows of the rear of the temple. Some of them are engaged in some sort of magical activity, softly chanting and waving their hands in the air.

Once the chanting is finished, the masked men send dozens of the walking dead into the temple's holy precincts . The creatures do not speak, or even breath, so they make little enough noise.

[steveflam]

The woman now heads out to the graveyard even as the undead filter into the Temple. Once there she begins chanting and soon, the holy sacred ground is Desecrated! Now, rising from the graves, are the deceased priests of the Temple, led by Thumast Alfane. As they gather together in front of the woman, a hapless guard stumbles by and unfortunately is strangled by Thumast.

"Poor fellow. Ah more cannon fodder to add to the fray I suppose." She leads her undead army inside with strict instructions. "Kill any Non Murkyl worshippers."

[ewancummins]

At the woman's orders, her shambling minions join the others already at work in the candle-lit halls of the temple. Muffled cries for help, heavy thuds, and less wholesome noises give some indication of the horrors that are taking place with Morningmist Hall's rectory. Someone screams, high pitched and wavering- only to be cut off suddenly.

[steveflam]

The woman goes off in search of the familiar form of her master.

"Master, I know where the High Priest sleeps. Shall we?"

[ewancummins]

From behind his burlap mask, the man replies-

''With pleasure....''


The two, accompanied by over a dozen zombies, stalk off in the direction of the High Priest's personal quarters.

When they arrive, they find High Morninglord Chansobal Dreen battling the undead while clad only in his nightclothes. The old man, still hale and hearty after decades of leading his church, alternates between delivering blasts of holy fire, which utterly consume any undead creatures that are hit, and heavy blows with a ceremonial [but still quite effective] red-gold mace.

[steveflam]

Whilst the man is occupied with the undead, the woman begins casting a spell and targets the High Priest pointing her finger at him, uttering the final words!

She commands her most prized undead, to come attack the High Priest.

[ewancummins]

Morningmist Hall


Smoke is in the air- something is burning somewhere nearby.


The old man blasts to dust the last of the zombies that he has been fighting. Then he turns and does the same to most of those with the woman and the masked man.

Chansobal, whose voice was always so strong in sounding the morning liturgy, now cries out in stentorian tones-

''To me, all who can hear my voice, let us drive these filth from our temple!''


From further down the hall, clerics and servants alike are pouring out of the rooms. All are armed, at least with improvised weapons- and more than a few have shields and maces at the ready!


The old man freezes, staring at the one attacker that has withstood his blasts of holy fire. The woman is beautiful, perfect, nothing like the crawling dead-things that he has faced thus far. In a moment of stark horror, he recognizes the figure in white and gold-


''Blessed Samos!?! I don't...''

Then, even as the defenders of the temple begin to rally, Chansobal collapses to the floor, clutching at his chest. He drops his golden mace. He lies on the floor, unable to lift a hand in his own defense. His face goes deathly pale and he begins to sweat profusely.

A shout rises from the men and women coming to aid their high priest as they surge forward- right into an ambush of small dark figures that leap from the shadows of a side hall, to attack with fang and claw. A fierce battle rages in the narrow hallway.

[steveflam]

"Kick him between the legs" she orders Samos "then break one limb at a time."

[Lord Skybolt]

As Threan watches Blaise be transformed into a troll he thinks to himself :Form follows personality and actions I guess in this case .

[kintire]

Shana frowns at the bite marks (now they have been pointed out).

"That's a pretty big bug bite... where did you get it?"

[Ken of Ghastria]

Blaise grunts, "Of course." The syllables are garbled as Blaise struggles with an unfamiliar tongue. He shuffles his way into the foul water and grips the bars of the grate. Using all the strength that he now possesses, he tries to break it loose.

_____________
OOC to Ewan: Since I'm not sure what the troll's strength is, perhaps you should make his Strength check.
OOC to Skybolt: Umm... okay. Unless there's telepathy involved, Blaise doesn't hear this latest insult.

[BigBadQDaddy]

Mara's little house

''Mists? What?''

She looks about the room confusedly.

Alain looks about the room, a bit confused as well. He runs his fingers through his hair and set the cup of wine on the table. "I am sure you had mentioned a friend that you had worked with. One who was carried away by the mists? Am I mistaken?"

[ewancummins]

Mara's little house-


The girl answers Alain, ignoring or side-stepping Shana's question about the wounds,

'' Oh, no, I said she was carried off by the vapors. The vapors- that's the sickness you get from the bad air. She just got sick and died. You've never heard the expression before? People must talk funny where you are from- oh, I'm sorry, that sounded cruel. I didn't mean to be rude!''

[ewancummins]

at the southern margins of the King's Tower, moat and drain


Troll-Blaise is tall enough to wade through the moat with his head just above the scummy waterline, but the rest of you will surely be submerged should you attempt to cross in like fashion.

It's easy enough for the powerful troll to twist and break the rusted bars. The grate pops free with a groan and a crack.

Beyond the mouth of the drain, Troll-Blaise can see a long clay pipe stretching into the darkness [which his eyes penetrate easily enough- there are no obvious traps in the near distance, and the pipe has smaller openings here and there along its length] a trickle of purplish-black fluid runs down the bottom of the drain. The air within is rather hazy. The pipe is quite large enough for a man on his hands and knees, but a troll won't fit at all.