Wolves Upon the Coast session 6
FIFTH SESSION
Warriors in Attendance
Albert, the Hero, "Bonebreaker",
now simply the Hatchetman.
...and his companion, Argon "The Bathdweller".
Vic, the Swashbuckler, "Untouchable",
now simply the Hatchetwoman.
The late... Braddeus, but not that Braddeus.
and Bjarni, the Veteran.
A brief recap: The party went up the coast visiting towns and villages looking for adventure. They found out about a necromancer who had taken over a hamlet, and set themselves to destroying this evil. They have just taken out a group of skeletons and had a nights rest before this session.
Vaitoft,
wasn't looking so hot. A hamlet once on track to become a real town had been decimated, its defenders heaped into a bloody and messy pile of rotting flesh and rusting, corroded gear. Overseeing a great excavation of the towns common burial mound was a man in armor and clothing leeched of all color, this grim foreman directing the labor of every man, woman and child. Barrows were being filled with bones, no doubt going to be sent south the same way those walking bones were carrying them yesterday.
The band saw their chance and set up for an ambush. The shadow of the foreman flickered like a black flame in dawn's light, but it meant nothing to these men of action! They were certain they would have this little quest over and done with.
It was a confusing battle, as they laid blow after blow into the man to no effect. Weapons bounced off his armor, impaling wounds seemed to cause nothing, he hardly reacted to the sting of a torch-flame, so Vic determined the best course of action was to restrain him and figure out what was going on. As they overpowered him, in all the chaos and confusion, one of the mercenaries flew into a panic! His heart racing, unsure of what was happening to him, he died on the spot right then and there clutching his chest.
Albert and Vic asked a villager taking a lunch-break from her labors what was going on, to which the woman deep in her cups laughed and cried. Their efforts were futile, "Tried that, didn't work! Tried that, hahaha, didn't fucking work!" as the Wolves explained their plan to crucify the strange man.
He came many days ago she said, in the guise of a beggar, and gave his ultimatum to the village that they would serve him. Among them, a brave man took to the wretch with a silver dagger and dispatched it. That night, the thing inside the wretch returned wreathed in shadow and the brave screamed throughout the night. By morning, the thing was using the brave warrior's voice to deliver its ultimatum. This continued, with all the other defenders in turn falling until the spirit of the hamlet was broken, and they saw no hope of escape.
None the less, the crucifixion took place, and the party left the village to rest outside its confines. In the morning they made to return and check on the village, only to see their slain comrade had been dug out of his grave, or crawled out, and the hollow-man had been helped down from his crucifixion. The Wolves drove a villager out of hiding, who would have ran back to his master running and screaming and waving his hands were it not for the well placed Javelin shot of Albert. They decided to head south, to see where the skeletons were going.
Narrowly avoiding a patrol in the forest (of yet more skeletons), they came upon a group of reedy children covered in mud and branches as a sort of camouflage. They seemed rather bored of the adults, until Albert offered his javelin in exchange for information. This had an exceedingly worrisome effect on their group dynamic, as the kid they gave it to turned around and threatened the life of the fattest one, saying that now HE was their leader and HE made the rules!
He was quite forthcoming with information though bored easily. Most of the story of the village's fate from earlier was learned from him, actually, as the party was not terribly thorough in interrogating the villagers. To wit, the exact story given was that the shadowman came and his first victim screamed and screamed and screamed, it was "metal"! Then, there was a lot of *child imitating a stabbing* and *pantomiming a screaming, dying person* and "oh noooooooooooo". According to the eyewitness, it was "awesome."
He was not impressed by the adults plans, he had to admit. When they openly discussed their next step in saving the village was to kill all of the villagers so they couldn't dig up more bones, the experts' opinion was "ohhh, you real big damn heroes ya."
When they expressed frustration with dispatching him, the learned one's advice was "it not so hard. She did it with coins in sling," pointing to a quiet and haunted looking one. "No point. He just comes back, she learned and she joined us. What you no get?"
When questioned about the skeletons, he pointed south. "The bonemen going south, to a biiig castle. There's..." counting on fingers, "five... MILLION of them there. Very badass fort."
When asked where his parents were, he stared into the distance, then slowly from side to side. "You guys getting boring. Nice spear, thanks," he said. Then, they parted ways.
Indeed, there was a stone fort to the south, though it was less of a complex and more of a single structure, less of a castle and more of a tower, and the accounts of the defending force were a few orders of magnitude off. Their odds weren't much better against the 50 or so skeletons they counted, however, but a plan was in the works...
After a day spent gathering rations, studying the approach, and watching the defenders, the course of action was planned.
Bjarni, Albert, and Vic stripped out of their armor and took the bare minimum with them, their weapons. They lay in wait, hiding near the edge of the overgrown woods. Meanwhile, the other four (Kristjan, the two mercs, and Argon) would use rocks, and slingstones, to skirmish and provoke the skeletons. The plan worked, perhaps a little too well at first. Expecting the skeletons to behave as they had in the forest, marching stupidly in lock step, the party was surprised to see them practically leap when provoked by the attack, and all that could be seen on one side of the fort stormed forward, sprinting at the mere four skirmishers who had neglected to strip out of their metal armor.
"Oh shit! OH SHIT SHIT SHIT!" was the cry of Kristjan as the rout began, skeletons hot on their heels... but the plan had worked for the entry team, who began scaling the side of the building to a window on the second floor.
Vic heard footsteps as she snuck up to the window, and peeked in just to see a catlike, semi-aquatic and blue furred... THING, stare back at her. She flew in, ready to strike, and the melee began.
Taking advantage of the element of surprise, she was on this creature (at this point, there was no doubt they had found their necromancer...) and surrounded by an attendant guard of no less than nine rotting, but well muscled men in bronze plate bearing great warhammers. Fortunately for her, rotters in plate were slow, and these were not three unarmored random fools charging in...
These were Vic, slayer of 20 men, the Untouchable and bad enough on equal terms, let alone when you have no weapon or armor! Backed up by Bjarni, a mercenary who had decided to grab life by the reigns, with but a spear and shield, he sword he was the equal of three of these soon-to-be-dead-again men! And then came Albert, sword already drawn! He had come this far, Kristjan had laughed at him when he said he'd get the job done with seven men... He was about to take care of it with THREE!
Jaw dropping and revealing sharp teeth perhaps suited for insects, or catching fish, the sea-cat thing immediately began channeling wicked magic! A rattling began to fill the room, an intense sense of jamais vu settling in, but Vic took the initiative! She brought her blade right down on him and though she didn't cut all the way through, struck his shoulder and dislocated it through all the heavy furs he wore! She swore to all present, "ONE of the two of us ain't leaving this place alive!" His concentration on the spell broken, he commanded all zombies present to meet with the enemy!
Bjarni and Albert laid into their foes. Shields were broken quite soon, and it came down to just spear and blade work, but these tough undead warriors did not have fortune on their side! Neither did the necromancer it seemed, who could not escape the attentions of Vic! He started to channel magic, beginning to levitate off of the ground, before he was knocked back down to earth by another inconvenient blow interrupting his chanting.
In a tongue unknown he cursed and muttered, then in Norse he exclaimed, "I have survived the CENTURIES, you are NOTHING! You won't get me!" Bolting for the window, as his zombies tried to intercede, Vic pounced upon him and found her quarry, the sword finally felling him once and for all. As she severed the demon(?)'s head, his guard fell on the defensive, backing to the corners of the room. A look outside confirmed the same passivity had befallen the skeletons, who were in the distance surrounding one of their men who had climbed up a tree.
Bjarni wasn't one to go back on his word however, so he picked on that zombie he was fighting and saw him off. Then, he moved on to prove himself against number 2 and... was knocked insensate. Having at least proved his honor if not his legend, the party helped him recover before they moved upstairs, where they found strange and devilish treasures.
Many treasures lay here, all manner of strange coin, tinctures, vessels full of ichor and blood, even some kind of syringe and a couple bits of equipment. A harpoon made of milky crystal, and a helmet no doubt belonging to the slain arcanist, resembling a fish mouth.
Being good christians of course, they took the riches and smashed the vile brews. Earthenware flasks were smashed on the ground, a yardale of thick goop was upended (and all the treasure in the room sighed, which was a disconcerting sound). A leather bowl of blood was upended and a crystal, lidded chalice was smashed against the wall, filling the room with an antiseptic scent. The syringe was knocked to the ground and stepped on, and as it was smashed a long, black worm tried to escape from the mess of glass and fluid, before being crushed up like a nut in a mortar in pestle against the floor and the fragments.
They checked up on the first level of the tower, finding a cairn that had been assembled inside. The insides were a darkness strange and murky, but they found no point in messing with it any further after opening it. Soon, they went looking after the other half of their party.
One of the mercenaries, and Kristjan, had been overrun by the skeletons... their bodies were sorry sights, their memories not to be defiled by such ugly words as would be needed. The remaining merc was wounded, but still standing, backed up against a tree with skeletons mere feet away from him swaying in the breeze. Bathdweller himself was up a tree, very happy to see the band return. Seems after all, Albert got done what he said he did... He seemed to have an invincible swagger about him, and Vic too.
The band headed north, back to the village. The rain that was worsening as they had approached the stone keep was turning worse, becoming colder. A snowstorm was in effect, hiding the sun even as it set. In the cold as frost began to grow on the grass, by the guttering work-torches of the evening excavation shift, the hollow man turned to regard them.
"Oh, I see you've met with Uluum, have you?" his first words spoken to them, yet. "Well, If you feel you'd rather die by my hand, then by all means." He brandished his corroded, bronze sword, and the man he had killed earlier stood by his side as they approached the party.
The wight stopped, stiff as a board, dropping his sword as his face contorted in fear and disbelief!
"Uluum's dead." And the proof was right there, in her hand, brandished aloft.
Proof enough of a woman's word, and of a boast written in blood.
The hollow man's thrall was already nearly turning to flee, even as his master could barely find the will to remain in place facing the Hatchetwoman who had taken out the necromancer.
Then, the sound of... shell-horns? Merfolk? This far inland?!
Silhouettes appeared in the snowfall around them; "Raiders! Butchers! Lay down iron! Holy Warriors stop axes if you quick!"
Nineteen of these things in total, wearing giant shell-plate and bearing great adzes made of shell-on-sticks came forward... looking like shadow gorged on flesh, with eyes of hatred and the guise of man, details wrong and limbs and digits mismatched.
The hollow-man struggled but was bound after he and his thrall slew some, and the party was stripped of their armor and weapons in the cold. Riches were tossed into the fresh snow, iron broken off spear shafts and taken by their new captors, as they were marched off in the cold, away from the village...
Out in the woods, several lost children took shelter in a tower now cleansed of its inhabitants. Hoping to warm themselves up, they gathered evergreen branches and did their best to set up a hearth on the ground level...
Next time: Who will be leader of this band left in turmoil?! The captain has not returned from his fool quest, and rumbling amongst the crew in Borg is growing quarrelsome. Whether Albert's party pulls themselves out of the shit by their bootstraps or if Al-Faiq assumes power in the vaccuum, things are going to change... not for the Wolves, but possibly for the balance of power in the region entirely.