Open Chronicles Digging out the rot

[Jhyrann]

Jhyrann plodded to a stop as he saw the lights of the small town. The trees gave a slight rustled as the night breeze changed direction.

In these gentle lands, there was very little that would attempt to stop him even at night. He took a breath and prepared himself for the change. It always, always hurt.

It was the crack of his spine that cause the sharpest jolts of pain. The pain would linger, spreading to his extremities in waves for a few more minutes. He took a few minutes to dress himself and - as always - to rebraid his hair.

---

He was late.

The town hall was already full, the discussion had started. Few in the world knew how to read or write. Amongst the bounty hunters stalking the wilds even fewer. A symbol on a town noticeboard and word of mouth was the best way to get the message out.

"What do you mean undead orc necromancer?" called a voice as Jhyrann ducked through the door. It was hard not to draw attention when he was the shape of the man, but the size of an ogre.

"Well...you remember the orc necromancer some of you caught for us two years ago?" replied the town elder. He looked to be in his late forties, his swept-back and jet black hair streaked with grey.

"Yeah, we brought you his head."

"He's back."

Jhyrann tried to sneak towards and empty chair but trod on a dwarf's foot.

"Oi ya great lump, watch yer long legs or I'll hack em down to size," the dwarven ranger grunted.

Jhyrann saw most of the southern people as top soft to survive the harsh Wilderness. That opinion did not extend to the dwarven people.

"Sorry friend."

"Ya can call me 'friend' when you've bought me an ale to say sorry."

"A-hem." The town elder cleared his throat and sighed. He clearly didn't enjoy dealing with the kind of miscreants the job called for.

"Some of his followers found his buried head. Now he has an honour guard of orc warriors and a new host of undead and has been pillaging the outer settlements."


OOC/ Just a fun open thread for a little side quest!

 

[Maranae]

He watched her work from a doorway leading back into the depths of the shop. Intent eyes that seemed to glow in the firelight of the forge and an expression of such intense concentration would have painted a much more serious scene if it wasn't for her tongue caught between her teeth.

She began to beat on the piece of metal, forming the metal into the steel bit that would rest in some horses mouth. Nice, even strokes that carried a surprising amount of power for someone so lithe and lean and young.

He had never wanted another apprentice when she showed up. Telling her no had felt more like kicking a puppy than he wanted to admit, and so he hadn't. He'd expected her to wander off as quickly as she wandered in. Now, he wasn't sure if he wanted her to leave. She had a natural talent for making things, even if she was dimmer than the average person.

He looked back to the letter sent by his cousin. Trouble brewing back home, again. He could scarcely credit the tales his cousin espoused this time, but the world was a wild place wasn't it?

"Maranae?" He said suddenly from where he stood. She looked up in mid stroke, smooth features framed in violent red hair only somewhat spoiled by too-long teeth. "How would you like to go on a trip?"

The response was a disconcertingly open grin. Not because of the openness, but because a certain simian part of his brain was begging him to go somewhere else when faced with those teeth.

***

She slipped into the townhall without a word.

The road had been several weeks long and through country where the population tended towards being widely distributed. There were very few things desperate enough to approach the chimera, who gave off the vibes of a prowling jungle cat when she wasn't paying attention. There were more people that were willing, assuming she ever ran across any.

She didn't. The Reach was a vast and empty place.

She wore the same clothes she did in town, now travel stained. What had once been a blade, the frying pan on her shoulder hung loose and well-greased so that it gleamed and smelled faintly of deer fat. She towered over most of the people gathered here, a mildly puzzled look permanently etched on her face as she looked through the crowd. She had heard the statement, and did not understand.

"But if you cut off his head," she said suddenly and loudly, each word careful and precisely spoken (almost as if she were still not entirely home with words) despite the teeth that made her slur her words a bit. "How is he back?"

The concept of necromancy was new to her, which was probably just as well. It would mean nightmare dreaming of dinner coming back to life in inconvenient places.

 

[Izara]

Sometimes too many sweaty bodies with too many loud mouths could put Izzy in a funk. Her senses felt clouded and convoluted, and yet strangely enough, also felt too precise. She could pinpoint the man who reeked of grease and fish guts, even if she was far away from him. Her eyes twitched, annoyed at the symphony of too many sniffling their snot back into their noses.

Both her hands went up to massage the base of her ears at the top of her head, trying to soothe them and find comfort all at once. A big man walked in, each step he took making the letai woman almost feel sorry for the floorboards beneath his feet. She nearly missed out on the explanation about the orc necromancer, but then again, there wasn’t much of an explanation at all. And really, one wasn’t needed.

“Who cares,” she practically hissed out, eyes squinting as she kept furiously rubbing her thumb against fur that felt close enough to silk. “We just gotta take him out again, maybe this time we take out his teeth and tongue so even if he does come back, he can’t mutter any incant….” What was the word? The spells they used? “Incantinas!” Damn, she did it again— coming up with the best plan on the spot! This was going to be easy money, like stealing money from a orc necromancer without teeth or a tongue.

 

[Josai]

Necromancers. Always bloody necromancers.

It didn't matter if they were orc, human, elf or Kivren. It was always bloody necromancers making a mockery of Death. Plying their cheap perversions and tricks. Masking them as, dark power.

Still, Josai let her breath fall easy from her nose as she sat atop her fine wooden apothecary's box. All folded crooks and leg over knee. The well crafted pack, full of drawers and compartments and reagents stuffed there in, was a treasure in its own right. Not that any ignorant knew that. For now, it was but a stump, with a strange blue mushroom growing out the top of it.

Josai being the mushroom, of course.

Though the new smells that filled the room made her wiggle her nostrils and scrunch further into the folds of her scarf. Let the dark curls of her hair form a warm little nest about her, just beneath the wide brim of her proud blue hat.

That she rest a spear at her shoulder, tall, winged, and laden with ancient runes, was of little consequence. Twined with charms three. A strand of green. A strand of blue. A strand of black. Bone, silver, and obsidian. Jaw, bell, and sphere.

Gods, but it did smell as if they'd let in a parade of beasts in here.

She closed her eyes, as the giant made stumble.

Come the approach of the second gargantuan, Josai huffed, stood up, shouldered her speer, smoothly hefted her pack onto her back, and proceeded to move some paces away. Set it back down, and proceeded to sit atop her stump once more.

It was always bloody necromancers. This time though. It was a bloody cat. A minotaur. And who in the blazes knew what else that... void was with the red hair and baby face.

Trouble, to be sure.

"Incantations," Josai added, smirk there beneath the brim of her wide hat.

 

[Sylvian Artesto]

Sylvian didn't do much bounty-hunting work anymore. Not that he didn't enjoy the thrill of it, and certainly not that he didn't need the extra money, but the risks that came with it were just too big to ignore. First and foremost, he was a wanted man; The Republic had been tipped off to his survival, and he'd no doubt they'd go out of their way to finish what they'd started so long ago, if only to ensure he didn't bend the knee to Gilram.

Secondly, Artesto was quite frankly getting old and beaten up. A lifetime of running, fighting, and violence had finally begun to take its toll on him, and while he was confident he could give any of the other eager boys and girls milling about this crowded hall a run for their money, he also knew he didn't have a whole lot of fights left in him before...

Well, that's just how it goes.

Sylvian sat quietly in the corner of the Hall, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Why had he gone out of his way to make this meeting, given all his concerns? Simply put, this Orc, undead or otherwise, was a loose end he wanted tied up. In a roundabout way, he felt some responsibility that things had gotten this bad with the old boy.

The necromancer hadn't always been that. The Orc in question had started off as many do, a petty criminal looking to get rich and gain power. The year before he'd been unceremoniously declared dead, Sylvian had actually been tasked with putting him down, after he and his gang had gotten careless and ransacked a caravan that happened to be Anirian.

At the time, Sylvian had put it off. Silas had just been born, and he wished to spend more time with his son. He'd no idea that orc thug would take up the necromantic arts, let alone that he'd be so stubborn to persist beyond death.

So, in some small way, this was on him.

Letting out a little groan as he rose to his feet and ensuring the bandana he'd used to conceal the bottom half of his face was secure, Sylvian meandered over to the town elder, and the growing group of hunters around him. A colorful bunch, to be sure.

"A zombified Orc that makes other zombies. Sounds like a party to me." He rolled his shoulders, casting a gaze over to the young woman already making a plan for action. Sylvian smiled underneath the cloth hiding his mouth. To be young and eager again... "There's no reason to think getting to him to do that is going to be a cakewalk, my Letai friend. He can raise the dead, and from the sounds of it he's been making plenty dead."

Looking back to the Elder, Sylvian crosses his arms. "He'll be expecting a fight, but probably not from this many people at once. The question now is whether you can afford a whole team." Sylvian trod carefully, raising a quizzical brow. "Unless you were only offering to the one who kills him?"

 

[Jhyrann]

"But if you cut off his head," she said suddenly and loudly, each word careful and precisely spoken (almost as if she were still not entirely home with words) despite the teeth that made her slur her words a bit. "How is he back?"

“We just gotta take him out again, maybe this time we take out his teeth and tongue so even if he does come back, he can’t mutter any incant….”

"Incantations," Josai added

Jyrhann was certain the spear-wielding witch had deliberately moved away from him. With no chair on offer, the shape-shifter took the easiest route. He simply sat down cross-legged on the floor between two tables.

There was a simplicity to the plan from the girl with big ears, although he had an even simpler version.

"He'll be expecting a fight, but probably not from this many people at once. The question now is whether you can afford a whole team." Sylvian trod carefully, raising a quizzical brow. "Unless you were only offering to the one who kills him?"

"I like the idea of stealing the necromancers tongue," Jhyrran said. His voice carried a timbre that could shake rocks, but he spoke with a disarmingly friendly patter.

"But I say we cut out his tongue and then burn him to the bones. That should do it!"

"Also, the money question..." Jhyrran agreed with a nod. The dwarf was immediately nodding vigorously too.

The town elder clearly looked uncomfortable discussing financial matters.

"We've gathered a host to march out and reinforce the towns and meet his forces head on if we have to. We're willing to pay everyone for helping. Everyone who survives."

 

[Maranae]

She blinked those great yellow eyes of her and cocked her head to one side as if she were considering what she had heard. Of course, there wasn't much running behind her eyes other than where the next meal would come from. That, and the words spoken by her Master - the only reason she was even here, really.

"Not all fighting is the same. Sometimes there are causes worthy of it." Blade or hammer, he had said, could make great things in the right hands.

She still didn't much like fighting though, made for it or not.

"But if his head was cut off," she said again, clearly struggling, "then why would cutting other parts off be any, uh," she began and then trailed off, searching for the word. She brightened, and grinned. "Different!" She paused, her lips moving silently as she worked her way through some other idea, and then shook her head.

She was accustomed to things that she hit staying quite well hit. The notion of something getting hit hard enough to fall to bits and then get back up again was well outside her ability to understand and conceptualize.

Another few moments spent thinking while they discussed money (a thing she did not really care all that much about) before she looked up, eyes alight again. "Can things that have been all torn apart be put back in one piece and made alive again?" Each word carefully pronounced and deliberately spoken. By the end, she was fairly sweating; she was not particularly verbose to begin with. She also did not really understand that undead was quite a different thing from being alive. Reanimation had far too many syllables in it.

 

[Izara]

Narrowed blue eyes slid over to a wizened woman dressed in a manner that seemed to perfectly suit her despite Izzy knowing nothing about her. For some reason, being corrected by a stranger instead of being corrected by Dieder felt worse, as if the notion of Izzy lacking cleverness was true. She turned her head, looking towards the big man squatting down. At least he had some sense. The woman taller than her, and also the pretty man who threw in his two cents, gave good enough points.

“You’re hoping some of us die!” Izzy accused, standing up from her short wooden stool and slamming a fist on the table to help express her point. She pointed a finger at the appointed mayor. “so then just how strong is this guy anyways if you don’t think most of us will survive, huh?”

Josai Sylvian Artesto Maranae Jhyrann

 

[Josai]

Josai nodded along with the cat's outrage. The tall steeple of her hat, bobbed ever-just with each to-and-fro. "A sound conclusion," she admitted. Lifted her chin just-so, to let the heather browns and golds of her eyes see the scene before them.

The Mayor seemed non to bothered by the accusations, save for a mild tightness in his brow, and a tension in his lip. "Just a matter of facts, ma'am," he said to the Letai, then cleared his throat. "He is powerful enough to cheat death, and his host is quite sizeable," he rubbed the scruff about his chin. "Gods only know how muany corpses lay resting and unwarded for him to call up,"

Izara Maranae Jhyrann Sylvian Artesto

 

[Sylvian Artesto]

"There's always the risk of death when you're up against a necromancer, my friend." He muttered over to the young Letai woman. "Add the trademark brutality of an Orc into the mix and you'd be a fool not to worry about casualties."

Sylvian hadn't asked about pay out of greed, despite the likely assumption of the elder, who cast a rather accusatory glare his way for but a fraction of a second. Behind the rose-colored cloth covering his mouth, Artesto cracked a little smile back at him.

This group of 'hunters' was rag-tag at best, and totally incompatible at worst. Without something to keep them from killing each other, say, a monetary reward. he didn't like the odds of avoiding internal conflict until the deed was done. Especially if the town had only budgeted to reward the actual killer of the target.

"However we do it." Silvian's voice carried as he walked--somewhat limping-- back to his table in the corner. "We can't afford to be cocky. We've got to actually get to him first, and that'll be an ordeal in and of itself. Just like the lady in blue says, he's got an army behind him six feet under."

Far be it from him to sit and agonize over the little details though. Sylvian was here to put the wretched Orc down and tie up a loose end. He was grateful to have a sizable group to do it with, but it would be a stretch to call any of them allies.

"'Course, if we were able to get the jump on him somehow, that would make things easier. We don't seem the stealthiest bunch though, at first glance."

Izara Josai Jhyrann Maranae

 

[Jhyrann]

"'Course, if we were able to get the jump on him somehow, that would make things easier. We don't seem the stealthiest bunch though, at first glance."

"Ah well. Surprise can come in the form of: 'Oh these devious hunters have snuck into my crypt at night' but can also come in the form of: 'Fuck, these mad people are running at my camp in broad daylight!'."

He offered the room a grin that was full of teeth. A smile that gave away his heritage.

"Might not be the best thing for the people, but if we wait until the force is committed and come at him from another angle? When he's good and dead the undead will all stop. That's how necromancers work."

Jhyrann frowned, looking less certain of himself.

"That's how necromancers work, yes?"

 

[Josai]

"That is how they work, yes," Josai cut in. "Assuming we destroy the Necromancer's true soul," she smirked as she looked to the big man and the hot blooded dwarf that seemed almost his tiny double.

"Bloody fuckin necromancers," the dwarf cursed.

"Agreed," Josai said, bright as a ray of sun, though not but grey clouds seemed to gather round her. She looked to those around her before she went on. "Could be, the Necromancer has a soul bind, a vessel, many have called it a phylactery," she explained with even measure. " If he has re-risen once, my guess would be that he has such a vessel, and our necromancer, might be considered a lich."

 

[Maranae]

The level of discourse between all of the people in this room was far, far beyond her ability to comprehend or even follow. She wore an expression halfway between mild puzzlement and deep curiosity. She felt a little stupid, truth to tell. It was a feeling she was not entirely comfortable with, even if she was accustomed to being a few steps behind everyone else.

Affable silence was all she could offer.

If she had the words or the understanding, she might offer that she had a way to deal with things like a phylactery. She didn't even have to break such a thing, just possess it for long enough to kill its magic, much in the same way she would sap those around her of their given enough time.

She listened, not really comprehending and not really feeling a part of the group. All of them had come here of their own accord; she was here at the express wish of another and it showed.

 

[Izara]

Frustrated, Izara had begun picking at something in between her teeth with a sharp, pointed nail. With her ears flat across her head and tail swishing to and fro in irritation, some may have thought she looked nervous. That couldn’t be farther from the truth, Izzy had never come across a necromancer before and was unable to understand the grand scale of risk involved— even with the woman in blue and old blondie explaining the chances and probables. Maybe Dieder would have found more interest in a conversation like this. Izzy had no time for it. Her father had raised her to believe in her tribe’s old adage: as you grow stronger, so do your enemies. Every second mattered.

“So what if he has a bunch of skeletons following him around, just kick those bones out of your way.” Izzy snapped to no one in particular. She couldn’t speak on the fact that they had to find him first before getting near him, but Izzy was confident in her nose to find a big group of rotting flesh walking around. There was no way on Arethil that the necromancer didn’t smell like rotting flesh and gnarly body odor. If he was dead, he would smell dead. “This guy knows what he’s talking about,” Izzy declared, pointing at the gigantic redhead. Blue eyes narrowed in assessment.

She turned to look at the dwarf, the blonde man, the woman in blue, and the woman who was even taller than her.

“And if you guys wanna sit her and discuss sim….” What was the word? Dieder had used it before…. “Simromantics all day then be my guest, but I’m getting the necromancer’s head first and getting that reward.” Hands on her hips, confidence flowed through her like it was only natural that she be such a way.

“Big guy, you’re with me. And anyone else who wants to be on the winning team, because we’re getting paid and not dying!” She threw a fist above her head and into the air, the proudest cat in all of Arethil.

Sylvian Artesto Josai Maranae Jhyrann

 

[Sylvian Artesto]

Sylvian merely watched along in amusement. It was rather like a carriage accident, this gathering of would-be hunters trying to mash together some semblance of an idea and go with it. THough he'd never suggest such a thing aloud, the town elder would likely have been better off hiring one or two highly specialized assassins rather than opening the floor to any and all willing participants.

This, however, was much more fun.

One thing that wasn't amusing was the young woman's suggestion that they might have been dealing with a lich. That would mean this job was a good deal more challenging than any of them were expecting, and he didn't like their odds of getting out without any losses. Briefly, his eyes fluttered over to the short one, the orange-haired girl didn't look to be anything more than a human, no more than twelve. Too young to even be a formidable Initiate, though he doubted one would be out here on their own.

"The kitten's got a point." He tore his gaze away and stood, dusting himself off. "We're not making a whole lot of progress sitting around and jawjacking. Might as well get on with this, no?" Artesto wasn't going to worry himself too much about the Lich possibility. They were rate, and he'd rather not let himself believe they were marching into death itself. Sylvian looked down at Maranae, tilting his head towards the Letai and her 'chosen. "You in on this, stranger?"

Maranae Josai Jhyrann Izara

 

[Maranae]

They spoke too quickly for her to follow, and used words she did not necessarily understand. Instinct and observation served her more than words did, most of the time. As such, she felt drawn to Izara's simple confidence far more than the more eloquent and verbose of the others in the room. She offered the cat-like Letai a bright smile that would nevertheless have sent any prey animals scurrying for cover.

She cocked her head to the side, though. "But she did..," she began, and then her face went blank for a moment as she stumbled on the word 'discuss'. The smile flashed back into place. "Talk. Only listen," she said to Izara.

"Sure," she said carefully to man that had spoken to her. She shifted so that she was nearer to the Letai and the hulking brute of a man, and then turned her head to look at Izara again. "Where you go, I will follow," she said slowly and deliberately and earnestly.

She had not arrived here with a plan. Planning was a thing that happened to other people. While she was not usually thrilled with fighting anything, her general plan of action - if it could be called such - was to hit it really, really hard. The only reason this hadn't been a problem in the past was because things she hit usually stayed hit, if they knew was good for them.

 

[Jhyrann]

Little timeskip

“Big guy, you’re with me. And anyone else who wants to be on the winning team, because we’re getting paid and not dying!”

Jhyrran turned towards to feline and GA e a shrug. It was a slow, rolling gesture. Muscles working in sequence to lift the bulk up and then release it down.

She had more spirit that the gentle southerners he had come to know since leaving Molthal. It had to count for something.

"Aye, I'm in," added Trimmin, the dwarven ranger.

Jhyrran offered a single amused grunt. He was going to need to get that ale for treading on his toes.

Lines were drawn up into two main groups of hunters. There were those who had 'killed' the necromancer the first time and now the newcomers galvanising around the letai's bold proclamation.

"We will burn this necromancer to ash before he unleashes his horde!" Jhyrran declared.

---

"We ain't got a fucking chance until he sends his host to attack," Trimmin said.

Between the ranger's tracking and the Letai's nose they had found the necromancer and his host.

It was not an achievement to be proud of. Not when an army of two thousand undead and hundreds of orcs had set themselves down at the head of a valley.

"We could use the dark, sneak in and kill him," Jharrys suggested.

Trimmin looked him up and down.

"Putting aside the fact tha' any daft cunt could hear you coming any time, you ever see a skeleton?"

"Yeah," Jharrys replied.

"See any eyes?"

"No."

"So how'd they see?"

"I dunno."

"Me neither. No ears either. We get found by one and we'll have hundreds piling up to stop us."

Jharrys muttered under his breath. He preferred the direct approach. He looked around at the others.

"Guess we wait for em to get on the march?"

 

[Izara]

It turned out that finding the necromancer was easy, just as easy as Izzy had expected, but now there was a new problem: there were many, many, many undead. She wasn’t sure how there could be so many, how many people had exactly died here and why was there so many dead? She wondered if Drakomir had come along this path or if there was some hush-hush bloody battle that she never heard of. Or maybe this was some secret burial ground used by shady people who shut up people by burying them alive.

It didn’t matter, Izzy concluded swiftly, realizing she wasn’t fit to be questioning everything. Some things were just… well, they just were. There was nothing to say or do to make sense of it all. As she saw it, they only had one option: get the necromancer.

Despite wanting to move forward and get it all over already, Izzy didn’t want to be buried alive by skeletons. She did consider a possible distraction, but with their numbers, they would need many distractions to sneak around the skeletons. That wasn’t accounting for the orcs.

The letai’s face was scrunched in both annoyance and disgust, and as she began pacing, whenever she turned her head to look at what waited for them below caused her to hiss. Hissy Izzy, if only she could be best-thinkr-in-all-of-Arethil Izzy, or maybe here’s-the-plan Izzy. Wait. A plan, that’s right. DJ was always coming up with the plans when they were in a pinch. WWDD! Think like Dieder and get a plan going and boom!— we’re in action, baby.

“ALRIGHT!” She shouted, pivoting on her heel to slap a fist into an open palm. “We gotta figure out what our strengths are! We go in there without a plan and we suffocate like canned sardines, just like Trim-n-Fit said, we’ll have hundreds after us. What are we all good at and how can we use that to win the game?” The woman grinned, exuding confidence all over again as if she hadn’t been pacing back and forth like a mad woman. “I’ll tell you all what I’m great at!” From behind her, Izzy pulled out a pair of knucklebusters composed of a unique metal with runes neatly decorated the weapon. She slipped them on, enjoying their weight.

Her hands were fists as she heated them up, punching the knuckles together so heat and sparks would fly. Once they were ignited, the metal was a bright red as if they had just came out from a fire.

“I’m a heavy hitter but I’m fast. And with these bad boys I burn anyone stupid enough to come near me!” She cackled in triumph, tail swishing wildly, adrenaline pumping through her blood, the tang of magic closer to sulfur and volcanoes than a bitter, herbal scent. She had no idea that she had also just showed the group what she was bad at: being quiet and undetectable.

Maranae Josai Sylvian Artesto Jhyrann

 

[Josai]

Josai sighed, and pulled down the wide brim of her hat. Grumbled as the meatheads made clear their elations.

"Never right changes, does it," she said beneath her breath, though there was the slightest hint of a smile there at the crook of her lip.

---

Josai narrowed her gaze at the Letai woman. "And," she added, measured as an alchemist. "Oddly charismatic," she let on, with a smirk on her lips and a twinkle in her eye. Her gaze cut about the others, and she was still sure to keep well away from the baby faced giant. "I am a practiced Magicker," she said with a bow of her head. "I am keen with the supportive magicks, and can wield the will of water, and ice," and speak to the dead.

But, she felt it best not let on to these simple folk that she knew of Death's pursuit.

What with the army of the dead in the distance, and the feint din of their reanimated agony.

Maranae Sylvian Artesto Jhyrann Izara

 

[Sylvian Artesto]

It was much worse than he'd imagined.

Sylvian could only grimace as he looked down into the valley underneath them. Necromancers were dangerous enough when they could raise a handful of undead, but Artesto had never seen such a mass of bones as the one in front of their odd little group. Whatever plan of action they'd had going in was as useful as spilled ale now.

"Kress... What has he done?" He muttered to himself, shaking his head. "I never imagined it'd be this bad." Even with the five of them, it might be far too late to intervene. In his Guard days, this would have been what he called 'a problem for the Dreadlords' and organized a tactical retreat.

If only it were so easy now.

The Letai's bombastic manner of taking charge of the situation drew his attention back to the others, and he couldn't fight the chuckle that came to his lips as she pulled out a pair of damned punch-crunchers and worked herself into a frenzy just talking about the fight ahead of them. Gods, what was he doing moping? If she could put her best foot forward, so could he.

"I'm damned good with a sword, and I can rig up some traps too." There was definitely some potential along the edge of this valley for the latter, he'd noted. Looking back out at the crowd of the damned, he squatted down and ran his fingers over the ledge, seeming to assess something. "My real talent, if you can call it that, is luck. So if any of you feel the urge to toss me into the horde like a human catapult, feel free. Odds are I'll be okay."

Looking over at the witch and the Letai, he smirked.

"Ladies first though, of course."

Josai Izara Maranae Jhyrann

 

[Jhyrann]

"Trim'n what? Disrespectful lass," Trimmin muttered under his breath. The dwarf shook his head.

The dwarf grumbled as she set sparks flying but it was too late. There was a chance that in the night - even at this distance - they could be seen.

The dwarven ranger was starting to wish he had joined the other party of hunters.

Jhyrran, meanwhile, had turned and walked into the trees behind them. There was the faint sound of popping.

"My power is not being a fuckin' idiot," Trimmin declared. "Now if'n we could awl stop showing off and go and put anything flashing away and have a quiet...where'd the big fuck go?"

Having decided that he wanted to join in with showing off, Jhyrran stepped back out of the undergrowth having fully changed.

The humans in the group barely stood above his waistline. Trimmin the dwarf was afforded an excellent view of his kneecap.

"Who needed throwing?" asked the minotaur.

 

[Maranae]

She hadn't said anything, merely watched. And, after everyone had their word, she felt put upon to say something herself.

"I can hit things hard," she said in her own peculiar, slow manner. "Not easy to hurt."

Might have been an understatement on both counts. The amount of strength in the wiry, coltish frame was quite a surprise to anyone who ever had occasion to taste it. In the same manner, keeping her down was a task that just might be accomplished by the army of bones and rot spread before them if they all sat on her. She had never suffered a wound that had laid her up for more than a day or two.

Impressive, when one considered her approach to tactics was probably similar to the letai - rush in, hit things very hard until they either stopped hitting back or fled. Which is to say, no tactics at all.

Add in the unspeakable way that her mere presence slowly siphoned magical potential from an area around her, especially if she was touching something magical...

She had a frying pan. It had once been a sword, but she had forged it into what it was now: a misshapen utensil for making food (which was usually one of the only things she ever cared about). The fact that it was extremely heavy and solid enough to crack skulls was just a bonus.

She had it in her hand now. She looked from face to face, then back to Izara - blinking a moment at the sparks from her knuckles, before grinning. "They stink. Can we break them now? Dead things should not be up and about." Necromancy or the necromancer either one did not really make any marks in her mind. A big pile of ratting meat and pale bone what should have been inanimate?

Well, at least that seemed straightforward.

 

[Izara]

Man, oh man, did she have the best ideas ever! She brought the fire, the rat handled the water. She had a nice little ship called Lucky Star, and Blondie was lucky. She had cat ears, and the big guy was a giant minotaur. She hit things hard, and so did the tall woman. Izzy couldn't relate to the dwarf, but that was okay; he would probably be good for throwing. She resisted the temptation to offer up the dwarf to Jhyrann and Maranae.

"Gotta agree with you on that one," Izzy said to Mara, wrinkling her nose in union. She looked about her team, passing over their expectant gaze. Oh, right, the plan. Izzy blinked once. A few seconds passed before she blinked again. "Hmmmmm," she stroked her chin, trying to look thoughtful. "HHHMMMMMMM." She hummed again, rubbing her chin harder. She even hunched over and pretended that she wore a pair of fancy spectacles. Why wasn't a perfect plan coming to mind? DJ always had one the moment they were ready to start planning.

"Okay, so uh, we throw the dwarf and blondie right into the middle, and then I go in with a couple of bam-bam-pows and you," she pointed at Josai, "can be all splish-splash-water-splish-splash-whooosh! And meanwhile, Trimmy and Blondie are kicking and slicing and when the orcs come, you and you can start," a sloppy point to Mara and Jhyrann, "rushing through the bones to the orcs and then I come up from right behind, deliver so neck-twisting punches and yeah, we find the necromancer and kill him for good this time! Whaddya guys think of that plan? Pretty solid if I say so myself, which I am saying. What a weird phrase." Her ranting turned into a subtle mumble, a hand still against her chin.

Josai Sylvian Artesto Jhyrann Maranae

 

[Josai]

Josai squint from behind the occlusion of her scarf. "I suppose there is some sense in that plan," she looked to the blonde swaggart. Just her chin which caused her hat's steeple to bob with the motion. "Let's hope your luck holds out," she said with a smirk. Then to the dwarf. "I can apply wards to aid your flight," she said, matter of fact. Looked to the gangly giant child looking anomoly. "She needs to stay well away though, the magicks don't flow well around her,"

Josai couldn't quite say why, but something about the creature masquerading as a big child robbed the winds of their magicks. Sapped the vapors and mists of their natural trace of the arcane energies. Josai could even feel a strange pull at the bottom of her stomach when she stepped too close.

A hazard she would work around. For now.

From her pack, Josai would pull a stick of oil. Pigment and coal mixed into the tacky substance allowed her to trace crude runework upon Trimmin and the blonde with a stick of oil-bound-coal. First on the forehead, then on the insides of the wrists, and the backside of their hands.

"A boon," She said matter of fact, as she finished the sigil upon Trimmin's forehead, "Wards arrows, and channels the winds to guide one in flight," the mark glowed with a gentle blue light, before it ebbed back to its dark coal color, and she proceeded to take his hand, and start her work there.


Sylvian Artesto Jhyrann Maranae

 

[Jhyrann]

"They stink. Can we break them now? Dead things should not be up and about."

"Too many to go through now," Trimmin said. The battle-hardened dwarf was tolerating everything going on around him and that was about as much as he would do.

"Just as soon as the host starts to march we'll strike for the necromancer and..."

There was a bright light from the camped army across the top of the valley. Then another. A flash of lightning that briefly illuminated half the valley. It came from between two blocks of motionless undead.

Except that they weren't motionless for long. They started to converge. The sound of steel rang out.

"You think the other group tried to sneak in?" Jhyrran asked.

"Yup and that's why I said it was a stupid plan."

"Should we help them?" Jhyrran rumbled. He tried to see what was going on. In the night it was impossible to see more than the host closing in. There were no more flashes of lightning to reveal the skirmish.

"A five minute jog just to reach the edge of the undead force and then a thousand dead to fight through. Won't last that long," the dwarf explained.

Jhyrran's huge shoulders slumped. The dwarf was pragmatic, but his attitude bordered on outright cold.

He was right. There had only been five in the other group. Assuming they had all tried to sneak into the camp they would not last long.