Open Chronicles The Village of Greywood

A roleplay open for anyone to join
Armed men barred her way, something she had come to expect at this point. She gave them but a moment's thought, her mind focused on the task at hand. She brought the hand up that held the mist and blew it from her palm as a child would flower petals into the wind. The mist flew forward as if taken by a sudden gust of heavy wind and enveloped the halberdiers in wisps of darkness.

The closest screamed in terror as the black, magical fog ate at exposed skin and rotted the muscle beneath. Like the ghouls, those caught fully in the mist quickly crumpled, their flesh horribly decayed and exposed bones withered and blackened. Survivors stumbled away clutching at foul wounds while those yet untouched staggered back in visible terror at the creature in their midst.

Vulture cocked her head, her porcelain face motionless as she regarded the men left before her. She slowly raised a hand, fingers pointing at the ground below. Gray mist rose slowly from the earth below as she stepped forward, the fog swirling around her feet and slowly blanketing the area. Those within the spell's effect quickly found their visibility greatly reduced, individuals turning into vague shapes and shadows in the haze.

Meanwhile, the blackened and withered bodies on the ground began to twitch...

The villagers screamed, yes, and they fled, but the soldiers were disciplined and had faced far worse. So they took a step back, and each swung their long polearm at the white woman, giving her little room to avoid the heavy-hitting weapons. Despite her ability to kill with mist, she faced a collective opponent that in this instance was beyond her capabilities to overcome. The dead might rise, but only to be struck down again by the veterans.

The mist covered their sight, so they went back to back, and called out in a foreign language. “Hexe! Hier drüben!”
 
The puppeteered human ran forth still screaming for help, his voice still rang through towards where the skirmish was to unfold.
Though now he was joined by another... And then another until a small group of survivors was stuck outside the woods. Quite familiar voices too.
Nobody would know that they were found dead from the first conflict or were the killed lost that were left behind in the woods.
The necromancers up back seemed to work on their own just fine.

The undead army advanced forth. A snicker formed on Sathirena's ghastly maw as she noticed that there were only a few people present. »Ha-ha-ha. I will take your people and you too, and you can't save them all!! Let alone when you'll be my thrall!! « shouted the ghastly presence. Her voice blending with the screams of the 'survivors'.

There was a fair chance the chicken orcs would get harmed, in a brief moment a deep row of armed skeletal soldiers stood side by side them. Or rather, slightly behind them.
A sea of sword arms and spears weaved forth and back. One arm reached for Gonk and yanked him back behind the shield wall. One arm reached for Verrett to have him join the formation, but the pitiful skeletal limb was too short to grab for the chicken enthralled in combat.
Whoever came too close, a spear was thrust their way.

“My people?” He asked with an equally amused chuckle, “compared to what we faced for two thousand years, you and your, paltry army are but a Monday morning’s routine.”

“Stelle dich rechtmäßiger Rache und Wut für deine Übertretungen, Dämon. Und finde wieder Frieden, sobald dein hohler Spott über das Leben vorbei ist.”

Then he turned to Ser Gavin Halbert and his squire Melusine Flarell and said, “we must return to the village. I had a surprise readied for our friends.”
 
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Gronk, after passing through the shield wall, began tending to his wounds, which mostly amounted to holding pressure to his sword wounds with a small bit of cloth.

Verret knew better than to be a hero, and keep fighting. After getting a bit of space he quickly charged through the shield wall coming to rest a bit away from Gronk. Verret realized he had not made it out completely unscathed however looking at a wound he had received as well.

"Gronk what are warriors like 'that' doing in this village?"


"They must have been the reason why help was needed. Still though it complicates things as they will have to die, and therefore be turned, there is still hope for the village. We can still win, We have to, for the village..."


"For the village..."
 
It was rare for Maeve to travel inland; though she was an abomination among her kind, she still preferred the cold waters of the sea. She strolled purposefully toward the village, crimson tresses seemingly floating around her head. Her painted lips parted, a siren’s lament and song of awakening pouring from her lips. It was a haunting melody, one that wished to welcome more into the eternal embrace of undeath.

Brine and salt accompanied the melancholic song, spreading through the area like a thick, miasmic cloud. As she drew nearer, it became clear that the deathsinger wasn’t alone. Twisted abominations from the depths of the ocean accompanied her, crawling and slithering across land like worms birthing from graveyard dirt.

Ethereal, teal eyes glowed, her disembodied voice raising in octaves as she summoned her monstrosities to do her bidding; they advanced on the village, the pirate a new face among the Eternum, and yet she knew she was at home among her own kind, and whatever their cause, it was hers as well.

The first of the creatures to reach the village was something from the abyss, a nearly cosmic horror that stretched with a razor-sharp grin. It reached for the nearest combatant, tendrils seeking to stretch around the poor soul and draw their very essence from them.
 
The undead horde stepped forth as the members of the villages' defence retreated.

Sathirena grumbled quietly, but the soldiers returned into formation, as much as they'd run after them.
It could be just a ruse, of course.
Were the chicken orc pair safe?

One of the skeletons approached the duo with his expressionless and mute mug.