Café de Nuit

Lucien, who had already started backing away, continues to do so, moving closer to Goren in the process. He glances again at the zombie general, hoping that he... it... understands and accepts what's going to happen and the explosive effect on what's left of the zombie army.

Zumba feels a heinous exterior presence on his mind. It commanded something awful of him, but in this desperate moment, the ex-slave recalled every strength inside him that he had gathered on endless hours under the lash. The strength he gained in the duress of plantations, the anger he converted into power through the discipline of his training, now he called forth ot his mind to resist this abhorrent command.

Surprisingly... it seemed to just be enough. He ran back, happy and defiant for having outdone this attack, but now there was a more pressing danger at hand. He withdrew away from the zombies, and this time he decided it was about time to wield the silver sword he had kept all this time instead of his staff.

As the creature goes down, Vincent turns to the next one, ready to strike and is horrified to see them dying and turning to their former self.
Not wasting any time he focuses on the rider when the Zombi emerge.
Vincent is transfixed. He stares at them, eyes wide and his mouth half open. He looks at the stitched lips. His breathing getting heavier. He feels the sweat in his palms. He wants to move, but hi body doesn't seem to react to his commands.
In the back ground he hears yelling, a familiar voice. Goren's voice yelling to get away.
Vincent snaps back to reality. The throbbing in his side from the arrow is back again. His body reacting swiftly to his thoughts now. He turns around and runs away, to get as far from the exploding zombi as possible.
He makes his way to Goren and Lucien.

The undead surge and mass around the cage of fiery energy. They moan, they shove, they claw.

Goren can see threads of dark magic connecting the zombies, running out of the wand through the general and out again, like a spider's web. Oddly enough, the wall itself does not register in his magic-enhanced vision. He can see that it exists, but it does not correspond to any of the magical energies he has ever seen. He does see the swirling arcane force suddenly spiralling into the world around the zombies, but it is too mixed up for him to discern its nature.

The undead moan -- and the waters start to move. Slowly, ponderously, they rise in a squat cilinder around the fire-trap, around the zombies -- and crash down.

Lucien feels an unnerving chill run through his body, but moreso through his mind. He can feel his wall of fiery power snuffed out by a relentless counter-force.

The reeking sludge crashes down, and briefly cuts off the zombies' moaning. You all find yourselves spattered with drops and gobs of goo. When you have wiped your eyes clean, you see the undead struggling against black, bloated caricatures of humanity. You see this for all of a moment.

The undead general turns his back on the enemy, and looks Lucien right in the eye. He draws back his arm.



There is a horrendous sound, an organic explosion. There is no light to accompany it, not to the naked eye. In Goren's sight, Necromancy swells around all the massed monsters -- and is somehow torn to shreds even as it is turned inside-out. For a moment, Goren goes blind at the horror of it. Black death rains down on the huddle of struggling figures, and flesh and bone start to melt.

Beyond the struggling, heaving mass of flesh being consumed, you see the black rider. Or make that riders; the horseman is standing en profil, and you now see a smaller figure sitting behind him on the horse, clad all in black and hooded just as he is, but more slender, almost elegant. For that one, breathless moment, the two riders watch the undead, rendered into simply the dead, and they look to you. Then the smaller figure tugs on the rider's cloak, and he turns his horse away from you and starts to ride away, his horse moving at a leisurely-looking gallop. They ride into darkness, and they seem to disappear.

After the great noise, you barely notice the light Plop! when the undead general's wand falls into the muck in front of you. Its tip is still glowing with the chill radiance of St. Elm's Fire.

Goren observes the scene with interest, then nearly stumbles back by the horror of it all. Whoever these riders are, they are the most foul individuals I have ever encountered, bar none. That was more than disturbing he thinks to himself. He looks around, making sure his new companions are still standing. Satisfied, he breathes a sigh of relief almost as if he had been holding his breath in the first place.

Souragnien "So, we continue now to Chicken Man Bone? I wanting thinking about what we sawing here and since we all emsemble. We need discussion on this, oui? So far, we much occupied, not much temps for refelctions, oui? Vincent, come close, moi help you with Lathander blessing. Now."

The last comment by Goren is not a request but an order by the priest.

Cure Moderate on Vincent
[dice]0[/dice]

Lucien stares numbly at the sight of the foul, necromantic detonation... and he suddenly drops to his knees in the muck, his arms hanging limply at his sides. It's all too much at the moment: the stress, the exhaustion in his limbs, the chilling touch of the undead general in his mind ... which now feels as cold and empty as the bottom of a dry well.

It would be so easy to topple over now ... just lean forward slightly and let his face fall into the mud. No need to spend energy taking breaths... simply let it happen....

No, Lucien, says Claude's voice in his mind. No! You did it. You survived. You triumphed. Your actions helped destroy much of your foe's forces. But there is still much to do. Rest for a moment. Concentrate on your breathing, as you have taught yourself. That's it. The drought and the danger to Souragne still exist. Your main foe lives. Stay on the path, Lucien. Stay on the path.

The half-elf's eyes regain their focus. He retrieves the crossbow... and he sees the wand laying just a couple of feet away. With barely a thought, he reaches out and picks it up.

Lucien then looks up to see his companions gathering together. They all appear much as he feels. Vincent, in particular, looks ghastly, but the strange priest, Goren, is already casting some curative magic on the man. He slowly gets to his feet.

"Are you all..." he stops, realizing the absurdity of the half-formed question. Instead, he says simply, "We live."

tarlyn wrote:Souragnien "So, we continue now to Chicken Man Bone?

Vincent nods. "It doesn't seem finished to me...." he adds. "I agree with Goren, let's go hunting" he smiles even though his body has received quite a beating.
He approaches Goren for the healing. "Ah, thank you my red haired priest" he says. He turns his body upper body, as if testing his movements. "Better" he mumbles to himself.

Ken of Ghastria wrote:He retrieves the crossbow... and he sees the wand laying just a couple of feet away. With barely a thought, he reaches out and picks it up.

"I'm curious to see how that will help us." he states wonderingly. "Zombies at Lucien's control.......now there's a thought....." his voice trailing off, his mind visualising Claude taking over control, followed by a less comforting scenario.
"Hmm" he says lightly, shrugging it off.

Zumba falls to the ground with the force of the explosion. He thinks at first. But it was not really that: it was the shock, the force of the magic that somehow washed over him... most importantly, the sudden lack of adrenaline as the imminent danger imploded and dissipated before them.

He got up slowly, still uncertain that they had gone. Looking at the riders, a wave of doubt covered him, and surprise as he saw the second figure behind the rider. "A puppet?", he thought.

They moved away, and anger again filled him as his enemies escaped and denied his vengeance. Then he looked around. Goren healed Vincent, who remained as sportful and joyful as ever... at least apparently. But Lucien seemed much more taken aback. He rose and put his big hand on Lucien's shoulder, reassuringly.


"Come, I'll help you get up. We owe you our lives today, brave man! I'm glad you are here with us."


He tries to be as calorous as possible, but he's not smiling. Something inside him is still broken, something that does not let him feel happiness nor light-heartedness. Something still weighs on him.


"Keep your spirit and your mind. We still need them, and we have no reasons to despair now that we've won against hope!"

Ail wrote:"Come, I'll help you get up. We owe you our lives today, brave man! I'm glad you are here with us."

Lucien manages a weary smile. "Thank you." He looks toward where their cloaked foe and his mysterious companion had fled the scene, and then he addresses the others.

"Well, gentlemen," he says with a little more energy, "it seems that either we can force our battered bodies to slog through the swamps after a dangerous man on horseback OR we can rest for a while, regain our strength, and continue on to see Chicken Bone and hopefully get the answers we need to end the drought. Clearly, I favor the latter course. If there are no strong objections, let's see what suitable resting spots we -- and our guide -- can find."

"Mmmhhh... resting is a good idea. Let me look around for a place to camp."


OOC: Survival: 1d20+2 = 18
http://invisiblecastle.com/roller/view/3379848/

Goren is glad everyone is agreeing with him and says so. Souragnien "I agreeing. We finding place to relaxation then speaking."

"Well then messieurs, let's move quick" Vincent says "I'm not sure if we have a lot of time to go meet Chicken Bone".

"Our opponent has been dealt a serious blow," says Lucien. "I believe we can afford some time to tend to our wounds and regain our strength." He turns to Papa Doc and continues, "You are a brave man, monsieur. Most men I know would have fled in fear. Guide us to a place where we can rest and -- hopefully -- be undisturbed for several hours, s'il vous plaît."

Goren nods. As they walk he does add Souragnien "Moi accord with you, Lucien. Man Ridering horse, is, getting me faché [mad]. I no get that way but lui [him] crawl up my peau [skin]. And moi vouloir [wanting] why why Lathander pouvoir [power] weak ici [here]."

It takes you a little while to find a spot worth camping in. True, the natural corridor has been swept clear of obstructions, but the sludge is still black and bubbling. A vile stench hangs on the air, threatning to curdle your stomachs.

Worse still, your guide has vanished.

When you look around, you do not see the raft anywhere, nor the wiry old swamp guide that came with it. Where it bobbed on the surface of the sludge, surrounded by zombies, there float a few thin slivers of wood...

Around the same time that you spot Papa Doc's disappearance, you notice some reasonably solid-looking land, a bit to the east. Or you could forge through the corridor and try your luck on the other side. Unless, of course, you wish to hunker down in the muck and shiver the night away...