NationStates Jolt Archive

This is the IC thread, post all OOC comments as well as your sign-up/character details etc. here (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?p=14347063), read the first post there before you post.

Backstory.
The small Island of Pfiel has been overrun by the monstrous forces of Undeath; the reanimated corpses of locals, old and fresh alike, stalk the ever-darkened streets and the castle lie sin the clutches of a mysterious entity, it's evil heart filled with a lust for pain, destruction and suffering. The terrible event has resulted in many brave (or scheming) adventurers flocking to the Pfiel's shores, simply to rescue the islands remaining inhabitants or merely to claim the island for themselves, either way, the hordes of undeath will have to be defeated.

Obviously you don't have to be an adventurer, you can be pretty much anything you want (Except the "mysterious entity")

Sirom paced around outside the tent he would call home for now, he was on a dark muddy beach which had become a campsite for adventurers and refugees alike. He was not going to enter the city on his own, that, he thought, would be suicide. So he was waiting for anyone of similar mind to embark on this new challenge with him. For moment though, he had been unsuccessful and sat, clad only in he sackcloth legging he practised his swordplay and slept in, on the damp beach, the grey drizzle that seeming always fell on Pfiel continuing it's angry assault on the ground. Sirom sighed and started polishing his armour. He paused as he spotted an interesting looking man nearby, not the usual drunken advenutrer, there was something about him...
"Hey, with the bow!" he yelled, standing up and waving.

"Aye, I heard you, no need to wave in such a undignified manner.
Now, Nyx the darkrider at your service how can I help you?"

Sirom lowered his hand and looked the stranger up and down, noting the prescence of several magical items on his person. He held out his hand to the man and said, rather cheerily, given the circumstances:
"A pleasure to meet you, I'm Sirom Pyrah hailing from Autesia. Might I offer you a mug of beer," His faced soured a little and he went on "Though I bought the ruddy stuff on the way here, so it tastes like pondwater. On a more serious note, what brings you here, money, promise of land, adventure, sheer goodwill, although god-knows it's hard enough to find any of that around nowadays? Only if you ask me, going in alone makes very little sense, and I'm sure our goals could be acheived far easier together, don't you?" He realised he was beginning to ramble a little, so he pulled up a stool next to his own and retrieved to mugs and a bottle of the tastless beverage,
"Here, sit down," he said, pouring himself a mug and offering the rest to Nyx.

"no thanks" said Nyx declining the jar/mug/alcohol. "I don't drink, muddles my wits to much for my liking, but if I could get a nice pint of clean water?!"
shouted Nyx to the wider room. "Now as to why i've come here, my liege Roberts, has lost something precious to him in these lands and he wishes for me to retrieve it for him but this was before the undead decided to invade your fine land so i've sent a report back and am trying to find a way to complete my mission while also taking out any undead I can..."

Commander Gold entered a small village He walked alone but ready to summon his guards should he need them. At a local Inn his muddy boots strolled to a bar. He received quite a few stares before things returned to normal. " Hello" He said getting rid of the red glow in his eyes " A room for one with a fireplace would you." The ugly looking man turned and gave him a key. The Commander gave him three coins before going up to his room and sitting down in front of a fire.

Sirom nodded and then, hurling the half-full bottle over his shoulder said:
"Water, of course, as for clean, well I'm not making any promises on this grotty little beach," and handed Nyx a waterskin. Sirom decided that this man could be a helpful companion, anyone who refused to drink altogether must be very strong-willed, he reasoned,
"So, what do you say, I think we should probably wait for one or two more people to join us, but how does a team effort sound to you?"

Nyx thought it over as he took a deep drink from the water skin.
"I was told to be discreet, but one or two more can't hurt.
Now, Mr. Sirom Pyrah hailing from Autesia, what exactly can you bring to this mission?"

Marvel couldn't get over it. Yendor needed a point man, and had chosen him of all...beings! And now, he was doing the Traveling Wizard thing--helping the helpless, raising up the downtrodden, giving girls magical boob jobs (a wizard had to pay the bills somehow, and cosmetic surgery was lucrative stuff)! What could be better?

This was to be his first assignment. Ol' Purple Puss--that was Yendor, for the uninitiated--had just told him to show up in this place at this time and the rest would take care of itself...so that's what Marvel did...and there were two men there...so...

Marvel switched on the glamour that made him appear human, and waited for them to notice him.

http://www.nls.net/mp/413/marvelbod_human_clothed.png

Alehkra no'Vehak had been taking stroll through the forest, when he'dheard, from quite a ways away, Sirom and Nyx talking. Out of curiosity more than anything else, he'd stayed to watch and listen. He smiled somehwat at the man Nyx talking about his mission. Did noone ever do things for the sake of adventure, to get the rush of battle? He wondered what the other man, the one who seemed to be looking for companions, was doing in these forsaken lands.

"Well," Sirom said, "I can tell you now that your cloak is enchanted, nearby someone is using some sort of..." He trailed off and stood up again and spotted Marvel, he knew there was something odd about him but he couldn't place it, he layd a hand on his sword hilt and called out to him. Then flicking his eyes between the strange man and Nyx,
"Also, I can bring Nosila, my sword," he said, drawing it from it's sheath and cleaving a pebble in two as if it were butter, "also my wits, years of experience and all my determination." Finishing his sentence he turned and directed his full attention on the strange man.

Marvel smiled a devilish smile. He knew he should've known better, but he just couldn't help it. Hell's bells! Did this guy think his was the first sword that the demon had ever laid eyes on? No matter really...yet. The guy wasn't trying to slice anything living...yet.

So, when the guy called out at him, Marvel just kept on smiling and waved politely. No need to go and aggravate the poor simp.

Alehkra raised an eyebrow. He wasn't quite sure what the new man was, but he surely wasn't human. Didn't smell right.

The man definitely had some powerful spells at work, but no matter how hard he tried, Sirom couldn't fathom what they were. He turned to Nyx and muttered:
"Watch this one, he has some kind of magic at work," and then called to the man again saying:
"Please come and join us, take a seat!"

Li'lani quietly slipped into the adventurer's camp. He could go into the city as he wished alone, any undead that attacked him would quickly be dispatched, but Li'lani craved company. Ever since leaving the settlement he had been forced to keep to himself. But now it didn't matter. These were adventurers. They couldn't remember a name for anything. His actions wouldn't have any effect. That was good.
Glancing around, Li'lani overheard two men talking about forming a party. Smiling, he began thinking of a way to work himself into that conversation.

Deciding he'd had enough of this foolishness, Alehkra stepped out. "The stupidity of human's never ceases to amaze me." He drawled. "As you yourself pointed out, hes most definetly doing something odd. And yet you invite him as if he were your mates brothers."

Startled, Sirom turned,
"Dear God, who the hell are you?" he exclaimed, "and how did you..." he trailed off. Composing himself, he said:
"It is my view that not everyone who is unusual or strange is dangerous, and I know no better way to measure a person than by communicating," he said, when a thought hit him The stupidity of humans... "what are you?" he inquired. Now, he thouht, things were getting odd.

"Me?" Alehkra asked with a crooked grin. "I'm a werewolf." He said matter of factly.

"And I'm a modified Red Gargoyle Demon," Marvel said, still maintaining his illusion, "though I try to make myself look like a human. It tends to keep the pitchforks in the barns. And I have one and only one intent right now: somebody said something about beer, and I intend to have a cold one."

"I'm only human" spoke up Nyx eying the werewolf, wondering why he had only taken the one silver arrow with him, stupid stupid.
"Well Mr. Sirom Pyrah hailing from Autesia it seems your party has arrived..."

"Ooooo. A party. Sounds good already," the demon said with a devilish grin. "Name's Marvel, by the way. So...where was this beer I almost keep hearing about?"

Alehkra grinned feraly at Nyx, showing a mouthful of sharp teeth. "Am I really all that handsome?"

Sirom threw Marvel a magically chilled bottle of beer and stated, I've neer met a werewolf or a Demon before, wait, I tell a lie, I have met a werewolf, although regrettably that meeting ended a little badly for both of us, although probably, I should say, more so for him, I hope" he said, turning to Alehkra,"that we will get along much better. I think the two of you," he said, flicking between Marvel and Alekhra, "could probably be a great help to us, if you are willing to join up," he turned to Alehkra and inquired, "I don't believe I got your name sir?".

"Alehkra no'Vehak." He said. "Out of curiosity, did you happen to catch that otheer wolve's name? I may have known him." There was no hint of anger or bitterness in his question, only mild curiosity.

"Err, not that I can remember," Sirom said thoughtfully, "but i do have one of his teeth, got stuck in my old shield," he explained, retrieving from a small pouch at his wasit a yellowy fang, about the size of Siroms little finger, although the time it had spent in Sirom's small trophies pouch and blunted it somewhat. "He wasn't all that big, thus I'm still alive, but he was big enough to be a problem at the time," he explained.

Alehkra looked at thet tooth critically and snorted. "He sure as hell wasn't an Alpha, thats for sure."

"Hm," Sirom remarked, "Do werewolves usually live together, or do they all live alone? He was the only one I've met before now and he didn't really seem worthy of the mighty reputation lycanthropes have," he quizzed.

"The majority of us live in packs." He told him. "The only reason we live alone is if they were kicked from the pack for weakness or insibordination, as I believe happened with the one you met. Or, like me, they chose to leave do to...complications."

Nyx listened in to the conversation, memorizing anything of importance and throwing out anything else. This information could greatly help him when he had to next hunt some rogue werewolf. He then gazed at the demon, trying to peer beyond his disguise to the creature within.

It took him longer than he would have liked but finally he found a way to peer beneath it for brief times. "That is a handy spell master demon, care to tell where you learned it?"

Sirom nodded, he liked to learn about the things he was killing, but hadn't had the hance on that occasion. "I..." he trailed off, noting the prescence of more enchantments, which, as long as the owner was friendly, was probably a good thing. He couldn't see anyone, for the fog and rain was so strong, so he said:
"There's some nice enchantments nearby, I'm guessing elven origin, I've seen similar before, the owner could be helpful,"

Alehkra blinked, and began to sniff the air. He grimaced. He despised elves. "Yup, theres an elf around all right." He said, sounding unhappy about that.

Marvel opened the beer and took a swig. It was good and cold, but it was sort of like making love in a canoe...F*CKING CLOSE TO WATER!!!!! Still, beer is beer.

"Never met a demon before," he said. "Well, in that case, here's a little Red Gargoyle 101: if you see one, run like hell. I'm the exception. My body was changed so I DON'T reproduce by laying eggs in a body like...oh...yours...and I'm the ONLY exception. Now, what's this thing you want me to join up for? Oh. Wait. Need some courage."

Marvel chugged the rest of the beer.

"Now, what's this thing you want me to join up for?" he asked with a devilish grin.

Sirom was slightly unsettled by the thought of a creature reproducing in such a manner (although not as much as many would have been as he had once encountered a man who's body was home to no less than five baby-sized pararsites) and so took a moment to think about it before answering:
"Well I am possessed of a mindframe which means I think twice about entering a city filled with undead monstrosities alone, and as such, am looking for companions who acknowledge the virtues of fellowship. Essentially, would you like to come into the city with myself, my friend here," indicating Nyx, "Mr. No'Vehak if he agrees, and any others that may wish to join up, in the hopes we may all be of help to eachother in acquiring our respective goals? There won't be any obligations, but I will make it my personal business to hunt down anyone who knowingly endangers myself or any of the others, so, how about it?"

Alehkra shrugged. "I think that works." He frowned. "You won't consider this a pack, will you? I might have some problems if you do..."

Sirom smiled,
"A pack? Probably not a word I would have used either way, but no, do not feel bound by anything but good sense and honour. When this is over, we can all go our separate ways and never, if we don't wish it, so much as think of each other again, although I like to hold every day in my mind for as long as possible, for soon enough the Grey Man comes to all of us, and then we don't have any memories left to make,"

"Oh. One of THOSE," Marvel said. "Probably got a lych with an attitude getting too big for his britches again. Sounds like the perfect thing for a Yendorian (::HIC!::) sorcerer!"

Alehkra nodded happily. "Then I will join you." He said.

"Excellent, this party is really shaping up, I say we should rest for the night and set off tomorrow, unless there are any objections?" Sirom said.

Alehkra shrugged. "I see no problems."

"Aye, it is already getting late. If you don't mind I have other business to take care of in this area." replied Nyx as he started to walk towards the nearby town. he reached it as the sun finished its dip beneath the horizon. After asking a local guard, Nyx reached the tavern, where he looked for his contact.

"Oye, look what we have here boys, a ranger. Come to partake in this fine ale?"
"No, I'm looking for a man, named Blackleg I believe."
"Aye, you just missed him. He was heading back to his house, seems he may have had to much ale again." replied the gruff looking bar keeper.
"Now where would this house be?"
"Now why would you need to know that?"
"These two silver pieces say you don't need to know that."
"Aye, Blackleg lives down by the general store."
"Thank you" replied Nyx as he walked out of the bar, heading towards the center of town...

Nobody wanted to share the beer. Beer isn't nearly as much fun when there's no one to share it with. So Marvel just guzzled a few more and headed off toward town. He was too drunk to fly, so he just pulled in his wings and walked, as best he could, into town where the inn was.

He was relatively sober when he got to town, and noticed Nix walking down the street ahead of him.

Maybe he knows where the inn is, Marvel thought. I think I'll follow him.

...and so he did.

bump

Nyx avoiding the ditches and hazards of the road continued on his way towards the center of the town. Only giving causal attention towards things outside his direct line of sight. he had a mission and no beggars or thieves would disrupt him this night...

This guy, Marvel decided, was acting a little strangely for someone going to bed down. Maybe, he figured, he should follow the schmuck more clandestinely.

In a moment, he was invisible, unhearable, unsmellable, etc., and he kept on following. In fact, he moved in a little closer while he was at it.

Ahead of him, he noticed a small bump in the road.

occ
as I want this to go on, and since I think I'm slowing it down...

IC
Sometime later
Nyx stumbled out of the house, knocking an arrow onto his bow and mumbling a simple spell, he grinned as the tip began burning, pulling the arrow further back and released at the wooden building. Nyx watched as the building burst into flames. Making sure that it wouldn't put it self out anytime soon and putting his bow back onto his back. He started walk back to town with a small smirk on his face, feeling satisfied with the nights work. Nyx sighed it was late, and he began to walk faster as he hoped to get some rest before the real adventure began...

OOC: Since Autesia hasn't posted in a DOG'S AGE...

IC:

Marvel chose that moment to appear in front of Nyx.

"You'd better have a good reason for burning that house down," he said.

Nyx was understandably surprised as the demon appeared before him.
idiot he thought, as he turned to watch the demon, briefly wishing he hadn't been so quick to put away his bow.
"erh, of course I do, but it is none concern of yours demon." he nearly spat.

"Well," he said, "I intend to sleep at an inn tonight, and I don't want that fire spreading into town."

He stretched out his hand, and increased the density of the space around the house. In a moment, the air was pulling into the increased density zone, as matter density followed space density. Basically, the part of the house that was on fire was sucked into the zone. Then, the Demon moved it over to a nearby pond and unceremoniously dumped it there.

Nyx watched the Demon little stunt.
That was smart though Nyx, as if the locals weren't already going to be pissed but witchcraft, hope they only burn witches.
Nyx turned his back on the demon and the now extinguished house, as he continued to walk towards the town

As Marvel looked at what was left of the house, he noticed that there was no one in it. This was actually why he had extinguished the flames instead of doing what he was about to do in the first place. He hadn't wanted to take the chance that anyone would be affected.

Marvel didn't know what this guy thought he was dealing with, but he DID know that he was a first-class mage. It was time for some clean-up.

As soon as Nyx was far enough away, the turned demon took the space between the house and the pond and reversed time there. In a moment, the water boiled as shards of the house rose to its surface, caught fire, and flew back into the place itself, to reassemble, engulfed in flames that gradually went out. Then, a flaming arrow flew back out of the house. Then, Marvel stopped time. He narrowed the area of the spell down to the location of the arrow.

Finally, he made a shield of high-density space--it took a moment for it to suck in enough air to make it solid--and let the arrow go again. This time, it bounced off of the space and landed on the ground.

There was a spell on it. Marvel could feel it. Probably Flaming Death--not something that he would want to leave lying around for someone to pick up, but not the kind of thing he could just pick up and walk away with. He walked over to the arrow and swept his hand over its surface. As he had suspected, there were a couple of dead spots on the arrow shaft so that it could be fitted into a bow and fired. He picked it up by one of these and walked toward the center of town. There was a watering trough by the barber shop, and Marvel figured that between it and a good old fashioned Consumption Spell, it just might be enough to put out the flame that continued to pour from the arrow's tip.

Then and only then would the town be safe.

And he would like to see the look on the archer guy's face when it all went down.

Paying the rather fat innkeeper two gold coins, Nyx continuing to feel satisfied went to the room, removed his quiver and put it next to the bed, checked his bow for any signs of damage finding none he also layed that down, he continued on this way, inspecting each of his weapons in turn and then his armor before, getting into the bed and falling asleep.
cue final fantasy/rp cliche inn music.

Sirom led down in his tent, shunning the gloomy town, he couldn't be sure how tasty the undead might perceive it to be. As his eyes closed, somewhere in the back of his mind there was a faint perception of burning.

Y'Ha Nthlei materialized in an alley, in time to watch the Red Gargoyle's display. It was interesting to note one of the shock troops of the Hells saving human lives and souls, but had no impact on his own inquisition.

Deep in Oolthul, the Hivemind had registered or predicted activity in Pfiel that could prove of benefit, and Y'Ha Nthlei had been honored with the post of Master Inquisitive in the matter. His mind reached out, revealing a herd of the pink food that grew in such abundance Above in a building not far...an inn, he plucked from their minds.

He pulled the hood of his spider-silk robes, in deepest purple with silvery threads weaving an intricate pattern of loops and whorls throughout, obscuring his features further, and entered this inn. A handful of gems he dropped on the bar before the owner here, thinking loud enough to be heard: A place for my stay, something to drink...and some of that stew that smells so divine.

His reading of the innkeeper told him he'd overpaid, but he really didn't have time to dig deep and figure out exchange rates. Besides, the gems were common enough home and he'd be there once his inquisition was over. The innkeeper was gathering up the gems, thinking all and (not just he) had heard the hooded stranger.

Quietly, Y'Ha Nthlei made his way to a quiet booth, where he raised his wooden bowl of rabbit stew to his mouth and held it with his tentacles, his mind reaching out and lightly touching each present, seeking knowledge of what had occurred that could intrigue the Hivemind...

Slowly, gently, carefully, the clawed red hand stretched out the still-burning end of the arrow and laid the tip into the water basin. It spat and whistled, fighting the first the water and then the enchantment that had been put in it. For a short time, it held them even. It was strong magic--far stronger than Marvel had suspected from a 'noid like the one he had been following. He made a mental note not to underestimate this one if they came into conflict. Still, the flame eventually succumbed. With no sorcerer to renew it, it was little more than a chemical reaction, an unthinking, unreasoning thing, and, unreasoning, it faded.

Marvel left the arrow smoldering on the ground where he had first heard and then seen others enter. That had been the inn that he had looked for. He popped into his human form and entered, giving the keeper a friendly smile.

The man barely noticed as he paid the fare and got his room key--didn't even notice when the demon dropped his human form and proceeded, wings drawn tight to his body, up the stairs and into his room. He was too busy ogling a small batch of gems that had recently come into his posession.

So...there were other foreigners about--and they had more money than sense. The demon decided that he might want to look into this as he lied down on his bed and, despite the unfamiliar mattress and the noises around him, had little trouble fading off into a sound, restful slumber.

OOC:

Better
Umbrellas
Mitigate
Precipitation.

"Would you like anything else, miLord?" the innkeeper smiled, wringing his apron in his hands as he spoke to his mysterious and wealthy patron.

No, no-that will be quite enough. Y'ha Nthlei was fairly content with the stew, though he did wonder if this town was always this dead, and if it were dead, how long would it take to rise and start trying to eat his brains?

Something woke Sirom, it wasn't a noise, he wasn't uncomfortable, he hadn't dreamed, he just woke up. It happened sometimes. Somewhere, something wrong was happening.

On the outskirts of the town
A woman screamed as a rotting corpse broke through the door to her hut. A baby cried as it's family was dragged into a crowd of stinking, mangled corpses. The dead had finished their work in the other town* and they had come for fresh prey.

Back in the tent
Sirom leaped up and began buckling on his armour, picking up Nosilla from beside his bedroll. he should have gone with the others, there was no point in a party if everyone was in a separate location. He sprinted up the dreary beach, dodging the odd tent or campfire and reached the city gates. They were locked, but not well, he raised Nosilla and drew it down the gap between the two doors, cleaving the lock mechanism in two. With no better method of location he guessed at his companions' locations by sensing the familiar charms and enchantments. His senses lead him down a bumpy road with an inn, definitely the place, he thought rushing inside to search.

*(one of two on Pfiel)

Stupid was the only thought Nyx would allow himself as he rushed to buckle his armor back on, grabbing his quiver and various other supplies he rushed down the stairs.
"Inn keeper, whats happening?"
"The undead have come!"
"Flip, stay here if any other armed person(s) come in/out tell them to head towards the northern outer wall and its gate. O hope you don't mind if I borrow this." said Nyx as he took a nearby stole, broke a lag off, took a piece of cloth. mumbled the same arcane spell and watched as it burst into flames, he then began to run north towards the screams and the groans.

As he heard the shambling hordes of the undead reaching the Northern Gate (He had come through the Southern one) and the town militia fighting them off as best they could Sirom spotted Nyx, the first person he had spoke with on Pfiel. He shouted to him over the din of the panicking in:
" Come on! Do you know where the others are?"

Wouldn't you know it, just when Marvel was starting to get used to the lumpy old mattress that they'd given him, just when he was starting to relax, then the screaming had to start.

"Sometimes, I hate this job," he muttered, rolling out of bed and getting to his feet.

Then, he felt it--a flash of magic coming from somewhere rather distant--about the same spot as the screams.

"Ohhhh, alright!" he grumbled. "No time for niceties." He left the wizard's robe on the chair, opened the window and dived out. In a moment, his 30-foot wings spread to their full expanse and he was in flight, warming up a few spells even as he turned toward the source of the commotion.

"Come on! Do you know where the others are?"
As he continued to fire his arrows at the approaching horde, Nyx tried to think of the man's name, damn it I learned it early today. he thought as he pulled back and let another drill right through a hulking brute right through the brain, dropping it.

"No I don't known where the others are, I assumed they stayed with you!"
replied Nyx as prepared another arrow, adding a little of this and a little of that, before saying a little fire spell and letting it go at a zombie that was missing its left arm, hitting it square in the chest...

Raising his wing flaps, he dived at the horde. As he came down, he released the 20 or so fireballs he'd started up on the way. They hit like a sheet of napalm.

Then, he snagged one on the way back up. It tried to grab him, but he was quicker. He was still a demon, and he even had time to smile at the thing before he puked on its head. It turned into a pile of slop that flowed away, leaving a hole right down to the thing's neck. Then, he dropped it on a little get-together of other zombies, knocking them all over.

As he turned back for a second run, he noticed Simon and Nyx doing their best imitation of fighting. They were holding their own, but they were doing the job retail when they needed to do it wholesale. He flew back and landed next to them.

"Hi, guys," he said. "Starting without me? How utterly...," he let loose a 90-degree concussion wave that knocked everything on his left side sprawling, "...moving."

"Quite," Sirom replied, "nice of you to join us".
He let off a small fireball, seemingly insignificant, but Sirom's forte was in clever application, not strength of spells. The tiny tongue of flame struck a zombie, it tumbled over, landing against a stack of wine barrels, which promptly tumbled over it's head and across the street, tripping or crushing zombies as they went.

We'll need your most potent potables, soak rags in it and tie the rags to arrows-we can set them alight and drive off the undead, Y'ha rushed to the window and reached out with his psenses, trying to determine how much of a mind these undead possessed. Fire will destroy them.

bbbbbbbBUMPpppp

There was a problem. The most devastating spells that Marvel had at his disposal were area-affect spells, and those things were coming down the street. There may have been people still alive in the houses. If he used his death spells, it would take out everything. That just wasn't acceptable. Not since he stopped doing The Evil Dude Boogie.

Turning his thoughts to the problem at hand, he reached into his bag of Yendorian Magical skills and brought out an Energy Control spell. Directly in front of him, he set up a variable energy zone, about six feet wide. This was an experiment, to see if it would work. The bottom two feet got the heat all sucked out of them. In a moment, it was so cold that the air itself froze within it. That energy was moved into the next two feet up. It got hot enough to melt lead--and start most of what was inside of it on fire. Zombies screamed as they simultaneously froze and burned.

Would a death spell even affect the undead? Y'ha psent to the demon. I'm not picking up any thoughts at all, but they haven't eaten for a while, so there's precious little I can pick up.

He was a bit nervous-other than the flammables in the inn, his formidable mental prowess was almost useless against these living dead...

Mine will, Marvel sent back, but they also affect the living. I can't target them on any single class of being. They're area-affect.

He raised his hand.

"Flamben diffuscato!"

A wave of fire shot out, hitting the horde and instantly charring the zombies at its center. Again, its affects were limited--this time, he had to keep it away from the buildings--and, as before, as soon as the latest crop of zombies met their maker, another wave closed ranks.

"These guys are starting to get boring," the demon said.

Lovely. Y'ha noted some casks of volatile whiskey in the innkeeper's mind, nestled in the bowels of the inn. There's some rotgut in the basement here-should we begin making incendiaries?

OOC:What did they call Molotov cocktails before the Molotov-Ribbentroff Pact?

ooc: no idea I'm afraid.

Noticing the issues Marvel was having with his spells, Sirom yelled:
"We need to drive them out of the city! they'll die quicker on open ground!"
He thought for a second and then went on:
"Try some sort of wide-ranged kinetic 'funnel', if we can force them close enough together they''l have to move backwards," he stopped to hack a stinking corpse in two before continuing: "try and make a bottleneck if it's possible, we can force them down the main street and out of the gate then!"

Y'ha threw one of his makeshift incendiaries, filling a section of street with flame. Drive them back!, he psent to all. Once we've gotten them out of the town, we can focus on trapping and destroying them!

Sirom drew a deep breath and hurled himself forward, hacking wildly at the shambling undead and launching occasional fireballs or lightning bolts. He began filling Nosilla's blade with flaming magical energy and after several minutes, released in a mighty swing, scorching a swathe of undead.

Funnel them out? Are you kidding? They're coming from every direction! They're funneling in!

Then it dawned on him. If he was on the top of the inn's roof, where he could see the whole horde, he might be able to use a Yendorian Magic--a series of sliding space-density fields--to push the zombies out and corral them into a limited area. It was going to leak--he wouldn't be able to use the fields on any buildings without causing them to collapse, so whatever was inside would not be affected--but it would make the problem manageable.

He looked at Sirom. "One kinetic funnel coming up!" he said--and, by the time he finished speaking, his wings were at their full 30-foot expanse.

In a moment, he was in the air. There was something about flying that felt good--even in the cold of a night like this one--but the demon steeled himself against losing his concentration and flapped with all his might. Into the air he climbed until he reached the top of the inn's roof. Landing gingerly so as not to mess up the tiles that adorned the building, he pulled his wings in and took a look around.

By now, the undead were coming from just about every angle. Getting them to move back would take a lot of the ol' mojo.

Slowly, the demon-no-more raised his hands and, half closing his eyes, began to chant an incantation. If this worked, it could turn the tide of the battle. If it didn't, half the town could be crumbled like soup crackers before the rising of the morning sun.

---------------

OOC:

Folks, let me know how well (if at all) you want this spell to work.

ooc: I'm happy either way to be honest, but some rate of success would be good I guess- it would help move it along.

Y'ha directed the men to hurl the incendiaries over the walls Marvel had conjured, getting them out of the inn to do so. He psi-scanned the buildings to ascertain they were empty before the mystic wards collapsed them, herding those who he found in occupancy to leave by convenient ways that would not leave them vulnerable to the zombie horde.

A horde he was definitely getting small readings from, as if the dead minds hid a hive intellect within their rotted flesh. He could sense a few, simple thoughts directing them, weakly, but thoughts nonetheless. If he could focus, he might find the mind behind this attack...

The walls began to move.

Zombies pushed. The weight of hundreds of undead resisted the heavy space in front of them.

It was to no avail. Though it was mere air, the pressure that it exerted on anything in its path was all but insurmountable.

Slowly, the horde began to move back.

The walls went around the buildings. They simply died down when they came up to a building and reformed on the other side. This meant that the undead within the building would pour out as the wall passed by. This was the leak that Marvel had known would come. He could only hope that the reduced forces would be enough for his companions to handle.

As the walls continued to move back, Marvel's concentration occasionally failed. When it did, there would be one less hut standing in the village.

And there was one other thing that Marvel knew would affect the spell. His kind were bred as high-performance fighters. He was capable of tremendous bursts of power, but his endurance was relatively limited. Sooner or later, he was going to fatigue to the point where he couldn't keep the spell up any longer.

The walls finally reached the outskirts of the town. Fortunately, it was a small town.

As Marvel reached his hand out to begin the next phase of the spell--bringing as many of the undead as possible together in a nearby clearing--he noticed his arm starting to shake from the strain.

"Better hurry this up, folks!" he called down to his compatriots. "I'm starting to tire out!"

Y'ha cursed-the demon's pyromancy was all keeping them from being dined on, and if he flagged for but a moment...

He cast his mind out-some intelligence guided these dead things, and he could cast his will against it, force a retreat or perhaps even dominate this horde. He had caught a tantalizing glimpse, the merest hint it was there-rudimentary thoughts, all echoing in the depths of these dead minds-he would have to dig, to root it out.

On a living mind, he would induce vegetable status with such a deep probe, but here, he had no choice...

The demon shook his head to clear it, and, for just a moment, the air-density spell went down. "Awwshit!" Zombies surged out through the air. Then Marvel stretched out his hand, and it came back up again, and those caught in the varying density zone literally cracked in half as the spell took its toll.

As the zombies surged, Y'ha torched the makeshift barriers. Falling back, he instucted the stragglers to dig a ditch-if worse came to worse, filling it with oil would create a barrier even the dead would be loathe to cross.

The situation seemed to be worsening, and desperation fed energy into Y'Ha's attempts to find the source intelligence...

Not too far off in the castle at the centre of the capital...

The shadowy figure grimaced, though it could not be seen even by the few inhuman serfs which wandered about the bloody room, covered as it was by a dark cowl. A single strand of black hair slipped out from the shadows of the spider-silk hood and a flash of yellowy teeth, or fangs was visible in the darkness. Someone was hunting his mind, he could feel it. And they were strong. He grunted and desperately began searching for the source. It wasn't far from his undead slaves, but there was a great huddle of weaker beings shielding it, and the dead could not reach it's location, held back by the barriers the demon had conjured. He stabbed at the mind with as much of his mental power as he could divert from his slaves, which wasn't much. No, he needed something else to find this mind...

In the second city...
A wave of nausea washed over Sirom as some new and powerful enchantment presented itself and he nearly tripped through sudden loss of concentration on the task of reaching the barriers. He turned round, feeling the bile rise in his throat.
He was greeted by a terrible sight; standing atop a nearby house was a grey-black shape of shifting shadows. Human-like in its shape and proportions, but undefined and ever-shifting, with tiny trails of pure darkness swirling off of it's form and into the sky. The sable creature turned its featureless face from side to side, as if searching for something. it let out a horrific scream (though it had no visible mouth), a skull-splitting howl of titanic proportions, tearing through his mind like a saber cleaving his skull in two. A great pair of shadowy wings coalesced around the creature's shoulders and it swooped off of the rooftop. Sirom feared it would be towards Marvel, the only thing holding the horde at bay, but it didn't. It swooped toward the inn, at stopped, hovering in mid-air and glaring at the group of terrified peasants, searching through the crowd with it's eyeless stare.

If I strike at it, I'll lose the barrier, and I'm too tired to fight it head on. Maybe...if I can slow it down.

Marvel took the barrier in his left hand. It held, but it stopped moving. With his right, he put up another barrier, this one between the thing that had appeared and the crowd of peasants that it was menacing. If only he didn't have to maintain TWO of them!

A telltale burn began between the demon-no-more's eyes as he gritted his teeth and brought up the second spell.

OOC:

The expression is, "if worse came to WORST."

Yessss...Y'Ha felt it, a clumsy, awkward fumbling for his quicksilver mind. Despite the power held in that mind, it was busy controlling the Dead who massed on the other side of the demon's barrier.

It's attack had revealed it-not much, for it was a strong mind, sealed in stone..a castle? Whatever, tracking would be later. Now, Y'Ha reached out and crushed. Bruising thought patterns would not hurt the mind-not for long-but the pain, and a bit of desperation might get it to, however unconsciously, call for help.

The Dead turning back until their master/mistress recovered would buy time, both to organise and to have proper defenses erected...

In the Castle:
The shrouded figure howled in pain and frustration and bent double, trying to regain concentration whilst stabbing back at it's attacker's mind.

In the city:
With the sudden loss in their masters concentration, the horde of shambling corpses became confused. They turned in circles and pushed against each other, all trying to move in random directions, some of them turning on their maggot-ridden brethren as their urge for blood overcame their bonds of allegiance.
The shadowy black creature howled again, feeling some of it's master's pain and hurled itself against Marvel's barrier. Finding the barrier to be too strong it withdrew slightly. Had it's master been more composed the creature would have turned on Marvel, but without that guidance it became almost as confused as it's rotting compatriots. However, it still held to it's purpose of finding the source of it's master's pain, and with the recent attack, Y'ha had become much more visible to it. Logic would have told the creature who of the six peasants and one mysterious hooded figure that it had narrowed it's search to was the source of the mental attacks, but logic was not a gift it's master had bestowed upon it. So the creature howled in frustration at not being able to make it through the barrier.

Sirom was very worried; Marvel looked incredibly strained and the group of strangely well-organized peasants was seemingly under a very serious threat. He thought quickly and drew his short sword, it was far from cheap, but it was much closer to expendable than Nosilla. He breathed a spell of paralysis onto the sword and flung it at the howling creature. His aim was true and the sword struck the shadow-creature's spine, but, as Sirom had anticipated it might, it flew through, leaving a trail of black shadows in its wake. The spell, though, worked regardless and the creature began to go limp, it's howling turned to a strangled gasp as it lost the ability to move it's vocal organs and eventually it's wings slowed to a stop and the creature dropped out of the sky, slamming into the magical barrier and sliding onto the wet cobbles. Sirom had to act fast, the paralysis would not hold for long...

Wrapping his tail around a nearby chimney to brace himself, the turned demon carefully let down the barrier over his fellow defenders. If the other hellspawn could see him now, doing all this for a bunch of 'noids, they'd try and laugh him out of town...until they had to come up against his sorcery. But it was costing him. It had taken quite a bit of effort for Marvel to allow the ensorceled blade through his barrier. Now, the red hot pokers were driving themselves into his eyes.

With both hands together, Marvel retook complete control of the larger barrier and scooped its contents all together into a clearing. It was chaos, but the threat was almost under control now. He'd managed to keep his part of the bargain.

"Dude," he called down to Sirom, "the zombies are herded! I don't know how long I'm going to be able to hold 'em, though. Whatever you're gonna do, do it quick!"

Just outside of the city

A figure dressed in a long, dark overcoat and a tricorner hat sat on a horse in the shadows cast by a small grove of trees. In the darkness, only the faint glint of moonlight upon his eyes was visable in the shadowed void under his hat. The highwayman watched on in silence as the shambling hordes continued to attack the city, and a lot.. too much magic was being thrown around.

Almost daintily, he reached down and tightened his leather gloves, of the military sort that reach up the forearm with wide cuffs. He then dug into his saddlebag until he found what he wanted: a spyglass. He lifted it to one eye, peering down into the city at the fighting, the chaos, the confusion. His horse lazily lowered its head down to chomp on the grass as the rider watched the fighting.

Anger, hate, and pain drove at Y'Ha, his agile mind leaping among the tangled emotions tossed out in broad waves. He needed...

Yes! There, barrels of the potent whiskey the innkeeper watered down to preserve the lives of his customers. With an errant thought, the men with him began pouring it into the streets, where it flowed past Marvel's barrier.

The wall of flame allowed the inflammable material to rush past, setting it alight as the whiskey passed through. A river of flame raced on the other side of the barrier...

(OOC:I hope that Marvel's barrier won't keep the whiskey on this side of the barrier, and will amend as instructed)

If he engaged this powerful darkling mind, he could wrest it's command of the Undead, but that would mean relaxing his own influence on the humans, and he feared that his inhuman nature would find them lynching him as he battled their tormentor in psychic combat.

Demon-I have found the Master of this lot-here, he psent the image he struggled with on the astral plane. If you can keep the humans from killing me in their panic, I may be able to drive the invaders back, or at least cost them their general.

Another wave of rage and hate flowed, and Y'Ha hastily re-erected his defenses. This necromancer was too powerful mentally, and his divided attention was all sparing the young illithid...

I did not want to do this! I did NOT want to do this!

As the whiskey had flowed out into the street--what a waste of perfectly good booze!--Marvel had lifted his barrier barely a quarter of an inch off the ground. It had provided enough space for the stuff to get under it, but not enough for anything to seep out. Now, fire cleansed what cold death had defiled.

But Marvel didn't have time for all that. There was too much to do.

He constricted the barrier, using his last ounce of strength to bring it together as tight as he could--and crush virtually every bone inside of it until nothing there could move. Now, the flames would do their work without the barrier--which was good, because it failed immediately after he finished.

He shook his head. The burning sensation didn't go away. Then, he sent a message back to Psycho Boy. Fortunately, those didn't take any mojo to speak of.

Concentrate on the general--the troops aren't going anywhere. You and I are going to have to have a little chat--or whatever--when all of this is over, by the way. It's been too long since I communicated with another non-'noid. And I SURE hope you saved at least ONE barrel of that whiskey!

If only these humans drank hroom or Powzie!, we could clear the streets Y'Ha psent mournfully. OF course, an alcoholic demon was hardly a surprise-they extolled such things as virtues in their odd culture.

Given the untrustworthiness of demons, Y'ha ceased calming and influencing the minds about him, and struck solely at the dark general, sending a laser-like beam of his purest thoughts-love, joy, the peace of the Overmind-these things should be anathema to the dark mind that spawned and controlled the Hungry Dead...

Now, to make another little field of high-density space and swat that winged fly with it...

Marvel raised his hand and drew a bead of mojo...

...and his fingers fizzed and smoked.

Then again, maybe I'll just sit out the next round or two and recuperate...

In the town...
Sirom drew Nosilla and a summoned up a mild spell of mundanity around his left hand. He sprang forward and grasped the shadowy creatures throat, made solid by Sirom's spell. He could feel the creature twitching beneath him, the paralysis already wearing off. Sirom acted swiftly laying Nosilla upon the shadow creature's neck and forcing it downwards, severing the head.
Sirom cried out when the creature's hand reached up and grabbed at his leg. He slashed off the hand and stepped back, he should have known that ordinary methods of killing would not work on this creature. As the sable silhouette began to lift itself from the ground, Sirom released a flurry of weak fireballs, forcing the creature back down although doing no serious harm. He drew a breath and, noting that the creature had yet to regenerate it's head or arm, lunged at the creature again, hacking and slashing at whatever parts of the creature were in reach, hoping to diminish and break up his form. Such an attack would never had worked if the creature's master had still been in total control.

In the castle...
The cloaked figure leapt out of it's seat, howling in rage and pain. It's own black smog of misery and hate was being stabbed and torn at by feelings and emotions totally unknown to it. It clutched at it's head with long-nailed fingers and lashed out at nearby minions, tearing their sustaining charms to pieces. To make matters worse, the creature he had dispatched to neutralise his assailant was failing without his guidance and being ripped and torn by one of his Prey. He had no time to concentrate on that though, he had to fight off this mental assailant. He lashed out, attempting to parry the positive thoughts. This mind was strong, so was his, but he had to focus on sustaining the existence of myriad slaves as well.

Y'Ha found his center and breathed. Peace, tranquility, harmony...these things were anathema to his foe, and more of that entity's surroundings were becoming known as it struggled with maintaining it's hold on it's servants and the psychic battle.

The battle was tiring, but Y'Ha had the luxury of only focusing on his opponent-a luxury he would not enjoy on the second encounter. Love and joy flowed from in in waves, pleasure to the slaves of Erelhai-Cinlu, agony to his foe...

In the castle...
The hooded figure howled one last time; this mind was too strong for him now. He completely released concentration on the shadowy creature he had summoned, and dragged the remainder of his rotting horde to abandon the town for now. He would rest and recuperate and return, stronger than before. Having delivered the command to his minions, the figure turned all his concentration to lessening his psychic presence in the area, not even thinking about the flesh-treats or their town, desperately trying to escape the mental assault.

In the town...
Sirom's sword fell once more, but this time it struck a cobblestone, cleaving it in two. He gasped, the shadowy creature had faded away to nothing before his eyes.
He heard the groans of the undead changing in their pitch and tempo. He looked up to see them straining to reach the town's open gates, pushing each other aside, clambering over the dead or dismembered, pushing back like a rancid tide. He stood up
"They're fleeing!" he cried triumphantly, although in the back of his mind he knew they would be back.

"Ahhhhh, my achin' head," the Demon said. "Thank providence it's over for now. Doggone it, I'm tired. Don't think I can fly like this. HEY, CAN SOMEBODY GIVE ME A HAND GETTING DOWN FROM HERE??!?"

Y'Ha wondered what, exactly, the demon expected them to do. He's gone, but he will return, when he expects he'll be prepared to deal with the defenders he encountered. he psent, adding:We'll want new defenses up for then-perhaps a moat about the town we can set ablaze, or at least running water to confound the spectral dead. Can they cross a circle of salt, do you think?

"Pathetic..." came an unholy voice, deep and malevolent.

He had watched the pathetic display that had taken place in the town...and it appalled him. To think, that the power that has resurrected him could not conquer this pitiful excuse for human habitation. The dark whispers crawled within his skull...the command to retreat, as well as the orders to attack that had brought him here. However the power that brought him back, could not control him.

Upon his flaming horse, he rode down to the retreating army, still very much powerful, lost at the hands of a witless master. Each hoof beat a flaming path, torching the ground with a web of fissures, alight like the embers of a dying fire.

"Perhaps this battle is mine..." murmured the Dreadknight, as he halted in front of the undead horde. He gazed upon them as his radiating power brought them to a halt. The haunting green glow emanating from his onyx-black helm pierced the horde, erasing the tell-tale orders of 'the Master.'

The fleshless jaw clattered inside the helm as he spoke, catching the attention of all before him, "To me..." and they followed; hints of primal fear flushed from their simple minds, their hunger forgotten. They parted as the Dreadknight moved to the front, back towards the town.

"Formation..." he growled, his own dark power twisting their will as they formed a Phalanx. Holding high his onyx-black lance, he turned back to the horde. "Victory, comes not by sheer power, but through tactics..." the words were lost on the undead, and even to himself, as he was never one for tactics, however, he had witnessed sheer force...and it's failure. With his lance, he directed the horde into three groups, the center of which he would lead unto the front gate.

To the other two groups, he merely whispered, "Flank them..." each set upon opposite sides of the town, keeping low to the ground and using the underbrush, rocks and trees to cover their movements. As he turned to the main gate, the green glow within the hollows of the Dreadknight's skull brightened,

"Destroy them all..."

There was something nasty out there. Marvel could feel mojo, and what he could feel was telling him that something big and bad was coming this way. This wasn't like the shadowy figure that had attacked earlier. It was smart--and, on the inside, it was ugly.

And he was too doggone tired to use Yendorian Magic against it. The suddenness of the attack and his lack of knowledge of his companions had forced him to overexert himself. The headache was starting to die down, but he really didn't have it in him to fire up another spell like the one he just had.

"Uhhhh, guys," he said, "I think we might just have a little bitty problem..."

It was time for the demon to go with what had gotten him here. His basic ability, the power that he started out with, was the ability to cast illusion spells with a vengeance. Even when he could barely cast a fireball, his illusion magic had always been top-notch. Now was the time for him to dig back into his bag of tricks and pull out a few of those back into the light of...darkest night...

By the Hivemind of Erelhai-Cinlu, what now? Y'Ha was exhausted from his efforts, only to find a new player on the field, one lashing at the dead minds to flay them into rough formation.

There was no hint of this in the evil thoughts he'd countered earlier-a new player had absconded with his opponent's pieces-a scavenger finishing off the kill the lion had begun. Ready your arrows! Y'ha barked in their minds. Yon dark army is your target-wrap your missiles in cloth soaked in flammables and fire! The general rides among them!

He had noticed that something was amiss...it was slight, and almost unnoticeable.

"Illusion..." they had sensed their approach, or something had. It was likely that the illusion was to cover the people, so then...

"Attack..." uttered the twisted creature to his main forces as the charged the main gate in formation. His twisted aura bent the flanking soldiers into looking for drains, canals. Their primal fear of fire was gone, and in it's place was a diabolical order...to kamikaze if set ablaze, and if need be, set themselves ablaze.

The undead are not bright, and a tactical advance is uncommon; the element of surprise. And a small village no doubt has a militia; the undead will group as the fronts will push through so that the rear guard can get to the armory. Their orders are to be stealthy. Kills are to be quick and silent, his commanding will dictated, and kills are to be avoided until properly armed.

"No one shall know..." he hissed, as the main forces crossed the bridge. The stealthy undead flank units had begun their work, scouring the walls for weakness, fracture, or...

...a river. The eastern flank had come upon a small river that lead into the town. It was, however, covered by a wrought iron grate, save for a gash that cut through it-- Wide enough for them to slip through.

Western flank had no such luck; however...their meticulous searching had discovered a weakened spot in the wall. It was a lime-covered, blackened wall, obviously made of limestone. It was not much, but with a distraction provided by the main force, they could easily have a hole wide enough within minutes.

"They...will...fall..."

"There's something big and bad out there," the demon called down, "so it's time for plan B. I need everyone to move about ten feet to the left. Take your barricades with you. Don't worry about being seen--I'll take care of that."

The simplest illusions are often the most effective. As the party moved, Marvel threw down an illusion that made it look as though they hadn't--and this was a Marvel Illusion, none of your half-done jobs. They not only looked like they hadn't moved, they felt and even smelled like it. It was basically impossible to detect what was going on without a powerful truth ward. BUT...no weapon cast against the illusion would affect the real party only a few feet away. It was nice and twisted, the way the demon liked it.

And Marvel had another illusion in store. He just needed to wait until The Ugloid got within eyeshot to use it. He called it "mirror, mirror." It wouldn't stop the thing, but it could slow it down, maybe even enough for somebody else to stop whatever it was.

The Eastern Flank...

The undead crawled through the water silently, one after another in droves. No need for air kept them under water; out of sight and out of mind. What was unexpected, was the fact that the river was actually an aqueduct. The need not mind being spotted, in fact, the opening was all they need look for at this point.

The aqueduct was long, dark and winding, and the only thing to do, was split up, or so the voice in their heads ordered. Their flanking maneuver had just improved. However, not all was as it seemed, as most of the aqueduct was not underground. Two sub-groups had discovered this, and it was these groups that were to go for the militia equipment.

Each group held thirty, and as they eased their respective grates out of place, they set out in groups of three to scour the alleys.

Western Flank...

It was a perplexing situation, and as most of the undead only had a relative few neurons firing to be somewhat competent, they had to devise a way of breaking through the wall without making to much noise. Their weak spot, was in actuality, at the North-Western part of the town wall, and had nothing save for the rocks and able bodies to complete the task.

The Distraction was, as of now, most important...

In the castle...
The shrouded being scraped it's bloody talon-like claws across the arm of it's chair, calmed slightly but still tired. Now, however, the anger was returning; his hordes were being commandeered. He realised that his gamble in summoning the Dreadknight had not payed off, it was not a thrall he could control as he pleased, and now he was paying for it. If he wanted to regain control of his forces he had two choices: engage the Dreadknight in a mental battle like the one he had just ended, or dispatch something powerful to deal with him, he was too drained to do either. Perhaps though, there was a third option, allow the Dreadknight to command his forces whilst he recovered, hopefully the eldritch power of the Dreadknight could win the town, if not, the defenders might even destroy the Dreadknight. Then, one of his foes would be gone, and he would be in a position to crush the other.
Yes...

In the town...
Sirom sighed, exasperated. He was doubtful the peasants would hold against another rotting assault, in fact, he doubted he would either. He was still confused about how the peasants were so well organised and intuitive, it was almost as if there was someone leading them, although he had heard no shouts or commands. He took a moment to consider how lucky they were that Marvel had arrived- without him, the horde would have swept through the town just like he was told they had in the capital. He took another moment to admire the skillful illusion Marvel had used to hide the peasants, although Sirom's 'sixth sense' made it obvious to him, he knew that most anyone else would have been totally fooled.
He sighed again.
"Right," he said, "lets really get started"

He walked over to a pile of rubble that had once been a house, one of the few that had been destroyed by the barrier.
"Could I have some help moving this?" he asked "the current barricade won't hold,"

Meanwhile...

Two groups had come across a few peasants along the way, all of whom were silenced --their necks briskly snapped without so much as a grunt. These fallen would soon join them, until then, they were quickly hidden out of sight.

Another group had been most fortunate, as they had found the armory; however, they found something even greater. Along with armor and swords, they found muskets and even better: Kegs of gunpowder.

An ethereal ripple was sent through the nearest undead of this discovery. The closest came the carry armaments to those that awaited in the aqueducts. The furthest, stayed as stealthy as possible and patrolled for humans that strayed too close; dispatching the unlucky as all others...

As for the gun powder...there were only twenty muskets, and well over fifty kegs. The muskets, as all the other armaments, had been carried away, some even taken around the north side of the wall to those that awaited at the North-East side. The extra kegs, however, had given the Dreadknight an idea.

These humans may still have the idea that the undead fear fire...and therefore, may even use flaming arrows.

Through the ethereal, the Dreadknight's terrible voice echoed, "Take them to the north-east wall..."

He needn't clarify, as his will twisted them to obedience as thirty plus undead soldiers carried thirty plus kegs of gun powder to the north-east wall single file, five lines with a five second gap between each soldier. As they approached the wall, the west flank began the break a hole in the wall as quietly as they could. They needed five holes, each the relative size of the kegs.

The Main Forces...

The Dreadknight fell back, allowing the undead horde to surpass him as the crossed muddy incline onto the cobblestone streets of the town. The Dreadknight, for all his fleshless face could display, was sadistically gleeful as he enacted the next part of his twisted plan. Pulling back his obsidian hued lance, he selected six undead soldiers and thrust his lance into their back.

The lance shimmered as a crimson substance flowed down the shaft, into the selected. As the energy flowed, they became enraged, and under the cover of those in front of him, their unholy task was at hand. The humans, for all their knowledge, were about to meet these undead kamikazes.

"Distraction..."

Armaments? Y'Ha may have been exhausted from his struggle with the Dark Will, but he could still psense easily enough, and this new mind was not the power of the other, though it was far too much for him to engage this soon. Why didn't any of you think of the armory sooner? By the Overmind...

He had to counter this, but all he could think of was to prematurely detonate the kegs before they were properly positioned-he mustered his faculties and tried to push the rotting mass that was the will of the Dead in the way he desired. Shambling flesh could stumble, could fall, if only it fell where it would do them the most good...

"You mean they've got an armory here?" the demon asked. "Where is it?"

He was just a little stronger now, and, with some effort, was able to spread his wings and get to the ground without killing himself.

He was smiling when he got there, too.

"Explosives are fun!" he said.

A small ship rode the grey waves just off shore in the dark, windy night. John wrapped his hooded cloak more tightly around him as the spray stung his face slightly. It was not so cold, but away from the shelter of trees and hills, in the midst of the ocean, there was nothing to break the gusts of wind He glanced up at the starry sky, feeling the ship rise and fall beneath him with the waves, then turned as a short, broad man with a tangled grey beard climbed up to the stern and took the tiller from the young sailor who had been manning it. The ship's captain and master was a stern but skilled commander, in a profession rare for one who clearly had dwarvish blood. John had found him fine company during the evening meals, since the first night of the voyage when the captain had invited his nobel passenger to dinner in his quarters. The captain in turn had been somewhat disappointed in John's unwillingness to speak of his past, though his respect had been clear when he saw his passenger's willingness to work alongside the crew, as had his surprise at the young man's skilled seamanship.

"Dawn is not far off, young traveler. We should reach our anchorage by first light, and you should be ashore in another hour. No doubt you will find many others. You are not the first adventurer to head to these shores."

John nodded.

"Aye, but before I depart, I must thank you for your courtesy, and swift passage."

The captain shrugged.

"No more than I should thank you for your services. But I wish that I you had been willing to speak of your past. It should make a fine tale; bearing a nobleman's sword but dressed as a common soldier, and a skilled sailor no less. But I suppose we all have things in our past we would rather remained unknown."

John nodded.

"My past is both bright and dark. I have seen things both good and terrible. But my purpose now is one of duty. The undead plague this island, and such horrors must not go uncountered by those who have the power to fight them."

The captain nodded.

"Well, then I wish the best of fortune. Perhaps you shall have the fortune to book passage on my vessel again."

Suddenly, a cry rang out from the bow.

"Captain, look! Fires burn on shore!"

John sprang to his feet, racing to the rail and peering into the dark. Sure enough, red flames flickered low on the horrizon, some ways inland.

"It seems the battle did not wait for you traveler. Alas, I cannot put to shore in the midst of a fight."

John rounded on him at once.

"Those people ashore will be fighting, dying. You would not help them?"

The dwarvish captain looked angry and offended.

"I am no coward young traveler, and I've seen my share of brawls. But I have a duty to my crew, and to the merchants who hired me. I will not put ashore."

John nodded.

"You will do as you must. I ask only that you bring me within a hundred yards of the beach. I will swim ashore." He grasped the hilt of his sword, feeling the wind quicken and the thrill of anticipation for the coming battle run through him. As they drew closer, he could see many lights of camp fires on the beach, and the faint outline of the town walls beyond.

"That's as close as I come traveler. My apologese that I cannot fulfill our full bargain, but I have my duty." He laughed. "I am ashamed I cannot join the fight. May you meet with good fortune, may your hammer deal righteous blows, and may we meet again to drink to the deeds of our forefathers." John smiled grimly as he recognized the ancient dwarvish blessing. Then he turned, scrambled over the rail, and sprang into the sea.

(OOC: bump)

It was time for some mischief. Marvel loved mischief, and he was as good at it as any hellspawn had ever been. It was time for some Marvel Names, too! Everybody gets a Marvel Name! Nobody ever heard their Marvel Name, because the demon did not use them in public, but everybody got one. It was too bad, in a way. Marvel never got to see the look on anybody's face when they heard their Marvel Name. Oh well. Beats getting skewered on a demon-proof sword.

So...first, Marvel got a brief description of what was in the armory from Y'Ho. Then, he got directions from Seerump. Then, leaving his misdirection illusion intact, he turned himself invisible and headed off in what he could still vaguely feel was the direction of The Ugloid. He still didn't have enough mojo for the kind of spell casting that he had used earlier, but at least he didn't feel totally exhausted. Now, he only felt mostly exhuasted! This was progress!

John stumbled ashore, cold, soaked, and tired out. The seas had been rougher than he thought, the distance farther. While a weaker and less trained man might not have made it to shore, he was able to walk into the now largely empty camp and find a secluded spot, but he was in no shape to fight. But he could hear the fires roaring up in the town, and he had not come to sit here while other did their duty. He moved to one of the fires and dried the water off his sword to prevent rust, while he waited for his cloths to dry a little. Then, feeling somewhat stronger, he got to his feet and began his walk into town.

Y'Ha reached out, acting as a telepathic switchboard to connect the defenders, as well as share his unique psionic assay of the situation, filtered through his own experience. He struggled to influence the dead minds before realizing it was pointless, and his energies were better reserved for more fruitful pursuits.

The Dead were essentially mindless, taking orders from either their mysterious Master, still squirreled away in his castle, or this Dark General. The General was too powerful to dominate, but his perceptions directed the Dead, and they could be influenced...

So...the demon managed to get almost on top of the armory before the traffic got too heavy for his tastes. That was OK. He could see what was going on.

So...they were using the aqueduct as a roadway. Not bad--until some trouble maker (heh heh) caught wind of it.

So...there was a dam on the edge of the town that harnessed the river that fed the aqueduct--just where an invisible demon could fly right over to it and get his hands on...THE PRESSURE RELEASE VAVLE!!!!!

And it was all over in a few little twists. A surge of water was heading down the aqueduct, with demonic regards. By playing his cards right, Marvel figured that he'd managed to turn this little full house into...

...a flush.

The aqueducts...

A loud roar alerted the partially bright undead that something was going bad. Those carrying powder kegs hugged the kegs close as they climbed the narrow walls and lifted themselves out of the aqueducts while the others planted their feet against the walls and pressed their backs against one another.

The musket men stealthily rushed into hiding, preparing to ambush...save for two, who had a mission. Their mission had been compromised, and their ethereal orders changed...

The merciless river battered those in the aqueducts, but they held strong, flesh torn away by the fury of the stifled river that had just been freed. After a few moments, the currents calmed, as the river had filled the closed sections of the aqueducts, the could move freely, as there were only two truly open branches of the aqueduct.

North-East Wall...

An undead soldier stumbled, his will being...tampered with? The only explanation; however, there was little time to contemplate. A nearby undead soldier merely picked up the dropped keg as carried it to the wall, inserting it into one of the holes, each of the holes now filled...but the rest of the kegs, were nowhere to be seen...

The two musket men had reached a fairly safe position, each at the corner of a building, three buildings apart. As the undead militia on both sides of the wall backed away, the two took steady aim, and fired...

The Main Forces...

They had broken the lines only to discover that it was indeed an illusion. The Dreadknight watched from the town entrance as the undead forces attacked nothing but air...

"Deception..." and laughed sadistically.

And now half the undead were clambering out of the aqueduct while Marvel flew overhead. Marvel had a variable metabolism, and flying fired it up. He was going to be as hungry as they get tomorrow, but it felt good to be in the air right then.

It felt so good, in fact, that he celebrated the feeling by fireballing every undead he could see, right down the line, as he flew over the aqueduct. And, if that undead just happened to be carrying something explosive, then so much the better. Of course, Marvel knew that something coming fresh out of what was for all intents and purposes a cold bath wouldn't burn very well...so he made his fireballs nice and big. It was easier for his people to see them that way, anyway. Good for morale.

The best part of all this was that, despite all the things that he'd done to ruin The Ugloid's day, the thing wasn't lifting a finger to neutralize him. Bad career move. The longer The Ugloid left the demon to his own devices, the more fun the demon was going to have, and the more visible it was going to become.

Let's evacuate-this city is just one big target, Y'Ha psent to the humans. Those two playing should be adequate distraction, but I will do what little I can...

The Dreadknight was going to focus on the largest threat to his success. While that currently appeared to be the demon Marvel, who Y'Ha vowed to bestow enough empathy to make him suffer from his own pun fallout, Y'Ha had no illusions about his ability to change the Dreadknight's focus. A lance of psionic energy could achieve this end. While the essentially mindless Dead were all but immune to all but a supreme exertion of Y'Ha's psionic prowess, their intelligent leaders were not so protected.

All depended on Marvel having the time to unleash his darker nature on truly deserving targets...

Fire rained down from the sky, it's source only partially know from it's origin. As the soaked undead took the blunt of the fire blasts, they merely took the opportunity to attack the villagers. They were only one group of the many that stay hidden, and full of vicious intent and backed by a flaming mass of might, they wielded their steel and struck quickly. Townsfolk fell one by one under the sneak attack. The burning undead then took to assaulting the buildings, setting them ablaze.

Meanwhile...

The undead musket men avoided attacking the source, as they could fire upon it with all their worth, but there was more to be had firing upon the dwindling towns folk from their hiding place rather than shooting at a moving, unknown source.

The illusion had been broken by the main forces and they had the unwitting humans in their sights...besides, the fire was unknowingly doing some of the work for them. The blase seemed to be driving them into a panicked frenzy, causing some to flee, struck down by the undead as they turned to run.

The humans screamed in terror as a loud explosion rocked the foundations of the surrounding buildings.

The North-East Wall...

The bullets struck true, sending chunks of rock flying through the air, smashing through walls and devastating the morale of the defending people. With the wall down, the undead surged through the gaping fissure, steering clear of most of the buildings heading directly into the fray, flanking the humans.

Meanwhile...

Those that had fallen at the hands of the stealth units arose at the beckoning of their leader, only to have their will twisted by the Dreadknight. They were sent to attack with reckless abandonment; no tactics, no thought, only the bloodthirsty urge to kill anything alive.

The Main Forces...

The Dreadknight felt it...it was strong, but not strong enough. It meant to...distract him?

It was possible, and the possibility was strong, however, this battle would be his...

The maddened undead rushed in behind the main forces, their time at hand. The first one jumped through the window of a nearby building and with in moments, it was consumed by a wave of fire from the exploding undead unit.

A second insane undead followed the beacon from the Dreadknight to the pinpointed source that earned his attention...an unknown source that had attempted to penetrate the minds of his soldiers.
"Let none survive...

Y'Ha saw the Dreadknight, and waved, letting his allies know exactly which of the rotting shells about them was the leader, then sending a wave of psychic power outwards-a mild disruption of the inner ear, which should move the perceptions of the dead two feet in a random direction from their living targets. This perceptual shift was directed through the mind of the Dreadknight, but it was dicey, as Y'Ha wasn't used to the vagaries of the Undead psyche.

With luck and the blessing of the gods, Marvel would target the Dreadknight and rout the silent horde...

Marvel settled into a perch atop the inn once again. It was the tallest remaining structure in the village; its spires offered the best view of the raging battle.

The Trouble: Level I did not seem to be getting anybody's attention. This was good. It meant that Marvel could now proceed to Trouble: Level II. And, better yet, he could feel that he was starting to build up a little charge of mojo again. He could use a few elementary Yendorian spells in his making of Trouble: Level II.

As Marvel watched, Y'Ho started to wave. It was rather excited. It was probably going to get the attention of The Ugloid, but it also got Marvel's attention.

And then, Marvel looked in the direction in which Y'Ho was waving. And then, he saw it: The Ugloid itself. This was even better. The Ugloid obviously thought of the undead as toys--completely expendable. To get this arrogant jerk's attention, you'd have to attack something that it valued--itself. So that was what Marvel decided to do.

In a moment, Marvel was in flight. For the time being, he still had Total Air Superiority, and, hell's bells, he was going to use it. With his invisibility (inaudibility, unsmellability, etc.) illusion still in place, he also had the advantage of surprise.

So...Round I of Trouble: Level II began when, while flying about five meters above The Ugloid and about ten off of his starboard bow, Marvel let loose with a cute little concussion wave. It's Underworld Combat Magic, a spell that Marvel learned in his days in the infantry. Basically, it repels anything that it hits--suddenly and rapidly. Knocks the wind out of the living, makes the not-so-living wonder what hit them. It's a two dimensional spell, and can be dodged, but it moves at the speed of light, so you have to see it coming--and there was no way The Ugloid was going to see Marvel let loose that spell the way that the demon-no-more was warded

So he just kept on flying and waited for the Trouble: Level II to begin.

The Dreadknight reared back the Hellhorse, flames billowing from its moth and nostrils as it's brimstone hooves warped and twisted the air with the radiating heat. As the Hellhorse brought it's hooves down, the cobblestone street shattered, the spiderweb cracks glowing like dying embers of a fire.

"Burn..."

With it's utterance, flames curled around the lance. With a bloodthirsty roar and his left hand holding the Hellhorse's reign, the Dreadknight twirled the lance above his head and brought it across his obsidian-black armored chest with a mighty swing.

The fire spewed from the lance following the arc of the swing...and continuing outward, slashing through the buildings like a hot knife through butter. It's initial contact with the wood and stone was met with an explosive force, sending debris clattering across the bloodied streets. What was not obliterated was consumed in flames.

And then...what? What was this?!?

The Dreadknight watched as the units began to stumble and wander aimlessly. Interference? No matter, they were of no importance now, as this battle was won even without them.

"I am destruction..."

And a terrible glow pierced his twisted faceguard as fire once again as he rotated the lance upside down. With another roar, he impaled the lance into the ground, raising a ring of fire that erupted towards the sky. As it curled over--like a tidal wave--it surged outwards, burning everything in it's path.

The wave of fire, however, collapsed as an unseen wave of force struck the Dreadknight in the chest. The blow sent him sprawling to the ground, his body gouging a long painful mark into the cobblestone streets.

Meanwhile...

The explosion that had broken the north-east wall was only one step. The other diabolical half was the burning trail of gun powder leading right to the town's flour mill, as a few kegs would be enough, and the others randomly dispersed throughout the town.

With the distraction in place, the first three buildings were demolished as their individual detonations echoed through the air.

OOC @ [NS] DN:

The way I read it, Marvel was in the process of casting the spell or building up to cast the spell. I have currently edited it so that the concussive wave hit him after his wave of fire. The way I posted was what was going on on the Dreadknights point of view working up to Mavel's concussive spell.

Oh my Y'Ha was tossed to the ground by the explosion. This is NOT good. Perhaps discretion IS the better part of valor, after all...

He pulled himself up, face to face with one of the Dead, similarly struggling to it's feet. Extending his facial tendrils, he sucked out it's brain and began to feed, calmly watching to see the response this action elicited.

((OOC:I'm just trying to figure out if these are George Romero ghouls or traditional zombies-just post it either attacking or falling over into a heap-I doubt very much a single illithid's appetite is enough to turn the tables, but it is a question I've been wondering about))

So much was rushing through Sirom's head at once- the appearance of the terrifying mounted figure, the sudden explosions, the fire, the figure from among the peasants devouring the rotting cranial matter from the zombie's head. He shook his head, slightly dizzy from the sheer weight of the enchantments and magic emanating from the cadaverous warlord. He flourished his sword and set upon the undead.
"Do we have any idea what just exploded?" he yelled to his companions over the noise of battle.
He felt soggy rotten arms over his shoulders and jammed his elbow backwards, before turning to decapitate the being. He didn't know exactly how many of the dead were left, but he did know that they were no longer the main threat; the armoured figure was a much larger problem now...

In the Castle...
A rare smile played on the dry, cracked lips of the Master, a sort of tortured grin, revealing sharp yellow teeth. Yes... it whispered. The battle was having the desired effect, the peasants and their defenders were close to overwhelmed, and the Dreadknight was losing his stolen toys, the Master could make more, the Dreadknight, he was willing to bet, couldn't. Soon, he was sure, he would have only a single foe.

OOC: Romero ghouls were what I had in mind, that's what I think of when someone says "zombie", probably thanks to a lot of European/American horror films.

Y'Ha heard Sirom, though whether it was his voice or mind was difficult to say-more likely the latter, as the tumultuous surroundings were not conducive to speech. Three towers, destroyed by the Dead, while these fools did not think of such armaments in their town, he psent the thought, livid with his irritation, to Sirom. Apparently the Dead are still dependent on their nervous systems, he added, calmly slurping up decaying brain matter. Eating their brains does put them out of commission-instruct your men to attack the heads if you're full...

Y'Ha was in a fairly good humor, for all he realized the army of the Dead far outnumbered the living, and this may well be his last stand. However, the Hivemind of Oolthul would garner much from his experiences, so his people would prosper by his loss. He did vow to take as many with him as he could...

There was good that had come of this. As the buildings blew to pieces, Marvel realized that The Ugloid had a tactical weakness: he was handling this as if it was a military campaign, and as if it had all started with his appearance. As such, he was wasting his energy taking out structures that were of no tactical importance after the first wave, with the town's folk gathering at the inn to defend themselves. He was self-important, and, in his arrogance, he couldn't stand to battle any but the best of foes. For something like this little one-horse town, he was overkill--and that could be used against him.

Three of Marvel appeared and came in for a landing. His invisibility spell was as good as busted, so he went with the next best thing.

He pitched another concussion wave--this one at the horse. Then, he raised his hands and summoned the arcane power that the Diplomats of the Demon Prince SmashMouth used as standard practice, and...

"Bol-TON!" He unleashed the Bolt of Bologn on The Ugloid. He was still feeling the creature out. He didn't know its physical limits yet.

The next step would be to see if it recognized a Red Gargoyle, and knew how to combat one. Its heat weapons would be of much less use against Marvel than the were against the others--Marvel's species was designed as Intelligent Infantry. He could be burned at the stake and survive. He wasn't just some dumb 'noid who could be toyed with and forgotten.

And this one was arrogant, too, so Marvel decided that a little goading would be in order.

"If you're destruction," he bellowed, "I'm the Tooth Fairy! And you'd better cough 'em up, bucko, 'cause I'm behind quota tonight!"

The Dead were pressing in, mostly at the commands of the Dreadknight, if Y'Ha was reading it's identity correctly. Normally, he'd flog it with memories of it's life, of those things important to it, but it's conversion into a creature of Darkness had lost those memories to it long ago, or buried them so deeply...

Y'Ha grabbed up a torch and swung with malice of forethought-he was going to get closer to the Dreadknight and force it to remember it's first puppy or something equally repellant to it's current condition-the little fat girl whose pigtails were dipped in an inkwell or something equally insipid, no doubt.

For it to work, he'd need to get close, which meant cutting a path through the Dead Horde, but something had to be done before Marvel's pun fallout forced the Living to eat their own livers to escape...

Sirom noticed the tentacled creature seemingly moving towards the mounted figure. He was loath to be near the latter, and had no knowledge of the former, but it seemed that it was on their side. He sighed and made his way towards the psychic being, hacking at any of the seemingly thinning undead that got in his way. He hoped that that the tentacled one had a plan, because he certainly didn't.

OOC: Blocked. Waiting for PN.

OOC:

Bureaucrats
Unceasingly
Rumble
Past.

OOPS! I meant

Bureaucrats
Unceasingly
Mumble
Past.

:) :) :)

OOC:

Boredom
Ultimately
Magnifies
Posting.

Y'Ha began flailing with his torch-the Dead had no minds, so he had to use flame-their mindlessness aided them immensely, as they were too stupid to fall back until the flames reached terminal conditions.

Slowly, he made his way, towards the Dreadknight battling Marvel-it was time to dig deep and dredge up some memory of the Dreadknight's life to break his resolve...

OOC: TG'ed PN what must be a week ago asking if he was still in. No reply. So...I'm going to take the Dreadknight out of the thread in such a way that it may return any time.

IC:

"Teeth? You want TEETH?" said the Dreadknight, with an evil chuckle. "Use care in what you wish for, you impudent little fly! I'll tear the flesh from your bones!"

As he spoke, he leveled his lance and, pointing it straight at the demon-no-more, thrust it forward. A wave of malevolent heat shot out and hit Marvel square in the chest. Instantly, his robes caught fire, searing away until all that was left were the blue trunks that he had worn when he first escaped the underworld and the Amulet of Yendor that he kept around his neck.

"Haven't dealt with your own, have you?" Marvel shot back. Now, it was his turn to laugh. "After all this time, I'm still a hell spawn, and your big maw is just an ankle biter to me!"

"We shall see who the ankle biter is!" the Dreadknight retorted, rising to its feet. As he did, he let out a horrible battle cry. The stones at his feet shook, and his steed, hearing this, rose, easily throwing off the wall that had fallen on it, and came to the Dreadknight's side.

Marvel laughed again. "Before you ride against me," he said, "maybe you'd better try out my friend!"

The Dreadknight looked. Behind him stood an Angelic Warrior. It was about the same size as he was, and rode a winged steed. They both gave off an etherial glow, most prominent from just under the visor of the Warrior's winged helm.

Mirror, mirror, Marvel thought. I sure hope this distracts him long enough for what I've got planned next.

The Dreadknight laughed again, extended its lance, and loosed a small hurricane of malevolence upon its challenger. The Mirror Mirror simply raised a lance of its own. The evil ensourcelment seemed to go right through it, leaving it unharmed. "You'll not vanquish the likes of me with such childsplay!" the warrior retorted.

Marvel closed his hand and started drawing in as much mojo as he could. He was going to need it for what he had in mind.

The DreadKnight swooped in and thrust its weapon straight at the Warrior's visor--to find that, once again, it passed straight through. It swung the lance like a club. Same result. Then, it simply stopped.

Softly, it began to laugh. Slowly, the volume built, until the world seemed to be engulfed in a hurricane of evil laughter. "Your illusions will not save you! NOTHING will save you! If you have any God, pray to it now for the fate of what may pass for your soul!" It leveled its lance for a charge.

And then, Marvel opened his hand, and began to chant:

Failed Crusaders,
Torn and Rent,
Take back now
What has been sent.

A huge, blinding flash came forth from the demon's hand. He was launching an attack of his own--but he was not attacking the Dreadknight. That would be folly. Instead, he was attacking the spell that had brought it into this realm. The flash turned into a beam of light that fired straight toward the Dreadknight's lance.

But the Dreadknight was hardly in any mood to leave. He brought his lance forward and chanted words that were young when the world was old--words that no human could pronounce. A beam of red shot out of the lance, straight into the building spell. They stopped each other cold, midway between the two comattants. "So, you little speck, you think you can overpower ME?"

"Yep!" said the demon. He gritted his teeth and doubled the mojo. "You're a warrior, not a mage!" The bright spell pushed forward.

"FOOL! I was EXPERT in magics before the beginning of your pitiful EXISTENCE!" The red spell pushed back.

"That was THEN," the demon retorted. "This is NOW!" The white spell pushed forward.

"Yes! Now it IS!" And the malevolence pushed with such strength that it almost reached Marvel's hand before it stopped. Marvel squinted as he drew all the mojo that he had at his disposal...and then some. First his hand, then his arm began to glow white as the spell fired up.

"You little fool!" the Dreadknight said. "You're impotent against me! Your pitiful little body can NEVER create the magical energy necessary to challenge ME!" He laughed again.

And then, the stones at Marvel's feet began to glow white. It was as if the world itself responded to the challenge. And the power of the demon's spell multiplied. His arm, his shoulder--his entire body--flared with magical energy as the spell grew and grew.

"What manner of madness?" asked the Dreadnkight--but it was too late. The white spell simply overwhelmed him. It pushed the red spell back into his lance and then the lance itself began to glow white.

The Dreadknight screamed as his connection to this realm was forcibly broken. An explosion that was not in this realm shot out a blinding flash that dissipated as it spread. And when it was gone, so was the Dreadknight. It had been returned to the realm from whence it came.

And there stood Marvel, victorious as he had never been before. But this did not concern him at the time. In fact, nothing concerned him then.

The demon slumped to the ground, almost naked and unconscious. He had channelled more magic than his body should have been able to allow. This could not be done without a price.

Slowly, the horde of the undead began to close in--and there was nothing that he could do to stop them. They may have lost their guiding purpose, but their hunger remained. And, now, he was powerless against it.

OOC: Thanks, I was just thinking about sending a TG
IC:
The feeling rushing through Sirom's head was a mixture of euphoric ecstasy and skull-rending pain, the amount of magical energy being tossed around between Marvel and the Dreadknight was manifesting itself so strongly in his "sixth sense".

He blinked away the glaring afterglow of the spells and , took a disorientated step forwards. However, noticing the crowd of hungry corpses gathering around the battle site snapped his mind back on track. Marvel had just pretty much saved the lives of everyone on the island, and possible many more outside of it, it would be inconceivable to Sirom to let him become food for undead, if he was dead or unconscious.

He brandished his sword, the blade gleaming, and launched a ball of incandescent lightning at one of the zombies. The spell was designed to attack the mind specifically, and he hoped that the shared consciousness maintaining the dead would qualify. Not wasting the time to wait for the spell, Sirom sprang forwards, he was not really much of a wizard, and he didn't have the power to cast the spell strongly enough to kill.

His luck held, and the blue lightning leapt between the zombies, crackling around their heads. The moans of hunger turned into wails of confusion, and the putrid creature stumbled about, trying to reach their prospective meal at the same time as clutching at their heads. This gave Sirom the opening he needed, and he cut down the first confused zombie. Stepping though the gap the zombie left, he planted his armoured feet on the charred cobbles beside Marvel's prone form. Hacking and slashing with far less precision than was his norm, but far more brutality.

Wondering momentarily at the absurdity of praying for a demon, Sirom begged the gods to allow Marvel to live, besides owing him a life debt, Sirom didn't know how many other such situations would occur. There were rather a lot of undead surrounding him, and disorientated or not, they were hungry and violent. He cursed,
"Oh Valu, preserve me!" he groaned.

In the castle:
The shrouded figure grinned, things were going, more or less, as he had hoped, although the demon's spell was somewhat disconcerting. To him though, this simply raised the status of the group from biting gnat to stinging wasp, and a wasp that was, at present, missing a wing.

At an unspoken command, the heap of bones, rotting flesh and feathers in the corner of the room shifted,feeling life for the first time in decades.

Y'Ha watched the display, shocked at the levels of power that sprung from the opponents. Such things are dangerous-no wonder we of Oolthul dwell in the depths he thought, reaching his mind out to canvas the area.

A few injured needed tending, among them the demon who had so selflessly driven off the Dreadknight. We've a respite, nothing more-use team tactics and flame to drive them off, and mind their teeth and talons.

He made his way to the demon, passing him a flask of Tolkay Bull's-Blood, a fiery liquor known for it's potency.You've earned this, friend-how do you feel?

The demon seemed conscious, nothing more, so Y'Ha raised up his torch and warded off any Dead as may approach...

Something smelled...like...

BOOZE!!!!!!!

The demon-no-more's eyes pried themselves open. A taloned hand reached shakily up to grab the flask. A long, thin, hollow tongue reached in.

Gulpgulpgulpgulpgulp!

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!

Ohhh, this was good! It was real warm going down, and it stayed that way, slowly spreading out through Marvel's entire body. He felt like he could take on the world, even if he couldn't feel his hands any more.

He felt so good, in fact, that he didn't even notice the grass sprouting from the cobblestones under him.

There was a man there, with a sword, fending off the creatures that were coming for him. He had his own body guard now! Man, was he getting up in the world! Of course, it was totally earned, not to mention totally deserved! Next, he was going to have to get a crown. After all, that's what the King of the World needed!

Then, he started to regain consciousness. The man was...Seerump...and there was Y'Ho next to him with the Good Stuff. Marvel made a mental note to ask him what it was...sometime later.

He closed his eyes and then opened them again. He still felt warm, but now he could see straight. Then, he looked up at Seerump (Hell's Bells, he hoped the man never caught wind of his Marvel Name) and asked, "Anybody get the serial number of that damn war elephant?"

I think a war elephant requires five hundred pounds of cereal or so a day Y'Ha was confused. Is Elephant Cavalry en route? This looks to be mostly clean-up, now-their intellects are occupied elsewhere. Hopefully, we will have time to rest and plan our next action...

It was a JOKE, son! Marvel psent. I was implying that getting hit with the shockwave from ol' Ugloid disappearing was like getting run over by a war elephant! Sure felt that way to me!

Don't get out much, do you?

What can I say? Oolthul is a gated community-just us and the guardians He psent a picture of the massive guardians-freefloating spheres with a gaping maw and single huge eye, crowned with eyestalks. I probably should have brought one with me, but the Hivemind wanted secrecy...

Too bad. I bet that, if you lit one of those things' farts, it could incinerate a whole province! If we could do something like that, we wouldn't need to pin down the location of whatever's behind all this stuff!

As he "spoke," the demon-no-more tried to rise to his feet...and failed. Whatever was in that booze...it was awesome!

OOC: What do you expect? He's drunk!

"So," Sirom asked the tentacled being, "how long, roughly, would you imagine the inebriation will last?"

Boy, did Marvel feel good! So good, in fact, that he even got into the ol' Neon Sign gag.

There were seven zombies nearby. Maybe they thought they were hiding, maybe they were just too weak to do anything. Either way, Marvel found them.

And a neon sign went on over the head of each. From then on, they were "Bashful," "Doc," "Dopey," "Grumpy," "Sleepy," and "Sneezy," and the one whose face was black with rot was "Affirmative Action."

----------

OOC: None of 'em was "Happy." :) :) :)

OOC:No "Happy"? Must be liberals...

IC: Y'Ha looked at the demon. Tolkay's Bull's-Blood is a strong liquor, meant for the peasantry to drown their sorrows in, he psent clearly. Sadly, the peasants have many troubles, which must be subdued individually, so the effects tend to be long-lasting. I've only used it for food preparation and general pain-killer before.

He produced a second bottle that he uncorked, stopped with a cloth, then lit and hurled at the seven. And, of coursse, as an accellerant...

OOC: Going up in flames? Must be neocons. :P

IC:

"No! Don't do that!" Mavel said. "That stuff is goooooooood!"

But, of course, it was too late.

OOC:

Hint: slap him around a little. The adrenaline will fight the drunkenness.

Y'Ha noticed that Marvel did awaken to the "waste" of the Bull's-Blood, and debaterd wasting more before dismissing it as an evil thought. The Dead were milling without direction, which meant now was the time to destroy them, to seek time to rally and plan...and, of course, to determine a weapon usable against the creatures.

Directing the human kine to finish the job, he dragged Marvel up. More booze later--we must plot and scheme and machinate now he psent, along with an image of more of the Tokay. His dull white eyes scanned, seeking, in this case, those awakened to magic, or really anything beyond the tireless rounds of a peasant's days. Come to me--to where the tentacle face is slapping the demon.

Then, to supply good directions...

The thought DID go through the demon's mind...

Slapping the...does he mean he's going to dump on...OUCH!!!!! HEY!!! YOW!!!!! THAT SMARTS!!!! WHY, YOU LITTLE...!

This time, he managed to get all the way to his feet.

Sirom watched the bizzarre display with some level of amusement,
"Mother Valu, I live a strange life" he muttered, before continuing, in a louder voice, "well, that could have gone a lot worse, do we have any idea how many peasants we lost?"
He looked around to try and answer his own question, he could see corpses, but with the peasants moving around once again (in the direction of the tentacled thing slapping the demon, he noticed), it was hard to tell what sort of proportion was missing.

In the castle:
The Master watched the scene through the decaying eyes of one of the few Toys left in the city. It was certainly a nuisance o have to replace so many, but there would be time before the group arrived. It examined a yellowed talon and run a gnarled hand through the mass of putrid feathers beside him.
"Soon, they will come, and soon they will be mine..." it whispered darkly.

You will forgive me-- Y'Ha'as mental voice contained far too much humor for sincerity to fit in, but his white, pupilless eyes blinked innocently as he psent his apology. Your mind told me to stimulate you thus, and it seemed a good way to bring the others. Here-- he pressed a stud on his bracelet, and a slim silver hoop appeared.Let us enter my laboratory where we may discourse privately...

With calm and casual demeanor, he stepped through the portal, into nothingness...

(OOC:His lab is on the other side, but it exsts only when the door is open)

As if I was born yesterday! the demon-no-more sputtered.

A large, sealed metal door appeared between Y'Ha and the exit to his "laboratory." Y'Ha could hear the rivots pounding into place.

OOC:

Hint: Remember what you know about Marvel's magic.

OOC:

OK, I'll give it away: the metal door is just an illusion. Despite all of the things that Marvel can do with his magic, conjuring is one thing that he can't.