Skagg of Ixworth (DungeonWaffleX) - Private Thread

[TristenC]

Hahaha, well at least he is starting it half-way through so if he can make it that far he can at lest say he completed one ^_^

[DungeonWaffleX]

The night is still young. We'll see

[TristenC]

[ooc]Indeed we shall!
Well, I would hate to think my update to the text sheet (which i'll finish this weekend but shouldn't affect the next few posts) was holding up gameplay so... [/ooc]

The warrior known as Skagg unconsciously itched idly at the wool padding beneath his armor. The damp had settled in, and there was little more miserable for a soldier in his experience than the constant itch of wool... aside from hunger... or a nagging wound or infection. The day had drawn bleak and misty amongst his newfound team... if there was truly any teamwork worthy of the name beyond the wealth their interests warranted.

Days like this, or was it into twilight now? With the fog he could hardly tell... Times like this his bad eye itched something fierce... though the vertical scar slicing slimly thorugh it seemed to itch worse. He had heard that itch would go away, over the years, but he held little hope or trust in such until the proof lay before him. The air itself had taken a chill, as of late spring, and far too cold to be the aging summer months of late...

To his right and left the scouts of the new group had splayed out into the unknown. Their path to Flaness was clear as the dirt-road beneath their feet, but the ground had grown grassy and uncertain. Even to one such as he they had left the path somehow... lost in the mists... It shouldn't be easy to lose a road so plain or long.. unless his new crew clearly didn't know the mouth-end of a tankard from a mimic's-ass...

somewhere in the dim he heard... singing? The voice sounded creaky and weak but as if it were of a woman... Glancing behind he found the rear-guard also out of sight; though in such conditions that meant only a handfull of paces...

His step landed on stone.. cobbles?! Here?! This stretch of road for miles should be all hard-packed dirt... unless the baffled scouts had found some ruins in which to cover for the night...

[DungeonWaffleX]

[OOC: Apologies for the delay. Got in late last night, mildly hungover, and recently learned that my browser opens me to PAD&D instead of Toy Intercept, so I ended up losing a post. I promise I'll try and keep myself free to move stuff along. Don't want to hold folks up ]

Miserable. No other word could describe this fiasco more than that. Skagg, Coriss, and Tark had been on the road for days now, but it seemed the closer the trio crept towards the lands of Barovia the worse things got. First came the fog; annoying at first, but had become increasingly more dense and discomforting with equal aplomb. Then came the actual, physical discomfort. The dampness. The sharp coolness that made it hard to breathe. The unbearable itchiness was the worst of it all; old wounds rarely heal fully, and while his military discipline kept Skagg from tearing himself from his splint to assuage himself from the wool beneath it, the same couldn't be said for his bad eye. Though he was blind, the scar and the meat around it felt as though they were on fire, each moment an exercise in restraint to resist potentially opening a wound with his gauntleted hands and risking infection. The only thing keeping him in check were the reins held taught in his other, metal-clad fist, guiding his horse through this mess as best he was able.

"Myhriss' tits, I can't see a damned thing in this fog!" barked the armor-clad sell-sword. "I can't see five yards in this soup! You sure you know where we're going?"

To his flanks, the pair of scouts continued silently, their silhouettes mired in the damp mist like shadows in candlelight, though he could sense their disproval even if he couldn't see their glares. Skagg himself stood between them, the would-be vanguard should brigands or wolves or something other rear its head. The growing tension between them was palpable, and Skagg was, admittedly, having a hard time keeping his cool as doubt on whether or not Tark and Coriss really knew what they were doing.

"Just stay calm," thought Skagg, his good eye twitching in aggravation. "We just need to make it to Barovia. They know what they're doing. No one's fool enough to claim they're a skilled navigator and get themselves lost. Everything'll be fine once you've had a good night's rest, some fresh clothes, and a hot meal... and once this GODSDAMNED ITCHING STOPS--"

Skagg couldn't take it anymore. Between the wool, his eyes, and the fog, he just couldn't bear it one second longer. Breaking discipline, he closed his eyes and rubbed them vigorously with the flat of his gauntlet even as he kept step with his colleagues, the clip-clop of his horse right on his heels. Every fiber of his being told him not to -- infections are an insidious killer -- but gods did it feel amazing.

As he took to treating his eyes, in the distance a voice carried itself across the mists. As his vision cleared, Skagg peered into the foggy aether... he couldn't see anything. Unsurprising. Yet the singing persisted; too far away to be either Tark or Coriss, so it had to be someone all together different.

Then he felt it. The familiar crunch of cobblestone beneath his feet; of stone contacting with his greaves. A sound, admittedly, Skagg was surprised to hear.

"The Hell's this?" he chirped in surprise, though it was more to himself than his colleagues. There should still be miles left of the hard-packed trail ahead of them; where did this come from? Turning to his flanks. "Hey! Come take a look here. We've hit civilization," Skagg barked, turning to face the scouts to his sides.

Except they weren't there. He'd looked away for just a moment, and they'd vanished into the mist, leaving the Iuzian warrior with only himself, his horse, and the distant sing-song voice beyond the veil. Not that concerning in and of itself. The scounts couldn't have gotten far. Then again, maybe they really didn't know where they were going. Skagg gripped the reins of his horse a little more firmly, fearful of losing it too to the eerie fog now.

"Hey! Corriss? Tark? Over here!" Skagg shouted again, this time a little more firmly, hoping to get their attention and draw them by sound to his position. It was his only real recourse short of venturing in to find them himself, which was a feat he was ill-equipped to tackle. His business was in killing and the arts of war, not tracking down wayward rangers.

[TristenC]

[ooc] Haha, yeah no worries. the web-provider that for decades housed PADnD took a dive a year or so ago and we very recently had to port the whole thing to Toyintercept. We luckily only lost a month or so of data, and now i and the other admins back up at least weekly or every few days when things are active (I also personally keep text files of many threads against such issues. and b/c i'm a bit OCD). nice post, btw!
[/ooc]

The scouts make no reply to Skagg's minor outburst, aside from to step farther into the gloom and fully out of sight; clearly having difficulty seeing any of their surroundings themselves.

The gauntleted fist compresses the leather lead in his hand as he finds stone and calls out to his companions. The shouts echo unnaturally in the mist, ringing back into his ears from strange angles.

The singing continued nearby, an almost dirge-like tempo as sometimes was used in forced-marches or rowing a trireme... or in forced labor camps... The last he knew all too well... Those soul-sucking, half-assed chants designed only for one thing; keep the unfortunate half-corpse-prisoners or soldiers moving just one-more-step despite the misery and doom and break-down of the body and mind...

Straining he makes out a word here and there, the sounds apparently coming from some wizened crone...

[DungeonWaffleX]

Despite his cries, Skagg watched as the two slipped further into the fog. Perhaps he hadn't shouted loudly enough; perhaps they were too keenly focused to notice they'd lost sight of him, or were too perplexed by the unusual influx of earthwork forming beneath their feet. For a moment, Skagg opened his mouth as if to let loose another bellow...

Then he heard it. The familiar grim droning, slow and mournful in its incantations. He knew these tones - either the songster was some militant instructor, or a slaver most foul. As the words drifted nigh incoherently in one ear and out the other from all manner of angles, Skagg felt a chill run down his spine, the hackles on the back of his nape rising in-time with the sensation. He could make out the voice was feminine, but where was it coming from? It seemed to assault him from every point.

"Just the chill," he assured himself, swallowing the sense of growing concern at the eerie chants and burying it deep in his gut. "But those voices are very real."

Taking a brief survey of his surroundings, Skagg peered about for the source of the voice in the mist.

He should have ignored it. He should have carried on and tried to get his compatriots' attention anew. He knew he shouldn't follow, yet his feet chose for him, spurred by a genuine concern of the voice and its ill portents. Every instinct screamed that this was a terrible idea, even as Skagg gripped the reins of his horse all the harder to guide it along by foot, the metal knuckles of his gauntlets creaking slightly as they affixed themselves to the leather harness.

"Tsk. A fool I must be then."

If the voice was a friend, perhaps they could aid him in navigating the fog and regrouping with his compatriots. But Skagg wasn't optimistic, and it wasn't the reason he found himself following the bleak song deeper into the mystifyingly thick fog. This was dangerous. Foolish. Reckless, even, but the haunting tune was too familiar to ignore. Brought up too many memories, and far too few of them good.

And so he followed the voice. Not quietly. Not stealthily. Such things were better suited for sneak-thieves and purse-cutters. No, Skagg was a man of action and physical prowess, clad in steel and iron. He moved with intent; to discern the song's origins and, if he could do so soundly, to intercede.

[TristenC]

Moving towards the sound, Skagg draws his horse behind. The animal resists, at first, but the persistent tug of the reins eventually draws the well trained steed forward. The clack of hooves on stone adds its own echo to the night even as the sounds ahead wax clearer and closer... The air grows stagnant with the tang of befouled food... or was it something else? Another noise begins to mingle with the singing; the unmistakable sound of metal dragging over stone... chains...

The tone takes on a lighter tenor, despite the steady unrelentingly laborious tempo...
Shuffling souls in the number of the moons...
Shenk, Shenk, Shenk. (the chains drag, keeping time)
Endless march, dragging iron to the tune...
Shenk, Shenk, Shenk.

Stepping through the fog, it seems to relent somewhat. Several shapes can be seen moving ahead in unison... A taller shadow stands amid a turning ring, blurred by the mists. The taller shadow begins to clap hands in time to the beat, singing to those nearby.

All day through night, all night through day!
Shenk, Shenk, Shenk.
Stumble and toil as your bodies break.
Shenk, Shenk, Shenk.

At last the vague shapes ahead resolve into a tall robed figure, and Skagg's step halts as the waft of rotten meat reaches his nostrils. The head of the figure tilts up and a croaking laughter issues forth from behind a bone-white mask long since splintered and cracked from impact.
It seems we've new friends, my little ones. the robed shadow says, in an almost infinitesimally clearer voice than before.

Abruptly Skagg realizes that the smaller shapes must be... children?!? The remnants of tarnished shackles drag behind the small legs of over a dozen youngsters. The mask turns to the left and a slender arm rises to point into the fog. Grey fingers beckon enticingly; the gesture spoiled by rot pocked flesh. The mask turns to the opposite side, the come-hither motion proffered again in balance.

Hesitant footsteps shuffle from either side, and the forms of Corriss and Tark come into view at the edges of the mist. A faint breeze begins to build, carrying an utter stench of putrefaction to rival any charnel house or days-old battlefield. Corriss doubles over and empties the contents of her stomach noisily on the cobbles.

Worms and rot. Ichor and bone
Shenk, Shenk, Shenk.
No breath to pray for to atone.
Shenk, Shenk, Shenk.
Drag your corpse from your wasteful grave.
Shenk, Shenk, Shenk.
Death is no reprieve for slaves.
Shenk, Shenk, Shenk.

As the song ends, the robed figure laughs eerily and claps.
Very good, my little ones. Now, you must keep up your strength!
One arm extends almost gracefully towards Corriss, still coughing and retching on the stone.

Almost in unison the children turn to face the woman sicking up. Bare wounds and dried blood decorating scattered patters across the areas of exposed flesh of the white-robed children. Torn skin hangs bloodied, and drooping features jiggle beside exposed muscle, sinew and the occasional ivory of bone. Eyes glowing eerily in the dim regard the object of their attention with an evil hunger...

====
The mask of the robed figure


There's something wrong with the children...

[DungeonWaffleX]

Trudging through the mist into clearer skies, Skagg suddenly wished he hadn't. The telltale rattle of chains brought familiar pains to his ankles, whilst the sick-sweet odor of flayed flesh assaulted his senses. The chill that had run down his spine moments prior now filled his very veins with an icy dread, a pit of fear taking root within his gut as his eyes laid themselves upon the shackled victims and the masked pied piper pulling their tortured strings.

"No! This-- this can't be..." Skagg screamed internally, his one good eye widening at the sight laid before him. Children stripped of flesh, their sinews and muscles exposed like butchered cattle as they pushed the pain wheel as their torturer sang in-time with the creaking of the wheel and the clacking of the chains. In the moment, Skagg stood stunned and speechless. Whatever sorcery this was, it was unnatural. Vile. Evil. This children should be long gone, yet even in death they toiled in pain. He was no practitioner of the dark arts, but from the stories he'd heard, this fetid foe behind the mask of ivory fit the very definition of only one word in his mind: necromancer.

Skagg couldn't tell if he'd been spotted. The horror of the children alone had caused his mind to freeze. Shaking the surprise from his mind, the iron-clad fighter found he'd already had a hand upon his sword -- he hadn't even felt himself move. Instinct and survival had taken center stage, his muscles doing what his mind couldn't.

Then came the forms of Coriss and Tark from the fog, ushered into this macabre scene by the masked villain. For a second time Skagg's blood ran cold. Fear and anger and grief washed over him in waves as the eerily masked figured beckoned the children towards Coriss, herself doubled over in sickness. The intent was malicious; the verdict certain. It was now or never, for death was all but a guarantee for the scouts if he opted to do nothing or flee.

"Stop!" Skagg barked as he released the reins of his semi-faithful steed, drawing his shield from his back and his enchanted blade with militant poise, the sound of metal escaping his baldric echoing and intermingling with the mist and stonework. "I don't know what witchcraft this is, but take one step upon them and I'll flay the lot of you like pigs!"

It was a bold threat to make. Desperate. Foolish, even, as Skagg stood poised to fight despite his shaking hands and nervous sweating. But inaction meant death, and Skagg wasn't about to let suffer another to die under his watch again.

[TristenC]

Skagg commands a hault to the seemingly inevitable proceedings, but his words, like the cold mist of his breath, evaporate without effect as the children surge forward towards their prey. As they scatter into a charging throng, horrifying realizations come to him. No wheel of pain had they pressed in the obfuscating fog, only joined hands as children might in play or dance. And despite the dragging chains, each was independent of the other; only short lengths no longer than a foot dragging behind as they moved freely... Even so, these facts made the next few moments all the more horrifying... Some barreled across the stone full-tilt as if it were a youthful game of tag. Others dove to the ground and scramble-galloped on all-fours like the primates of the jungle! Still others stagger-stepped and dragged half-broken or useless feet and legs behind them as they leered hungrily at the incapacitated scout.

Laughter issued from the mask, and the voice became more clear... more familiar but still difficult to place. Feast well, my lovelies! The mask's focus paused but a moment on Skagg before turning to Tark. Slender greying fingers gestured towards the other scout in a scooping motion, like one catching water in their palm. Tark stiffens as if seized by the spine and straightens to an impossible height as he is raised to the tips of his toes by some unseen force; arms splayed rigidly down to his side at an angle. Short gasping puffs of foggy breath escape the scout as a torturous cry issues forth into the cold night.

====
Actions and initiative please!

Skagg's call to stop has clearly been ignored or gone unheard by the children.
It is clear the masked figure has seen him now, but is concentrating on... whatever it is doing to Tark.

[DungeonWaffleX]

Initiative [1d10]=3
1H Bastard Sword +1 Charging Attack vs. Masked Entity (THAC0 12, SPD 5) [1d20]=18
1H Bastard Sword +1 Damage vs. Masked Entity [1d8+4]=3+4=7

Synopsis: Skagg'll shrug off his pack & charge the masked entity pulling the strings with his Bastard Sword +1 & Medium Shield. If in range to engage in melee (within 180' due to Charge, +2 THAC0 To-Hit & Skagg's AC drops to 4, -2 Initiative to Enemy), he'll take a swing. Rolling pre-emptively to hopefully save time if he happens to be able to do so

====

Grimacing and gritting his teeth firmly, Skagg was in a rough position. Torn between his comrades, his decision to act was forked. Coriss was beset by fiendish children, their rotted flesh a pungent fate the scout would share if they didn't pick her bones clean. On the other, Tark was now in the grip of this alien warlock, his form floating uncomfortably nearer with each passing moment as the masked figure beckoned him closer. Skagg's own heart pounded so hard he could hear it in his ears, adrenaline rushing through him and fighting off the fearful cold that had taken hold of him.

It was an impossible choice. He couldn't be two places at once. In the span of a heartbeat, Skagg had to make his choice; and make it he did.

"I'm sorry, Coriss," he whispered, casting one final glance at the scout doubled over and retching her contents onto the ground. The... things... would be upon her shortly. But the odds were stacked, and military acumen took over. Skagg fought alone, and Coriss was beset by many foes; Tark was ensorcelled by only the lone necromancer. It was a risky gamble, but Skagg knew what he had to do.

He had to cut the head from the snake.

Taking a deep breath, the warrior charged! Bits of cobble kicked up as Skagg picked up speed, clanging against his heavy boots and greaves as he rushed towards the robed monstrosity controlling the children. Sword raised high, the Iuzian shocktrooper blitzed into the fray, ready to deliver a deadly blow with murderous intent!

[TristenC]

[OOC] Oh yeah, rolling whatever you think you might need for the round ahead of time is good practice. Typically in my games if something like an attack roll isn't used that round as planned it rolls over to whatever the next attack is made by that player in the same combat (it is not saved between combats)

Skagg and the masked figure tied for initative this round! Now we've got ourselves a ball-game, haha.

There is a note in the rules thread about 'visible damage' where basically I leave hints in combat for the players when enemies or allies are at or below different hp % of their max.
Barely scratched [90% hps]
Hurt [75% hps]
Hurt badly [50% hps]
Hurt critically [25% hps]
About to die [10% hps]

I shamelessly stole this from an really old Win 3 game named Castle of the Winds that I played obsessively way back in the day, haha.
[/OOC]
========

Sloughing off his pack, Skagg surges forward with an adrenal intensity so all-consuming only the most dire situations conjure forth such desperation. The weight relieved from his frame the powerful warrior sprints forward, his shield and sword poised even as the masked figure begins to gesture in the direction of the other scout.

Her slender fingers curl like one scooping water, yet with the leprous pointer finger extended like a hook. Skaggs boots crunch across the cobbles as he propels himself forward. To the edge of his vision he sees Tark stiffen unnaturally to arch back and raise up slowly onto the points of his boots as if suspended from some invisible claw. Skagg strains to his limit, willing his legs to pump faster. A low moan begins in the pit of Tark's chest, growing higher in pitch and intensity until it is a deafening irregular scream that seems to suck the air from his lungs. The scout's breath bellows forth like steam into the cold night air as if one could see the soul escaping in that instant.

Every muscle in the Luzian fighter screams in effort as the blade of his bastard sword rises to strike; glowing faintly in the moonlit mist. The weapon crashes against the mask with an echoing CRACK!, continuing to cleave cleanly downward slicing across priestly robes. Tark drops like a stone to the cobbles, and it is unclear whether he is moving or not.

The cracked, heart-shaped ceramic mask (now split jaggedly along the swordcut) falls free of the figure. A bloodless gash crosses the horridly plague-pocked face of an oddly familiar stern but youthful woman. Strange in those moments what one's heightened senses picked up on in the desperate struggle for survival... The now-filthy robes of grey-blue trimmed with white and gold soiled further still by grey-green ichor that spilled from the cut. The putresence of corruption poured forth into the air and the miasma assaulted his senses like a hammer-blow!
[PPDM save please ^_^. if it fails, also roll 1d6-1]

Turning to her attacker, the erstwhile priestess of Rao's voice rises to a shriek from a normal tone. The children are MINE and you CAN NOT HAVE THEM!!!

To the left the sounds of the snarling, growling, ravening monstrosities ring across the stone, as do the choked bellows of Corriss as she is bitten and torn by the diminutive mob. The scout goes down in a heap, her voice falling silent as the undead children begin to feast on her bloodied flesh.


[Fear, horror and madness checks I don't force on pcs provided they write with some level of verisimillitude the character's emotions (doesn't seem like that will be any kind of issue with you, given the previous posts. haha), but npcs are still subject to them. That said, if someone wants to roll for them I wouldn't object but it tends to reduce player agency which can be a slippery slope.]
====
Init: R1
Skagg: (3+5 MBswd): 8
Masked Priestess: (7+3 ability-2 charged): 8
Tark: (3+7 sbow): 10
13 Zombie Kids: (Act Last)
Corriss: Incapacitated

init Tark, Mask [1d10]=3, [1d10]=7

Skagg Charges (+2 to hit, +50% move, 1pt AC penalty no dex bonus, -2 opponent init) 90 feet at the Masked Priestess with his Bastard Sword +1
Thac0 14 vs AC ? (+2)
[1d20]=18, hit!
For [1d8+4]=3+4=7 damage
the Masked Priestess is Barely Scratched!

Simultaneously!
The Masked Priestess gestures at Tark, using her Special Ability
Tark PPDM Save [1d20]=3, Fail!
Tark DIES

zk1 bites (-1 piercing vs studded leather) at Corriss who is incapacitated (no dex bonus)
Thac0 ? Vs AC 7:
[1d20] = 20, hit!
For (double dmg) [d8] = 8*2 = 16 damage!!!
Corriss is Hurt!

zk2 bites (-1 piercing vs studded leather) at Corriss who is incapacitated (no dex bonus)
Thac0 ? Vs AC 7:
[1d20] = 15, hit!
For [1d8] = 7 damage!
Corriss is Hurt Badly!

zk3 bites (-1 piercing vs studded leather) at Corriss who is incapacitated (no dex bonus)
Thac0 ? Vs AC 7:
[1d20] = 3, miss!

zk4 bites (-1 piercing vs studded leather) at Corriss who is incapacitated (no dex bonus)
Thac0 ? Vs AC 7:
[1d20] = 7, miss

zk5 bites (-1 piercing vs studded leather) at Corriss who is incapacitated (no dex bonus)
Thac0 ? Vs AC 7:
[1d20] = 3, miss

zk6 bites (-1 piercing vs studded leather) at Corriss who is incapacitated (no dex bonus)
Thac0 ? Vs AC 7:
[1d20] = 17, hit!
For [1d8] = 8 damage
Corriss is About to DIE!

zk7 bites (-1 piercing vs studded leather) at Corriss who is incapacitated (no dex bonus)
Thac0 ? Vs AC 7:
[1d20] = 8, miss!

zk8 bites (-1 piercing vs studded leather) at Corriss who is incapacitated (no dex bonus)
Thac0 ? Vs AC 7:
[1d20] = 12, hit!
For [1d8] = 6 damage
Corriss Goes Down!!

zk9-13 cannot reach their foe in the swarm (max 2 small creatures per side vs med creature = 8 )

Zombiekids 1-6 hit [1d20]=20,[1d20]=15,[1d20]=3,[1d20]=7,[1d20]=3,[1d20]=17
Zombiekids 7-12 hit [1d20]=8,[1d20]=12,[1d20]=3,[1d20]=15,[1d20]=17,[1d20]=19
Zombiekids 1,2,6,8,10,11 dmg [1d8]=8,[1d8]=7,[1d8]=8,[1d8]=6,[1d8]=3,[1d8]=7

[DungeonWaffleX]

PPDM Saving Throw 11 vs. Masked Entity [1d20]=4
PPDM Saving Throw Failed Save Damage [1d6-1]=3-1=2
Initiative [1d10]=10
1H Bastard Sword +1 Attack #1 vs. Masked Entity (THAC0 14, SPD 5) [1d20]=2
1H Bastard Sword +1 Attack #2 vs. Masked Entity (THAC0 14, SPD 5) [1d20]=3
1H Bastard Sword +1 Damage #1 vs. Masked Entity [1d8+4]=3+4=7
1H Bastard Sword +1 Damage #2 vs. Masked Entity [1d8+4]=2+4=6

[OOC: Oof. Terrible rolls all around it seems. Looks like Skagg'll be acting tomorrow on this init! THAC0 reverts back to 14, AC reverts back to 3. He's definitely unnerved, but leaning into his two remaining attacks with his Bastard Sword +1, though it looks like he's definitely gonna whiff on both counts from the smell. Not much he can do for the scouts now that he's engaged, much to his chagrin.]

====

A decisive strike! Or so Skagg thought for the briefest of moments. Where there should have been blood, Skagg was instead met by a vile ichor, the mask cracked and sundered in the wake of his hew. Behind it, a face - he knew this face. He couldn't place it. He couldn't recognize it. But something irked at his mind like a thousand needles trying desperately to get his attention. But Skagg's mind was elsewhere; it was on survival. It was on ending this abomination and its undead child-like servants. It was on Coriss and Tark.

"Never! Let them go!" he shouted in response. Without hesitation he readied his magical steel to rain blows upon the cultish woman, but just as he found the strength to do so it hit him. The stench. The overwhelming, putrid miasma filled his lungs. He could feel the bile in his gullet churn and his nostrils burn, throat clenching to fight off the rancid, acrid taste rising up from within. Just like that, Skagg felt the strength in his sword-arm wane; his fingers a less taught, his muscles less tense. In their place he felt a new wave of fear hit him; fear of failure, on the horizon for a second time.

[TristenC]

[Typically these days we'll do 1 initative roll for the whole combat so you don't have to roll each round for it. I can't remember if I said something different at the start of this campaign, but we've been on once-per combat lately. Sorry for any confusion, but at least he gets to act sooner ]


The horrific figure before him grimaces at his assertion. Skagg's first swing goes wide as he coughs and hacks his way through the choking stench. They. Are. MINE!!! the fetid priestess bellows in his face. One crushing fist after another falls towards the fighter, but instincts and trained positioning bring his shield up in time to catch the powerful blows. The slavers took them once before, LUZIAN! she shouts, But when the powers returned my soul to Oerth, my purpose was clear. No kidnapper, no army, no SLAVER OF CHILDREN will EVER take them from me AGAIN!!! the percussive blows of her fists on his shield ring out in time with her shouts. THEY. ARE. MINE!!!

Amidst the tirade Skagg swipes with his sword again, covering heavily with his shield. A dampness deep in his lungs causes another coughing fit and the attack comes to naught more than the first.

To his left the sounds of squelching and tearing flesh and the pop-crack! of dislocating joints speak to the end of his companion. Hardly bearing to look, Skagg sees several of the children have dislodged hunks of bloody meat to feast upon. Blessedly the mob of rotting minions blocks the bulk of the scene from his one good eye.

To the Right, Tark begins to shuffle and stagger to his feet... something not quite right in the man's visage... Eyes, once clear and sharp, have rolled back so only the whites remain. The ranger stood there, unnaturally posed, in a sightless stupor.


====
Init: R2
Skagg: (3+5 MBswd): 8
Masked Priestess: (7+3 natural weapon): 10
13 Zombie Kids: (Act Last)
Tark: [Dead]
Corriss: Down./bleeding

Skagg slashes at the Priestess with his Bastard Sword +1
Thac0 14 vs AC ?
[1d20]=2, miss!

The Priestess bashes (-2 bash vs splint) at Skagg with her Right fist
Thac0 ? Vs AC 3(-2)
[1d20] = 8, miss!

The Priestess bashes (-2 bash vs splint) at Skagg with her Right fist
Thac0 ? Vs AC 3(-2)
[1d20] = 6, miss!
Priestess vs Skagg [1d20]=8,[1d20]=6,[2d4]=5,[2d4]=3

zk1 attacks Corriss (down) automatic hit
For [1d8] = 2 damage
Corris continues to bleed [-4]

zk2 attacks Corriss (down) automatic hit
For [1d8] = 8 damage
Corriss DIES [-12 hps] (-10 = death)

Zombiekids 1,2,3,4,5,6 dmg [1d8]=2,[1d8]=8,[1d8]=6,[1d8]=8,[1d8]=3,[1d8]=2

Skagg slashes a second time at the Priestess with his Bastard Sword +1
Thac0 14 vs AC ?
[1d20]=3, miss!

Tark Rises

[DungeonWaffleX]

[OOC] Noted on Initiative. Thanks for clarifying! Sorry for the delay in posting; worked later than expected last night, so trying to catch up so I don't hold folks up. Also still trying to figure out the roller since it's a little finicky with extra info :p

1H Bastard Sword +1 Attack vs. Masked Entity (THAC0 14, SPD 5) [1d20]=10
1H Bastard Sword +1 Damage vs. Masked Entity (Magical Slashing) [1d8+4]=8+4=12

Skagg keeps on swinging for his life! [/OOC]

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Reeling from disgust, the darkly armored warrior steeled himself against the growing putrescence of the priestess. He tried to focus, to concentrate on the task at hand as he levied his strength for another blow, redoubling his efforts to fell this fiend and put an end to this macabre mockery. But even through the cold grind of leather-to-metal in his hand and the clanging of the robed woman's fists upon his shield, he could hear it. Oh, gods, could he hear it; the wet and ruinous crunching from the children. Of what they were doing to poor, poor Coriss. Skagg didn't want to look and, for perhaps the first time since losing his eye, was grateful he couldn't.

He couldn't say the same for his good eye, unfortunately. His attention might have been focused on the dreadful woman in front of him, but it didn't stop him from glimpsing Tark -- broken, shattered, sundered Tark -- rise from the ground with an unnatural gait, eyes rolled back and body not of his own. It was like watching a foal trying to stand for the first time, but possessed of an unnaturalness that sent a shiver down his spine. Skagg knew something was wrong; something was foul.

"Tark! No! I... no! By the Taker, not like this!" Again he'd failed; again, only Skagg of Ixworth was left to watch innocents be slaughtered. He swallowed his fear, his regret, his guilt. There would be a time for self-pity and introspection later. For now, it was do-or-die, lest he join them in this unholy union of undeath.

"You're-- you're dead! DEAD!" he cried in rage and grief, swinging his mystically-imbued bastard sword again at the priestess. Whether this was meant as a general statement as well as a threat was hard to say, but one thing was clear: murder was all that could be seen in Skagg's sole good eye, and Hells be damned, if he was going to die here he was going to avenge Coriss and Tark first. Before this night was over, this woman would be slain.

[TristenC]

Tark begins to shamble forward, obviously altered in his mobility and presence of mind.

With a desperate cry, Skagg lashed out at the... creature hammering against his shield and turning all within his sight to the decomposed remnants of life. By the grace of the gods themselves and his internalized training he scored a powerful blow across the body of the horrid offender, twisting her body and sending one flailing fist far off course. Her second strike comes down just inside the opening provided by his attack and battering against his side; though she seems little the worse for wear.

The children continue to feast upon Corriss' decimated corpse; rending it beyond most abilities to revive or reanimate. Suddenly they all stop in unison as if listening to a voice beyond the range of mortal hearing...

Slowly Tark shuffles towards his erstwhile companion, only arriving after the bloody exchange of blows has conclued. Though she seems to have no practical need to do so, the priestess speaks her command aloud to the now deceased Ranger. You. Restrain him.

As her command is issued, the Priestess distances herself carefully from the Luzian, and begins to make her way towards the undead children; confident her new lackey will be able to prevent pursuit.


[Skagg can choose to ignore Tark until his attack comes at the cost of an additional attack by Tark.]
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Init: R3
Skagg: (3+5 MBswd): 8
Masked Priestess: (7+3 natural weapon): 10
13 Zombie Kids: (Act Last)
Tark: [???]
Corriss: [Dead]

Skagg slashes at the Priestess with his Bastard Sword +1
Thac0 14 vs AC ?
[1d20]= 10
For [1d8+4]=8+4=12 damage!
the Masked Priestess is Hurt!

The Priestess bashes (-2 bash vs splint) at Skagg with her Right fist
Thac0 ? Vs AC 3(-2)
[1d20] = 4, miss!

The Priestess bashes (-2 bash vs splint) at Skagg with her Left fist
Thac0 ? Vs AC 3(-2)
[1d20] = 18, hit!
For [2d4] = 5 damage!
Skagg is Barely Scratched
Priestess vs Skagg [1d20]=4,[1d20]=18,[2d4]=6,[2d4]=5

Zombie Kids continue to feed (more than -20 dmg vs Corriss. Nothing left to reanimate and not enough for 'raise dead')

Priestess silently Commands the children
Priestess silently Commands Tark