Continued from here ...
The clouds overhead were murky and dark. But this was no storm. The mages in the mismatched band of adventurers could sense the brewing Necromancy. The portal, which once spewed forth denizens of the Void, had been sealed by the Titan of Aslan's holy fire (and a Jorelite's timely prank / experiment). That did not stop the portal, however, from signaling the hordes of undead and horrors from marching, flying, slithering, or burrowing south toward the peaks of the Great Mountains.
There were hundreds, maybe thousands, of the creatures forming the un-living tide of undead making their way toward a singular point. Should the adventurers follow, they would discover that the monsters, creatures, and horrors of the horde had little interest in them. It was as if something beckoned to them, calling them to the mountains.
Alastair felt it in his bones. But mostly he felt a cold, strange sensation from the cut he sustained from one of the zombies he encountered. But he felt something tugging at his chest, calling him home.
Iori sensed a familiar echo, not unlike the voices he heard from the summoned demons' consciousnesses. There were also spirits and ghosts present, likely attracted from around the Highlands due to the surge in spiritual energy. Éclair felt a pulsating hum of dark energy coming from deep in the Great Mountains. It was like a heartbeat, soothing and tender, calling her into its bosom.
Ceniel and Shei sensed the Necromancy but also a strange matrix of dark energy that was interacting with the Death Essence overhead. Spiritual energy, too, was present where they stood and seemed to be emitted by the horde as they marched mindlessly forward. Shei's attempts at casting Reverse Alacrity on the parasitic substance was met with limited success. He noted under the lens of Clara that the Black Blood was not growing by any means. It was merely metabolizing the Arcana Contamination emitted by his person and enchanted items. The spell, however, served to curb the parasite's metabolism. Just how that would come into play was anyone's guess at the moment.
Veleraen discovered that while his armor and weapons were covered in Black Blood (along with almost everyone else), the immortal alloy of his arm was beginning to negate, even kill, the parasitic substance. Soon the Black Blood on his Aetherium began to gray and flake off like dry, dead scales.
Nearby, Ein'nasar and Gloan were able to exchange a few choice words and greetings. Then they were free to follow the horde and hack at any stragglers, of which were plenty.
EVERYONE (and newcomers):
The horde was unmistakable but the storm was easily ignored from the cities around the Highlands. Winter storms were not exactly rare along these parts. But the curious, adventurous, and all-around-unlucky could find themselves in the thick of the madness. The flying creatures, chimeras, and other skeletal undead glided and soared up toward the glacial peaks of the Great Mountains first. They were followed by the larger demons, horrors, and other monsters of the undead persuasion. A little ways behind them were the minion-class beasts and lesser undead that tumbled, limped, and crawled their way home.
The creatures were easy pickings.
But getting too close had its share of risks. One unfortunate traveler discovered this in full view of the adventurers. He seemed to have gotten caught up in the blood sport, hacking zombies and critters with a great sword. The Vagaran howled in delight as if he had just wandered into the best party ever. Then he tripped on a slithering, half-rotting serpent.
Suddenly, the undead nearby converged on him like cheap buffet patrons. Mindless as they were and urged to go home they might be ... but not even these creatures could resist the temptation of quick snack. Upon closer inspection, there were bursts of cannibalism (if it could be called that). The weak were culled, the crippled and injured consumed by those passing by.
Where could they be going? And what awaited the adventurers beyond the foot of the mountains beyond?
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_________
The elf took a long drag from his cigarette.
Hmmmm.
Necromancy.
A force that could have conjured up such a great horde might have made a worthy ally, if it had not made the mistake of dirtying his garments. After a short exchange of names and titles, the dracon-elf drew his second blade from his waist, his burlap sack still upon his back. The cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, he wordlessly began to walk towards the fallen adventurer as a steady peace that slowly increased… until it was, quite simply, a blinding dash, powered by the force of the Liberation that coursed in his veins. His wings waited, ready with Spell Nullify for any hostile magic that might course his direction, from any direction.
Motion slowed to molasses in his perception.
He would carve swathes in the skeletal undead and the zombies, careful to watch the angle of attacks on the latter so their blood would squirt in directions that his body was moving away from. His off-hand would parry any attacks that came his way, if he couldn't simply dodge them. With a long blade in each arm, the dracon would become a whirling dervish of destruction.
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Reactionary Spells (If Applicable): Spell Nullify Passive Enchantments/Spells: Liberation (Personal ultrabuff spell, strength, dexterity, reaction speed), Solitude of the Soul (Masks arcane/vis presence, all casting), Animation (Winged flight, manifesting as draconic wings currently), Objectify (Dracon) | |
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Wandering all around arium again, Creed had not noticed what had transpired and what was really happening in the great mountains. He intended just to cross them, as they presented the shortest way through the province, hazardous no doubt, but for a man who had turned into a bitter, self serving and self destructive monster, the perril was but a meaningles problem.
Suddenly, there was a sound the masked man couldn't place, even when being caught in a weird storm like the one which suddenly had whipped up while he was traversing the mountains, a sound like that would make any other, less intelligent man crumble in fear.
The storm carried an unnatural sigh with it, a wailing sound coming from the forests, dragging footsteps, squeaking bones. It really drew Creed's attention, it captivated him, made him anxious to find out. Because he had counted on robbers and perhaps even having to run from orcs if he would be unlucky to stumble upon those mindless barbarians; the masked man had opted to dress himself in his thick black fine woolen trousers and his black silk shirt and vest, underneath his flexible but sturdy trollskin armor, greaves and gloves. His face hidden behind a trollskin mask, Silver Scorpion hanging at his wasteband, sheathed in a shiny silver colored, elfensteel scabbard.
On his back, his two curved elfensteel twinblades; the black scorpions were laced and latched, held firmly in place and sheathed in black leather scabbards. underneath this laces he wore his black hooded cape, which protected him from the cold, which even he found to be rather harsh for the time of year.
Pulling his hood a bit further over his head, while drawing his Silver Scorpion to be prepared for anything which could be headed in his direction.
| Notes: Fully operational Tigron left arm (grafting retractable nails) Golem Heart full equipment list-for Crimson: Full trollskin hunting armor, trollskin mask, two blackened elfensteel longswords, silverdust elfensteel nosferatu vampire blade with silver hilt and sharpened elfensteel scabbard. small switchblade with coilspring. | |
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What master dwells within these blasted mountains?
Alastair had already rolled up another cigarette and was smoking it with long, thoughtful drags as he walked. His right arm was limp at his side, not that he couldn't use it if he had to, he was just trying to give it a rest. It was almost certainly infected with something, and Alastair knew enough to know that when it came to Necromancy, infections could be of a magical nature.
He needed answers. Wild necromantic energy didn't just spring forth from nowhere. Well, maybe it did, but clearly these creatures had somewhere they were going, SOMEONE they were going TO. Someone with answers. Someone who could help him.
What piper plays the tune to draw in his subjects?
He was walking with the zombies. He felt the same strange siren's call they did, although perhaps not magnified to quite the same degree. He had given up trying to kill them. Too many, too little time. Besides, they weren't attacking him, and they gave him a good bit of cover on the way up the mountains. Strength in numbers if one of the bigger monsters decided they'd make a nice snack.
What puppet master holds the strings of fate?
He kept smoking. He was trying to avoid the other living that he'd seen around. For one, they were big and powerful and probably wouldn't appreciate his new zombie buddies, for two, well, meeting new people was hard.
What master dwells upon these lonely mountains?
He tried to pick up the pace. He wanted to be the first up the mountain. He ignored the dying adventurer, he ignored the easy pickings of the undead around him. He just wanted to get up as fast as possible.
"If you can hear me, great Necromancer. I seek an audience."
______
Even if the black ooze was starting to petrify, harden and fall off all around him, Veleraen was still quite annoyed.
He looked to the Dracon who had introduced himself as Iori's trainer of sorts, which was odd in a way but he gave a subtle nod to him and then turned back to Iori who was now clutching to someone named Miss Éclair and seemingly now called himself 'Iori-toy'. Veleraen fell silent for a few moments as he stared at the man whom he had seen before as a more devout man of the cloth and now he was seemingly clutching to this half naked woman, who was also acting rather weird.
"What the feth is going on?!" His deep tone rang out on the cold plain, he then turned to Ein who seemingly appeared from out of nowhere. The elf looked familiar and remembered meeting the man in Olympia. "Ah, yes...well, I am fine...or so I appear to be." He scowled slightly and looked back at Ceniel to see if the elf was able to complete his previous request of trying to find out who here was a mage of the dark arts.
He became more suspicious now as all of these people began to arrive from all around and even noticed one stranger get caught up in the horde of undead who were returning back to the mountains and then he just disappeared. Veleraen winced as he watched the demons mulch him to a pulp. He let go a bit of a sigh and then looked over at Creed, another newcomer to this rag-tag group of adventurers.
The Titan didn't like what had happened just moments ago and therefore took a distanced stance from the rest of them, choosing to stand closer to Ceniel and the others who hadn't exactly been behind him when he was almost ceremoniously pushed to his death. He eyed both Éclair and Iori and then looked back to the mountains and watched as the undead started to flee back to their home upon the spires of the great mountains.
He gave a bit of a grunt and a hot spire of breath cascaded from his mouth as he pushed onward towards the mountains, cutting down the straggling undead as he went, intent on running down and finding the one being who had started all of this. He continued to look back at those who were behind him, wary of any more surprises that might have occurred on their journey there. He was not taking any more chances this time.
OOC notes:
Steel breastplate, enchanted (See SoF)
Dwarven steel, black halberd 18 ft long, 2 daggers (longsword in size/giant sized)
half plate/chain armour down to thighs, elven steel helm
Chains of Aslan (See SoF)
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