Shephard
Still in Statis
You attempt to chase fish in the choppy waters. After several longs minutes of being sprayed, splashing around at random, and trying and failing to catch anything in the foam, you manage to find a small grab. Driven by an unnatural hunger, you snap it apart with your ethereal grip. But then, your hunger begins to assuage as you focus on the dying animal. It shrivels up and perishes in your grasp, unnaturally decayed within an instant. You feel better (+2 HP get).
Unfortunately, you hear closing shouts from behind. Turning about, you see the flicker of torches down the beach, and faintly through their illumination, a slick stairway leading up the cliff side. You guess the monks liked to visit the beach on occasion...You'd be surprised at them taking so long to get down to you, but then, the shouts seem to be curses and cries for help. It seems slick stone stairs aren't easy to climb down in a storm. Who'd a thunk?
The Demoness hisses. "You saw nothing. It'll make my career deader than Isa'beleth'nrelxar'duvian's if that gets out." She folds her arms across her bountiful chest, shaking her head. "Besides, I do burn down the country side and go on murder sprees. Just got done with a temp gig in the Sekarin desert-you've probably never heard of it-raising a dread edifice of Evil to some archdevil or another. I forget the name, which is probably for the better. The raining blood was a pain to get out of my hair." She says, glancing at her nails.
"If you want to contract demons, it can work, don't get me wrong. But we bring fire and brimstone, not flowers and...Uh, ethically sourced stone."
"Fort a few days hike to the west." Aya replied. "And if you are an evil wizard now, remember to mention me in any dealings with devils you do. I get a commission for every mortal I corrupt."
The shadows wrap around you, allowing you to blend in with the darkness of the dungeon with ease. You're surprised, for you meant to become actually invisible...But this was far easier. The shadows bent to your will with ease, obscuring you as long as you dwelt in places where the dark reigned.
"Not a bad effect, though I've seen more impressive. Warlocks who could shape the shadows into living weapons and servants...Though that will take a while to teach." Aya says as shadows wrap around her like a cloak. You step out of the tomb into the moonlit night, the both of you obscured from sight. In the distance, you make out smoke pillars rising from what remains of your village. Down a hill from the tomb on the main road, you spy a group of light cavalry men passing by on horses. Though they look straight at you, they see nothing, not even with the moon shining so bright.
"So you want to find the refugees. Nearest town is obviously the best place to look...But I have to wonder if they would even find shelter there. The Inquisition has everyone backstabbing each other in fear. Almost as competently as lil' Tene' did." Aya sighs. "And it wouldn't be a very...Welcoming place for us. I expect they may have tried to set p a refugee camp somewhere that'd provide decent shelter off the main roads, which would be hard to track. Unless we can find directions somewhere in town, I suppose."
The bandit nods in sympathy. "I'll see if the boss is up. Feel free to, ah, stay around the fire. I'll tell the idiots inside not to shoot you full of crossbow bolts. Unless you go wandering where you ain't supposed to, but I'm sure a respectable...ah...Mortally challenged individual like yourself wouldn't do something so stupid. Be right back." He nods, disappearing through a doorway. Not long after, the bandits who ran off creep back alongside an annoyed and rather bulky individual with a rusty cleaver. The former two shrink to the corners, but the newcomer just grunts a greeting and stirs a pan of coffee on the fireplace. You didn't even notice the aroma as you approached, and even now at this range it seems faint and distant. It appears your death has dulled your sense of smell for such things...Though not for blood and meat. The bulky man reeks of dried blood, even though he seems clean. And the stink of death pours from the old fort proper.
About a half hour later, your welcomer returns. Behind him is a tall woman with bright red hair and a scar across her remaining violet eye-the other covered in an eyepath. Her clothing is of much finer make than the others, her boots a fine deerskin and a wolf-skin coat keeping her warm on the chill night. Most of all, she wears a fine coat of mail with minor magical seals affixed with wax coating. A long saber lies sheathed at her side.
"So, you're the visitor I was told about on my way back from the privy. Usually I'd tell you to piss off, but usually I don't have the undead knocking on my door." The woman states, idly fingering her blade. There's a shadow beneath her eye, but she watches you attentively nonetheless. "You're a Lich? Never run into one of you who weren't employers, let alone asking for an equal dealing with me of all people. You have some kind of trouble on your tail?" She asks.
The wave of darkness floods over the field, drowin out the lights of torches and even of the blazing inferno below you. For a moment, all is blackness. Cries of shock, alarm, and pain echo after you as you try to flee.
"My leg!"
"Get off of me you oaf!"
"She'll murder us all in the dark!"
"My kidney!"
"Oh Gods, she's right behind me!" *twang*
"Ow! Watch it! You almost shot me!"
"Ah! It's Agatha!"
"My nose! You just hit me in the face with your bloody crossbow you idiot!"
Frantic crossbow bolts and javelins fly every which way in the darkness. Most miss by a mile. Most. A single, incredibly lucky javelin smacks you right in the back, and your previously dignified fall to the ground turns into a terribly undignified faceplant (-3 HP, maimed). After a few moments of trying to figure out how to extract a javelin from your spine, you only manage to snap off the end. With a rather painful chunk still buried in your spine, you shamble forward in an awkward gait toward the forest's edge.
Behind you, you hear old Imperial chants. And then golden flames blaze through the darkness. You turn, to see the dragon emblems upon the Templars' armor blazing, golden light spraying forth from the end of their blades like a drake's breath. It isn't enough to quench your magically called darkness, but it is enough for them to see by.
"She's not above the pyre!"
"Dragon's breath, she's running for it! Get her!" The two Templars move, sprinting in your general direction along with the very few men-at-arms not busy toppled atop each other or cowering in fear. A few crossbow bolts whizz by you, only to plink into the dirt harmlessly as you make it into the wood. You have a good, strong headstart over the two Templar, and they keep tripping over roots, where you can see surprisingly well for everything being dark. Unfortunately, the Templars have one advantage you don't. Cardio.
Just improper. Don't they know plate armor is supposed to slow them to a turtle like crawl? A stray thought bubbles in your mind, along with the curious smell of salt, butter, and a weird crunching noise. Shaking it off, you narrowly dodge a sword blow at head height.
"Come here granny! This'll be over quick!" The female Templar shouts, stabbing at your torso, but your narrowly manage to stumble out of the way, her blazing sword chopping deep into an innocent tree instead and setting it on fire. She curses, prying the blade out of the wood while you try to make some more distance. You fail, and a blow cuts into your calf. You stumble, smacking off a tree, turning to see the silver armor of the Templar gleaming bright in the light of his burning blade.
"Die!" He bellows, bringing the blade up for a double-handed swing. And then an arrow pings off his helmet. "What the-?" He asks, turning as a second arrow glances off a pauldron and embeds itself in a tree behind me. "Hey! Cut that out!" He shouts, a third arrow splintering into a hundred pieces on his breastplate. "Come the hell on, do you know how hard it is to buff scratches out of this armor you prick?" He screeches, a forth arrow snapping against a knee plate. "It's useless, stop shooting me already!" He shouts, a fifth arrow just straight up missing him and landing on the other side of him, making a loud snap. He glances toward it instinctively, and you take the momentary distraction to scramble into the undergrowth.
An armored gauntlet wraps around your foot, the female Templar snarling. "Not so fast, you murder-" She begins, before an arrow strikes her right in the hand. The arrowhead flattens, the wooden shaft snapping in twain, but the blow knocks her grip loose for a moment. Crawling under a thorn thicket, you manage to drag yourself to freedom on the other side as angry shouts and hacking noises echo from behind you. You don't stick around, quickly making some distance.
As soon as you have some breathing room, you lean yourself against an ancient great oak. You're filth ridden, your skin is rotting, you have a javelin bit stuck in you, your calf looks like a butcher tore into it, and your back is torn up by thorns. But you've survived, for now at least. You can still hear the Templars and their minions stamping about in the wood. And you're not sure what happened to your mysterious helper.
"Oh, that's a...A uh, very excellent title, your lordship." Your new squire says blankly, staring at you. "Uhm. What's it mean?"
Your march, thankfully, faces little trouble and you make good time. You were tireless as a mortal, and now, you're all but inexhaustible. Your new mortal companion, however, is soon left gasping for breath by the tempo you set, and you're forced to stop for him repeatedly. You also have to keep telling him to leave corpses alone, as almost anything shiny distracts him. Almost as bad as a magpie...
Or a Dragon.
"You hear something, m'lord?" The man asks as you glance about. With a shake of your head, you continue on, doubling back around the battlefield. You don't see any more crazy elves around, which is certainly a blessing. Unfortunately however, your hike would not be left in peace forever. Howls rise in the distance.
"Wolves. The big, black ones." Jacobs explains casually. "The ones from that Dark Lord fella's kennels? Musta gotten loose when he up an' died an' all. But it's nothin' to worry 'bout. They mostly scavenge on the dead, an' lone living folks. And we're two!" He says with a gormless smile. Yet, the howls only come closer and closer. You can see several of the huge, black furred beasts crossing a hill in the distance. Maybe Jacobs right and they'll mostly leave you alone, or at least only come in numbers small enough for you to handle. Or maybe you should seek the questionable safety of the cave tunnels, though this risks being devoured by something far more frightening than a few black hounds.
Last edited:
