Swarms of Akros - RPLOG
Participants
Date
18/3/480
Log
It is the middle of the night, several hours after the party has set out from Ironstead. The moon, blood red, hangs above, and the ill-repaired landhouse looms ahead. It seems that while most of the cultists have yet to arrive, some of them are already hard at work, directing swarms of insects to ravage the various crops. Certainly not a good thing, considering the surrounding towns almost all rely on food from the Strongheart farm, and the coin they offer their employees.
Mal looks out over the scene unfolding, back in his usual gear and quite happy about it. "What's the plan, Fenris? Since you seem to have all the answers," he says, tapping the dagger at his side as he looks over at the Tiger. Probably still miffed about earlier... "I'm all ears; anything we ought to know this time around? Or are we going in and improvising from there?" Yup, still miffed about earlier.
Krove spits, as he looks at the pestilence swarming the crops. And here people wonder why he doesn't like spirits. He was a doctor, not a farmer, but he doubted there'd be any source of medicine coming from this filth. He, too, was unprepared for this. A blighted crop is usually just set to blaze, but that would be incredibly costly to the village here. "I don't think this is a problem which can be solved by stabbing, Mal. The dagger's not going to do much against bugs."
Iorek nurses a headache, wondering why he thought punching a bridge was a good idea "Uh, you guys decide I don't think I've been making good choices today, I'll cover you and protect th horses, cover our escape I think, unless someone has a better idea?"
"Suck it up, Buttercup," Fenris says, shooting a grin toward Mal, "I only wish I had all the answers. I have a few, though. The important ones are, we are fighting callers of five corrupt court Spirits. The last time this many of them worked together, we wound up with the mists on the Gravefells." He urges his huge charger to speed. "Spirits of decay, hunger, undeath, manipulation and knowledge without wisdom," he lists, "There is more to it than that, but it is a good primer. The beings are mortal, but the skeletons are impervious to harm until they return to normal. Feel free to ask questions. But make yourself useful while you are at it."
There had been little time to do more than free and arm the villagers and hope that they could hold their captors captive before charging out here. The tiger produces a small, pistol like device and points it toward the gathering cultists and a beam of red light lances through the darkness. "If you can take the callers, I will see what I can do about crops!" he calls as he reaches up to fiddle with his soul pendant.
Cirrus straddles the horse, riding with the others onto the fields, clad in fill plate armor. The fields are in relatively good shape, it seems, but, if the cultists had their way, it wouldn't be for too long. "I dunno, Krove. I'd say we should try to lay some insect netting all over the crops, or find some of those insect-repellant plants, or whatever. Or try to start laying traps for the cultists. Not enough time to dig a trench deep enough for the skeletons, but we can certainly dig a hole and try to bottleneck 'em."
As soon as Fenris's bolt of light connects with one of the cultists, his swarm of locusts seems to dissipate, only to congeal again as another cultist takes over. Soon enough, though, another cultist takes over, while the former calls out for help, prompting several skeletal beings to come rushing in from afar, armed with various weapons crafted from bones. Spears, clubs, even knives...
"Oh, good. I was wondering," Mal mutters, twirling the cult knife he picked up off Iorek and holding it out to the Dog. "You want this, or should we not trust you with knives for the moment?" he asks, before shaking his head and tucking it into his belt. "Probably not. You sit here 'til you're back on your feet; you can have this back afterwards. I'm gonna stab some callers with it in the meantime," he says.
As he rides up on the Cultists, the Coyote does what is possibly the stupidest thing he's ever done. Well, no. The stupidest thing would probably be sassing a Spirit. So, the second stupidest. Mal braces himself against his horse...before leaping off, ceremonial dagger glinting as he crashes into one of the Cultists, jamming the blade into their shoulder as they tumble to the ground.
Krove is decidedly support. He's still back with his last patient, trying to figure out a plan. He could get some diethyl ether mixed together, but that would be a very, very expensive way to try to take down one of these cursed callers. Bonesaws didn't do much against the skeletons, but he could hopefully wave it around and keep them at bay through terror alone. Because he's a very, very scary tiny deer.
Fenris leaves the callers to the others and focuses his attention on whipping up a powerful wind, keeping back and away from the combat. He carefully constructs a stormy vortex, hopefully strong enough to keep the locusts from settling, but not so strong it hurts the fields.
Iorek pats the doctor on the shoulder as he stands up, drawing his bow and notching an arrow. Noticing that we need to disrupt the cultists, he fires his arrow at the closest, chanting one "Don't thhink too much Doc, not best in these situations. I think we just need to disrupt them and there is a horse over there, how would you feel if a horse ran at you?"
"Anyone here versed in earth magic? Is there a hole anywhere? No? Fine." Cirrus sighs and draws her claymore, apparently taking up the role of cavalry for today. She digs in with her knees, thinking that swinging a two-hander while on a horse will be... interesting... but doable. As such, she charges towards the cultists, trying to circle around and "buzz" by the more fleshy cultists while trying to avoid the skeletons, as tramplable they may be.
Iorek's arrow connects with the cultist, hitting him in the shoulder, and breaking his concentration. His swarm, too, disperses, and the cultists seem to be having a little trouble blighting the fields like this, especially as Fenris starts whipping up the winds, keeping the locust-like creatures and other insects from destroying the crops.
Mal, for his part, finds that both he, and the cultist slam into the ground. Not exactly a comfortable landing for either of them, although the cultist certainly has it worse, howling out in pain as he slides across the ground.
Cirrus, for her part, would find that actually swinging the large sword from horseback is a -terrible- idea, as the heavy weight throws both her, and the horse off-balance, something which is a bit of a mixed blessing... She crashes into some of the skeletal cultists, bowling them over, but at the same time, she runs a very high risk of falling off of the horse and breaking something.
The Coyote winces at the rough landing, before yanking the dagger out of the Cultist's shoulder and slowly getting to his feet. "And /stay/ down! Seriously," Mal says, before turning to look to the remaining cultists. "Who's next!"
Continue waving a threatening bonesaw, nothing should be getting too close to Iorek. Nevermind he'd struggle to keep his vow if they did get close, for now, he was going to do his best to just scare them off. "I have sodium chlorate and I'm not afraid to use it!" Table salt was definitely scary, after all.
Iorek chuckles a little as Krove's threat "Doc, when this is over we need to work on your fight patter..." He doesn't take his eyes away from the skirmish, looking for a shot that won't be affected by his Ally's Air artes. With a slight tut, realising he can't help but try and shoot through the wind, he tries to correct for it, shooting at another chanting cultist
Fenris finishes raising his storm and hopes it will hold long enough to do what needs to be done. The tiger kicks his horse into a gallop again, charging into the fray and drawing an arm length rod that crackles with energy and strange Kevinscopes, keeping his eyes open for that owl! She can't have gotten here much faster than the freeswords.
That was a terrible idea. Swinging the sword sent the horse bounding around wildly, trampling a good bit of skeletal cultists, but otherwise being generally ineffective. The leopard instead tries to manually take a spear from one of the trampled cultists or punch one in the face and take their spear instead, reembarking on the horse and again trying to impale the fleshy cultists. This will work better, hopefully.
The skeletal beings seem to be clsoing in on Krove and Iorek, clearly not deterred by the doctor, as they approach, clubs in hand. "We're impervious to death, Doctor. And -they- can bathe in acids and poisons and be fine," one being offers, as they come closer, spears in hand.
Mal is quickly attacked in similar fashion, this time by skeletal beings holding bone clubs, stalking over menacingly.
Fenris's storm seems to have the intended effect, and the most important fields, at least for the time being, seem to be secured. The same probably can't be said for the vinyard, with its delicate grapes, but the food is far more important, after all.
And then, there's Cirrus, sucessfully taking a spear, and charging on the various cultists...
Mal blinks at the approaching Skeletons. Yeah, a dagger isn't going to work on them, no matter how cultist-y it is. "No, you guys aren't next," he says, backing up. "All I got is this dagger, go away," the Freesword adds, glancing around for a weapon. "...Screw it. You're next." He tucks the dagger into his belt and lunging forward to grab one of the skeletons, taking another step as he lifts and spins the boney aggressor to slam it into its comrades. He spins a few times before releasing the skeletal being and letting momentum take over, backing up. "Ya ever been so mad, you hit a skeleton with a skeleton, then turn around and beat another skeleton with the same skeleton?" Mal comments, before cackling as if recounting something hilarious. Coyotes, right?
This was very, very bad. "But are you impervious to losing your spirit bond?" He wasn't much for bluffing, but this was something he could try in desperation. "Kendrac might be the spirit who can sever bonds, but his spear isn't the only thing which science can offer to rob you of your impenetrable natures." Not acid, not... maybe he could use smelling salts.
Ripping a vial out, he holds it high in the air. "Spiritbane! Cliffside took fifty years to develop it. That's why I'm out here, to test it on the likes of you.... but it's not pleasant. I wanted to be merciful." He was a poor liar, but he put every bit of theatrics, heart, and soul which he had into it.
Iorek sighs "This time I wanted to avoid a melee with walking hat stands..." He jumps down, landing hard on the chest of one of the skeletons, side stepping a club swing as he grabs the skeleton by the humerus and shoulder blade, spinning him a few steps and launching him at more of the skeletons, just trying to buy time. "Come on lads, looking for your pound of flesh to make your master happy? Looks like you could use it." He taunts, smirking, all the well hoping to any diety, idol or person her ever respected that Krove has more in his bag of tricks than bluffing.
Fenris sends his mount crashing through the nearest knot of plague callers, trusting his horse to do a bit of the dirty work for a moment as he swaps the crystals in his soul pendant. Now that the storm magic is in motion, it ought to hold out, at least for a little while.
As doors open and close in his mind, the tiger casts around for any sign of Snowfeather, hopefully she has not beat them to the villa! As soon as he feels able, he kicks his horse back into a gallop. "Keep the Decay callers occupied!" he calls back, "I'm going ahead for Lord Strongheart!"
Cirrus digs her knees to make the horse speed up to a gallop, charging towards the skeletons crowding the little doctor and the retriever with her spear held forth and her body close to the mount. She can impale some, perhaps trample some, but hopefully she can prevent them from being overrun. Iorek seems to have a good handle on that, but. What else would she do?
"Hah! Try me, doctor!" the skeletal being offers, only to yell out when Iorek swings her around and slams her into one of her compatriots. Certainly something she didn't expect, and it turns out to be equally effective against her compatriots.
Mal has similar success, knocking the two skeletons back with a third, whom is none-too-pleased about being flung around, but helpless to do anything against it.
As Cirrus thunders in, the trio assaulting Krove and Iorekk is pushed back further, especially now that they've been separated from their weapons.
And then, there's Fenris, whom finds the doors to the landhouse already open, with the servants within wounded, if not dead, bar a few who are cowering behind locked doors... From the first floor, however, comes the sound of shuffling skeletal beings, and the thumping of bone on wood...
"I've got a BONE to pick with you," Mal puns at the skeletons, giggling to himself before snatching up a club from one of the skeletons. "...I need to invest in a mace...ohhh, or batons," he mumbles to himself, before focusing on the remaining Akros cultists. They don't seem too tough, and it looks like Iorek is better... The Coyote starts walking towards the house, smacking one of the struggling cultists in the legs as he goes. Handy things, clubs. "You should give up, I don't think that wind is dying down anytime soon. Save yourself some trouble," he comments as he passes, grinning a bit. Now, to see what Fenris is up to...
Iorek and Cirrus were doing good work--Krove was more a distraction than anything else. But he does his best to do that, even as the skeleton cultists become blunt weapons for their foes. "You have all the backing of these spirits, for what? Nothing! You're a bunch of witless, spineless cowards who quiver before anyone promising you an easy life! Where is your sense of pride, your sense of work? Pathetic heretics!" He is a true asset to the team, clearly.
Iorek cracks his neck as he walks towards another skeleton, smirking "Wow Doc, ease up there or you might hurt their feelings... Thanks for the help there Cirrus."
The canine steps between two of the skeletons attacking him, nudging one into the way of the others weapon before sweeping at their legs. He stands in front of the other as his tail snakes it's way behind their heels as he mearly shoves them over off balance. Hoping to gain the upper hand by angering the foe "Boy it sure helps make you lot look foolish when you weigh next to nothing in that form... Maybe I should market this for stress relief!"
Fenris slips from his horse's back and charges into the house. "Protect the wounded," he commands, "I will be back." The huge tiger charges up the stairs, the rod in his hand crackles with pent up energy and he swings at the first available target. Best not to have a bunch of nigh invincible skeletons get any advance notice. He has past the point of pleasantries here.
Cirrus turns around again, shooting a nod
Cirrus turns around again, shooting a nod at Iorek before sighing deeply and putting the horse back into a run, trying to keep the Akros dedicants occupied with a spear-wielding, horse-riding snow leopard before they can start to try to work around the wind or move or overcome it somehow. She can handle that.
The beings seem unrelenting, at least for a while longer, but it seems that Iorek and Cirrus are absolutely routing them. It doesn't take long to take out the remaining Akros cultists in the fields, safeguarding at least enough food for the surrounding reason for the coming months.
At the same time, the skeletal beings seem none-too-impressed with krove, until, as if called for, their forms shift and change, skin and muscle reappearing on their bones, leaving them -far- more vulnerable than before...
Fenris, on the other hand, doesn't have the same luck with his cultist, still fully in skeletal form, though it does wind up on the ground, seemingly in pain.
The door is heavily damaged, but still intact, and evidently locked from the inside.
Mal looks around at all the wounded servants. "What am I supposed to do; patch them up?" he calls to Fenris. "With what bandages aaaand he's gone." The Coyote stands there for a moment, before holding out his flask to one of them. "...Vodka?"
They're clothed in flesh again. Krove can pick up his bonesaw and wave it menacingly once more. "Go! Run back to your holes, you barmy gits, and crawl back crying to that pathetic lump of bone you worship! You're powerless here! You see these? They're trained warriors, free and proud! Forsake your master, it's a better life than none at all."
Iorek cackles as he gets exactly what he wants. As the first skeleton is transforming back, he lunges at his neck with a parrying dagger, hoping to end him in one thrust. He spins towards a second, his cape disguising the drawing of his Swift sword until the last second where he slashes it across his next targets neck. "I am sorry but I can not spare cannibals, not with the odds this high. I hope my actions can be forgiven, and the cost of these lives outweighs the lives they could take." he whispers to the cultists, or possibily just to himself as his ruse of a smirk turns somber.
Fenris stomps, HARD on the skeleton's exposed kneecap. "Stay. Down." He orders, with all the right kind of emphasis, then walks to the door and taps on it politely, "Lord Strongheart?" he asks, "If you can give me a moment, we should have things in hand. Are you alright in there?"
Cirrus is more willing to go softer on the re-fleshified skeletons than the Akros cultists, paradoxically, more or less trying to round them up into a fortified area. Preferably a pen. It's slow going, sure, but -someone- has to be alive, still.
The poor being before Iorek doesn't stand a chance, unfortunately. Cirrus's actions ensure that the rest are -relatively- unharmed, though, while Krove's cajoling only extracts a series of grunts from the cultists.
Mal's chosen being mutters, his paw on a stab-wound in his side. "Don't s'pose you've got something that can help with this?" he grunts, out of breath, and clearly not ready for a drink.
Fenris's stomp causes the skeleton to cry out, before going silent, as the Lord behind the door draws ragged breasts. "Are... Are they gone? Is the harvest... Did they? The servants?" a deep voice offers, the worry very apparent in his tone...
If that was what was happening, best to follow after Fenris. Cirrus and her claymore and spear could keep anything out here under control...besides which, he'd not bloodied his bonesaw, and didn't intend to start now. The water deer scurries over to the manor, and immediately begins checking on the wounded, once inside. He could at least heal them up, if needed.
Iorek stares around the fields, almost daring someone to put up a fight, to give him an excuse now his weapons are drawn, his face and clothing coated in the arterial spray from the fallen bodies. the canine seems a little out of it, between injuries from the previous fight, and the battle high from this one.
"Very nearly, Sir," Fenris says, "I am going to tend to the wounded now. If you are not hurt, I'll sweep the house. Things may be a little leaner than usual this year, but we saved what we could."
Then the tiger proceeds to do just that, applying his sacred doctor and his rod, where necessary.
Cirrus does have to prod one or the other while she gets them back into the right place, leading them all the way around the house until they're properly in a pen. She could go all stabby-stabby, sure, but, eh. It's not justified in this case.
The beings who are still alive seem to be hurt, but not in critical condition. With the right immediate care, they should survive the night until they can seek a priest to deal with the more pressing conditions. The worst is most certainly the being Mal offered Vodka, with a large stab-wound in his side.
Fenris's response is merely answered with a soft, and exhausted 'Thank the Creators' follows, before shuffling can be heard, and the lock is slowly turned... Can't be too careful, after all.
Fenris does encounter a few more of these skeletal beings, but most of them seem more prone to surrender, after what happened to the one assaulting Strongheart's door...
Mal seemed to zone out for a bit, but shakes his head. "Huh? Oh. No. These guy's can help, though," he says, ever helpful. The Coyote blinks and steps out of the way, taking a swig from the flask before he heads outside, to survey the damage.
The living. Not even the half-dead. But the Living. Krove devotes every bit of his energy and soul to keeping them all alive. He needs to keep them stable, he needs to feel like he's not completely useless on this venture--and if they live, then it is far, far better than if they don't.
Iorek seeming satisfied that the battle is over, and feeling the pain of his wounds now his adrenaline is wearing off, the canine slumps down against a fence post, staring at the carnage he caused and trying to find his breath against his painful, bruised ribs. Biting the lid off of a dulling potion he scrounges from his pack, he drinks the contents, and sits there looking... penetant maybe? ... hard to tell with him usually, a little more so now he's blood soaked and injured.
Soon enough, Lord Strongheart makes his way down the broken stairs, sighing softly. He's covered in blood, probably his own, based on the wound in the old bull's shoulder, as he leans on the railing, setting himself down on the stairwell, about midway through.
When Krove eventually makes his way over, the bull insists he deals with the servants first, letting the doctor examine his shoulder only after he's certain the servants'll make it through the night...
