The cultists, in the mine, with the steak-knife - RPLOG
Contents
Participants
Notable NPCs
Date
13/3/480
Log
It's early in the morning, and the sun is rising over Ironstead. It seems that Mal, Iorek, and the hawk-guard who drove the cart seem to have gone, well... Missing.
Furthermore, the town is a little more quiet than would be reasonable, with far fewer beings around than would be reasonable to expect, even this early in the morning...
Fenris makes his way out of the inn, rather surprised to find things so quiet, especially after the revels of yesterday. There should at least be people headed to market, or maybe to the mines. The sun is hardly over the horizon!
Figuring the mines to be his best bet at finding people, since it IS a mining town, after all, the tiger adjusts his coat and the thick, metal bands on his arms, and sets off. His slivery little otter scampers along at his feet. Maybe the others are already out and about?
Sleep had eluded Krove, last night. Haunted more than a little by what Miss Snowfeather had said, the doctor had large bags under his eyes, come morning. Perhaps that was why he was less concerned about the lack of people--and almost hopeful about it. If they were suffering pains of soul, they could be redeemed, couldn't they? Still--it wouldn't hurt to keep together, and as he sniffs a bit at his smelling salts, trying to rouse himself, the water deer seeks out Fenris. The tiger knew what would best be done--even if it meant going to smash the tube in the church. It could be corrupted by these spirits, after all.
True to what Cirrus had promised to the missing coyote, the snow leopard brought out her armor from the cart when she had slept in the caravan. She wasn't going around that damned owl without something heavy, nope. She trudged out of the caravan, startled first by the lack of the hawk guard and Mal, heading into the village to note that, hey, people were missing. That's not good, to put it mildly. She glanced aboutran spying the tiger walking through the village, quickly jogging to catch up to the orange feline. "So... did I... miss something?"
It does appear the priestess isn't anywhere to be found. Nor are the other companions of the group.
As for the mine, the upper levels seem decently lit, even if there don't seem to be a whole lot of beings inside.
At the same time, there is a certain strange, omnious hum coming from deep, deep in the mine...
"Perhaps," Fenris says in answer to Cirrus, "As did I, I think." The big tiger leads the way into the upper level of the mine and looks around. "There really ought to be someone here. . ." he says, looking around the oddly vacant facility, "Just a second." He stops and produces a few things from within his coat and starts to work, applying some kind of powder to his fur and fiddling about with someting in his mouth. Soon, instead of the very recognizeable tiger, there seems to be a completely different being there! Feline, yes, but a dark furred panther, a little rough around the edges and with an impressive pair of tusks in his jutting lower jaw.
"What do you think?" he asks.
Krove shudders with the new appearance of tusks and the quick-change exhibited by Fenris. It was impressive, to say the least, but still... "At least we can pull those out without anyone yelping about it later." He shakes again, and goes to get himself more properly prepared. How to deal with this, he didn't know, but he probably wouldn't be getting a visit from Miss Snowfeather's companions while he had some of his own. "I'm worried about them both. Mal's encountered oll--other spirits before. Damn coyote and his bottle might have gone native on us."
The other fellow, though--he was good, and kind. Concerned for the poor. What could possibly seduce him from a spirit? Perhaps the same thing which had been tempting Krove. "I don't know anything about the driver, I hate to say, but I think splitting up would be the worst thing we could do."
"Nice disguise." Cirrus replies, watching Fenris change out of the side of her helm. She fiddles with the straps on her claymore, taking a few experimental tugs at the longsword, then leaving it be as they enter the mine, glancing about the area with a somewhat wary eye. "It'd probably be a good idea to find a source of illumination. I can hold a torch, but if either of you are versed in fire magic, a wisp would probably be helpful." exclusively
The deeper the party goes, the louder that omnious hum becomes, soon giving way for unintelligible, low chanting. And after a little more walking, a lit hallway comes into view, with the shadows of some beings looming, shifting... A patrol of sorts, perhaps?
Fenris winks at Cirrus and gives a tusked grin to Krove. "I'm no slouch with a bit of makeup," he says, "It should hold up under the torchlight, assuming no one looks too close." He raises the hood of his coat and makes a few adjustments, then leads the way. Noting the looming shadows, the disguised tiger does not slow, but moves ahead confidently. His little golem stays nearby, but behind the trio a short distance.
Krove is just trying to keep up. The scent of adventure is soon more overpowering than the ammonia from his salts, as well as the sleep in his eyes. But he's no fighter, not really. "I can do a touch of fire magic, but I always focused on cauterizing wounds, more than providing light." He certainly didn't have any summons, to say the least.
"Alright. Krove, would you mind holding the torch, actually? My claymore takes two hands to swing, and I'm hoping you can ignite one of the ones already here." Cirrus grabs one of the disused torches off of the walls of the mineshaft, passing it to the small deer with a quick swing of the arm. May as well vanguard. The snow leopard keeps pace with Fenris, versed in quick movement in heavy armor, though she can't exactly... be... quiet. It's heavy, y'know.
"They're here!" comes a call from down the hall, as the shadows shift and change. And then, right after the torch is lit, and firmly in Krove's hand, -they- appear... Two beings, or rather, two being-shaped skeletons, each holding a shield and a bone club in hand.
And still, that omnious humm continues, from down the hallway, resonating throughout the tunnels...
Fenris blinks in the torch light. "Well," he says around his tusks, "It seems like we are expected." This is not the first time he has seen Pyrrha's chosen in their skeletal form, but it is no less jarring for that. "I don't suppose you plan to let us pass in peace?" he asks, raising his hands to show that he is unarmed. His little golem scampers up to sit by his feet and opens its mouth in something like a yawn.
It most certainly is the first time Krove has seen them in skeletal form, once he's lit the torch. He jumps in fright, but tries to keep his nerve. Screaming, though tempting, is not helpful, in this case. But it would be much, much more convenient if they decided not to put his outsides on his insides.
Cirrus blinks. She places both hands up behind her head, on the hilt of her claymore. "I don't expect so, but. Doesn't hurt to ask, I suppose. Or, it may." She eyes both of the guards down, glancing between Fenris, Krove, and the little golem of Fenris'... what's that bugger doing?
"And here we thought we had to come and fetch you later. The ceremony is just about to start," one of the two skeletons offers, as it steps aside.
Behind them is a large, circular room, lit by torches, while various tusked beings are chanting. One of them is sharpening a crimson-colored knife by the central altar, while another pair is currently hauling a being towards the central altar.
"Just in time for the preparation of the next feast!" the central, tusked being offers with a broad smile."
"That. . . that is not what I hoped to see," Fenris says, "And I think it is time for a bit of fasting and contemplation." He retains his disguise, since it seems a waste to simply discard it. "Kawa!" he shouts, and his yawning little golem starts to glow softly before a beam of scorching Creator Fire lances from its mouth toward the corrupt altar!
Fenris himself dashes forward, hopefully beyond the reach of the skeletal guards. "They can't be hurt until they wear flesh!" he calls to his companions as he closes on the being with the knife.
Can't be hurt until they wear flesh? "Benna's bloomers, what are we supposed to do about it, then?!" He can't exactly ask them to kindly put their organs back on, please, so we can have a fair fight. But it might be worth a shot. "Cowards! Come and face us without hiding behind your spirits! If you were truly strong, you wouldn't need to skulk about in the dark!" Lots of bark, but not much bite, as he pulls out a bonesaw more fit for amputation than combat. Hopefully they bought it.
"Cannibals. Nice." Cirrus felt like it was the wrong time to run around telling people "I Told You So" about the feast. And, with that, she draws her claymore, large blade glinting in the firelight. She follows closely behind Fenris, reaching forwards to bash one of the skeleton guards with her fist as a distraction to keep Fenris going.
"Dammit, Fenris, what do you mean? Speak Common, for Creator's sake." The leopard yells out, staying clear of the golem's fire. Hopefully she can draw enough attention.
Iorek taking advantage of the well timed distraction, Iorek aim's a kick at the back of one of his captors knees, following it up with a diving headbutt at gut level. It's drastic and leaves him exposes if he fails, but this isn't a time for doing nothing.
Mal was busy this whole time, doing what, nobody knows...until he stands up and the bindings fall away. He checks himself quickly, before glowering. "Y'all took my gear?" he mutters, weaving his hands in the air, working Air Mathemagic before making a slashing motion at the other captor dragging Iorek off, lunging forward to close the distance and take them on personally. "I /hate/ it when people touch my stuff..."
The head Caller seems to be caught by surprise as the bolt of creator fire flies at his head, and he only barely has the time to duck out of the way, before yet more of those skeletal guards descend upon the party.
Iorek successfully manages to work himself loose from his guards, even if he's still bound, and with Mal's assistance, he might just have bought himself enough time to get himself untied.
It doesn't seem the guards encroaching on Krove and Cirrus seem to be deterred much, although the being knocked back by Cirrus collapses for a moment, before shuffling back to its feet...
Fenris is not done with the leader of this current Cult of Hunger. The temporarily tusked tiger crashes into the mine cavern at shocking speed, his own power augmented by the cleverly crafted support frame he wears under his coat, fist raised to strike down the dentally augmented wolf before him.
His ottery golem frolics gleefully after him, twisting and winding under the legs of the skeletal guards to keep them off balance.
The doctor is a man of peace...not really, but he does try to do no harm. Which, come to think of it... if they can't be hurt without flesh, then he's not technically harming them, is he? Taking his trusty bonesaw, and giving a mighty swing, Krove tries to distract the skeletal being in front of him... by sawing on the being's ribcage. He's not terribly clever about it, but it is something, right?
"Dammit, Fenris, what do you mean? Also, Krove! Stay back, please, and try to figure out what he means by putting meat on their bones!" Cirrus shouts, perhaps a bit rudely, charging forwards and out of the bottleneck of the hall to get some room to swing her claymore about, heaving the sword about, aiming to cut down as much as she can with one swing. It's a delaying action, at most, but it'll keep them at bay whilst someone cooks up a solution.
Iorek glances around for a solution to his bindings as he spots the ceremonial dagger, quickly making his way over, he picks it up with his Prehensile tail, using it to cut himself free of the bindings. "Eh, I've been in worse scrapes I guess. Thanks for the help Mal, I owe you a shot."
With a flick of his tail, he sends the dagger up over his head, catching it in his hand. "Let's do this."
"...What about /my/ knife?" the Coyote replies, looking around before raising his bare fists. He sighs and shakes his head. "Right, Mind and Body," he mutters, rolling his shoulders and popping his neck as he eyes the rest of the cultists...and these skeletons.
The head-wolf seems rather... Less menacing now, as he cowers before Fenris, keeping his hands up to soften the blow to his face, while the guards trying to reach him seem to be having trouble with that golem, tripping, and landing in that ditch, which doesn't seem to let them climb out all that easily.
Krove is met with a bone to the head. Doesn't seem the skeleton particlarly enjoys being sawed away at. Cirrus is having marginally more succeess, driving the skeletons back, but they just keep coming back at her...
And then, of course, there's Mal and Iorek, standing on a secondary bridge over the ditch, with cultists hiding behind their skeletal companions...
Fenris puts a foot on the fallen cultist. "Do us a favor and stay down," he says pleasantly, looking around the room for any other prisoners. He keeps his little golem bobbing and weaving among cultists. Gotta give that scorcher time to recharge.
This is why Krove doesn't fight. He's not got anything to do against this very solid knock to the head--but he can at least try to think of something. He didn't know spirits well, he just... did what he could. "Stall them off, give me time!" Couldn't be hurt, perhaps... but that could be a benefit too. And they were made out of handles, at that. Without the flesh to weigh them down, perhaps they could be tossed?
He might have a plan. "Cirrus! They're light now, hopefully! Try throwing them!" Not that he could tell whether he'd be able to pull it off--he was only small clan.
"Throwing? Too inefficient... but..." Cirrus decides to go the absurd route, instead dropping her claymore, punching a skeleton in the face, picking them up, and swinging them about to try to shepherd some of the other skeletons into the ditch where Fenris' golems keep nudging them in to. "Hell, these things are light..."
Iorek takes a few deep breaths, then charges towards the bridge that is littered with skelletons, dodgins, spinning and cartwheeling around other figures on the combat field, the canine has one goal in mind. Planting a foot on the back of a nearby foe, he leaps into the air, slamming down a fist on the boards of the enemy ridden bridge, planning to break it "HYAAAAAA!"
Mal is scrambling for a torch, pulling it free and turning just in time to watch Iorek lunge onto the bridge. "...That's cool, that works too," he mutters, before looking around the room. Where did his gear get to...
Krove's plan seems to work! With Cirrus's swings, the skeletal beings wind up in the ditch, one by one, ending up stuck, although of course, with their shape as-is, none worse for the wear.
Iorek soon manages to land the bridge, its occupents, and himself in the ditch as well... That's definitely going to cause a bruise in the morning, but he should be fine. So long as he manages to get out of that ditch before he gets bone-clubbed.
Fenris should find the other cells to containing at least a dozen beings in total, although there's certainly no sight of anyone resembling a Strongheart nearby...
:whistles, calling his golem to scamper to his side and open wide its little mouth toward the still milling cultists as he tends to the captives. "Everyone all right in there?" he asks, giving an old padlock a golemcraft assisted yank! The little silver otter starts to glow with an inner heat beside him.
If nothing else, weight can provide a significant boon. Krove doesn't have antlers, nor is his saw effective, but the deer can try to knock over his horrible foe... or, in this case, just try to take the skeleton's club. Weigh it down, be a nuisance--just let Cirrus handle the actual dispatching of foes, especially as marvelously as she does it. "I've got this one!" he insists... despite clearly being on the losing side of things.
"Yep!" Cirrus shouts, throwing the last of the skeletons into the pit after the mob was done with. She picks back up her claymore, sticks it in it's sheath, and peers about, looking for anyone who might still need a little bit of help. "Everyone alright? Anyone eaten? We should probably start knocking out or rounding up the cultists... stick them in the same cage they've been putting the beings in." She peers at the skeleton Krove is trying to fight, instead lifting the skeleton up, quirking an eyebrow at Krove, and tossing the skeleton in the pit like a javelin. "Sound good?"
Various battering, slashing, yelling and tearing sound effects pulse from the ruined bridge before slight slience, and using the dagger to help him climb out of the whole, Iorek reappears. His ceremonal robe seemingly in tatters, leaving only convieniently placed rags to preserve dignity. "This is not how you treat someone with a hangover... especially after what was a very nice feast!". He kicks a nearby skull into the ditch as well before collapsing to his knees.
Mal runs over, dragging Iorek away from the mess. "Shit, man! Overkill much?" he asks, propping the dog up against the wall. "Krove, I need some help over here," he calls to the Deer, picking up the cermonial dagger as he looks to the rest of the cultists.
"Bra-vo," comes the familiar sound of Anne-Marie Snowfeather's voice, the priestess from the other day, standing on a balcony above. "You sure disrupted this little meeting. Although, as you can see, the Strongheart you are trying to find isn't here, I'm afraid. He's safe and sound in his little mansion out of town... For now," she offers, clicking her beak once.
"I figure, if you are quick and don't stop to rest, you might make it in time to safe his life... And his crops."
"Of course, that would mean leaving this place immediately, and leaving all of these beings, and myself, to escape. What'll it be, heroes?"
Fenris turns his disguised gaze at the corrupt owl. "You really are a monster, aren't you?" he says, casually, "I can see why they BOTH like you. But the Weaver would not be impressed by your hamfisted tactics." The tiger turns to a second cage, to smash open the lock. "Kawa!" he shouts and the otter turns its head toward the balcony and another lance of fire jets from its mouth. "Get these people out of here!" he calls to the others, "Lord Strongheart will have to hold out for a few minutes on his own. We'll warn him as soon as we can." He moves to the next cage, smashing old locks as he goes, "Let's move folks! We've got a countryside to save!"
Krove is frantic--he didn't have much call to save crops or nobles, and there were sufferers here. He could help them; it was his duty. The Doctor has very few words to say to the Owl, before rushing to the cages. "Go shove your head up your arse and die in a hole, you blasphemous witch!"
Cirrus figures that she might as well get a head start off towards the Strongheart, with her heavy gear. Whatever's lined up there, hopefully she'd be able to tank it. The armor is gilded against magical attacks, anyways, but she wasn't one for range, and the owls and sorting out of beings was a logistical problem. The lack of things being properly stabbed has left her rather... wanting. So, she took off as fast as she could run in the armor towards the mansion, making a rather loud clanking noise all the way.
Iorek leans heavily into Mal "No Gramps I don't wanna save the country side make one of the other boys do it... I need to sleep." The canine is blooded, his face beginning to show some swelling lumps and his tail clearly has an angle in it that it shouldn't. Clutching the hand he hit the bridge with fight to his chest guardingly, he opens his glazy eyes, trying to focus on something around him, before going dead weight onto Mal and passing out.
"Can I get my gear first?" Mal mutters, eyeing Fenris. "Only so much I can do with fists and stylish moves." He pats Iorek and sighs, looking over at Krove. "KROVE, GET YOUR MEDICINE OVER HERE."
The Coyote looks down at his garb and hmmphs. "And these clothes; they don't compliment my figure at all," he quips. Good to see he hasn't lost a sense of humor after almost being sacrificed. "YOU HAVE BAD FASHION SENSE," he yells at the Owl.
"AND WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES? THOSE ARE VERY COMFORTABLE."
"The Weaver, as you call him, is quite fond of my results, though, Mister Fenris. We will meet again," the owl offers with a smile, as a short glint hangs in the air, and the gleam of a ward-rune nullifying the bolt. "Did you really think I would make it that easy on you?"
"Once again, though, congratulations on figuring out your little puzzle," she offers with a smile, before turning and disappearing into the darkness. "We will meet again. And Mister Krove. You mightn't like me, but I suggest you show a little more respect when She comes to have a little chat," she offers, before she disappears, leaving the group to figure out their next course of action...
Fenris swears under his breath and keeps smashing open cages, throwing scowls over his shoulder at the skulking cultists until all the people are free. "Let's go!" he growls around his temporary tusks. He most definitely will see that owl again.
Caring for the survivors is going to mean stabilization, primarily. They'll live... and something can be done about the cultists in the pit. But right now, the main thing was saving those who could be saved. And spitting in a Cultist's eye socket, for good measure. Disgusting creatures. He tags along behind Fenris for now.
