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.
