Ochit cursed the dust that seemed to get into everything, including his lungs. He fashioned a face covering out of a piece of cloth but it was only semi helpful. As the dust began to settle, a tower became visible in the distance. With limited daylight remaining, the question was one of setting camp now or pushing on and not reaching the tower until darkness had fallen.
"Now camp. Dark not visit time. Wait, light make better for checking."
The corrupted land gave Reynard the chills, but he wasn't going to complain. He had a mission to do. The Templars wouldn't accept some unease as an excuse for his cowardice. More than likely, it would be a reason for their death. Even as the sun beat down, the sand became dark and black. In doing so, it created a second source of heat. Reynard felt like he was in an oven, being cooked inside his armour. He felt the moisture running down his back. The washing of his gambeson when he returned to town was not going to be pleasant in the least. Aren noted that this wasn't the same as when he first got here. Partly out of trying to avoid snapping because of heat exhaustion, Reynard said nothing.
Eventually, they found some tattered backpacks. The silence was stifling, quiet enough that Reynard could hear everyone rummaging through the packs. They came up with some more food, so starvation was averted for now.
As the trek continued, Reynard jumped at shadows a couple of times. It had been nothing, but this place was becoming more unnerving every second. He blinked some sweat out of his eyes once again, then continued onwards with the party.
At the end of the trek, they stopped and began to set up camp. A gust of wind blew ash all over them, including their eyes and face. Reynard coughed, tears running down his face from the pain the ash inflicted. Ashe stuck to the inside of his clothes somehow, making him even less comfortable. Taking a drink from his water skin to sate the gravelly feeling in his throat. Finally feeling somewhat better, he looked up to see a small structure, rising above the desolate landscape. Ochit voiced his opinion to wait until morning to go to it.
Reynard hoarsely replied, "Are you sure? I think that structure may be our best bet to survive the night. I don't want to be buried or suffocate out here when more ashe is blown over us." Reynard coughed a bit more ash out of his lungs. It isn't like it would be anymore dangerous out here then in there. Enough of our party is able to see in the dark to get us there."
(OOC: Brave last words, hahaha.)
Posted on 2016-11-02 at 23:53:18.
Edited on 2016-11-02 at 23:57:19 by SirSadaar
Trossach looked at the tower as it emerged from the dust storm. He didn't like the ash flying around. It was uncomfortable and felt dangerous. He remembered the words of the elf about black stuff coming up from the ground and now here it was swirling all around them. No, it didn't seem to be the same thing, but how would they see the one if surrounded by the other? And such dust/ash storms could be lethal even if they didn't conceal zombies.
"Shelter is good. I suspect this flying ash affects us far more than it does a zombie that no longer makes use of its lungs. The tower is undoubtedly dangerous, but no doubt we would go there in the morning if we didn't go there now. And yet, if we go there now it may prove to be of use as a shelter. It seems unlikely to be more deadly now than it would be in the morning. I vote for the tower tonight."
Morrígu looked from the tower and then over to the silly men, blinking as she switched back and forth. After a coughing fit brought on by a mouthful of ash, that tower was proving ever more attractive. The whole place itched with corruption, but there would be no ash and no sun.
No nasty sun.
The thought of another moment spent beneath that glowing globe of horror was enough to make her shriek obscenities into the dark. Any promise of escape was tantalizing. That her light loving escorts actually wanted to keep on in the dark was a midnight blessed miracle. She wouldn't be wasting such an opportunity, not crafty Morrígu.
"Ok, go tower." Ochit picked up his gear and got ready to continue the journey. Perhaps the tower was abandoned and woudl provide an excellent shelter. Maybe it was occupied by nothing more dangerous than a pack of wolves. Of course it might contain the agent of their death. There was no use speculating about it; soon enough they would know. "When in how much look? Find safe and sleep or try clear all?"
Trossach looked at Ochit as the group started walking towards the tower. "Don't know, Ochit. I think that will depend on what we find when we get there. I think for now the plan is no more complicated than walk and keep your eye out for the walking dead."
The group runs to the tower, the cold starting to seep in as the sun’s rays begin to leave. Fortunately, the wind is still and no ash flies into you, just tiny puffs raise as you set your feet down.
Your pace is quick as you begin to hear shuffling coming from the distance, from those that are the walking dead.
(I rolled a quick CON check, i rolled really badly but thanks to mods, half of you succeeded)
At this point, you make a quick dash to the tower, a lone structure about a story high, the walls are made of stone, there are some spikes jutting out of the ground and there are no windows. It’s approximately 20 by 20 square feet.
Rushing inside, you get there just as the sun sets (those without darkvision might have issues seeing). The moment everyone steps foot inside, memories that do not belong to you get thrust into your mind. It’s similar to speaking to a thri-kreen, their telepathic voice inside your voice. ((OOC: Any generic memory you want, relating to your class. This is also an opportunity to multiclass into anything you want, including spell casting.))
However the strongest memory is of an elvish woman, presumably a high elf as it’s different from the normal elves you see. You get the distinct feeling of fear from this woman but also a feeling of hope. You recall locking her inside of a room and then leaving, suits of armor saluting you as you pass. Then the memory fades.
Even though it felt much longer, the “memory” only took a few seconds. The doorway is still open, the structure seemed to be a soldiers barracks of some kind. Weapons were laid strewn across the floor in a haphazard manner. A layer of ash coats the floor. Upon closer inspection, the weapons appear to be made of metal. Rusted heavily but still made of metal. As you explore more of the room, there appears to be a staircase heading down, deeper into the sand.
The sound of zombies shuffling resounds from the outside. A quick survival check determines that they won’t be rushing in here but they should get there in a few minutes.
As the group neared the tower they heard the footsteps of the undead. No words needed to be spoken and the pace increased and soon they entered the tower. A flash of memory or dream or something passed through Ochit's mind. He was not exactly sure what it was be he seemed to have thought about the magic fire that flew from the fingers of their dark elf companion. He was not sure what that meant. Almost as suddenly as that thought resolved, another took its place. this one of a high elf female. She was saluted by suit of armor and as that thought faded, Ochit saw the rusted metal weapons on the floor.
"Mind talk to others? Saw picture of elf." (OOC, assuming at least one other says they saw it also) Ochit picked up a rusted weapon. "Like thoughts. Metal. Much metal. Soldiers use. Elf sad but maybe hope. Could be trap for make new soldiers from visits?"
Trossach looked around the old guard room, not surprised, but not pleased at what he found. The look was right, but the metal was a surprise. How could it be that nobody else had ever removed the metal from this place. He thought he knew the answer but turned to the elf and asked anyway. "your group, before you were attacked, did you see this place? It was visible to us from that location."
And the memories . . . clearly Ochit had experienced something similar as well. "Yeah, Ochit, I saw it also. A tomb? A prison?"
At that point the sound of the zombies intruded again unto his consciousness. "Lets hope this isn't our tomb." With that he stuck his head outside to see how many of the dead were headed this way. (Assuming he sees a lot.) He pulls his head back inside and says, "Ochit, like it or not, help me shut this door and bar it. Someone get light." (If there is an obvious way to bar the door he does so, if not he would try to improvise something.)
"Ok guys, assuming that holds, do we rest our weary bones here for awhile, or go down and see if there are any more active weary bones down those stairs?"
As they headed towards the structure, shambling footsteps were heard off in the distance. The zombies were back. As a group, they silently decided to move faster towards the structure. Many would be at a disadvantage in the evening light. Reynard struggled to keep pace in the increasing darkness, frequently stumbling over the ground. With the lack of vision, it was hard for him to continue at this pace.
They all made it to the structure. As they pushed their way in, Reynard was hit by 2 visions. The first one was a fairly dull one, on someone grinding some grain for bread. The other one was more interesting: it involved the locking of some woman into a room. As Reynard got out of the trance, the noticed that the others had a similar experience.
While the others discussed the dream, Reynard remained silent. He didn't like that something had managed to get into his head. However, the weapons on the ground intrigued him. It was rare to see any sort of iron weapons, even degraded as these ones were. He picked up one to investigate it. He knew that metal blades specifically were by far superior to other materials, save some stones like obsidian. Even then, metal was generally more durable than stone and wood. If any of these were still usable, it would be a fine addition to his arsenal.
Klik felt the wind abate as the door to the old tower was firmly closed; shielding the party from both environment and the shambling denizens of the night which stirred once the skies twin suns dipped beyond the horizon.
Almost immediately, Klik's mind was filled with the memories of metal clad soldiers saluting a figure through who'se eyes he experienced the vision, after locking a strangely regal elven lady beyond a sturdy door. The memories shifted suddenly and Klik found himself now in the body of a sickly old man, garbed in but simple robes with crimson ribbons wrapped around his palms as he cast curative spells and prayers of healing apon similar plate cast soldiers. This time his visage was reflected in their polished armor now caked with battle wear blood and dirt.
Looking around the room, Klik determined this was likely a barracks seemingly left in a hurry and never reclaimed.. weapons were strewn about the floor, and as Klik bent low to pick up a mace, or perhaps a morningstar in it's former life, the cleric shook his head and clicked his mandibles at the shame of seeing such a weapon fallen into such disrepair as rust seeped through the once tempered steel, the iron bands bent and chipped, it was an affront such rare and valuable materials were left to rot.
Turning to his companions who were also looking over the wares Klik spoke out with his mind.
This place seems ravaged by time, and it bears memories and visions not my own. I wouldurge caution..but as rest is needed i will dutifully stand watch."
Lifting the broken weapon before him horizontally he passed his smaller forearms over the weapon as he continued to speak.
"But God favours the bold, and we shant waste this hidden blessing.. let God's power turn back the hands of time and reveal what once was..."
As he finishes he chants in Kreen a prayer of Mending, and as his clawed fingers pass over the weapon, the rust flaked away bearing fresh polished metal underneath. Dents and chips reformed and in seconds the weapon was as good as new. With a prayer to Ilmater Klik came out of his reverie to what he expected was a number of shocked expressions.
Posted on 2016-11-19 at 17:13:21.
Edited on 2016-11-20 at 11:30:41 by Kaelyn
Gossamer robes swirled around the witch as she glided through the empty skies riding on currents of magic. It was hers to command and it flowed to her will. She was a keeper of the mysteries, and from her will came dreams. Reaching ever higher, she looked to the sun and blissfully let its warmth caress her dark skin. It was the time of truth and she wielded its light.
Elven eyes met elven eyes as the sisters gazed upon each other; one light, the other dark. Night and day. Sun and moon. A single tear walked down her cheek as the doors locked before her. It was done. She spared not a final glance and took to the skies again, leaving them all behind. Let the others bask in glory, she would forever stand apart...
Morrígu shook her head as the strange vision cleared. Flight. She had been flying. Even here, kneeling on stone, she could feel the open rush beneath. And the sun. She had faced the sun and it had not burned. Riddles and tricks, riddles and tricks.
Standing, the dark elven girl made her way to the metal rubble captivating the others. Such a strange thing to have been left behind for so long...
Her eyes widened as the great bug-man sent magic of his own into one of the blades, changing the darkened rust to shining steel. Strange, she hadn't felt an magical currents, but there was not but magic that could make such a change. Setting her eyes upon Klik she giggled.
"What fun! What fun! Do it again pretty please?" Morrígu paused for too long a moment to take in the giant insect. There was an all too knowing flash in her eyes before childhood innocence returned.
"What silly men left all their toys here? Why'd they lock up the shiny lady?"
The magic still reels within your head, knowledge that did not belong to you swirls within your mind. ((The level up is still there in other words)). Using the knowledge from the vision, you realize that this was once a great stronghold and it has sunk deep into the earth. Now you’re standing on what once was a tower overlooking the land but now it barely sticks out of the dusty sand.
Through Doc Klik’s divine magic, he was able to restore these weapons to their true form, their true power. The armory totals a 2 greataxes, 3 swords, 3 javelins and countless arrows, and even crossbows.
(It takes a minute to cast but it’s a cantrip and you can use it as often as you’d like Kaelynn)
The threat of the zombies remain but they shuffle outside aimlessly, moving in your general direction but not immediately a threat.
The question remains, do you want to make a stand here, or do you descend deeper into the dark?