Veniset Town Square: 7:25 pm
The rush of battle renewed washes over the village defenders. Those watching the southern barricade wait, hardly daring to breathe as the plodding undead recover their feet after falling at the trip lines and surge forth against the defences.
Kaberllee’s words seem to unleash Terrence who turns without word and bolts towards the ladder. Gritting his teeth against the biting wind the young man quickly makes the ramshackle bridges. Treading cautiously across the ice encrusted planks and onto the slick roof of the church is no easy feet and requires considerable care.
As Terrence heads for the rooftops, Father Talton raises his mace and bellows into the night:
FOR PELOR AND SAINT LUCIUS!
Rushing to the barricade he extends his hands towards a villager:
Help me up, damn it!
With the help of the militiaman pulling from above and another pushing from below Talton manages to haul himself onto the defensive works, puffing and red-faced as the line of attackers draws near.
Meanwhile Alma hastily casts a spell that greatly augments his speed. Putting the effect to use he turns and barrels headlong over the barricade, leaping past the first line of attackers, easily avoiding their grasping hands and nearly running into a wight that is taking cover beside a nearby building. Levelling his sword, Alma prepares for battle.
The first line of the lumbering undead arrive at the barricade, stumbling up the logs and reaching for the defenders. Their eyes are empty, their faces slack but for their gnashing teeth. Lornaal and one of the loggers are both bit by the hideous, blackened mouths of the attackers and one of the militiamen is dragged screaming right off the barricade to the ground. Two of the others, seeing Alma in their midst, turn on him, but the Cyonian is too quick, darting away from their clumsy assaults.
T’alen, clambering onto the barricade, keeps a sharp eye peeled for further signs of attackers as he winds the windlass of his crossbow and fits a bolt in place. The keen mind of the sorcerer senses a graver threat, but evidence of it has yet to appear.
A look of pleasant surprise crosses the withered face of the menacing wight as Alma rushes before it. In life the creature was a young woman, pleasantly shaped and filled with vigour. In death she has become a wretched and hate-filled abomination, with leathery flesh drawn tight across her bones. Reaching out with baleful claws she lashes at the dark-haired southerner, seeking to draw his life force as water from a tap.
Alma is too fast, however, and with a cocky smile he side-steps the attack.
Watching in disbelief as Alma leaps amidst their enemies, Lornaal steadies himself against the coming onslaught. The undead close quickly and their hungry assault is not in vain. As the vile creature before him sinks its teeth into his thigh, Lornaal swings his mighty axe, severing its grasping arm and staggering it back a shuttering step. The second slice of his axe relieves the creature of its head, sending it tumbling to the ground amongst the jumble of logs and lumber.
The druidess stands calmly in the village square, turning her eyes slowly about, searching for weaknesses or signs of further assault.
Laying perfectly still, buried in snow, Cora can barely hear the crunching of the wight’s footsteps over the pounding of her own heart. The undead is stalking about, plunging its cold hands into snow banks and searching amongst the piles of stone. Waiting for a moment when the creature is far enough away so as not to immediately discern the location of her voice, Cora offers a taunt:
Wait so you want me to surrender to you. So I can be turned into an undead being. I like being a halfling, wight and will fight to stay one for as long as I still draw breath.
Wild, frantic eyes scan the rock garden as the wight stamps its feet in growing frustration.
Cora slowly and carefully reaches into her pack, drawing out a pair of vials before she continues:
So unfortunately I’m going to have to decline your offer. Be a good lad and let you leader know I’ll be see her very soon.
Bursting from the snow Cora throws both vials at the wight. The first vial smashes across the creatures face, covering it in a sticky goo that quickly ignites with contact to the air. As the undead’s hands thrash at the flames the second vial smashes against its chest, the acid within eating quickly into its flesh, drawing a sickly black smoke from the injured area.
With the creature distracted, Cora slips behind another pile of stones, cloaking herself in the darkness.
20 – Terrence
19 – Talton
15 – Alma
14 – Undead
7 – T’alen
6 – Wights
4 – Lornaal
3 – Kaberllee
Undead attack of opportunity against Alma: 11, unsuccessful
Undead attack against guardsman: 6, unsuccessful
Undead attack against logger: 20, hit
Undead attack against Lornaal: 21, hit
Undead attack against militiaman: 22 (crit), hit
Undead attack against Alma: 15, miss
Undead attack against Alma: 13, miss
Wight attack against Alma: 16, miss
Wight spot against Cora: 10
Wight listen against Cora: 15