Meta Ruins of Myvolia

Lornaal - Fast to the Fray
Flesh and bone and sharp steel

Lornaal paused to cast a look towards the east where the tell tale orange glow of a burning building was drawing the attention of his companions. An old raiders ploy, he thought to himself, wondering how many times he had used a similar strategy to draw eyes from the true direction of attack.

It came as no surprise to him, then, when moments later a cry from the southern barricade heralded approaching enemy. Hurling the ragged corpse from his shoulder onto the fire, Lornaal scooped up his spear from the snow bank where it stood ready for him and charged across the village square. His powerful legs took him in long, loping strides to the base of the barricade and with a single bound he landed atop it amongst those who guarded the way. Snatching a torch from one of the men he held it forth into the night, his keen eyes searching for an enemy, his mighty arm ready to hurl his spear at the first wight that came close enough.

Intitiative: 1 (d20) + 3 = 4 (shit)
Attack: 3 (d20) + 10 = 13 (shit!)
Damage: 2 (d8) + 7 = 9
AC: 19 + 1 (barricade) = 20
Hit Points: 59

Cora - evades

Wait!! One moment please.

Cora say as if she is please for her life in fear, As she cowers into a crouched position.

Why are you doing this?

Cora whimpers. As she quickly scoops up some snow into her hands.

Sleight of Hand= 1d20+15


We are simple townfolk what possible reason would you have to attack us in the middle of the night?


AC: 26= 20AC + Using tumble which gives me a +6 to my dodge ac when I am fully defensive.
If I need to attempt actions i loose 3 ac as i am fighting defensively.

Now I am stalling I am trying to get Information out of him. However it is an undead and he does attack me I will Use my Improved diversion to feint him and your my move actions to hide. I am hoping to get him to tell me more though.

The Calm Between the Storm 2
Tooth and Nail

The Council Chambers 7:18pm

No sooner has Kaberllee finished speaking than members of the Company of the Manticore begin volunteering to sally forth and rescue the Widow Selma. First T’alen, then Terrence and finally Alma offer themselves for the sortie. Captain Gregor, his face full of relief, looks to the group with respect and gratitude.

Kaberllee listens to each of the members in turn before speaking in her calm and steady voice:

This task will be best accomplished with stealth as opposed to brawn or magic. While flying over the village I saw glimpses of figures darting through the streets beyond the barricades. The wights are cunning foes and there is nothing that they would like more than to divide our strength and crush us one at a time. If the young man believes that he can succeed without alerting the entirety of our enemy to his presence, then I would promote him as the best option.

There is a weight in Kaberllee’s voice and a rationality in her words that dares anyone to disagree with her. She is a woman obviously used to authority.

Just then, the door to the council chambers bursts open and a young militiaman, barely in his manhood, thrusts himself into the room.

There is a fire in the eastern part of town! The lads up on the barricades can see it burnin’!

Groaning, Gregor pulls his lambskin cap over his head and rushes out into the yard. Mayor Cultiss, who has stood still as a statue until this point doubles over as though he were struck, a weary look of fear crossing his face. Kaberllee calmly crosses her hands on the table and says:

As I said they will try to draw us out. They are soulless beasts.

Turning to Terrence she says:

If you are still resolved to do this, then you should go immediately. If you come across any of their number-even a solitary enemy-you must assume that others are nearby. I wish you luck, and the blessings of the old spirits.

The Village Square 7:25 pm

As the party steps back into the wind-swept village square they are greeted by the sight of a large, orange pyre waving like a banner in the ferocious wind. An oily black smoke is issuing from it, choking those on the western barricade where it is driving nearly straight at them. Lornaal trudges along with a half dozen tired looking Ulnoran body-bearers, hoisting corpses onto his shoulder and heaving them effortlessly on to the pile. It appears that their grim work is nearly done as the north and west barricades are clear of bodies and are once more carefully watched.

Captain Gregor shouts and waves at the members of the Company of the Manticore from the eastern barricade. While Matrim makes for a ladder to get to the bridges, the rest of the company move towards him. As promised an orange glow somewhere to the east of town can be seen, heralding a fire.

Gaining the top of the bridge Matrim carefully picks his way across a roof top until he finds himself next to a half frozen village guardsman with a bow. The man is crouched on the roof, wrapped tightly in furs and is pointing towards the suddenly visible flames. Through a thick black beard his deep, gravelly voice booms through the wind:

I believe its Aaron Markendam’s house. They are built close together and most of ‘em have thatched roofs! I suspect it’ll spread.

On the ground, the men on the barricade are either bellowing their rage to the night or stand stunned and silent. A voice from the southern barricade can only scarcely be heard:

Something is approaching from the South!

Without wasting any more time, Captain Gregor turns to Terrence:

Mrs. Selma’s house is straight down the north-west road. It is maybe 200 feet with almost no cover. If you use the bridges you can get to the main intersection and drop down onto the main cross road. Then it will only be around 100 feet or so. Good luck!

With that, he turns and runs towards the southern barricade.


You follow cautiously, moving from cover to cover as the wight turns north and skirts the edge of the village, angling through the drifts towards a stacked stone wall that extends beyond a weary-looking large house on the northernmost boundary of the village. The wall is nearly six feet tall and the wight easily clambers over it, dropping down the other side. Hustling to the loose stonework you cautiously climb to the top, peering over into the large space beyond.

A strange collection of partially worked large stones stand stacked in various ways. The tallest of the stones is perhaps fifteen feet and must weight several tons, while the smallest are of a height with you and are often perched one atop another. Around the base of the stones the snow has drifted into heaving piles like scree about the base of sheer mountains. The wight has disappeared into the stone garden, although its tracks are a ready indication as to which way it went.

Dropping into the snow on the other side of the wall, you hustle forward, following the trail. The stones and piles of snow form a makeshift maze, with powdery walls extending between granite pillars. Rounding one large stone you suddenly stop, the hairs on the back of your neck standing straight out. Whirling about you see the hungry face of the wight as it rounds the other side of the stone just twenty feet away. Too late you realize that the creature was aware of your pursuit and led you into a trap!

The creature’s voice issues from its blackened lips in a dry, rasping tone:

Well, little one, here we are all alone. I think I shall enjoy drinking your soul!

With that, the creature lunges forward.

Roll for initiative.

Cora (rolls I made):
Climb 14 (d20) + 4 = 18
Cora (from your last post):
Hide: 23
Move Silently: 27
Track: 18
Spot: 18

Climb: 14
Spot: 25
Listen: 13
Hide: 11
Initiative: 10


Jake, to clarify how the rolls went, the wight spotted you and led you into the stone garden. You were able to track it easily to the large stone where it hurried around the rock and waited for you to keep following its tracks intending to sneak up behind you. You spotted it, however, so the wight doesn’t get a surprise round and you will both get to act on the first round.

As for the map, the Widow Selma’s place is number 6. For some reason, OP does not like the version of Safari that I have on my computer and I can’t upload any pictures or maps. It is frustrating, but we will have to make due until I can sort it out. The burning house is about one street in on the eastern edge of town.

If you have any questions, or need clarification, please don’t hesitate to ask. I will post again on Thursday night, unless there is something for me to work with tomorrow, in which case I will happily put something up!

Alma - A Brief Respite

Alma smiles broadly at young Terrance’s bravery. He truly has found a stalwart group of companions for this part of his travels. Alma stands an tussles Terrance’s hair (he knows he hates it!).

Your bravery is beyond question young one, but though the widow may be frail she is no purse lad. Myself or the Barbarian are best suited for a task that must be accomplished alone so as not to greatly weaken our defences. I mean no offence Terrance but the time for stealth is past and both Lornaal and I are highly mobile and strong enough to carry the Widow and her supplies should that become necessary.

Alma throws Lornaal a wink and offers to rock paper scissors for the honor of the task but he is waiting for the others to weigh in.

Terrance-The calm....
Should I stay or should I go now

Terrence stares at Kabberllee in awe. Words cannot form quick enough to make any sense and the sounds of gibberish and stutters fall from his lips. He lowers his bow as she never seemed hostile. Relieved after her talk he follows her inside. He listens very attentively and when she brings up the old lady as wash of bravery hits him straight in the chest. T’alen volunteers but the second he finishes speaking Terrence stands from his chair and says..

No!! T’alen you must stay here where your skills will be better suited. I am the person who should go. I cannot cleave these foul creatures with a single swing or crush them like our barbarian friend. I dont have battlefield skills. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like them. I can sneak through their lines if need be. I will bring the widow Selma back. This I swear on my life.

Terrence stands proudly and confident in himself and his abilities. Looks to Matrim and Kabberllee for a response.

T 'Alen - To the widdows house
hmm druids, i wonder how they work...

Despite the impending doom at the hands of the undead horde T ‘Alen can’t help but stare at this wondrous being before him.

Tales and Legends have been written and passed down about beings capable of taking the form of creatures of nature, long have we thought these were mere myths in the south. To behold your change from one form to another strikes me with awe. I had thought such changes were possible only through Wizardry or Sorcery. Mayhaps i will have to return to the studies set to me by Liberious my mentor about the old religions when this time of turmoil and strife has ended.

T ’Alen looks around the room at his brethren

Who will join me in fetching the widow to our aid?

The Calm Between the Storm
Aid on white wings

Veniset Town Square: 7:13 pm

A ragged cry breaks from the throats of the village men and lumberjacks as the last of the shambling undead fall beneath the keen edges of Alma and Lornaal’s blades. The men hoist their weapons in the air and shout their victory into the screaming face of the blizzard.

Beyond the barricades, the last of the wights melt away into the snow-driven night.

Matrim, moving swiftly across the ice-caked makeshift bridges and over roof tops, searches the night for any sign of further assault. Even as the men below slap each other on the shoulder and cheer their victory a growing knot of unease settles in the leader of the company’s belly.

Below, other members of the Manticore share their commander’s concern. This was too easy.

T’alen and Alma exchange a look after the last of the enemy is driven to the ground. While Alma turns to attend to the pile of bodies on the western barricade, the young mage hurries to where Father Talton stands by the northern barricade.

Brother we need to speak. I have heard stories of members of faith being able to detect the energy that powers the walking dead, is this possible, and if so at what range can it be done? I fear this was merely a leading jab and that there is a larger force on the verge, just outside of our sight, waiting to roll over us in a wave of darkness when our guard has fallen from this victory. I for one do not want my soul doomed to an eternity of never touching the glory that is magic again. Please say you are able to detect them so we may prepare for their doom, or surge forth like one of Coras daggers into their heart, ending this threat once and for all.

Talton’s reply is cut short, however, by the powerful sound of large wings beating fiercely against the howling wind. All eyes in the square turn as a large white owl seems to coalesce out of the driving snow. The great bird does a half circle around the square before alighting near the bon fire. Even before it has fully touched the ground, the owl’s shape blurs and begins to run, the sharp ebony beak becoming a drawn mouth and thin nose while the dark eyes develop heavy lids and a knowing hazel stare. White feathers become curly red locks and the powerful wings transform into arms clutching a polished oaken staff. Within a heartbeat the white owl is replaced by a short brauman woman of dignified bearing wrapped in a white fur cloak and patterned shawl. Her age is difficult to guess, for though her skin is marred by only the lightest of blemish, her eyes and posture reveal a wisdom and confidence that usually accompanies age.

Stop this foolish crowing at once!

,she snaps at the gaped-mouth men of the village,

What you have faced so far were merely the gentlest of probings from what lies in the woods north of here. The full might of it will yet come down upon you this night. Return to your vigil!

The woman’s voice is sharp, her tone used to giving commands. Turning towards the council hall she stalks towards it with a quick stride.

I will meet with those in command here immediately.

While Lornaal and several of the villagers continue removing the corpses from the barricades, piling them on the pyre, a hasty meeting convenes in the cramped chambers.

Mayor Cultiss, his pale face rimmed with dark circles, stands by the fire warming his thin hands and listening intently to everything being said. By the door Captain Gregor stands with his hand upon the pommel of his sword, smiling-despite the woman’s warnings-at the victory that has yet been had. Matrim, T’alen, Alma, Terrence and Sebastian stand, looking at the stranger curiously, each of them grateful for the reprieve from the miserable weather. Father Talton and Father Teldon are the last two to crowd into the room.

The woman calmly brushes snow from her clothing before taking a seat by the table and fixing her steady gaze upon each of those gathered in turn.

I am Kaberllee, a member of the Order of the Sacred Oak, and I have come to assist you. A half dozen of my companions are making their way here from the south. They should arrive well within the hour. I would have your men on the barricades look out for them, and allow them to pass unmolested.

Her eyes resting on the two Lucidian priests she asks:

Where is Father Gordon? He should be at this council.

Father Teldon, his eyes full of fear and suspicion can not seem to find his voice. Rather it is Mayor Cultiss who answers:

Father Gordon died last winter. Father Teldon Sim is his replacement, sent to us from Bellweather.

Kaberllee considers this for a moment before saying,

That is a shame. Father Gordon was a good man, well disposed towards the older faiths of the north. He was ever an ally of those who would bolster this land against evil.

Turning her thoughts from that matter, she continues:

In the woods to the north, a large host of undead yet awaits to fall upon this village. Those leading this horde are wights who are being controlled by a powerful priest of death. By now you will have realized that not all of those that you face are wights. The priest is only able to control a limited number of those foul creatures, thank the spirits, so those that are raised beyond that limit are of a more mindless form of undeath, though in great numbers they can prove just as deadly.

You must return to the barricades and be wary. The enemy has tested your strength and will now begin to assault with force. Great effort must be taken to destroy the wights. They are cunning and clever, though they can prove rash. If at all possible, the priest at the centre of this force must be destroyed. If that is accomplished, the will holding this army together shall dissolve and they will prove much less disciplined.

Whither is the Widow Selma? I should like to speak with her.

An uncomfortable silence falls over the chamber as all eyes slowly settle on Gregor. The smile dissolving from his face, Gregor raises his hands and says:

Men were sent to bring her to the church, but she refused to open her door. She threatened to turn them into toads should they disturb her again!

So you left her in her house alone while an army of undead crashed down upon the town?

Kaberllee’s voice was even, though it dripped with scorn.

Someone must fetch her immediately. She may have items that could help us now. Make no mistake. You are not only fighting for your lives, gentlemen, but also for your very souls.

As her voice falls silent, Kaberllee once more fixes each of you with her gaze, seeming to see each of your fears and weaknesses and daring you to rise beyond them.


From the shadows you observe the ragged remains of some poor villager as it silently watches the barricades, its eyes burning with a malevolent un-life. The cheers from the village square carry on the howling wind, heralding their victory. A sickly smile spreads across the blackened lips and shrivelled visage of the watcher.

For several long minutes it stands motionless, staring at the barricades. No emotion but hate dares touch its rictus features and you can nearly feel the thirst of murder that boils beneath the surface. Finally-almost reluctantly-the wight turns, gliding north down the street. It moves with purpose, stalking past the empty buildings and shuttered doors, paying them no heed. Soon it will be out of your sight. You wonder for a moment if it might not be wise to turn yourself south and make for warmer lands with all haste.

Alma - Round 2

Alma, like most of his companions has concerns about the lack of wights in the forces they face…. A feint to test our defences perhaps. Alma stops worrying about shit he can’t control for a second and cleaves a couple zombies.

Attack: Roll(1d20)10:
10 Total:26

Damage: Roll(2d6)7:
7 Total:14

if that gets a cleave opportunity.

Attack: Roll(1d20)10:
10 Total:23

Damage: Roll(2d6)7:
7 Total:17

Alma Continues to look for any wights to engage in the crowd, Unless Lornaal already has them engaged, Alma’s no glory stealer.

T 'Alen - Aftermath - Things just don't add up

T ‘Alen backs away from the impromptu pyre looking around taking in the carnage, the smell of charred rotting flesh, the screams of the fallen, the roar of anger from the denizens who’s lives had been upended. The unchained rage of the northman finishing off the remaining shambling dead.

I thought there was supposed to be a horde of wights, this was not a horde. Dangerous yes, potential to create a much larger threat to the north, but not a horde.

What are we missing. would they have split their force to keep us occupied here while they went on to the next settlement to spread their vileness? or was this just a feint, with the main force coming at us when our guard is down.

T ’Alen races off to Brother Talton

Brother we need to speak. I have heard stories of members of faith being able to detect the energy that powers the walking dead, is this possible, and if so at what range can it be done? I fear this was merely a leading jab and that there is a larger force on the verge, just outside of our sight, waiting to roll over us in a wave of darkness when our guard has fallen from this victory. I for one do not want my soul doomed to an eternity of never touching the glory that is magic again. Please say you are able to detect them so we may prepare for their doom, or surge forth like one of Coras daggers into their heart, ending this threat once and for all.

Lornaal - Mop up

Lornaal wrenches the ichor-spattered head of his axe from the hewn remains of the undead. Snarling, he pushes aside the militiamen and town guard between him and the next shambling undead, delivering a powerful overhand attack, seeking to smash the creature into the ground.

Once the last of the undead have been dispatched, the northman recovers his spear and, moving between the corpses of the fallen, ensures that none return, stabbing into them with a cold, unemotional efficiency. Once assured that the immediate danger is over, Lornaal will begin clearing the bodies away from the barricades, throwing them into the fire.

Attack: 18 (d20) + 12 = 30
Damage: 5 (d12) + 7 = 12

AC: 19
HP: 59


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