Zion: Light of the New Moon, Ch 2.3 Myrh
Zion - Light of the New Moon Chapter 2.3
Myrh Thanks For the Memories
The caravan guards will push the undead back while the party assaults the tower. Their ultimate target: Marcus Maritimus.
As the majority of the caravan guards gathered up in a defensive position around the wagons a number of us broke off and headed for the tower. Despite how much I would have preferred hunkering down in the middle of the fortifications I knew that would be impossible-- if I'd wanted to give up I would never have come... it was too important an issue to let fear dissuade me... besides, I was with a group commanded by the famed Yearl Rakken... I was probably safer staying with the group heading to the tower.
The first undead to show on the streets looked like little more than faint wisps of glowing light scarcely resembling humanoids. "Flickers." Priestess Fanewatcher announced, "Keep going... they aren't dangerous." She walked straight through one, causing it to wink out of existence immediately upon touching her.
Brother Farstrider was kind enough to elaborate, "Flickers are psychic imprints left on the world during times of great emotional stress... although they qualify as undead they aren't aware of the world around them... they just repeat their final moments again and again." When he walked through one, strangely, it was undisturbed by his presence and continued about its actions, completely oblivious to us, "Sometimes they repeat the last few seconds of life... sometimes minutes... or even an hour or more."
As we drew closer to the tower we saw the Flickers becoming increasingly common. Some were more vivid than others... some brighter. Most of the eerie manifestations looked like townspeople and, on more than one occasion I caught sight of what looked like the Flicker of an entire building; the ethereal glow of a still-standing shop of some sort super-imposed over the rubble that now remained several decades later.
"THOSE aren't Flickers." Jerard announced, his body rippling as it began to sprout fur. His finger-turned-claw pointed straight at a collection of undead Banniharian soldiers... walking corpses, still very physical with very real weapons. "They're coming our way." he added, his voice taken over by the deep, gruff rumble of his Moon Blessed wolfen form.
Yearl quickly stepped to the front of the group next to Artemisia, drawing his weapon, "Gather in a--"
The dragoness grabbed hold of his cape and yanked him back, "Stay off the front line, old man... you'll do a better job leading when you don't have a rusted sword in your belly."
Captain Rakken scowled, but didn't object. He began shouting out orders as only a skilled commander could, quickly gathering up the party into a tight formation and managing to get immediate responses out of even those of us who had no formal military training. Rightly guessing that I was a non-combatant (and thankfully overlooking me because of it), the only thing he bothered expressing to me was "Stay right behind me and don't get killed." Putting me out of the way of his gaze was a positive in my book, and not getting killed was right up there with it. I didn't bother nodding because his attention was already elsewhere.
Artemisia and Kell were our first line of defense as we pushed the tower. Under Captain Rakken's skilled command, practically plowed past each and every wave of undead that tried to slow us. A combination of magical vollies from Beo and Jerard allowed us to keep pressing the line back toward the glowing keep. Anya, at Captain Rakken's demand, continued to watch behind us. Though I was on the opposite side of her from the undead I was still able to feel the waves of energy she expelled at any of the attackers that thought it wise to engage us from behind.
The wall of midnight-black power issued by Priestes Fanewatcher crackled and pulsed, flowing through the undead as if they weren't there. After it had passed the now unmoving bodies crumpled to the ground, drained of everything that had once animated them. I knew that it was the Goddess' energy channeled through the priestess, but it didn't do a thing to help the uneasy feeling I got deep in my stomach every time she loosed a new blast.
"There!" Captain Rakken pointed, "Jerard... go!" and, at his direction, Jerard held both paws out at arm's length, icicles drooping off of his claws as an arctic blast of glowing blue energy crackled straight at the metal door of the tower's base. "Beo... go!" the Captain ordered and at the sound of command, the black husky barked out one final arcane word. Flames licked down either paw and, just as Jerard stopped his ice magic, Beo's fiery blast connected with the frozen door... which exploded off its hinges.
Captain Rakken had Anya and Kell at the ready for any resistance they would meet, but the entirety of the force gathered behind the door was in a crumpled heap, overcome by the blast and riddled with shrapnel, "Move quickly." the lion directed, "They're undead, so they won't be down for long."
"Yes they will." the priestess corrected, heading for the stairs with the rest of the group. Holding a paw out to the dozen-or-so prone corpses, the priestess inhaled deeply, and dark clouds of fel essence were drawn into her open palm. As the energy gathered in a ball, the jackal whispered, "In the name of Tah'aveen, you are purged." She closed her paw, and the energy disippated.
"So you're saying we should just beat them all down and let you finish them off?" Jerard questioned.
"Not all of you, no." the priestess noted. "Weaker undead can be affected by anything that affects a mortal. Stronger undead, especially the incorporal ones only acknowledge physical interactions with living beings, or else, by objects of incredible emotionlal significance." she glanced at the white wolf, "Your claws will do nicely, but without magical weapons everyone else is worthless."
"What a pleasant thought." Artemisia announced, "I'll remember that."
As a group we went up the curved staircase. The tower had several levels and I knew we'd have a climb ahead of us. Captain Rakken readjusted our marching order, sending Artemisia and Kell up first, followed by Priest Farstrider and Jerard. The lion and Beo followed (I think the husky was pleased to be right behind Jerard, though probably for many reasons). Anya and I went up the stairs side by side. If her presence wasn't enough to make me uneasy, her words certainly were.
The jackal looked to me as we started up the steps, "Do not worry, my dear... Tah'aveen shines upon us this night." I'd spent hours hearing priests and priestesses talk, but every time a mundane comment came out of Anya Fanewatcher's muzzle it gained a new sense of foreboding to it. Needless to say, I didn't bother responding.
The top floor of the tower was a maelstrom of activity. All around the stairs an enormous melee was already underway. Here and there I saw corpses wearing Banniharian heraldic fighting off groups of undead adorned in Myrhenese tabards. Although I'll admit to having very little knowledge when it comes to the undead, what we encountered there was nothing like what I expected. When Brother Farstrider drew our attentions to the strange, super-imposed glowing presence of the Flickers inhabiting the same place as the mobile bodies, his next comment made a little more sense.
"The Flickers!" the wolf announced, "The bodies are being driven to the same goals they had when they were alive!"
No sooner had he bothered shouting than a group of Banniharian corpses turned to regard us. Though the bodies' mouths moved, the only sound that came out was a rasp... but the faintly, otherworldly tone used by the Flickers more than made up for it, "Reinforcements! Kill them!" and, before anyone had a chance to understand the significance of the shout, the undead were upon us.
Priestess Fanewatcher was the first to act, "Flickers or no, Corpses all respond the same in the light of the Goddess." She raised her scythe toward the ceiling, and brought its butt straight down to strike the stone underfoot. With a loud thundering tone, all the combat in the room faded to nothing. Empty eye sockets and decomposing faces turned immediately to gaze at the jackal, who proclaimed, "I am Anya Fanewatcher, Priestess of Tah'aveen... and your existence is an affront to her. Now... begone!" as she shouted her dismissal a powerful ring of silverly energy emerged from her, a bright nova of power that incinerated the bodies of the undead that stood before us.
I watched, practically in slow motion as each body was knocked off its feet and, as it fell backward, disintegrated into a fine dust, disappearing before it had even hit the ground. The bare, empty forms of the ethereal Flickers remained in the space abandoned by the bodies for a second... maybe two... then glanced upward toward the ceiling, and faded from existence.
"That's a start..." Beo acknowledged, "But that's only about half of em." he motioned to several ghouls that were stalking toward us. Flickers displaced from the bodies, the undead no longer seemed to differentiate between tabards... they only saw living and it was obvious that they didn't like it.
Brother Farstrider was already well into his prayer. Brandishing his Divine Shield, the wolf announced, "In the light of the Goddess you are as nothing. Become what she knows you to be!" Brother Farstrider's declaration caused the two closest ghouls to freeze in place. Raising their undead voices in a raspy cry, they simultaneously immolated in a pure white flame. Though the prayer was far lesser than that of Priestess Fanewatcher, I somehow found it much more comforting... much more divine.
"Leave the destroying to me, Ryan." the jackal noted casually, "Focus on the living and I will handle the dead."
"As you wish." Priest Farstrider acknowledged, and turned to face the remaining ghouls.
"Mr Kyr... stand your ground." Captain Rakken's voice called my attention to the black husky, who was probably the only person more ill-at-ease with the undead than I was. The reason for the lion's command was evident in the way Beo's tail was curled between his legs and his constant glances to the stairs, "Tah'aveen will grant us victory, Beo..." Captain Rakken added, "She will not let us fail in this so long as we remain resolute."
I heard the divine decree in his voice... a sense of purpose and drive. It was a talent he had developed in Doen, I had come to understand. In the number of years he'd spent serving Myrh there were still numerous talents that he maintained from his old home... apparently divine inspiration when rallying his troops was one of them... it certainly worked on Beo.
"I'm not goin' anywhere." the husky confirmed, and his tail uncurled as he focused back on the fight. Drawing his paw back, Beo intoned deeply three simple syllables and a rock that seemed impossibly large appeared out of nowhere. Without any effort whatsoever, Beo lobbed the boulder right at one of the ghouls as if he were a catapault all to himself.
The stone collided with the undead soldier and, once the damage was done, immediately disappeared. Beo turned his paw into a fist, and brought it straight down. With a *whomp* of displaced air, the boulder reappeared above the ghoul and summarialy fell to the floor, then winked out. Beo clenched his fist again and the brought his fist upward in an uppercut; the bounder manifested beneath the still-squirming ghoul and rose up to smash it between the rock and the ceiling. The husky opened his paw, and the stone disappeared, sending little bits of ground meat raining onto the floor.
"Messy... dirty... and dangerous inside an enclosed space." Jerard challenged of the husky. Casually motioning to another ghoul, the werewolf spoke a short but vibrant arcane incantation. A thin, black beam extended from the claw on his index finger and struck a ghoul right in the chest. The body went rigid immediately and collapsed to the ground; whatever animating force had been keeping it going was no longer present.
"Wow..." Beo smirked, "You can do a lot with just one finger." I couldn't help but feel that there was a double entendre there. No reply was forthcoming from Jerard as a wave of ghouls descended on us... and that's when things started going badly.
"Artemisia!" Yearl shouted, "Where are you going?!?"
The dragoness, who had been in position moments before, had taken the opportunity to break through the undead lines and was racing full-out toward the open portcullis separating the room from the steps that led to the top of the tower. "To end this!" Artemisia replied.
"We need you here!" Yearl announced after her.
"I'm better served elsewhere." she answered quietly, and stepped through the portcullis. Turning to glance back at us, the dragoness took the bladed tip of her polearm and sliced through the metal chain holding it up. With a resounding metallic crunch, all paths after her were cut off, "This will be resolved tonight." she said in a voice that was not entirely her own. Eyes trailing elderitch wisps of ethereal flame, the dragoness turned her back to us and disappeared up the steps.
Though I could tell Yearl Rakken wanted to curse, he quickly regained his composure, "Kell... Jerard... front line." he motioned to Ryan and Beo, "Second line." he shot a glance at Anya, "Priestess, you're with me." and he moved with his back to the wall. The Captain obviously meant to make a stand, but I didn't know what good it would do since we were surrounded by undead. That became much more apparent when the Priestess spoke.
"Captain... though I planned on dealing the final blow myself, what the dragoness said is true--" she placed a paw on the lion's shoulder, "if she can defeat the spirit of Marcus Maritimius then the unifying power behind this undead presence will end."
"Then we'll hold them off." Captain Rakken announced, and quickly began spouting off a new set of orders. I didn't stay around too long to listen to them. My cloak was a special one, given to me by an admirer in years long past. Folding it around myself I quickly made my way through the room, completely unnoticed by the undead. I heard the sounds of fighting behind me, accentuated occasionally by the rumbling blast of magic. There wasn't anything I could do there, but I knew I might find a way to be helpful on the roof. The portcullis was far too heavy to lift but, glancing to one of the arrow slits, I realized that there might be a way.
Cloak still wrapped tightly around me I checked the width of the thin window-- I was JUST able to get my head through. Twisting my body first one way then the other, I thanked the Goddess several times that I decided to spend my spare time keeping in shape... and that included a very dramatic degree of limberness. My lungs burned for air as I squirmed my way through the 2' thick wall of stone but, as I started to pull myself free on the other side I was faced with another problem: very few pawholds and a very VERY long fall. Not as athletic as I once was, I prayed that Tah'aveen would see to my safety and I began free climbing.
In an almost humorous mockery of some kind of old romantic tale of a hero climbing to rescue his beloved princess I had surprisingly little trouble. Thank the Goddess that the same ephemeral energy holding the stones aloft somehow happened to be intangible to my fingers thus every stone that made up the tower became a perfect climbing resource. I scurried up and over the crenelated walls and onto the top with ease. What I saw next almost stopped my heart.
Artemisia stood atop the tower facing the translucent figure of the Banniharian Champion. She held her pole arm in her talons, sunk low in an expectant battle stance. Her eyes were alight with the same spirit-fire that gave the polar bear his substance, and each shared a look of determination on their muzzle. The bear was the first to speak, his voice trailing an otherworldly, hollow tone.
"Artemisia Half-Dragon... the Demon of Ashlai... how long has it been?" there was a mocking tone to his words.
"Not long enough." Artemisia replied, sinking lower in her stance.
"The decades have been kind to you... you've barely changed." the bear grinned.
"You look like you've lost weight." the dragoness responded casually.
"Wisdom comes in death, Demon..." the bear announced, apparently no longer interested in playful banter, "I see where I went wrong last time... but I won't make that mistake now."
"If that's the case then yes, I will accept your surrender." Artemisia announced, still standing at the ready.
"Time is on MY side now." the bear announced, "Your troops are below us, losing out to mine. I can stand here all night if you wish... you can hear them die before my war hammer uses your skull as an anvil to make the last sound you ever hear."
"Then I suppose I had better--" the dragoness didn't bother finishing her comment as she charged forward, bladed pole arm leading the way. Her weapon aimed true, but the polar bear's translucent war hammer met it with surprisingly real mass and knocked the attack away. With a quick follow-through, Marcus arced the war hammer back around on a back-swing and caught Artemisia on the shoulder. I winced when I heard the sound of a bone popping out of joint. Artemisia didn't cry out... instead she just growled and, with a singular shrug, popped it back in.
"You've learned to like pain, haven't you?" the bear asked her, "You feed off of it... just like you feed off of the life force of your foes. It gives you strength, doesn't it?" The fury of her thrust was too quick for him to block, and Artemisia grinned in satisfaction as her blade dug straight through the spirit, but her expression quickly changed when she realized there was no substance to it. Marcus walked sideways and the weapon passed harmlessly through him. He stuck the Bannihar banner in between a set of stones and grabbed her polearm, locking it in his free paw as he brought his warhammer straight down on her head.
Artemisia quickly raised the butt of her pole arm, sending the war hammer cascading down off to the side, narrowly missing her. Growling, she lashed out at his midsection with a taloned foot. A section of the bear's armor was torn off, coming away with her claws, "You might be insubstantial to metal and wood..." she grinned violently, "But apparently tooth and claw will still do the trick."
What Marcus said next made no sense at all to me, "So you're going to cut me down now? Is that it, Bitch? Ha!" but it seemed to have a strange effect on Artimisia. She let go of her pole arm as both of her talons went to her head. The fiery glow of her eyes were visible even through her talons. She stumbled back, then bent forward as an ephemeral glow surrounded her. As the spiritual essence began to take shape, I realized that something had changed... something very dramatic.
Artemisia stood straight again, completely enveloped in the spirit matter. Her entire being gave off an almost otherworldly impression as her physical body was taken over by intangible essence. No longer appearing as the dragoness that had been traveling with the caravan, she instead looked like a killing machine, adorned in armor that came right out of the Demon of Ashlai stories... only fitting, I suppose, since she was there, right in front of me.
"That body of yours can't be holding together by more than spit and prayers..." the bear continued speaking. Wounds began appearing all over Artemisia as he spoke. I saw new ones manifest every time a flash of spirit flame emerged from her now-empty eye sockets... was this the effect of the memories I'd heard Yearl speak of? The bear continued his part, his words wrapping Artemisia more and more into the role of who she had been when their encounter took place, decades before.
"No..." Artemisia's voice was hollow as it spoke, the faintly visible physical features almost completely hidden behind the spirit, "this isn't real... this isn't now..."
"I wanted to kill you slowly, to savor it, but I'm going to grant you an honor few on the battlefield are accepted." the voice of Artemisia's spirit self was louder, drowning out that of her physical body, "I'm going to let you choose how you die." the spirit lifted the long pole arm and held it at Marcus' neck. I'm not sure how, but the bear had somehow fallen... only then did I realize just what it was: he had forced her into replaying a memory. It was one they had both shared, apparently.
"You know what happens next..." the bear's present voice whispered through the chilled night air, "You draw life off of me... you take my life force so you can defeat me... the only way you could have... well... you're going to do it again, Demon of Ashlai... only this time, you'll be filled with the full animating power of the undead." his laugh was even more fear-inducing than Priestess Fanewatcher's.
The two bodies came together in a flurry of blows exchanged so quickly I couldn't see what happened, except that Marcus was now standing and the bloody, ephemeral form of Artemisia, Demon of Ashlai lay on the ground, "I won't let it happen..." Artemisia's faint, solid voice whispered from the prone form.
"It's already happened." Marcus stated. He picked up his ephemeral war hammmer where it lay next to the unmoving body, and turned around, "and now, I will win. I will be victorious." he laughed, gazing up at the moon.
That's when I saw my chance. Leaping out of the shadows I ran to the fallen form of Artemisia. I had to search for her through the ephemeral energy which, to my surprise, began to convulse and quiver as tendrils of black power seeped from the polar bear and into it... through it, and into the fallen dragoness beneath the facade. Closing my eyes, I realized what I needed to do.
I ran a finger across the blade of the pole arm next to me and quickly pressed it against her. As if reacting out of nothing but reflex, Artemisia's body quickly latched onto the life essence given over to it and the cold chill of numbness shot up my arm. I remember wondering if that is what it felt like to become undead but, before the last of my life could be snuffed out, the dragoness disengaged the link and I collapsed. My sight had failed me, and I felt numb all over, but I could still hear.
"Maybe it was YOU who should have listened to the stories, you vain bitch... oh... and I'm taking my family dagger back." Marcus continued ranting, right until the rustle of movement as Artemisia stood.
"You want your dagger back?" she growled. I heard three steps in the space between her issued words and the sound of metal sliding against metal, followed by the polar bear's surprised half-breath. Artemisia whispered the last words, "Here... take it." All around me I felt the vibration within the tower, but I stopped caring once the numbness in my body was complete, and, amidst the weightless sensation of falling, unconsciousness finally overtook me.
* * * * * *
The Myrhenese Group has completed Chapter 2 amidst much bloodshed and trauma. Obviously, activities continued well beyond the consciousness of the narrator.
The end results of the Story Arc show some injuries and fatigue among the party, especially Artemisia, who single-handedly (talon-edly?) defeated the source of the haunting.
Priest Farstrider will be spending his entire time focusing on the nearly-dead narrator. Though he saves her, he suffers from 1 Major Fatigue.
The injuries sustained by the group are as follows: Artemisia sustained 2 Lethal injuries, but healed one by draining the life from the narrator. She is at 1 Lethal Injury without any way to heal at this time. Artemisia will be suffering from extensive negatives until it is cured. (It took 3 willpower to remove her first Lethal Injury and she lacks enough to have the 2nd removed at this time).
During the unnarrated fight in the top room of the tower, Kell and Jerard both suffered a Lethal injury without any way to heal at this time. They will be suffering from extensive negatives until cured. Kell also suffers from 4 Major Wounds, 1 of which is cured with the expenditure of 1 Willpower. Jerard is suffering from 6 Major wounds, 1 of which is cured with the expenditure of 1 Willpower.
Ryan, Yeand Yearl are suffering from 3 Major wounds and, with the expenditure of 1 willpower, that is reduced to 2 each.
Anya, who was also suffering from 3 Major Wounds uses prayers to Tah'aveen to heal herself of all of them, costing her only 1 Willpower.
Finally, Beo Kyr was the least injured of the group, having suffered only 2 major wounds. He heals 1 with the expenditure of a Willpower.
As far as fatigue goes, the group is quite exhausted:
All minor fatigue is removed from the party. The following are the remaining counts of Major Fatigue on the party members, and any Willpower used thus far to remove their first:
Artemisia: 2 fatigue (1 willpower used already) Kell: 0 Fatigue (no willpower needed) Ryan: 0 Fatigue (1 willpower used) Beo: 1 Fatigue (1 willpower used already) Yearl: 0 Fatigue (no willpower needed) Anya: 0 Fatigue (1 willpower used) Jerard: 0 Fatigue (1 willpower used, and he used an extra for a total of -2 fatigue)
Any character with Major Fagiue remaining may spend as much willpower as they like to remove them on a 1 for 1 basis, except Artemisia, who only has 1 Willpower left.
Also, Contributing readers will need to vote: Spend 1 Luck to save the Unnamed Narrator (and find out who she is), or let her die and call it good?
Please watch for upcoming contribution opportunities as Chapter 3 will soon begin. Congratulations to the Myrhenese party for surviving Chapter 2!