Season: Late Fall/Early Winter
Time Of Day: Night, middle of
Weather: Cool and damp, with a clear, open sky
General Ambiance: AAAAAAAHH! Huh?
Location: Front lines, defending the Orc Cave
Specific Resolutions:Cyneburg: Crunch crunch, skelly is down without an afterthought. Though now, you may need a breathmint.
Thomas: Sorry there, guy. Thomas just can't seem to hold in a sneeze, just as he began
really opening himself up to the celestial energies from which he draws power. It's like a completely unintentional version of this:
The result is not fully apparent, at least not a first. Raw energy crackles and smoulders about his hair and extremities, and three of his fingernails are now aflame. Also, you're not 100% certain if this is related, but the second after the spell misfires, a sound comprised of splintering trees and grating stone can be heard off in the distance, accompanied by a light rumbling of the ground beneath everyone's feet. Ooh, mystery!
We will have to get back to that mystery in a bit, however, as the skeleton still in melee range with Thomas seems a little offended that you would turn away from it, seeing as it came all this way at it own expense just for you. It raises a wide, chopping blade, possibly a farming implement in origin, and swings dutifully at your side. The sudden irregular spurting of arcane energies around you as your spell fizzles causes it to miss its mark, at least somewhat. It opens a ragged cut along your right arm, denied the chunk of flesh it was going after. Light damage. Skelly still in range.
Satilla: Though shrieking and waving about in a manner most distressed, Satilla somehow taps into her inner Warrior Princess. Be it luck or adrenaline, gift of her Healer's Arts involuntarily trying to interact with undead essences, she manages to plant the business end of her staff squarely into the sternum of the skeleton that tried to attack her rear flank, knocking it back into a conveniently placed boulder. The bones scatter, and Satilla gets a warm and fuzzy feeling of accomplishment. (She even has time to take a bow)
Keystone: Bracers activate, sending a feeling of lightness and energy down Keystone's arms and into his torso. The big guy seemed to have forgotten his own strength as a successful unarmed strike obliterates the skeleton that put a blade into his arm. Though making a dash to Skellycow, the remaining actions for the round don't quite work out as the threat is handled (see below).
Ntaj: The skelly that attacked Calanon was the one currently attached to Ntaj's choppa. Shield bashing the poor bastich has been particularly effective in discorporating the thing. A good shake will remove it from the blade from here. The downside: It makes him off-balance, so his swing against the one flanking him is massively, wildly off. The upside: Okay, I lied. No discernible upside. Lay on, Macduff.
Sana: The attempt by Sana to ready a weapon and attack with it come with marginal success. She managed to forcibly misplace two daggers before coming up with one that she is capable of holding onto for more than a hot second. A masterfully placed attack has her inserting the blade between two vertebrae, chiseling them apart. Combined with the damage earlier, Bessie drops, sending Sane hurtling forward, Chariots of Fire slow-motion style toward the approaching, battle-sprinting Keystone. One near-miss later (damnit that would have been funny), Sana hits the ground rolling and uses the momentum to regain her footing, otherwise unharmed.
Calanon: Token Elf finds himself without much to do in his little corner of the skirmish. Satilla surprised the hell out of everyone (including herself) with a Little John worthy example of staffery, eliminating the immediate threat to herself. Unfortunately, weaving about to avoid the swings of the healer's sudden fusion with Gilgamesh Unchained, accidentally slips on a stray bit of unused firewood and falls prone into an recently downed Orc skeleton. The skull seems to fit perfectly around Calanon's face, preventing him from seeing what is to come. Getting the skull off of his face will eat up his actions in the coming round.
Kyra: So, um... yeah. Kyra and Ash are standing about, enjoying the night air, you know, simple things in life, and whatnot. No baddies in range to do anything to and/or with.
Lerriana - In a lovely crook in a tree, waiting for her moment to do ...stuff.
Crunch crunch crunch. Thusly go the masses of bony antagonists bent upon attacking the force assembled in front of the Orc Warcamp. The greenskin forces to the right and left of you begin advancing toward the source of the threat, some giving strange looks in the direction of their guests (and the one skeleton left near their fire). They step over and atop the bones of their fallen adversaries, some even laughing in anticipation of joining battle with an enemy that would send such relatively ineffective footsoldiers to assault an entire tribe of Orcs prepared for war. They seem to be letting the group at the fire mop up their own remaining opponent.
In an interesting twist, a couple of those Orcs take note of the three Humans out in front of the rest. Maybe it's just because they're along the way, but one grunts out something (they hope is) encouraging to the two women, while another gives a playful shove to Keystone's shoulder.
From inside the cave, Brezcar emerges. He looks dead set on joining the charge into the deeper woods to find and eviscerate whatever is responsible for the attack, and is quite annoyed at not being part of the skelly smash moments ago. He sprints to the front of the pack, intent on engaging the enemy as soon as possible. Perhaps they were emboldened by the relative ease with which the battle was won. Perhaps that is what made the next few moments tragic.
The echoing, impossible to pinpoint laughter returns, this time accompanied by deep, resonating consonants in a harsh, crashing language that seems to drip with palpable, authoritative power. The same two words can be picked out from among the syllables invoked:
"
Palkas Asht, Palkas Asht."
A shrill scream sounds from within the deeper wood, a little closer than objectively comfortable. A few seconds after the scream, a lone skeleton can be seen running, and I mean
running into sight. It bears no weapons, it advances without purpose except for covering ground in a straight line. It doesn't ready an attack, nor deviate in any way as it approaches a cluster of Orc warriors. The warriors brace for an attack, confident that a single skeleton against combat veterans will be pathetically scrubbed from the face of the earth.
And then it explodes.
Not the massive, incendiary type that leaves scorch marks and a need to Stop, Drop, and Roll, either. This is a sickening cracking sound, a force of concussion radiating outward from the center of the undead creature's very marrow, instantaneously shattering the once-living bone and driving the shards into anything and everything inside of its radius.
The Orcs in the cluster first hit by this suicide-style attack are knocked off of their feet. Two aren't moving at all, the remaining two are rolling on the ground, clutching themselves anywhere not covered by thick armor and trying desperately to pull pieces of foreign bone from their flesh.
This is by no means finished. The chant from the unknown voice resumes, laughing sporadically in between repeated uses of its dark speech. Repeated screams are heard, so many of them, the birth cries of temporary abominations set on the sole purpose of tearing the living apart through their own destruction.
More skeletons approach. Unlike the thirty from before, this additional number moves quickly, and without discernible tactic. As best you can tell, about ten are making a beeline for the Mostly Human party, still toward the rear of the group of widespread Orcs. (That'd be you guys)
