Spoopy Scary

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

<Snipped quote by idlehands>

Kiralla is going to make a run for it. In the same vein of "I am n-not adding burning down a t-tavern to the list of bullshit this week!!"

@DearTrickster

Finch will be right there with her! That ain't no place for people like us.

Knights of Melarus

Working 4-midnights, posting will be tough, but I'm still around. I'm pretty much waiting for Maxx to progress the plot.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Oops.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

Woops, okay, things make more sense now. Thanks.

Finch probably looks like he's about to fall over then. He hasn't been wanting to sleep around the others - maybe got a couple hours by accident.

Knights of Melarus

---

Meanwhile, Kane had his own dilemma on hands. He was running through the alleys, trying to find one of his men – the young John March – and cutting his way through wights all the while, and along the way, attempting to evacuate citizens as he searched. The further he put himself into Maceron, the thicker the hordes of wights seemed to be. Between every wight he destroyed and every house he checked, only for the wight to reassemble and the house he searched to be void of survivors and holding only more of the undead, the army he had following him seemed to swell. The people he did evacuate, Kane wasn’t sure if they were able to make it out. The distance between here and there was far, leaving plenty of opportunity for a wight to catch them out.

Damn Daraden, and damn Lutis! Damn their souls, damn them to Death!

And damn Sir Headmaster Fallon! His pride had costed the lives of so many innocents! His pride! The very thought made him entertain the idea of kicking around the lifeless body of that evil man. Not now though, not now! Now he just had to focus on his mission. Save as many as he could. Save John. After so many years as raising him from a mere page, John almost felt like a son. Too old to be Kane’s son, of course, but... who else has Kane had to teach? From the academics, to the code, and life’s own lessons... Kane had to find John.

This kind of search continued along for several minutes longer. Exhaustion was creeping in, sweat running down the sides of Kane’s face, his calves screaming for a rest – the armor he wore felt like a thousand pounds on his back. Doubts were beginning to form in Kane’s head, that he’d ever find him - suddenly, a massive explosion knocked him off of his feet as it shook the ground and the side of his chin scraped against the ground. What the blazes could have caused that! It sounded like twenty cannons going off!

Kane rubbed his chin and looked at his hand - blood was smeared on the leather grips of his gauntlet. He shook it off and looked to see what he hit to cause such damage to himself - a metallic object. He looked more carefully, finding broken links and chains scattered about. Kane’s crew didn’t set this up. This must’ve been John’s work! Looking up, Kane found it was situated in front of a house with its door open, and he could hear a struggle coming from the inside. Kane, with newfound strength and vigor, hurried inside. There he saw a young family, and a young man in armor wrestling with a wight.

“John!” Kane yelled.

“C-captain!” He called back between heavy breaths, and quickly being overwhelmed by the wight’s strength. Kane thrusted his spontoon into the back of the wight’s hissing skull and through the front. With a twist, it snapped clean from the neck it was attached to before, and he slung it out the door.

“Oh, Captain...” John wheezed as he sat on the floor. “Thank Ma’el you came in time! I’m sorry! This sir and lady, they’ve a baby...”

“Say no more, I understand.” Kane assured. “You’ve done so well! I’m glad you’re safe. I’ll take it from here, then we can fall back to the gates. The others are holding it down.”

The family John was just guarding from the attacking wight was grateful as well, issuing the guardsmen their thanks.

“Are they?!” John said ecstatically, clutching his chest as his lungs swelled with each breath. “I... I knew those wights... couldn’t possibly beat you guys!”

“Catch your breath as quick as you can,” Kane urged as John stood up in front of him, “we need to get this family to safety as soon as—“

There was no time to react. Their guard was dropped, and the appearance so sudden and unexpected – a wight crashed through the window from behind, opposite side of the home from the door. Glass shattered and the undead was screeching, the innocent family screaming – it leaped straight onto John’s back. Its bony fingers gripping the edges of his armor, and its teeth sunk straight into the side of young squire’s neck. Instant screaming, blood oozing and bubbling between the skeleton’s teeth.

“John!” Kane shouted. There was no room. No room to move. No room to think. He immediately closed the distance, trying to fight the death grip the wight had on him... but flesh was softer than bone. The wight did not give, but John did. A chunk of meat was ripped from the side of John’s neck and throat, and he immediately fell to the ground. Kane fell on top of the wight, holding it down with one hand, and mustering every ounce of strength he had left powered by his adrenaline – to slam his armored fist into the wight’s head. Bone splintered everywhere. Kane instantly returned to John’s side, following this. He kneeled down, and set John onto his lap. His eyes were already glossing.

“C-Cap... Capt... Kane...” John stuttered weakly as tears welled up in his red eyes. His voice was choking as blood ran down the corner of his mouth and spurted from his neck. His raised his hand toward Kane and began to say, “I...”

His hand fell down to his side.

Kane’s own eyes were red, beginning to well – his bottom lip quivered for a moment as he looked into his squire’s lifeless eyes. He took a deep, sharp breath. He quickly conducted himself in front of the silently crying family as he pulled down the young boy’s eyelids.

“...We must evacuate.” Kane said softly, betraying any attempt at a disciplined composure that most people came to identify him with. As he said this, the screaming and groaning and spits of the horde of wights that had been following him this whole time came into earshot.

“Young John, he—“ The man tried to say, but Kane cut him off.

“We don’t have any time. Sir, please carry my pike and lead the way out the window. The alleyway has been blocked off. I’ll cover our rear... I’ll buy you any time if we need it.”

The man nodded and picked up the spontoon Kane had dropped, then beckoned to his wife, carrying the baby in her arms. Sticking his head out first and holding the spontoon carefully, he was the first out the broken window. The area was clear, and his wife followed. Kane listened to the oncoming tide of undead come closer. He solemnly cradled John’s lifeless body in his arms and climbed through last. He nodded to the family and nudged his head in a direction as a cue to follow his lead. They were able to avoid the massive undead tide coming their way, but it was doubtless that they’d eventually follow some trace of them back to the gates. He only hoped that they could hold off a couple dozen more wights – and at the disadvantage of the devastating news Kane had to deliver. John’s death was not one that was fitting for the morale of their defense. John’s death… it wasn’t fitting of Kane’s own morale. Kane was the one who had sent him alone on his mission.

The route they had taken was unoccupied. Whatever had gone on around here must have taken the wights’ attention from this area. At least the survivors were safe. When the group had finally turned one last corner onto a main road, the main gates came into view, and the force defending against the wight onslaught including the dorak and his beetle, the gnome and his own constructs, and Kane’s own men. A large group of survivors were keeping their distance outside the gates. Slowly, Kane closed his eyes, and regret seeped into his heart.

---

Kane Bounevialle, Anna Strauss, and Pietro Machelli

_{Featuring Kane’s Guard}
Written with @Maxx

---

Anna looked over her shoulder. She ran from Pietro’s side towards Kane, wand in hand.

“Please, good knight,” she said. “I’m a healer. Let me see him! I might be able to do something!”

Kane looked down below to see a young-looking fairfolk girl run up to his side. As she offered her services, he just looked down at the poor lady with a look of sorrow and pity. He shook his head solemnly and took a moment to gather himself before he tried to say something.

“This young squire, John March, has given his life so that this family may live.” Kane answered, gesturing to the young family Kane was escorting. He looked back at Anna. “He’s gone now…” Anna stood in silence. She closed her eyes and bowed her head. She concentrated on feeling the air around her, sensing the presence of those in her vicinity. It was a soul weaver’s trick, one that Cosmas had taught her for sensing the life force in another living thing. In her mind’s eye, she could see the people around her as energy waves, pulsating like the ripples in a pond. She could feel their hearts beat and their aether course through their nerves. No such energy resonated in John. He was truly dead. Her wings visibly drooped. Her mouth hung open for what must’ve been thirty seconds. Her face turned a shade paler.

“I-I’m so sorry, Sir Kane,” Anna said. “There’s... truly nothing I can do.”

Kane could only bring himself to nod to Anna, most likely a thanks for her consideration, but truthfully Kane found it hard to keep his mind straight and was mostly passing around acknowledgement where it was required. He made his approach toward the rest of the defense, and his own men were bowing their heads.

“He will be cremated.” Kane called out to his allies. “ As Daraden has proven himself a powerful enemy that none of Creation can afford to overlook, we might have to leave old traditions and ceremonies behind… such as burial... and look ahead towards the future and embrace new practices.” Kane sighed. “We will no longer be taking the kind of risks our predecessors have taken.”

Kane handed the corpse to Oscar, who gently handled John’s body as he made an even pace outside the gates. Kane quietly watched his dear friend from behind as he carried Kane’s squire outside of Maceron. Anna watched in silence. She had no idea what to say. She looked down at the silver vial in her hand, and then up at Kane. She noticed that he was bleeding.

“Oh, you’re bleeding sir! Here, let me heal your wounds.” She said. Curiously, Kane brushed his chin and along his jawline. Indeed, it had stung painfully - he had forgotten about the fall he had just before he found John in that small house.

“Thank you,” Kane began humbly, but gently set her hands down with his own, “but my wounds are minor. I would be grateful if you would see to the survivors outside Maceron’s gates, though. Many of them were wounded when they tried to escape.” Anna looked out at the survivors who were sitting just outside. Many of them were leaning against houses, bleeding and broken. Some of the villagers who lived in the homes outside the walls had taken people in. Nurses and a wizard or two who had escaped were tending to some wounds. Anna looked at the silver vial. It contained Essence of Mercy, a mixture of unicorn blood, bat saliva, and a few other substances. It was exceptionally rare, but excelled at stopping bleeding and repairing damaged tissue. She looked back at the city. There were still people who needed to be evacuated. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She couldn’t believe she was about to do this. Then she ren of towards

“Wait.” Kane said before Anna wandered off. “What is your name?” Anna turned her head as she ran.

“My name is Anna,” she said.

“Thank you, miss Anna.” Despite the mortal peril, Anna couldn’t help but smile. She felt her cheeks blush.

Anna jogged over to a house where a wizard was busying himself over a patient with severe wounds. She tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around, a frown on his face. His hands were covered with blood. Anna held the vial out to him.

“I am a healer from Lake Castus,” Anna said. “I have other obligations to take care of in the city, but I figured this would be useful to you. It is a vial of Essence of Mercy.” The doctor looked at her funny and, realizing she was serious, took it.

“Thank you, young Fairy,” he said, rather shocked. “This will be exceedingly helpful.” Then she turned back and flew off into the city. Pietro was on his feet now, his sword drawn.

“I’m going to go find Arya,” Pietro said. Anna nodded.

“I’m going back in, as well,” Anna said. “We need to find as many survivors as we can. What of you, Sir Kane?”

“I…” Kane hesitated. This girl was still calling him Sir long after he was stripped of his knighthood. He supposed his name must have carried far. No matter, that wasn’t important now. He felt compromised for the time being after John’s death, but… Kane felt compelled to do what he could just to get his mind in order. He had to distract himself - and he owed it to John to get as many people out of this city as he could.

“I cannot advise you to go back into Maceron without escort.” Kane told her. “My men will remain here to hold the line… I’ll personally see to your safe return.” Anna turned her head and tried very hard not to blush. Pietro caught sight of her cheeks reddening and rolled his eyes. ‘Girls and their damn dreams of dashing knights,’ he thought to himsef. ‘She should be swooning over a real man.’

“W-why, thank you, sir Kane,” Anna said. “I certainly feel safer now.”

“It’s just Captain, now.” Kane corrected.

“Uh, oh, Oh! My apologies,” she said. “I assumed…” she looked down at the ground. Pietro walked over to where they stood.

“Alright, let’s rain down Ma’el’s vengeance on these undead sons of bitches!” Pietro said. “Mad necromancer or no, we have to do what we can! When the dust clears, they will proclaim us heroes of the city! Ah ha ha!”

Knights of Melarus

I have off tomorrow so I can write all night and into tomorrow.

Knights of Melarus

This gravy train doesn't stop for apple slices floating up the brown.

@SepticGentleman

Literally die.

Knights of Melarus

_{featuring Bartleby de LaShtüp}

---

Amidst the fighting, the running, the screaming and the rescuing - in fact, underneath it all, hiding from it and watching through a crack from under his own coffers in his carriage was Wizzlebee. Indeed, he had hardly moved from his spot and was totally hidden from the hungry armies of undead. He knew the weaknesses of wights like no other, and it pained him to see so many fall to the wights as a result of his own inaction - but Wizzlebee was old! Yes, that was his excuse, far too old to defend himself against so many of these things. If one knew of what he's capable of, then they might ask, "Why not just take control of them?" Well...

He tried. From the safety of his hidey-hole, of course, but he tried. However, whoever was able to control so many undead (probably that Daraden guy) had great power. So much power, in fact, that their influence over one wight with his attention split between what was likely thousands gave way to a couple of conclusions: one being, Wizzlebee's necromancy was actually useless beyond simply turning the undead away - which is what he has been doing when a eight got too close for comfort, but didn’t often have to do, for he smelled so much like the dead that barely any of them noticed the gnome hiding - and two, that such ease of control over such large numbers must have meant that Daraden was a lich. Only one of the dead could have such precise understanding and control.

The epiphany, needless to say, had terrifying implications.

On a pettier note, the old Scrooge made it difficult to use this as an opportunity to really study the undead, with what's left of their minds being controlled and their bloodthirsty rampage being quite the distraction, forcing you to focus on your own well-being. If he could glean anything from them, it's that the presence of aether in them was immense and concentrated. It supported that Daraden was a force to be reckoned with. It'd take nothing less than Ma'el's own fury; it seemed, to eliminate such an adversary.

With Wizzlebee was his own skeleton, risen it himself, he did! But this one was special, see. His father's soul, the great Bartleby, head of the long lost and noble LaShtüp family, bound to the rattling, bony body. Weaving aether and gnomish enchantment together, giving his long lost "pappy" another opportunity - if a bit of a short-sighted attempt, having risen him in a skeletal form. With Wizzlebee, Bartleby hid with him. Not because the wights threatened him, no, but they were quite scary.

...Also, the guard with the crossbow atop the beetle and the half Orc were quite eager to shoot or dice up anything that wasn't alive. Such was the way of things.

"The great alchemist and necromancer, mighty be his name, hiding away in his coach's dress box." Bartleby snipped flamboyantly.

"I'm not as young as I used to be!" Wizzlebee complained in his defense. "One, three fire balls and it'll be the end of me before you know it! Swarmed!"

"Now you're just selling yourself short!" Bartleby groaned. "Get creative, you dumb wizard!"

"Dumb?! Oh, I'll show you..." Wizzlebee grumbled. Creative. Yeah, okay, a couple of things came to mind.

The old gnome pushed open the lid to the box he hid in, only for his head to have risen above the edge of the box by an embarrassing few inches, a few miles short of impressive. With a couple of huffs, Wizzlebee climbed over the edge and onto his seat, viewing the field on which the knights, guards, and wights took battle. So many dead, but so few wights in comparison were slain. He made an exhausted sigh and closed his eyes, letting the magical energy that flowed through him concentrate in his hands. He lacked the firepower that any specialized wizard had over their respective elements. But what he does have...

Sparks crackled between his fingers before they erupted into flames, and a ring of fire began swirling around him. One hand poised as if he were holding something, fingers flared outward.

...What he did have was skill.

With his other hand, Wizzlebee merely pointed his finger. A highly pressurized gust of hydrogen, taken from the air, went through the ring of fire and instantly ignites as the bolt flew across the square and penetrated the skull of a wight. Wizzlebee’s pointing finger turned into a fist and widened it into an open palm. The fire ball rapidly expanded, causing a miniature explosion to occur from the pressure inside the wight skull. Its bones flew off in every direction, and they remained still where they had landed.

“Dumb wizard, my hind!” Wizzlebee declared indignantly. He did this to two more wights before he started catching their attention. Some of the wights peeled off from the assaulting force occupying Oscar and Karkadin. This was what Wizzlebee was worried about! The ring of fire from around the gnome dissipating, and making a motion like tugging a rope, water came from thin air – taken from the fog enveloping Maceron, and a small stream ran swiftly around Wizzlebee – another ring. Without the firepower a water mage might have, Wizzlebee resorted to manually accelerating the flow of the water around him, as though he were constantly dragging it. With each move of his hands, the water spun faster. When the first wight came into range, the current simply broke the bonds holding the bones together, and got swept up in his ring. In the water’s flow were bones of all sorts, unable to reassemble.

Two other wights stayed where they were, unable to cross the swiftly running water. Wizzlebee capitalized on their inaction by shooting the bone meshed water at them in a jet – the pressure was enough to break them apart and keep them from reassembling a few moments longer. The gnome raised his hands, and shards of earth, from the brick-layed streets slowly contained the broken wights in a prison too small for them to reassemble in and will remain until destroyed. Here, Wizzlebee began to pant.

“Oh... oh boy!” He whined. “Can’t... can’t keep up with all the young folk anymore.”

“Nonsense!” Called the voice from below. “You’re doing fine!”

“Can you even see?!”

“You know I’m afraid of skeletons!”

Wizzlebee looked behind him incredulously. “What?! You...!”

The elderly gnome shook his head and set his focus back on the playing field. Well, he was getting tired, but there were so many wights left! What to do... golems wouldn’t permanently destroy them, if only enchantments could create golems that were made of anything that wasn’t a solid and... ah, wait... aether was a binding force. What did the book say?

‘Aether is the force that binds all of the world together. To understand aether, you must understand the world it lives in – you must understand its container. Master the elemental magics.’

Well, the last bit was poppycock. He wondered if he was the first to circumvent the prerequisites for learning aether. Perhaps nobody thought to look at alchemy as an example or template for aether. Still, aether was a binding force. Able to tether supposedly intangible forces such as souls to itself to create spirits, and to tangible objects to create ensouled.

Wizzlebee took a long, deep breathe. More hordes of wights were approaching. Damn this day to the world’s end! A fireball erupted in both of Wizzlebee’s hands. They were slung in the direction of the wights charging towards him, and they predictably flared out in a very tame explosion, but the intended effect was to produce as much fire as he could. This was accomplished. In front of the fire that was burning the wights’ bones, Wizzlebee closed his eyes and began his familiar breathing exercises. With a substance such as fire, he’ll need as much help as he could get. He let the aether flow through his body and opened his eyes with a mystical pink mist just barely visible around them. From here, he could see and sense all the aether flowing around him. The wights were particularly blinding, with so much aether stuffed into every one of them. He could easily sap what he needed.

The old gnome moved his hands very cautiously and meticulously, not wanting to mess this up. Weaving and blending fire and aether together, letting the invisible energy wrap itself around the flames, giving it form. The symmetry that both hands conducted created two human shaped funnels of fire. With a final flick of his wrists, a spark, an attempt at gnomish enchantment to give artificial “life” or independent action to the given forms.

Wizzlebee’s hands fell to his sides in exhaustion. Between wheezes, he said, “That... that is too—too much!”

Trying to balance so many actions at once was a strain on his stamina, especially when the ingredients involved were so physically complex. With the slightest glimmer of hope, he looked up to see if he had truly fumbled at his attempt, not expecting anything to come of it... but there stood two fiery funnels of man-shaped golems, ever-burning, apparently inextinguishable. They stood idely. Wizzlebee’s face turned into a tired, gleeful, and innocent smile as he pointed toward all the wights terrorizing Maceron and commanded their permanent deaths; and as ordered, the golems obediently shot fire from their own bodies in concentrated bolts, incinerating the oblivious undead – unable to detect the non-physical golems as semi-conscious beings – into ash.

Bartleby joined in his son’s relieved laughter. An unnerving cacophony of glee in the face of horror.

The Elder Scrolls: Rage of the Waves

@Spoopy Scary Would you be interested in a Fiona/Finch collab? If you're not working/involved with something already.

@Luminosity

Yeah, absolutely! I usually use TitanPad/PiratePad, are you okay with that?

Knights of Melarus

A nicer way of putting it: the show must go on!