PrP: Cold Comfort Farm

Log Info

• Title: Cold Comfort Farm
• Emitter: Celeste
• Characters: Kalkorth Brb3, Arnora Ftr3, Richter Rog2, Alba Wch5
• Place: A cozy farm, just outside Alexandria
• Time: July 30th, 2015
• Summary: A farmer and his family are in trouble! Somebody save them!
• APL: 3
• Encounter 1: 4 Skeletons, 2 Zombies, 1 Bovine Zombie

Just like something out of a horror movie! With the moon high overhead, the four brave souls come to answer the call of action find themselves nearing the top of a winding path. Cold Comfort Farm lies not so far away, and the family who live there haven't been seen for three days. Something is amiss, say the folk of the small town nearby. Farmer Yoseph and his good wife never miss a Farmer's Market! And they ain't been to this one sure enough. Someone ought to check it out and make sure they're alright... someone with a deathwi-- err, good sword arm, that is. The trail is gravelly, the air cold and chill. Somewhere, a frog ribbits and a songbird tweets its last lullaby to its chicks. Very scary.

Kalkorth shakes his head a little bit, "I never understood the need to live all cooped up like this." He says as he has his greataxe out and he looks around. "Yes we have villages, but we don't play in the dirt."

Arnora casts a somewhat doubtful look up at the sky "Indecent. Need a decent bleedin mountain over my head" the short dwarf mutters, then turns her gaze up to Kalkorth "I think they call it farming, lofty. Someone needs to grow food afterall" she adds in her low rumbly voice. Eyes moving from him to Richter she shakes her head "Going to need a fooking new neck" she mutters whilst crunching onwards.

The atmosphere may be creepy, but the mask set within the shaggy pelt of some long-haired creature stares down the road ahead, its owner apparently more or less at home in the unsettling environs... aside from the temperature, at least. "Many people need much food," the sullen voice behind the mask says. "They do not play in dirt, but feed ten children for every hour bent to work. If there is no other reason, that alone serves to make the choice a good one."

Richter grumbles, "No need to shout about it." He's got his head up and on a bit of a swivel. "Just stretch it by looking around."

The wind picks up, blowing dead leaves about on the path. ALong the side is an abandoned cart, with a wheel missing; just around the bend from that is the farm gate. The farm as yet remains concealed by a tall hedge, all green and serene looking; and from beyond that, comes the a dull, distant thump. The sound becomes rythmic as the party approaches, over and over; thump. thump. thump.

Kalkorth bahs a little bit, "That is why those who dwell in the city are so backwards, they have others grow their food for them instead of hunting it themselves." He continues to look around.

Richter creeps forwards in a crouch, heading to the hedge to peer carefully around the gate.

Sounds like a cue to unsling her shield. Not one of natures more stealthy folks Arnora doesn't even both to try to be quiet, her heavy armor clattering. A practiced forearm lowers the visor of her helm down as she steps to the fore and heads towards the sounds "Never had much luck huntin a potato" she says before heading into presumed battle.

Kalkorth stumbles a bit over a rock and he kicks it. "Stupid rock." He says as he does manage to look up in time to see something undead shambling in the fields.

"Hsst!" Alba says, a slender hand rising from within the furs. "'Ware the barn. Something assaults the doors, and frightens the animals. ...Perhaps. ...At any rate, do as the short one does, and prepare for battle."

Kalkorth looks over at Richter, "What kind? Skeletons or something more fleshy?"

What Alba can hear, and Richter can see; past the gate, within the field between the path and the house, are several prime examples of the walking dead. Closest are a pair of skeletons that have seen the intrepid Richter, and are walking towards him; one with sword nad shield, the other with a greatsword. Just past them are two more, armed with a longbow and a light crossbow; they seem perfectly happy to just stand there, staring at the house. A couple of zombies are meandering around, moaning things like "Unnnngggggh" and "Urrrrrrrgh" and "Brraaaaaaaaaains". Finally, standing right at the front door of the house is a cow, missing most of the flesh from its hindquarters. The cow moans "Mmmmmmmoooooooooo" rather unenthusiastically, before bashing its head into the door with a dull thump. It pulls back, and repeats its lackluster call, before headbutting the door once again. And that door, ladies and gentlemen, is not going to hold forever.

People see them! Richter curses and darts forwards, rushing across the field as he swings out. There is a loud *ting* as his strike is parried! ...surprise is lost.

While Richter is busy running into combat, he's not the only one flubbing his first attack. One of the undead archers takes aim at the charging fleshling, and looses an arrow; and it sails gracefully into the bushes. The archer calmly draws another arrow, preparing for its next shot. Behind it, at least one of the zombies still hasn't noticed anything going on; it just keeps hammering at the wall of the house. "Braaaaains," it wails, almost pleadingly. "Braaaaaaains."

Kalkorth sees Richter go after the skeleton with the greatsword and he charges at the one with the sword and shield. He plants his feet and he swings his greataxe getting past the shield as he slices into the skeleton. He sees it's still there, 'Good tough ones."

The skeleton loses half its ribcage to Kalkorth's assault, with a loud smash and clattering of bones. Does that slow it down? No. Does it stop it? No. It raises its sword, and wails the thing down on Kalkorth, certainly not wanting to be outdone; of course, it just bounces off his armor with an unimpressive 'bonk'. So much for that.

"The fookin name is Arnora, Arnora Stonesmasher. Call me short one again and you will be going to be going home without your kneecaps" the rather short dwarf hisses in reply to Alba. That said she steps further towards the sounds, not yet drawing a weapon until she spots the mixed group of undead. As those with quicker reaction times charge in she pauses an instant and reaches for her warhammer "STONESMASHER" she bellows in a warcry. She charges in, although her stumpy legs don't carry her all that fast. Sadly in her headlong enthusiasm her swing doesn't have a lot of impact on the undead, chipping a few bones "Stand still ye wee fooker" she mutters as she winds up for another swing.

"Mmmmmmoooooooo." Bessie the cow backs off a couple of steps, before moving forwards with the same lack of urgency, and bashing her head into the door. The wooden obstacle holds, but this time there's a definite crack; something has splintered, and the door won't hold much longer. "Help us!" comes a voice from inside. "Please! We have children!"

The mask turns to follow the dwarf's charge, a loud snort causing the entire pelt to ripple. A thin hand comes out to push up the mask, revealing sullen, angry eyes that orient on the cow. As she touches her throat and drags down, her breathing shortens, becoming a strangled choke, as a visible lump distorts the flesh of her neck. Rearing back, the Veyshanti looses a loud, explosive cough, expelling a slimy ball of yellow-white fibers that arcs over the front line, exploding into a mass of weblike fibers anchored to a large part of the front of the house. The longbow-wielder and one of the zombies are tangled up completely, helpless and immobile... and the rest have a sticky, cable-filled minefield to navigate.

Bashed, smashed, webbed... the undead do not fare well in the opening moments of battle. Not, at least, until the greatsword-wielding skeleton gets to take a turn at it; raising the weapon with a clatter of bone, it brings it down hard on the poor man. On the upside, that's a scar the girls are going to absolutely love, when it heals. If he gets the chance.

Sproing! Clang! The crossbow bolt bounces off the dwarf's armor, breaks in two, and skitters off into the darkness. The skeleton doesn't seem overly concerned though, as it goes about reloading the weapon. Over by the farmhouse, meanwhile, there's a rotting corpse stuck in a web. "Braaaaaains," it complains, flailing its arms about to try to get them loose... which it does. Rather takes all of its puny concentration, however.

Richter kinda panics when he's hit. He's not playing the long game -- with sexy scars and engaging stories in pubs -- he's playing the I'M-GOING-TO-DIE game. One cut catches the skeleton across the forearms, and the second blow hammers into its skull, rocking it.

The Lonbgbow wielding archer draws back the string, and attempts to loose an arrow, aimed straight for the pesky witch's masked forehead. Because she won't need that brain, once she's a zombie. The skeleton looses the arrow, and there's a dramatic twang; the arrow travels exactly six inches in the web, and stops, leaving the archer flailing about and trying to reload, to no avail. Of the zombies, one of them has finally figured it out; it turns from the house and starts shambling its way towards the party. "Braaaaaaaaaains," it moans. "Braaaaaaaaains. Mmmmmmmmmnnnnggg." It'll be there shortly.

Kalkorth swings his greataxe, but apparently the skeleton was ready for it this time as his greataxe clangs off the shield.

Clang! Kalkorth's weapon bounces off the skeleton's shield, which bone-rattles tauntingly. The undead thing keeps the bulwark up until it reckons it's safe, before lowering its guard and jabbing its rusty blade forwards; straight into Kalkorth's armor. And exactly no further. Poke poke.

"Pick on someone your own size ye wee bony fook" Arnora demands as the skelton launches an attack on Richter. As he carves his way into it a trace of surprise crosses her face "Tough fooker aye" she mutters as a heavy blow from her warhammer cracks solidly off its bone, but still fails to send it down "Well fook me crossways" she breaths out before lapsing into khazad cursing.

"Mmmmooooooo." The zombie cow moans flatly as it lurches back, and then plows forwards once again, hammering its face straight into the farmhouse door. It cracks again, splintering; and now there's a hole. The family inside can be heard screaming in shock and horror. "Help!" wails a woman's voice. "Please don't let the cow eat us! Please not my children! Not my children!" And she's right; two, maybe three more impacts like that, and the door will be splinters. Still, perhaps it is fortunate that the zombies never worked out that the place has windows.

The masked, shag-covered witch sets into motion, the pelt flapping upwards to reveal strong legs moving in a long, distance-chewing lope. "Help comes!" she calls, her voice ringing with the promise of malice to her enemies. "'WARE THE DOOR! BACK, WOMAN!"

Richter might be in a difficult position, here; with a deep, awful wound already, and a skeleton with a big sword in front of him. A big, big sword, covered in rust; might want to get that wound looked at. The sword comes up, and then back down, with terrible ferocity; straight into a turnip. Poor turnip.

P-Chang! The crossbow is fired again! The bolt is loosed, and Alba might feel a breeze... because it's breezy, and nothing to do with the bolt that just whistled off into a tree. Somewhere, some cute little bird is singing in the night; the sound abruptly stops with a squeak.

"Uuuuunnnnnnhhhhhhhhhh," articulates one of the zombies, turning to come after Alba. It steps clear of the webbing, less from any sort of actual effort to do so, and more from dumb luck, as it just... steps out and walks away. Now it comes shambling after the witch, arms raised up. "Mmmmnnnhhhhhggg," it grunts. "Rrrrrrrrrglglgllg."

Richter dodges out of the way of that might greatsword cut, then swings through the skeleton with both swords, one, two, knocking the bones loose into a shower around him.

The be-webbed Skeleton seems frustrated, for a mindless automaton. It clatters and flails its arms about, until it breaks loose from the webbing; now it reloads its bow, and looses an arrow, straight for Kalkorth! The missile finds a good spot to lodge in the shoulder, deep enough to almost poke out the back. Ouch.

"Braaaaaaaaaaains," explains the approaching zombie. It shambles its way right up to Arnora, and drops to one knee so it can reach the dwarf's tastey, tastey cranium. It grabs her by the shoulders, and leans down to bite hard on her helmet. So hard, that is, that its lower jaw comes straight off, and clatters to the ground. "Uuuunnnnnhhhhhg," it complains.

Kalkorth roars as he gets hit by an arrow and he lets his rage slip the leash. He goes to swing at the skeleton, but forgot to pull out the arrow and it fouls his aim so he misses by a large margin.

The skelton Kalkorth is swinging at would laugh, if it could laugh. But it can't, fortunately. Instead, it swings its sword around, trying to lop the barbarian's head off; which doesn't work out, as it just bounces off his armor. Bonk.

"Well now that was a mistake, tryin to bite a dwarf on the head" Arnora quips as she shakes her head a bit and lifts her hammer up "Solid fookin bone sunshine" she says with a fericous grin under her visor. Her blow falls rather short however as her booted foot slips from under her, the head of her warhammer bouncing off the zombie and smacking her in her own head.

Bessie's forhead smashes hard into the farmhouse door, which cracks, far enough that the cow pushes her face straight into the opening. "Mmmmooooooooo," she intones into the home, to the screaming horror of those inside. The cow draws back, breaking the door even further; it hasn't got long left as an effective barrier, though it sounds like the family within is trying to shore it up with whatever they have left.

The pelt gets thrown back, revealing the bloated, brine-stinking body of an eel clutched in one of the Witch's hands. There's a low, breathy cackle from behind the mask as Alba's free hand rises to grip the dead creature's jaw... and in one smooth motion, peels the skin from the meat, which is stuffed back into its jar in her pouch. Her hair stirs, slithering over her shoulder to wrap the soggy skin around the witch's forearm. Covered in hair and skin, Alba points a finger, her breathing cackle rising to a sharp, piercing laugh. "YOUR HEAD IN MY MOUTH!" she screeches defiantly, and with an almighty *CRACK* a long finger of lightning lances out from her fingertip, scorching a hole directly through zombie and dead cow, the stench of burned meat becoming cloying. ...Also, the webs are now on fire, too. Good times.

If the crossbow wielding skeleton's skills are any indication of how good he was at the task in life, then it certainly explains why he's now a skeleton. He launches another bolt at the lightning-slinging Alba; and once again, some poor tree out there has to pay the price. Well, that save the farmer the effort of tapping it for maple syrup. He can just go get it now.

"Brraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains," utters the only zombie still capable of the vocalization. And it's pretty certain that Alba has some. Only people with brains can make lightning happen. In response to all that screaming about heads in mouths, it attemps to do just that, grabbing at the witch and going straight for the good stuff; it leaves bite marks on the side of her head, most of it absorbed by the mask, but not quite all of it. Yummy.

Richter goes sailing over towards the zombie -- he just keeps the sword in front and lops off a chunk.

While Richter is busy charging, the skeletal archer is busy drawing a bead on Richter; entirely headless of the approaching fire. Fire? Who cares about fire! It launches the arrow, which goes sailing off into the night. Somewhere out there, that frog that was ribbiting along the path, stops ribbiting.

The zombie that lost its jaw trying to bite Arnora, isn't giving up easily. It can't seem to get the biteys in now, but it still has fists. Fists that it swings, flailing them hard against the dwarf's armor, to absolutely no avail, as it just pummels ineffectively.

Kalkorth pulls out the arrow and throws it before he goes after the shield skeleton again and once more it clangs off the shield.

That skeleton is tough! Too tough, apparently, as it keeps absorbing Kalkorth's blows with its shield. Even though it can't seem to get its own blade it. It promptly pokes the same spot where it hit him a moment ago, jabbing right into the same plate, with the same lack of effect.

Arnora shakes her head again to clear it from the self inflicted smack "Fookin farmers" she grumps whilst digging her booted feet in harder for better balance. This time as she swings she makes contact, but barely grazes along the side.

"Mmmooooooooooo," complains Bessie, now that she has a hole right through her abdomen, and stinks like burning meat. And is just vaguely on fire. Well! The door is left alone -- though now the farmhouse is starting to catch fire, so there is that -- and the cow turns her head away, to point her face squarely at Alba. She snorts loudly, and scuffs one hoof on the ground before breaking into a trot, coming free of the swiftly disintigrating strands of web and charging towards the witch, who still has a few moments to make a decision.

With a sharp click of her heels, the red-tinged fur wrapped around Alba's lower legs bursts into flame, and despite bleeding from the head the cackle erupting from behind the mask is gleeful, and full of dire tidings. Arcing up into the air, she lowers, just far enough that her pigtails slither and stir, and lash outwards -- far longer than hair should naturally reach -- seeking to loop around the cow's neck and feet. It fails, sadly, but the witch is now floating in midair, arms outstretched, pelt whipping in an eldritch wind. ...Which point she gets a crossbow bolt in the arm. Sometimes theatrics just aren't enough...

Pchang! And at last, the crossbowman finds his mark, plunking a bolt right into the witch. If it could giggle, it might at this point; but any sense of humor has long since turned to as much dust as its flesh. The zombie that was trying to gnaw on her mutters an "uunnngh" as it turns to shamble off, heading for where the rest of the group is fighting; and just as that is happening, Richter takes an arrow in the chest from the archer. The poor man is so thoroughly abused at this point, he can barely stand; he half runs, half stumbles back down the path, clearly unable to right any further. As for the other zombie, well... it just keeps trying to pummel Arnora. And it still just can't get through that armor. Tough little dwarf.

Kalkorth lets out a roar as he finally cleaves the skeleton in two and he looks around to see who else is still up. He growls as he finds his next target.

Bessie the cow was just about to ram her cow horns into Alba's soft, succulent belly, when all of a sudden the witch was airborn. The cow just keeps charging, continuing her momentum as she wheels around, and heads for the next available target; which will be either Arnora, or Kalkorth. One of the two. "Mmmoooooooooooo."

Arnora grunts irritably as the zombie keeps on chewing at her armor "Do ye mind ye wee rotten fooker, this thing cost me a large fortune" she grumps. Powerful muscles drive her warhammer in with a meaty thunk, but the zombie still stays alive. Well up anyway.

Bessie the cow was just about to ram her cow horns into Alba's soft, succulent belly, when all of a sudden the witch was airborn. The cow just keeps charging, continuing her momentum as she wheels around, and heads for the next available target; which will be either Arnora, or Kalkorth. One of the two. "Mmmoooooooooooo."

Now airborne and fully unamused, Alba swoops after the cow, pushing up her mask. Another horrid bulge distends her throat... but this time what comes out of her mouth is so much worse than an exploding ball of webbing. No, this time it's the spiders, each the size of a coin and with visible cutting mandibles, that fall over the dead cow like eight-legged snow, managing to ricochet off its dead hide and plop to the ground, scuttling after the charging undead beast as Alba laughs like a madwoman above.

While Alba is busy vomiting spidrs, the Crossbowman busy shooting at her, doggedly and determinedly, and returning to its insistence of shooting the trees as one more bolt sails off into the night. Well, at least it's reasonably consistent. The zombies keep trying to chew on things, to no avail; one of them attempting to mash the dwarf's face in with its fist and failing horrendously, and the other one gnawing on Kalkorth's bracers. Mmmmm. Yummy bracers, with no brains in them. This is all fine and dandy, right up until the moment when the bow-wielding deadling manages to find its mark, and puts an arrow all the way through Kalkorth's chest, with the bloodied arrowhead sticking out the back! That must hurt!

Kalkorth cleaves through the zombie that's on him so that he can help out the others. He ignores the wound in his chest like the one in his shoulder.

Arnora catches sight of the flying, hair grappling spider vomiting Alba and stops in shock "Dafook" she says in her heavily accented gravely tones. She almost forgets to guard against the zombie trying to eat her brains, luckily her armor is thick enough and she recovers in time. Shaking her head to clear it her stone plate clatters and she launches a somewhat weak attack that still sends the zombie down with a rather unpleasant squishing noise. Made further unpleasant as she brings her booted foot down and smashes it's head underfoot. Just to be sure "And fookin stay down" she mutters before looking up at the flying witch show again.

"MoooooOOooOOooOoooo!" comes the cows horrifying battlecry, as it picks up speed, hooves thundering across the field as it bears straight down on where the dwarf and the barbarian are fighting. It plows at speed straight into the dwarf, trampling over the corpses of the freshly slain zombies in the process; and it hits like a sack of bricks thrown by a giant. Horns bury deep into the dwarf's armor, rending a nasty wound into her side. Ouch.

The cackling is cut off sharply, as Bessie's horns find hard, stubborn, swearing dwarf flesh. Once again the Witch's pigtails lash out, their tips glowing a deep, piercing blue. There's a whiplike crack as the pigtails find their target, but the spreading frost on the back of the cow's head seems to affect nothing. Spitting a gravelly curse, the Witch's hand dips behind her, to one of the many knives secured against her back.

The skeletal archers open fire! A crossbow bolt goes sizzling straight over Alba's head, missing her by about ten feet. "OW!!!" comes a loud complain from the old man at the neighboring farm; that really must've hurt! And he really shouldn't have been outside while the undead are attacking his neighbors! The other skeleton fires its bow at the barbarian, but seems to have lost the good aim mojo, and just fires an arrow into the ground between its feet instead. Also, by now the burning web has reached it, and leaves its bones... just a bit scorched.

Kalkorth strides across the field towards the cow and he swings hard, but misses the undead cow.

"Oi! Ye great rotting pile of steak" Arnora yells, despite the solid goring she seems more pissed off than injured. She drops the hammer to the ground and draws her beautifully crafted waraxe. The hammer smushes some more turnips, again she slips a little and the axe glances down and across the rotten ribs.

"Mmmmmmoooooooooo!!!" moans the cow, as Arnura's axe takes a bit off the side; just enough for a child's steak. If someone would even want to eat that. In return, the cow tries once more to gore Arnora, trying to split the dwarven warrior in half... and generally failing to do so, though the impact is still pretty solid.

There's a glint of silver in the cold light of Alba's pigtails as she finally decides, apparently, to give in to gravity. As she alights at the cow's flank, her hair whips out, but this time misses its skin entirely. The spiders, however, seem to have found a measure of success, as tiny gashes begin opening up in the zombie cow's flesh.

Kalkorth has had enough of this undead bovine. He lets out a roar before he summarily slices the undead cow in half. He turns towards the skeletons and he growls, "You're next."

The remaining skeletons are back to their usual tricks; namely, firing their weapons and missing, quite horribly! A crossbow bolt and an arrow go flying off into nowhere, tearing neat little holes through the hedge, with absolutely no effect.

Arnora sadly being right next to the undead Bessie cops a shower of gore and rotten blood. It doesn't seem to bother her too much even as it drips down her ebon stoneplate "Nicely done lofty" she calls out on her way towards the remaining skeletons. Sadly stomping on turnips and zombie heads is not good for traction and she slips and slides and almost ends up in the arms of the Skeleton.

The cow is dead, cut thoroughly in half by an angry berzerker's axe with a mighty chop and a spray of meat. All that's left is the two archers; both of whom seem to be very poor at actually being archers, with their track record thus far; and nothing is improving. An arrow and a bold bounce off Alba's freshly minted mage-armor and Kalkorth's armor.

Kalkorth ohs the Longbow wielding Skeleton from earlier and he strides up to him and he slams him hard with the greataxe. He does it with enough force to fell the skeleton.

"Fook me" Arnora says in something approaching awe as the huge barbarian fells another of the undead in one mighty blow. Perhaps buoyed on by his efforts her axe lashes out and slams into the remaining skeleton, sending it down to the ground in a shower of bones. She pauses to crane her neck to look up to Kalkorth "Just to be clear laddie, that was praise not an offer" she clarifies with a dirty chuckle. That done she stomps off to pick up her warhammer from where she left it.

As the last skeleton goes down, there's a cacophany of cheering from the farmhouse. An older, bearded man, his wife, and four children come pouring out. "Thank you!" they're all shouting and crying, while they bring offerings to the party of various manner; everything ranging from bandages and medical supplies to mincemeat pies, bags of turnips, and bottles of wine are laid at the heroic victors' feet.

As the spiders disappear in a cloud of chitinous flakes, dispersed by an unfelt breeze, Alba turns toward the ruins of the farmhouse. "The beast as well," she mutters sourly, then turning and taking a fairly startled step back at the farmers burst out the door to voice their gratitude. "...Hn. ...Yes," is all she manages, stooping to carefully lift a mince pie... apparently wary for any signs of displeasure from the farmerfolk.

Arnora glances down suspicously at the wine, but she lifts her gore-stained visor up to take advantage of the food. She washes down a bulging mouthfull with some ale from a skin and lets out a belch "Give a woman a warning next time eh lass" she says up to the Spidery witch.

The family is far to extatic to notice anything other than the fact that they're all still alive. They cheer for the heroes, toast their health, and patch up their wounds; the two youngest girls cling to Alba's legs and cry, while the rest keep offering food and various forms of alcohol. Apparently the Cold Comfort Farm does a lot of brewing on the side! The turnip beer will be ready in two months.