Cold, Cold Cultists
You were hired to track a band of murderous members of a dangerous cult. However, so far things have not been going well. It's been snowing on your trail, snowing /hard/. Hard enough you were forced to take shelter in a small cave while your supplies began to run low. You've been on the trail five days now, and a sixth spent huddled up in this little cave with nothing but each other for company and the knowledge that you just ate your last ration twelve hours ago. Which means that hunger is already settling in.
Still the storm rages outside, and you begin to wonder if this entire trek was a very good idea at all. Your trailguide is outside in the snow, trying to determine how much longer the storm is going to last, but it's been several hours since you've seen him.
Delilah is sitting on... a rock or... something. The young sorceress may or may not have come prepared; her robes leave her midriff bare, afterall, but she's got a white cloak and seems to be happy enough. Well, as happy as you can be when facing starvation, anyway. "So, she inquires, after her stomach rumbles and loudly. "Anyone want to try hunting?"
Gregor says to the others, "Well, I thought about it. Two problems. 1. Most things have gone south for the winter, and 2. it's snowing so hard we might not get back /here/. I can try if it gets more desperate, though." He's made a fire inside the cave, so it's at least not awful in here, though it's less than comfortable, even for those dressed for the weather.
You know, Stena is fine with these things. This entire trek was fun. The storm is fun. You know what else is fun? Jerky. She's gnawing on jerky. She brought all the food with her. Long lasting jerky chews. She's got /all/ kinds of them.
And she's almost out. HEAVY SIGH.
Skribbles relaxes for the better part of the storm, leaning back against a rock and enjoying the warmth the cave affords. She's not gonna starve, oh no, plenty of bugs and critter-crawlers around to keep a Gobbo fed. Yeah...that's what she's telling herself...grubs...slimy yet satisfying.
Braelnoir sits on a different rock, idly verifying her inventory, not looking terribly distressed just yet about the situation. She gathers her quarrels and tucks them back into their quiver, "Food'll take a while to do us, but freezin' make it all moot." She arrays her vials and begins sticking them into her bandolier again, "How much rope we got? 'magine we tether someone so they don't get lost, have'm go out an grab loose wood t'bring in here, see if we can't get enough dry to keep a decent fire going. The snow'll cover if we get thirsty."
It's several /more/ hours, and now it's getting dark but there's still no sign of your trailguide. Or anything beyond the veil of howling wind. With Braelnoir's words echoing in your mind you consider your options. This is a more mountainous region that you're in currently, and wood is in short supply. So too is /anything/ that you might be able to eat aside from lichen which you haven't seen any of and wouldn't keep you all very well fed considering the size of your group. You think, but aren't certain that the weather is actually getting worse outside. At least there's plenty of snow.
Your fire flickers, and with the lack of firewood begins to die. It'll be a long, and deadly night if you don't do /something/ soon.
Delilah rises from where she was sitting, and stretches. "Alright, enough is enough," she pronounces. "Let's get off this mountain. We can't stay all night, it'll be too cold. I say we stick together, make our way back down into the valley, and when the storm clears we come back and look for our Guide."
Gregor nods in agreement with Delilah. "I think we're going to have to," he agrees. "Our guide is either lost, and so useless, or he's found someplace warm and sheltered, so useless to us. I can help us against exposure and see if we can get to a better place."
Braelnoir glances between the two with ideas and nods, shouldering her scythe and drifting toward the exit to take a quick look-see.
Skribbles looks at the party and says, "I can create the food and water. I just can't do it right now. I'd need some time to pray and ask Reos for it. I can't help about the lack of heat though. I need something that'll burn before I light a spark." She stands up and wraps her cloak around herself, "We taking off?"
GAME: Gregor rolls survival: (7)+7: 14
"Wait, we're what?" says Stena. She's not liking the idea of heading out into the storm at night. "We should wait, folks. That's a terrible idea."
GAME: Braelnoir rolls survival: (14)+4: 18 GAME: Skribbles rolls survival: (17)+4: 21 GAME: Stena rolls Survival: (19)+0: 19 GAME: Delilah rolls knowledge/nature: (9)+7: 16 GAME: Gregor rolls profession/guide: (2)+6: 8
Delilah pokes her head outside for a look, as well, and humphs softly. "Well," she declares, "We'd better get on with it. This storm is definitely going to last all night at least. Probably longer."
Gregor nods at what Delilah says. He'll walk his horse outside, and mount up. At least it gives him a bit of visibility. But he's even farther from the guide's trail signs, not that he can see them through the snow. The military camps in this mess, there's a reason armies don't march in it.
At least... you're fairly certain that you're not getting lost on the way back down to the nearest safe location that you can remember. There's no sign of the guide however, as if he simply vanished into thin air. As you travel back down the mountain you hear an odd sound echoing up and down the path. It sounds like something calling. A mournful noise that echoes and hangs in the air despite the howling of the wind. It's a loud noise to be heard through all that, or a piercing one. Either way the sound can be heard clear as a bell through the storm coming from just off to your right and off into the distance.
"Oh, that sounds lovely," is what Stena says, dryly. "You know, being out here. In the weather. Love it. It's the best," she mutters, voice a husky contralto. She's not thrilled with this, no.
Gregor grumbles at the howling wind and strange noises, but saves his breath. Keep the warm air inside as much as he can. His horse has two blankets under the saddle, draped over him like barding. It's the best he can do in the circumstances, hurrying as much as he can.
Skribbles shouts into the weather, "Why do I keep getting sent on these damn mountain adventures! Where is the adventure to the lost island of nubile virgins and perfect weather? Where is that adventure! Snoo snoo for life!" She then looks off towards the howl and shakes her head, "Perfect, just perfect." She continues down the mountain, hoping whatever that was eats taller people first.
Mercs tend not to foray into messes like this, unless their contractual chains get tugged, of course. Brae isn't particularly thrilled to be in the weather, either, but's something proactive, and so, with the weird noises in the wind, she turns most of her mind to puzzling what that is, and keeping in sight of the rest of the group.
The golden haired sorceress picks a spot in the middle of the group, particularly when the howling starts up. "Anyone want to bet that the guide was actually a cultist and led us here to die?" She checks her pistol, making sure there's a found chambered, before holstering it again. "Everyone keep your eyes open."
And yet... nothing attacks you. You travel through the night into the morning, and exhausted stop in a semi-wooded clearing to rest a bit. Off and on through the night you've heard the horn calling. Even now you can hear it again, louder than before with the rise of the sun. As if it's heralding the breaking of the day. You've definitely felt better, and the storm is /still/ here. Blinding you and threatening to bury you if you remain standing in place for too long.
"Okay. Can someone tell me what that blasted horning is all about?" says Stena, annoyed. "I AM GOING TO FIND YOU, HORNSMEN, AND I WILL JAM YOUR BUGEL UP YOUR ASS."
She yells into the storm. Stena is not happy.
Gregor admits, "It sounds more like a hunting horn than a military horn. Driving quarry's about the same in either case. We could stop here and see if it stumbles into us, but if it doesn't, we could freeze out here."
Skribbles looks behind her and says, "They're driving us somewhere. Maybe into a trap. Let's make for a treeline and dig in, maybe hide and see what we've got. They haven't caught up to us for a reason." She looks ahead, hoping to spy the trap. "We're prey being led to the hunters."
"Of /course/ its a trap," mutters Stena, sighing heavily.
GAME: Braelnoir rolls perception: (14)+0: 14 GAME: Skribbles rolls perception: (19)+10: 29 GAME: Gregor rolls perception: (20)+7: 27 GAME: Stena rolls Perception: (8)+0: 8 GAME: Delilah rolls perception: (5)+0: 5
Gregor grumbles at the horn, looks to the others. "Well, we can keep heading back to shelter. But I think I know where that sound is coming from. There's a way to get there in a couple hours, if you guys think you can make it?"
Skribbles looks at Gregor and then turns back around. "It was louder a bit earlier, and it's not as loud now." She looks at the others and says, "Well, what d'yall think?"
"Well I'm starved, but I think I can make it," Delilah acknowledges. "I mean, hey, someone might be about to get sacrificed. We should probably go stop that."
"Yeah... I thought he was keeping pace but... maybe he just couldn't overtake us." Brae replies, then nods, "Let's do it."
"...you wanna go after the hornsmen? Fine by me," says Stena, bluntly.
She is ready to live up to the threat she shouted.
With that decided you head off toward the sound of the horn. It doesn't take you more than a couple of hours - even with the storm billowing around you and when it suddenly stops without warning it's even easier to follow. Though... the sound has stopped now. Just the loud call at sunrise and then nothing since then so that by the time that you arrive at where the sound was coming from some of you are considering whether or not the source will still be there.
It is however, undoubtably there, for as you come to the edge of a clearing you catch sight of several dark robes moving through the white of the snow. It's the cultists that you were sent to find. They wear odd symbols on their lapels, and move around the edge of an alter that's been set up on a small hill in the clearing. There you can see your guide... quite dead. You can tell even at this distance because his heart is being lifted out of his chest and raised above his body as you watch.
The heart is taken with ceremony to a white horn that is dripping with blood from it's opening but not from the base where it would normally one could blow through it. The heart is placed inside the blood-filled opening and the lead priest of the cult blows into the horn. A sound echoes through the clearing and it is not the mournful call that you heard before. This is something dark and deep and... twisted. It's a sound that immediately makes you clasp your hands to your ears and wince. "We welcome the newest member of our order!" Calls the priest as the sound dies, motioning to the guide who is now rising - chest empty - to his feet. "Maxwell Granger, rise and be one of us!" Scattered applause follows from the group of cultists between you and the staging area.
When in doubt, go ahead and do something completely rash. Like totally, insanely rash. "Well screw this then," Delilah growls. "Time to deal with some cultists." On that note, she draws her pistol and fires, aiming for Maxwell.
Gregor says to the group, very quietly. "Well, now we've found them. Now what?" That said, he's couching his lance and lowering it, he's expecting the call for mayhem. He just doesn't want to presume. Or take off before there's any blessings or spells for the group. Or, y'know, a plan. With Delilah getting things started though, he just sighs a bit and nudges Traveller in the ribs with his heels. "Let's do this once more, old friend," he says.
"Oh," says Stena.
"Cultists."
"How adorable. So, let me know when we can get to smashing them," whspers a horrified Stormgardian as she sees what's happening. Her pale-skinned hand is paler at the knuckles for how tightly she's gripping the haft of her weapon.
Skribbles watches the ceremony and then watches Delilah rise to the occasion. She grins widely and says, "Hot damn, I think I'm in love." She rises up, pulling her own Dragonspitter and firing off a round as well. "Reos take yer hides you scallywags!"
"Mouthpiece dies first!" Brae replies with a delighted giggle as Delilah kicks things off, she finally has an outlet for the past few days aggravation. A tanglefoot bag emerges from one of her pouches as she starts to run toward the cultists. Reos can have his piece, the Merc supposes, but with her fervent warcry, she dedicates her share of the impending mayhem to, "KOOOORRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"
GAME: Delilah rolls ranged: (2)+5: 7 GAME: Skribbles rolls weapon17: (5)+8: 13 GAME: Delilah rolls ranged: (9)+5: 14 GAME: Delilah rolls 1d8: (2): 2 GAME: Gregor rolls 1d20+11: (10)+11: 21 GAME: Gregor rolls 2d8+8: (13)+8: 21
With Gregor's cue, Traveller leaps into the fray, galloping hard almost from a standing start he plows into the first group of cultists, his adamantine lance-tip taking the first fellow straight through the chest all the way up to the crossguard. The hobgoblin grunts and works his lance to shake the body off.
GAME: Skribbles rolls weapon17: (4)+8: 12
Skribbles pops off two rounds at the High Priest, both of them missing. She growls and starts moving out of the shadows, "Come on, gun hand...it's a fight...get in the game!" She shakes her head.
GAME: Gregor rolls 1d20+9: (15)+9: 24 GAME: Gregor rolls 1d8+4: (3)+4: 7 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+7: (7)+7: 14 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+7: (17)+7: 24 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+7: (10)+7: 17 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+7: (13)+7: 20 GAME: Aftershock rolls 2d4+4: (3)+4: 7
The head priest pulls his bloody hand back. Somehow the blood and heart in the horn are gone now, and he secures it to his belt, turning away from the group of you and doing something at the alter that you can't see through his body. Maxwell's body moves through the crowd which mobs Gregor. He doesn't make it through all those people, but he makes it a good distance and the crowd somehow doesn't seem to be at all concerned with the growing list of bodies at Gregor's feet.
GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon25-1: (11)+7+-1: 17 GAME: Braelnoir rolls 2d4+7: (6)+7: 13 GAME: Stena rolls 1d20+7: (3)+7: 10 GAME: Delilah casts Scorching Ray. Caster Level: 5 DC: 17 GAME: Delilah rolls ranged: (13)+5: 18 GAME: Delilah rolls 4d6: (19): 19
Well, that went a little different than she expected. With Gregor's charge turning into a hornet's nest, she lets the turned guide pass with a derisive sneer before she lets her tanglefoot bag fall. Her hands clench around the haft of her scythe and the weapon sheers through one of the cultists with the sound of someone chopping through a big carrot underwater. She shudders at the sensation, the symmetry, but steers herself back into the harvest.
"Well, that's..."
And then Gregor runs into the mob and Stena is going after him, "Hey, save some dumb cultists for me!" She swings her axe's flat towards one of them, evidently wanting to take them alive.
GAME: Gregor rolls 1d20+9: (10)+9: 19 GAME: Gregor rolls 1d8+4: (2)+4: 6 GAME: Gregor rolls 1d20+6: (7)+6: 13 GAME: Gregor rolls 1d20+1: (5)+1: 6 GAME: Gregor rolls 1d20+1: (18)+1: 19 GAME: Gregor rolls 1d4+4: (1)+4: 5 GAME: Gregor rolls 1d6+2: (6)+2: 8
Gregor is in his element, now, light infantry skirmishing some irregulars and cutting through the footmen like a hot knife through butter. If only he was with his company, they'd make short work of these scum suckers. Waylaying their guide! Hopefully the Guild won't hold that against us and withhold payment, the fellow all but insisted be be allowed to go off alone. He takes out another cultist as they mob Traveller, and he rears the horse, allowing Traveller to plant his hooves in a forehead. His lance spears one of the fellows in the mob in front of Traveller, and the horse returns to all fours, biting a cultist savagely and making him ... well, happy to be alive, but overall, not thrilled with his choices in life.
Delilah slips a fresh round into her pistol and holsters it. "You want a piece of me, Maxwell?" She shouts. "Come and get one!" Her eyes and tattoos glow blue, and she traces a glowing design in the air, which coalesces into a blast of flame. When the newest cult member's corpse hits the ground, Delilah shrugs her shoulders. "Oh, well. Easy come, Easy go."
GAME: Skribbles rolls weapon17: (3)+8: 11
Skribbles growls and takes another shot at the high priest and she misses! She misses! She looks at the weapon in her hand and says, "Are you even trying!" She growls and puts the weapon away.
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+10: (12)+10: 22 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+10: (16)+10: 26 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+10: (19)+10: 29 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+10: (12)+10: 22 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+10: (11)+10: 21 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+10: (6)+10: 16 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+10: (8)+10: 18 GAME: Aftershock rolls 2d4+6: (5)+6: 11 GAME: Aftershock rolls 2d4+6: (8)+6: 14 GAME: Aftershock rolls 2d4+6: (4)+6: 10 GAME: Aftershock rolls 2d4+6: (5)+6: 11
The priest speaks some words in a dark incomprehensible language and waves his hands over the crowd and they... go mad. They pull Gregor down and bite and rend with their hands, bleeding the poor man in many places as he's nearly torn apart by their sudden vigor. Delilah finds herself grievously wounded also, but Stena fares better against the cultist that attacks her so viciously.
GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon25-1: (4)+7+-1: 10 GAME: Stena rolls 1d20+3: (14)+3: 17 GAME: Stena rolls 1d12+6: (5)+6: 11 GAME: Stena rolls 1d20+3: (8)+3: 11
"WHAM," says Stena.
The cultist blinks at her as she says that right in his face. It's the opening she needs to hit him on the head with her axe's flat.
"Told you," she says smiling.
GAME: Delilah rolls ranged: (18)+5: 23 GAME: Delilah rolls 4d6: (12): 12
Delilah suddenly finds herself... bitten? Clawed at?? What is this?! "Auughh!!" She pushes the man off of her, and puts a hand to her wound; then with bloodied fingers she repeats her spell and leaves the rabid cultist smouldering on the ground.
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+10: (19)+10: 29 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+10: (16)+10: 26 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+10: (18)+10: 28 GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+10: (7)+10: 17
Gregor wasn't quite planning on getting quite so mobbed. It's different when you're with a company of soldiers that's for sure, and while he was sort of supported, he wound up getting far too much attention! So, famous cavalry maneuver, he cries, "Rally, rally!" even as he advances to the rear at his best speed.
GAME: Aftershock rolls 1d20+10: (1)+10: 11 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: Aftershock rolls 2d4+6: (4)+6: 10 GAME: Aftershock rolls 2d4+6: (7)+6: 13 GAME: Aftershock rolls 2d4+6: (4)+6: 10 GAME: Stena rolls Fort: (17)+5: 22 GAME: Delilah rolls fortitude: (9)+1: 10
Without Gregor there to act as a distraction for the cultists, the enraged mob attacks Stena and Delilah instead. Delilah goes down under their hail of attacks while Stena manages to stay upright though, she's been badly hurt. While the four remaining cultists distract the group of adventurers, the leader of the gang sneaks off into the woods.
GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon25: (1)+7: 8 (EPIC FAIL)
Braelnoir sees one of her comrades gets taken down and, with redirected purpose, tries to fillet the two cultists near Delilah. Snow is a treacherous thing, however, and hid a root that Brae trips over, turning an intended death stroke into a whistling arc through snowflakes. If she accomplished anything, it's giving them a new target.
Delilah gets bitten and basically just savaged. Again. She collapses on the grounds with a shriek that drains into a gurgle; clutching at a wound to her neck she struggles just to stay vaguely conscious and keep breathing.
GAME: Delilah rolls fortitude: (6)+1: 7 GAME: Stena rolls 1d20+3: (11)+3: 14 GAME: Stena rolls 1d12+6: (11)+6: 17 GAME: Stena rolls 1d20+3: (11)+3: 14 GAME: Stena rolls 1d12+6: (7)+6: 13
WHAM! WHAM!
Stena know show to use her axe. Even just the flat of her axe is enough to send two more of the cultists sprawling while she remains seriously injured. She's glancing towards Delilah, weighing a dash towards her as there are now three very unconscious people near to her.
GAME: Gregor rolls 1d20+3: (17)+3: 20 GAME: Gregor rolls 1d6: (1): 1
Gregor wheels Traveller around and rams his lance tip-first into the snow. He hopes if he needs it again, he'll be able to grab it. Unlimbering his horsebow, the small thing he mainly uses to fetch rabbits for food, he'll nock an arrow, and see if he can't hit one of the cultists still fighting. He can, threading the needle and not hitting any allies, but his arrow only hits glancingly and barely leaves a scratch.
The remaining cultists go into a weird frenzy; violently shaking where they stand and frothing at the mouth. Blood pours from their eyes and then... they fall dead where they stand. It's totally bizarre given how they were attacking only a few seconds ago, but now they're quite dead. In fact the only three that are still alive are the ones that Stena knocked unconscious. With your group so heavily wounded you decide not to take after the cultist's leader. Besides. You have prisoners to question.
-End