"dead weight" comment

I shall now change my name to Schroedinger, since Blogger insists that I am both signed in and NOT signed in at the same time, depending on whether I wish to comment.

Anyway - a nice quick slice of life in the first hours of the plague. And a good intro to the Warden. This explains a bit of why the city guard has acted the way it has. And I'm sure we'll see his friendly face again soon.

So I think we should all just walk out of this tunnel.

What could go wrong?

I mean, it's not like they would have had a chance to install those ballistas NOW, right?

......right?

The Walking Damned: Dead Weight (Blog Episode)

(Considering last session was canceled at the last minute, I thought I might write a scenario taking a peak into some aspect of the city.)

Dead Weight.

A city guard checks the locks on the stocks that lie just outside the East Barracks. These were some fine stocks indeed. A row of three newly constructed stocks had been purchased by Warden Joren recently. Today they see their first official use.

"You know I didn't do it, Blith," the prisoner protested from his uncomfortable position in the stocks.

Blith ignored him. They all say the same thing. Every time.

A smile crossed his face as he stood frozen, watching a beautiful woman coming by with her two small children. It was Brook; her hair long and wavy, dancing in the slight morning breeze. Her smile sent a warmth throughout his body. Her husband had died about a year ago, and for the last few weeks she has been giving him that look.

I will make my move next time she comes by here, he thought, rehearsing what he would say to her.

Greetings ma'am.

No, too formal.

Hi, my name is Blith.

Maybe that one.

Brook continued down the street, no doubt taking her little ones to their school.

"You just gonna stand there watching all the pretty women or you gonna get your ass up here and give us a hand?" This was the unmistakable voice of Warden Joren. He was standing up on the front wall of the barracks. Blith was supposed to help install the new ballistas up there today as well.

As he made his way inside, he pondered the reason for East Barracks to even HAVE ballistas. Its such a peaceful town. Not much crime. But Joren wanted something that would cover an area from the river bank, the tunnel entrance, and maybe even down to the bridge. What was he hoping to stop, anyway? All he ever does it think about the worse possible scenario. And then yell at everyone for not doing MORE than they were already doing. "If you aren't helping, you're nothing but dead weight," he would always tell them.

As he approached the front door of the barracks, two fellow guards came out suddenly, carrying a man on a stretcher. "Blith," the man in the back grunted, "better go get Susan, there's been an accident. Tell her we have her husband over at the community church."

Susan? Then that was Frank on the stretcher. But he was covered in so much blood and groaning in pain that he couldn't tell who it was. "What? What the hell happened?"

The man in front spat angrily, "Some fool we arrested bit his neck, and we had to kill him. Go get Susan NOW!"

Blith turned his eyes up to Warden Joren, who was peering down with that same look he gives in response to everything, utter contempt. "Well go get her, Blith," he yelled down. "Dammit I guess these ballistas will have to wait until tomorrow now."

Blith's brisk pace down the street over to the officer's home--it was only a couple blocks away--nearly caused him to miss seeing a scuffle down a side street. Right in the middle of the street there was some kind of brawl or street fight going on. Officers were already responding, so he continued over to Susan's house.

(Comment on this blog episode for an extra +5% xp bonus for the next game session. Comments need not be in character.)

The Walking Damned: ECL 4 Riff Strongblade Human Warmage 4: Entry 6

I can feel myself becoming closer to the flame.  The might of my arcane power grows daily.  And yet I was barely able to even make a dent in the outrageous horde of undead we faced in the dark.  The new guy, an archer, did much better than I.  I'm not entirely sure he wasn't aided by either some magic or may know some secrets of the martial arts I have yet to uncover.  I must soon test my blade in combat and unlock more knowledge.  I already know my destined path, but perhaps there is more about my future I am unaware of.  There must be, because that deal with the bear trap was way too close.  I am a practitioner of war and won't shy away from a fight.  However, I would like to survive long enough to face whoever is responsible for this new world order and show him my philosophy.

The Walking Dammed: ECL 4, Osiris Eloah, Elf Wizard, (Generalist) 4: Journal Entry 6

It does not take long to realize that in order to survive this pandemic; you need to be handy with the steel, bow, your hands, quick witted, wheel the arcane, or pray like there’s no tomorrow.  Basically, be able to earn your keep since the quickest way to wind up dead is t become dead weight! From what  I can tell, that’s the way these people have been able survive this long, cut off from the outside world as each passing second makes their heart grow colder as they get more accustomed to the stench. As I get a moment to look over the crowed I meet a man by the name of Darkshelm. Apparently a former city guard that broke ranks to protect his family and the people of this city. A noble gesture, a noble gesture indeed. As I listen in on conversations through out the tunnel, I notice our giant friend has continued on down the tunnel to face whatever dangers await, idiot. As the group is besieged by more of the undead atrocities, we are assisted by our new ally the archer Darkshelm. I must say, he was very impressive laying waste to the monstrosities one after another; and ever using his Great Bow to tremendous affect against a walking horde. Without him, I believe we all may not have survived. As we continued on down the tunnel I noticed several goods in the back of wagon; however I failed to be quick enough to avoid the hidden bear trap that almost broke, or even severed my leg. By the grace of all that is holy I survived. I must strive to remain ever aware as one misstep could leave me broken and twisted in a matter of seconds, waiting for my end to come. After being set free by the cleric and the Warmage, we decided to hold up in one of the wagons for some much needed rest before retuning back to the camp. As I mediate, I ponder who could have set these traps as they are most sophisticated. Curious, very curious, I must look into this in these following days. I’ve noticed as I spend more time fighting these abominations, living on the edge and traveling through the “suck” I can feel myself growing stronger by the second with arcane might, and I love it!

Bear Trap weighs 40 lbs

This video shows the bear trap that I used as a model for the bear trap used in our last session.
And this is a 40lb bear trap.

Here are the stats I created for this trap.

Bear Trap	CR 2
Mechanical trap; Touch trigger
Reset Manual DC 20 Str check (twice)
Bypass No built in bypass
Search DC 21; Disable Device (Str check DC 20)
Reflex DC 20 (avoids)
Damage 3d6 (any 6 on a die breaks the leg bone)
Cost 2,000 gp; Craft (trapmaking) DC 20

"A character with the trapfinding class feature who succeeds on a DC 21 (or higher) Search check detects a well-hidden or complex mechanical trap before it is triggered. Complex traps are denoted by their triggering mechanisms and involve pressure plates, mechanisms linked to doors, changes in weight, disturbances in the air, vibrations, and other sorts of unusual triggers." Dungeon Master's Guide.

"Resetting a trap usually takes only a minute or so. For a trap with a more difficult reset method, you should set the time and labor required." Dungeon Master's Guide

Everything for designing traps is found in the Dungeon Master's Guide starting on page 67, with details on how to set DCs, damage, CR, and Cost.

The Walking Damned: ECL 4, Zhangri'if Duskwood, Lesser Aasimar, Cleric 2/Sorcerer 2: Entry 5

The events of the past few days are coming into focus...sort of.

The church WAS in fact inhabited by another soul.  After a brief battle (if one can call it that) with a roguish young mage, we discovered that he had been using a group of the black magical "gems"  to move between our plane and the shadow plane in order to avoid conflict with...well anyone I suppose.  After admonishing him not to send magic missles toward random strangers and reliving him of the aforementioned magical stones, we agreed to let him accompany us until such time as he was able to find safety elsewhere.

After an encounter with a strange and frightened giant (?) who was being assaulted by more zombies, we continued on our way toward the river.  When we reached the harbor area, we were greeted by the sight of more armed guards and a a woman beckoning to us --seemingly away from the soldiers.  Given how belligerent the last group of guards were to us and the rumors of the mass killing of innocents, it seemed wise to avoid another encounter.

What terrible disease is this that turns living flesh to unholy creature?  No one seems to know and now it turns out that the soldiers main occupation is to kill all creatures, living or undead, presumably in an attempt to purge the city of this infection.  Are the human rulers of this land so cavalier with the divine gift of life so as to feel no compunction to extinguish it with wanton abandon?  Perhaps that is the real evil plaguing this land...

improv: ECL 2 darkshelm fighter exo.

entry one

its horrible.
people are getting sick all over town . we keep finding sick people looking like there ready for the grave walking around basically shambling but they attack everyone! we had to kill a few people, managed to restrain some, but the just keep showing up. We got orders to put down the sick before the plagued the whole town. they just keep coming... takes a right proper shot in the head to stop the relentless onslaught the seem to get fixated on one person. were doing or best to protect the people but new orders came down the other day.
Contain the outbreak..... i don't like what I'm hearing captain want me to end anyone sick or suspected of being sick.. these are the people were supposed to help not slaughter..... we got sent to Carry out the orders
but this order is to much... i am breaking ranks with the guard and joining the survivors.. is the world coming to an end . i can only pray that my bow string is always taught and my quiver is always full.
god save us all...

improv : darkshelm ECL 2 fighter variant (exoticist)

Bio.

i live in a typical town where my family and I live on a small farm
i tended chors and crops until i got old enough to hunt with my father.
he soon realized I had a gift for putting arrow to the target i almost never missed a kill shot
and we ate very well. my parents where older when they had me so in my lat teens they were in their 60's.
father fell ill and the healer could do nothing for him so with mixtures from the apothecary we eased his pain as he slipped away from us. the farm was to much a burden for me and mother alone so we sold int and moved into town. with my skills with bows i was an easy hire for the town guards it paid a fair amount
and occasionally i had to draw my bow on criminals.. this didn't bother me much . i liked the town i lived in and was proud to be a protector of it .with me being busy and at the barracks most of the time mother decided to leave and go live with here sister in her home town. i was sad to see her go but i must make my own way in this life now maybe some day ill be the captain of the guard for this town or perhaps a county or even join the imperial army

Improv: ECL 3, Kona, Shield Elf, Battle Dancer level 3: Entry 6

"This stinks"

Oh gods, in EVERY possible way. This whole thing stinks. The sudden plague of undead. His own near succumbing to it. The attitude of the rulers of this town and land, who seem to take this as an opportunity for wanton slaughter and power grabs...

... and of course: the STINK stinks! 60 humans trapped ... under a RIVER.... in a SMALL tunnel... for days! And now add a giant, an orc, a dragon, and all the rest of his own band, and presto. Not a single thing about any of it that doesn't

Stink.

Most of the refuges were clustered near the sealed entrance, listening to the sounds of battle on the other side, so Kona took the opportunity to move back. He slowly walked the length of the tunnel. For fear of rats or maybe just the psychological idea of an entire river just above their heads - either way - most people were avoiding the deep central valley area. Fine with him. He needed a little time to think. Because something else stank: his own effectiveness.

Kona winced, thinking of his only 2 successful "battles." One was against a bear that he didn't want to fight, and the other he was armed with a Dwarven weaopn. UGH.. And since the odds of another slap fight with a bear OR him grabbing that hammer again were very slim, he faced a serious problem. How to be useful. It was not a light question.

I am not willing to trot behind the holy man and carry his torches and foot oil. I'm not a slave anymore. I will not rely on another for all things. But this means I  - I also must stop fighting as only a slave would fight. Watch the other fighters. LEARN their techniques. 

He'd have to change. He'd have to. There was no other choice. Make a difference to your war brothers. Or be....

Dead weight.

The Walking Dammed: ECL 3 Osiris Eloah Elf Wizard (Generalist) 3: Journal Entry 5

As it turns out my keen elven senses or "hunch" as some others like to call it was correct. We were not alone. As a grizzly bear pawed and clawed at the abandoned well, for what I can only surmise as for water, Kona noticed some sort of "tag" of its ear. Realizing that someone or something else might be lurking around in the church, I left the other members of the group, Kona, Trebuchet and Petri to deal with the bear while I, Duskwood and Strongblade sought out the intruder. As I rounded the pews at the front of the church I spotted him, a raven haired human boy who looked to be no more than 20 years of age. Better dressed than most hiding in the church. As I pondered several questions like: Why was he here? Where had he come from? How has he survived alone by himself? And  was that truly his bear parked outside? All of a sudden I felt a burning sensation in my chest. Did he just cast a spell at me? Was the elven prodigy Osiris being assaulted by an upstart and his magic missile? Apparently he did and unfortunately for him, I have marked him for termination. Surprisingly my spellfire abilities did not protect me. It seems I need to stay focused and anticipate a magical attack before its protective properties take hold. This is something I will surly continue to look into as time permits of course and I grow to fully understand my inborn capabilities. As the magic user disappears from sight I steady myself for another barrage of magical energy attacks. Strongblade and Duskwood cast magic missiles of their own at the little twerp when he finally appears back on the material plane. As I steady my crossbow and loss a bolt that sinks deep into the middle of  his shoulder blades, I take satisfaction that I was able to grant the fool a quick death. As the Cleric rushes to his side to steady him, he bestows a little divine healing to close his wounds, the Warmage ties him up so we can question him.  It turns out he was scared, just scared of this terrible situation and was looking for a place to hide and seek refuge. Aren't we all? The noises outside alert us that something is going on. Mortis informs me that a Giant, a damn Giant, is being attacked by the foul undead. The magic user seems to know this fellow and after a brief discussion it seems if would be beneficial to all of us to render aid. As the Cleric channels his divine might and lays waste to the walking dammed to cover our escape, we are meet by some fellow refuges who offer us shelter and much needed healing. For now this place is better than most and as long as we pull our "weight" things should be fine. I wonder what lovely people and interesting stories we'll find in here? I suppose only time will tell.

The Walking Damned: ECL 4 Riff Strongblade Human Warmage 4: Entry 5

I wonder if it will be possible for us to become accustomed to life in this new world.  Everything has changed and I'm not entirely certain the changes exist only in this one city.  Of course I will never know until I'm able to explore further. 
After some interesting events while still at the church, namely me showing off my arcane might to every other magic user within a mile,  we went in search of other fun. 
After helping a strange giant escape a zombie mob, our little group found some refugees while we were trying to escape the city.  They offered us help with the condition that as long as we accepted their aid we would need to use our abilities to help others.
Is this the path that will lead me to my destiny, or has that path been erased?  Have the drastic changes in these past few days changed the future for all of us?  Is destiny even real?  I have to believe it is, otherwise there is no way to find what I'm looking for.

The Walking Damned: ECL 3, Petri, Dragon 3 : Entry 1

In every dark time, there has been a hero at call. For every war, a warrior. I am that warrior. I am Petri, the Bold! My latest, and possibly greatest, endeavour is proof enough of this. As the rains attempted to confine us to the little church, It was Petri that suggested exploring the well just outside. Using my great wings, I surveyed the land. It was then that I discovered the bear! A great, tyrannical grizzly, destroying that poor defenseless well. I had to stop it! Sadly, the elf-man had other ideas. He wanted to make friends. With a bear. That wanted to eat him. As I followed mommy around the corner, I could see that poor elf-man trying to approach, and I could see the hungry look in that bear's eyes. I took to the air, making myself larger to defend the elf man! I am the greatest warrior, but even the greatest can have bad days. When that little elf tried to ride the bear, I knew it was destined to be one of those days. Oh how I fought. Ripping and thrashing, teaching that bear what's what. Finally, as I stamped the last nail in it's coffin, I went for the killing blow. And was trapped down by a net. The elf. He ruined my chance to be a great hero! The coward. It was just a little bear, and that elf-man go and put us in a net. I was trapped, the bear was trapped, and mommy was frantic to save me! Mommy cut me free and we watched the bear escape. The elf didn't even try to go after it. SO eager to mess with it when it was my glory on the line. We returned inside, quickly discovering that the undead chaser, magic fingers, and the war man had caught dinner for their favourite dragon. All tied up and ready to eat. I'm not sure how it happened, but somehow, dinner was released. Once a perfectly good meal, now fighting beside us like it was worthy. I blame the elf man. He always seems to have a hand in my undoing.

THE WALKING DAMNED

Our 3.5 D&D campaign now has a name and a logo.

Improv: ECL 3, Kona, Shield Elf, Battle Dancer level 3: Entry 5

"Orcs and children!"

Kona let out a guttural scream and kicked the ancient stone.

His kick propelled him backwards to hit the opposite side of the narrow tube, further enraging him. He threw a brief but right proper fit there at the end of his rope (literally), 40 feet down the temple well.  "Orcs and children orcs and children ORCS AND CHILDREN! DAMN YOU ALL!"

"What'd you say?" a voice grumbled from high above.

"SHUT UP! GO -"

Kona sighed as the rope slowly steadied and his fury ebbed as fast as it had crashed upon him. "Go.... flit about the grounds some more," he muttered. "Shit."

They lost an ally today, he was sure. A grizzly had "wandered" to an overgrown well and started clearing the vines? A grizzly. A freakin grizzly! In the middle of a human city. And he couldn't convince the orc or the baby dragon that it wasn't just a random meal! So he ordered them to stay out of sight and he tried to deal with the introduction himself.

And - he had to say - he was pretty impressed he had pulled it off. A lifetime as a slave, serving petty nobility, no wilderness training at all, and this 8 stone weight elf convinced a 130 stone bear that he wasn't food, or a threat. And his hunch was right - the bear had an ear piercing.  A fairly powerful ranger or druid must be nearby.

and then....

Clang clang clang... orcs. Way to show you're not a threat. Run flailing towards a skittish animal.

and then.... flap flap plop..... children. Oh, he had been soooooooo tempted to leave the dragon in the net with that bear. The way it whined and blamed... SHIT... the way it blamed HIM for its predicament!

Kona sighed again and plopped the old bucket on his head and began climbing back up the rope. Nothing was down here that he could see. No reason the bear would have for cleaning off the well, unless drinking water was really so desperately limited everywhere else in the city -- something he couldn't believe, considering a giant river ran right through the middle.

"Find anything?" the bard asked when he reached the top of the well.

Kona shook his head. "Just water. And this extra bucket. Ok - technically, there were a few copper pieces down there."

Probably, he thought to himself,  thrown by ... orcs and children.

Improv: ECL 4 Trebuchet Water Orc Bard 3, Barbarian 1: Entry 6

He swore.

He had a lot of things to swear about, but primarily he swore he wasn't a coward.  Damn him.  Get up and fight.  What did that whoreson say?  Somehow, it made him sick to his stomach.  That's all.  He'd fought through worse than this.  He'd sung through worse than this.  Come on!

He couldn't do it.  He stood there helplessly and tried to calm his stomach, which he keenly knew was empty anyway, while the corpses blindly rushed past him.

That damn spell was still hiding him from them.  That's it, he thought.  He'll just go and smack one of them and get into the fight.  Then he'd feel the battle-fury coming back and shake off this sickness, and at least go down swinging.

He couldn't do that either.  He could barely move.  His eyes turned to the cleric, retching too as he fled the horde.  All this was his doing, this whole rotten fucking mess.  But he wouldn't die to the zombies.  The orc would kill him himself before he'd let that happen.  So he ran after him.

But it was no good.  He watched as the armored man struck his war-brothers again and again, and he did nothing.  Their green skins were struck through with red lines and their tusks gnashed, and no matter how much he wanted to share their fates, he couldn't lift a single limb to move to their defense.

He turned back the way they had come, expecting the horde to be at them now and it all to be over, only to see them falling upon the flailing body of Kona, who he could hear snorting and hollering, and he knew it would only be a few more moments before his death-scream would sound, and again he wished it had been him.

Turning again, he saw one of his war-brothers on the ground, staggering backwards toward him, as the man prepared to land the final blow.  At last, he felt the malaise lift, and he ran forth roaring and grabbed the bastard by the throat.  He screamed a hoarse, victorious laugh at the surprise in his eyes, and tightened his fingers to crush the life out of him.  But the awful man pulled the hand from his throat, and threw him to the ground, and stabbed at him.

A great weight descended upon Trebuchet, and his vision went dark.  As consciousness fled, he took solace in the fury of his final act.

...then, he found himself awake again, and he pushed himself to his feet, and there was everybody, all alive, if battered, waving him into the church.  He took a last glance at the now-lifeless body of the bastard.

Huh.

Improv: ECL 4 Trebuchet Water Orc Bard 3, Barbarian 1: Entry 5

Why'd they even come here?  Did anyone remember?

He was seriously considering asking someone if they remembered, but as another wave of mindless corpses advanced toward the cleric, only to fall atop the bodies of the last ones, he realized it wasn't the time.

So he stayed crouched at the front wall of the church, no matter how much he wanted to wade into the fray.

He wanted to give his arm another go.  The sword strapped to it, he meant.  He'd convinced them to help him strap a sword to his stump, but he'd gotten to swing it, what?  Once?  Twice?  And then, years ago now, he'd been forced to stop and sit and wait while the bloody cleric patiently shouted a bunch of zombies to death.

It felt so cowardly to sit behind this wall and sulk in the middle of a fight.  He wasn't a coward, he reminded himself.  After all, there wasn't really any fight to be had.  If he'd tried, it would've been a repeat of the scene at the general store.  No glory to be had in fighting things that lay down before you kill them.

And that business with the rats, well.  That hadn't been cowardice either.  He just didn't like rats.

Also there was the spell.  They'd put a spell on him and the dead couldn't see him.  So he wasn't to hit any of them or they'd be able to see him again.  Right, right.  He drummed on his forehead with his fingers to help him remember this.

It didn't help much.  It was distracting.  Felt strange.  He looked down at where the fingers he would've preferred to use should've been.  There was only the tip of a sword.

After a moment, he shrugged.  Good enough.

Improv: ECL 4 Trebuchet Water Orc Bard 3, Barbarian 1: Entry 4

He missed it more than he expected.  The arm.

It was his favorite one, after all.  Now that he thought about it, it was usually the one holding the chopper.

Not to say he hadn't realized this crucial fact before.  He was willing to admit to himself that he had.  But said cruciality had dimmed in the heat of the moment.  After all, he remembered some small part of him saying to himself, he had the other one, with just as many grippers.  A lot of orcs weren't so lucky as to have all their grippers.

And anyway, sure he was thankful to have his health.  He could've kept the arm but then he'd be dead.  Then again, wasn't dying supposed to be a good thing?  Well, dying in battle.  You're supposed to try to do that.  And he would've been a zombie.  That's no good.

And now he was properly maimed so they'd have a way to tell him apart from the other ancestors when they wove him into the tapestries.  That's the important thing.

Finally, he came back to the present, where he was staring into the withered face of yet another sad zombie. He felt a gleeful feeling rising in his chest as he raised his weapon to put the creature down...oh right no arm.  Grrrrrrgggh.

He could still feel it.  There wasn't a moment he wasn't sure it was still there, gripping something, gripping so hard it hurt.  At least he'd always have that.  Yes.  The pain reassured him.  It was proof he hadn't joined their ranks.

What was it gripping?  An axe?

No.  He pointed his stump at the dead man, imagined his arm entering its chest, gripping its heart, and crushing it.  The savage glee began to return.

The thing didn't die, of course.  You have to hit them in the head.  He raised the other arm and did so.

Improv: ECL 3, Zhangri'if Duskwood, Lesser Aasimar, Cleric 2: Entry 4

We all survived - barely.

After an interminable amount of time discussing and plotting our assault on the infested and desecrated church, our attack began.  Waves of zombies slogging toward us with clouded, unseeing eyes and twisted, tortured faces.  I became a reaping force against the unholy creatures...a furious transcendent conduit channeling the holy rage and and might of the Seldarine.  They fell before me.  Piles of rotted putrid flesh, matted hair and shattered bloody bone.  Destroyed.  An almost unrecognizable mass of death and human remains piled haphazardly where they fell.

The "Paladin" had been perverted into a vile being of evil - terrifying in his unholy might and vigor.  Screaming profane and perverse pronouncements against the Seldarine, it was a sickening spectacle to behold.  As the last of my holy might waned, he pursued me...screaming my name from it's memory of life as it pursued me...it terrified and angered me.  The Orc, Trebuchet, surprised me anew by grappling the creature with his one remaining arm, so that I was able to eventually destroy the Paladin with the magical ram hammer liberated from the church alter by the elf Kona.

It was an outcome very much in doubt up until the last moment.  We are resting safely in the church, but something nagging is left here...and it's not just the stench of rotting corpses.

Improv: ECL 3 Osiris Eloah Elf Wizard (Generalist) 3: Journal Entry 4

After what seems like forever, we finally have a watertight plan in place. Create a distraction to get the doomed paladin and his monstrous horse outside along with what looks like hundreds of the shambling undead. Then proceed to pick them off one by one. What could possibly go wrong? Once again the holy man pulled more then his weight. Destroying the undead scourge in droves with only the faith of his god. And who could forget Kona, sneaking in to retrieve a magical ram hammer to aid us in battle and felling that wicked steed in one fell strike. The bards will surly sing his name in taverns near and far for years to come. And Strongblade, such a very versatile warrior. Able to swing a blade with relative ease and still cast a spell without the use of a spellbook. Simply amazing! I must look into this when I have more time. Not to be overshadowed, Trebuchet good old Mr. reliable. Even with one arm still a force to be reckoned with. Not to blow my own trumpet, but who wouldn't want a  spell caster who is capable of casting the right spell for any situation on their team? One by one the abominations were turned to dust never to rise again by the cleric. With Kona putting a swift end to horse, that only left a handful of undead and that dammed paladin. With the cleric out of divine turning for the moment, what could we do to buy us some time so we could focus our collective strength against the paladin? Never fear, when Mortis is near! Using my summoned mount as a magnanimous sacrifice, I was able to give Zhangri'if just enough time to land the final blow against the paladin, ensuing he will never rise again. After barricading ourselves in the church for the night to get some much needed rest. I overheard Kona and Zhangri'if apparently talking about a wound Kona obtained while fighting a rat swarm a day or so before. After relaying this unfortunate news to the rest of the group, it becomes apparent we only have one choice, to cut the infection out of Kona. With a grim determination, Kona puts his fate in the hands of the cleric. After what we pray is a successful operation, we leave the elf in a meditative state on the pew and mop up the rest of the zombie horde. Before we make our next move I have a nagging feeling we may not be along in this church. The cleric pointed out that the church side door was open and then closed on it's own! Curious, very curious. I must look into this as we prepare to explore the mysteries of this fallen church.

Improv: ECL 3, Kona, Shield Elf, Battle Dancer level 3: Entry 4

Hands. 
Holding him down.
Hands: clawing.
Grabbing. 
Reaching up. 
Reaching up from within the wall - right out of the stone.
Snaring him. Gripping. 
Dragging. 
Hands dragging him down. Pulling his feet and his legs back into the rock and mortar.
More hands reaching up. Holding him fast. He wasn't struggling this time; just watching passively. Watching grey skin and maggoty flesh and protruding bone seizing  every part of him, weighing him, sinking him ~  the wall swallowing him as if it were soft mud. Up to his waist. Up to his neck. Hands over his face. Hands pulling his hair. Covering his eyes. Until he disappeared into the wall. 
Then Quiet. 

Kona gasped for air and bolted up from the blood stained pew where he had been lying. He managed this time to get both feet on the ground and pointed more or less the same direction before his legs gave out and he collapsed onto his face at the front of the church. His stomach heaved and he spit up the meager remains of his last meal.

"Well, that's progress, I guess," a voiced drolled behind him. Someone grabbed one arm and hauled him clumsily back onto the bench. "Last time you came out of it you didn't have the strength to vomit."

Kona let his head loll back and tried to focus on the ceiling. It was still dark outside. They were still still in the church. He breathed in shallow gasps, and his hand went to the gouge in his gut. This had not been his best week. He tried not to laugh at that, since each movement was a punch to his probably scraped kidney.

What a way to die. One chop at a time. He frowned, thinking of the end of the last battle. His near capture on the wall, saved only by a miraculous last second kick to the teeth of one of his assailants. Was that disappointment he felt when he broke free? Annoyance that his death wouldn't be quick? Then his reckless charge of the corrupted paladin. Bravery? Or just hoping to avoid the inevitable sacrifice he'd have to make later? 

He groaned and very slowly stood. He would .... he would....

He looked down and grimaced. He would clean up the mess he made, take a few slow laps of the perimeter of the sanctuary to regain his balance, and then settle back for a third meditative trance. They were right. He was getting stronger. And no matter what else happened to him - no matter how grisly or unpleasant his end would be - he had one thing now. One thing they could not take away - one victory they could not deny.

He looked around and smiled grimly at the orc snoring several pews down.

When MY turn came, war-brother..... I didn't pass out.... Did I?......

Improv: ECL 3 Riff Strongblade Human Warmage 3: Entry 4

Non stop death... pain... and fear.
Even the church and its supposed holy ground could not offer us any respite from the plague of zombies and evil that have taken this city by storm.
We went in search of a paladin hoping for his strength and power to aid us.  Instead we found that he had been turned into some kind of undead abomination that had blasphemed the way of good and now desecrated what he once considered the path of light.
Along with his undead horse and a completely full church of zombies we had to fight for what we believed was right.  If it wasn't for the power that the cleric is capable of channeling from his pure faith we would have all been lost.  What did we really risk our lives for?  Apparently some kind of holy relic stored within the church.  A weapon of  great power.  While it did prove quite useful in the battle against the despot and his horse (mostly by luck), no one in our group really wants to be responsible for handling the weapon in combat.  The most likely person would be the orc, except that he now only has one arm and we have yet to find the power that can restore it.  After that would be me, but I know I cannot wield it with the proper poise and strength the weapon deserves.  So it falls to the cleric; while not mainly a fighter, he is a good choice because of his connection to the higher powers and the hammer is a holy weapon.
Now we prepare for "surgery" having found the same kind of corruption within the flesh of the elf that the orc had on his now missing arm.
While we continue to grow in power we also continue to lose parts of ourselves and I fear that none of us will make it out of here whole.
While I believe the power of the cleric can continue to see us through some very difficult places, I hope we find a way to see through the darkness and fight despair.  I hope none of us gives in to the bleak existence and evil that surrounds us.  We must persevere.

Improv: ECL 2, Zhangri'if Duskwood, Lesser Aasimar, Cleric 2: Entry 3

Strange goings on indeed.

The orc became infected with some sort of putrifying disease.  Osiris noticed it first and managed to alert several of the other party members including myself in a clandestine fashion.  It is surely a clue to this plague of zombies.  I had assumed that some evil power is responsible for producing the shambling undead creatures, but if there is some kind of infectious sickness behind it, that creates an even more puzzling picture.  The Orc had apparently not been struck, chewed on, or otherwise directly contacted by one of the Zombies, so it's origin remains a mystery.  I am not yet invested with the power to remove such a disease, so it was quite a dilemma as to how we should proceed.  The Orc had proven his merits thus far, so it seemed the fair and just thing to inform him of the issue...despite my misgivings about his reaction to the news.  After some calm and quiet discussion (so as not to alarm the townsfolk) Trebuchet, as I learned his name was, came to the courageous and eminently reasonable decision to sever the infected appendage in an attempt to halt the progression of the flesh rotting sickness.  Ha, imagine that!  An eminently reasonable Orc!  Wait until I tell Jhered about that.  The amputation appears to have stymied the spread of the disease, so thank the Seldarine for small favors.

Curiously, the zombies seem to "sleep" when left undisturbed for some amount of time.  That is good news.  We were able to sneak past most of the zombie horde that had accumulated outside of the shop without much incident.  Unfortunately, keeping these townsfolk alive and out of trouble is like herding cats.  More like kittens...stupid kittens.  They decided to strike out on their own and we promptly had to go rescue them less than an hour after we parted company.  Predictable.

What was less predictable was the state of the church when we arrived.  Dead bodies were arranged in neat rows on the grounds outside the church.  Inside the church dozens of zombies sat calmly in the pews...and the Paladin who ran the church seemingly in discussion with a decaying horse appeared to be controlling them or at least in league with them.  He seemed so normal when I spoke with him upon my arrival in town.  No more.  He is changed...or at least more than he first appeared.  Is he the source of this mess, or just a symptom?

Improv: ECL 2 Osiris Eloah Elf Wizard (Generalist) 2: Journal Entry 3

As we make our way toward the churches location, a disagreement over the safest path to follow causes our group to splinter. The rag tag Captains group decides to take the western street around the city block, while, those with more intelligence, decide that a more direct route through the neighborhood is a better choice. Far the well Captain if I never see you again, idiot.  The dispatching of a few undead in the park proves a simple affair due to the improvement of our combat prowess.  As we exit the park the man of the cloth notices a rather large group of the undead scourge making their way around the city block to where the other party was headed! Oh bother.  With no time to waste I send my most loyal familiar, Mortis, to locate the other group. He was able to convince them they made an error in judgment and their course will surly lead to disaster, or it may have been the sight of an impenetrable wall of zombies that told them they made a poor choice, the world may never know. As they followed Mortis back to where there was safety in numbers, the mob continued to pursue.  Giving the party a heads up we were able to dispatch the pursuers with little harm to the group, however; each battle drains our already sparse supplies. I often ponder if this has been their plan all along, weaken us to the point of exhaustion and then move in for the kill. If these creatures were even capable of conscious though, I highly doubt they would be brilliant enough to devise such a devious plan. They must be being controlled by someone or something, but whom? Curious, very curious. I must look into this further, when time permits of course. As the safe haven of the church comes into sight we notice a large number of dead, just dead corpses around the perimeter. Strangely they seem to be arranged in rows and covered by a thin white sheet. All with the same killing blow to their heads. Very strange indeed. Peering through the windows I notice a plethora of the undead monsters in the pews with what seems to be a knight of some sort holding mass with his followers. Do the gods know what truly goes on during Sunday service? I wonder. Nevertheless, we must devise a plan to stop him and his monstrous horse before it’s too late!