We are going to do this dammit

[Amen]

Book was beginning to grow…uncomfortable. He saw no evidence of death and corruption, not yet, but he was beginning to feel it in that same imprecise way he felt all magical pollution. For the first time, Marcus was sure the stone existed, and it would not be much different than the rumors described it. At the same time, he was thrilled that his hunt was over and the time for action had come.

He listened to the interactions between Rhiannon Orris and the war dog Herobrine, dedicating his eyes to watching for danger though the way was, as yet, clear. At Herobrine’s estimation of the elves’ common treatment of humans, Marcus had to cede the point with a shrug and a nod. His own exchanges with them had been blessedly short affairs at that point, but long-eared aloofness was considered a common evil.

It seemed Rhiannon had no shortage of toys. Next she produced an extendable baton, which drew more than a passing glance from Marcus. He listened to her description of the tool with some interest, and his eyes lingered a moment before resuming their search for stray shamblers.

“The baton will be useful,” he said, without breaking off his search. “Dead muscle is loose, flimsy, and necrotic, but a lightning’s charge still causes it to tense. Hell, if the charge is strong enough you might light one on fire.”

Marcus did not see fit to look when Orris produced yet another toy, until there was a sudden burst of green light illuminating their path. This was, amusingly enough, less alien to Book than the gun or the baton. “It might not,” he said in response to Rhiannon’s doubt, “but you never know.”

[Knave]

The shifting stones of gravel under foot soon began to give way to grass the rustle of grass grabbing at the knees and more as it grew. The once beaten path Herobrine and crew walked was in the midst of wild revolt, small beasts in the distance pricking their large ears for the resonant cries of the owls, and the tiny, shrieking bats.

Herobrine’s dark expression never altered as he gazed upon the woman as she demonstrated her wares and equipment with an attitude seeking some vouchsafed words of approval. Unable to smile without a sneer, Herobrine gave her what she wanted, “All your tricks and skills are about to find the best test of all. I cannot wait to see them in the tangling, thick of action.”

Sarcasm aside, did anything Rhiannon offer strike the sage as worthy of his amazement or surprise? Only so much as a magician at his trade who observes another, or any other traveler who might have been rewarded on his endless sojourn with the power of a legendary spectacle.

“Forgive us our lack of awe, but the magic you bring to bear, though magic it may not be, is the stuff of nigh common expense rather than simple rarity. Consider yourself blessed, the most dangerous rarities prove the most volatile, as Orox was fool to demonstrate.” Teeth in obvious decay gave a grim yellow to a bitter smile as an afterthought and glance from Gilberto to Marcus showed some playful suspicion “Of course, some wanderers on the offensive see great men’s failures as signs, either of danger to be amended or simple plunder.”

Of course, Herobrine explained nothing new to his companions, only the base nature of heroes without the moral constraints hurled upon them by so many who knew the adventurous by story and opinion rather than from the people themselves. Villain was a newer word, and Herobrine paid it no attention in any of his forms, and so when he thought of danger and those who would approach it, he had to wonder why before he could begin to fathom such a person.

“The time for talk is soon at an end, but tell me, Orris,” Herobrine whispered, slowing the pace which had placed him at the lead of this pack, “there’s gold and sorcery to be dealt with, are you out for your job alone, or something more?” He said it with a word of awe as he turned his highbrow to the sky, and his stiff expression took in the imminent distance. “Just keep in mind the toll.”

Down the unruly path, over far flung branches and deep into a small pocket of a valley was their destination. Death brought out the cannibal nature of life, and the carrion eaters lusted quietly in the ever approaching trees. The fields were tall with their bounty, a miniature forest reminiscent of red nettled pines, and above, in silent, nebulous clouds, flew a vast host of vultures.

Herobrine raised a hand to call for silence, and with the hush of absolute seriousness he spoke, “from here we proceed with absolute caution. I ask you now, for the sake of preference, do you desire to continue together into that place or depart, or to work by pairs or alone?” His stomach seethed at the thought of entering at all! Though he kept it down, his gut churned violently with every use Herobrine made of his nose. At any moment he suspected it might heave itself out of his mouth for want of sweet sensory escape from pestilence.

Even to common ears, the hum of flies by the billion gently thrummed through the air, the beating of those wretched wings an evil omen.

[Rhiannon]

Rhiannon gave the burly Amen a nod of understandment as he explained the benefit that her blunt dealing weapon would cause quite a bit of damage to the undead. So the undead were indeed dead tissue and muscle, though they still moved, fought, and even talked from what she gathered. This would mean they would indeed still know how to swing a sword. "Whatever happened to the likes of rigimortous around here?" she replied under her breath.

Her boots rustled in the grass beneath her feet. There was a weary feeling rolling up her spine that they were getting close. The faint smell of death consumed her senses as a small wind traveled by, carrying the vile scent with it. The cool, undertoned words of Herobrine struck her attention, her brows curling in confusion. "I don't suppose I understand where you're getting at, Herobrine. The reason I am here is because I swore an oath to the Underwood Patrol. That's why- oh my... We're near."

Putrid.

The women shook her head and looked flat out digusted as they grew near. The women couldn't help but wonder how many, or how long they have been rotting. Either way, she wished nothing more than to vomit. With a tear in the eye, Rhiannon listened to Herobrine's words, and stepped in with an offer. "We can not assault what we don't know. Perhaps we're better off at scouting the area first. I could approach by the smell of it, the undead clan's location and climb a tree to see what we're dealing with here. Seeing that I'm more mobile and less burdened, I feel I would be the best fit to get through the heavy brush. We don't need Book here taking out trees with his shoulders. "Jokingly, she patted Book on his armored shoulder with a smirk. "After we see how many there are, we'll be able to know for sure what kind of assault would be the most profecient."

"Any other ideas, gentlemen? After

(I got a new computer and it doesn't have word :/ is there any other form of spell check I can use? This word pad doesn't seem to have one either.)

[Amen]

Orox’s dread stone was near. Marcus felt it the way a storm can sometimes be sensed scant seconds before the first drop. Of the walking dead he saw and felt no sign, but he wasn’t surprised: the stone itself emitted such foulness as to overwhelm the individual putrescence of the shamblers near it. The sense came, as if it often did, paired with an adrenaline rush.

The fight wasn’t far now.

The sword would be of limited use, he knew. It would serve if needed, but the walking dead were far less susceptible to bleeding out or pierced organs. Instead, the young paladin unstrapped the mace fastened to his belt and swung it once or twice to reacquaint himself with its heft. As he did, he spoke with a whispered half-grunt, which was nearly drowned out beneath the distant drone of unseen flies. If the surrounding stench and corruption of the place unnerved him, he did not give sign.

“Scouting is a fine plan, but there’s the risk you’ll be caught alone and surrounded. Or worse, they’ll spot you and follow you back to where the rest of us are waiting,” he said. “Perhaps it would be best if we put both plans into motion at once? Someone will go with Miss Orris to watch her back, while the other half of us will go around to the opposite side of the stone. It’ll be suicide to fight them grouped together, no matter what you see. If we separate them first, they’ll be more manageable.”

Satisfied with the mace’s balance, Book let it come to a rest and looked at each of his companion’s faces in turn, momentarily lost in thought.

“The dead are slow,” he continued after a pause, “and if what Herobrine told us about their state of decay is accurate, they should burn well even with the moisture on the ground. I propose we put your swill there to good use immediately. Soak an area of the ground here with it first. Then Rhiannon and one other creep closer to scout how the dead are arrayed around the stone while the second team sneaks around to the opposite side, as I said. Once we know how the dead are positioned, both teams will get the attention of the dead, then lead them back here, with one team returning faster than the other. Once the first group of undead is back here, you light the alcohol and catch the shamblers in the blaze. Once the first group is burning, the second team will lead the second group of shamblers through the fire. At that point, it’ll be a simple matter of avoiding the burning shamblers, then mopping up the stragglers.

“Herobrine is clearly best suited to lead, and I have the impression tactics are not strange to him. I would suggest that you and Rhiannon compose the first team. She climbs the tallest tree you can find a fair distance from the horde, then reports what she sees to you. You decide the best course of action, and then she climbs the tree again and signals Gilberto and me with her ring. Simply sweep the light over the path we should take. In my experience, the undead rarely look up, so the signal should literally go over their heads, yes?”

http://freespellcheckers.com seems to work, Rhiannon. Google Chrome has a built in spell check as part of the browser, so that might be an option too (I'm not sure if other browsers do or not anymore, I've been using Chrome for awhile now).

[Knave]

The time for talk was over, and preparation was limited to what each of the party carried. Herobrine turned his head, and cast a brown eye to the left, watching Marcus Book’s purposeful swings of his mace. Doubtless, brain matter would spatter the earth in shades of rotten gray—perhaps it was time Herobrine unsheathed his weapon before the attack and the enemy rather than amongst that chaos. Pardolaes had been chosen well from Lawrence’s ever growing stock of weapons, chosen above daggers and spears, chosen the fact that when the blade swung it cut wide and immediate swathes with even the most conservative of swings. Still, Herobrine was hesitant, and there were other things to do.


Marcus Book proved himself every bit the soldier as laid down logic with not a hint toward shaking of his own nerve. He stated scouting to be a task most lethal, but he gave too much credit to the intelligence of this particular evil. A grunt—hrump—the usual unimpressed eyes remained without either sparks of interest or insight, features still and expectant as though he’d heard it all before. “In pairs, or as a group, you forget that we face a larger enemy and to judge them shamblers before we’ve seen the truth of their corruption would be the greatest mistake.”

And to Orris, “I’ve gather the lot of you, picked the time if not place; I’ve seen the maps and then the land with my own eyes. The enemies, witless as they are, stumble without motivation or order; as sure as Orrox is dead among them, they lumber alone, blind to anything but the objects of their violence.” He said all of this while taking to the head of their path, and turning his back to the moon above and fields below, his figure the aphotic silhouette of someone more alive, someone whose posture had not been bowed by time, and whose attitude was one of neutral resignation.

From that stand shadow he continued…and respectfully conceded that, “Entering that place by two’s however would make a better start than all together or all alone, but I’ll say it again so that you know I am speaking to you, those sentries wander and never leave that field… and this alcohol,” He jostled the barrel ‘neath his arm, heavy though it was, there could never be that much, “even if the earth’s thirst is turned by the taste of it and we’re left with enough to start a bon fire, why in the world would something unsullied by the weight of death stop moving because it is on fire?” He had thought it clear—obvious—before, that the initial dispatch would have to be done by hand: he was wrong.

“Now,” He the darkness shifted as Herobrine laid hand on Pardolaess’ wooden hilt, and drew forth a blade the robed itself in light for the instant, and was thrust downward a second later to stifle the proud blue sheen of mythril, “let it never be said I did not give a man his due, or said nay without either reason or alternative. Earlier, when we spoke at the beggars house, we spoke of stealth and simple measures to render the dead properly still. I would hear your objection to that when so long as they are unaware they are docile—like cows—docile even before the slaughter.” Herobrine’s plan hinged on careful action, but to the core it was founded on distrust, Lawrence trusted no plan but his own, and in fairness, his logic was all encompassing in its simplicity.

[Rhiannon]

Rhiannon listened to the aged man Herobrine speak of matters that would be before them. They indeed couldn't rush to judge these creatures without proper percaustions. Stealth was the key for now, and that's what the woman was going ot go by. Keeping her baton close to her hip, she headed for the woods to find a good tree to scout.

"Gilberto, you can come with me incase there's an unexpected ambush or if I happen to be detected from above." Her eyes fell on the young scholar before they quickly glanced at the other two, giving them a nod.

With that said, she proceeded into the woods, letting her senses take over. The rustling of leaves and twigs could be heard as they startled a rabit and a few small critters along their way. The woods were dark, more shadowed to have any sort of comfort, making the woman feel a little uneasy as she cautiously made her way toward the smell of rotting flesh. The moon would have to be her only means of light, for the ring may be too bright and would alert the undead of their coming.

"Something gives me a dreary feeling about this, Gilberto." the woman whispered, "Lets just hope the others know what they're doing. Ugh, the smell is getting really bad.."

Suddenly the woman stumbled as a branch tripped her from under her feet, causing a minor stumble. Cursing, she kicked the branch aside and realized it wasn't a stick at all but was once a man's arm, which was only leftover bone now. With her heart beating like the legs of a race horse, she looked over to see the skeleton on the surface, partially fleshed and shredded apart by wolves. There was a sword and sheild left, but nothing more than that but ripped leather and cloth. The smell along with the site made her want to vomit right there on the spot.

"Gilberto.. I don't think this man belonged to Orrox.."

[Amen]

Marcus watched Rhiannon and their suddenly-silent fourth fade into the fields surrounding the as-yet unseen Dark Stone, and steeled himself. There was merit to simplicity, though he did not look forward to the ache in his arm come morning. With a nod of complicity to Herobrine, he took to the fields in the opposite direction.

Book was careful that he did not let a great distance grow between him and the old salt, but he did not directly follow or lead. He could hear the man somewhere forward and to the right, and kept his ears perked for any signal or sign that indicated he should adjust his course.

The malodorous cloud thickened as the pair went on, and in time Marcus could hear bodies slowly moving. Every so often he heard a breathy sigh or moan, and the rustle of bodies moving without direction amongst the gresdah stalks. Abruptly, and with his breath caught in his throat, the young paladin stopped and crouched low to the ground.

A dark figure loomed not a yard in front of him, momentarily concealed by the swaying stems that surrounded it. It was a man, shoulders slumped and head hung, and the smell of rot came off him in fierce waves. He leaned very slowly from side to side as if enjoying music only he could hear and as Marcus crept forward he could see that the man’s jaw hung at an unnatural angle.

There was little doubt that he was dead. The warrior gripped his mace in both hands, stepped in behind the walking corpse, and crept forward. It never saw him coming, and there was no time to express surprise or alarm or whatever equivalent the dead were privy to. The mace whistled, the skull cracked sonorously, and the body went down with a rustle and a thud.

And then there was just a chill wind in the gresdah.

[Knave]

All argument was said and done, and the tacit approval of easy comrades saved the silence for the deeds that would be done this night. With the others, weapon drawn, Herobrine descended upon the fields to reap a foul and fetid bounty.

Eyes familiar with darkness, eyes that could see with lightless clarity, scanned the nearing crop, and noting the way the tallest of them shifted, swaying. “Hmm…” Perhaps the enemy would provide more clues—the wind stirred to grab hold of a hundred different rots, passing in a moment to buffet the old the moustache, and reminded the man that witless nature played people for fools as much as fate. The rustle of leaves was no sure sign of anything.

Never one to reveal himself for what he was, Herobrine in truth, Lawrence in fact, the dark man made use of that skill left behind when he had been robbed of his humanity; his form vanishing as the darkness hid him in its heart. He was still there, some presence as much standing upon the ground as in the air, a presence which by instinct turned the eye and told the mind there was nothing. No man, no name, no friend, no foe.

With Marcus Book at his back and to his right, Herobrine stepped into the fields, and looked down the rows, which only offered space, space upon space as the lack of light left distance without definition; an infinity furnished by barbed tower fences, and a world turning without direction as the ground rose up to drag Herobrine down. Pardolaes sank seven inches into the soil to ward it off, and Herobrine, his legs almost lost to him, perched upon its handle, breathing hard, and feeling worse for it as his head swam. Not many people really knew what that phrase meant, to find one’s eyes blurred, all sound distorted so that the cruch of companion’s feet were like the crunch of one’s own teeth into flesh.

‘I’m in the thick of it now…’ He thought, and followed that thought wit a pause a moment of silent, bitter laughter at the idea that he had meant to find the fact reassuring. Skin seething, senses reeling, he heard the rustle of blades and nettles, the shuffle of dragging feet, spoke of a movement there nearby. Herobrine raised his head, wreathed with an extra layer of shadow, he saw it—her.

Standing, though his height diminished, Herobrine chanced a glance at Marcus, and seeing him steady and still, took the lead at what might be minutes or hours of work. The darkman stepped between the gresdah, silently raising an arm toward the nettles away from his face and uncovered skin. They were passive in his passing—which was good as he could not fathom what their sting might do to his eyes. He went for the first kill.

The first sign of the enemy stood dumb and pale, her pallid complexion yellowing as she stared, and slack jawed her mouth hung idle, and the tooth torn tongue that remained fell upon the edges of her lower lip. At the start of this last event, Herobrine had wondered what it was that the dead sought from the living, and here before his eyes he saw that it was no flesh, she still had some. Her filth stained dress was tattered as time would do, revealing the hollow of her breast where the lusty devils had set their teeth and made a sport of spiriting away huge mouthfuls, leaving a yellow and black crater. They had worked over her shoulder, disemboweled her to leave intestine draping over her fully exposed left leg. She was a horror, but her face remained fresh, and with an empty smile she lurched through night like she belonged. The birds had pecked out her eyes. She stood staring at what might as well be called a wall.

She never made a sound as mythril blade lanced her skull to abruptly rise from her cheek, and an unearthly strength kept her standing when the other fled her. Herobrine tilted the sword back, her head with it, and laid the corpse out upon the ground. He then hacked away arm and leg until the body, the head and hands, were reduced to broken bits, the only sound the soft thump and thrush of soil.

One down.

[Rhiannon]

Beofore much elase could be said, a whisper spoke out from the dreary air, a whispered chanting. The voice couldn't be pinpointed, it spoke through the trees, rocks, and the gust of light wind passively passing. A black fog started to seep through the roots and vegatation of the Earth's crust, swarming like a pool of black tar within their perimiter.

Rhiannon's jaw fell open as she qucikly tried to move away from the swarming black mist as it remained to grow no higher than the knees. The chanting continued and Rhiannon's ears tried their best to listen in, but once again failed to find the voice, though it belonged to an aged man by the ounds of its low tones. The series of dead corpses around them began to tremble and shake in seizure, letting out gasps of dry stale air, and muscle tissue started to manipulate and pulse violently. Bones rattled violently as the bodies seemed to be coming alive. The woman's eyes fell up on the full moon, its light beaming down on them through the thick night clouds.

"They're coming alive!" Rhiannon shouted as she took another step back, letting her baton whip out into action as she prepared herself for battle as the corpses started to rise from the fallen warriors.

From the forest a green light flickered in the air, blinking in a pattern that could be seen from Gresdah field. Hopefully Marcus and Herobrine would see the alarming signals as she turned the ring off, looking into a rotted eye of a man's face as it approached her, a heavy iron claymore dragging against the soil. Rhiannon's heart raced as the looked around that the group of five circling her like a pack of wolves.

The claymore with tremndous power rose from the ground, striking down at the woman with heavy death bringing fury. Graceful, Rhiannon rolled to the side as the heavy iron blade planted itself in the soil. Bringing her knife from her boot, she growled as she stood, slamming her baton down on the sword, preventing it from moving any further as her left hand wielding the knife slammed into the side of the undead soldier's head. Ripping the blade out, brain matter oozing out from the skull, she jumped back, only to see it look at her.. Its jaw loosening wide as it tilted its head and approached her once more.

Yeah.. This wasn't Hollywood.

Her lip curling into a snarl, readied her baton as she lingered back a little further away from the party of warriors. At least she managed to roll out of being circled. "Gilberto, we need to stay back to back." but there was only the sounds of groaning corpses and clumsy footsteps. "Gilberto??"

He was gone. Nowhere to be found. The feeling of fear started to flow through her veins like a venom, making the hairs on the back of her neck rise, chills running up her back. Run!Rhiannon's long legs darted through the forest, the pounding of boots and shrieks following close behind her. Her breaths became heavier as she ran, eyes squinted to see her path, for the moon didn't provide her with much light. But if she couldn't see... Quickly, the woman placed herself behind a tree, her chest expanding multiple times as her lungs fought to keep her breath. 'Marcus, Herbrine, where the hell are you?'

Only one straggler proceeded to move forward, its head shifting to the left and the right. Rhiannon could clearly smell it from the other side of the tree. Its raspy crude voice spoke out. "You can't hide forever you little bitch! Now come on out and make this easy for the both of us... Heheh you smell so good.. Come out come out wherever you are!!"

Closing her eyes to take in one more big breath, they opened again as she reappeared from behind the tree, bashing the steel rod hard across the back of the man's skull, most of the cranium making a home run into the forest brush. Thick tar like blood splattered everywhere as Rhiannon violently brought down the zombie, bashing it a total of three times until there was nothing but puddles for brains. Wiping the blood from her sharp featured face, she listened in for the others. They were close.

[Amen]

Marcus dropped to one knee as his enemy fell unmoving, and the tall stalks concealed them both. He watched the corpse for a short time, verifying that it did not rise again. Meanwhile, he heard movement and the sounds of moist violence, but did not rise again until he was sure where his friends and enemies were.

Too much distance had grown between him and Herobrine, but the young paladin did not concern himself. His companions would need to be able to take care of themselves, just as he would. No matter the plan, the horde would need to be separated to remain manageable – gathering together would be momentarily advantageous but would ultimately lead to their failure.

That thought was shattered by desperate flashes to Book’s left, the familiar green glow from Rhiannon’s ring. It was impossible to tell what the signal meant in full: did the number of flashes matter, the shifting direction, the angle, or just the implied panic? Marcus paused to consider it, and finally shot off through the field with a crouched gait.

It was stupid, but it’d be a shame to find her ripped to shreds later - or to have to put her walking corpse down himself.

He came upon her just as she was rising from a battered body. She wiped congealed blood from her cheek as the shadows loomed over her from behind, and Marcus shot past her with his mace swinging. The flanges met the shambler’s nose and pulverized the rotting meat, sending the body down limp.

Book scanned their immediate surroundings.

“Where’s Gilberto?” he whispered, but before Orris could answer, more of them began to stumble out from a loose copse of trees.

They were beginning to swarm.

“Go left!” Marcus said. “Watch your back, signal again if they start to surround you, and keep moving. Head around the stone and away from it, we’ll thin the herd. Divide and conquer.”

Book ignored the realization that they were being divided just as surely as the zombies, and strode off to the right and toward the stone. He yelled for Rhiannon to go while he lifted his mace high overhead, and at the highest point the head burst into blazing hellfire so that it seemed Marcus held a torch of roaring sunlight.

He watched as dozens of dead, gleaming eyes were turned to regard him hatefully from between the swaying stalks, and he set his jaw.

It would be a good fight.

...but he still hoped a few of them followed Rhiannon and Herobrine.