Blood-Stained Travesties (Closed)

[Justice]

Kellien Dirthauler was having a bad day.

Rain poured down upon his balding head, pooling around his ankles in the rapidly expanding grave. Of all the days the old fart could’ve died – why’d it have to be today? Kellian was stuck in the muck with only a shovel for companionship while the more sensible denizens of Scara Brae huddled inside their warm, dry homes, sipping on strong ale and attempting to forget the day’s troubles. And for what was he risking life, limb, and sanity for on this fateful day? A few extra slivers of gold.

A terror-filled scream echoes to the north. Kellien keeps digging.

Things wouldn’t be the same after tomorrow, he assured himself. He’d posted a notice offering a substantial reward to any warriors who would enter the cemetery and remove the threat that lurked within. He could only scrape by on his savings for so long, and not every rich townsman wished to be buried in his backyard like his current patron.

Once more, that cold shriek of air from the north – that frozen shriek that promised of terror, of blood, of slow, drawn-out agony... and death.

-

“Just past this gate,” Uriel assured his companions, rummaging around in the satchel at his side for the key he’d been given by the undertaker. A crude, eight-foot high wooden fence surrounded the cemetery to keep grave robbers out – and, in this case, it had done an excellent job of keeping the zombies in. The oaken gate that stood before the group was the only way into (and out of) the graveyard.

Despite the gravity of the situation, he felt his thoughts drawn towards his homeland. He’d heard that the church and the monarchy were having some problems in the Salvar – could this possibly be true? The monarchy and the church were so co-dependant that he didn’t believe it possible. Still, he was glad he was going home in a few short weeks – whether the problems at home were more or less severe than he’d heard them described, his people needed him.

“We don’t know how many of these things there are going to be, so keep your guard up,” he instructed, releasing the padlock from the poorly constructed gate. The wooden slab slowly swings outward, the hinges squeaking noisily from years of neglect. The light of the moon illuminated the whole of the cemetary to the priest and his companions.

Crypts and mausoleums stood in various states of disarray around the cemetery; their luminous white walls of marble were spattered with dark splotches, and many of their doors were smashed into bits by an unknown force.

The half-devoured corpse of a child lay mere feet from the gate, its maggot-infested entrails spilling out onto the dark earth.

In the darkness, death shrieked once more.

[Leaf on the Wind]

Rowan had come to Scara Brae with a lot of expectations. He expected a good row or two in the Dajas Pagoda, maybe a good lay or three from the local ladies, and some good food seasoned with adventure. He'd even come to this wearing his favored white hakama, jacket and shirt, with his chokuto sheathed on the right hip and a gleam in his eyes. Sure, his idea of adventure had included the undead -- anyone who answers the kind of notice left by Dirthauler without expecting undead is obviously missing something important in the head.

Rowan's idea of adventure, however, did not include the notion of little girls lying half-eaten and maggot-riddled in the mud at damn near two in the morning.

The response was almost immediate: Rowan heaved. He didn't throw up, so much as he bent away from the sight and spent a few seconds gagging in horrified silence. A few seconds dragged into a minute or more, and then he finally straightened up. He shuddered the whole way upright, but then he was steeled. He looked back to the corpse.

Rowan did not blink this time.

Sure this isn't just a bunch of graverobbers and vandals? he had asked earlier. Now he corrected himself, in a very low, resolute voice. "I shouldn't've asked that."

No big declaration. No big threats. Just an acknowledgement.

"This is some serious shit," he said, because somebody had to.

[Bloodrose]

Mercenary work, especially when one is just starting out (or perhaps trying to get back in the game), isn't always as glamorous and as exciting as the recruiters make it out to be. Career fighters are a dying breed, both figuratively and literally, so the propaganda machine is always in full swing with tales of gold, adventure, and beautiful women; all the things necessary to entice and enlist a younger generation of angst filled teens barely old enough to swing the swords they carry.

Truthfully?

Mercenary work was a rough and thankless business, and more often than not you found yourself standing at the gate to a graveyard, unenthusiastically hunting some zombies...

The things I'll do for coin... Teric reflected grimly. He shifted his feet to keep them from sinking into the muddy trail, gazing disassociatively at the half eaten corpse lying just inside the gate. Behind him someone retched, oddly prompting Teric to be thankful that someone in their motley troupe was still human. That was another unadvertised part of the business; you tended to lose a little bit of your humanity with every job. This is the last time I take a job offered in a flyer nailed to a tavern wall, I swear.

"This is some serious shit, indeed." The old veteran responded dryly, more for his own benefit than anyone else’s. He carefully unsheathed his sword cane, whipping the thin blade free of its black lacquered casing and keeping the cane handy to use as a club.

"Who wants to go in first?"

[Bullet Witch]

Leigh Tyrfing was late.

It was embarresing. She was late simply because she had wanted to taken a shower before going to hunt the undead race, which didn't make any sense now as she ran down the streets with her katana in one hand and her other kept out of sight in the folds of her coat-dress. The job posted up by Devin had seemed ambiguous at first, and Leigh didn't enjoy the prospects of having to share the loot with others, but hey, a job was a job.

As she exited through the gateway her eyes immediately turned to the graveyard that the directions pointed to and she noticed that she could see several figures already there. Not all were completely visible to her in the morning fog, but she could at least see that one was bald, one was old and one was tall.

She strode up silently behind the group, her slim figure cutting through the mist as she scanned the area. On the ground, she also noticed something quite sickening: Two children, with their guts eaten out. Their eyes were glazed over in death, and maggots now feasted upon their rotting flesh. They must have been dead for some time now. Leigh thought without break or pause. The sight of this wasn't strange to her: back on Earth, dead bodies were as common as the common house fly.

However, what did surprise here was when suddenly, one of the child's arms twitched. Her eyes widened as suddenly the creature, as now the child could not remotely even be called human, slowly got up from the ground, the gaping hole in its stomach dripping dead blood and gore as it moaned. "Mo-o-o-o-o-t-he-r..." It groaned as it stepped towards Leigh, rotting arms now held in front of it as if to squeeze her in a fatal embrace.

The hand that she had kept hidden within the folds of her coat now flashed into the open, carrying her signature weapon, the pistol/crossbow Heresy. In one movement she pulled it out and pulled the trigger, and a sleek arrow flew from the barrel of the weapon, embedding itself into the head of the creature. Thankfully, the thing gave one final moan before collapsing to the ground once more. Nothing moved.

Sighing, Leigh's hand became enveloped in a dark orb and suddenly her weapod dissapeared. Stepping up to the tall bald man who seemed to be the leader of this ragtag gang, she cocked an eyebrow at him. "So are we going in or what?" She demanded, crossing her arms across her breasts.

[Justice]

Squish. Squish. Squish.

Every step of Uriel’s booted feet was made audible by the damp earth as he approached the two corpses, his eyes burning with the fervor of one who knows no fear, no pain, no loss.

“Good question. Who wants to enter the undead-infested haven of evil fir - BY THE LIGHT!”

The crimson-clad priest recoiled at the sight of the rising zombie, his hand immediately seeking out the warhammer strapped to his back. Before he had an opportunity to unsheathe the weapon, however, a shaft of wood took the place of the creature’s left eye. The desecrated corpse tumbled to the ground, lifeless.

Uriel placed a hand atop the leather-bound tome at his side, his fingertips lightly caressing the rough, cracked surface of his most valuable possession.

“The Sway be with us.”

After blessing the poor souls of the dead with a hand-gesture, he turned his attention to the newcomer, his gaze constantly drifting back and forth between the ebony-haired witch and the cemetery’s interior. Something about her sickened him. Perhaps it was the lack of hesitation she showed before shooting a child in the head. Perhaps it was the fact the she had snuck up on the group without warning and could have just as easily imbedded a bolt into any of their skulls.

Or perhaps it was just because she was late.

“We? So now the reward is split four ways.” Uriel grunted as he slung his warhammer across his left shoulder, his gaze shifting to the cemetery grounds. Now he’d have even less gold to facilitate his upcoming journey to Salvar. Great.

“We’ve no time for introductions. Let’s finish the job, and then…” he trailed off.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunchcrunch.

Sluuuuuurp.

“Be ye friend or foe, show yourself!” the battlepriest demanded, his jowls settling into a determined scowl. The creature obeyed.

Empty eyes the color of the midnight sky.

Teeth like daggers, glinting eerily in the moonlight.

Fresh blood dripping bleakly from its chin to its chest.

This was a ghoul, one of the most horrific abominations beneath the broad skies of Althanas. This was the face of death. It approached the group silently - without thought, without emotion, without fear.

And it was hungry.

[Leaf on the Wind]

Rowan took point this time, and in as spectacular a fashion as ever: A leap straight up over the rest of the group, performed with a few flips and a twist just for show, and then he came back down.

He landed on both feet in a half-crouch, one leg extended almost straight towards the ghoul. Then he rocketed upright, dove forward and, somewhere in between a handspring and the actual landing, drove both of his ankles into the ghoul's eyesockets, curved down into its sinus cavity and brain, and finally tearing off the whole upper and lower jaw.

Rowan was upright in a blur, his body jarring sideways and his right leg swinging up to plant a knee square in the chest of the ghoul. Bone cracked and the husky remnants of organs imploded; Bursting Leaf threw the re-dead body up a few feet into the air before gravity dragged it back out.

Pausing in the stance of a freshly delivered kick, Rowan gave a distasteful look. He resumed what passed for his normal slouch, then looked over his shoulder.

"Think this means Baldy 'n' the Old Guy get next go. Least if we're doin' this by numbers." He considered the nicknames, then shrugged. "And I guess that makes me Puke, doesn't it?"

As if on cue, something wretched out a growl in the dark. Maybe it was close. Maybe it wasn't. Rowan took a meaningful look around and, with great dignity, hurried to rejoin the group.

[Justice]

“By numbers? How terribly crudes.”

Another ghoul rises from behind a nearby grave marker, his body substantially less decayed than his companion’s. His eyes were the same dull black that his fallen compatriot’s were, and a clear ichor constantly dribbled out of a gaping hole in his left cheek, but all-in-all he still looked rather human. His short, black hair was partially concealed beneath a rather fashionable pointed cap, and he still wore the fancy dress robes he was buried in.

“Wait!” he screeched as Urel took a menacing step in his direction. “Don’t hurts me, please! We haven’t dones anything!”

A talking ghoul who claimed to be an innocent? This was interesting. “Explain yourself,” the priest demanded in his arrogant baritone.

“We don’t kills the humies. Honest. We just eatsies the dead ones. But our friends, they is bad things,” the ghoul claims, flailing his arms about in the air for emphasis. “BAD things. They kills the humies.”

Uriel, unconvinced, stepped closer to the creature, causing the zombie to squeal with fright.

“Noes, noes, please don’t hurts us. If you lets us goes, we tell yous where live humies are. Won’t be lives long, BAD friends have founds them. But if you hurries, you might saves a few.”

The hammer-toting battlepriest eyed the mutant with distaste. “I don’t trust him,” he muttered to his companions. “He’s… he’s an abomination.”

Indeed he was, but his words weren’t too far-fetched. It was very likely that the living, if any remained, were holed up somewhere nearby. Technically, it wasn’t the party’s job to help anyone – they were only hired to kill these sleepless corpses. Were a few human lives worth sacrificing in order to fully complete the job? Was this one creature worth sparing to potentially preserve a few lives, no matter how slim the chance that this ghoul’s words were the truth?

[Bloodrose]

"Just kill the poor bastard." Teric muttered darkly, coming to stand behind and off to the side of the hammer-wielding warrior who had distinguished himself as the ringleader of their unlikely quartette. The old warrior stood at ease, gently tapping the side of his blade against his right boot. "We're not here to save anyone," he added, "and I don't feel like letting your abomination here run to get his friends once we let him go..."

Teric let his words end at that, waiting to see what their bald-headed leader decided to do. Thus far the man had demonstrated a little more self-restraint than the other two members of their troupe, so the old warrior was a little more inclined to follow his lead than follow the young acrobat or the lone female into an all out brawl. Hopefully he doesn't decide to let this thing go. Teric thought. Otherwise I might have to start taking care of business myself.

The idea of stepping up and dispatching the undead wasn't one that bother Teric to much, but why should he have to do anything when his younger companions seemed so eager to take point?

[Bullet Witch]

Leigh noticed that the big baldy didn't like her, but that was just fine with her. She didn't like him either. He was too fanatical to his "God" than she would have liked. The other old man, however, was a practical man, and his words were a nice change to the baldy's. After the boy with white hair had dispatched one ghoul in a very acrobatic but messy way, Leigh wiped dead guts off of her face with a flick of her wrist, disgusted.

Leigh watched as the "leader" considered the ghoul's words. She couldn't believe it. "Fucking idiot..." She murmured under her breath so that none of her companions could hear. "Just kill the thing and lets go..."

However, as she gazed at the ghoul with stark blue eyes she noticed something that made her jump. Walking past the giant bald man, the ghoul squealed in terror as she gazed down upon it's left shoulder. "Stay still." she commanded it, and immediately the thing froze, stricken by her gaze and her icy voice.

Kneeling down before it, she grabbed the thing's shoulder and turned it around. It whimpered, but no words of protest came from its dead mouth.

Upon its shoulder was a mark. It was like an intricate tatoo, with swirls and dervishes all over. "This thing isn't a true ghoul." She announced to her fellow party members. Letting it go, she stood up and faced the other three.

"Its a homunculous." She shot the ghoul another distasteful look. "Created by a Witch. No doubt made to spy on us." As she spoke her signature weapon reappeared in her left hand, and as the bolt locked into place she pointed the barrel down at the creature, which squealed now with point blank terror for its own life.

This was what gave her the first clue that it had not been a true ghoul. Ghouls were lifeless, only a step above the average zombie, and all the ones that Leigh had dealt with carried no emotions or sense of self-preservation. Leigh wasn't going to waste the chance to use that to their own advantage. "Tell me--Where is your Mistress?" She commanded once more, looking down the barrel to get a better lining with her shot. "Tell me, and your semblance of life I may spare."

She had no real intention of "sparing" it, however. Once a homunculous was created, it only had two options: fufill its given task or be destroyed. And since she did not know what its given task had been, obliteration was the only option.

[Leaf on the Wind]

Rowan looked from Leigh to Uriel, then a glance at Teric. They'd all said their pieces to some extent, and since he was at least pretending to do it by the numbers, and nobody was being cautious. Hell, Rowan wasn't being cautious. He was alert, oh yes. He'd been too disturbed not to be alert. The bodies from earlier had jarred him, and the chance to attack that last zombie...that'd been too good to pass up.

He almost wanted to say I feel better now when he rejoined the group, except he didn't. Because you head a hardened zealot flip-flopping, a hookeresque witch gunslinging, and a cryptic old man...being cryptic and old. Rowan wasn't good at the whole Being Cautious thing, but he did know right from wrong and he was generally able to apply it pretty well.

"Leigh-chan," he said, and only later grimaced at slipping back into his native formalities for a moment. It always made him feel like such an amateur. "Get the hell away from that thing. For all we know it could be a 37 foot tall demon from Hell with tentacles in places we don't want to think about. Don't the undead come in all sorts of guises and disguises?" He picked his ear with a pinky. "Hell, magic works in some crazy-ass ways. Maybe someone made a homonculus, it died, and then somebody else reanimated it just to sucker someone like you?"

He looked to Uriel, squarely. "You took point when we started this. You were the first one to answer the call. You look like the only one of us -- me included -- who's in it for the Do-Gooding and not the Do-Looting. Far as I'm concerned, you're the big honcho tonight, unless Bloodrose-s--Mr. Bloodrose over there's got any better ideas. So you decide. Can't speak for Witchy McKillshit over there, but I'll follow orders at least."

[Bullet Witch]

Leigh-Chan? What was this guy, japanese or something? Whatever the case, his words Leigh dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Nah, I'm a Devil Hunter. I'd know." She looked down at the ghoul with keen blue eyes. "This thing doesn't smell like a demon. No, there's defenitely Witchcraft involv--" But before she could finish her sentance, the ghoul took off running, tripping over it's dress robes as it took off. Leigh cursed herself for now being careful but restrained herself from pursuing it. It was most likely a trap, knowing a Witch like herself would do that.

Sighing, Leigh turned back to the white haired kid, who somehow knew her name. And she was going to find out how the hell he did. "So, you." She had completely missed his words to the old man and baldy, as her own thoughts had drowned out the drone of his voice. "How do you know my name? I dont' recall giving it to any of you." She crossed her lace-covered arms over her breasts as she confronted the kid.

[Leaf on the Wind]

Rowan looked at her. Really looked at her. Logic bent this way and that, twisted a little and did a cha-cha. Then he shrugged. "Fourth wall broke. Had a lucky guess. It happens." Note the fact that he was addressing her not to her face, but to her breasts.

Because Rowan slouches, and these things happen, and any proper Male is going to tell you six ways to sunday that you shouldn't dress like that if you don't enjoy the looks it gets you. A few seconds later, he scratched at his armpit and gave a distant, somewhat uncomfortable look towards Baldy and the Old Guy.

Incidentally, it was better to use the old Fourth Wall excuse than to admit he was saying Lay-chan. People always just gave him funny looks with the Fourth Wall excuse. He picked it up off a Wizard on a boat once, in between said-Wizard's bouts of seasickness. It was a lot healthier than admitting the truth. Especially with women, and even more so with the ones who looked like they'd use blunt force to castrate him.

"Sooooo," Rowan drawled, patiently watching after Baldy and Beardy. "Kill anybody interesting lately?" he asked, because it's generally as good a conversation starter as any when you're in with a crowd like this. Presumably, there'd be more zombies soon. Rowan wanted them to hurry it up. He was already nervous as is. The prospect of hitting things made him feel better, which is really the whole reason he'd jumped the gun in the first place.

[Bloodrose]

What is this? Rank Amateur hour? Teric was thinking. The ghoul that the party's lone female had been keeping vigil over was scurrying off like a rat caught in the light, and not a single person so much as moved to go after it. The thought that had crossed the old warrior's mind earlier, the one about the ghoul running off to bring his friends, crossed his mind again, but Teric could only sigh. There was no way he was going to go sprinting after the faster ghoul. Not in this mud, in these heavy boots at least. Guess we'll get to find out what kind of baddies hang out around here, and soon likely... He thought darkly...

The large, bald-headed chap who had distinguished himself as the leader earlier seemed to be at a loss. He hadn't said anything for a few moments, and Teric didn't even want to guess what he was thinking about. With his war hammer and cool demeanor, Baldy was shaping up to be more of a brute than Teric had previously given him credit for. As for the other two, the young man and the street-walker, Teric was still up in the air about as well. The girl came across as the spitfire type, likely to shoot first and ask questions later, and had a tone in her voice that grated on his nerves. It was a very well what do you know? quality about her. The young man, his wit being one of his more redeeming features, might yet prove to be tolerable...

You're here to make some money. The old veteran reminded himself firmly, holding his tongue firmly against the roof of his mouth. Just put up with the circus and wait for the zombies to come along. That will give you something to do...

The wind in the cemetery shifted and took hold of the lower edge of Teric's long coat. Holding his cane to his chest, the old warrior wrapped himself tighter in the garment against the wind and started walking back toward the younger two. Maybe if he left Baldy to his thinking, the big man would come to his present surroundings and come up with something useful to do.

"I haven't killed anything lately." Teric said coolly, in response to the man's question. Whether or not the question had been directed at him didn't matter, Teric was just interested in doing something other than stand around. "But I have a growing urge to change that..."

[Taskmienster]

This thread has been sitting for a full year. Since no response has been made to create activity I am going to be moving this. If you would like it to be reopened please feel free to PM myself or another staff member and they will be able to move it for you back to Scara Brae.