LEGACY the Path of Heroes - Session 002

PRELUDE TO ADVENTURE 
SESSION 002 - THE CRYPT & THE ASSASSIN

STARDAY, 01 NEEDFEST (MID WINTER) 579CY

Malek waited with baited breath, as he watched the two older men leave the graveyard. The assassin took note of where they were heading, he may need to tie up some loose ends later. They were heading in the direction of the cottage, where the one they called Tarrick lived. He had been watching Tarrick for some time now and knew that the cottage lay not too far off in the darkness. Malek turned his attention back to the men left in the graveyard. “What could they be up to? What had he over looked?” Thought Malek, as he carefully took a fresh bolt from his case. He slowly inserted the bolt into the shaft of his crossbow. A slight “hisssss” escaped the silence of the night, as his gloved finger brushed the head of the bolt. The assassin’s lip curled in a sneer, as he rubbed is gloved fingers together where the acid had touched his glove. Malek felt the slightest tingle of warmth on his fingers on this cold wintery night. He chuckled softly to himself as he took aim on the closest of the men before him …

The four companions looked at each, unsure of what to do next. This was unfamiliar ground for most of them. The confrontation with the creatures that had risen as undead, had left them more than a bit unsettled. It was one thing to hear tales of such things, but it was a completely different to have to confront one face to face.

Markus supressed the bile that rose in his throat, as he thought back to the earlier encounter. He had stilled his initial fear. He had killed one of these creatures with a perfectly executed manoeuvre that Bren had taught him. His great axe still had bits of gore dripping from it. It wasn’t the fact that he had killed the creature or the creature itself that had caused this reaction. It was how his axe had caused the body to explode into fragments of decaying flesh. He could still smell the dead flesh on his clothes, the smell filled his nose. The smell of death made his skin crawl.

Duerin looked at the humans before him, “He had a good number of winters under his belt, compared to the men before him. Except maybe the old druid of course.” The older human looked to share a similar age to him. He had been forced to call on St. Cuthbert for the first time since he had become a Cuthbertine priest during the battle with the undead. It was not something he had done before, not like this. Brother John had given him instruction on how to call on his faith in times of need . How to channel that faith through his holy symbol as a catalyst to rebuke the undead before him. He felt the presence of his faith, he felt it course through his body, but it felt halted upon its release. He had heard from Brother John, that priests could muster their faith had been able to defeat large groups of undead. “Will this night be such a test for him in the crypts below?” thought the dwarf. He recalled one of the priest teachings, … “as long as you maintain your faith, even in the darkest of hours, will you overcome all evil before you.”

Erehwon tapped the oak staff against the tombstone he leaned against. The half-orc wanted nothing more than to get down into the crypts below, the sense of danger invigorated him. All this talking was wasting time! He caught the last few words from the druid cautioning his friends before him. “Were they his friends,” thought Erehwon. His once again attention drawn back to the altar. “EREHWON! Heed my words, have you heard anything I said?” asked Darius sternly, not too pleased that the half-orc was not paying attention to his instruction. “I too was naïve at first, I have encountered many a dark creature living in the Fens. Wisdom has taught me with age, when to act and when to stray from danger … ,” continued Darius. The druid’s words once again drifted into the ether, as Erehwon felt something pulling at his subconscious …

From the depths below she could feel the presence of the life forms in the graveyard above ground. She focused her will, sending tendrils of her essence to the surface flowing through the old passage ways, under locked stone doors, through the cold darkness, searching for the ones above. Like tendrils of smoke she flowed over the old metal rungs that led to the graveyard above, she could feel their fears, their desires, soon one would be hers …