Rolayn impales first of the hounds through its torso. Beast's jaws rip away from Selarthi begrudgingly, twisting in on itself to snap at the Coresque that had passed clean through several ribs on each side. Rolayn dispatches it swiftly, drawing weapon free and allowing DeLoria's hooves to pulp decaying skin and grind down what bone remains. Selarthi's blade slices up against remaining hound's neck, a strike that would of easily been fatal were the corpse still in need of adequate blood supply. Instead the dog remained firmly chomped down on her limb, at this point the Druchii was starting to feel the dazing numbness of blood loss and adrenaline both. Rolayn once again comes riding to their less-than-fair maiden's rescue, catching back legs with Corseque and spearing creature away. Rotting Hound skitters back a few feet, pouncing from side to side as it decides on a target. Bretton barrels forward, intent on forcing its answer. With a surge of unholy strength beast counter-charges, bounding up and into the saddle alongside the Knight. Nails scrabble furiously against his armor, failing to find purchase but ultimately serving to keep Rolayn from adequately guarding against the jaws snapping against his helmet.

Grahk weighs in against the rotting horde, great size and impressive voice serving to attract a swelling horde of combatants as hungry for flesh as they are battle. A would be aggressor goes flying, torso sailing into the air from breast up while remainder staggers back into the rest of the owner's risen kin. Axe pulls back, Black Orc ready to kunningly protect himself from danger. Three bodies are immediately upon him, practically collapsing against the weapon's haft and bracing against it. Grahk shoves them back easily enough, but two more fall in on his flanks as shambling, shuffling, groaning mob begins to encircle him. An axe bangs into the side of his helmet, side used rather than blade, an annoyance at best. A spear plunges through the torso of one zombie and emerges through a gaping stomach wound to punch Orc's own gut. Plate caves to the piercing weapon, but Orcs were made for fightin' and winnin', and that meant sucking up a little stomach puncturing.

Dagrim did not so much keep the gap open, as create an entirely new one of his own. Whirling axe takes off a head one moment, then Slayer's vision blurs to his next whirling strike that hacks apart a Norscan at his knees. Blade plummets into the head, then rakes back out to cleave another marauder in corroded chainmail from groin to sternum. Az thunks into the sands and Dagrim twists upperbody, powering yet another uppercut that guts a bloated corpse and sends zombie streaking back into the crowd on a ribbon of stagnant brown blood. Before blade can fall again a set of hands grips his arm, a Norscan with a dagger pierced clean through half his face slams into him, then another falls upon him, a sword plunging through left shoulder and pinning limb into to the cold coastline. A third piles on, a fourth prepares to join, and eight more shamble toward or past the entire dogpile.

Lars storms after Dagrim, seeing both opportunity and perhaps goaded by the Dawi's insults. Mace hammers one of the rotters over its head, compacting skull fragments and dead brain matter into a lung-less chest cavity. Shield smashes against a stomach, Northerner powering assailant back into his friends and throwing three of the bastards against the ground. A zombie stagger-sprints into him, a lazily hefted shield locking against Lar's own while a double bladed battle axe chops into armored chest, a full man's worth of weight behind the blow able to push it past a stud and thick leathers to bite flesh.

Selaris strikes both hound and beach. Staff blade pierces a limb, pinning it in place and seemingly giving her a moments respite. Canine bares teeth, fangs reinforced with iron coats courtesy of its former masters, and lurches forward. Bone creaks then cracks, risen critter forsaking one of its legs so it can get to bloody grips with the elf woman again. Teeth sink through robes and into lower leg, metal teeth puncturing straight to the bone. Head knocks from side to side, body collapses onto left flank, unable to support itself during the violent action. Beast ends up looking a bit silly, like a serpent thrashing about in the sands, but is no less dangerous for it.

Then there is Dawne sprinting around the outskirts and playing the part of skirmisher. Rapier pins a useless bundle of brain meats to the back of a skull, woman flicking her wrist to properly blend cranial contents before withdrawing blade and leaving a corpse to drop into the surf. Another marauder turns to address her, raising a sword overhead and leaning into a stumbling charge. Side-stepping the clumsy maneuver Dawne sweeps a leg and drops walking corpse into her twice-slain victim from a moment ago.


Aspirants:
Selarthi: 5 (10 Bolts) Dagrim:9 Lars: 10 Rolayn:7 Selaris:5 Dawne: 12 (9 bullets) Grahk:10 (3 axes)
Conditions: Dawne: Pistol needs reloaded. Selarthi is Bleeding (2) Selaris is Bleeding (1) Dagrim is bound by the horde and can only take a single half-action next round, said action is at a -3 unless the group can inflict enough damage to the horde (9) to save him before hand.

Sodden Dead:
Unliving Norscan Horde: 22 Rotting Hounds: 4/7
Conditions:

Dawne saw the Dwarf being overtaken by the horde she quickly slid her rapier into its sheath. Quickly grabbed a ball from a small black box inserted it into her first pistol and grabbed the pistol, she aimed for the heads of the zombie closest to her and the one that has the most hold on Dagrim. First firing to the one holding Dagrim.

OOC: 1 Reload 1 Attack

The rush of the beasts snapping jaws would take the knight by surprise, as within mere moments, he felt a pressure upon his helm. The undead beast as answered his challenge indeed, and now, he would have to deal with it before he came to regret his decision. Dropping his corseque, for the polearm would be of little usage in such close quarters, Rolayn would respond to the scratching against his plate, by wrapping his arms around the frame of the hellish hound. He had to get the creature away from DeLoria, for he knew his steed might go into a frenzy, such were the instincts of Gwelon's steeds, at such close proximity to the hound. Thus, with this in mind, Rolayn would thrust himself off the side of the saddle, propelling both him and foe to the ground, twisting so that at the very least, his fall would be broken by the figure of the rotted canine. Slamming down into the ground with a clang, man and mutt would roll about in the sand, the maw of the undead scratching against the hardened steel of the knight, as he attempted to wrestle free. Atlast, seeing an opening, he'd bring up a knee between their bodies, pushing the mutt away, his helmet still clutched in it's rotted teeth, granting himself a moment to quickly rise to his feet.

He'd take a moment to take stock of their situation, casting a swift glance about the battlefield, seeing how the rest of the fighter's faired. Grimacing at the loss of the dwarf from his sight, he'd see the norscan and ork laying furtheri into the horde, somewhat regretting his choice to abandon that front. Yet, he'd shake his head, for it was no matter, the choice had been made, and he needed to run through it. Drawing his blade from hip, Rolayn would clutch his longsword in both hands, as, out of the corner of his gaze, he'd spot Lorin, the big servant clearly looking to be hiding back and avoiding combat. Feeling a pang of pain from his injured leg, he would try to steady himself, before calling out to his compatriot, his words tinged with anger and pain.

"Lorin! Fetch DeLoria and my Corseque!"

To the retainer's credit, despite his abject terror in the face of the walking corpses, he'd give a swift nod of his head, followed by a mumble of acknowledgement, before barreling off to collect weapon and steed for his liege. With that handled, Rolayn would turn to the dark elf, now quite bloody from her folly, barking out a command.

"Go and aid your friend, perhaps her magic will be able to stem the flow of your wounds."

It was not clear from the words of the Bretonnian, if he simply didn't know of the distinction between dark and high elves, if he simply lumped all of their kind together in the same disgust, or if he simply knew to be called friends between the two peoples would frustrate most of either party. Regardless, the Bretonnian would know that the situation was teetering on a point of balance now, and that they needed to proceed swiftly. If the elves could handle the one hound, and he the other, then the full attentions of their party could then turn towards the horde itself. They would need to strike quickly, and turn the tide back in their favour, before the casualties started growing in number.

To make it so, Rolayn would let out a cry, before charging onwards against the rotted hound, the animal still chewing upon him fallen helm, as he raised sword for battle.
​

OOC: Attack on Rotted Hound, Defence on Self

With the hound still being a major thorn in her side, Selaris frantically jabbed her staff at the beast's head to try and finish it off, teeth gritted to try stifling a cry of pain. Suffice to say there was more than one jab to make sure that that the hound was dead before she did anything else, as much as she'd like to try healing herself or blasting the Undead around the Dwarf.

OOC: Two Attacks on the Rotten Hound

Driven by the deep-seethed resentment every Dwarf had for the undead creatures, Dagrim drove into the enemy and slaughtered them with reckless abandon. Wherever his axe fell a corpse broke apart and the Dwarf grinned with savage glee, despite the increasing amount of injuries. In fact, like every proper Slayer, he welcomed the pain that hailed the coming of impending doom. Stab here, slice there, blood mixing with sweat, it was all part of the life Dagrim chose for him after unable to cope with the pressure of a great shame.

He smashed another zombie away, sending it back into the crowd in few more pieces that it was healthy for him (in the long run at least) before the sword went through his shoulder. Despite his frenzied fighting, there were simply too many corpses around and this was bound to happen eventually. Piercing his flesh the rusty blade stuck in and Dagrim howled in pain, his arm going instantly numb. Forced to hold his axe in one hand he and the fact the sword actually pinned him to the ground, was unable to get away in time as the undead Norscans swarmed him, using the crudest possible tactics their empty skulls possessed - trying to dogpile him and eat him alive.

"COME UZKULAR SCUM! THE MORE THE MERRIER!" the Slayer shouted and tried to push away the undead using his axe, holding it in one good hand, like a club, painting heavily as he lent his strength to the push in an attempt to basically shove the corpses away from him as if he was stuck under a pile of rubble. His vision of the battle was limited due to the stinky bodies but he hoped that his companions would honor him and do what was needed. Then again, none of them were Dwarfs so things might go down the path Dagrim would most certainly not approve.

OOC Defensive action on myself.

Lars was forced a step back from his advance as the axe supporter by the dead Mans weight drove through his armour and bit flesh, even if he was pushing hard against the horde, the horde fought back, with only the dwarf as support. Though the dwarf did migthy Well until the rotter horde started dogpiling him, and Lars saw that its as a Good idea to keep the dwarf alive, maybe even a potential ally.
Biting through the pain of the axe hit, Lars pushed back against the horde in attempt to help the dwarf.
OOC: attack against rotters attacking Dagrim, defence on self

Freed of the hounds, the badly injured Druchi took a moment to breathe as she climbed to her feet, disoriented from the blood loss. But she'd lived through worse, she was sure, as she sheathed her sword and instead grabbed her elven crossbow. She noticed the insensate nature of her mangled arm with dismay, and before she could muster her strength to steady the device, she had to bite her tongue until she tasted her own blood.

The simple truth was that she did not pay the braying of man mind while the chosen race was fighting, but her intrigue-ridden mind came to a similar conclusion - the Asur had the ability to cure wounds, but under no circumstances would she prostrate herself before the disgusting Ulthuani. Instead, she would now save her, and lord this over it for as long as possible to eventually force her to mend some wounds.

Selarthi saw the plan as absolutely infallible (mostly because it hinged on her own skill and Asur incompetence); she took aim and fired at the hound accosting Selaris.

OOC 2x Crossbow attack at the hound attacking @Maleth / Selaris.

Smoke, flame, and a whistling silver shot explode from Dawne's pistol. Bullet punches into one of the undead, blessed round creating a large smoldering hole around the impact in its torso. Whomever empowers such a round is at least strong enough to drop the Norscan, knees buckling and body splashing the sands with ichor upon collapsing. By this point too few bodies remain for the woman to garner much attention, hounds busy with their elf snacks and the horde teeth and blades deep in the more aggressive members of the party. Amongst the latter category are Grahk and Lars, both of whom are carving towards Dagrim.

Set on aiding the Dawi, Lars hews two moaning heads from their sagging shoulders. A third neck denies him, stained chain coif deflecting his slash. Northman drives pommel into the exposed face and drops to a knee, morningstar falls and shatters whatever is left of the already dented head. Rising he pummels another rotter with his shield,smashing them into a permanent rest while they are still falling over. A spear emerges between two more of the walking corpses, head smeared with filthy greenskin blood now hungering for manling flank. Club snaps it beneath the head, before Lars can follow up Grahk comes storming in.

Black Orc cleaves into the spearman, great blade chopping a broad gash from naked scalp down through the ribs. Norscan peels apart like a wilting flower and legs sink down onto the sands. Grahk snorts, unimpressed and all around pretty bothered he was helping save the stunty by proxy; least that meant he might get to gut him later maybe. Twisting body about Grahk becomes a cyclone of flashing steel, splashing those nearby in more foul smelling viscera and sprinkling those a bit further away. A head bounces into the battle and then gets knocked flying by axe, vanishing into the sea.

Dagrim looks up, watching one of the accursed manlings trying to chew off his beard get hooked off and thrown away by spinning battle axe. Just as quickly the Orc's shadow falls over him and then vanishes, carrying on with his whirlwind. Lars hikes another body off, rolling it with a boot before Slayer hears the distinct crunch of another skull being flattened. By this point every muscle in the dwarf's dense body tenses with rage before he explodes back into action, punching, kicking, and headbutting until he might retrieve his own az and reap vengeance proper.

Of the hounds their fates are quickly written. Selaris holds one at bay, its jaws now wrapped around the blade of her stave which pushes into hollow chest to minimal effect. A pair of bolts speed into its side, jerking both predator and prey aside from the force of each strike. A rib snaps and twirls off like debris, bolt sinking into the desiccated husk of a lung, other shot causes shards of bone to erupt as upper portion of head simply bursts from the second impact.

Last of the hounds lifts its head dumbly, scratched up helm dumped to the ground. Unawares that Rolayn's head had not come off with the armor it is left easy prey for the sword that plunges through its brow and shocks it into stiffness. Canine corpse holds steady a moment before its limbs give out like all the others and Knight unsheathes the blade from its skull. By the time DeLoria trots back up to his side under Lorin's guidance the battle is at an end. Last of the risen marauders is cut down by Dagrim, cloven in twain and then beheaded in spite. All that remains is the returning chill of northern coastline eroding the heated excitement gripping each body. Threats dealt with they are free to recuperate and investigate.

Aspirants:
Selarthi: 3 (8 Bolts) Dagrim:9 Lars: 10 Rolayn:7 Selaris:4 Dawne: 12 (8 bullets) Grahk:10 (3 axes)
Conditions: Weapons have been reloaded

As the last undead maraunder fell, destroyed by the Slayer's axe, Dagrim stopped for a second, clearing the grime and rotten meat from the edge of his blade with couple of sweeps against his trousers. By that time he also pulled out the sword from his shoulder and while the wound stopped bleeding, he still wasn't feeling entirely recovered from that injury and myriad other, smaller cuts that now adorned his leather-like skin. He didn't even try to scavenge the dead for bandages or something like that, the items would most likely be either soaking wet or corrupted like the rest of this raiding party. Of course, asking the Elgi for some healing was out of the question, Dagrim would rather die than receive a "blessing" from one of them, traitorous backstabbing unbaraki, all of them.

Dagrim was also aware of the trio of his compatriots who came to his aid, but if they wanted to hear a "thank you" they were going to be quite surprised. This bunch of corpses gave not too great of a doom but then again, a doom was a doom and that was that. Not like bunch of manlings and an uruk would understand such things so the Slayer didn't even try to explain it to them. He simply grunted and lumbered over to the wreckage of the ship.

Once there, he would try to climb aboard the deck (or what's left of it) and find the captain's quarters there. Getting below the deck would perhaps be more worthwhile, considering that there might be some supplies down there which haven't gone to hell, but Dagrim didn't have patience to go through all that crap so heading up top and finding the leader's room might perhaps shed more light on what exactly happened here.

As the melee ended, as quick as it had begun, most of the aspirants where still standing, everyone seemed alive for now, but some in worse condition than others, it seemed that the elves might have gotten a lesson in mortality, if their arrogance didn't overpower it.
"Im checking the hold, since i know the construction of a ship like this, feel free to come along" Lars said as he started trotting towards the boat, shaking some of the lose gore off his mace and shield before putting the shield over his back and hanging the mace from his belt, best to have two free hands when traversing a wrecked longboat, now just to see if this wreck was at the beginning or the end of its journey when doom befell it.

OOC: checking the hold