Dawne put her pistols away after reloading. Seeing that Lars was going to head into the hold of the Norscan ship. She spoke. "I'll come along don't wait on me I'll catch up." Her she re-affixed her long coat and started to walk over to the ship.
With the hound slain by bolts rather than her staff, Selaris looked towards her would be savior, only to see it was the Druchii. With a heavy sigh, she staggered over to the evidently more wounded Elf and said (@Casavay )"Well, I suppose I should say thank you for saving my hide there." She planted her staff onto the ground for some support and then said "So, I don't suppose some healing would be appreciated?" With the Dwarf and one of the Humans going off, suffice to say the Asur wasn't interested in chasing either of them yet given her wounded state made her pretty unfit to traipse around a place she likely wasn't going to do well in, and would very likely risk her life even more so than what she had gotten involved with just by turning up to this place.
Despite herself, Selarthi's face contorted into a malicious grin full of elven self-satisfaction and arrogant pride while she dragged herself towards the approaching Asur. Even as the High Elf spoke, the Darkling holstered her repeater and came closer, perhaps too close to comfort, and placed a blood-smeared, mangled hand on the far taller woman's shoulder, staring straight into her eyes as she responded, in the shared Elathrin tongue, "Right. I saved your coddled Ulthuani arse. Now heal me, or by Anath Raema, I'll fashion my death mask from your hide." The spark of volatile insanity gave the threat a credible nature; and indeed, Sela's momentary truce from the natural enmity and eternal cold war between their kinds was conditionally bound to Selaris' usefulness. @Maleth
"Fetch the flint and steel from the saddlebags, Lorin. Then go gather some tinder, we have a pyre to build." Rolayn speaks to his retainer, as he returns to him with both weapon and steed in hand. Brushing the sand and grime from his body, the knight strolls over towards the now fallen helmet, before scooping it up, checking it over to see if it still functioned. Satisfied, the man let out a sigh, releasing the tension that had built up over combat, as combat high fades from him. Now, feeling the panging of his open wounds, Rolayn whistles for DeLoria, reaching towards saddlebags as the horse comes at his call, rummaging about for some cloth, alcohol, a a needle and string. Resting down on the sand, the man removes his gauntlets, pops open the bottle of the alcohol, and begins the process of cleaning up his wounds. Grunting and whispering some oaths, the man washes away the scraps and cuts upon him, particularly the long gash in his leg. Once cleaned up, he wraps up the smaller, less serious wounds, taking the time to properly bind himself up, before moving onto the needlework. Stitches would come next, as the man, taking in a deep breath, would call over his compatriot. Lorin, coming from a fresh fire now burning with the corpse of a rotted hound, would swiftly remove his own gloves, wash his hands, and without word, would take up the needle. Gripping at his leg with hands, applying pressure, Rolayn does his best to keep still, curses and growls be damned, while Lorin performs some swift field medical work. Taking a few minutes, the knight would finally finish up by binding up the stitches in his legs with some cloth, before rising up to his feet, testing his mobility, and finding it suitable, would get back to work. Seeing as how the Norscan and Dwarf had already taken up the task of looting the shipwreck proper, Rolayn and Lorin would instead set themselves upon burning the bodies of the fallen mob. To familiar with what might rise from the casualties of those cursed with unlife, the thorough cleansing of the corpses would a job the Bretonnian would take to with relish. Offering up a prayer to The Lady, he'd start dragging carcasses to the increasingly growing blaze.
"I don't suppose you could say that in a nicer way?" Selaris replied (@Casavay ), even if clearly unnerved by the threat about using her skin for a death mask, given how close the Druchii had gotten to her... Even if she did find the sight a little comical given the size difference between herself and Selarthi, not that she'd dare laugh given the volition state of affairs. Still, the Asur went to the task of healing, drawing upon Hysh to heal the wounds of her frankly rude patient. OOC: Casting Healing of Hysh on Selarthi.
Selarthi's wounds knit themselves shut under the kindly light of Selaris' staff. The winds of life waft past the mage and bend towards her distant cousin, restoring a modicum of strength and sturdiness, while still leaving ample amounts of aches and ugly marks left over from where there was once gaping wounds. Fouler winds were forming though, crackle of flame building into a roar as Rolayn and his young aid heaved bodies onto a makeshift pyre. Ash began to stain already dreary skies, floating out to sea. For the likes of Grahk it was all painfully boring, just a bunch of burning bodies, a krumped ship, an two pansies gettin' glowy. Restless glancing about leaves him spotting a stranger on the horizon, a limping figure trudging across open field and towards the shore with a haggard looking sense of urgency. Lars clocks a grasping limb into a wall. Both water logged hull and rotting bones crack underneath his mace, back swing handily cleans up the owner. More of the undead, trapped within the beached ship, remain trapped within the collapsing timbers and main hold. Pinned or otherwise immobilized by debris and their own broken forms they become akin to gruesome decor rather than any sort of active threat. Entire hold is a mess of cadavers, skeletons, and ruined chains. There are few signs of cargo, nary a rations crate or chest of plunder in sight. To Lars, and soon Dawne joining him, the only interesting discovery is a metal gate not entirely like that of a cell front that separates the hold from deck. Floor beyond the bars is marred by countless scratches, torn fingernails, severed fingers, and another unliving marauder slumped up against the bars, a pair of hands cut off at the wrist grasping onto his shoulders. Legs have been so badly chewed that there is no muscle to function, and whatever sorcery animates the body too faint to allow it to walk without its bodies natural processes. Hinges snap and wood splinters, a broad door built for a Norscan frame lands with a muffled thump on the fur of a great frost bear. White fur fluffs out around the impact, several spots remaining flattened down by a black ichor. Stench of decay slaps the Slayer square in the face, Dawi pausing a moment as his eyes pick out a humanoid silhouette in the darkness. Another of the risen staggers at him, a serrated great sword with its handle and the attached hands wrapped in chains flecked with rust. A helm adorned with a pair of curving horns leans toward the fresh source of light and stunted warrior, fur padded legs moving with unnatural vigor while arms hoist blade high enough that its tip scrapes the ceiling.... Aspirants: Selarthi: 5 (8 Bolts) Dagrim:9 Lars: 10 Rolayn:7 Selaris:4 Dawne: 12 (8 bullets) Grahk:10 (3 axes) Conditions:
Dagrim's eyes narrowed as he spotted what seemed to be some kind of an undead champion. Perhaps this one was behind the raiding party but what exact reason he had to curse both himself and his men was beyond Dagrim. Ogri Man-Eater sent them here to gather evidence but given how eager these corpses were to get in grips with the mercenaries, asking questions seemed like a rather big waste of time. "If you are done relaxing by the fire, come over here. I found a big one," the Slayer shouted back towards where Rolayn (and his squire), Grahk, Selarthi and Selaris were, before turning back to face the undead monstrosity. He gripped his axe tightly, running the thumb down the length of the blade, the drops of blood falling down on the wasted deck. Prospect of a fine doom loomed in front of him, much better than the last one down on the beach, the fact which made Dagrim's muscles bulge as he crashed through the door and swung his own two-hander at the creature, dwarf steel meeting with the foul northern iron. "Come here and die!" OOC Taking a swing at the undead, 1 attack, 1 defense on myself.
Marauder halts violently, blade striking upper portion of the door frame causing the blade and its teeth to embed deep in the wood. Dagrim's axe hacks the walker in twain, legs dropping while upper half is suspended by great blade. Intestines unwind and slap to the floor, dragging stomach and other attached organs with it forming a new grizzly carpet on the floor. De-legged and disemboweled the helmeted Norscan releases blade and drops down. Before it can begin crawling toward Dagrim, Slayer plants his axe through helmet and skull both. Champion might have been an overstatement.
The pyre burned with a sickly stench, as the last remains of these abominations against nature would be purged from the face of the world. Rolayn would welcome the sight, familiar as it was, the burning of the carcasses matching the burning disgust in his gaze towards the undead, as he continued to drag more and more into the burning caress of the flames. His task would be interrupted by the call of the dwarf, the diminuative warrior speaking of sighting a big threat within the ship. Ignoring the annoyance at the simple fact that ALL undead would be considered big to the smaller creature, Rolayn turns towards the ship, before reaching to hip, and placing his helm back atop his head. Speaking to Lorin, the man servant still dutifully doing his job, the knight grasps his Corseque, as he begins to stride off. "Keep the fire burning, I will go to investigate." As he walks towards the ship, man turns towards the Greenskin, vile and brutal as all it's kind tended to be. Clad in it's black iron plate, Rolayn took personal insult towards this crude parody of a noble knight that stood before him, yet would know that if things were as dire as the dwarf claimed, it might be helpful to have muscles. Thus, he would call out. "Ork! Come, the dwarf has found a foe worth smashing." He did not understand much of the greenskins, yet he knew that they enjoyed violence. If he was to try and command the Ork, he'd risk a challenge of strength and size, but, if he spoke of a good fight, he could herd the beast to a desired target. Without waiting to see if it would respond, he'd keep marching forward, at a steady pace, weapon in both hands. Once he arrived, he'd look down upon the now brutally slain corpse at the dwarf's feet, silent in what could honestly be read as confusion. Turning his armoured gaze down towards the Slayer, he'd speak in a muffled tone, that couldn't quite hide it's amusement. "This is the mighty champion?"
"What was that, manling?" Dagrim growled as he removed the axe from the undead's skull, its rotten bone dropping in two even parts. Where Rolayn's tone had a bit of amusement in it, Dwarf's own was full of anger. Not directed at Bretonnian though, but at the corpse in front of him. For a moment he allowed himself to hope that this fallen marauder might've given him the proper fight and a worthy death, but it would seem that his time was not yet to come. Bristling with frustration, Dagrim moved into the cabin. His axe was still close, but instead of enemies he went to search for some kind of a ship's ledger or an officer's log, although given how primitive these Norscans were, there was little hope in finding such item. "We shouldn't stick here for too long, the air is thick with rot. Let's find some clues on how these mongrels got here and then set this ship on fire," the Slayer told Rolayn, his eyes trying to pierce the darkness as he moved inside, taking his time to find something that could shed light on what happened here but also not being too slow. Dwarfs were notorious for their resistance to corruption of Chaos or magic in general, but Dagrim wasn't taking any chances given how a thought unbidden crossed his mind of a black crater filled with smog and dust of machinery, brimming with Dawi Zharr... Shuddering, the Slayer also paid attention to anything out of the ordinary, like perhaps an arcane item of sorts or something like that, something which the Elgi below could use to find more information on the undead raiders or whoever sent them here and most importantly, are there more of them shambling around.
