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Post by Argoth/Maximus on Sept 6, 2021 20:23:38 GMT -6
In the several days following their slaying of the werewolfos, Mike and Anaius stayed in Clock Town in order for Anaius to recover from the nasty bite he'd received. During their stay, Anaius thought it prudent to spend some of his earnings on supplies and new equipment. Not having a single defensive or offensive weapon to defend himself made Anaius feel foolish. Especially after their last encounter. How could an adventurer such as himself travel with no pack or weapons!? What a poor adventurer he'd been. If he and Mike were going to begin hunting down terrorizing monsters, then he was going to need far better equipment than his bare feet and hands. The market was bustling with customers. From one end of Clock Town to the other, there were patrons buying all manner of things. On the north end of town was mostly produce and baked goods. The smell wafting from them was intoxicating. The south harbored fur traders and blacksmiths, pottery, jewelry, instruments, and weapons. It was nearing closing time as the sun began to edge toward the horizon. The sky was slashed with deep red and orange streaks. Anaius stood in front of one of the blacksmiths.
"That'll be two hundred and fifty rupees," the gruff voice of the Clock Town blacksmith growled at Anaius
"Indeed," Anaius replied, dutifully rummaging through a pouch on his hip and withdrawing the requisite amount. After receiving the rupees the blacksmith retrieved a gauntlet and shield from a display behind him and handed it to Anaius.
"Thank you, kind sir!" Anaius said a little too cheerfully, and slipped his hand into the gauntlet.
The blacksmith recoiled from Anaius's overbearing enthusiasm. "Yeah yeah now beat it, I've got other customers to serve." There was in fact nobody else behind him; the blacksmith just really wanted this weird customer somewhere else.
Ah well, no matter. This happened often to Aniaus, but he paid it no mind.
Anaius left the blacksmith without a word and returned to Mike, who was standing about twenty feet away leaning against the building opposite the blackmsith.
On his way to his companion, Anaius clipped the shield to his wrist via the metal latch designed for such a purpose. He stood before Mike, and even though his friend could not see, he still waved it around as if to practice blocking incoming imaginary arrows.
During their excursion into the Market, Anaius had purchased an assortment of things he felt every adventurer needed. Perhaps he was a tad overzealous, as the pack on his back was full to the brim with deku nuts, deku sticks, a torch, several chunks of flint, a small dagger, a map of Hyrule and Termina, several bottles, a sleeping bag, a bombchu, and several cloth bandages.
"I have acquired the last of the things I need, friend! Shall we be off in search of a new adventure?" Aniaus all but shouted.
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Post by Mike/Rolaka on Sept 6, 2021 21:05:36 GMT -6
As Anaius went to make his purchase at the blacksmith, Mike stepped carefully through the market following the scent of fresh produce. The hustle and bustle of the evening market was a challenge for Mike's ears, but not something he had not dealt with before. As Mike approached a stand reeking of fruit and plant fibers, the vendor met him halfway and asked, "Do you need help making your purchase, sir?"
Mike raised his hand to decline, "No thank you, I'll be okay."
The vendor slinked back to another counter to help another customer. Mike poked and prodded the apples on display, he tested their toughness and ripeness. Mike picked up each ripe apple and placed it neatly in his own sack cloth bag. Mike lived a simple life of solitude, he need not (nor could not) make a cake or pie every weekend. The fresh crispy crunch of a well-grown apple was more than enough for him.
After collecting ten apples, Mike placed the sack on the counter and called the vendor over. The vendor counted off the apples and came to a total of, "eight rupees, please."
"Fair deal," Mike replied as he slapped down the requisite rupees.
Mike traveled back to the south end of the market, the overjoyed mannerisms of Anaius emanated from nearby and Mike knew this was the place to stop. Mike strode to the buildings near the blacksmith and slackened his posture, letting the apple bag hang from his hand.
As Anaius came over and swung around his newly acquired gear. From the broad swooshing noise it made as Anaius swung it, Mike knew he acquired the shield he mentioned earlier today. Mike chuckled, "Remember Anaius, that is no toy. That is a ward guarding your very life. Trust your shield, and it will protect you." Mike pulled himself from the building and slung the sack of apples over his shoulders. "It's a bit late, probably best if we turned in for the night. Unless you got some leftover rupees from this shopping spree, in which case we can go for a pint. What say you?"
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Post by Argoth/Maximus on Sept 7, 2021 20:04:05 GMT -6
"The night is young, let's go for a pint." Anaius replied, "To the bar!"
The two of them set out for the nearby tavern on the northern side of the market, just past the bakery. Dusk was fast approaching and the shops were beginning to close up. The crowd had yet to disperse as many patrons were hurriedly purchasing last minute items, but in a half an hour the market would be all but deserted. Many of them ending up right where Anaius and Mike were about to be. During their short jaunt to the tavern, a faint, melodious sound cut through the noises of the crowd. If Anaius had to guess, he'd have said the instrument was an ocarina. Sure enough, not thirty feet later they approached an alley in which the music flowed from, and there, sitting crisscross at the mouth of it, sat a busker playing an obsidian ocarina. The sound it made was like no ocarina Anaius had ever heard before. It was a deep, melancholy sound that caused waves of chills and gooseflesh to rise on his forearms and neck. The music conjured ghostly images in Anaius's mind, like visiting a graveyard or an ancient battlefield.
Anaius couldn't help himself at such a wonderful performance, and he stalked right up to the busker. "Wonderful!" Anaius cheered. The busker, whom Anaius couldn't make out a single detail for they wore a deep indigo cloak with the hood up, said nothing in return and kept playing. Before them, however, sat a tattered and dusty looking hat with a few blue rupees already deposited inside. Anaius reached into his rupee pouch without taking his eyes off the player and dropped a couple blue ones in himself.
"There you are," he said, beaming at them, and without any further engagement continued toward the bar.
After a few more minutes of walking they finally reached their destination, and entered the tavern behind a crowd that had just left the closing marketplace. They too had the inclination for a pint. Inside the ambience was much the same as the market; crowded and noisy as hell. Many of the tables were full and at least three quarters of the bar was taken by merrily drinking patrons.
"Shall we?" Anaius said to Mike, and he led them toward the bar.
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Post by Mike/Rolaka on Sept 7, 2021 20:35:37 GMT -6
Mike kept close to Anaius as they shuffled their way out of the marketplace. However, Mike could hear many footsteps traveling in the same direction they were. If Mike got lost, he need only follow the sound of revelers and the smell of spilled mead. As the two continued on, a low wistful tune emanated from the alleyway. As they passed the busker, Anaius tipped the mysterious performer and shook Mike's shoulder, he urged Mike to tip as well.
The busker played on, the deep tones of the ocarina lead Mike's mind to his days in the Guard, the bad days in particular. Fallen brethren, weeping widows, burned villages; many dark memories still festered in Mike's subconscious. How peculiar it was that a simple instrument could bring such memories back to the front of his mind. Mike shook his head and recomposed himself, if he wanted to remember the dead, he'd do so with a pint in his hand. Still, Mike had to recognize the talent from this stranger.
Not what I'd normally listen to, but they're quite good, Mike thought as he reached into his wallet. Mike deposited a blue rupee down into the hat, and in the spur of the moment, he removed an apple from his cloth sack and placed it into the headpiece.
Mike and Anaius later arrived at the tavern and seated themselves at the bar, the wooden stool creaked as Mike rested upon it. The cacophony of the near-full house rang in Mike's ears. "Huh, not quite as classy as the Milk Bar," Mike said with a raised voice. "But hey, not everyone needs class," Mike slapped a red rupee on the counter which was promptly picked up by the bartender. "A pint for me and my friend here!"
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Post by Argoth/Maximus on Oct 2, 2021 20:10:01 GMT -6
The bartender promptly followed Mike's command while swiping the rupee from the countertop. He moved with precision and haste, mechanical motions producing two frothy pints of beer in front of them in mere seconds. Without so much as slowing down to acknowledge his expert delivery of the beer, the bartender moved away to service the rest of his thirsty patrons. Anaius, amazed by the skill of the bartender, picked up his pint and raised it to Mike. Then he flushed stupidly. Mike clearly couldn't see him holding his drink up.
"Cheers, friend!" Anaius said, placing his drink free hand on Mike's shoulder and holding his beer to the ceiling. "To another adventure, wherever we may find it." Anaius knocked back his tankard and drank two enormous gulps. A loud clunk was barely audible through the crowd as he all but slammed his drink, now half empty, back onto the countertop. Anaius felt the familiar haze of inebriation creep into his consciousness, making him feel slightly heavier than he was moments ago. He was by no means drunk from half a pint, but he could feel the alcohol in his system quite clearly.
He grinned wide and looked about the bar. The scene brought joy to his heart and he thought of all the two of them had achieved before this moment, and he was elated to be here, now, sharing it with all these happy patrons. Anaius felt good. Really good in fact. For the first time since their battle with the Werewolfos a few weeks ago, Anaius felt whole. The pain in his shoulder had subsided and the wound all but vanished. Only the faint traces of scar tissue and raw healed skin remained. He and Mike were now on the cusp of a new adventure, and Anaius could think of no better time to celebrate. So once again he seized his drink from the countertop and downed the remaining half. He only hoped Mike drank as fast as he did, because not seconds later he leaned back over the bar and shouted for another two pints.
Nearly an hour had passed since Mike and Anaius entered the bar, and upon his insistence, ordered two more drinks for each of them in that time. They were now an effective four deep, and Anaius had passed from buzzed to drunk. The establishment was now at capacity as the final wave of merchant goers trickled in. The bartender never ceased moving behind the bar as he filled tankard after tankard of ale or liquor or mead. Patrons flowed to and from the bar like flotsam on a stream. The night was still young and Aniaus expected it to last for quite some time yet. He was just setting the now empty mug of his fourth drink onto the bar top and drunkenly leaning in to slur for another. He hailed the bartender, who was currently occupied with several other men, for another two drinks. The bartender glanced in his direction and nodded, and Anaius turned back to Mike knowing their fifth round would soon be on its way. He was still leaning heavily on the bar, one elbow dutifully holding the majority of his weight.
"Tell me," Anaius said, grinning stupidly, "When's the last time you've achieved such revelry." He mangled the last syllable of revelry quite noticeably.
But before Mike could give an answer, the sharp crack of a window breaking and a man yelling curses called their attention. The bar quieted momentarily as heads turned from all directions to glimpse the commotion. "What the hell?" Anaius heard someone say, and with more effort than should have been necessary, he heaved himself from the bar top. "H-hey, let go of me!" The same voice said again, an edge of panic in it now. Anaius swayed for a moment before stepping forward to push past some patrons that were blocking his view of the windows. Upon witnessing the scene, he raised a curious eyebrow, for several odd things were happening at once. On either side of the entrance to the bar was a four pane window with maroon curtains. The curtains had been neatly tied back and beneath the windows were two round tables full of patrons. The strange scene was taking place at the table to the right of the door. The first thing Anaius noticed was the hand firmly gripping the shoulder of the man sitting nearest the window. It had punctured the bottom left pane of the window and had now begun yanking at the man. The second thing Anaius noticed was that the hand was all he could see, as a thick, roiling fog obscured all outside the bar. From what he could see, however, the hand looked grotesque. It reminded him of a decaying prune, wrinkled and rotten.
Silence fell. Many of the people in the bar had been drinking for over an hour now, and Anaius could all but hear the alcohol soaked cogs turning as slow realization dawned on the once happy patrons of the bar. Then several more of those decayed, bony hands shattered through windows all around the bar in a cacophony of sound and glass. Many of the hands found marks, latching like vices onto any body part unlucky enough to be nearest them.
Then the screaming started, and all hell broke loose.
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Post by Mike/Rolaka on Oct 2, 2021 21:25:42 GMT -6
As the beers flowed down Mike's throat, the familiar feeling of numbness swept his rugged face. Mike sipped his simple spirits slower than Anaius, who downed half a tankard every time he looked skyward. Mike mused about the busker in the alleyway. Their instrument beared with it such a profound tune. Mike wondered if its song had the same effect on Anaius? And, perhaps, the people of Clock Town? Furthermore, who was this stranger? They extended no courtesy after having received Mike and Anaius' charity, nor seemed to acknowledge their very existence. Mike had never heard gossip regarding such a figure in town before, either. Pangs of doubt filled Mike's gut faster than the beer, and prevented him from fully enjoying his brew.
Something was off, and Mike knew it. He could not allow his four valuable senses to fall too far off-kilter, but maintained the image of a drunken reveler. Mike trusted the instincts he cultivated during his time as a guardsman. Rarely was he ever led astray by following his gut. At worst, he would appear as a paranoid lightweight babying his mug. A much preferable outcome to the alternative of being impaired in a dire situation.
That situation broke through the tavern windows.
Mike immediately set his tankard atop the counter and spun around towards the broken glass. The cacophony in his ears dropped sharply like a bird tagged with an arrow. The unnatural silence began to fill with the whimpering of troubled patrons followed by the cries of those who were grappled by the wretched hands. As the windows broke down, the panic settled in and the patrons screamed as they scrambled away from the front door, pushing and shoving each other in a vain attempt to preserve themselves. The cacophony roared back into Mike's ears and he was powerless to control the unfolding chaos before him and his befuddled friend.
However, where Mike's ears failed, his nose flourished. Mike inhaled deeply and the foulest stench took residence in his lungs. A heavy and rancid smell that Mike knew too well, for he had a long history of dealing with its origins. Decomposed tissues, rotted innards, stiffened muscles, and hollowed eyes. The smell of instant harrowing fear. The smell of death.
Before Mike could even twitch his arm in the direction of his swords, the cacophony was broken. All the bar-goers froze in place and seized up horror. A shriek. The highest, shrillest, most heart-stopping screech in all the lands of Hyrule and Termina. Possessed only by one monster...
"ReDeads," Mike announced.
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Post by Argoth/Maximus on Oct 21, 2021 21:53:22 GMT -6
Anaius slapped his hands to his ears and gritted his teeth at the sudden and violent screech that tore into his eardrums. He stumbled forward, the sound slowly distilling into a physical pressure against his entire body. He made to move away from the enclosing pressure, but in his drunkenness stumbled like a pinball through the crowd. Several patrons fell, stiff as mannequins, to the hard wooden floor. He cursed aloud, but all was drowned in that horrible shriek. Then, as quickly as it had began, the piercing wail ceased, but not before Anaius, ricocheting off his latest victim, crashed headlong into a table. Glasses half full of beer and mead collided with him as he hit the ground, thoroughly coating him in their contents. His dulled senses softened the pain he was sure he'd be feeling tomorrow. Groaning and aching he sluggishly pushed himself up from the floor. An eerie silence had descended upon the bar. All its inhabitants save himself stood rooted to the spot, their expressions captured in a solitary moment of horror. 'But why can I move?' He thought, drunkenly scanning his surroundings. It was true all but he had ceased to move, but the redead (as Mike had pointed out, but Anaius failed to hear) were still savagely yanking at those unfortunate enough to remain in their grasp.
Again, because of his advanced state of inebriation, Anaius analyzed the scene around him at half the speed of a sober mind. The contents of each moment seemed to pass him by without full comprehension, and two innocent lives were pulled through shattering glass before his brain could tell his body to move. 'No!" he heard himself shout. And before his murky thoughts could catch up to his instincts, he leapt (albeit swaying madly) into action. He rounded on the window nearest him, withdrawing the shield he'd acquired at the market from his back and clipping it onto his wrist brace with a satisfying click. In front of him, a third victim besieged with grotesque, rotting hands, was now halfway through the window. His legs were all that was visible, the fog from outside now drifting into the bar in thick rolling clouds. All but the man's feet were obscured by fog by the time Anaius had reached him, and with precision far too accurate for his drunkenness to allow, he latched firmly onto the man's right calf, just below the knee. With his free hand he plunged his shield into the fog and felt it squish into decayed flesh. The sound was wet and disgusting, like an axe swung forcefully into a rotting tree stump. The force pulling the stiff man out through the window slackened, and Anaius used what strength he had to yank him back into the bar.
"Blast it all!" Anaius shouted, falling over backward. He greatly misjudged the required strength it took to pull the man through, and so dragged the man, still stiff as wood, on top of him. As he and the stranger lay crumpled along the floor, Anaius could hear a familiar sound drift ghost-like through the open windows. The haunted, deathly sound he'd heard along their walk to the bar. The sound of an obsidian ocarina.
Anaius flung himself upward again with more gusto than needed, and he stumbled forward a few paces. No matter, he was heading this direction anyway, he thought. From window to window Anaius went, frenzied, viciously hacking at the decomposed hands of their attackers. By the end of it, he'd freed all those he could. Five in all. Seven if he'd been faster, sober. Later, Anaius would feel great shame in being so absurdly drunk during a time of such crisis. For now however, he was feeling determined to save the remaining patrons of the bar.
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Post by Mike/Rolaka on Oct 21, 2021 23:12:43 GMT -6
Mike brandished his swords and leapt to the center of the tavern. "Everyone! Look away! It's not the scream that stuns you, it's their deathly glare!"
As Mike charged in and started hacking away at decaying limbs, the bar-goers slowly regained their functions and turned away from the darksome cloud billowing through the windows. Those who were too terrified to turn were helped by their friends and good neighbors. The bartender desperately shouted at the crowd, "Please, will everyone carefully and courteously evacuate through the back rooms and out the emergency door! No pushing! No shoving!" The disarray of the scene began to congregate into a solid line making its way behind the counter through the service doors. It was all the civilians could do to not panic and begin trampling each other.
The back rooms were cramped, dark, and dusty, forcing the group to file in two-by-two. Crates were toppled, wines and other spirits spilled over the floor, brooms and buckets were tossed and kicked, but the people pressed on. All that mattered was getting to safety. The barkeep supervised and guided them through, "Keep moving calmly but surely to the rear exit. And please keep your hands off the merchandise!"
As those at the front of the pack neared the back door, they were halted by a hard banging against it. The door was fashioned from sturdy old oak, but even so, it shook and rattled with growing concern. From behind its gate, muffled shrieking frightened the crowd once more. A patron prepared to panic, "They're out there too! We're surrounded! We're trapped! We're doomed!" Gasps and cries echoed through the backrooms as fear and dread swept the crowd. The situation grew bleaker by the microsecond.
The bartender, undeterred, addressed his customers once more, "stay away from the doors and await further instruction!" He shuffled his way through the tail end of the cluster and back out to the serving floor.
Mike's Gilded Swords sang through the air as they dismembered ReDead after ReDead. While terrifying they were, the monsters were slow, unarmed, and stank to the heavens. Their signature weapon, the petrifying gaze, was rendered useless against a man whose vision left him years ago. Rotten meat and bone littered the floor as the blind swordsman carved through their ranks. As of now, the windows were the only entry point, with each creature making a hapless flop over the windowsill.
Mike cut down his latest kill, or rather rekill, when the bartender approached him from behind, with his back to the windows. "Sorry to interrupt, sir. But it seems the ReDeads are behind the bar too! They're bashing at the doors. We are boxed in!"
It had been a long time since Mike found himself in a predicament such as this. However, he showed no fear, and thought back to his time in the Guard. When he was in deep with no cover, it was time to improvise. "Grab any torches you can. Candles, lanterns, whatever. If it can make fire, grab it. We're gonna need to burn our way out."
"B-but, what if the tavern catches fire-"
"Then that's more fire the ReDeads can't touch. Do it!" he barked.
As the bartender hesitantly went back to the storage rooms, a morose melody made its way to Mike's ears, growing louder before encompassing the entire soundscape. The busker in the alley, the ocarina. What is going on?
A voice of unknown origin proffered a reply.
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Post by Argoth/Maximus on Nov 10, 2021 0:02:24 GMT -6
Anaius stumbled his way back to Mike just as the bartender reached him. The man had been surprisingly calm during the whole ordeal, and Anaius was quite impressed with his handling of the patrons.
"Sorry to interrupt, sir. But it seems the ReDeads are behind the bar too! They're bashing at the doors. We are boxed in!"
"Fuck," Anaius swore, the word tumbling out his mouth like so many marbles. He hardly ever uttered such vulgarities but the drink had clearly disintegrated any filter his mind might have had. The patrons were now huddled around the bar, eyes wide and frantic. They had the look and air of prey, cornered by a much larger, much fiercer predator. There were maybe forty or fifty people in all, and by the looks on their faces Anius knew they couldn't take much more. Soon their minds would break, and they would do anything to survive.
And then Mike called for fire, and lots of it. The fog now completed its descent into the bar, obscuring all but perhaps a few feet in all directions.
"Excellent id-" he began to say, but was abruptly cut off by a wispy, hollow voice echoing throughout the bar.
"I admire your resistance, brave ones." It said, "But you know not whom you defend. You are not from this town, so you are omitted the sins of its people. I will extend to you this offer. Leave Clock Town at once, and I will guarantee your safe departure. Stay, and you will die with the rest of this town. You cannot win this fight, that I can also guarantee."
Silence fell upon the bar once more like smothering blanket. All action had ceased from the redead outside the bar, for Anaius could no longer hear their shuffling steps.
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Post by Mike/Rolaka on Nov 10, 2021 1:26:31 GMT -6
The voice was ethereal, feminine, and spoke directly into Mike's ears. Mike could only assume this voice belonged to the robed ocarina player from earlier. She must have been the one reanimating the dead. As innocuous as she was before, she posed a grave threat now.
"This is a bar, miss. We've all committed a little sin tonight, but not one worth dying over. It is also my duty to protect the people, of this town and any other. If you want them, come and claim them." Mike spoke to the ether, his grip on his swords was tighter than ever before.
The bartender shuffled back into the storage area where the crowd was growing increasingly hysteric. The banging on the back door refused to ebb, a constant reminder of their hopelessness. The man did not wince or show fear as he opened a closet in the corner of the room. Neatly stocked on its shelves were bottles of oil. This oil was meant for keeping the lanterns which adorned the walls lit, as well as the candelabrum which illuminated the main serving area. The bartender seized as many bottles as he could, and passed them out to various members of the crowd, "No, this is not alcohol, do not drink it," he said with a deadpan tone.
The people watched on as the bartender carefully removed the few lanterns from the walls and passed them out to the customers. "The fog from the outside is growing thick, so we'll need these to light our way out of here," he addressed them, "if anyone has any way of producing flames, whether by torch, candle, magic for all I care, best use it now. Stay in small groups near the nearest flame-bearer, and no shoving! I will try to find more torches and the like. When it's time to move, I'll give you a signal."
The people slowly started breaking off into smaller clusters, those with the fires held their lanterns high, and they steeled themselves for the impending march out of the tavern.
After scrounging up some spare torches for the patrons, the bartender peeked out to the main floor, the ReDeads have stalled their advance for the moment. This was the time to move. The bartender held up his arm and rallied the bar-goers, "Okay everyone! Let's go! Move slow, but sure. And don't wander off." The flames cut through the fog and dispelled its haze, albeit temporarily, and the groups slithered their way out to the serving area.
The bartender tapped Mike on the shoulder, "we are ready."
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Post by Argoth/Maximus on Nov 15, 2021 23:42:09 GMT -6
Comprehension slogged through his swampy mind and it was several seconds before Anaius understood what the disembodied voice was saying. "Leave these poor people here for you to slaughter?" Preposterous!" Aniaus shouted. "We reject your offer, witch!" And with a sudden burst of distilled courage he added, "In fact, I counter you! Desist from this foul sorcery and we will let YOU go! Ha!" Anaius looked about triumphantly. He felt pleased with himself for telling her off, though several of the returning patrons, several now equipped with blazing torches or oil lamps scoffed or rolled their eyes at him.
"So be it." The voice replied, and once again that eerie, miasmic melody filled the bar. Slow, bedraggled feet resumed their encroachment. The sound made all the more menacing by the dense fog that surrounded them. Dull, squelchy thuds emanated from the direction of the windows as more redeads flopped over the sills. The banging on both the rear and front doors rose to a worrying thunder, and Anaius thought he heard hinges squeal and wood splinter. In a few moments the horde would be upon them; it was now or never.
In solidarity (and safety) Anaius swung his pack around and withdrew his own recently purchased torch. He took several difficult steps toward the nearest group of patrons, the fog so thick now that even as huddled as they were, were only muddled pools of light and vague ghostly faces. "Stay together!" he shouted, lighting his own torch on another.
"Follow the lights!" The barkeep interjected. His voice boomed through the bar and Anaius was grateful for the assistance. This bartender was turning out to be quite the fellow, Anaius thought.
"Mike," Anaius said, shifting his waterlogged attention to his friend. "We should trudge forward, carve a path." He raised his shield at the ready and tightened the grip on his torch. It was now, as he stared into the abyss, hearing but not seeing the advancement of death, that fear began to slither its grimy tendrils into his heart. It cut right through his counterfeit courage, and some of the murk in his mind cleared. He steeled himself for the plunge, and moved forward.
The first encounter materialized on his left. Two redeads entered his vision only feet from him, shriveled arms outstretched like the parched branches of a dead tree. Anaius lashed out with his branded shield and struck the redread to the left. The blow glanced off its torso, sending it tumbling backward. With his torch he smashed the remaining redead atop the head, the end of his torch depressing into its skull like dough. The redead was driven to its knees, and Anaius delivered a second savage blow to the side of its now deformed skull. Flames sprouted from its head as it collapsed. Instinct drove Anaius's foot down upon it in several panicked stomps, and the fire snuffed out before it could spread. The redead lay motionless and did not rise again.
Anaius pressed on, heart pounding with fear and excitement. He could hear Mike hacking away beside him; a steady pattering of soft, decayed limbs bouncing off the bar's wooden floor. Behind him, the anxious shuffling of the patrons followed. Several of them were whimpering.
Another few steps forward and a single redead lurched out of the fog. Anaius bopped it on the head with his torch, careful not to let the flame linger too long, and delivered a mighty kick to its chest. The redead stumbled backward and Anaius heard it creash into something solid. Shattering glass and the scuffle of wood against wood told him it was a table or chair.
Anaius wasted no time in stepping forward to finish the job, stamping the life from this one as he had the last. Then, in the hazy yellow gloom of his torchlight, he saw the outline of one of the windows. It was one of the windows nearest the door, Anaius knew, for the roar of the pounding was now deafening. Carefully, he moved towards that dreadful sound, calling out to Mike and the bartender as he did so. "I've found the door! Mike, assist me in clearing the entryway." But before he could reach for the handle it exploded inward in a shower of splinters. Anaius was knocked to the ground, startled and half insane with panic, as four redeads fell upon him. His torch clattered to the floor and rolled out of reach.
They grasped him with powerful leathery hands. The feeling as disgusting as it was terrifying. He struggled against their vice-like grip, his right arm now pinned to the floor. Two of the redead on top of him clutched vainly at his shield unable to reach his flesh. Even so, he could not shake them. "Help!" He cried, "I'm pinned." Flashbacks of the werewolfos laying dead on top of him were called forth in his mind, and he longed for such a peaceful memory.
In the next instant, another thunderous crash sounded from the back of the bar. The back door had finally burst, and redead spilled into the bar like black, corrupted sludge into a pure, clean lake. The soft whimpers of the most frightened patrons now rose to screams, and just like he knew hey would, their minds crumbled. Chaos erupted once more in the bar, and what had become an organized and orderly exit plan, was suddenly and violently blown to smithereens as some patrons broke from their groups to flee for any exit they could find.
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Post by Mike/Rolaka on Nov 16, 2021 0:55:52 GMT -6
Mike hacked and slashed away at the encroaching undead as the party crept its way to the exit. Once that door opened, he and Anaius would have to rush in and carve a path through. The fog made no difference to Mike, but with the sheer volume of undead already inside, Mike grew worried of the amount of forces outside. Could they really take them all on? How many people will they lose? Would even they make it out? His Gilded Swords cut down new ReDeads with every swing, as if the fog itself were made of dead flesh. We just have to make it to the door, we just-...
The front and back doors gave way; hell had already broken loose, but now it was on a rampage. Patrons tried to vault through the windows only to be snatched up by the horde. Others tried to bash their way through the front only to be petrified and eaten alive. Those who still had their wits about them swung torches and lanterns to set the horde aflame. Burning bodies slumped to the floor, the fires only contained by the sickening quantity of viscera spilled about. The bartender waved his torch through the miasma, desperately trying to repel its thick cloak, but to no success.
The man heard one of the brave warriors cry for help behind him, he quickly turned and could just barely make out the shape of Anaius pinned by four of the repulsive creatures. Luckily, their hollow eyes were locked on Anaius, the bartender had the advantage. He sprinted at the five forms before him, and punted a ReDead in its withered abdomen. The ghoul's grip on Anaius was broken and its decomposed body fell aside. The barkeep pressed his torch into its chest and the fire spread quickly, consuming the monster in a purifying blaze. As soon as it started, it ended. And only a smoldering corpse lay at his feet.
Maybe the bar won't burn..., he thought. Oh to hell with it, no point in a bar if I let anyone die. The bartender repeated this process to dispatch another ReDead, only the two grabbing at Anaius' shield remained. It seemed they could not notice the other two being burnt, focusing solely on the shielded man beneath them. The bartender oriented himself at their backs, took his torch in both hands and swung hard at their sides, beating them both away in balls of fire. "I got you, good sir!" He called to Anaius, and offered a hand to help him to his feet.
Screaming and crying assaulted Mike's eardrums, but he dare not cover them, lest he be taken by the horde himself. Human screams, ReDead screams, it was all he could hear. It was all he could use to position himself properly and keep chopping away at the enemy, and hopefully, not at an innocent civilian. Dammit! he thought, barely able to hear himself over the clamor. Knee-deep in the dead and fresh out of ideas, all Mike could do was fight. "Damn you! I'll send you all back to your makers!"
And his Gilded Swords sang once more, creating an opera of steel though flesh and dying groans. But the flood of undead was unceasing, pressing on unabated. If Mike could kill them all, it would take every last ounce of energy he had, and would ironically join their ranks by the end. If there was a limited, if abundant, number of them, Mike would need every capable body helping him, and all the civilians out of the way, preferably alive.
Without turning his head, he called out to the ether, "Anaius! Bartender! Are you out there? Can you still fight?!"
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Post by Argoth/Maximus on Mar 3, 2022 19:21:19 GMT -6
Anaius gripped the bartender's hand and he pulled him from the floor. A wave of gratitude and relief washed over Aanius and he thanked the bartender with a wavering smile. The bartender nodded back; his face hardened in determination.
"There's no way out," Anaius said, and for a brief moment fear overtook him. Scenes of death and destruction played themselves in his mind like fatalistic premonitions. What were they to do now? There was no telling just how many redead were now inside the bar, even with Mike severely dampening their numbers. Dread like nothing Anaius had ever experienced threatened to curl him up into the fetal position. Time slowed down and his breathing became shallow. All around him chaos still reigned. Patrons scattered about the bar screaming for their lives. Redead encircling them in numbers unknown, their abominable shuffling coming closer.
"Hey! Stay with me!" The bartender shouted at Aanius, placing a hand on his shoulder. He could see the boy's resolve wavering and knew he must act. If they were to survive this ordeal their courage must not falter.
The words of the bartender came down on Anaius like a blow to the head. And suddenly reality crashed back into him. All his feelings of defeat and hopelessness fled from his mind in the presence of such steadfast will. He smiled at the bartender, "Thanks, almost lost my head there."
The moment was short lived, however, as perhaps ten redead now entered the hazy yellow light of the bartender's torch. Then suddenly Anaius remembered his own torch, which now lay several feet away from them behind the now encroaching redeads. Confound it all! In my haste to be rescued I forgot to retrieve my torch! Anaius thought.
Anaius and the bartender backed away from the numerous redeads now approaching them from the doorway. Both of their minds raced furiously, snatching at any thought that might deliver them from this horrid situation.
Then, out of the gloom of the fog came Mike, "Anaius! Bartender! Are you still out there? Can you still fight?!"
"Aye!" shouted the bartender, "we're headed back to you now!"
As they slowly shuffled their way back to Mike, a regular stream of redead attacked them from all sides. It was all they could do to defend themselves. The bartender swung his torch with fury and precision, but for every redead he struck down in flames another would replace it. He struck down so many Anaius began to worry about the amount of burning corpses now littering the bar. Beads of sweat coursed down his forehead and his arm ached with fatigue. Yet still he pressed on, gritting his teeth and shouting defiance upon the enemy. Anaius too fought with all he had, swinging his shield (now caked in decayed redead flesh) with all the might he could muster. He caved skulls in, smashed limbs from bodies, removed heads from shoulders; a steady pile of bodies trailed him as they made their way toward Mike.
During the struggle, however, a plan of action formed in Anaius's mind. It wasn't great, but it got the remaining patrons away from the redead, and it just might give him and Mike the space they needed to finish this fight...or die trying. Either way, Anaius knew this was the only option remaining to them.
Anaius and the bartender now reached Mike, and the three of them stood back-to-back, hacking away at a seemingly endless number of redead.
"I have a plan!" Anaius shouted to the others. "Bartender, is there a cellar in the bar?"
Realization dawned on the bartender, and he shouted in the affirmative. "Yes! But we'd be trapped!"
"It's the only option we have left, I'm afraid. And perhaps with the patrons safely stowed underneath, Mike and I can finish this fight up above. What say you, bartender?"
The bartender paused a long moment before saying grimly, "Aye, it seems so."
"Wonderful! Let's gather the remaining patrons and head toward the cellar. Lead the way barkeep!"
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Post by Mike/Rolaka on Mar 3, 2022 20:33:42 GMT -6
"Sounds like a plan to me!" Mike hollered above the clamor. It was not a perfect plan, it banked heavily on the undead forces being limited in number. But with the way things were progressing, it was the only card they could play. "Mr. Barkeep, round up the survivors and lead them to the cellar! Anaius, cut a path to get them there! I will follow behind and cover the rear!"
"Yes sir, Mr. Mike," the barkeep acknowledged. He held his torch high and waved it like a flare, "If you can hear my voice, come to me! Come to me! We are going back behind the bar!" With this, some lost patrons found their way back to the group. Some were by themselves, having lost their friends to the horde. Others came in pairs, having saved a would-be victim. Everyone was batting away the shambling shapes back into the fog. It was stirring to watch the common people find their stomach for a fight, the barkeep wished, however, it did not take a situation this dire to do so.
The huddle of survivors made their way back, the bartender called out again hoping to hear a live voice among the dead. But alas, only the groans of ReDeads came to reply. "We're all present! Let's move! Into the cellar!" The backrooms had been plagued by the undead since the initial escape attempt, but their cramped corridors meant no one would be separated from the group, and Anaius could easily bash his way through the bodies. With all the torches close together, the fog seemed to lift from their area, and the bartender could clearly tell where they were. "Only a bit farther! There is a trapdoor ahead of you, Anaius! Clear the way, and I can unlock it."
Mike was bringing up the rear, backpedaling with the survivors to keep his blades between them and the ReDeads. The sweat on his brow cascaded down and soaked the cloth over his eye sockets, or was it carrion? He could not tell anymore. If Mike had been keeping track of his kills, he was certain that he would have broken his records from his Guard career. And that was the worrisome bit, they just kept coming. Mike's arms ached, his breathing was labored, his temperature rising with each swing of his swords. It was a pressure he had not felt in a long time.
"There!" The bartender shouted. The survivors made room for the man to crouch down and undo the lock on the trapdoor. The barkeeps hands trembled, causing a rattling from his key chain, he had to find the right key and quickly. He could hear the murmurings of the survivors; 'hurry up', 'unlock it already', 'we're going to die' they all said. The stress was starting to wear down his own will as well. If it's getting to me, then how long will these warriors last?.. No, they must prevail, they have to. And I must prevail for my customers- no, my neighbors, my friends! The barkeep took a long deep breath and cleared his mind of such pessimistic thoughts. The tremble in his hands was reduced to a light twitch, and he finally found the correct key.
He quickly pulled open the trapdoor and urged everyone inside. One by one, the survivors took their refuge in the cellar below, bringing their torches with them. Once the last patron was inside, the bartender called out to the two fighters, "that's everyone! I am going to join them, I will close and lock the door behind me. Are you sure you want to do this? You can hide with us!"
Mike immediately called back, "We're certain! Once the coast is clear, we'll come get you out. Now get down there, and keep their spirits high, it's what you do best."
The bartender chuckled, "right you are, good sir! May Farore guide you both!" He stepped down into the level below and slammed the door shut. The sound of tumblers and chains clicking into place ensured that they were secure.
Now it was just Mike, Anaius, and the groaning void.
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Post by Argoth/Maximus on Mar 7, 2022 20:06:01 GMT -6
Anaius nodded gravely at the bartender as he closed and latched the cellar door. He turned with Mike to face the oncoming horde now bearing down on their location. This was it. Their last stand. Anaius gripped his shield tighter and gritted his teeth. The soft, miasmic melody of the obsidian ocarina seemed to mock them as Mike and Anaius steeled themselves for the final battle.
With a roar of defiance Anaius threw himself into the fray, swinging his shield into the nearest redead. A squelch echoed from the impact and the redead's head tore from its shoulders. The body dropped to the ground and Anaius stepped over it, heaving a wild haymaker into the redead shambling up behind its fallen comrade. The blow caved in the decayed cheekbone of the redead, but did not halt its advance. His fist had sunk deep into its face and Anaius grimaced in disgust. With a bit of effort, he yanked his fist free and finished it with a mighty kick to the torso. His foot caved in its chest and the walking corpse sailed backward, knocking aside several trailing redead.
Now four others lurched in from the fog on either side of Anaius. He struck down the first to approach him with a potent blow of the edge of his shield. The impact landed just above the redead's brow and sheared its face clean off. It fell to its knees and Anaius swiped it aside. The three remaining all lunged for him simultaneously; all were successful in latching onto some part of him. Quick reflexes (and a heavy dose of luck) managed to place his shield between himself and the first two. Only one grabbed onto his shield, however, as the other managed to latch firmly onto his upper arm and shoulder. The final redead gripped his free arm in a vice Anaius thought should be impossible for a creature so ravaged by death and decay. Fear threatened his mind, but he drove it away with sheer determined will. He would not let this foul witch kill these innocent people. Even if it cost him his life. His attempts to wrench his limbs free failed, only managing to drag the hapless redeads this way and that. Without thinking Anaius executed the only action he could think of to free himself. With a tremendous pull of his shield-less arm, he yanked the redead close and delivered a headbutt right between its eyes. Another wave of nauseating disgust passed through Anaius as his forehead depressed into the skull of the readed. It was like headbutting a sack full of mud, complete with a sickening squelch upon impact. His attack was successful, though, as its grip slackened, and he managed to pull his arm free. Another devastating blow from his fist finished the creature, and it sank to the floor.
Anaius reared back for another strike upon the two gripping his other arm and shield, but before he could descend his fist upon the enemy, another redead disabled his attack by latching onto his forearm. He responded by driving his elbow into the eye socket of the redead. Its fingers loosened and Anaius tore himself from its grip. This momentary delay cost him greatly, however, as the redead on his upper shield arm bit savagely into his shoulder. Anaius cried out, and his grip on his shield loosened.
"No!" he shouted desperately, as the redead attached to his shield relinquished it from his grasp. It tossed his only weapon aside like a scrap of wood. Now defenseless, three redead fell upon him. The one biting into his shoulder sunk its rotten teeth deeper into his flesh, and Anaius could feel a slow drain of vitality leave him. The redead behind him somehow leaped onto his back, wrapping its withered legs around his waist and arms around his neck. It, too, sunk rancid teeth into his other shoulder. Once again Anaius howled in pain. After tossing away his shield, the last redead placed its leathery hands on either side of Anaius's face. It drew his head forward and forced him to stare directly into the abyss of its two sunken eye sockets. Panic now overcame his mind as Anaius realized what came next. It wailed so loud Anaius thought his eardrums would rupture, and then his body froze.
This is it...I'm going to die!
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